SYMBIOSIS - fireflavored.doc

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Summary: sym·bi·o·sis n. Biology. A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

Symbiosis

by fireflavored

Chapter 1: Symbiosis

�Mister Potter!�

Harry started, dragging his eyes away from the snow swirling down from the ceiling of the Great Hall.

�You will please take your seat,� Headmistress McGonagall snapped as she whisked past carrying the Sorting Hat aloft.

Harry slid into the empty space between Ron and Hermione, both of whom were staring up at the improbable snowstorm raging just metres above their heads.

�The ceiling�s gone barmy,� Ron moaned, wiping the back of his hand across his shining forehead. �It must be 30 degrees; I�m sweating to death, and the bloody ceiling is snowing.�

�I�ve heard about incidents of magical disturbance since the battle,� Hermione answered, still gazing upward with her mouth hanging open. �Apparently Hogwarts absorbed a great deal of errant dark magic during the melee. I suppose the enchantments on the ceiling must have been damaged.� A massive bolt of lightning lit up the room.

�That�s unusual,� she said unnecessarily.

A drop of sweat broke free from the centre of Harry�s shoulder blades and ran down his spine, just as an answering shiver moved upward in response to the very realistic sight of a blizzard swirling overhead.

�Your attention, please!� McGonagall shouted in an uncharacteristically frazzled voice as she placed the Sorting Hat on its customary stool. �While I am aware that the environmental enchantments are behaving in a most fascinating manner, I must redirect your attention to the rather more pressing business of the House Sorting.�

The buzz of voices in the Hall dropped off considerably, but most eyes remained fixed on the tempestuous storm.

The Sorting Hat began a robust rendition of its annual song. Dimly, Harry noticed a distinct told you so bent to this years� lyrics.

�First years! Line up here, please,� McGonagall called shrilly. She was attempting to herd the terrified eleven-year-olds into an orderly line in front of the Sorting Hat�a task made doubly difficult by the fact that they all had their necks craned back to keep a dubious watch on the ceiling.

�Anders, Violetta!�

Harry�s attention drifted back to the hovering storm. He gave in to temptation and stuck his tongue out, hoping to catch a cool flake of snow. Sadly, the crystals melted in the stifling heat before they could reach him.

Ron tugged at the collar of his robes, huffing loudly. �Why must it be so muggy?�

Hermione rolled her eyes and indicated the ceiling. �Precipitation causes humidity, Ronald. The snow is evaporating.�

�It�s not even real snow, Hermione,� he grumbled. �Why haven�t they cast cooling charms?�

�I imagine they would encounter the same problems they�re having with the ceiling. Perhaps even make it worse by adding more atmospheric magic to the mix.�

�Fine. Who do I have to screw to get a cold glass of pumpkin juice in this place?� Ron moaned, fanning himself with his plate.

�Ronald!� Hermione said, smacking him on the arm.

�That would be Kreacher,� Harry deadpanned. �Exactly how thirsty are you?�

�Ugh. You�re a disturbed man, Harry Potter. I think I�m glad you broke up with my sister.�

Hermione smacked Ron again and turned an exaggerated expression of sympathy on Harry. �Have you seen her?�

Harry shook his head. �No. She�ll have started training camp by now. I doubt she�s got much spare time.�

�Our season passes arrived last week,� Ron said, shifting uncomfortably. �There�s one for you, mate. Are you�do you want to come to the opening match?�

�Grist, Trent!� McGonagall practically shrieked, straining to be heard above the rising mutterings of the overheated students and saving Harry from having to answer. A small boy with dark auburn hair climbed nervously onto the stool at the front of the Hall.

�Slytherin!� proclaimed the Sorting Hat after less than two seconds� deliberation. The murmurings around the Great Hall came to an abrupt stop. Everyone in the room turned to stare at the first student to be Sorted into Slytherin in the aftermath of the war. A brief look of horror crossed the boy�s face before he jumped from the stool, squared his shoulders and, chin held high, headed toward his new housemates.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to watch him take his place at the table. Even the Slytherins, few as there were left, looked leery of their newest member.

�I see Malfoy�s come dressed for the weather,� Ron snorted derisively.

Harry frowned, his eyes rapidly scanning the table. He hadn�t even noticed Malfoy. When he finally found him, he realised why. Malfoy�s most easily identified feature, his white-blond hair, was practically gone. He looked as if Aunt Petunia had been at him with the clippers.

Ron let out an unreserved guffaw. �The ferret�s shaved his shiny coat.�

Harry said nothing in response. He was too busy taking in the rest of the ensemble. Malfoy had apparently abandoned the dress code entirely; his robes and tie were draped over the bench next to him. A slate-grey, tatty t-shirt hung untucked over the waistband of a pair of ancient jeans, which sported a large rip just below the left front pocket. A patch of pale thigh was just visible through the opening. He was slouched with his back to his table, arms folded and legs splayed, staring insolently out at the crowd.

Harry, who had never once seen Malfoy looking anything but impeccable, goggled. Try as he might, he could not stop himself examining the tear in the jeans several times.

A flash of movement drew Harry�s attention to Malfoy�s chest where an embroidered Hungarian Horntail flexed its wings and fixed Harry with a withering look, blowing a plume of smoke from its flaring nostrils. Harry�s eyes shot to Malfoy�s face to find him watching Harry with an identically fiery expression. Harry jerked in a sharp breath and looked away.

His eyes sought out the Headmistress, who was now appraising Malfoy�s lack of uniform for herself. To his surprise, though she frowned noticeably, she said nothing. She merely gave a minute, disapproving shake of her head and returned her attention to her parchment.

�Halpin, Joshua!�

Harry passed the rest of the Sorting ceremony deliberately not looking in Malfoy�s direction. Only once the feast had been served did Harry chance a look over his shoulder at the sparsely populated Slytherin table.

Malfoy had turned back to the table and was engaged in an animated conversation with Gregory Goyle, the only other eight-year Slytherin to return to Hogwarts. Harry watched as Malfoy grinned and shoved at Goyle�s shoulder. The camaraderie between them was obvious and�weird. Harry stared in shock as Goyle reached out and cuffed Malfoy around the head and Malfoy responded not with outraged superiority, but with an audible laugh.

�Ceiling�s not the only thing that�s gone barmy.�

�What�s that, mate?� Ron asked through an enormous mouthful of food. Hermione glared and pointedly wiped an errant bit of chicken off of her hand.

Harry shook his head. �Nothing.�

�So, you never answered my question,� Ron said, pointing his drumstick at Harry. �Are you coming to the Harpies� opener with us?�

Harry sighed. �I dunno, Ron.�

�Ah, c�mon, Harry,� Ron wheedled. �It�ll be brilliant! We�ve got a private box and everything.�

Harry shrugged, his eyes darting over his shoulder for eavesdroppers.

Ron leaned in and lowered his voice. �Now that some time�s gone by, I�ll bet she�s missing you. Maybe if you made the effort to come to the game��

�I don�t think that�s going to happen, Ron.�

�How do you know if you don�t even give it a try?�

Harry swiped at his sweaty upper lip in annoyance. �She sent me a letter, too. Last week. She�s, um, seeing someone else.�

�What?� Ron�s voice had shot up again, and several people turned to watch their conversation. �Who?�

Harry glared round until the spectators returned their attention to the meal. �The team�s equipment manager. Robert something-or-other.�

Ron looked gobsmacked. �She didn�t say a word in her letter. Since when?�

�I don�t know, Ron,� Harry sighed, fighting down a wave of irritation. �I didn�t ask.�

�I�m so sorry, Harry,� Hermione whispered, seizing his hand and squeezing fiercely.

�It�s really fine,� said Harry, pulling his hand back defensively. �There were a lot of reasons for our split. The contract with the Harpies just made the decision easier.�

Both Ron and Hermione gave him annoyingly sympathetic looks, clearly not believing a word of it.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. �What do you suppose Malfoy means with that getup?� he asked, hoping for a change of topic.

�I think he means �I�m an enormous poof�,� Ron snickered. He got another sharp smack from Hermione. �Ouch!�

�Homophobia isn�t funny, Ronald,� Hermione said, glaring at him.

�Oh, come on. You know I don�t mean it like that. I�ve told you how much I liked Uncle Bilius.�

�Well, that�s a fine way to honour his memory, Ronald.� Hermione gave him such a disappointed look that it even made Harry feel guilty by proximity.

Hermione sniffed and turned her attention to Malfoy. �If I were to hazard a guess, I�d say he�s trying to look as different to his old self as possible. I think he wants everyone to look at him and see that he�s changed.�

Harry watched Ron press his lips together to restrain the quip that was fighting to escape his mouth. He shot Ron a quick grin and turned his attention on Malfoy.

�Well,� he said slowly, watching Malfoy examine the puddings that had just appeared on the table, �he�s got my attention.�

* * *

�Harry,� Hermione called, exasperation clear in her tone. �Hurry up! I refuse to be late again because you�re afraid to go to class.�

�I�m not afraid,� Harry snapped as he caught up to her. �I just don�t enjoy being spoken to like a dim-witted second-year.�

�Professor Slughorn is only trying to ensure that you understand everything you�ll need for your N.E.W.T.s. If you really want to be an Auror, I�d think you�d be grateful that he�s giving you so much extra attention.�

�He wouldn�t be watching my every move if you hadn�t made me tell him about the book,� Harry grumbled.

�You might understand the principles underlying the coursework this year if you hadn�t used the book in the first place,� Hermione retorted. �You need his help�and mine�so shut it.�

Harry trailed sullenly along behind her, scuffing his feet and staring at the floor as they entered the classroom.

�Harry, my boy!� Slughorn boomed. Harry cringed and gave a small nod as he slipped into his seat. �How are you coming along on the wormwood essay?�

�Just fine, sir,� Harry lied. �I should have it to you by the end of the week.�

He heard Ron and Michael Corner snickering from behind him. Hermione shot him a look of deepest disapproval before she turned her attention to the blackboard.

�It�s a good thing you�ve been working so hard on that,� she hissed, inclining her head to indicate the assignment on the board. Harry shoved his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and squinted at it: The Draught of Living Death. Well, fuck.

Slughorn shared an indulgent, knowing look with Hermione. �Ms. Granger will help you with whatever you may not fully comprehend,� Slughorn said loudly.

At the front of the class, Malfoy sat hunched over his cauldron, his shoulders shuddering with silent laughter. Not for the first time since returning to school, Harry considered the relative merits of abandoning school and taking up a life of leisure. He then thought of the lectures Ginny had endured from Mrs. Weasley and gave up the thought.

He watched with rising irritation as Malfoy leaned into Goyle, grinning hugely, and whispered in his ear. Just as he had begun constructing a lovely daydream involving hexing Malfoy with a nasty case of boils, the other boy jumped sharply in his seat and slapped the back of his neck as if stung. Startled, Harry glanced down at his wand hand to check that he hadn�t unconsciously acted out his fantasy. His wand was still lying untouched on the table.

Goyle twisted in his seat, one hand resting protectively on Malfoy�s shoulder. Harry followed his glowering gaze to Zacharias Smith, who sat two rows behind Malfoy and Goyle, smirking openly at the bright red evidence of a Stinging Hex now blossoming on Malfoy�s neck. Goyle narrowed his eyes, and Smith�s smile faltered slightly.

Harry�s eyes darted back and forth between Malfoy and his attacker, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. Truth be told, he was excited for a little action. Everyone was being so nice in the wake of the war. It had been far too long since he�d had a proper reason to get his wand out, and an opportunity to hex Smith would just be a bonus. Disappointingly, Malfoy simply shook his head, patting Goyle on the arm and turned back to his cauldron.

Harry frowned at the nasty grin that spread across Smith�s face. The fact that he was considering defending Malfoy, of all people, paled in comparison to his loathing for the smug-faced Hufflepuff. His hand twitched towards his wand.

�Harry!� snapped Hermione, apparently oblivious to the scene he�d just witnessed. �I swear, I will let you fail if you don�...