94Chapter 7: Return of the Firebird
Harry slung his broomstick over his shoulder and made his way through the quiet halls of the castle out onto the grounds. He inhaled deeply as he stood on the entrance steps and looked out over the expanse of dew-covered grass. Several yards away, near the tree line of the forest, he spied Hagrid and Fang. The half-giant carried a small cage that he set down and opened, releasing a small animal that Harry could not discern from the distance. He mounted his broom and kicked off into the early morning sky, spiraling upwards at breakneck speed as he momentarily closed his eyes and savored the rush of wind against his face.
Harry had shunned many of the expressions of gratitude that had been showered upon him since the end of the war. He donated the bulk of the monetary awards he'd received to various charities, supporting the efforts to shelter the homeless, reunite families, and rebuild Hogwarts. However, he couldn't resist the custom-designed broomstick that the Ellerby and Spudmore Company had gifted him. They had hoped that he would endorse the new Firebolt Ultima, and allow them to place his name on the luxury model racing broom. Harry had not yet made a decision. He was not particularly happy about the exorbitant price, but thus far, the executives were reluctant to negotiate.
Harry swooped down into the Quidditch pitch and circled the outer edge of the playing field, zig-zagging from one side to the other. He executed a number of barrel rolls and loops before soaring around the goals at the northern scoring area and heading towards the covered bridge. He wound his way through the ravine and threaded an opening in the criss-crossed timber trusses before climbing again and finally landing in the Sundial Garden. He dismounted and sat down on the grass with his back against one of the giant stones, resting his broomstick across his knees.
"Yes," Harry whispered to himself. Of all of the many wonders of magic he had come to experience over the previous seven years, he still found flying to be his absolute favorite. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair and attempted to smooth it out, to no avail. Harry savored the first quiet moments that he had encountered since returning to the castle, in which his mind was not overwhelmed with thoughts of darkness and the mystery that was Draco Malfoy. He smiled, letting out a sigh as he gazed up into the clear sky.
"I am home."
"Now then, Mr. Malfoy, your magic is still a bit intemperate. Stick to basic spell casting for at least another day or two. Avoid nonverbal spells for at least one more week, and do not attempt to apparate." Draco nodded dully, and she continued. "Now, here is some Wit-Sharpening Potion. Take one dose before breakfast, and one within an hour of your study time each day. Also, take the Wideye Potion once daily before your earliest class. See me immediately if you have any headache, blurred vision and dizziness, or unexplained nosebleeds. Also, I know that you are of age, but it is imperative that you refrain from drinking in the interim. An occasional butterbeer shouldn't do any harm, but whiskey and other fine spirits will counteract the effects of your potions. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She handed over the phials of potion and Draco slipped them into his pocket. "Off you go, then."
Draco raked his fingers through his hair and stood on shaky legs. He inhaled deeply before taking a wobbly step forward. Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw firmly, Draco walked out of the ward with as much grace as he could muster. In the corridor, Draco stood blandly for a moment before heading down to the dungeons. He stood outside the entrance to Slytherin house for several minutes before a band of younger students approached, looking at him curiously. It wasn't until he followed them into the common room, that Draco realized he was in the wrong place. He frowned, and returned to the ground floor, standing a moment to gather his wits about him. Finally he recalled the Turrim Victoria and wandered about until he saw a group of advanced Seventh Year students. Hearing them mention returning to the dorm, he followed at a distance until they entered the tower.
Draco was taken aback by the exhibits on display at the tower's main entrance, and wandered among them awestruck. He stood for several minutes in front of the portrait of his cousin, Regulus Black. The dark-haired young man wore the same haughty expression that characterized so many of Draco's relatives, and he recognized the heavy-lidded eyes that so many of the Blacks were noted for. However, Draco noticed something else in Regulus' expression—ambivalence and regret. He read the accompanying plaque which described the young wizard's change of heart and the attempt to thwart the Dark Lord, which ultimately cost him his life.
So caught up was he in the memorials and exhibits that Draco didn't realize that the others had continued into the dormitory, and he had no idea what the password was. He scowled as he stood at the entrance.
"Malfoy?" Draco rolled his eyes and turned to see Hermione and Ron approaching. "Is something the matter?" Hermione asked. Draco arrogantly tossed his hair and immediately regretted it as the chamber swam in his vision. He took a breath and swallowed his pride.
"To be perfectly honest, I don't seem to recall the password," he replied.
"Well, you weren't quite yourself when we first arrived, were you?" she replied, giving him a sympathetic smile. "It's Valebit Gratia."
The door swung open and they stepped into the stairwell of the tower proper. Draco moaned inwardly as he looked up at the moving staircases. He closed his eyes and swallowed the slight nausea that threatened to well up.
"Touch your wand to the Slytherin crest, and the stairs will stop at your floor," said Ron.
"Oh, right." He did so and hurriedly stepped on, grabbing the railing and using it to recover his balance. Hermione and Ron stepped on after him and continued their conversation.
"What time shall I meet you?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I'm not certain how long Madam Hooch plans to talk to all of the Quidditch teams, so—"
"There's a Quidditch meeting?" Draco looked down at them just as the stairs came to a halt in front of the Slytherin dormitories.
"In about twenty minutes," Ron replied.
"Oh." Draco's pulse quickened. He knew what Madam Pomfrey had warned, but he wasn't about to miss out on the opportunity to play Quidditch one last time. He stepped off the staircase and onto the landing. "Erm—thanks for your help with—"
"It's nothing," said Hermione. She smiled again as the stairs began to move once more.
Draco found his room on the second floor of the dormitory and scowled as he read the name beneath his own.
"Homenum Revelio!" he pointed his wand at the door. Detecting no occupants within, he entered the room and quickly changed clothes. He swayed a bit as he rushed for the door, and grabbed the handle a moment to steady himself.
Several benches had been arranged in a semicircle near the center of the Quidditch Pitch, with players and hopefuls assembling themselves by house. Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the conversations taking place among the students came to a stop. Harry was seated near the end of the first bench of Gryffindors between Dean and Ginny. Ron sat next to Dean. He looked up as Madam Hooch stepped into the center of the arc and saw Draco walking hesitantly up to the Slytherin team who were seated opposite them.
"He looks off, innit?" Dean remarked.
"Head injury," said Ron. "I doubt he's completely over it just yet."
"He doesn't look much like he'll be able to fly," Dean replied.
"Shut it!" Ginny hissed as Madam Hooch began to speak.
"Now then, due to the uneven numbers returning to each team, as well as the exceptional number of students who will be completing their education this year, we are instituting some changes to our season." A murmur rose up among the students. Madam Hooch paused and waited for them to quiet down. "Each house will consist of a starting team and a reserve team. Captains and starters for each position will be responsible for conducting training sessions for the reserve teams. Reserve teams will play on scheduled Fridays after classes."
"Wait—doesn't that mean they'll be playing in the dark?" asked Cho Chang.
"No, Miss Chang. On game days, classes will conclude at noon, and students attending the matches may pick up a sack lunch to bring to the event." Another round of murmurs went up. "It has also been decided that first-year students with flying experience will be allowed a trial for second-string. Reserve team points will be figured into the total points for each house team." This time, the flying instructor was met with groans of disapproval. She blew her whistle. "If you are worried about your team's standings, then I would strongly encourage your captains to place their best efforts into training. A schedule has been drawn up for use of the pitch and training grounds, so that each team will have equal access…"
Harry's mind began to wander as Madam Hooch continued to outline the plans and rules for the upcoming season. He scanned each group, assessing each team's chances, based upon those he recognized as returning until his gaze landed upon Draco, who was sitting across from him. He couldn't help noticing the way in which the Slytherin gripped the bench, as if afraid that he might fall over. Harry also saw that Draco had not yet shaved, golden hair dusting his chin and upper lip, which combined with his loose, shoulder-length hair, gave him something of a raffish look.
The other wizard returned his gaze with an odd expression on his face, and Harry was startled to discover an odd fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. He saw Draco's cheeks redden as he averted his eyes. Harry's scar began to tingle and he had a sudden flash of memory.
"You called me 'Draco'…never used my given name…" Harry was abruptly jarred from the memory by a sharp poke in his ribs.
"Huh? What?" he looked at Ginny.
"Stand up! Hooch just named you team captain!" she said.
Harry stood, noting the other team captains—Cho Chang for Ravenclaw, Zacharias Smith returning for Hufflepuff, and Blaise Zabini for Slytherin. Harry looked over at Draco once more, but the Slytherin studiously avoided his gaze and Harry was soon distracted with organizing his team duties.
Draco was grateful when the Slytherin team meeting finally came to an end. He'd sat near the back of the training room, and slipped out as quickly as he could, ignoring the greetings of his teammates. Draco only hoped that he would be up to the task of flying for Seeker again. He found himself halfway down the stairs to the dungeons once again and cursed audibly as he trudged back up and continued to the seventh floor entrance to Turrim Victoria.
It took him a few tries to remember the password, and he was beginning to feel the stirrings of a headache as he stepped onto the moving staircase, and pinched his brow, closing his eyes. He pushed open the door to his dormitory and was unceremoniously shoved back against it, pressed into a deep, hungry kiss. Malfoy winced as his head lightly struck the door, and he gripped his assailant's arms, forcefully pushing him away.
"Take your hands off me!" he growled, drawing his wand at him.
"What is all this?" his assailant scoffed. "I'm only trying to show you how sorry I am. Here." He summoned a large box of fine chocolates and held it out to him. Draco eyed the gift and turned away.
"You think you can buy my forgiveness?"
Draco went to his en suite and drew a cup of water, taking a dose of his scheduled potion. He blinked a few times as he felt his mind begin to clear.
"Oh, come on!" the other wizard pouted, standing in the doorway. "I missed you!"
"Really? I wish I could say the same," Draco mumbled, pushing past him. He grabbed his arm, spinning him around and Draco drew back. "Don't!"
Unfortunately, the act of snatching away from the other Slytherin caused Draco to lose his balance and he stumbled drunkenly allowing him to gain the upper hand once more. He grabbed Draco by the shirt, pulling him close.
"Merlin, how pathetic you have become, Malfoy! How do you possibly expect to play Quidditch when you can't even stand on your own two feet?"
"Well, it's all thanks to you, isn't it?" Draco went for his wand, but the other wizard was faster.
"Expelliarmus!" Draco's wand clattered away and he released him, keeping his wand leveled upon him.
"Alright! I'm sorry. Please—" Draco began, when suddenly an immense feeling of calm washed over him, his anger and anxiety melting away. "No—no!" Draco thought. He fought the descent into his subconscious. "No—no!" He took a step away from him.
"It's your own fault, Draco. Why must you consistently oppose me? Come here!" he commanded.
Draco's thoughts never found their voice as his will to resist faded and he closed the distance between himself and the other Slytherin.
"I don't like to be this way." He carded his hands through Draco's hair, touching their foreheads. "I don't want to be this way."
Emeka Onwachimba stared at the new indicator on his security map that stood out like an ink blot over the Scottish Highlands. He had carefully examined the platform at Hogsmeade Station, and noted that a large portion of the pavement at the end of the platform had been disrupted, and along the path leading to the castle gate, several trees were uprooted. What was curious to the professor was that the tracks were virtually untouched, without a rail or timber out of place. On his walk back up to the castle, Onwachimba kept an eye out for any other clues, but found little evidence that assuaged his feeling of foreboding. There was a knock at the door. He flicked his wand to open it.
"You may enter."
"Do you happen to have a moment, sir?" Harry stepped into the room.
"Certainly." He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Harry accepted it, and the professor sat opposite him. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.
"Actually, Professor, I—I think I may have some information. I'm not certain how useful it may be." Harry began.
"Yes?"
"Well, there was something of a disturbing incident on the train platform when we arrived for the start of term. An alarming and sudden gust of wind seemed to come out of nowhere. Many students were pushed to the ground. One boy nearly fell into the lake when the boats were blown away from the dock. The entire incident was quite odd. It went as suddenly as it came."
"That is rather odd. Was anyone seriously injured?"
"I don't believe so, but have you ever heard of gale force winds in Hogsmeade?" Harry asked.
"I don't believe I have, but then I, alas, never heard the wail of the Shrieking Shack either," Professor Onwachimba replied. Harry smiled faintly.
"Nor have I. However, I happen to know what caused that phenomenon, and I also know why it no longer happens."
"Do you?" the professor raised an inquisitive brow.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but that is a matter of confidentiality that I promised to Professor Dumbledore." Harry shrugged.
"I see." Onwachimba nodded.
"I get the feeling that you aren't terribly familiar with some of the less sensational details of the war," said Harry.
"I'm afraid that I know very little. I was posted to the International Confederation of Wizards shortly after Fudge stepped down. During the height of Lord Voldemort's—"
"Riddle. His name was Tom Riddle," Harry corrected.
"Yes. Well, once he'd returned, I was with ICW security, working with Aurors dispatched to protect foreign dignitaries who were allied to the United Kingdom. I saw or heard very little except what I learned from Minister Shacklebolt before he went on the run."
"You know Kingsley?"
"Oh, yes. I came to know him while he was a part of the muggle Minister's security detail."
"I see. Of course." Harry glanced at the map on the wall, taking note of the blinking black dot over Hogsmeade. "Erm, Professor, there was another similar incident on Friday evening. A bunch of us were at the pub, and talk turned to Draco Malfoy and the war. I had a rather heated exchange with Terry Boot. All of a sudden, the table began to violently rattle and the door of the pub flew open as a gust swept through the room, knocking him to the floor. Again, it was swift and sudden, and ended as abruptly as it began." Harry's face was pinched, and he waited nervously for the professor to speak. Onwachimba sat back slowly in his chair, stroking his chin. "What do you make of it, Professor?"
"I am honestly not sure, Mr. Potter. It certainly fits the pattern of an Obscurus. I just don't understand, however, why Mr. Boot was attacked—and twice at that. It's also curious, although I think we are all grateful, that he wasn't killed. You say that you and Mr. Boot had words—was anyone else involved?"
"Well, Ron Weasley took my part. He was especially angry. After the incident, the publican tossed Terry out. Professor, Ron has never had any issues with his magic. He's from a large pureblood family, and I—well, I don't really believe that I was—I mean, could I—you don't think—"
"Ah, no, Mr. Potter. There's nothing to worry about there. It does seem that we have ourselves quite the mystery however, does it not?"
Harry let out a sigh as he nodded.
The room was dark when Draco opened his eyes, his head throbbing. Although he had no memory of the event, Draco was well aware of what had happened. His lips were swollen and raw, and his throat was sore and abused. As he slowly sat up and pushed back the covers, he was grateful to discover that he had not been further violated, and he climbed out of bed, clinging to anything within reach as he slowly trudged to the bathroom.
The sound of rushing water drowned the quiet sobs that shook him and disguised the tears that ran down Draco's face. How long would he continue to pay for his choices the sins of his father? He was a coward—always had been. The only reason anyone ever deferred to him was because he had the might of the Malfoy wealth behind him. The only thing Draco had ever excelled in was academics—even then, he consistently found himself neck and neck with Granger. Each time he failed to best her in his classes, Lucius would remind him, in the most painful of terms, just how pathetic he really was. As the war dragged on to its ultimate conclusion, Draco would come to learn that he was in fact cut from the same cloth as his own father—weak, and clinging to prestige by riding the cloak tails of others and throwing money around. Were it not for Harry, they would have lost everything.
Draco finally turned off the shower and climbed out. He summoned fresh clothes and took another dose of the potions that Madam Pomfrey had given him, also digging around in his belongings until he found a small phial of Invigoration Draught, taking a drink. Within seconds, he felt more balanced, if not any less emotional. The clock chimed the hour, and he knew that students would soon be returning from dinner. Wishing to avoid the other wizard for as long as possible, Draco cast a disillusionment charm and made his way up to the common room.
A few students were gathered about, reading or socializing with one another. He noticed Ron Weasley engaged in a game of Wizards' Chess with Zacharias Smith. He shook his head, watching Zacharias move his knight to h3, clearly planning to develop a knight and bishop following by king's side castling. Ron would happily exchange his light square bishop for Smith's h3 knight, ruining his pawn structure and exposing the king. Before Draco had reached the top of the stairs to the balcony level, Ron had done just that. Draco had a vague memory of Weasley earning Gryffindor a number of house points at the end of their first year for what Dumbledore had described as an amazing game of chess. He was certain that if Smith continued to play in this manner, this game wouldn't last very long.
He used the momentary distraction created by a mini explosion in a game of Exploding Snap, to slip out onto the parapet without anyone noticing him opening the door. The night was clear and cool, the moon's reflection bright over the castle grounds. He dropped his disillusionment and leaned against the merlon with one foot on the crenel and looked out across the viaduct to the lake. He noticed a large bird swooping low over the water before climbing above the tree line and descending into the forest. Muted laughter drifted up to him and Draco tried to call to mind happier times, but found himself wondering if those he'd called friends had ever really been true to him. The one friend he'd ever had, the only one who'd always genuinely looked up to him, and for whom Draco had ever cared had been snatched away from him in the blink of an eye. Every now and then Draco still thought of him; he imagined that he was still out there somewhere, lost and looking for him.
"I know you're still out there." He whispered.
"There you are!"
Draco spun around, inhaling sharply at the sound of the door opening. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Pansy stepping out onto the parapet.
"You didn't come to lunch or dinner. I was worried that something had happened."
"No," he lied. "I erm. Just still a bit unsteady, that's all. I was resting."
"Oh, well that's lovely. So listen," she approached him, placing a hand on his arm. "A bunch of us were heading down to Hogsmeade for a couple of drinks. Care to escort me?" Draco made a face. She stepped closer, carding her fingers through his hair. "Or…it turns out that Longbottom is quite the horticulturist," she said reaching into her pocket as she brushed seductively against him. "He's got quite a fine hashish." Pansy held up the compressed brick of cannabis. "We could, ah…find a spot to indulge."
"I hope you'll forgive me this time, Pansy. I don't believe that I feel up to the walk just yet, love." He smiled at her, lightly rubbing his hands up and down her arms." Pansy made a face, pouting, and sighed. "You go on. Have fun."
"Fine." She pressed the hash into his hand. "You keep this. Maybe it will help you a little bit. Father always smokes a little before an excursion, to prevent portkey sickness."
"Thank you." Draco gave her a light peck on the cheek, and she left him to his ruminations.
Harry completed his essay and placed it into his satchel. He sat back in the comfortable desk chair and stretched, rubbing his eyes. While his initial conversation with Professor Onwachimba was a significant help in completing the assignment, the events of the weekend, and their subsequent conversation left him as concerned and frustrated as ever. Harry admonished himself not to get involved. He'd returned to school for some semblance of peace and normalcy.
Harry went to the window and looked out, spying a familiar avis swooping past the window. He craned his neck in the hope of catching another glance at the bird.
"It can't be!" he exclaimed. Behind him, he heard Neville stir in his bed, and Harry grimaced, silently chiding himself for being inconsiderate. He grabbed his wand and pulled on a jacket, closing the door quietly behind him. Once he reached the inner turret, Harry raced up the slow-moving stairs until he reached the top floor.
The common room was largely empty, one or two students lying half-asleep with books on their chests. Harry ran up to the balcony and pushed open the nearest door, stepping out onto the parapet, looking out from the battlement and scanning the sky.
"What am I looking for?" Harry muttered to himself. "You're gone, just like all the others, aren't you?"
Draco settled on the stone floor with his back against the merlon, and conjured a hookah. He added the cannabis and pointed his wand to light it, taking a few puffs to start the coals. He coughed a bit and took a long pull, holding the vapor in his mouth for several seconds before exhaling it in a long stream. Draco felt the latent spinning that had lingered in his head beginning to abate.
"Huh. Who knew that old Simeon Parkinson was on to something there?" he mused. Draco closed his eyes and took another pull.
He saw himself on his broom, robes flying out behind him as he chased a snitch, the wind whipping his face. He was being pursued by his greatest rival. They spiraled into the clouds as they trailed the elusive golden ball. Draco crouched on his broom, putting on a burst of speed. The snitch zoomed out of reach and he gave chase. He stretched low over his broomstick, three lengths ahead of the other seeker. The tiny ball zipped, changing course, and Draco rolled, pulling about to change directions. The other seeker overtook him as he lost speed. He urged his broom on and they were shoulder to shoulder, their surroundings a blur as they raced for the glimmering prize ahead of them.
The snitch suddenly shot upward and the other seeker was still on him as they soared upward. The climbed after it shoulder to shoulder and the snitch changed direction again, diving suddenly. The two collided and suddenly he was falling. His immediate terror was suddenly replaced with a feeling of immense calm and relief as he tumbled through the air. As the ground rushed towards him, his lips curled into a smile and he saw a hand reaching out for him.
"You found me!" And suddenly, he found himself jarred out of his freefalling imaginings as the face to which the hand belonged became clear. "You?"
Harry inhaled deeply, there was an odd scent mingled with the fresh evening air. Pungent and somewhat sickly sweet, but with more of an oily herb odor, which reminded Harry of the time he'd accidently burnt his Aunt Petunia's brussels sprouts. He scrunched his face and looked around for the source of the smell when, through the windows across the tower, he saw movement on the far side of the parapet. He made his way along the curving walkway and was surprised to see Draco standing on the crenel between the merlons.
"Draco?" Harry paused. "What the hell is he doing?" He approached cautiously. "Draco?" he said. The other wizard looked at him blankly, and smiled with an expression that reminded Harry of someone who'd been imperioused.
"Perseus! I never stopped searching for you!" Draco exclaimed, and then turned away, looking up at the night sky.
"No. It's me, Harry—Harry Potter."
"Let's go!"
"Erm, Draco, why don't we go inside. Just—just step down from—" Harry reached out and Draco leaned forward, tumbling into the darkness. Harry gasped. "Draco!" he screamed, leaning over the crenel.
Suddenly, a piercing cry rang out into the night and the bright red bird swooped over his shoulder. Harry let out a whoop of surprise and grabbed his tail as the bird dove down the side of the tower. The phoenix moved with amazing speed and Harry managed to grab hold of Draco's hand.
"You came for me!" Draco exclaimed, looking up at him. "Wait—what? You?"
"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Harry yelled as they soared through the air back towards the top of the tower. Draco stared at him in shock as he seemed to come to himself, and suddenly released his grip.
"No!" Harry clung desperately to the phoenix's tail, reaching into the wind. "Arresto Momentum!" The scarlet bird dove once more and Harry grabbed Draco again, even as the other wizard struggled against him.
"Let me go, Potter! Let me go! It's better this way!" he screamed.
"No! If it was better this way, I'd have let you die in the Room of Hidden Things!" Harry struggled to maintain his grip, his arms aching as they ascended to the top of the tower once more, falling in a heap on the parapet.
Draco shoved Harry off of him and started for the edge of the battlement once more, but Harry grabbed his ankle, pulling him down. They grappled in this fashion for several minutes.
"Why won't you leave me alone, Potter? What gives you the right to decide who lives or dies? Just because you're the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World?"
"What gives you the right to make me witness another death because of that martinet?"
"No one will miss me!"
"What would your mother say?" Harry frantically clung to him as they wrestled.
"Nobody wants me here. You think I don't know what they've been saying? I deserved what I got. I don't deserve to be here." He pinned Harry to the floor, tears springing to his eyes.
"And you think some grand gesture makes you special? Makes your death significant? Do you think that flinging yourself from the Victory Tower will bring anyone back? It won't! Not Dumbledore! Not Snape! No one!"
"You don't understand!" Draco replied, gaining the upper hand and pinning Harry's shoulders to the ground
"Draco—" Harry held tightly to Draco's shirt, fearing that if he let go, he would make another dash for the edge.
"Don't call me that!"
"Call you what? It's your name!" Harry stared at Draco in frustration.
"No, it's—he—you—I can't stand it!" Draco exclaimed, the fight beginning to seep out of him.
"Make me understand, then!" Green eyes searched grey.
"I—I—" Draco's grip on Harry slackened a bit more, and he stared ambivalently at the Gryffindor before leaning down and pressing his lips to Harry's.
Harry was frozen with astonishment, still clinging to the other wizard's shirt. The phoenix perched on the merlon let out a cry that startled Harry back to the moment. He inhaled sharply as a rush of excitement prickled his skin with goosebumps, and released his grip, shocked to discover the unbidden response of his body to the compromising position in which he found himself.
Draco scrambled away from him, backing up against the merlon, his eyes wide.
"Bloody hell!" Harry sat up, staring at him in disbelief.
"I—I—" Draco struggled to his feet.
"No, no, no, no, no!" Harry reached out, fearful that he was about to jump again. Instead, Draco ran for the nearest door, snatching it open. "Draco—wait!" Harry got to his feet and dashed for the door, but when he stepped onto the balcony, Draco was gone. He looked over the railing. The room was empty. "Dammit!"
Behind him, Harry heard the piercing and melodic call of the phoenix and returned to the parapet.
"Fawkes!" Harry exclaimed. The large, scarlet bird dipped its head. "I hope that you have returned to stay. Got any ideas about what just happened?" Fawkes chirruped in response, and flew into the tower, circling the common room, the figures in the stained glass windows turned to follow his descent. Harry ran down the stairs, his eyes still scanning the room for Draco. Finally, he let out a sigh and left the room, the phoenix following behind.
Draco raised a disillusioned head from behind a sofa on the far side of the room and watched them go.