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Returning to Sanity	By : AchillesTheGeek Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 31212 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books or films, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 73
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- 75
74 Return to Rumours
Sunday 6 September
Dudley Potter was sitting in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place when the fireplace made that strange whooshing noise that meant someone was calling him.
"Hello?" he said, and watched as the green-tinged face of Narcissa Malfoy appeared in view.
"Ah!" she said. "Dudley! I apologize, I have only just been told that you are staying at Grimmauld Place."
Dudley blinked. He couldn't see any reason why she should apologize, and told her so.
"My dear young man!" she replied. "Why are you rotting all alone in that old dump when we could be looking after you? Have you dined?"
"Er," Dudley replied, a little abashed by the fierce gaze she had trained on him, "no, not really… I was going to have some cheese on toast later."
Narcissa looked at him sternly, and it was clear that, to Narcissa Malfoy, "cheese on toast" did not, even remotely, qualify as any sort of a dinner.
"Come through and dine with us," she said, and her tone, though friendly, did not invite contradiction.
"Yes ma'am," Dudley replied.
"Excellent," she said, beaming, and her face disappeared from view.
He took a pinch of the funny stuff they called "Floo powder", and, as Robin had shown him, threw it into the fireplace. The little bangle on his wrist tingled; he didn't quite understand it, but he knew that he had to wear it to make the Floo work, as he had no magic of his own. He had asked Robin to explain it, but the Auror had simply replied, "it's magic," and, for once, Dudley had to accept this was a perfectly adequate explanation.
Somewhat tentatively, he stepped into the fireplace. Robin had coached him in the art of Floo travel, and he thought hard about all he had learnt, remembering to keep his arms in close to his body as instructed and to bend his knees as he exited to avoid falling over. Once again he experienced the disconcerting sensation of moving very quickly before finding himself in a room that was obviously Narcissa's private study. The lady herself was standing in front of him, and, much to his surprise, grasped his hands warmly and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Welcome!" she said. "Now we can show you proper pure-blood hospitality! Kreacher!"
The aged house-elf popped in. Dudley still regarded him warily; though the strange creature had not given him any trouble at Grimmauld Place, he felt that he was being watched critically the whole time, which didn't exactly make for a happy relationship.
"Yes, Mistress Cissy?" the elf said, rather oilily.
"Mister Potter will be staying here for a few days," she said imperiously. "Kindly fetch his requirements and place them in the blue room."
It took Dudley a few seconds to realised that she meant him, not Harry; even after two months he still wasn't quite used to thinking of himself as 'Mr Potter'. Kreacher, however, evidently had no such problem; the old elf simply replied "yes mistress Cissy!" and vanished. Dudley had a sneaking suspicion that the elf's happy response was compounded equally out of his obvious respect for Narcissa and the thought of getting rid of Dudley from Grimmauld Place. But there was something a little more pressing than Kreacher's foibles to discuss.
"Um, that's very kind of you," he began, but Narcissa cut him off effortlessly.
"Of course," she replied deprecatingly, "and thank you for accepting the kindness. Now, let's join the others, shall we?"
"The others?" Dudley asked.
In answer, Narcissa just smiled, and led him out of the room.
-#-
Monday 7 September
Dudley woke up and took stock of his surroundings. He was in what was easily the largest and most comfortable bed he had ever slept in, and he was wearing luxurious silk pajamas. It was all very lovely, but it didn't feel quite like him, somehow.
And then he came to himself, and remembered the events of the previous night. It seemed that, in all their planning, Harry and Mr Malfoy had neglected to mention to Mrs Malfoy that Dudley was staying in Grimmauld Place all by himself; and so she had decided she needed to take over. As a result, he had found himself having drinks with a roomful of people. There were the Malfoys, of course, and Harry and his friends Ron and Hermione; and their mothers; and a strange little man called something Greengrass, who Dudley had nodded to politely, but who didn't really seem to warm to him. Everyone else had been very pleasant and polite, and Dudley wasn't at all upset when the Greengrass man said he had to return home for dinner.
To begin with, Dudley had been very apprehensive about dinner. He wasn't really used to dining with polite company, having only really experienced dinner with Vernon and Petunia – who had, now he looked back over his years at Privet Drive with a critical eye, no manners to speak of – and with his fellow students – who had no manners at all. There were a lot of people; they had been joined by Arthur Weasley and Hermione's father… what was his name? P-something? Paul? No, Peter, that was it. Peter Granger. Like him, the Grangers were Muggles; he learnt early on that they were both dentists, and he explained he was about to start Civil Engineering at Swansea. When they learnt this, the Grangers gave him a few helpful tips about student life, and he found himself feeling a bit less intimidated by the company.
He had watched carefully to see if being a Muggle made any difference. But it seemed no-one really cared; the conversation was free-flowing and inclusive, and Dudley could see that Dr Granger was getting on very well with Mr Weasley, while Mr and Mrs Malfoy were being the most lovely hosts.
The meal had been delicious; Dudley was astonished to learn that it was completely impromptu. When Petunia had people over, there were weeks of planning and stress beforehand, but Mrs Malfoy seemed to just pull people in and feed them with no visible effort or fuss. Of course, he thought, Petunia didn't have any of those house-elves to help. But then he thought, and it really shocked him, that she did used to have one, or as good as one; that was exactly how they had treated Harry. This thought made him watch closely, and he realised after a while that it wasn't really true. These funny little creatures were servants, to be sure; but they looked like they really enjoyed what they were doing, and they seemed to be being treated with respect.
Now in the bright light of day, as he looked around the beautiful room he had been given, he felt the shame come crashing in on him once again. The Dursleys had treated Harry, his mother's sister's son, worse than these people treated their servants. Last night, when the thought had hit him, Harry had noticed, and looked at him with a face of such concern that it was all that Dudley could do to avoid breaking down in tears as he had, once more, apologised to his cousin for their treatment of him.
Harry had looked at him with a silly grin and told him that was all in the past and forgiven.
"We were both hurt by them," he had reminded his cousin. "Now it's time we both moved on. Have some more wine."
And he had had wine, and dessert, and they had played cards and parted the best of friends, as the four other teens had returned to Hogwarts, the other guests had gone home, and Dudley had been shown to the wonderful room he was now in and told to call for Dippy if there was anything at all he needed.
Which brought him back to the present. There was something he needed; but a little exploring soon found that there was an en-suite – twice the size of the bathroom at Privet Drive, he noticed, and a million times more tasteful.
When he had finished in the bathroom, he returned to his bedroom to find that Dippy must have found out he was up, for the bed had been made and a fresh set of clothes was laid out waiting for him. He dressed, then called the elf.
'Yes, Master Dudley Potter?" the little creature said in a very excited voice as she appeared. "How can Dippy be helping young Master Dudley Potter?"
Dudley couldn't help but laugh at the excitement of the little elf, and then blushed in embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry!" he said, mortified as he realised how offensive his laughter must seem. "I'm not used to people being so cheerful so early in the morning!"
But Dippy, it seemed, was not about to take offense from 'young Master Dudley Potter'; she beamed at him, and replied, "Dippy is being very pleased to see young Master is being so happy! Is young Master being wanting to breakfast?"
"Yes please," Dudley replied.
"Mistress Narcissa is being taking breakfast in the garden; Dippy is being taking Dudley there. Please to be following Dippy!"
And, repressing a smirk at the absurd way she talked (for no doubt, he thought, his ways were equally ridiculous to her), he followed her out downstairs, through some French doors and into a charming English cottage garden.
He looked around, and decided then and there that he was going to stop comparing this place with Privet Drive; there was nothing at all about his former home that measured up to this place, so the comparisons were simply meaningless. As he entered the garden, his hostess rose to greet him from the table she had been sitting at.
"Good morning, Dudley," she said pleasantly, as she gestured to him to take a seat. "I hope you slept well?"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs Malfoy," the boy replied as he complied with her unspoken invitation. "Um, this is a very nice garden."
"Isn't it?" Narcissa replied with a smile. "I don't remember if we mentioned it last time you were here, but it's Harry's garden. And please, Dudley, call me Narcissa. You and Harry are part of our family now."
Dudley looked abashed. It seemed a hell of a liberty to address this elegant, refined lady by her first name.
"Yes, Narcissa," he replied, managing not to stumble over the name.
"Good," she replied. "Now, what can Dippy get you for breakfast?"
-#-
The next week was rather hectic. It was, of course, the first full week of classes for the bulk of the student body, and it took them a few days to calm down from being in holiday mode. It was hard to settle to a routine: the long break since the end of the previous school year, the euphoria of the war being over, and the re-opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, had given them the time, the inclination, and the material with which to play plenty of pranks, and they were not out of the habit yet.
Monday morning started off with a bang, literally: some of the students had managed to smuggle in some of the twins' decoy detonators, and exploded them at breakfast. The rest of the students at the four house tables made much of the distraction to be rowdy and boisterous, and the teachers found they had to come down heavily. McGonagall stood up, cast Sonorus on herself, and cast a version of Revelio that the students did not know about, or even suspect.
"That is quite enough!" she said sternly, as many items from the twins' shop suddenly made their presence known by glowing bright orange and emitting a whining noise. "May I remind you that there are senior students in this school studying for their examinations, who do not wish to be distracted. Please have some common courtesy. And when we say items are banned, we mean it. Those of you who have a forbidden item with you, stand up, and the teachers will take appropriate action."
Given the lights and the noise, there was no getting away with it; the teachers passed around the room, and all the prank items were promptly confiscated. The only real bright side that Minerva could see was that the majority of the seventh years seemed to be taking things quite seriously; they harangued their errant peers more than the teachers did, and she knew it was likely to be considerably more effective. There were always students who thought it was an honour to be disapproved of by the staff; but there were very few who were prepared to risk being shunned by their house.
The Headmistress had promised a no-nonsense approach to any infractions, and she delivered. The students were all identified, and Argus Filch found himself with a correspondingly large number of detentions to supervise. As his mood at the start of the school year was as sour as the students' were sunny, the students found their evenings were suddenly full of very unpleasant duties; as a result, it was noticeable during the week that there were not a lot of repeat offenders. Evidently, detention to be served with Mr Filch was still quite a threat, a thought which gave the bitter old Squib about the only satisfaction he received during the school year.
For most of the eighth years, this was the last full week of classes before they were going to have a week of revision followed by two weeks off; and so they were hanging out for the end of the week. While they didn't particularly mind pranks, they felt a bit miffed at their previously quiet environment suddenly filled with noise and silliness, especially as they had managed, on the whole, to behave like grown-ups for the whole term. So when their pumpkin juice was spiked on Tuesday morning, causing half the students to sport pink hair for the rest of the day, they found it hard to see the funny side.
Then there were the nine students who were facing examinations in the following week. These students were totally focused on three things: study, study and study. Distractions were generally profoundly unwelcome, and the other students learnt very quickly to stay out of their way. It was very fortunate, for example, that Hermione Granger happened to come late to breakfast on Tuesday morning; if she had drunk the spiked juice and had pink hair as well as exam stress, she would probably have lost it completely. As it was, she was finding the twin stresses of pregnancy and exams was quite enough to keep her on edge most of the time. She was enormously grateful to Draco, who continued to brew pregnancy-safe pain potions. To her delight, they seemed to enable her to get through her morning sickness with very little pain.
What did cause pain, though, was the feeling she had of being watched the whole time. She couldn't put her finger on it; but she felt that people were talking about her behind her back. Occasionally she would hear whispered words, and she couldn't quite tell whether it was paranoia on her part, or whether the words really were they "strange" and "pregnant" and "Draco", which seemed to be what she heard.
Eventually she was so concerned about this, and the possible effects on both her studies and her pregnancy, that she sought an interview with the Headmistress, which took place just before dinner on Tuesday. MacGonagall was sympathetic; but, as she pointed out, Hogwarts was always full of gossip and, without any concrete allegations, there was little she could do about it.
"I do think," the Headmistress had said in conclusion, "that you should have a word with Miss Parkinson."
And the way that she said it, and the look that she gave Hermione, quite put the wind up the bookworm. Had the rumours reached her ears? Was Pansy pregnant as well, like Draco had hinted? Did the Headmistress know they were both pregnant? Would she tell? Would Hermione be expelled for not telling her herself? She made her way to the Great Hall, determined to speak to the Slytherin. She needed to know what was going on, and, if nothing else, she felt Pansy would make a good ally against the rumours; as a Slytherin, she would most likely have a good idea just who was spreading them.
-#-
Tuesday night saw a meeting of the Beauxbatons girls in the room that Madame Dubois nominally shared with Eva Thillin. The room had been enlarged by the use of Wizarding space, and was now essentially a two-bedroom apartment with a large sitting room that they could congregate in. The chaperone conjured seats and cushions for them all, and they lounged together. Eva Thillin had asked the Hogwarts house-elves if they could provide drinks and snacks, and, true to form, a magnificent spread of little pastries, some hot and savory, some cold and sweet, together with pumpkin juice and hot drinks, had been laid out. Thillin was careful to go around the room and make sure everyone was comfortable and had their drink of choice; her position was still precarious, and anything she could do to shore it up would be good.
The problem, though, was still the Thibault twins; Marie still flat-out refused to have anything to do with her former friend, while Danielle clearly merely tolerated her. Once again, she wondered just how much they knew; she would have to get away soon, that was clear. It was too risky, she thought, as she took her seat, what with that too-clever-by-half Auror, and these two, and Madame having had sharp words with her.
The first topic of discussion was, of course, the spiked pumpkin juice. All but Angelique Delacour had been affected that morning, and they had spent the day seething with rage. Now they were alone, and at last able to converse with one another without any of the other students, they had two comforts: they were amongst their own, and they could speak in French.
There was a long discussion about what they might do to get their own back. And in the midst of the discussion, which had wandered on to talk about who had been seen wandering about the castle, Eva Thillin came out of her personal reverie, having spotted a chance.
"I have heard that Monsieur Malfoy and Mademoiselle Granger have been seen together in our common room," she said quietly.
"No!" Gabrielle Delacour shrieked. "They are both promised to others!"
"But yes!" Madame Dubois replied. "I too have seen them together! And the way they look at each other!"
And the conversation immediately intensified into suspicions about exactly who was sleeping with whom. All grist to the mill, and Eva found it very gratifying; but she had an end to achieve, so she added,
"I have also heard tell that Monsieur Malfoy and Mademoiselle Granger have gone up to her room, together, unchaperoned."
She had played it just right. The conversation swirled around; and then Marie Thibault voiced her suspicion that Hermione was in fact pregnant, and the rumour mill span and span.
Eva was delighted. The spotlight was well and truly off her, now, just like her escape plan needed. If she could only keep it that way for ten more days, she should be able to get away scot free. Especially as her contact at the Ministry was being so very sympathetic to a poor, misunderstood French girl …
-#-
Pansy was a little mystified that Hermione wanted to speak to her privately, but had agreed readily enough. She was all for letting bygones be bygones, after all; it hadn't taken her long to work out that, with suspected Death Eater sympathies, even if she was not at risk of imprisonment, she was going to find it hard to get on after school, and being friendly with the Golden Trio could hardly hurt.
So she happily turned up at the brunette's room ten minutes after dinner, as agreed. She brought her books with her, partly because she half-wondered if Hermione wanted to discuss their classes, but mostly because it made an excellent cover. No-one would think twice about anyone visiting Hermione to discuss school-work. Hermione noticed Pansy's school-bag, worked it out, and smiled at her.
"Good cover," she said.
"So we won't be doing work?"
"No," Hermione replied with a smile. "Um, I wanted to get your opinion about things that are going on."
"Oh," said Pansy, as she realised with delight that this would be a meeting about the gossip going around. "Such as?"
Hermione took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy.
-#-
Hermione came early to breakfast the next day; so early that she was the first person in the Great Hall. Her head was still reeling from all that she and Pansy had discussed. It was strange, she reflected, that after six years of antipathy, if not outright hatred, and a year apart, they were now getting on like a cauldron on the fire. She thought for a second about just how that had happened; but in truth the answer was right in front of her – literally, as he walked into the room – Harry Potter. The wizard who had given his life to defeat Voldemort had become the wizard who was unifying their society and quietly, without fuss or fanfare, converting those around him from open war to open friendship.
It gave her hope. Hope that perhaps all the gossip might be got over. And, she had learnt, there was plenty of that! Everyone was talking about Harry, that came as no surprise; and there was still the belief that Draco had bewitched him in some way, compulsion charm or Imperio or potion or blackmail of some sort. Of course, anyone who knew Harry knew it was all preposterous, but unfortunately gossips didn't tend to listen to reason.
"Morning, Hermione," Harry said, as he sat down opposite her. "What are you thinking about?"
Hermione laughed. "Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"Er – yeah," Harry replied, not quite seeing what was funny. Hermione was always thinking, after all.
"Pansy and I had a bit of a chat last night," she said, dropping her voice, aware that, even though they were alone for the moment, anyone could walk in at any time, or be listening from outside the room.
"Oh good," Harry replied, his face lighting up, and Hermione loved him all the more. "I'm glad you're getting on."
"Yes, we have a surprising amount in common," she said drily. "Including …" and here she rubbed one hand over her belly.
Harry looked a little lost for a second; then he must have worked it out, because his smile broadened. "That's great!" he said, a little too loudly.
"Yes," Hermione said, putting a finger to her lips. Harry blushed a little, and nodded to show he understood: this was a secret, so he needed to talk quietly.
"So, what else?" he asked much more quietly.
"Well, according to rumour, Draco has you under the Imperius curse, or a love potion; he and I are shagging; he and Pansy are shagging; I'm pregnant with Theo's twins; Michael Corner is plotting to get you with more of the trick galleons, Oh and Eva Thillin was Imperioed by Danielle Thibault, or maybe it was Blaise. And the fourth-years are all going to brew love potions and try to slip them in your drinks. And …"
"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed. "Pansy told you all that?"
"Yes, and a bit more besides," Hermione said. "Why?"
"It's just … I'd expected rumours, of course. But doesn't this seem too much? And all focusing on the same few people. No little jealousies amongst the fifth years? No crushes on the young teachers? I'd expect Robin to have his own little group of fan-girls talking about nothing else, wouldn't you?"
"I see what you mean," Hermione said musingly. "What do you think it means?"
"What does 'e think what means?" Blaise said, as he and Angelique took seats next to the other two, Blaise sitting on Harry's right and Angelique on Hermione's left.
"Oh, all the stuff going on," Harry said, vaguely. "For one, how come your hair didn't go pink, Angelique?"
The French girl blushed, a little in awe of being so freely addressed by the Great Harry Potter.
"Well," she replied, "a delightful wizard I know taught me a leetle charm to detect such foolishness when ze ozer students returned."
Harry turned to Blaise, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Yes, it was me," he replied with a laugh. "My girlfriend is too kind."
"Oh! Good!" said Harry. While their courtship wasn't exactly news, of course, Blaise and Angelique hadn't openly made any announcement about it since accepting the congratulations from the few students who had been sitting around them last week, and Harry had wondered if perhaps Blaise had regretted being so open, so un-Slytherin, about it. But apparently not.
"What's good?" a female voice asked as Pansy and Theo arrived, sitting together holding hands. Harry looked around to see that the Hall was starting to fill up; he hoped they could steer the conversation to safer subjects.
"It's good that love seems to be in the air," Draco replied as he too arrived and took a seat on Harry's left.
"Really?" Pansy asked mockingly. "And who have you fallen for?"
"Not telling," Draco asked, as he gave Harry a kiss. There were general choruses of "awww!", and breakfast got under way.
But there were other eyes watching. Eyes that wondered if there were true words spoken in jest here. Wondered if perhaps the rumours about Draco and Hermione might not have some truth to them after all.
-#-
Michael Corner meant what he had said at the opening feast: over the time he had spent away from Hogwarts, it had become clear to him that the antagonisms of the past had to go. He had always arrogantly assumed that being in Ravenclaw proved that he was smarter than everyone else; it had really hurt to be out-manoeuvred by a Beauxbatons student. He had underestimated her, and his pride had paid a considerable price.
But he was a Ravenclaw; and Ravenclaws learnt from their mistakes. It was clear that being arrogant and antagonistic were not going to get him anywhere; not least because it was very clear that Harry Potter frowned on such things. And anyone could see that Harry Potter was the darling of the moment. Corner had an opportunity to get back in his good books, and he was damned if he was going to squander it.
So when the rumours began swirling around, and the little petty incidents started up again, he did nothing. Before, he would have made snide remarks (particularly, he remembered to his shame, about Hufflepuffs; it was all very well to bang on about how stupid they were, but Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan weren't the boys who had got kicked out of eighth year) and egged on the fight, just for the fun of watching people land themselves in hot water with the Professors while remaining safe himself; but now he decided he was much better off keeping his head down and staying out of sight.
But as the week went on, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps he had become infected with Potter's do-goodishness; but it just felt wrong to him. Sure, there had always been low-level jinxing going on at Hogwarts; there was a sort of unwritten understanding about what was acceptable and what was not; what students would accept as normal activity and what would send them scurrying to teachers. But somehow, things were different this year. While much of what went on was just like previous years, there seemed to be currents running under the rumours that had a bit more bite to them. And that felt wrong. The war was over; they should be getting on better; but as he watched from the sidelines, that wasn't how it felt at all.
It was Thursday before Corner twigged to what was going on beneath the surface. Mostly the jinxes and name-calling kept just under the line; but he suddenly realised that the younger Ravenclaws were not being targeted as much as usual, and wondered what that meant. As he watched carefully, it became apparent: the other Houses were targeting the young Slytherins almost exclusively. And, he realised, they were most especially targeting Alice Abertomom, the first student who had been sorted into Slytherin, the student Harry had applauded and thereby, evidently, unintentionally turned into a target.
Corner was surprised to find he was actually quite upset about this. But when he thought about it, it made sense: he had all but got expelled for such jealous rivalry, and he wasn't going to stand by and let anyone else perpetuate it. Accordingly, on Friday morning, as he was coming out of the Transfiguration classroom and saw Alice get hit by a tripping jinx, he blew his top.
"EXPELLIARMUS!" he yelled, and the wands of the four third-year students who had attacked her sailed towards him. He looked them up and down.
"Two Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs," he said to them icily. "I can understand Hufflepuffs being stupid, but I should have hoped that my own Housemates would understand the need for a bit more sense!"
The four were rescued from any more of the seventh-year student's wrath by the arrival of Professor Slughorn.
"Now just exactly what is going on here?" he demanded when he saw a student cowering on the floor, a first-year by the size of her. Then he recognised Michael Corner, and his voice took on a steely edge. "What have you been up to, Mr Corner? I should have thought you would have more sense than to attack first-years!"
And then he recognised Alice as one of his students.
"Are you hurt, my dear?" he asked, kindly.
"N-no," the girl said as she came hesitantly to her feet. She wasn't quite sure what to do now. The other students had told her off before now for going around by herself; they had expected that the others would target Slytherin and it was cold comfort to know that they were right. And this was only a tripping jinx, and she knew she shouldn't blab; but it was a bit difficult now that that other boy had come, and her House-master as well. And Slughorn had grasped the wand at the wrong end, like he usually did. It would have been easy to just run away and leave Slughorn to sort everything out; but since this older boy had had the decency to stand up for her, she decided she should do the same; it couldn't hurt to have a seventh year on her side.
"Um, I was attacked with a tripping jinx by these four-" she began, but was cut off.
"That's a lie!" one of the four, a red-headed Hufflepuff, said indignantly, and Michael immediately picked him as the ringleader. "We were just going to Charms when this girl ran into us!"
"And I then came and took your wands for no reason, is that it?" Corner asked.
The other boy glowered at him. "Pretty much," he replied belligerently.
"What's your name?" Corner demanded.
"Evan Eranthus," the boy replied.
"And is this your wand?" the interrogation continued, as Michael held up a seven inch wand of ash. Evan nodded.
"Figures," Michael mutters to himself. "Short and stubborn, like its owner." Then, out loud, he addressed the Professor, "I wonder, sir, if you would be kind enough to cast Prior Incantato on this wand to see if what Alice says is true?"
Slughorn, a little mollified by this appeal to him as an authority, took the wand and cast the spell.
"Yes indeed," he replied as he examined the result. "A tripping jinx, not especially powerful or skilful, and cast in the last ten minutes." He glowered at the Hufflepuff, "What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"
"I'm sure I'm very sorry, sir," the other replied.
"Indeed. Not as sorry as the four of you will be after serving detention tonight. Now, if Mr Corner will give you your wands back, you had best be off to Charms. And you can explain to Professor Goshawk that you were late because I was disciplining you."
"But-" the other Hufflepuff said, his eyes going wide; they had heard of Miranda Goshawk by reputation, and she was rumoured to be fiercer than McGonagall, "—she'll just give us another detention!"
"Then," Slughorn countered, "I'd rush."
And, as Corner handed their wands back, they did so.
By now, Alice had composed herself, and turned to the Professor.
"May I go now, sir?" she asked.
"Of course, my dear. Please give my apologies for your tardiness to your teacher."
"Thank you, sir," she said, and turned to Corner. "And thank you for your help."
"You're welcome," the Ravenclaw replied with a polite smile, and the little Slytherin ran off.
"Yes," Slughorn amplified, "thank you. You do seem to have grown up a bit?"
"Well, sir," the young man replied, "I did quite a lot of thinking while I was excluded, and I decided Harry was right. Judging people by their houses is stupid, and only breeds arrogance and prejudice. I've noticed that the students are still picking on the Slytherins mostly, and it's got to stop."
"I would be interested to hear your thoughts about that," Slughorn replied. "Do you have time for a chat?"
"Yes, sir, I have a free period now."
"Excellent!" Slughorn exclaimed, and led the other to his office.
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