Author's Note: For those of you who enjoyed the Draco and Severus scene from last chapter, you'll enjoy this, I think. Anyway, enjoy, and please review.
Little edit: for some reason a few words in the last sentence were cut off, but I fixed it.
Summary:
Three months have passed since that fateful night when Dumbledore was killed and Harry vowed to kill his murderer, and it's been a year since Harry found out Severus Snape was his father, but this time it is not the worries of making a relationship work that cloud Harry's mind but how he will deal with the war that has now become all too clear, how he will find the Horcruxes in solitude, and how to distract himself enough to not think about his father. But how can he accomplish all of this when he's worried sick about his best friend and he has no idea where to begin searching for the pieces of Voldemort's soul.
Disclaimer:
I don't own anything but maybe the plot, Faye, and Imogen.
Chapter Eight
Learning from the Past
August 2, 1998
Draco didn't know if it was possible for Snape to glare at him more, than after he had failed for what could have been the tenth time, to keep him from entering his mind.
"Concentrate, Draco," Snape said. "Again."
Draco tried to prepare himself for the assault on his mind, but within moments the walls he had tried to build over his mind fell, and Snape once more flooded in, and Draco felt the sharp, burning fire of Snape's mind touching his own.
When after eating breakfast, Snape had told him they were going to be practicing his occlumency, Draco had hoped that this was Snape's way of telling him they would be alright. But after the torture that had been inflected on him through this lesson, Draco had decided this was some form of Snape's punishment for him.
Snape pulled back again. "You're not trying," he said at once and then walked around to stand behind his desk.
The desk was made of a dark rich wood and sat in the middle of the room. It was, for the most part, quite messy – something he had never expected from his potions professor – but it also, for a personal office, didn't seem to contain much to either give away Snape's personality, or for that matter his secrets.
"I'm not a natural at this, not like you are," Draco said, itching to add that he wasn't like Harry Potter either, and that things like this did not come to him as easily as they seemed to come for the Boy-Who-Lived. "You knew this from the beginning," he added instead."
Snape barely acknowledged that Draco had spoken and instead began to rifle through one of the drawers on his desk.
Draco walked forward, curious to see what the drawer contained.
"What are you looking for, Professor?" Draco asked.
"Notes on a potion," Snape said without looking up. A few seconds later he continued," I can see that you're not ready to truly defy the Dark Lord without giving yourself away. I do, however, have a potion that will help you. It's quite unpleasant, but I fear this is the only way."
Snape was up to something, Draco decided. He had been up to something the previous day before Draco was attacked by the souls. It was obvious to him now, that Snape had not done what he had wanted to do because of it. Somehow, his being versed with occlumency was something that affected whatever Snape was planning.
"What will it do to me?"
Snape didn't answer at once, instead he continued going through the contents of his desk. When he did answer, he had closed his drawer and seemed to be holding the notes he had been searching on the potion.
"It will make you revile your worst memories," Snape said at last. "It will be very unpalatable, but the moment you face all your fears and emotions, your mind will be clear enough that hiding your thoughts becomes much easier. It also does help to strengthen you on that font. In light of what you have done and the thoughts that still flutter around your head, this potion will help you emphatically."
"How long will the potion take to do this to me?" Draco asked at once.
Snape dropped the things he had gathered from his drawer atop his desk and sank into his chair. "That depends," he said finally. "It all depends on you, Draco, and how willing you are to facing everything. It will take no longer than three days."
Draco didn't at all like the idea of taking such a potion. Just the very thought of this potion bringing back everything that had happened in the last year to the forefront of his mind didn't appeal to him.
"Why do I have to do this?" He asked instead of giving Snape an answer in the positive or negative. When Snape didn't make a move to answer, he continued. "I know I can't possibly learn to shield my mind from him within the next few weeks on my own, but you don't have to tell me certain things. I can be entirely ignorant of everything the Order is doing – of whatever you're doing – while I learn to use this."
Snape shook his head at once. "You need to help me with this and occlumency is the only way you will manage to be of any assistance to me as was proved to me yesterday."
Draco couldn't help the blush that crawled over his pale skin at the thought of what had happened the day before with the souls.
Snape ignored it and Draco pegged it to the fact that Snape probably didn't want to think about what had happened in the bathroom months before between him and Potter.
"I want you to take the potion," He said.
"Is there no other way I can learn this damned skill so I could do whatever it is the bloody Order wants me to do."
Snape sighed. "Draco," he began, but then stopped. He stood up and walked around the desk, coming to stand directly in front of him. "You said yourself," he said in a silent tone, "you have no real talent or comprehension for occlumency. With this knowledge alone I can tell you it will take you months to learn how to hide your true thoughts. This potion with accelerate that. By this time next week, if everything goes as well as I think it will, you will not only be capable of hiding your thoughts, but you will know yourself better."
Draco knew that Snape was right, and he hated even admitting it to himself. This potion was going to help him whether he believed it or not. And it was, he realized one of the few ways that he would begin to prove himself to the Order and – he hated to even admit it – to Harry Potter. It would be pain and it would bring forth memories that he didn't care to even think about, but for his sacrifices, it would make him a better person.
"Fine," he said finally. "I'll take the potion."
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August 3, 1998
Draco wringed his hands together and nervously looked around the grimy pub that Snape had steered him into. He tried hard not to make eye contact with any of the grubby looking witches and wizards that sat around the bar. The pub was dimly lit, and it was crawling with dark magic. He tried hard to hide his face with the hood of his cloak where he sat in the corner of the room behind a small round table. Snape had pushed him into the chair and told him that under no conditions was he allowed to leave. Draco knew better than to go against anything Snape said, and stared hard at the table in front of him while he waited for Snape to come back. He was somewhere in the room, Draco knew, though he could not spot him.
Draco sighed and dropped his head on the table, picking it up a second later with a shudder. The tables were clearly unclean and Draco had felt a somewhat sticky substance where his chin had rested for half a second. Draco brought out a handkerchief and wiped his chin clean of anything that could have possibly made it to his flawless skin. He then leaned as far as possible for the table and lifted his head to look around once more. And there, Snape was talking to the proprietor of the pub.
Maybe he was almost done with whatever business he had wanted to conduct in this shifty pub and they could leave, and Draco could get back to the wonderful confines of Malfoy Manor where he could take a two hour long bath. He had been rather surprised when Snape had announced that morning – the morning Draco had been dreading since the previous day – that they would first head to Knockturn Alley and then to Malfoy Manor where Draco would take the potion later that night once Snape had brewed it. Draco suspected it was Snape's wish to use his father's potions lab rather than his own that would remain the reason that Draco would at least get a good long hot soak in the tub before he had to face all of his fears through the means of a small glass phial and an illegal ingredient that Snape had finally acquired.
He followed Snape with his eyes and watched as his companion nodded, extended out a hand to the pub owner and the two men shook hands, and then Snape was heading his way.
"Come, Draco, we're leaving," Snape said and without another word strode towards the exit.
Draco jumped out of the rather uncomfortable chair he had been occupying and walked briskly after the Potions Master without a backwards glance at the table that he had just vacated, keeping his head to the ground so he didn't have to meet the stares that watched him as he left.
"So, what happened?" Draco asked the moment they were outside.
Snape didn't answer and instead continued walking, which Draco supposed, he should have expected. Snape led him down the street just a bit farther and then came to a stop.
"Just two more stops," Snape told him, turning to face him. "I expect you to remain right here within my sight while I enter this"—he seemed to be searching for a word to describe the dingy apothecary they stood in front of—"establishment," he finally spat and turned towards the door.
An odd almost faint odor escaped out of the apothecary and Draco was glad that he had not been told to go inside with Snape.
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"How long will it take to brew, Severus?" Draco heard his mother ask from somewhere down the hall.
Draco tried to ignore Snape's response. He didn't want to know the exact time when he would have to drink the potion that would leave him incapable of doing anything for up to three days. All he wanted to do was to focus on the feeling of the hot bath the elves had drawn for him filled with bubbles just like when he had been a child – they were bubbles of all colors, some sung as they were popped, others recited a sonnet (his mother had been the one to make sure they did that), and a few chirped.
His robe pooled at his feet before he stepped into the small luxurious pool. It was not at big as what could be found in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts, but it was big enough to fit Draco and at least five more people without it getting crowded or uncomfortable.
He sighed with pleasure as his pale feet grazed the water and then sunk past the bubbles. Draco lowered his body slowly into the tub and contentment filled him as the water surrounded all but his head. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. A right and proper bath – Draco decided as one of the bubbles popped and have a chirp – could many any day a better day.
The tension he had been feeling in his muscles since two days before when he had been unconscious in the middle of nowhere was leaving him slowly and steadily and Draco couldn't help another satisfied sigh – the worry of what he would be doing later completely overshadowed by the wonderful feeling that the warm water was bringing his body. All the worries that had plagued him since the night he fled Hogwarts with Snape were no longer at the front of his mind though they would come back later, instead they were floating around the back of his mind not bothering him for once.
Before Draco knew it, he had fallen asleep. The elves had done too good job fixing his bath just as he liked it, that with the fatigue that came with knowing that he would be facing all of his fears and problems later he had fallen asleep within minutes of being deep in the bath.
Draco woke up about an hour later when he felt something tickling his ear. He shuddered and turned his face. His mother was kneeling next to the small pool with a small almost forced smile.
"I thought you might enjoy some food and perhaps sleep in your own bed before you have to take the potion," she told him.
"Yes. Alright. Thank you, Mother," Draco said.
She nodded and walked towards the door. She stopped suddenly, and Draco turned completely around to look at her.
"I'll be with you the entire time, Draco. You don't have to be scared of this. It takes courage to do what you are doing."
Draco allowed her words to drift over him, but he didn't respond. He knew his mother would see it that way. He heard her open and door, step out of the room, and close it behind her and he sighed.
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The potion burned as it went down his throat. Draco grimaced as he finished every last drop and reached to rub at his throat. His mother was sitting across the room, her back straight, her eyes staring unmoving at a leather bound book. Snape was standing in front of him, his face blank. Draco took both of them in. It was strange, he thought as the cream walls began to spin, to find Snape and his mother acting so calmly as he drank the potion that would make him relive all of his mistakes.
And then the spinning of the room stopped and he felt weariness and fatigue come over him. His knees were weak. He felt them give out from under him, and then colors were swirling before his eyes.
The first thing that made him realize the potion had begun to take effect was the wafting smell of pancakes. Draco knew immediately what memory this was and he knew it wasn't going to be something he would enjoy reliving.
He was swinging his legs back and forth, all the while sitting on his spot at the mahogany wooden table that all meals were eaten on. His mother was sitting across from him, eating slowly and looking rather disdainfully at the pancakes that sat in front of Draco. In Narcissa Malfoy's opinion, pancakes were not proper food for breakfast. She was having a grapefruit quarter with her strong tea, a piece of buttered toast and a small portion of scrambled eggs. Draco's father was eating much of the same, though he had a larger portion of food on his plate and he was also enjoying a small miniscule pancake, while reading the Daily Prophet.
Draco didn't know how it began, though he remembered hearing his father give a sigh right before his mother muttered something under her breath. Draco remembered clearly when his father dropped his newspaper and slammed his hand down on the table, glaring at his mother. And though Lucius said nothing, the tension in the room was palpable.
Two boys were fighting. Draco could see them from afar and wondered for a moment who they were before he walked towards them and he was face to face with a six year old version of himself. Shock and surprise encompassed him and Draco didn't know what he was supposed to do. He had been expecting more recent memories – things that had he had done in the last year or two, but not back to when he was six. He could barely even remember what had occurred on this afternoon some eleven years ago.
Draco watched the other boy – Theodore Nott, he thought – and was astonished when he saw the other boy fall hard, with an audible thump, against the nearest wall, pushed by Draco's wandless, accidental magic. Draco rushed forward and noticed at once that not only was Theo unconscious, but that the younger Draco seemed completely unaffected by it, almost as if he didn't realize that what he had done was wrong. Draco waited for something to happen, all the while searching within his mind for this memory, and then he heard someone running down the hall towards them. It was his mother looked far younger than the woman he knew of the present. For a moment she had a moment of indecision – not knowing if she should yell or run to make sure that Theo was alright. A few seconds later, she rushed to Theo's side and reprimanded Draco as she waved her wand over the other boy.
"But, Mom!" Draco, the younger, cried. "He took my dragon and he wouldn't give it back." He sniffed.
Draco could have snorted at the sight. Here he was at the age of six and already attempting to manipulate his mother after committing a crime. Draco wondered if he was like that because of his father. Assuming that this was the reason was, he realized, far easier than to accept that there was no one else to blame but himself for everything he had done.
"That does no excuse this, Draco," his mother was saying to the six year old version of himself. "In fact, I don't think you will be seeing that dragon of yours for a few weeks." She wanted to say something more, but stopped herself. "Go, Draco," she said instead, "and please think about the fact that you could have killed your friend today with your anger."
Realization hit the gray eyes of the six year old, though Draco knew that he, at that age, could not have truly understood what his mother meant.
Everything changed then.
Draco felt dizzy, everything was whirling around him, and he felt as if he himself was spinning hard and fast on the spot. Then he was falling. Colors swiveled round and round in his eyes and expanded until they slowly settled down. Draco stood in a familiar room and tried to remember what had happened here that he needed to remember.
The only source of light was a pale white candle. It was sitting on a small rickety table, hot wax pooling around its base as it dripped down. Some feet away from the candle, hidden in shadow, two figures stood. Although he couldn't make them out, Draco recognized their voices at once. One of them belonged to him, and the other to his father.
The younger Draco's voice shook as he spoke and from the flickering light from the candle he could make out that he was pale and decidedly scared though he was trying hard to hide it. His father's voice, however, Draco realized just as he hadn't realized it within the memory, had interlaid within its usual coldness and indifference worry and anger.
"Alright, Father," The sixteen year old Draco said, coming fully into view by moving closer to the candle.
Draco knew at once what memory was playing before him when he realized that his sixteen year old self was shaking and looked ready to collapse. Pain was edged around the grimace that he displayed every once in a while, and as if using a nervous habit, this Draco kept touching his left arm.
His father looked as if he wanted to say something when he walked close enough for Draco to look at him – though the sixteen year old missed the wistful expression on Lucius' face by focusing on the candle.
When Lucius spoke a few seconds later it was clear to Draco that this wasn't what he had wanted to say before.
"He will expect more from you, Draco, than what happened today," his father said. This time his voice did not hold any emotion at all.
Draco moved closer to the table with the candle and closer to where his father stood. He hadn't seen him in a year and even looking at this memory of him made him wonder how exactly his father was faring at the moment. He hadn't thought about this for months, throwing it all to the back of his mind while he had worried about the task that he had been given him.
He wondered if his father was currently in some cell, covered only by rags that had once been his clothes but now did not resemble the expensive cloak Draco had last seen him wear. He wondered if he was as insane as his Aunt Bella was said to have become after being in Azkaban – but Draco had always imagined the Black family line to have a touch of insanity.
Draco shook himself and threw thoughts about his father to a place in his mind to be thought about later. Maybe he could inquire after him. Maybe Snape could help him get his father out of prison if Draco learned occlumency.
The memory Lucius looked pained now. This was a look that Draco had never seen his father wear and it disturbed him. The sixteen year old, as expected, noticed nothing.
"I'll do better, Father," said Draco. "I've been working on it. I think I've almost got the unforgivables down. Aunt Bella said she would say when I had."
Draco recognized the search for approbation in his own voice, but continued to look not at this younger naïve Draco, but at his father.
Lucius was trying to hide a grimace as if he did not approve of what Draco was doing. Then again he had wound up being a spy. Maybe he hadn't wanted Draco to become like him, and Draco had emulated him so – that had been a mistake.
This time there were no colors, only shades of gray spinning around him at a dizzying pace. And then he was floating.
Memory after memory made an onslaught at him. They were in all varying degrees of order. In one he was eight and he had just broken something of his mother's after being punished, in another he was eleven and he had stolen something from another boy in Slytherin. Others related his mistakes of the last year or so and those were the ones he paid more attention to.
The sixteen year old Draco was hooded. He was afraid to admit that he was acting far more like his father than he wanted to as he made his way down the shady alley towards the backdoor entrance to the pub where he would be getting the poison.
The liquid would be untraceable. If he could get Dumbledore to drink it then everything would work out and all the pressure would be off. His mother would be fine and he would just continue with school and nothing would go wrong. Draco tried to tell himself that what he was doing was right and that he didn't need to listen to Snape.
The exchange was silent and the seventeen year old Draco upon this attack of his own thoughts, didn't know what to make of any of it. What he did know, however, was that what he had done was wrong. Snape had been in the right and he had gone through this stupid plan without thinking.
Again things swirled in the usual fashion that had become very familiar to Draco in the last number of hours that he had been trapped within his mind with the help of that damned potion. He didn't even know if it had just been hours, or longer.
He was in the bathroom again, suddenly.
He remembered that day as clearly as he remembered his hot bath from earlier.
He'd just finished talking to his Aunt as she mocked and teased him and asked him to hurry everything along and that he must want his poor dear mother to live. The potion had failed and everything was churning up in his gut. He wanted nothing more than a place to contemplate how to best go about everything and then Potter was there.
In hindsight, Draco realized that Potter was distraught. He was almost at the point of crying. His eyes were wild and he looked as if he needed more than Draco had needed at that moment, somewhere to think. Something had happened right before Potter entered the bathroom and Draco had to wonder if this had anything to do with Snape.
It was scary, Draco realized, to watch himself, deep anger on his face throw the cruciatus at Harry Potter. Even though it missed, knowing that he had had enough anger and hatred to throw it and at Harry Potter, the Chosen One, of all people deeply bothered him and he understood why Snape had been so angry at him.
Other memories followed and Draco watching himself with a grimace as he allowed the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He had known about the cupboard that would allow them entrance since fifth year, but until his days spent in the infirmary after Potter's spell, Draco hadn't thought about it. And then he had cemented that plan in his brain. It had been easy from there to do the last few repairs on the cupboard. After all, Snape had fixed most of it fifth year when Montague had gotten trapped in it.
All of his mistakes were splayed out in front of him as well as other truths that he had refused to acknowledge until then. He felt a stirring within his skin and then he felt the softness of a cushion underneath his fingers. His mind was clear of everything and he accepted without much thought that he had done so many things wrong.
Draco opened his eyes and he found clearness to the world that had never before been there.
