Chapter 7: Compassion - Accepted and Refused
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be spending my time writing Book 6, not on this. Surprisingly, I don't own Harry Potter.
Thanks for 164 reviews goes to: taragoddess, Go10, storm079, Kippen, sever13, Saotoshi, Lexie, willowfairy, ToMLuVa06, jules37, mesmer, Vorian, Lanenkar, Monoka, Simpson-Girl, Angel, Plaidly Lush, Lady Mistress, Beauty Full, Flexi Lexi, Ms. Lit, MsLessa, PinkTribeChick, Cuppy.
A/N: A lot of people asked questions this chapter, so I'll have a little answering-session… Vorian asked why it's under romance – to which I say: be patient! It's book-length, there's plenty of time for all that to develop in its own good time.
To Lanenkar: yes, I have read that comic! It's on my favourites list, actually… I've always been intrigued by the idea of fallen angels, so naturally, that particular comic appealed to me. Of course, she and I have taken the 'fallen angel' concept in different directions. Another reason why I like the concept, its very flexible… For anyone else who loves the idea of fallen angels, is the address. Lovely comic.
Simpson-Girl: Not sure why I use 'these' instead of "these". I think it's because I learnt my grammar primarily through reading books, and most books use 'these' for dialogue, if you look. So I've always used 'these' for dialogue too.
Anyone else who asked something that I didn't answer: I've either completely forgotten out in a moment of temporary amnesia, can't think of anything to say, or don't want to answer for my own diabolical purposes. Mwhahahahahahaha. Oh, and special thanks to those who said I did Draco well; he's extremely difficult to pull off, as you may imagine.
And onto the update. Due to visiting my sister over half-term (who is very well, and has a lovely bumpy tummy with a baby inside, though I didn't feel it kicking at all) I got rather behind with writing, and actually finished this chapter at 1:46pm today. Thankfully, I have some gorgeous betas who managed, in that ridiculously short space of time, to read it, beta and send it back, spotting some rather dire and stupid mistakes I'd made. Thank you Sigma and Psi!
I'm also (I had a moment of insanity) in the Contra Veritas Valentine's fic exchange/contest. Of course, I joined BEFORE they decided to make it a contest… So I'm going to be writing a lot in the next week or two, trying to get it done before the deadline. Obviously I can't tell you which fic I've been assigned, but you'll all see it when the contest's over.
Enough of me. Onto the fic: enjoy.
~*~
Nothing vivifies, and nothing kills, like the emotions.
Joseph Roux
~*~
The room was so silent that his own breathing became nearly deafening in comparison to the sheer soundlessness of everything around him. Rita hadn't said anything, and he certainly wasn't going to say anything to her, not after she'd betrayed all his secrets so cleanly. He should never have told her anything about it in the first place. But he'd needed someone to ask about things, and she was the only person in the whole place who wasn't his enemy. Until now, of course. Now she was his enemy.
Granger knew what he was. His secret was out, and the only thing he had to stop it spreading further was a threat, one which Granger might very well decide he wouldn't carry out – he would, but that wasn't the point – and tell all the rest of the Gryffindors what he was, and then… And then what would they think, what would they do? He didn't know, which was perhaps the worst thing of all. If he'd known, he could have started making plans, tried to stop them, tried to make them do what he wanted…
But all he could do was sit here and wonder, and hope she would keep it secret, and hope nothing came of it.
There was too much to feel. And the feelings never came one-by-one, neatly and simply, so he could figure out what each one was, pin it down and label it with a name and description, like a collection of rare and unusual insects. No, they came in swarms, and they all happened at once, until any kind of identification was a hopeless task. And now there seemed more of them than ever; hundreds of them, until the sheer task of feeling them all at once made him dizzy, nauseous.
It was like some of the Dark spells he'd learnt; the ones that made the unfortunate victim's world spin around and around, stopped them knowing up from down and right from left, made familiar sights and people into grotesque monsters, made them dizzy, sick, bewildered, until they screamed for one shred of sanity in their maddened, insane, nightmarish world. That was how it felt; to feel so many things at once after feeling nothing all his life. Did humans feel like this all the time? Was this kind of thing normal to them? Were they – impossible as it seemed – used to it?
And the Dark spells would be taken off eventually, but he didn't see how this could ever be removed, unless his Fallen mind managed to retake control – and he could feel it, if he tried, calling, trying to take back the power it had once held, but this human mind had too strong a survival instinct to allow him just to give in. So he'd either have to live with it until he died, or get used to it, so he no longer even noticed it. And it was impossible for him to learn to live with this. What did that leave? Nothing but a lifetime of this, this horrible, horrible onslaught of emotions…
And into his thoughts, through the silence of the room, came a voice. Rita's voice, hesitant and timid.
'Er… Draco? There's an owl at the window…'
He raised his head, giving Rita a dark, venomous glare, then looked over to the window. As she'd said, there was an owl there, a beautiful tawny one with wide, intelligent eyes and glossy feathers, which he recognised instantly as Raphael, his mother's owl.
Swinging himself out of bed, he crossed the floor and opened the window, allowing the owl to fly onto his forearm with a gentle, friendly hoot. Raphael had always been an good-natured owl.
He took the letter back to his bed, letting Raphael perch on the headboard, and unwrapped the scroll, looking over his mother's neat handwriting.
Draco,
Originally, I was going to arrange a subterfuge with Dumbledore – send you letters through him, so your father would find it harder to track the owls – but it seems quite pointless as things stand. How he discovered it, I don't know, but he knows of your recent change, and he's fairly certain of where you're staying. But don't worry, my son – he knows full well that he cannot touch you while you're under Dumbledore's protection, and the Order is one of the safest places on earth.
But I didn't write to talk about your father. What I really want – and I hope you forgive my lack of subtlety – is to know how you're doing. I've only known you, as a human rather than a Fallen, for a very short time. A week, near enough, and for most of that you were hiding it. Which isn't nearly enough time for a mother to know her son.
If I could have one wish, I'd ask to be with you now. I can only guess what it must be like for you, my darling, and it drives me mad worrying about how you're coping with it. Emotions can be very complicated and difficult things, I'm fully aware, and I want you to know that you can always write to me if you need help.
Write to me. Quickly, and soon, even if you wish to give me nothing more than an assurance that you're alright. I will be waiting by the window and watching for Raphael's return.
-Your loving mother.
P.S. With my next letter, I'll start sending some of the things you left behind here. Such as your homework and school things (I've read over your homework; the Potions essay was superb, as always). I would have sent them with this letter, but it would burden Raphael too much, and I want your answer as swiftly as possible. Forgive my impatience!
Draco smiled, an odd, brittle smile, and ran his hand gently over the parchment. Whatever these mad, insane feelings meant, he felt a lot better. He may be surrounded by enemies here, but his mother was on his side. And she could help him, couldn't she? She knew all about Fallens, and half-Fallens, and she knew about emotions too…
Rolling his mother's letter back into a scroll, he went to the desk that stood in one corner of the room, took out parchment and a quill, and began to write a long, long letter.
~*~
In Hermione's room, the enchanted lamp was still shining warmly, casting a gold-tinted light over the desk, the bookshelves, the bed, and the quiet, still form of Hermione herself. Even though the moon was high in the soft black sky, she was still awake, leaning on her pillows with her forehead furrowed in thought.
There was simply too much to think about. And, after leaving Malfoy's room earlier, she hadn't had the time to think about it properly – Ron, Ginny and Harry had been waiting for her and she'd spent all evening talking to them. Now it was night; and the old house was silent. And she could finally try to sort out everything that Rita had told her.
It was such a huge, impossible, alien idea that she had difficulty grasping it. Not the idea of there being angels and Fallen and half-Fallen, that was; after all, she'd had to grasp far more unbelievable ideas than that before. The existence of an entire magical world, for example. No, what she couldn't grasp was the fact that Fallen and half-Fallen – like Malfoy – didn't feel emotions.
All the times he'd fought with them and spat insults at them; they'd been nothing but good acting. So Malfoy had never felt… angry. Or upset. Or afraid. Or guilty. He'd never cared for anyone. He'd never experienced love, or friendship. He'd never been touched by compassion. Misery was foreign to him, as was hate, and happiness, and jealousy, and mirth, and anxiety, and pride, and shame, and all the hundreds of emotions that humanity could feel; he had never felt any of them. Until now.
She couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like, not to feel anything. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Everything, when she thought about it, inspired some form of emotion; she couldn't think of a time when she had felt absolutely nothing. The only thing more unimaginable than the lack of emotions was the situation of suddenly gaining them, having been without them all your life. The situation that Malfoy was facing.
How he must be feeling, how difficult it must be for him to cope… It stirred something Hermione had never thought she'd feel for Draco Malfoy: sympathy. While she couldn't pardon his earlier attack on Harry, she could understand why he'd lashed out like that; not out of sheer malevolence, but because he was…lost, and uncertain, and defensive.
It felt extremely odd to be thinking of Malfoy in this way; she had never considered Malfoy in terms of anything more than a cruel force, bent on insulting and hurting herself and her friends. Which he had been at the time, Hermione realised. When he had a Fallen mind, Malfoy must have been just intelligence and a bundle of malevolent instincts. But they hadn't known that, and he could just as easily have had emotions and feelings then. Only they'd never considered them. Not once.
Hermione shook her head, feeling suddenly cold, and drew the blankets closer around herself. It was pointless dwelling on the past and whether she should have thought about people's feelings. More important to concentrate on the here and now; on Malfoy's change and what should be done about it. Hermione felt almost duty-bound to help him; she was the only one in the house who knew – apart from possibly some Order members, and they were much too busy – she was the only one who knew what he was.
The problem was that she knew full well that Malfoy would never accept any kind of help from her, or from anyone. Or would he? How different would he be, now that he was human? She didn't know, but she knew all the same that Malfoy wouldn't want her help. You only had to look at his behaviour; defensive, aggressive when he could be. Avoiding people.
No, the best she could do was offer indirect help. She herself couldn't be overtly friendly towards him, certainly, but she could make herself be civil, polite. And stop the others from being too hostile towards him, discourage them from fighting. Mrs. Weasley didn't make things easier for him either, but would she listen to Hermione about Malfoy? Perhaps Rita, the mirror, could suggest more things…
Her mind toyed with more and more possibilities as the moon rose higher in the sky, until the lateness of the hour caused Hermione to fall sound asleep, her glowing lamp forgotten.
~*~
Breakfast the next morning was much the same, to Harry, as it had been the previous few mornings. Sitting with his friends in the huge kitchen, eating his way through a plateful of sausages, and chatting absently to his friends. It all felt strangely detached; not quite real, with a thin, dreamlike quality to the air. And it was all too easy to drift into his own thoughts, the room around him becoming nothing but haze, until Ron or Hermione brought him back.
He forced himself to pay attention to things. Ron and Ginny were the same as always, keeping up friendly breakfast banter over a huge amount of food. Hermione, however, looked tired: there were faint dark patches under her eyes, and she looked thoughtful. Harry felt slightly guilty, thinking that he himself might be the cause, until he noticed that Hermione kept looking up, with thoughtful frowns, at the corner where Malfoy was eating his own solitary breakfast. Occasionally Malfoy would glance up with an extremely deadly, burning glare in Hermione's direction.
There'd probably been an exchange of insults, but he lacked the drive to be observant any more, and let the subject drop. Hermione and Malfoy fought all the time. It was to be expected. Nothing new, and she was fine besides…
'Wotcher, Harry,' came a cheerful voice from over his shoulder, and Harry looked behind him to see a cheerful, smiling Tonks, her hair a rather violent shade of orange this morning. 'How's things?'
He shrugged. 'I'm fine.' he replied.
'Hey, Tonks,' Ginny chipped in with a smile, 'I've not seen you around lately… anyone would think you'd been avoiding us!'
Tonks laughed. 'Just been busy, you know. Order stuff,' she said with a wink. 'Why would I want to avoid you, anyway? Other than our hair clashing dreadfully…' The two Weasleys snorted, and Hermione laughed a little. Tonks grinned. 'Anyway… I can't stay long; I've got to be at the Ministry soon. I was just wondering… Harry, mate, could I have a word would you?'
'A word?' he frowned. 'I've got to go help Mrs. Weasley clean…'
'Oh, don't worry, I've asked her already, its perfectly alright,' Tonks replied breezily. Harry looked at her open, round, trustworthy face and wondered: what did she want? It was almost certainly to do with… with Sirius, and with what had happened lately, and he didn't want to discuss that. On the other hand, it might not be. And it wouldn't be polite to refuse. And Tonks was smiling too hopefully for him to say no.
'Alright then,' he muttered, standing up from the breakfast table. 'I'll… I'll have a word, then.'
From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny smile and look over to Hermione, who also smiled back. Well, agreeing had done some good at least. Tonks also looked happy.
'Great,' she beamed. 'We'll just get out of the kitchen, Harry, it's far too noisy in here…
He trailed behind her out of the room, already wishing he'd refused; what could it be about other than Sirius, other than things he didn't want to discuss? Tonks had already tried talking about it when they'd come to take him from the Dursleys.
He shut the kitchen door and leant against the wall beside it, crossing his arms defensively. Tonks had pulled her wand out and started fiddling with it, seeming suddenly unsure of what to say.
'Well,' she began, 'what I wanted to talk about was… well…'
'Sirius.' Harry supplied in a groan. 'Look, Tonks, I don't…'
She interrupted him. 'No, actually, I can see why you thought that, but… What I really wanted to discuss is Remus.'
'Professor Lupin?' Harry asked, confused. 'Why?'
She sighed, tucking her wand back into her sleeve. 'Because he's just as upset over Sirius as you are. And don't even try to claim that you aren't, Harry, because it's obvious…'
'I wasn't going to say that.' Harry interrupted, feeling irritated.
'Alright. But you are both upset, and… and to be honest, I haven't a clue what's going on with either of you.' She smiled faintly, and Harry couldn't help but feel a bit better. Finally, someone who didn't try to understand, who didn't claim to know what was wrong with him…
'I just think that perhaps you two should talk, that's all.' Tonks finished with a hopeful shrug. 'I think… It might make things better, that's all.'
He didn't want to talk to Lupin. Sirius had been Lupin's closest friend, Harry knew that, and then Sirius had died because of him. Lupin should be furious, enraged – it would be better if he was angry, rather than the strangely fragile man Harry had seen when he'd arrived, who still didn't believe it was Harry's fault that Sirius had died. Surely Lupin would eventually realise that it had been Harry's fault, and then he'd be angry. Everyone would be angry with him, when they stopped denying that it was Harry's own stupid, reckless fault…
But Tonks was standing in front of him, looking at him with a tentative hopefulness, and he didn't have the heart to turn her down. Besides, if he and Lupin sorted out… whatever it was that they had to sort out, perhaps when Lupin did realise that it was all Harry's fault, he wouldn't react so badly. Perhaps…
'Alright,' Harry found himself saying, 'I'll do it. I'll talk to Professor Lupin…'
Tonks beamed, a sudden, bright beam, which lit her face up. 'Brilliant! Thank you, Harry – I'm certain it'll make you both feel so much better. Remus should be in one of the small sitting rooms. I'll take you to him.'
Harry nodded, already wondering if he'd made the right choice, and Tonks began to lead the way. She lead him through a tiny archway and onto a corridor he'd never seen before, chattering aimlessly. Harry didn't really listen.
After a second or two, however, a question occurred to him. 'Tonks,' he asked uncertainly, 'why are you doing this? I mean, for Lupin…'
'Remus?' she asked, looking slightly puzzled. 'Oh! I forgot, you haven't been here since last summer… golly, you've missed a lot. Remus and I were working on… on the same project for the Order, and you know how it is when you have to work with someone for ages, you end up either liking them or hating them. We get on really well, which most people didn't expect, because we've got totally different personalities… Oh, and this is the room…'
Harry felt his stomach twist; he considered backing out, telling Tonks he didn't want to talk to Lupin after all, but she was already knocking on the door. 'Remus?' she called.
'I'm here,' came back the familiar voice of Professor Lupin, and Tonks swung the door open.
'Heya, Remus,' she grinned, before turning to Harry and adding, 'You go on in, I'll leave you two alone…'
Feeling incredibly nervous, much the same as he had before his OWL examinations, Harry stepped into the room. The early-morning sun streamed in through the window, making everything bright and cheerful. The walls were a light yellow, except for the wall furthest from the door, which was a vibrant shade of orange and had a large fireplace, currently unlit, as its centrepiece. On Harry's right was a large row of bookshelves, a chair and a small table. On his left was a small coffee table, a threadbare but very comfortable-looking sofa, and Professor Lupin.
He was sitting on the sofa, apparently just as nervous as Harry felt, and looking far too pale and worn for this bright, cheerful room. Harry had a feeling Tonks had selected the room; it was far too lively for the meeting that was to take place in it.
'Morning, Harry,' said Lupin, managing a small smile, which Harry found himself returning, tense.
'Morning, Professor Lupin.'
Lupin laughed; a tiny laugh that died almost as soon as it began. 'How many times,' he asked, looking up from the floor, 'do I have to tell you to call me Remus? I'm not your professor any longer…'
Harry shrugged. 'Wish you were,' he mumbled, 'all the rest have been rubbish.'
'Like Dolores Umbridge?' Lupin asked. 'I've heard a lot about her…'
'Yeah, she was awful,' Harry agreed, wondering how long they'd continue to avoid the subject. As long as possible, he hoped. If they just kept on and on avoiding talking about it, maybe they'd never have to…
'So,' Lupin carried on, 'you never told me how you did in your OWLs. Did you do well?'
Harry shrugged vaguely. 'Three O's, two E's, and four A's.' He'd gotten his results a week or two ago; it had been one of the very few things that he'd really perceived through the hazy, dream-like state he'd been in.
Lupin smiled. 'Really? Well done, Harry, that's excellent.'
'I guess…' Harry replied noncommittally. The atmosphere was slowly but tangibly thickening; the longer they skirted the matter at hand, the more it built and intensified.
Finally, Lupin sighed, leaning his head into his hands and rubbing his temples. 'I guess I should stop the attempts at small talk…' Harry's stomach twisted; this was it, then.
'Harry,' Lupin took a deep breath, 'I'm not angry at you, you know…'
'You should be.' Harry said numbly, staring at his feet. 'I'm the one who got Sirius killed…'
'No, you didn't.' Lupin was speaking very firmly and very calmly. 'Harry, it was Sirius' own decision to go after you. It was Bellatrix who cast that curse. If you'd dragged him there by force, and thrown him into the veil yourself, then I would have cause to blame you. But you…'
'It was my fault.' Harry's voice cut through Lupin's careful words like a knife. 'If I hadn't been there, it would never have happened.'
'Yes, but you were only there because you were trying to help Sirius,' Lupin pointed out. 'And even if Voldemort was using you, your motives were good ones. How could I find anything to blame in that?'
Harry shook his head. 'I should have been more sensible. I shouldn't have been so reckless, I should have thought…'
'And had Sirius really been there, and had you saved him from the danger you'd intended to save him from, you'd have been praised for your fast response and bravery under pressure.' said Lupin. 'I'm not going to blame you or be angry at you for that.'
'But you should be!' Harry protested. 'You should be angry, you're just refusing to accept that it's my fault…'
'Harry, I know you're upset and angry at yourself, but…'
'I should have done more to prevent it!' Harry almost shouted. 'I should have kept up Occlumency, I should have been more wary of Voldemort, I should have thought before I ran off like that!'
'Harry,' Lupin began, trying to placate him, but Harry was having none of it.
'I don't care what you or anyone else thinks, it was my fault. If I hadn't been there, if I hadn't gone, we wouldn't have needed rescuing and he'd never have ended up there and he'd never have died! And I don't care what you say about… about what I intended, or Bellatrix, or anything! If I'd thought more, if I'd been more sensible and less reckless, Sirius would be alive today, and you know it!'
His last shout rang across the room. Lupin looked directly at Harry, looking worse than before; miserable, hurt, helpless. Harry turned sharply, tore the door open and raced out of the room, away from Lupin.
~*~
A/N: Poor Harry. Don't worry; he gets out of the 'It's all my fault!' stage soon, I can assure you. And now I'm going to work on my challenge fic. Leave me lots of reviews, please? I'm going to need all the support I can get to pull through the huge amount of writing I have coming up. Don't worry: I'll get Fallen done fine. The next chapter or two should be nice easy ones. But why are you sitting there reading my pleas? You should have clicked that review button already!