Warning: This is slash in case you missed it in the summary. If you don't like it, don't read it, but do not flame me for it because I don't particularly care what you think if you were dumb enough to ignore the numerous warnings. Thank you and have a nice day. J
Author's Note: Hello all. This is new, and a bit deeper than my other fic, Unexpected savior. Sort of, anyway. So, hope you like it!
The sound of quick steps invaded Dumbledore's magically enlarged office, but no one was visible.
Everyone in the Order had grown accustom to this, as the invisibility cloak was the only way their youngest member could make it to meetings.
Harry inhaled the scent of old books mixed with lemon drops and almost smiled. It was comfortingly familiar, something he'd needed after the events of last summer.
Pulling off the cloak, Harry said, "Sorry I'm late, everybody. Filch."
There were a few smiles, and then all eyes were on Dumbledore again, wondering why there was a meeting being held on a Sunday night when they'd just had their last meeting a little over a week ago.
With a smile that came nowhere near to reaching his eyes, the Headmaster informed Harry, "You just missed the formalities."
He waited patiently for Harry to take a seat.
Looking around, Harry noticed with a vague sense of horror that the only empty seat was next to Mrs. Weasley. She greeted him with what he guessed was supposed to be a warm smile, but sorrow overshadowed her features. He nodded, unable to meet her eyes as he sat down.
"I'm sure all of you are curious as to why you're here," Dumbledore began. The twinkle was gone from his eyes, and on anyone else, the expression could have been called grave. "There's no way to put it gently. One of our spies has been caught, and is presumed dead."
Gasps were heard, and Harry's sense of comfort vanished as he searched the room for missing faces. Snape, Remus, Sirius…the room came into sharp relief as time seemed to freeze. "Not Sirius?" he choked out.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence, and the room was instantly quiet. "The spy was a student here, I'm sure some of you knew him, or rather, his father. Draco Malfoy."
The room exploded into chaos. Cries of "What?!" and "No!" and "You can't be serious!" echoed off the walls.
Harry sat silently, watching the outcry in stunned detachment. Malfoy. As in Draco-Slytherin-ferret-face-pureblooded-spoiled-arrogant-prat-Malfoy. His rival was dead. Somehow, Harry couldn't believe it. The thought that the slimy git was a spy was more plausible than his being dead. Cockroaches were nearly impossible to kill, after all.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by Arthur Weasley, who'd made his way to Dumbledore and was currently demanding, "A Malfoy? What the bloody hell were you thinking, Albus? The little Death Eater brat is probably selling secrets to the other side! He's the-"
"Do you question my judgment, Arthur?" Dumbledore interrupted, voice deceptively quiet. Somehow it managed to silence the entire room.
Molly Weasley stood and grabbed Arthur, dragging him back to his seat and silencing his protests with a glare. When he was seated, she sent a weary glance to the front of the room. "Of course not, Albus, but after last summer-" her voice cracked. After a deep breath, she continued, "I think we deserve an explanation."
Sympathetic looks were directed towards Molly, and Harry tried not to scoff. Did they honestly think no one could tell they were thinking 'thank the gods it wasn't me'? He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. They were trying, and it was all he could ask.
"I was getting to that. At the beginning of his 6th year, Mr. Malfoy came to me, and revealed the Dark Mark on his wrist. He'd gotten it over the summer, under his father's Imperius."
Some looked shocked; others just shook their heads sadly. Really, Harry thought to himself, they didn't expect this of Lucius? The man is even more of a bastard than his son, and that's saying something.
Once he had everyone's full attention, Dumbledore continued, "The boy was furious, and offered his services as a spy. After a lengthy discussion and a bit of training, I agreed." Looking at Arthur, he added softly, "He was a wonderful actor, had his father and Voldemort fooled, but no one can lie under Veritaserum, and Draco Malfoy did not betray us. Nor is he in any way responsible for your daughter's death."
Harry could have told him that. After all, he'd been the one to watch Ginny die. The subdued voices wrapped around him, and he listened without really hearing. Don't think about Ginny, he told himself. Think about Malfoy, about the fact that he's been in the Order nearly as long as you have. How strange it was, trying to fit Draco Malfoy, spy for the Order, with the bully who tormented him and his friends.
"Harry," a voice called gently. He looked up, startled to see everyone filtering out of the office.
Molly Weasley was standing in front of him, looking worried and sad and a hundred other things, none of which was good. "I'm sorry about your classmate. Even a Malfoy doesn't deserve to die so young. Goodnight Harry, give Ron and-" She stopped, tears filling her eyes. "Give Ron my love," she whispered, and then she too left, with Arthur's arm around her shaking shoulders.
Harry felt tears spring to his own eyes, but he didn't cry. Crying was a useless waste of time, hadn't he learned that from the Dursleys? Picking up the invisibility cloak, he muttered a goodbye in the direction of the Headmaster before draping it around himself.
Walking to the door, he opened it and then, before he had time to think about it, closed it without leaving. Staring at the closed door in shock, Harry wondered why the hell he'd just done that. How in the world do I get out of here without looking like a bloody fool?
He turned, prepared to say he'd forgotten something, had something else to say, but the sight before him froze the words in his throat.
Dumbledore had dropped his powerful façade, making him look old and exhausted. Eyes sinking closed, said softly to Fawkes, "I will fight to the death for these children. All of us will. And without Mr. Malfoy, it will all be for naught."
Harry was confused. He was supposed to be "The Savior of the Wizarding World" and all that rot, so what did anything have to do with Malfoy? He was still trying to figure it out when he heard footsteps outside the door. Jumping back, he barely managed to avoid being hit as Snape walked in.
"Sorry I couldn't make it, Albus," the Potions professor said, not sounding at all apologetic. "Longbottom was serving detention. What'd I miss?"
"Nothing you didn't already know," Dumbledore sighed. "And you shouldn't be so hard on Mr. Longbottom. He will be a great wizard someday."
Snape scoffed. "That boy has melted more cauldrons than anyone in the history of Hogwarts." Voice growing quieter, he added, "And you know as well as I that there is no more 'someday' except for the one upon which we all die."
"Perhaps-" Dumbledore began.
"There is no perhaps," Snape interrupted wearily. "Do you think I haven't tried to find one? The spell is very specific; the only two strong enough who fit its requirements were Draco and Potter. Three wandlesses each," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "It was never guaranteed, Albus, but it's always been our only hope. There is no other way."
Malfoy has three wandlesses? Harry though, surprised. Well, one of them is Charms. It wasn't that hard to figure out, he'd seen Malfoy training with Flitwick last year. Realizing he hadn't been paying attention, he turned back to the conversation.
"Is there any chance that Mr. Malfoy still lives?"
"I believe you asked me that about Narcissa, too," Snape answered. His expression mirrored that of Sirius's, when he thought he'd lost Remus last year.
Harry was surprised. Snape was in love? He hadn't thought it even possible for a man so bitter. Narcissa, Narcissa, he'd heard the name before, but where?
"Mrs. Malfoy hasn't been found dead, Severus."
"Nor has she been found living. Don't try to revive hopes that have been dead longer than you've known of them," Snape said softly, a hint of steel in his voice. "Goodnight, Albus." He turned and walked out without waiting for a reply.
Harry ran after him, seeing his chance of escape. He slid out the door and ran straight into his least favorite professor.
Snape sighed, "Potter," without turning around. "Somebody should burn that damned cloak of yours. I suppose you heard everything, then?"
"Yeah," Harry answered quietly, eyes downcast, not that Snape could tell. There was no point in lying, but he shouldn't have heard any of it.
"Just because you cannot win is no reason not to fight."
"Of course. Goodnight Professor."
"Goodnight Potter."
Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, seeing Ron and Hermione waiting up, though it was past midnight. They always waited up for him.
"Was it bad?" Ron asked as Harry removed the cloak.
Harry studied his friend a moment before answering. Ron rarely smiled anymore, and only for Hermione and Harry. His eyes were darker, not in color, but in what they showed, and he had lost the innocence of someone who thought they were invincible. He knew death struck randomly and without mercy.
"Malfoy was spying for the Order. He got caught." He couldn't bring himself to tell them the rest, to watch all hope fade from his best mate's eyes as he was told they were all going to die.
"Ferret bastard! He's the one who killed my sister! He's going to wish he'd never been born when I'm through with him!" Ron's face was contorted with fury, an ugly mask.
Hermione calmed him with a hand on his arm, and Harry almost smiled. So like Molly and Arthur.
"He had nothing to do with it," Harry said tiredly. He met Hermione's eyes and saw the quiet sympathy there. A part of him wished he could talk to her alone, she would listen and tell him how to fix everything; she would know what to do.
"How do you know?" Ron demanded, instantly regretting it as he saw the look in Harry's eyes.
"How do I know, Ron?" Harry asked, voice soft and deadly. "How do I know? I was tortured for two weeks, I saw them kill her! How the bloody hell do you think I know?!"
Hermione reached out a hand to touch Harry's arm. She was the only one who knew what really happened, having pried the story out of him after she found him in the bathroom bleeding, the mirror shattered by his fist. "I'm sorry. Sorry for what happened, sorry we didn't get there sooner. It will never be enough, but we're here for you now, Harry."
Ron's eyes looked as they had when Harry told him Ginny was dead, grief carved into the lines of his face. "I'm sorry mate," he whispered roughly.
Running a hand through his hair, Harry stood. "I know. And it's not your fault. Goodnight Ron, Mione." He walked to his dorm, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed into bed, wishing he still believed in miracles.
Author's Note: Love it? Hate it? Tell me! (please)