March 10th

Harry woke with a start at Hermione's touch on his shoulder, lifting his face off the desk while blindly groping for the grey knobby wand. Hermione had already rolled it well away from his hand. After the brief second of shock, Harry relaxed and mumbled sorry. He rubbed his hands through his hair while his elbows and shoulders made strained clicking and snapping sounds.

Sleeping face down on a desk was suboptimal. Harry reached for the wand, stopping his hand a few inches short of it. Nothing happened.

Not that he'd expected it to. By this point repeating that experiment is desperation, not science, Ravenclaw said accusingly. With a sigh Harry pocketed the wand.

"Harry, you need to get ready, " she said. "It's time." Harry didn't say anything. He bit back all the words he felt.

It's a waste of time.

This is a mere status display, like self-flagellation among the more extreme religious sects. But here we just mentally beat ourselves up instead of suffering physical damage.

I need to finish my investigation, to find out if there is going to be another attack.

Private grief counts just as much as grief in public.

All Harry's inner voices were speaking at once, a cacophony of jumbled thoughts trying to drown each other out. Hufflepuff spoke. Humans can't live like that, remember? and Harry's mind went silent for almost a full minute.

Hermione had on her formal robes, and if she hadn't slept much Harry certainly couldn't tell by looking at her. Hermione appeared to need less sleep than most people, although she still got tired. Harry suspected that in stressful situations she suffered no ill long term effects from having adrenaline coursing through her blood, so that she could stay awake much longer than a typical teenage girl. Her hair flowed smoothly as she turned her head to look around Harry's study, full of transcripts, notes, charts, and quickly drawn timelines. New documents, as the scorch marks on the walls and semi-melted shelving had been hurriedly replaced.

Even at times like this, she looks beautiful. Harry quickly pushed that thought aside. He couldn't afford a sudden burst of puberty. Not now. He reached for his new set of formal robes to change, they both knew they'd be late if he didn't hurry.

Hermione had walked over to a corkboard that Harry had used to pin notes and examined it carefully while Harry slipped into his formal robes. Times ran along the top from afternoon of Sunday March 6th until Monday Evening. Persons of Interest ran down the side. Harry's timeline was simple. He'd been smuggled out of Hogwarts, unconscious. Hermione double checked the information on her timeline, if anything was wrong it might mess up the investigation. But it was perfect. Most of the timelines were being filled in as part of the investigation. Draco's position at times had been recorded, several appearances in the hallway, his meeting with Hermione, there was a seperate detailed timeline on the Battle of Peverell and lots of lines and question marks there, ending with the discovery of Draco's body. There were large gaps.

"Any ideas?" Hermione asked, still focused on the corkboard. She wanted to apologize again, for not stopping things when she had a chance, but Harry had simply shrugged and said it was his fault.

"I've pinned down a lot of the how." Harry's voice sounded normal to himself. He wondered if it sounded that way to Hermione, or if it sounded colder. He'd had to summon the cold more and more, these last few days. "There are still some puzzles, and a lot of things that confuse me. But mainly ... I don't get the why. After the ... After we're done we'll go talk to Lockhart."

"You can call it a funeral, Harry" she said quietly.

"I'm not sure he's dead, Hermione," Harry said as he slid into his robes. "I mean, it's amazing Draco survived as long he did. But since he did, he had the near perfect mix of tools to fake his own death, and that can't be an accident..."

Hermione must have heard the swish of his robes, or some other indication that he was finished and dressed, because she spun around to glare at him.

"Harry James Potter. You will not mention anything to that effect at the funeral. Imagine what it would do to everyone. To Narcissa. Not to mention the Longbottoms. Outside of this room you will not breathe a word of Draco being alive until you have solid proof."

Her voice echoed throughout the room for a second, and then she continued, quieter. "Better for everyone to think he's dead and then get a shocked when he re-appears. Far better than false hope. Believe me."

Harry nodded, accepting the rebuke even though he'd had no intention of telling anyone. I'd just been discussing the problem. In any case, he attacked me, Harry thought, but he recognized this as one of those times when other people would just call him insensitive if he discussed his thoughts. They left his study, and Harry continued to review what he knew.

Harry had already rejected many hypothesis. The obvious one was that this was an attack against him, but Draco could have done that without attacking Peverell. At much less risk. Had the point been for Draco to fake his death? Why? Draco could have done that much easier, during a break from school. Harry turned this over and again it felt like he was missing information. He kept coming back to the fact that Draco hadn't killed him, but attacked him. Harry shook his head. He needed another angle of attack.

Consider the equipment Draco used, ignoring the goblin forged items for now. Where had Draco gotten all the potions? They seemed excessive, but then Harry realized he didn't really know how much these things cost. Still, beyond Draco's capability to brew. Had he contacted Snape? If so, he could have an arsenal of potions. After a moment or two of thought, Harry shook his head. Unlikely, and a complexity penalty to boot. Just assume that Draco bought everything, he was rich. Harry frowned and tried to consider another direction to view the problem from.

Harry and Hermione walked in silence, descending down the staircases, past the burnt rooms and missing tapestries, until they arrived at the main level of Hogwarts and joined the procession of students and teachers just as they headed outside.

Overhead the sky was a bright, beautiful blue, with not a cloud in sight, and flocks of birds frolicked in the spring air.

Students sniffled. Most Hufflepuffs were openly crying. Vincent had stood next to the rejuvenated Augusta Longbottom, who could have passed for a fifth year, and Neville's parents. They had cycled through shock, confusion, grief and anger as the ceremony went on before finally breaking down into quiet sobs during Pomona Sprout's eulogy. Few of the words registered with Harry, even though he'd stopped thinking about the investigation.

Now that services were over students milled around, hugging and talking in low murmurs. Professor Slughorn, in resplendent black robes, silk and flowing like water around his form, spoke clearly above the crowd.

"Slytherins."

Slughorn stood immobile for a second then turned and headed back indoors, away from the crowd and the grass and the rest of the mourners. As he turned he pulled his cowl over his round face. Professor Slughorn walked at a deliberate pace, and the students of his house fell in behind him, a solemn procession. Harry looked towards Hermione, who'd gone over to say a few words to Alice Longbottom. He didn't want to join her, didn't want to face them. Harry stood torn between the two groups. I don't have the words, I don't have any power here. Hermione motioned for him to go with a small gesture.

Vincent stood talking to Gregory, and then they both joined the procession. Professor Slughorn stood at the entrance back into Hogwarts. As each students passed by they covered their head with their hood, reminding Harry of medieval monks. Harry made his decision, falling in beside Gregory and Vincent, pulling the hood over his head as he passed into Hogwarts. They walked silently, although not down into the dungeons. The procession veered off, and Harry realized they were heading to the Muggle Studies lecture hall. All Slytherins walked together, each alone in thought for the entire descent.

They arrived back into the large hall. The map for the Muggle Naval simulation stood, empty and solemn behind the lecture podium. The students lined up in a large semi-circle around the podium, squeezing in, with almost no shifting and only the occasional cough or noise as Harry filed in and took the next available space. Harry stood silent, wondering at how easily everyone coordinated. The instinct to blend in, to follow the crowd turned this into a solemn event and Harry didn't want to be the one to ruin it. The first years came and took the center area in front of the podium. Professor Slughorn had apparently fallen in behind them once they'd entered Hogwarts. He entered the room last. No, next to last as Narcissa Malfoy stepped foot in the room, in simple black robes, her face still covered by the veil she'd worn through the funeral. Well, thought Harry, he'd invited all Slytherins. Narcissa hesitated, and stayed by the door.

Professor Slughorn walked to the podium, trailed by a walking chest that Harry hadn't seen before.

He stepped behind the lecturn and threw back his hood, and for the first time Harry could see the pained look on his face. Professor Slughorn had said a few words during the funerals, he'd praised Neville and Draco with a calm ferocity during his brief eulogy, but he'd shown no grief. Now he wiped his cheeks and motioned for the students to reveal their faces and Harry pulled back his hood, he felt ashamed at how many other wet faces there were in the crowd, and his cheeks flushed red.

Professor Slughorn opened his chest, which had stopped beside him, and pulled out a bottle and a goblet.

"This wine was a gift from a former student, one of four casks liberated from Grindelwald's cellars shortly after Headmaster Dumbledore defeated him, and on a happier day I'd tell you the story of how I got a cask, but it doesn't matter now." Professor Slughorn pulled out several more bottles. "I told myself that I'd only drink it when I accomplished something great. So I've been waiting. I don't particularly want to keep them anymore, and I can think of nothing better than to drink them right now."

Normally, the students would have broken into small conversations, gasped at the implications, but most everyone remained silent and the few students that started to say something stopped quickly when the glares of the others silenced them. Professor Slughorn dramatically pulled out a scroll out from inside his robes and rolled it open. He examined it for a second, then sighed and shook his head before rolling the scroll up.

"I had a prepared speech, but there were many kind words said at the funerals," said Professor Slughorn, carefully opening the first bottle and pouring some into his goblet, "and there were many true words, and they were lovely. But there are some words that should only be said in private."

He took a deep drink of the wine, and Harry saw his hands shaking as he took the first sip. Horace Slughorn swallowed the wine in a greedy gulp, paused for a second, and then slammed the goblet back onto the podium.

"Slytherin is the House of Failure," he said in a booming voice as he poured another glass of wine.

"I have this wine because I have done nothing of note, and I have done nothing of note because the vast majority of my ambitions were petty. I only had one great ambition: to mentor great students, you see. To live through their victories. And I have taught and nurtured talent, wonderful talent. I would brag and gloat on them, and wheedle my students into becoming more. They say that Slytherin is the House of Ambition, but to have ambitions means chasing your dreams. And many of us never catch them. But what is worse, what is oh so much worse is to accomplish everything you ever wanted."

"Then you wake up one morning and discover that you only possess things you used to want," he said, then drank a second cup of wine, and this time his hands were steady.

"I wanted to mentor the Greatest Slytherin since Salazar and I have now failed three times, in three different ways. For David Monroe I was just a callow new Potions Professor, and I had no idea what he would become. I missed that opportunity, so I kept my eyes focused on the next great one. And I spotted the next great fighting wizard and poured my energy into helping him. He went on to murder so many people, and I didn't see it coming. And to my shame, I did nothing to stop the monster I'd help create."

Professor Slughorn paused to drink another cup of wine, and finally the room gasped, as the implication was recognized. Harry started to say something, to try and tell Professor Slughorn that it wasn't his fault, that nothing could have fixed Voldemort, to ease the man's pain. But he dare not reveal what he knew, and if Professor Slughorn wanted to get drunk and drown his sorrows after a funeral, Harry understood. Well, he didn't understand the impulse but recognized that it was a common - even typical - response to death.

"And now, again, I recognize a student who had drive and an ambition - a worthy ambition, not like mine. A student born into a Noble House but nobody nobody is born into greatness. You become great by work, courage, cleverness and yes, by ambition. And now I've failed a 3rd time. Because today I buried Draco Malfoy. To Draco," he said, raising his goblet.

"To Draco," the room said in a chant, except for a quiet mewling sob that came from the doorway. Professor Slughorn drained his goblet and then pulled out a set of glasses, small thin glasses that Harry associated with champagne. "Does anyone else wish to say anything?" Professor Slughorn asked, as he poured some wine.

Gregory stepped forward and took the first proffered glass, then turned to face the rest of the students, who fell silent again. "When Dad explained to me, how he worked for Lucius Malfoy. I ... I was appalled. To be in someone's shadow, to be someone's assistant? To never be known for what I did. But as I got to know Draco, it didn't seem bad. He was my friend and Who wouldn't help their friend? But still, I could assist him while being my own person, flying for England in the World Cup," Gregory said, as the crowd gave a small cheer with a few scattered whistles. "I could help him, but the name of Gregory Goyle would also be known throughout the world, while Draco Malfoy's name would be relegated to hushed whispers in political circles."

Gregory paused, and when he spoke again his voice broke. "And now nobody will remember him, and my fame will outlive his. And it tastes like ashes in my mouth."

Gregory quickly drank the wine, face scrunched up, and then set down the glass on the podium. Professor Slughorn refilled it and handed it back to Gregory who had a confused look on his face until Professor Slughorn motioned that he was to hand the glass to someone else. Gregory stood there for a moment, looking around the room, but Blaise Zabini stepped forward and extended his hand.

Gregory passed the wine to him.

"I thought I had a rivalry with Draco; I was the glorious underdog fighting the scion of House Malfoy. I could see how we'd spar, over the years, but I'd subtly outmaneuver him to become Minister of Magic. I'd save the day. I'd get the girl. And now ...," Blaise's voice trailed off for a second, and he almost took a sip of the wine before quickly lowering the glass, "... now I know that when he invited me into his circle, it wasn't just a gambit, it was sincere. Because I don't know what he was doing, but it was bigger than me. I was playing a child's game. Draco probably thought it was cute. To Draco."

"To Draco," the room answered, as Blaise took just a sip of the wine, then held the glass out. Hestia Carrow took it.

"Why should he have gotten someone back, when I lost so much?" she said through tears, looking directly at Narcissa Malfoy. "I'm sorry. He got you back, even though it was more his family's fault than mine, but he came out unscathed. Maybe that was just another mask..." she took a sip of wine before remembering to add "To Draco," and while the room responded she passed the glass along then went over to Narcissa, who spoke to her quietly, before they embraced. Professor Slughorn had poured a few more glasses, which were slowly making their way around the room.

Daphne Greengrass held up a glass, and the room shifted its attention to her. Harry looked at her, at her soft green cheeks that had stayed dry throughout this entire day. She really is lovely, Harry thought. "It is right and proper for us to remember our friend. Draco would have wanted us to remember Neville Longbottom, too. Draco plotted with him. I suppose that's obvious. I thought he was plotting with me, too, but I guess not, since... Draco once called Neville his conscience, the only one that he felt was brave enough to publicly call Draco out if he thought he was wrong. That may be silly, but I was thinking back to last year, to the troll attack, and while the rest of us were frozen in the Great Hall only Harry tried to rescue Hermione ... and only Neville stood up to him."

"And now there are such terrible rumours floating around, and some people are saying Draco attacked Hogwarts, and some are saying that he saved it, and all I can think of is ... Whatever Draco was planning, Neville thought it was a good idea, too. To Draco and Neville."

Everyone said "To Draco," but only about half of the room added "and Neville," Harry noted, while reflecting on Daphne's speech. When Harry interviewed her yesterday Daphne had told him about the meeting in January, when Draco proposed going after the Hall of Prophecies. No doubt whatever Draco had told Neville in their private sessions had been very convincing. Draco had probably dosed himself with Veritaserum ... but that still didn't explain what Draco had planned, why he hadn't just killed Harry if he'd thought he was Voldemort.

Professor Slughorn had started mingling around the room while Daphne spoke, and now he was standing besides Harry. He offered a glass of butterbeer, and Harry looked down at it quizzically, his train of thought broken.

"Unless you'd prefer wine?" Slughorn said.

"No, this is fine," Harry replied. I don't need to cloud my judgment, especially now. Harry felt the rest of the room silence, as glasses stopped moving around and people turned to him.

"Everyone thinks I can just snap my fingers to fix things," he said, haltingly. "Draco knew better. I don't think Slytherin is the House of Failure. Humanity is. We get so many things wrong. A Muggle Prime Minister once said about America, 'That it always does the right thing, after it tries every other possibility' but it's not just one country. We stumble around, groping in the dark without a torch, doing the best we can. Is it any wonder we bang our knees or fall down stairs?"

Harry paused. He knew, at some level, that this plot had been directed against himself. Harry believed, but couldn't yet prove, that Draco may be alive. But if he was alive then he'd certainly planned to fake his own death. One of Draco's mantras was that A good move has multiple purposes and Harry kicked himself for just now realizing that Draco's death had unified House Slytherin, and there was no way Harry Potter would splinter them apart and undo Draco's (possibly) final plot.

"There are people who should have seen the attempted theft of Merlin's Chalice coming and stopped it. They were caught by surprise, and some of them are dead. Maybe I should have seen it coming and snapped my fingers, but I don't actually have any powers. Draco stumbled into this attack and managed to stop several adult wizards. He raised the alarm. He should have run away, but he pretended to lose to the attackers and then struck at a critical moment."

The students nodded, recalling the lesson they'd all learned in one form or another from the second defense lecture. Meanwhile, part of Harry recoiled at what he was saying. Harry still didn't understand all of Draco's plots. Publicly lauding Draco's plot was - at the very least - incautious, but it had been several days and they'd rounded up all the surviving attackers. Draco's plot had taken months to set up, and he couldn't vary it now without revealing he was alive. There was a risk in praising Draco. He'd set up the chess set where Harry would find it, and the message seemed clear. Draco was taking us both out of the game.

But in spite of all that, Harry still considered Draco a friend. He'd plot against him, but he couldn't bring himself to sully Draco's name. Especially not with Narcissa Malfoy in the room, grieving. If nothing else, she was innocent and didn't deserve this pain. Harry knew it was irrational to go the extra step and praise Draco instead of just mouthing a platitude.

"We heard from some Auror's at the funeral, praising Draco and Neville. I think when the truth comes out, their names will live on. To my friends. To Draco and Neville."

Harry noticed - as he drank the butter beer - that everyone responded "To Draco and Neville." Harry grimaced as he finished the glass. Harry knew butter-beer was non-alcoholic, but was it supposed to taste more like beer or more like a desert? Not that he had much in the way to compare it to. Professor Slughorn took the glass back and refilled it, moving among the students.

"I don't think Slytherin is the House of Failure," Vincent said. "I'm not more successful because I left. Maybe, maybe I failed Draco because I left. Not because of Slytherin. He wanted me to go, he wanted me to be happy and it cost him. I was supposed to protect him and I was gone...I'm so sorry..."

Gregory put his arm around Vince's shoulders as he was speaking, and hugged him and Lady Malfoy moved to join them. There was a silence, not awkward Harry thought, but extended, before a small voice said.

"I didn't want to be in Slytherin, not really." Everyone turned to Colin Creevey, who held a glass up high and spoke in a surprisingly steady voice for a first year addressing the rest of the house.

"You were following Harry Potter," chuckled Professor Slughorn. "So when ..."

"No!" Colin said, interrupting. "No. I was trying to follow Hermione Granger, but then she switched houses and when I tried to switch the Sorting Hat accused me of being too sneaky and sent me here..."

Colin didn't get to finish, because by the time he'd gotten halfway through his sentence Professor Slughorn's chuckles had turned into belly laughs and the rest of the room joined in and laughed uproariously. Narcissa's laughter sounded pure, like the ringing of wind chimes. Harry laughed so hard his throat started hurting.

"It wasn't so bad. I mean, I wasn't treated worse than any other first year, which is pretty bad, I guess." The room laughed some more at that. "But then came the Purple-Green war, and I know how a lot of you felt. Mad that I got to be the General, even though it was just random. And then I got murdered. But afterwards, I realized something. Harry could have taken over from me any time, like Daphne said. He probably should have, he was a better General. Harry was being polite, he was holding back."

"But Draco treated me just like any other enemy. Draco didn't condescend to me, he tried to crush me in every way he knew how and Draco got me killed. And then, since it was just a game, he came by later and told me that I'd done a good job and gave me some advice for next time. Maybe he thought I was a joke, but he never treated me like one. To Draco."

Pansy Parkinson had raised her glass during Colin's speech. The room barely finished "To Draco," when she started talking. Harry had spent the latter part of Colin's speech suppressing a cough, and now he could no longer help himself and was coughing quite loudly, doubled over.

"Harry?" said Gregory, "Do you need some water?" just as the fire in his throat spread to his chest and arms.

"No, I just..." Harry couldn't finish the sentence before his body spasmed with another fit of coughs. Unable to talk, Harry started signing with his right hand, getting out B-E-Z before his fingers spasmed uncontrollably and he fell to his knees. Harry heard several shouts. Professor Slughorn cast a spell Harry recognized as a linking spell from the Muggle War Simulation, but that didn't make sense. Several students rushed out the door or summoned their Patronus to fetch help. Someone was trying to push something into his mouth, and Harry opened his eyes to see Professor Slughorn looming in front of him, saying something about poison.

But the most likely poisoner would be Slughorn, Harry thought. He'd provided the drinks. Harry didn't have fine motor control but he jerked his arm and slapped the stone away out of Professor Slughorn's hands and screamed No! although it came out as a wail.

Two seconds later several spells knocked Professor Slughorn to the ground beside him, unblocking Harry's line of sight. Professor Slughorn raised his wand at Harry but several students rushed between them, and he didn't fire. With Slughorn no longer kneeling in front of him, Harry could see clear across the room.

The map on the wall now showed not the standard map for the Muggle Naval Simulation, but the room's layout. Names rushed across the display. Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe - both written in elegant calligraphy - moved from besides the podium towards Tom Riddle. Goyle and Crabbe moved away from Narcissa Malfoy, who stood off in the corner of the room. The poison made thinking difficult, nothing made sense and then Harry saw the real Narcissa in the corner of his eye, facing away from him, unmoving. Staring up at the map on the wall and he focused on the name Tom Riddle and in a flash Harry understood. Vincent and Gregory were pouring spells into Horace Slughorn, although he appeared to already be unconscious. (That doesn't make sense, thought Ravenclaw, a Professor should be able to withstand two second years while the rest of the voices were screaming to Harry that he was dying).

Narcissa said "No," in a quiet voice, lifting her veil to get a better look at the wall.

Harry's vision started contracting, degrees falling away as his focus narrowed. His eyes stung from the smoke. Harry could see foam falling from his mouth to the floor. He heard Hermione's shout and the scream of a Phoenix. Narcissa Malfoy answered with a screaming No! as she whirled and fired a curse as his vision faded completely.