𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

Chapter 2

Trust

In the heavy mist of morning, they watched.

Their robes were wet with the dew of the grass, but they paid no mind. The thick brush provided shelter from the light of the sunrise; in the darkness, in the shadows, they were safe. Anyone passing by on the path ahead would see only the trees and bushes and, if their eyes were sharp enough, perhaps the slightest movement of air within the shade.

But no one saw, for no one passed, and yet they stayed out of sight.

The morning mist slowly dried as the sun rose high, giving the Scottish countryside one last glimpse of summer. It was, by all accounts, a normal day. One would have to be particularly keen to notice that despite the pleasant weather, no animals could be heard in the woods. The birds that usually serenaded one another were mute, absent, and the silence was stifling.

The only noise came some hours later, when the sun was beginning its descent. A voice, then, barely more than a breath: "How long?"

The wind nuzzled the leaves of a nearby tree, but under the rustle, a hoarse reply was heard: "As long as it takes."

A nod, submitting.

"He will come," the second voice breathed again. "If we wait ... he will come. They all come here eventually."

~*~*~

The problem, Harry decided, was his hair.

It had been the bane of his existence for seventeen years, and he hardly expected it to behave now. No matter how he brushed, gelled, combed, or sprayed it, it refused to lie flat. Still, he thought bitterly, if it insisted on sticking straight up, it could at least do so in that sexy tousled way that was all the rage on the fashion magazine covers.

Not that he typically cared much about his hair. There had always been bigger issues: solving mysteries and defeating minions of a tyrannical megalomaniac usually topped the list. He had hardly given his hair much thought. Ginny used to enjoy running her fingers through it, twisting it into odd shapes. It was mildly annoying, but he supposed that was what girlfriends were supposed to do.

He gave his head a frustrated shake and watched in the cracked bathroom mirror as the dark locks returned to their original mussed positions. He was relieved to find that this mirror - whether by his parents' choice or because of the battle fought in the home - did not offer its opinion.
If it had done so, it would have said: He was a mess.

The problem, he knew, wasn't with his hair.

The problem was that Harry didn't know how to seduce someone he liked, much less someone who made him grind his teeth. He didn't really even know how to seduce a girl - Ginny had just sort of fallen into his arms - and he certainly hadn't the first clue how to pursue a boy . The thought made something in his stomach twist.

And besides, it was ... Malfoy. Malfoy, who to Harry represented only the vile attributes of Slytherin House, who had made Harry's life miserable for years. Malfoy, who knew Voldemort's plans and knew where Snape was and still sat smugly in front of Harry as if his very silence didn't condemn unknown people to gruesome deaths in attacks that continued to occur every day -

He gave up on his hair and started brushing his teeth.

All night, Harry had tossed and turned and had, at least ten times, decided to give up this harebrained scheme and just torture the information out of Malfoy. Or beg him. But Harry was supposed to be above begging, and certainly above torture. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be above sweet-talking and charming an enemy into confessing. He didn't know if he even had a chance in hell - if he was capable of sweet-talking anyone into anything, if Malfoy was capable of being persuaded.