~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
The idea of a Horcrux wasn't anything particularly thrilling, and it was something Daniel could have made a pretty good guess at in any case, given the clues available. Bits of souls in objects, murder being evil, bad guys trying for immortality and so on and so on. So the book was going swimmingly until chapter two: History and Development. That was where the pictures started, stark black and white sketches that left exactly the most unsettling amount to the imagination.
Dark magic, the way most people talked about it around Daniel, was a completely meaningless classification. It wasn't magic itself that was dark: Aurors could use Unforgivable Curses whenever they felt like it and never faced a day in Azkaban. Blood magic was used for protection all the time, though by the letter of the law it was dark. There were perfectly innocent, everyday spells that could cause more damage than any number of forbidden curses. The term dark magic was for the pretentious, the sanctimonious and the naively idealistic. People who didn't truly understand magic and its vast potential towards both good and evil. If such words really had meaning that applied to the real world.
Daniel wondered if people like Jo Chalmers and Caroline Miller had seen artists' impressions of the extensive research conducted on the mutilation of the soul. Precisely how the souls of Muggles differed from those of wizards. How an infant's soul was infinitely more volatile and, by the look on one witch's face, delicious. He wondered if they knew the exact point at which a soul stopped being considered fragmented and turned the corner into being mutilated. The difference between a soul split willingly and reluctantly. The repercussions of a soul split by its own magic, or by the magic of another.
The levels of agony involved. Scientific analysis of the likelihood of any combination of factors leading to the death of the subject. The looks on their faces as it happened. The looks on their faces after it had happened. The diagrams.
He couldn't put it down, no matter how much he wanted to. He had to get it imprinted on his brain, and then he could never, ever end up treating dark magic with the casual approval that most of his fellow Slytherins showed. The Dark Lord, if he was messing with all this stuff, wasn't a warlord like Daniel had mostly imagined him to be. He wasn't the general of the pureblood army, who could be treated as a worthy opponent who was just on the wrong side. He was a vile, twisted semi-man who did horrific, disgusting things to hurt people to prop up his own existence.
For whatever reason, Daniel couldn't put the book down. That didn't mean he could brace himself for another chapter though. He left one hand resting on one page and picked up the orphanage records with the other. He opened it on his lap.
There had to be a connection. Two books, to help destroy the Dark Lord. No, two books to tell him how to destroy the Dark Lord. The safest assumption to make was that the Dark Lord had a Horcrux.
Perhaps he'd killed one of the orphans to make his Horcrux? Children's souls were vibrant, the book said. Children could feel a kind of pain and loss so vivid and untempered by anything that it was pure bliss to people who enjoyed that kind of thing.
There were some kids who were recorded as having died at the orphanage. Not many, but some. Magic could easily have them looking like they'd died of natural causes. And memories could be wiped easy as blinking. If the Dark Lord had made a Horcrux at the orphanage he wouldn't have left a trace even at the time, let alone one that had lasted all these years.
So how did it help?
The war had been in the seventies, so the Dark Lord had to have been born around or before 1950. Any amount before, too. Bloody immortality.
Daniel turned his attention back to the Horcrux book. There were five more chapters, all up. Two with advanced theory, one of step-by-step instructions, one discussing dangers and then one on getting rid of them once you'd made them.
Something inside him wanted to force him through the lot. Something angry and a more than a little bit desperate. Something that told him the more he hurt, the stronger he'd be. The more he hated the Dark Lord and all his people, the better chance he had at defeating them.
Something bone-jarringly stupid was telling him that. Daniel turned straight to the chapter on destruction. He just hoped that dark-magic-to-destroy-dark-magic principle Snape was so fond of had serious exceptions. Serious, gaping exceptions where the darkest of dark arts could only be destroyed by puppies and kittens. And rainbows. Though he didn't exactly know how to create rainbows using magic. There was probably a spell for it somewhere.
Destroying a soul, though. That was probably always dark by the letter of the law. The stupid magical law. Whoever managed to destroy the Horcrux would probably have to break a million laws to do it. Knowing the Ministry, they'd spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban.
That was enough thinking. He started to read.
Remorse. Strong enough remorse could what, reattach the bits of soul? The book didn't treat that idea with much respect, and no wonder. The whole point of breaking up the soul was it destroyed who you were. It prioritised quantity of life at the expense of quality of life. Emotional turmoil, moral dissonance. They dressed it up all fancy in the book, but basically it turned you into more of a monster the more times you'd been broken. The Dark Lord had had a Horcrux since at least 1981. With his body dead along with the piece of soul in it, he was running on half a soul and presumably had been for fifteen years.
Daniel doubted such a creature would be capable of going down the wholehearted remorse road. Even if he had ever felt guilty for anything in his life, the feeling wouldn't have lived through whatever hell he'd put his soul through in later years. So it would fall to flat-out destruction. The book didn't go into anywhere near as much detail on methods of destruction as it had on the ins and outs of every experiment ever conducted along the development of the Horcrux. And hardly any pictures, either.
It took the Killing Curse to destroy a living Horcrux. The rest had to simply be damaged beyond repair. Magical repair went a long way, and nothing in the book said exactly where that limit was. Funny, it was almost like they didn't want the things to be destroyed. Big surprise.
The thinking part of Daniel's brain had just about had enough. There was something to be said for regular studying, and that was that it gave you some kind of intellectual stamina. Daniel had cracked his books maybe a dozen times over the holidays, and barely for more than half an hour at a time.
He flipped idly through both books at once. If he gave it long enough, something had to jump out at him. He had faith in this room, damn it, and it would tell him what to do if he asked it nicely enough. Which he had. So the answer was here.
In the middle of Secrets of the Darkest Art there were a few colour photos and they were enough to have the book on the other side of the room in seconds as he clutched the other one like a talisman.
He couldn't face that. He couldn't defeat that. The kind of mind that … no. The prophecy was bullshit and that was all there was to it. Someone had to get rid of the Dark Lord. The world and the people in it could not afford to wait until Daniel or Potter had it in them to not only face up to that horror, but to defeat it.
Daniel stood up. The knowledge required to defeat the Dark Lord was that he had a Horcrux and probably killed a child for it. Or was brought up in a Muggle orphanage himself. The best use of that knowledge was to give it to someone capable of taking the next step. Snape, he supposed. Or whoever was in the Order of the Phoenix. McGonagall, if she'd believe a word he told her. The Ministry, if they weren't such a pack of ridiculous bowler-wearing boffins.
Dumbledore, he'd bet his wand, knew it already.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
"To split an untouched soul is, by necessity, to inflict untold agony on the bearer."
The pictures flashed in front of Daniel's eyes. The test subjects. Victims really, but the clinical Queen's English echoing in his head made Daniel feel he was reading a textbook.
"The soul fragments are stable and in harmony with each other; magical traces cannot be wholly extinguished but instead seek out their other halves. All such souls yearn to be completed."
Sirius changed into Padfoot, and back again. The lost look on the man's face perfectly matched the plaintive silver eyes in the dog. Straight after the change there was always a trace of hope for the future, but it faded before it had a chance to catch hold.
"The more stable Horcrux is that created by splitting a treated soul. The soul's fundamental energy has been altered and therefore the pieces seek unity only briefly before developing external resistance and their own original stamp."
The pictures, again. Dead-eyed children, a multitude of bodies drawn in a permanent state of convulsion. Whenever their eyes were showing, they were empty.
Treated souls.
Daniel realised by now he was dreaming. He realised it was a nightmare, for that matter. But he wasn't anywhere … it was a slideshow, not a place he could wake up from. If he woke, there was nothing to stop the slideshow from continuing.
He woke up with a start and only just managed to get his head out of his curtains before throwing up. Then he just drooped. Every inch of blood in his body found its way to the top of his head and pulled it down closer to the floor. If he'd had the energy he'd find his wand and get rid of the mess. But if he started to move he would start to think. The world would be real.
"Evanesco."
That sounded like Crabbe, but he didn't say anything else. There was just the sound of some curtains closing and the room was silent again. After about ten minutes Daniel had the strength to pull himself onto the bed properly. Five minutes after that he took out his wand and his old letters from Sirius. The present sucked, the future would suck more so he lost himself in the past to and tried not to think about anything that would start him screaming.
~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Snape mentally squared off his seventh years in the most volatile combinations he could manage. Let their dramas unfold and occupy the lot of them without Snape needing to work for it. He would take points for flaws in duelling technique, award them for victory and otherwise be at leisure.
He began with Damon Muir and Jo Chalmers, the two alpha males of the room who had a considerable history of antagonism between them. Chalmers was the more creative of the two but Muir had doubtless been in constant practice over the summer.
Chalmers was also, along with Elizabeth McBurney, on the shortlist to join the Dark Lord's service as soon as they were out of school if not before.
Yates counted them in and stepped aside, casting the insulation spell with studied diligence.
No sidestepping or slow assessing went on between the two combatants. Chalmers bellowed, "Stupefy!" while casting a silent Blinding Curse. Muir met the ray with a textbook Impediment Jinx and threw up a Delaying Charm, his face a picture of grim concentration.
The duel was five frenzied minutes of light and noise. Muir was rarely fooled by Chalmers' misdirection but the sheer strength of his spells had the Head Boy on the back foot for the most part. Once Muir stumbled deflecting a solid Expelliarmus Chalmers lashed in with his patented combination of Calimens, Vereo, Lumico and Stupefy following so closely after each other that the combination was very nearly a spell of its own.
Muir's last gasp was a haphazard Expelliarmus of his own. Chalmers held on to his wand with the tips of his fingers and just managed to complete the spell loop. Muir fell and the Slytherins cheered. Chalmers smiled with moderate humility and woke his opponent, giving him a hand up.
Muir clapped him on the shoulder with a grudging nod. Chalmers surprised everyone by squeezing Muir around the shoulders and leaning in to whisper at his ear.
The dark, almost Spanish-looking Muir tensed and his eyes shot to Snape. Chalmers, all tousled strawberry blond hair, ruddy cheeks and an extra half a foot of height, grinned a schoolboy's grin and patted him on the cheek. He glowed where Muir fumed.
"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said. "Five to Hufflepuff."
The two of them walked back to their seats. Muir spoke directly to Chalmers, no trace of grandstanding in his tone or his bearing. "If you call me a Mudblood again you'll regret it."
Chalmers shrugged and took his seat. "If you say so."
"Frost," Snape said. "Frobisher. Julian Frobisher. Bell, officiate."
"But sir," Frobisher protested. "She might hurt me."
"Might?" Frost asked, standing eagerly. "I absolutely intend to."
"Can't I duel Rowlings?" Frobisher whined. "Or Chang? I've got a chance against them."
"Frobisher," Snape said. "Up."
He dragged himself to his feet. "Vicky, you'll avenge my death won't you?"
His sister studiously ignored him.
"Oh, come on. Frost laces every spell with pain. I'm a delicate flower."
"Now, Frobisher, or I will take points."
Bell counted them in. Frobisher ducked and dodged three heavy stunning spells and when Frost took a breath he took the stage.
"Effagoctusontinerself!" he incanted with theatrical projection.
Frost cast her next curse three feet to his left. Frobisher grasped his side and groaned in pain, throwing out his wand and hissing, "Expelliarmus!"
Frost raised a wide-range shield then pointed her wand at Frobisher himself. "Finite," she snapped.
Frobisher barely flicked his wand to vanish from sight.
Frost played fast and loose with stunning spells, all aimed at something completely invisible. The triumphant look on her face was stripped abruptly as her wand was snatched out of her hand in the middle of an incantation. Frobisher appeared next to her, twirling a wand in each hand.
"Finite," he said.
Tables were pounded and there were whoops from various seats in front of Snape. Frobisher bowed fluidly and presented Frost's wand back to her. "My apologies, fair lady."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Effagoctusontinerself?"
"My gift to wizardkind," Frobisher said proudly. "I'll teach it to you, if you like."
"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said.
"He didn't even use any defensive spells," Carmichael protested.
"Any spell is a defensive spell if you use it for defence, you blithering idiot," Frobisher sneered. It was enough of a break from his excessively affable self to have everyone in the room look at him in surprise. He shrugged. "Well, it is. And he is."
It might take more than a week's worth of duelling to bring all the undercurrents to the surface. Snape would subject himself to tiresome adolescent spats all year if it meant he could keep his eye on the adult animosity as it developed. If they were forced to keep their troubles pent up in class there was more chance of serious harm being caused to not only them but those around them when they were finally released.
"Quark," he said. "Page. Montague, officiate."
Daniel didn't hear a single word of McGonagall's lecture. He only noticed it had ended once his arm got sore from Terry poking it all the time.
"We're meant to be pairing up," Terry muttered when Daniel finally pulled his arm away in irritation. "Did you do the reading?"
"What? No. I mean, yes."
Terry raised his eyebrows and waited.
Daniel really, really tried to pull his brain back into class. He hadn't been able to sleep at all last night, or this morning. It was barely two in the afternoon and he was all but collapsing where he sat. "What was it on?"
Terry sighed. "Animate cores."
Daniel vaguely remembered looking at the reading as a possible distraction to thinking about the real world last night. He'd decided it wasn't worth the bother. Instead, he'd lain on his back and thought fiercely of nothing for hour after hour. He felt himself doing the same right then. Either that or falling asleep.
He shook himself free from it with a pointed effort. "What was —"
He shut up as McGonagall marched over to them looking starchy and disapproving like usual.
"Mr. Boot, Mr. Livingstone," she said. "How are you getting along?"
"Fine," Daniel said. "We've been friends for years."
Her face pinched itself up and she tapped a finger briskly on Daniel's closed textbook. "Get to it, then."
Daniel wondered how much agony she would be in if her soul was split. It would probably snap her in half like she was an old twig. Which she was.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Livingstone?"
Daniel looked up at her and realised he'd been glaring. She wasn't picking on him any more. She looked attentive and professional.
He might as well ask. "What's the difference between a core and a soul?" he asked casually.
She was instantly suspicious. Of course she was.
"That distinction is beyond the parameters of this class, Mr. Livingstone," she said abruptly.
That was all Daniel needed. They weren't the same thing, not precisely.
She tapped his book again. "To work."
Daniel breathed a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Of course a core wasn't the same thing as a soul. After all, there were such things as inanimate cores. Presumably stuff that didn't live didn't have souls. It was obvious, now he thought of it.
So the dead look that had floated in front of his eyes for the last twelve hours hadn't found its way into Sirius's eyes because spending time as a dog had fragmented his soul. It was all down to Azkaban. Dementors, snacking on souls. Sirius had resisted it by shifting his form, and his mind. Dementors ate souls, and they hadn't fed on him when he was a dog. Was it a change in his soul, or just his mind? His core had stayed human, but something about it had made him unappetising to the Dementors.
"Mr. Livingstone, if you do not wish to be in this class then you should not be here."
He should probably stop forgetting there were other people in the room. It was his only class for the day, he might as well pretend to do it correctly.
"Sorry," he said. She nodded and moved off.
"Are you on something?" Terry asked out of the side of his mouth.
Daniel shook his head.
"Well we have to make a list of what principles do and don't apply to animate cores and then inanimate. By the end of the hour."
Ugh. "You can do all that, right? I'll check it over when you're done."
McGonagall was an Animagus. She'd probably be able to explain it to him. All he had to do was find a way of asking that was polite, innocent and respectful. Daniel's vision blurred as he thought.
McGonagall's voice leapt out at him after a while. Daniel nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard what she was talking about.
"The Animagus transformation requires a great deal of competence when dealing with the animate core, yes," McGonagall said. Daniel's head jerked itself around to see who she was talking to.
Potter and Weasley. Of course. She was full of fun facts for her beloved Gryffindors. They didn't have to justify every single one of their questions. Life was good in red and gold.
"However, there are significant differences that must be taken into account. Not only is a wizard's core more complex than a Muggle's or an animal's, to transfigure in connection with one's own core is a task fraught with danger."
Daniel only needed one glance at Potter's face to know what he was thinking about. Who he was thinking about.
Funny, that Potter had never asked Sirius that kind question himself. He'd never asked to be taught? Daniel doubted Potter was calculating enough to ask the question in class to misdirect the rest of them. He really didn't know.
Daniel tried to imagine Sirius teaching Potter the same things he'd taught Daniel. Sharing the same jokes. Telling him about James Potter and all the pranks they'd played. Probably a whole lot more about the ones they'd played on Snape. Gryffindor secrets and jolly japes. The brotherhood.
Daniel had given that to Potter. It was thanks to Daniel that it hurt Potter now to think of Sirius. Potter wouldn't be able to just think of him as that guy he'd met one evening but who'd had his soul sucked out by a Dementor a few hours later. He wasn't another shadowy figure from Potter's past; he was a flesh and blood person. Sirius hadn't talked much about Potter, but it was obvious to Daniel they'd been close.
Daniel had given Potter that. He'd given him time with Sirius, a chance at a family, and the stupid prick had just thrown him away. Like he'd owned him, to drag him out to the Ministry on a wild goose chase like his only purpose was to follow Potters about the place. Their loyal hound, with no life of his own. Giving up his life to serve his master.
"You taking over for Malfoy?"
Daniel looked next to him in surprise. Terry was working on one side and Seamus had come to sit next to him on the other.
"Huh?"
"What's Harry ever done to you?" Seamus asked.
"Don't even start," Daniel said. His voice was cold and hard, but then it wavered.
"Hey," Seamus said, reaching out to his shoulder. "Hey, man up."
Daniel swayed away from his hand. He had to get out of there, fast. Damned if he was going to have a meltdown in McGonagall's class of all places. He was about to get to his feet when Terry grabbed his arm.
"I'm done," he said. "Can you check it over?"
Daniel turned away from Seamus to look at the neat list Terry had made.
The words were too fucking familiar. Terry's handwriting was blocky and mechanical where Sirius's had been some unholy blend of cursive and abstract art, but the words were the same and he couldn't read them without remembering.
He didn't have anything left in him to push the memories back.
He put his head down on the table and practised breathing.
"Hey," Terry whispered by his ear. "I'll say you're sick, if you want."
Daniel would have agreed to it, but if he moved he was going to start blubbering. There was a swelling behind his eyes and his throat was starting to burn. He breathed. In, and out, and in, and out. Given five or so hours he'd be able to pull himself together.
"Get McGonagall," Terry hissed over Daniel's head. Daniel brought his arms up to cover his head. They made it more uncomfortably hot, but at least they hid him. He could wait right where he was until everyone was gone. He wouldn't be in anyone's way.
There wasn't even anything to think. Whatever crap went on with Dementors and souls and Animagus cores was hardly the point. The point was that Sirius was dead and gone and the sight of Potter made Daniel sick to his stomach. And the poor dear bereaved Gryffindor boy was in both his classes.
"C'mon, Daniel," Seamus said from somewhere over his head. "We're okay to leave."
Where exactly did he think there was to go? "Mmfg." If the world could just fall away, that would be great. No way he was showing his face here.
There was whispering somewhere and a hand on his shoulder.
It really didn't help. Right now, the person he wanted to talk to wasn't in the same dimension as the rest of them. Parts of his soul might still be hanging around in Azkaban or as Dementors or whatever but Potter had seen to the rest of him. Daniel had saved him, Potter had killed him.
It wasn't even slightly fair. And saying that out loud would have had Sirius instantly calling him a hypocritical pseudo-Hufflepuff and piling on a few dozen more insults before Daniel could think of anything to say to defend himself. Pointing out that, you know, Potter hadn't wanted Sirius to die any more than Daniel had.
"He's not made out of Flemish crystal, you know," Draco said disdainfully. "Millicent, the other side."
Daniel was hauled up by both arms at once. He didn't put any energy into anything. Millicent could probably lift him by his ankles with only a little help from Draco. They dragged him out and let him sag against a wall just outside. Millicent walked right back into the classroom. "He's fine," she announced, and closed the door behind her.
"I'm going to cry," Daniel said thickly. "Go away."
Draco hesitated. "At least go into a room," he said. "I don't recommend crying alone in corridors."
"Help me up, then."
Draco pulled him to his feet and shoved him towards a door. "You'll go mad," he said when Daniel put his hand on the doorknob. "Going on like this."
Daniel leaned on the door to push it open.
"Find someone," Draco said firmly. "And talk to them. Or I'll be going to Snape."
"Go to Snape all you like," Daniel said. "He's not going to do anything."
Draco stepped quickly towards him. "Then I will. Go on, cry." He pushed Daniel into the classroom and shut the door.
All the unused classrooms in Hogwarts were the same. Big wooden desk at the front, student desks in practical arrangements, a couple of big windows, a faint smell of musty books. Daniel spun around and flung the door open. He would go mad if he was just left alone to his grief. He wasn't just going to be shut in a spare room by Draco Malfoy.
"Hey," he called just as Draco was about to open the door back into Transfiguration. "What's your stance on Sirius Black?"
Draco turned with a kind of bewildered triumph. "Sirius Black?"
"Yeah."
The frown was small but serious. Draco walked slowly over to Daniel and pulled him back into the classroom. He warded it meticulously and crossed his arms.
"What does Sirius Black have to do with anything?"
This was Draco's chance as far as Daniel was concerned. If he wouldn't unbend for this conversation, Daniel would just count him out. Of everything. He met Draco's eyes and waited.
"Sirius Black was a traitor to his family," Draco said flatly. "He picked the wrong side and now he's paid for it. I didn't know him personally."
Daniel's chest ached. "I did," he said helplessly.
Draco focussed in on Daniel so hard he almost shattered under the scrutiny. Then his face relaxed a little and he nodded. "You did."
Daniel's world whirled. "You knew?"
"No," Draco said. "I just believe you."
"Oh."
Draco looked at him for a while, thoughtfully. "Are you in with the Order?"
That was a dumb question. "I'm not in with anyone."
There was a tiny trace of sympathy on Draco's face, and a kind of pained hope. "You could be."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I don't mean Death Eaters." Despite the wards, Draco spoke in barely more than a murmur. "I don't mean the Order, either. Look around yourself. Blaise is unaligned. Millicent as well. Theo would side with the Order if he could, but they'll never take him so he's effectively independent as well. Then there's Turpin and Boot. They haven't shown much political involvement. And —"
"Shut up," Daniel said. He sank into the nearest chair. "I don't want to talk about that."
Draco sat a few chairs away. "Were you close to Black?"
"Yes," Daniel snapped. "I fucking well was. That's why I'm upset, see?"
"I — I'd talk to you about it," Draco said. "But when it comes to secrecy, I'm not really in control of what I know. I can't promise —"
"He was my best friend," Daniel said. "I don't care what anyone learns from you. He was my favourite person in the whole world and I don't care who knows it."
Draco sighed. "Odd that you've been keeping it so quiet, then."
"I don't care now," Daniel said. "I did before. I thought it would hurt Theo's feelings, and get me in trouble with the Ministry and who knows who else. The Dark Lord himself, I dunno."
"What was he like, then? Your favourite person in the whole world?"
Daniel twisted his fingers together gently. He had no idea what he could say that would do justice to Sirius. He was funny and smart and generous, but that was just a laundry list. "He was free," he began haltingly. "He was wounded and abandoned and had every reason to be bitter but he still laughed. He was just himself, always so honest. He made time for me and I made time for him and — life was so much easier when he was around. I wanted to do right by him. Nobody else had, but — I could have. Once everything else was over, I was going to make them hear his case. And fuck everybody over who put him away. Every last one. Dumbledore, Crouch, Bagnold, Lupin. I didn't care who they were. I was going to make them pay."
The back of his hands were wet with tears. He didn't remember letting his head drop onto his knuckles but there he was, crying into his fists.
"Lupin?" Draco asked quietly.
"Lupin's the worst out of all of them," Daniel said darkly. "He was supposed to be Sirius's friend. Did he make a peep when they decided to chuck him in Azkaban without trial? Did he stand by his friend for even one second? No, he just faded away and felt sorry for himself."
"I don't see why you'd expect more. He's a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff."
"I'm not a Hufflepuff, and I'd do it for you. Hell, I'd stand up for every McBurney in the world if they were going to be thrown to the Dementors like that. It's principle, not loyalty. And anyway, you don't have to be a Hufflepuff to be a decent person."
"And Dumbledore."
Daniel lifted his head. "What?"
"You want to get back at Dumbledore."
"I don't care right now. It was only going to be worth it if Sirius was free and watching."
"Hm."
"Don't 'hm'. If you have something to say, say it."
Draco shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Are you feeling better?"
He wanted to say yes, so the conversation would be over. He wanted to say no, because if Draco thought one tiny little chat was going to fix anything he was seriously mistaken. He felt less nervous and hopeless than before, it was true. But it hadn't made a dint in his misery.
"I miss him," he choked out. "I want to talk to him."
"You should talk to Theo," Draco said. "I think I'll go and get him."
"No," Daniel said quickly. "Don't."
Draco stood up. "Afraid of hurting his feelings?"
Well, yes. Theo was meant to be his best friend. They were meant to be best friends. But when Sirius had been around, Sirius had been better to talk to about the serious things, and it was easier to let off steam with him as well. Daniel hadn't exactly ignored Theo, but now Sirius was gone he was realising how different things had become between him and Theo without him noticing.
"He's sensitive," Daniel ventured. "He might cry."
"Theodore Nott has never cried in his life," Draco declared confidently. "I'm going to find him."