Chapter 38: The Waiting Game
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 38: The Waiting Game
January bled into February with agonising slowness.
The snow that had blanketed the castle grounds for weeks began to melt into grey slush, revealing patches of dead brown grass beneath.
But even with the slight change in weather, Harry felt as miserable as before.
Over a month had passed since their terrible encounter with the High Inquisitor, and there was still no news about their friend, Pansy.
No letters, no messages, and no updates from the professors, who pretended she never existed in the first place.
Harry, Draco, and Crabbe had taken to eating breakfast together in silence, huddled at the far end of the Slytherin table, as far from the whispers as they could get.
They sat with their backs to the wall, their eyes scanning the hall, never quite relaxing. The rumours had not died...if anything, they had grown more elaborate and more cruel.
Some students claimed Pansy had been sent to a special prison in the North Sea. Others whispered that she had been killed and her body hidden, just like her brother's.
He had written three letters to the Ministry, asking for information about Pansy's state and an update on when she will return to school. Three letters, carefully worded and trying to sound polite. Three letters were sent via Vesper, who had returned each time with empty talons.
No replies. Not even a formal acknowledgment that they had received his messages.
"My father still has some contacts at the Ministry," Draco said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. The students nearest to them were deep in conversation about Quidditch, paying them no attention. Still, Draco lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "Old friends from before the war. People who owe him favours. They might be able to find out something about Pansy."
Harry looked up. "How?"
"They work in the Ministry. Low‑level positions, mostly clerks, archivists, nothing glamorous. But they hear things. They see paperwork that isn't supposed to be seen." Draco pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, covered in his neat, cramped handwriting. "I've already written to my father. He said he would reach out to them. But it will take time."
"How much time?" Harry asked.
Draco shook his head. "Weeks. Maybe longer. The Ministry doesn't like answering questions about re‑education. It's… secret. Even the families of the people sent there aren't told anything."
Crabbe spoke for the first time. "That's true. No one really knows what goes there. And those who return from re-education...they never talk about what happened to them."
The table fell silent.
Harry's hands curled into fists under the table. He hated this feeling of impotence.
<><><><><><><><><><>
On Tuesday afternoon, Harry was walking by himself, making his way towards the last floor of the castle.
His mood was sour. Because today he had one of his mandatory meetings with the Headmaster. He hated being so close to that old wizard.
The entire time he was in his office, he felt like he was being constantly analyzed.
Every comment, every look, every question...he had to be always on edge, trying to avoid making the wrong expression or saying something he shouldn't say.
If that was not enough, he had a brief confrontation with Ron Weasley on the way here.
The red-headed boy was taking a lot of joy from their unfortunate situation and would not waste a chance to make distasteful jokes about Pansy.
Harry could tolerate insults when they were being directed at himself. But the moment Ron mentioned his lost friend, he was ready to punch the smug boy with all his might.
And he would have done so, if Crabbe hadn't held him back.
"Oh..." Harry suddenly stopped.
Without realizing it, he had arrived at his destination.
"Password?" The stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office asked him, in its usual lazy tone.
"Ehm...I think it was Swizzels Squashies." Harry hesitated a bit.
But the gargoyle turned around, revealing a set of stairs.
'I wish they would use easier names... It's not like anyone would dare to sneak into Dumbledore's office.' Harry thought as he made his way up the stairs.
The Headmaster's office was warm and cluttered, the silver instruments whirring softly on their tables, as always.
Dumbledore sat behind his claw‑footed desk, a plate of lemon drops between them.
"Ah, Harry," he said, smiling. "Please, sit."
"Yes, Sir." Harry nooed and took a seat at his usual place, right in front of the Heasmter.
"How are you finding your detention with Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked, wasting no time.
"It's… fine, sir," Harry said, keeping his face neutral.
"Fine," Dumbledore repeated, as if tasting the word. "Not pleasant, I imagine. But discipline has its purpose." He leaned forward. "And your studies? Are you keeping up with your coursework?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I am glad to hear it." Dumbledore studied him over his half‑moon spectacles. "I hope you have been reflecting on our previous conversations. The choices we make, Harry...they shape not only our own futures but the futures of those around us."
Harry nodded. He knew what Dumbledore was doing...testing him. Probing for signs of rebellion.
"I have been reflecting, sir," Harry said carefully.
"Excellent." Dumbledore smiled again. "I have high hopes for you, Harry. I have always believed that you could be a force for great good if you choose the right path. Just like your parents." He paused. "The Parkinson girl's situation is regrettable. But it was not your doing. It was the result of choices she made. Do not carry guilt that is not yours to bear."
Harry said nothing. He knew that asking about Pansy to this man was useless. That was something he had learned during their first meeting.
Dumbledore reached for a lemon drop and unwrapped it slowly. "Tell me, Harry...how do you feel about your living situation? The Dursleys, I mean. You seem to have grown… attached to them."
Harry's stomach tightened. 'Why is he asking about them?' He had not mentioned the Durleys since their first conversation.
And Harry knew that this version of Dumbledore saw Muggles as nothing more than insects. Small, weak things that were not worth paying attention to.
"They've been good to me," Harry said carefully. Not wanting to say more than necessary. "They took care of me."
"Indeed, they did." Dumbledore popped the lemon drop into his mouth. "And yet, they are Muggles, limited in their understanding of the world you now inhabit. Do you ever feel… constrained by them? Held back?"
"No, sir."
"No?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. "Not even a little?"
Harry forced himself to meet the old man's eyes. "They're my family. I don't feel held back."
Dumbledore held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Such loyalty. An admirable quality. But loyalty must be directed wisely, Harry. It can be a strength...or a weakness."
He set down the lemon drop wrapper and folded his hands on the desk. "And what of your friends? Mr Malfoy and Mr Crabbe? Do you still spend time with them?"
"Yes, sir."
"They are… interesting companions." Dumbledore's voice was soft, almost thoughtful. "Mr Malfoy comes from a family that once stood against the Ministry. His father, Lucius, has spent years trying to rebuild their reputation. I imagine Draco feels the weight of that legacy keenly."
Harry said nothing.
"And Mr Crabbe," Dumbledore continued, "his father was executed for war crimes. A heavy burden for any child to bear." He paused. "You seem to have gathered a circle of wounded birds, Harry. Those who have lost much. Those who have reason to resent the world."
"They're my friends," Harry said, keeping his voice steady.
"I am not criticising," Dumbledore said mildly. "I am merely observing. It is… interesting." He leaned back. "Tell me, Harry...do you ever dream of your parents?"
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "No, Sir...I was just a baby when they died. I don't remember anything about them."
"No, I suppose you would not." Dumbledore kept his eyes on him the whole time. "Forgive this old man for such a silly question."
"I-it's okay..." Harry wondered what he was trying to do. Was there something else about his parents' deaths?. He knew they had been killed, but the details were vague, and apparently no one had a clear answer about what happened.
The common consensus was that they were both killed by the Dark Lord. But perhaps there was more to it.
Dumbledore's eyes seemed to bore into him. "What about your scar? Does it ever trouble you? ...a throb, an itch perhaps?"
Harry shook his head. "Not really." This was not the first time he had inquired about his scar. But it was true that he never felt anything wrong with it. It just felt like a normal old scar.
"Curious." Dumbledore picked up another lemon drop, then set it down without unwrapping it. "Your mother and father were exceptional people, Harry. They gave everything for the greater good. I have often wondered if some part of them lives on in you...some echo of their sacrifice."
"I wouldn't know, sir."
"No. Of course not." Dumbledore smiled again, but this time it felt colder than usual.
"One more question, Harry...and I hope you will answer honestly. Do you feel that the school has treated you fairly? After the incident at the lake?"
Harry's blood ran cold.
"I broke the rules," he said quietly. "I accept the punishment."
"But do you think it was fair?"
He knew this was a trap. Whatever he said, Dumbledore would use it against him.
"I think," Harry said slowly, "that the rules exist for a reason. And I broke them. So it was fair."
Dumbledore studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "A diplomatic answer. You are learning, Harry. That pleases me."
He waved a hand. "You may go now. I will see you again next week. Same time."
Harry rose and walked to the door. He did not look back.
<><><><><><><><><><><>
He did not feel like returning to the common room right now. He wanted to be alone for a bit, and the best place for that at this hour...was the library.
As he expected, he found it nearly empty.
The librarian lifted her gaze from her papers and reminded him that the library would be closing in forty minutes.
Harry nodded and walked towards the back, found a random book, and sat down at a table.
He had barely opened its cover when he heard someone sitting down across from him.
When he looked up, he found a pair of amber eyes staring at him.
"Daphne?" Harry glanced at the blonde girl. He had not seen her in the library when he arrived, which meant she must have entered right after he did. "What are yo-"
"We need to talk." She looked around the room. Her tone was low and careful.
"About what?. I thought you didn't want to be seen with troublemakers like me."
"It's not about what I want, Potter. It's about what I can and cannot afford to do." She shook her head. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened..."
"Why?"
"Because..." she paused. "I just...I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."
Harry remained silent and let her talk.
" I already told you about this, but...my father is in Azkaban. He was locked up for no good reason, and everything was taken from our family. Not just money and properties, but also our status as an Ancient Noble House. " Daphne said quietly. " Say...do you know how many credit points I started with, Potter?"
"Ah..." He just realized it.
Harry had not considered that. But it was true that her situation was kinda similar to that of Pansy. "You mean..."
She nodded. "Just like her, or her brother. I am the daughter of a criminal. That means that I only get to start with a single credit point. A single mistake and I'm out. My family had already lost enough...I cannot risk anymore. That's why I had no choice but to distance myself from you and the others when I learned who was the one responsible. I cannot afford to make any wrong moves."
"It's okay. I understand. I dont want you to take any risks either."
A weary smile appeared on Daphne's face. "Thank you for understanding." She stood up.
"If you need help with potion homework, you can still ask me." She added before walking away.
Harry sat alone, staring at the book in front of him.
<><><><><><><><><>
The walk back to the dungeons was quiet and cold.
Harry's mind was still replaying the conversation with Daphne, the careful way she had chosen her words, the fear behind her eyes.
She was trapped, just like Pansy had been. One wrong move and she would disappear too.
When he entered the Slytherin common room, he found Draco and Crabbe sitting by the fire.
Draco looked up as he approached.
"How was the meeting?" Draco asked.
"The usual," Harry said, sinking into the armchair beside them. "Lots of questions, lemon drops, and veiled threats disguised as gentle advice."
Crabbe tapped his back. "Things will eventually return to normal. We need to keep our heads down until then."
"I know..." Harry responded. "That's all I have been doing."
He was about to tell them about his conversation with Daphne, but changed his mind.
Because he still didn't understand why she felt the need to say those things. It's not like she owed him any explanations.
The two of them had only been talking for less than a month before it all went to hell.
But for some reason, Daphne felt compelled to justify her distancing from him.
"Harry?...you are making that face again." Draco pointed out.
"Ah, yes...the Harry thinking face." Crabbe nodded. "Did something else happen?"
"Did Weasley come looking for you again?" Draco frowned, thinking about their last encounter.
Harry shook his head. "No, if he does...next time let me punch him."
Draco chuckled. "Maybe next time, I will be the one punching him. I still have two credit points. I can afford to lose one."
"That would be a point well spent." Crabbe nodded.
The three of them chuckled.
<><><><><><><><>
That night, Harry wrote in his secret diary about the events of the day and all the things that he did not dare to talk about with his friends.
He wasn't sure why he was always writing everything in this diary. And he would likely get punished if someone like Dumbledore or McGonagall were to read its contents.
But there was something deep inside him that was telling him this was a good idea, that it was something he needed to do.
To record everything...because it may come a day when this knowledge will be useful for someone.
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