The Gift

Indarae

Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all.

Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.

Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask.

Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.

A/N: Mmmm. Weekend. Take a few hours off homework, if you have it, to enjoy V-day!

Chapter Four — Being a Malfoy

December 23, 1997

13 August 1979

Severus Snape appeared in my office today, and begged to be turned in to the Dementors. I don't know what changed him. There was blood all over his cloak, and the stench of it was overwhelming... I don't know how many he killed, but I have offered him the sanctuary he needs. I won't turn the boy in, not when he's come clean and bared his soul. I'd hoped he'd see the Light for right... I'm in desperate need of an operative, since George McKinnon slipped up. George had a family that suffered for his deception, but Severus has no one — maybe he'll take the place of spy if I offer no other choice. He could flee... but I doubt he'll think of it. Riddle wouldn't think him important enough to follow.

Oh, and I finally convinced Sibyll Margaret Trelawney to join the staff. She doesn't remember the prophecy she gave, that day, which gives me even more reason to believe its accuracy. She was able, however, to give a fairly accurate Tarot reading for a man born on the 24 August 1869 — she believes I've had an interesting run in with a goat. If only she knew Aberforth. Perhaps someday I'll give her my real birth date.

He was settled at Remus' side again, with 1979 settled firmly in his lap and 1980 tucked beneath for safekeeping. In the day since Blaise had discovered the truth, Harry hadn't trusted anyone enough to leave it lying out. Snape was too busy running about — limping about on his imperfect leg, actually — to remember Harry's promise, and Tonks was too busy to spend her time looking after an unresponsive friend. The charms would be boosted in only a week and a half or so. He'd yet to even see Bill and Percy, who were staying in the Staff Wing and spending dinners at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

Justin's suspicions over the writings in 1979 certainly seemed justified. Dumbledore broke the prophecy into pieces, with full Arithmantic notations and calculations — Hermione would've sold her soul for a look at it all — and he'd come up with the prediction that Snape's son would live and James Potter's daughter would die. And since Justin was a Muggleborn, the ultrasound results clinched it: where any pureblood would scoff at Muggle science, Justin would believe. Ginny, Ron, and Blaise probably would've taken the information a bit more seriously... and that was something Harry was definitely thankful for.

Reading about Binns' death had been intriguing, too. Aurelius Binns, born in 1837, had dozed off in the staff lounge over a pile of ungraded essays... and stepped out of his dead body as a ghost the following morning. That had been the rumor, of course, but stories at Hogwarts generally tended to be stranger than fact. Oddly, for Hogwarts, no foul play had been involved; he simply wasn't ready to stop teaching... so he didn't.

A ginger head ducked around the infirmary door, snapping Harry from his book. "Hallo, Harry... I'm on a break, I was just stopping by to see how you were doing..."

"Percy?" Harry demanded, snatching his glasses off to rub at his tired eyes. But no, his first glance had been right: Percy Weasley, former Head Boy of Hogwarts, former lackey of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, had a ponytail and very trendy looking glasses, and was wearing a very tight pair of trousers.

It took Harry a long moment to connect the man at the door with the Hogwarts Prefect and during that time, Percy crossed the room and plopped (less than gracefully) onto the bed next to Harry's chair. He made an amused face, tugging at his hair. "It's the ponytail, isn't it? Bill's idea, you know — first I'm living in his flat, then I'm snagging his clothes, and now this. Mum'll have a fit when she sees it, if she's still even talking to me."

"Wow. Egypt agreed with you, then?" He looked frecklier than ever, but happy — and that was really all that mattered. Leaving behind the Ministry and Penelope Clearwater had torn him to pieces, but he'd rebuilt... and seemed much like the kind of person Harry himself would hang around.

Percy grinned and adjusted his glasses. "Yes, I love it there. I do get homesick, but Bill's always around to be big-brothery when I need him. And you — what are you going to do after Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. Really, he hadn't expected to make it this far alive.

"Mmm... well, you could always try an internship in Egypt," Percy winked, slapping Harry's shoulder. "Though... likely you'd tan, rather than picking up spots. You'd have to try the Bill haircut, as well — you'd probably look better in it than I do."

"No, it suits you," Harry assured him. "I'd just look like a git. My hair stands on end all the time, no matter the length."

Percy grinned again, before growing serious for a moment. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your godfather, and about Professor Lupin, here... but just remember what happened to Charlie. He got himself all burned up and in hospital, and now he's off at Beaubaxton and handling the dragons like before. Chin up — he'll come out alright."

"I can only hope," Harry murmured, flicking a glance to Remus. Just as he had on the last check, his breath filled the silence with a rasp. He hadn't moved once after being brought in, that fateful night.

"Ginny told me what happened to Malfoy and the others. And I'm sorry about that, too. What do you think he was up to?" Percy hooked his heels on the metal edge of the bed and rested his arms across his knees pensively. "I don't understand why You-Know-Who would drag Malfoy up to the Common Room just to kill him."

Waxy, dead eyes, and a pool of blood spreading down the hall, and a gaping hole stretching from ear-to-ear — "I'd give anything to know... but nobody was there. We were all inside, waiting." Harry grabbed Remus' limp hand, trying to force the stare from his mind.

"The Fat Lady didn't know anything, then?" Percy asked, frowning. "How odd... You-Know-Who couldn't have just blasted the painting down, since it was in perfectly fine shape..."

"I-I didn't ask her," Harry stuttered, silently cursing himself for being such a fool. Of course she'd have seen — she saw everything that happened in that hall! "Hey, Percy, it's been very nice talking to you, but I'm going to -"

Percy nodded swiftly, getting to his feet. "Go. Just tell me what Malfoy died for — we all want to know. He might deserve to be remembered for something other than hate."

Harry nodded and tossed both the diaries onto Remus' bedside table. "I'll be back to get these, alright? They're the ones I was assigned." He waited only for Percy's patient nod before making a dash for the door.

The Gryffindor corridor was empty, just as Harry had anticipated. He supposed he probably shouldn't be wandering around the corridors alone, but it was daylight, and he was seventeen-bloody-years-old. "Excuse me?" Harry asked the painting, panting a little after crossing the castle at a run. "I've got a question — did you see what happened out here? The night the boy died?"

The stately woman nodded slowly, before seating herself at the edge of the painting. "I saw it all. I heard it all. No one has asked yet — so simply ask. What do you wish to know?"

Harry's gaze flickered to the blood-stained floor. "Tell me everything. Tell me why he died."

"He'd been skulking around for weeks," the Fat Lady admitted, "hiding behind that suit of armour across the hall. I'm sure he knew the password by the night He Who Must Not Be Named entered the school. I suppose he was supposed to furnish my password to the Dark Lord."

"But he didn't," Harry whispered.

She shook her head. "No. Indeed, he didn't. He came here at the head of a line of Black Robes. The Dark Lord — he had such terrible eyes — was following him. I hid behind my chair, here, but I have my sworn duty to uphold; if he had the password, I am required to let him in. So he asked the boy for it. And the boy turned to him and said, I'll give you the password, if you promise only to kill Potter. Let the others live.'"

His life had never been worth much to his arch-rival... but the safety of the Gryffindors? All of them? "And then Voldemort grabbed him and killed him?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't that painless," the Fat Lady whispered, eyes wide and voice full of drama. "No, the Dark Lord shoved the boy back against the wall, beneath the landscape there, and threatened him. And then one of the Black Robes came forward and pleaded with the boy. But he stood up to them both, insisting that only you were to die, and perhaps the teachers guarding you; he was very stubborn about the other Gryffindors living."

So Lucius Malfoy had been there, and had tried to talk his son out of the suicidal course he'd embarked upon. Oddly enough, Harry didn't mind that Malfoy had been bartering for his death. Had the promise been accepted, it meant Ron and Hermione would've lived.

The Fat Lady took up the tale again, oblivious to Harry's thoughtful expression and gaze resting on the stained floor. "The Dark Lord took out his wand and told the boy, If you will not part with the information the easy way, then you will do it the hard way.' And he shoved the boy out into the middle of the room and held him under the Cruciatus Curse for a good four or five minutes before the boy finally gave in. He yelled out the password, so I had to open... oh, I was so sad for him. He tried so hard, but resisting a Dark Lord is nearly impossible."

"What happened then?" Harry demanded, as the Fat Lady's story lulled for a moment. Why kill Malfoy after he'd lost the battle of wills?

"He sent the first of his troops into the Common Room — I'll bet you remember that, since I heard all sorts of fighting from inside. Then he, one Black Robe, and the boy remained, along with about twelve Black Robes standing apart. Take this as a message to you,' he said to the Black Robes. I am the Dark Lord, and I will not be disobeyed.' And then he pulled out a very wicked looking dagger, covered with all sorts of runes and blood. He pulled the boy up to his feet — the Black Robe near them fell to his knees and started begging for the boy to be spared — and then he grabbed the boy's hair, yanked his head back, and slit his throat. Oh, there was blood everywhere... there's still blood everywhere. That poor boy... he tried so hard, the dear."

"What did Lucius Malfoy do? The Black Robe, the one who begged for the boy's life?" He'd died days later, at his own hand, with a picture of Draco in his pocket.

The Fat Lady seemed on the verge of tears. "He screamed... such a cry of pain I haven't heard since the 70's. The boy was already dead, but he held the body as the rest of the Black Robes went in to fight. He was weak,' the Dark Lord said, and we should've rid ourselves of him years ago.' Then the Dark Lord went inside, too. I closed the potrait hole, but I could hear what the Black Robe said over the creaks. He said, I'll be avenged, do you hear me? He'll be avenged.' And then he left the body there and fled. And the boy's eyes... they stared up at me all day. I can't forget his eyes."

"Neither can I," Harry murmured. He mused over Lucius' words, but they meant nothing: Lucius and Draco Malfoy were dead, along with Draco's mother. None would be avenged.

"You shouldn't be out in the halls, dear," the potrait scolded, dabbing at her eyes with a frilly handkerchief. "Go on back to the Tower you're all staying in. Get some rest and stop thinking about the poor boy who died here. He showed courage worthy of a Gryffindor, I daresay."

Harry thanked her before wandering back in the direction of the Ravenclaw Common Room, with its high-vaulted ceilings and peaceful blue murals, forgetting the journals sitting at Remus' bedside. Draco would be rolling in his grave after that: courage of a Gryffindor? No... it sounded as though he'd shown the loyalty and determination of all Slytherin House. He'd cunningly devised a plan to keep casualties to a minimum... he'd given his Housemates time to hide... and he'd given his life doing it. Though he'd gag himself before admitting it, Draco Malfoy had been a hero.

~

"Harry, we're heading down for dinner," Ginny called, as Harry climbed through the Ravenclaw portrait hole. "Where have you been all day?"

If he told her the truth, that he'd been sitting on the edge of the North Tower and watching the sunset, thinking over everything he'd learned, they'd probably get in another row over his nocturnal wanderings and the dangers they entailed. The sunset had been spectacular, especially for the lateness of the year. Deep reds hung over the trees, the same colour as Malfoy's blood as it spread across the corridor floor. But the sunset faded into soft oranges and pinks, and finally to black. Short, exciting, before it was gone in an instant. "Visiting," he muttered, hoping she'd take the hint. It looked as though all of the young Slytherins were camped out in the Common Room in force, each holding their journal and a notepad. Norah, the third-year Ravenclaw, looked at home in their midst. The older students were clustered in the back, but for one — Zabini was missing.

Ron didn't seem to notice the Slytherin's absence. He chucked the journal he was reading on a table and crossed the room in an instant. "How's he doing, mate?" he asked, lowering his voice so the Slytherins wouldn't hear.

"No change," Harry reported dully. And there wasn't likely to be. If Remus had awakened, Harry would've been the first told, no matter where he was in the castle. "Read anything interesting?"

Ron shrugged. "I'm almost done with my set. It sounds like your dad and Sirius made as much trouble as my brothers. Kinda creepy, too — I read all about when Snape nearly got killed by Lupin. Did you know that Dumbledore almost expelled Sirius? But your grandad convinced him not to."

"I didn't know," Harry admitted. "Well, I'm almost done with my volumes, too. I'm ready to start on 1981, and 82's really thin. I'm a little nervous about reading what happened... you know, on Halloween..."

"I know," Ron said, nodding. He slapped Harry's shoulder. "Well, food now? Professor McGonagall told me she was springing for Indian takeout for the whole lot of us... she sent Percy and Bill to Apparate into London — Tonks too; I think she's made herself look like another Weasley. I hope she remembered to ask for nan."

"Sounds scrummy to me," Harry grinned. "So where's Blaise? He coming too?"

Luna ducked over, very calmly hooking her arm with Harry's. He froze, unsure exactly what the Ravenclaw was trying to do. "He's been upstairs all afternoon. He's taking all this research very seriously."

"Well, he's the last of his year. This research just might keep him alive... not to mention all the first- and second-years. He's got a lot hanging on what he learns, and with the section he has, he's the most likely to find an answer," Harry said, shrugging.

"It's his own fault if he misses dinner," Ron griped. "Let's go! It's been fecking ages since I had real Anglicised Indian food!"

"Ron, watch your language!" Ginny snapped, punching her brother in the shoulder. "Mum would wash your mouth out!"

Ron snorted. "Right after she was done with yours," he countered. "What did you call Snape the other day? A mother fu -"

"Ron!" she shrieked, clapping her hand over his mouth, "that's enough! You weren't supposed to repeat that!"

Though he'd said plenty of horrible things about his Potions Master before, the comment strangely stung. He slipped away from Luna while she was busy watching Ginny grappling with her brother. "Go on ahead," he said, just loudly enough to get their attention. "I'm going to go find Blaise... don't wait up..."

He thought he heard Ron asking what was wrong, but he took the tower stairs two at a time to put the family bonding behind him. Maybe Blaise had been right. He did want a family, more than anything in the world, and he'd turned it all down just because Snape was Snape. Just because he was cranky, badly groomed, and miserly didn't mean he wouldn't care about his son... He thought about Lucius Malfoy and the story the Fat Lady told of Draco's death. Even Lucius Malfoy had cared, in the end.

"Are you in there, Zabini?" he called, shoving the door of their dorm open.

He wasn't sitting on his bed. He wasn't anywhere near his own possessions, in fact. Blaise was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Harry's trunk, which was open. And Harry's most prized possession, the photo album that Hagrid had given him so many years earlier, was lying open across his lap.

"You know, going through someone's things is generally considered rude," Harry snapped, storming across the room to snatch the album away.

Blaise held it out of reach. "I saw you looking through it after we moved up here. Quit being a wanker and look."

Rather than argue — Blaise would certainly win a physical fight, and Harry didn't want to damage the album — he took a seat next to the Slytherin. "That was their wedding," he said lamely, as if the other boy couldn't tell from the bride and groom in the photo's centre. "Professor Lupin took that one. That's their best man standing behind them... and see Dumbledore over in the corner? Hey, McGonagall's crying — I didn't notice that before." And indeed, the uptight Head of Gryffindor House was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief as Hagrid patted her shoulder.

"Not them. Her." Blaise pointed at a figure standing in the corner, just slightly apart from the rest of the crowd. "It's your mum."

Harry tugged the book from Blaise's hands, and this time Blaise let go. He leaned down for a closer look. She was dressed like the other bridesmaids, in pale lavender, and her deep black hair was pinned up in flattering curls. She was wearing glasses, just like James', and her smile seemed a little uncomfortable when compared to Sirius, James, or Lily. It was difficult to tell from the tiny photo... but her eyes looked green. Not the shocking emerald that caused so many people to compare Harry's eyes to Lily's... but green all the same. Just like Harry. "I look like her," he said softly.

Blaise snorted. "Well, we could put you in a curly wig to make sure, but I'd say it's a match. It's the chin — your chin's different than James', but it's just like hers. Around the eyes, though... I can see your resemblance to him. It's not overwhelming or anything, but it's there. You're definitely your father's son."

"You're just trying to get me to tell him," Harry accused, but it was a half-hearted attempt at an argument. "What do you think he'll say?"

"I don't know," Blaise responded honestly, shrugging. "You could just give him the diary and let him read for himself, while you're standing there. But hey, the worst he could do is reject you — and he's done that plenty of times already, wouldn't you say?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Very true. Every Monday, Thursday, and Friday at three o'clock." He looked down at the picture again. "I'm sorry I threatened to erase your memory."

"Yeah, well, don't mention it," Blaise said. "It was a common threat in the Slytherin Common Room, I'll get over it. It's easy to forget you're a tightlaced Gryffindor sometimes."

"And it's easy to forget you're a good-for-nothing Slytherin, especially when you're nice to me," Harry shot back. He paused. "Blaise... I went and talked to the Gryffindor portrait today..." he began, hesitantly. When Blaise didn't interrupt with a smart-ass comment, he continued. "She watched Draco's murder."

The mirth left his face instantly. "Tell me," he commanded.

"I can't repeat it all. It was painful enough to hear the first time; you can go ask her if you're really needing to hear the gruesome details... but she told me that Voldemort was using Draco as a spy... he learned the Gryffindor password by hiding in the area, and was supposed to let Voldemort in. But Draco refused to tell it. He tried to make Voldemort promise not to hurt the rest of the Gryffindors... I'd have been dead, but I couldn't figure out why Draco wouldn't want the rest of my House gone. But, whatever the reason, Voldemort tortured him until he gave the password, and then killed him for a lesson." Harry sighed, focusing on the picture of his mum rather than the vision of blood and sightless eyes.

He saw Blaise nodding out of the corner of his eye. "I think he fancied Parvati Patil. Or maybe her sister. But either way, Parvati dying probably would've killed Padma. Maybe that wasn't the reason at all, though. Maybe Snape asked him to keep as many students as possible safe. Or maybe he felt guilty about it."

"Each answer leads to more questions," Harry muttered. "He... died for something greater than himself, though. I think that deserves mention."

"He'll be mentioned," Blaise said. "I think I'll start asking other portraits what happened to my Housemates. That was a bloody good idea. And then, on the memorial, we can write down their stories."

"Not my idea," Harry admitted. "It was Percy's. I wouldn't have thought of it."

Blaise gave a half-grin. "Well, that's the difference between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin... you admit it wasn't your idea, while I'd take full credit for it. Whose-ever idea it was, it's a good one. I don't want them all to be forgotten."

"They won't ever be forgotten," Harry affirmed. "Once it's all over... somebody will make sure of that." He slowly closed the album and set it aside. "Ron said Percy, Bill, and Tonks are Apparating to London for takeaway. Have you had Muggle-style Indian takeaway before, Blaise?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Grew up with a house-elf. Mum and Dad'd kill me if they knew I was eating Muggle stuff. But hell, they're not alive to hear about it, anyhow."

"Your parents are — I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry stuttered.

Blaise climbed to his feet and offered Harry a hand. "I'm staying here for a reason, you know. And that's the real reason why I think you should talk to Snape. I know just what you're missing... and look what happened to him when You-Know-Who got ahold of him? If the Dark Lord gets a hand on him again... you won't have a father to tell."

The walk to the Great Hall was in silence, but good company. And though Snape wasn't there, Harry made his resolution: before New Years' Day, he'd admit the truth. The thought of Snape as his father would just take a little getting used to, first.

It wasn't until much later that he remembered where he'd left the journals.