Author: Etherea.
Rating: M (Slight Sexual connotations and Foul Language; nothing unbearable.)
Disclaimer: I certainly don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe. So please, don't sue.
Author Note: Hello, you guys! So here it is! After such a long wait, the fifth instalment of Ethereal Desire is finally up. I'm so, so sorry for making you guys wait so long; this is a very emotional, very complex chapter. It took forever to get right, and still I don't think it is as good as I would have liked! Oh, well :S Thanks to Enchant for Beta-ing this!
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Ethereal Desire
Chapter Five
The Light Shines Through
It was as if some Deity had suddenly stopped Time. Everybody was frozen in their spots, eyes as wide as plates and mouths gaping like stranded fish, staring at the imposing figure that had just appeared out of the blue in the courtroom as if the old man were some sort of apparition; although, this reaction was seriously a small wonder.
To the utmost astonishment of all the souls crowding the tribunal, the ancient wizard started walking towards the defendant in a regal, smooth pace; his long silver hair and beard nearly sweeping the floor. Inside the courtroom, one could've heard a pin drop; even the journalists seemed to have been hit by Petrificus Totalis, and some of them had even dropped their quills and magical cameras in their surprise. What is Albus Dumbledore doing here? was the thought on everyone's minds, but everybody was too shocked to voice it out loud. For the moment, anyway.
Dumbledore made his confident way towards one quite-nonplussed Draco Malfoy; people parting like the Red Sea to let him pass. He stopped in front of the Malfoy Heir, who looked at him with complete disbelief etched on his marred face; his stormy-grey eyes blinking repeatedly in his silent bewilderment. The old wizard merely put both his hands on the blonde's shoulders and smiled a summer's day smile at him.
"I'm very sorry I'm late, my boy. Traffic was quite hectic," he said in a conspiratorial voice as he gave the stunned young wizard a playful wink. He then took out his wand from his inner robe pocket and waved it casually in front of Draco, who winced visibly as if expecting a jinx. Immediately, the shackles vanished with a 'puff' of golden smoke, right at the same time a tiny shriek escaped Draco's lips -which he hated himself horribly for-. The phoenix was still perched on his shoulder, and to Draco's continued incredulity, it started ruffling his long, slick hair; releasing soft, soothing notes in his ear -as if trying to reassure him that everything would be alright- that filled him with a wave of renewed hope and strength. Draco found himself offering a tiny smile to the magnificent bird, who he now guessed was no other than the legendary Fawkes. Dumbledore for his part, noticing the small gesture, winked one more time at Draco, which the blond responded to with a wary gaze as he rubbed the red marks on his wrists.
"Er… I suppose thanks are in order?" Draco said in a cautious tone; his eyes searching the old wizard's lined face intently for some clue as to what was happening. Dumbledore chuckled softly.
"Not yet, my boy," he replied. "First, let's do something about that petty rash on your face, shall we?" he said, his amused tone never faltering. He waved his wand once more, a blue-green mist coming out of its tip, and Draco could tell by the cool, fresh tingle now spreading all over his face that the awful blisters were gone. Out of its own volition, his hand flew towards his cheek, stroking the once more soft, flawless skin. He let escape a sharp sigh of relief, pointedly ignoring the old coot's apparently perpetual genial grin.
"Wait a minute, Dumbledore!" growled Luton, who had managed to push and shoulder his way through the mass of catatonic people to where the defendant and the Headmaster stood. "You can't just waltz in here, flaunting your power, and freeing the prisoners as if you were the Minister himself! Weasley, Finnegan, cast those bloody charms again!" he said angrily, scowling at the two young Aurors who -to the prosecutor's wrath- didn't move an inch, traumatized as they were by their idol's actions towards the insufferable git, Draco Malfoy.
"Ah, yes, yes, Mr. Luton; you're quite right," Dumbledore said indulgently, turning to regard the irate prosecutor with a content expression on his face, as if Luton weren't, in fact, glaring fiery darts in his direction. "I am not the Minister nor am I allowed to free the 'prisoners', as you call them, but I am Chief Warlock of this fine institution, and it is within my power and responsibility to appeal to any injustice as I see fit; which I'm afraid, seems to be the case with young Mr. Malfoy here. I'm sure Ignatius won't mind hearing what I have to say this fine morning?" he said, addressing his question to the old wizard at the presidium, his twinkling blue eyes shining with amusement. Draco –not quite understanding Dumbledore's behaviour but still very grateful for his sudden appearance- glanced inconspicuously at the spot Luton had occupied just moments ago, and saw the creepy creature that was the Dementor hovering restlessly in the small hallway beyond the special door. He hoped Dumbledore's powers of persuasion would prove to be as infallible as they were supposed to be.
"Not at all, Albus, not at all! I was wondering if you would show up, to tell the truth," the warlock said, smiling back at Dumbledore with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "Now, come where I can hear you properly; not all of us possess those youthful qualities of yours! Mr. Malfoy, you too, please," he added, waving aside the inaudible yet continuous comments of the snotty witch sitting beside him as if she were a bothersome fly invading his personal space. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled even more, if that was possible, and Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was because of the indignation clearly portrayed on the Pig's face or because of the offended "Hmph!" the old witch had just uttered, or both. Either way, his appreciation for the old batty wizard increased somewhat, but –just for the record- not much, just... enough.
Dumbledore gave a tiny nod, and signalled for him to move along to the front of the court, where the Wizengamot wizards were seated, once again submerged in their argument -the old warlock he now assumed was 'Ignatius' was visibly scolding his colleagues for their remarks- at the presidential table.
The shock was quickly starting to wear off all across the tribunal, and the flashes of magical cameras, the scratches of quills, the whispers, and the murmurs started all over again. The people who had stood up to leave had hurriedly taken their seats once more, eager to know what was going to happen with this new –and quite entertaining, no doubt- development. At the media box, the journalists had resumed the live broadcasting; their frenzied muttering filling the courtroom like the buzz made by hundreds of bees at work.
The Hogwarts' Headmaster stopped just in front of the presidium, with Draco standing on his right side.
"Ignatius, I have in my possession two very important items that can validate Mr. Malfoy's innocence," Dumbledore spoke affably but firmly. "The first is a memory of mine; a memory of Narcissa Black, Mr. Malfoy's late mother, giving a declaration on her son's special activities during the war, under Veritaserum, a few months before her passing. The second is a memory she provided herself, which I haven't seen yet and which she said would help clarify a few things should her declaration prove to be insufficient. It was her wish that I'd present such items only if the need arose, which I regret to say, it has."
The low murmur filling the tribunal intensified, but nobody dared to raise their voice further than a whisper. At Dumbledore's side, Draco remained eerily quiet; his mercury eyes purposely set somewhere over the old warlock's shoulder.
"Mr. Fernin, pardon my rudeness, but you are not seriously considering believing this preposterous story? Draco Malfoy committed perjury before this court! That's enough reason to put him behind bars!" Luton exclaimed, incensed, staring at the Wizengamot's Chief Warlock with wild-looking eyes. It seemed he didn't like having his victory ripped away so blatantly by someone who he obviously considered a meddlesome human relic.
"Young Malfoy may have omitted some truths, Ignatius, but I'm sure that if he did so, he had his own good reasons," Dumbledore replied, apparently oblivious to Luton's presence and his rather vicious scowl. "However, if you will be so kind as to accept this small piece of evidence, I'm quite sure you won't be disappointed," he added matter-of-factly.
"I'm afraid that Mr. Luton is absolutely right, Dumbledore," the snotty witch spoke for the first time; her voice reminiscent of the screech made by corroded hinges. "Perjury is a serious offence. Nobody has ever dared to lie inside this tribunal since the end of the war. I personally think that Draco Malfoy has proved his worth," she finished, performing a dismissive gesture with her wrinkled, bejewelled hand that indicated just how very keen she was to be finished with this nonsense.
The audience exploded in conflicting exclamations; there were some "That's right!'s" and some "Let Dumbledore speak!'s" amongst the more subdued whispers and murmurs.
"I agree with Lucretia, Ignatius; Mr. Malfoy had his chance to speak and he lied, or... 'omitted some truths', as Dumbledore put it. If this had been a trial, his sentence wouldn't have been so kind, which I personally think it is," said the wizard sitting at the left end of the table in a deep, gruff voice as he addressed the Wizengamot's Chief Wizard; his thick cindery moustache quivering comically with each word he said. He nudged the other Wizengamot warlock sitting on his left side –a very old-looking man wearing a maroon hat, who had remained strangely immobile throughout the hearing- with his elbow, to which the old wizard reacted to by nodding his head and saying "I second that!" in a raspy, startled tone. Apparently, the old man wasn't dead, like Draco had thought; he had just been sleeping with his eyes open the whole time.
"My dear colleagues, all I'm asking for is for you to examine these memories; in public, if you so wish," Dumbledore said calmly, his content expression never leaving his face. "I give you my word that I won't insist any further should you reach the same conclusion after you do; which I must say, I highly doubt."
"Well, Albus, if you believe that..."
"Mr. Fernin, the sentence has already been passed! This hearing is officially over!" Luton exclaimed, interrupting the warlock's sentence; his shiny face turning an alarming shade of purple.
"Once again, you're right, Mr. Luton. We must follow the procedures, Dumbledore. If you want to appeal to our sentence, you must follow the regulations," the snotty witch, Lucretia, said sharply –looking pointedly at Ignatius Fernin- before she turned again to sneer at the Headmaster. "Besides, you always seem so keen on helping Death Eaters, Dumbledore. Isn't this the same stunt you pulled at Severus Snape's trial?"
The audience stirred once more and Draco felt his heart jump into his throat. Did that mean that not even Dumbledore could save him now? Wasn't he supposed to be… omnipotent or something? To their right, Luton was smirking with grotesque delight, and the blond felt another rush of hatred towards the disgusting man.
Pig.
"I'm not keen of Death Eaters, Lucretia. I'm just keen of helping the innocent." There was the slightest hint of a threat in Albus' voice; which the old witch didn't seem to like one bit as her face turned into the same dramatic, offended expression she had worn only moments earlier, when Ignatius had told her to 'shut her old trap'.
"With all due respect, sirs, madam; I think you should oblige Dumbledore's request. All that matters in this room is justice, not procedures, after all. Isn't this ideal of equity what drives our world today?" somebody said loudly from somewhere behind them. Draco couldn't help but turn sharply towards the voice... just like every other person in the tribunal.
Harry Potter was standing amongst the audience near the prosecutor's dock. His face was deadly serious, almost stoical, and his posture was confident and powerful. He glanced for the most fleeting of moments at Draco, his emerald eyes shining with resolution behind those ridiculous glasses, and the Slytherin felt a long shiver running up and down his spine before he realized the moment was gone. "Please," the raven-haired wizard added shortly; his voice not a demand, but not a plea, either.
Some of the attendees reacted loudly to the brazen interruption, and the reporters took this newest intervention of Potter's as their cue for more chartbuster commentary. Practically oblivious to the bedlam started anew, Draco could only stare at Harry, utterly baffled, and yes, somewhat... glad.
But also terribly, terribly preoccupied.
Besides –no, scratch that; apart from- Severus Snape –who, as a matter of fact, Draco hadn't been able to find anywhere in the courtroom as of yet - nobody had ever stood by him like this, and Draco was finding himself quite puzzled by the raven-haired Auror's actions. Draco couldn't understand Potter's game. What was he playing at? Why was he acting so sympathetic towards him all of the sudden? It wasn't the first, or the second, but the third time Potter had defended him in the course of two hours -if he had listened correctly when Potty and the Weasel were arguing moments ago, of course-. Why would Potter do something like that, appealing for him, a 'supposed' criminal, in front of a tribunal full of his adoring fans, openly defying his superiors? Surely Potter wouldn't want them to brand him a traitor; now, would he?
Was it that Potter really thought he was innocent, that Draco had never been a Death Eater? Was it that Harry Potter actually believed him?
No. It can't be. You saw his face, Draco! He looked at you with the same contempt as the others whilst he cast those binding charms. He's just playing with you. It's all part of his game…
Unbidden, memories came rushing to Draco's mind as if his own thoughts had triggered them; as if their only purpose was to contradict him. A memory of a soft, worried voice that he had recognized in a split second as he laid sprawled, suffering on a bathroom floor, asking if he was alright. A memory of honest emerald eyes flashing with hurt when Draco snapped back at them as it was so customary, so easy when it came down to him and Harry Potter. A memory of Harry's face, confused and offended, when he had accused him of hexing him…
No. Potter doesn't…It's all a trick. It's all part of his plan, getting me all worked-up like this. He's just playing with me…
"Why would Harry Potter hex you, Draco?" Severus' voice suddenly repeated inside his head.
Because… Because he hates me; because I hate him, replied Draco to the echo, trying to silence the disturbing thoughts. This was pointless. Why was he even thinking about it?
"You are not using that pretty head of yours…"
I am using my head! That's why I can see how completely insane this whole…mental monologue is! There's nothing to dwell on; nothing to render one ounce of my attention to! Potter is the least of my worries right now!
Then again, as if mocking him, another memory of Harry Potter crossed his mind: the Hero up against the tiled wall of the bathroom; his cheeks flushed and his breathing ragged; his jade eyes shining with challenge, and passion, and…
Just like in those visions...
No! This is ridiculous! You're not thinking about this! I forbid you! Get a grip, goddamn it! His inner voice was starting to sound desperate.
"You're not putting matters in perspective; you're not looking from the right angles..."
What other angles are there to look from?, snapped Draco at his godfather's voice; trying to ignore that, even inside his head, his voice was faltering, sounding weak and uncertain. Unexpectedly, that red bulb started blinking again somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, and suddenly, there he was, Harry Potter, standing before his mind's eye; his old school robes flapping in the wind and his lips turned into a mischievous smile, telling him the words Draco had once thrown at him, although not quite the same:
"Are you scared, Draco?"
What? What's the matter with you, Potter? Why would I..?
But before Draco could respond to Potter's question in kind, the image vanished, just like the others; leaving only uncertainty and that all too familiar feeling of wrongness in its wake.
"Ahem," Dumbledore coughed subtlety beside him, nudging his elbow 'accidentally' as he appeared to fumble for something inside his robe pocket. Draco resurfaced into reality, realising just then that he had been staring at Potter all this time. He turned swiftly to the front again, inwardly mortified. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore regarding him with a curious expression on his face, and Draco had the strange feeling that the old coot knew exactly what he had been thinking about… not that he believed in any of those pathetic stories about the Headmaster of Hogwarts, mind you. Annoyed, he willed himself to the 'here' and the 'now' once more, but to his further irritation, his mind was still resonating with Potter's words:
"Are you scared, Draco?"
And the thing was that he didn't know anymore.
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Severus Snape made his way to the front of the courtroom as inconspicuously as he could through one of the side aisles, which was proving to be rather difficult with so many people on the look-out for new surprises. Damn the old man! He could have shown up the moment Severus had triggered the signal -saving the three of them not just a few inconveniences- but no; the great Albus Percival Dumbledore had to create as much kerfuffle as he could; anything less would simply not be 'inspiring' enough. What was that the Headmaster always said? Oh, right: "One must always wait for the opportune moment". Well, if he had waited another five seconds for his bloody moment the questionable Ralph Luton and a Dementor would now be escorting his godson to Azkaban Prison. It wasn't paranoia on his part that Barty Crouch Jr.'s incident came to mind as a possibility.
Insufferable, crazy wizard. No wonder he's a Gryffindor!
The Potions Master finally reached a part of the audience closer to the Presidium without actually stepping beyond the balustrade and took the last vacant seat on that side of the courtroom: one placed near the wall, from where it was practically impossible to see what was going on at the front. He could see part of Albus' unmistakable purple robes between the mass of people but not even a glimpse of his godson, which he regretted; he wanted to be able to see Draco's response to everything that was going on. Once again, damn the old man! If he hadn't sent Severus to the Department of Magical Transport on the sixth level to get a legal Portkey to the Headmaster's office, he could have found himself a better seat. It wasn't as if the obnoxious wizard ever cared about breaking the rules where Portkeys were concerned… Although, Severus suddenly thought, perhaps it was best not to stretch their luck with angering the Ministry, taking the current circumstances into consideration.
Severus had known that the Headmaster would find some opposition from the most biased members of the Wizengamot panel if –when, Severus corrected himself grumpily- he made his petition for the acceptance of the new evidence, but all-in-all, it seemed that Albus had everything under control. In fact, Severus wasn't the least worried about the Wizengamot's reaction; not with Ignatius Fernin, Dumbledore's partner and fellow-conspirator, sitting as Chief Warlock. Right now, he was worried about Draco's once the blond figured out what was going on; which, Severus knew, wouldn't take him long. Once again, the Potions Master cursed the old wizard under his breath. Damn Albus and his machinations. Didn't he tire of playing Zeus with people's lives?
Once more -and this time against his wishes- Draco had found himself in the middle of a game, and his godfather knew the blond would not like it one single bit. At this moment, Severus was worried that Draco wouldn't see the over all scenario and would focus instead on the petty 'Why's and 'How dare you's. All that remained to be seen now was if his godson would -eventually; Severus was sure of that- understand that all his godfather and Dumbledore had in mind had been his well-being, no matter the devious approach. But still, would he? Would Draco understand that it wasn't a matter of betrayal, but of using the means necessary to guarantee his safety?
All things considered, Severus had to give it to him: the Headmaster understood the world he lived in better than many, and knew how to play the cards to his advantage. Were Dumbledore's true intentions of a more 'obscure' type, he certainly would have been an unstoppable Dark Lord. Blasted old wizard. The fact that Albus Dumbledore -who had never interacted with his godson in any other way beyond the Headmaster-Pupil relationship- had known exactly how his godson would react to this new threat even after Severus had 'assured' him that Draco would come around on his own terms, that they would not need to recur to such schemes, said a lot about the old man's immeasurable wisdom and grasp of the most intrinsic aspects of the human nature. It had to be that, because the alternative –namely Severus being a complete ignoramus where his godson was concerned- was a complete disappointment to the very man that had tried to the extent of his capabilities to be the father Draco had never had.
And -let's face it, Severus- that stung like Hell.
Yes; Severus Snape had been completely certain that his 'noncommittal' strategy would be enough to push Draco against the wall and make him confess his collaboration with the Order; but it seemed that the Headmaster hadn't earned his fame in vane and he did 'know it all'; or knew 'enough', as the old coot would say. The truth prevailed, though: Severus shouldn't have underestimated his godson's obstinacy. The child was a Malfoy, after all.
Perhaps Draco was right, and he was not only getting senile, but he was also turning into an overly optimistic Hufflepuff in the process. Or perhaps Dumbledore was just a sneaky bastard who was actually a Slytherin in disguise. Thank Merlin the Potions Master had been cautious and remembered to bring that blasted coin with him. That knowledge gave him some semblance of control over the situation, but –he hated admitting it- he knew that Albus would have showed up nevertheless; charmed coin or not.
Damn the old man for being so infuriatingly right all the time, Severus scowled to himself. Again.
A small commotion started several seats to his right, just before a loud, firm voice resonated across the tribunal. Severus craned his neck to see what was going on, and noticed a dark-haired man in Auror robes standing amongst the audience.
Potter.
Why didn't that surprise him?
Now, this whole situation between Potter and Draco was quite confusing, to say the least. Apparently, neither one of the two young wizards had the tiniest clue as to what was going on between them, which ultimately wasn't too surprising, knowing who the parties involved are. Nevertheless, when he had reached that bathroom he had been expecting to find a very... let's say 'compromising' scene; so it was quite shocking to see the two brats at each other's throats instead. Thank Merlin he had gotten there in time; the Gods only knew what the consequences would have been if they had indeed attacked each other...
In all his life, Severus had never felt such a powerful bond. The magical energy was exuding from the two men in waves; it had made him feel quite light-headed, to tell the truth. He hadn't needed to cast Revelo Animus to know their two magical fields were intertwined, feeding on each other, vibrating to each other's rhythms. Animus Salutor was working its magic to bring them together… which was a thought Severus was still too perplexed to contemplate fully. Still, how could they be bonded and be so unaware of the fact at the same time? Were they truly oblivious to their condition? Draco had admitted to the symptoms, even if he hadn't put two and two together as of yet –either that or he didn't want to-. Hopefully, Severus had given him some things to think about. Potter… Well, Potter was Potter, an enigma of megalomaniacal proportions, but it was obvious that he wasn't acting as he was 'supposed' to towards Draco. And there was the issue of the visions Draco had mentioned; that was an interesting development altogether. All the same, things were moving too fast, and if his conclusions were correct, Severus knew he had to get to the bottom of it soon, for his godson's sake, and yes, for Potter's as well.
This was as good an opportunity as any, so the Potions Master stood up from his seat and moved amongst the audience to where Potter was, eliciting a few upset remarks from the people in his vicinity. He reached the row behind Potter's seat, where a few girls were giggling behind their hands and staring adoringly at their hero, obviously paying little to no attention to the procedures. Severus moved further along the row, and stopped when he had reached the desired spot. He stood before the group of girls, his dark-cloaked figure towering menacingly over one of them -a skinny young witch with dirty-blond hair that was sitting right behind Potter- with his nastiest look plastered on his face. The girl, who was about to say something rude to the person clouding her view, looked completely terrified the second she recognized who was standing before her. The wizard mouthed the word 'Move!' at her, and with a mighty squeak, she stood up and went to share a seat with one of her friends, not waiting to be told twice; all the while sending furtive, nervous looks in the Potions Master's direction.
Satisfied with his small victory, he took the seat behind the Golden Boy, who didn't seem to register anything going on around him except for the sight before the Presidium. Severus leaned a bit in his newly claimed chair to get closer to Harry, and cleared his throat before speaking to make his presence known.
"Always the goody-two-shoes, Potter, or is this just a publicity trick?" he sneered quietly in the young wizard's direction. As expected, Potter turned sharply and narrowed his green eyes when he saw who it was talking to him.
"I won't dignify that with an answer, Snape," he hissed in the same low tone before returning to his former position, his eyes focused on the scene before him, where the Wizengamot judges were now submerged in another one of their arguments. Severus, on the other hand, didn't need to be a Seer to know that Potter was not looking raptly at the judges' table, but at his godson, who most probably would be developing acute torticollis by the end of the hearing as he didn't appear to be able to take his eyes off of the obnoxious Gryffindor; but that didn't surprise Severus, either.
"It seems that the great Harry Potter does live up to his fame... Although, I guess I should be grateful. Your words seem to have persuaded the Wizengamot in Draco's favour, after all," the Potions Master added; the sly smirk still plastered on his face.
"Yes, that's right; unlike some people's," Harry retorted tartly, this time not even caring to turn in the pale man's direction. The Potions Master smirked even more at the opening the Auror had just given him and leaned closer towards the chair in front of him; his thin mouth very near the younger wizard's ear.
"Touché, Potter... But tell me, why do you care what happens to Draco Malfoy, of all people? I am quite intrigued, to tell the truth. Why did you go looking for him this morning? Why would you speak in his name before the tribunal?" Noticing the Auror's suddenly stiff muscles, he moved to give the final blow, his voice like icy velvet. "Why are you so interested in my godson all of the sudden, Potter? And don't lie to me; you know that doesn't... work very well," he added slowly, revelling in the green-eyed wizard's obvious discomfort -which was enough evidence altogether, in Severus' opinion-. However, the Boy Who Lived was saved from answering right at the last second, as Ignatius Fernin suddenly hit the gavel and bellowed to the court:
"The Wizengamot has agreed to accept the evidence."
The audience exploded in murmurs one more time. In front of him, Potter leaned avidly forward in his chair, happy to ignore Severus Snape and his rather sagacious questions in favour of this unexpected –but still very relieving- turn of events. Bugger, the Potions Master thought at the sudden interruption; but he had to admit, this was more important than getting Harry Potter all worked-up. So he leaned back in his chair; his pitch-black eyes set on the raven-haired man in front of him.
"Doesn't matter, Potter; I'll deal with you later," Severus drawled under his breath. "Right now, the show must go on."
And sure enough, it did.
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Fifteen minutes later, three guards were placing the largest, strangest-looking Pensieve Harry had ever seen onto a special dais right at the front of the court. It had the same shape regular Pensieves have, decorated with more or less the same runic symbols, but it had some sort of upturned funnel attached at the top, like a stopper, and this funnel had a small tube sticking out from one of its sides. Harry guessed that this small tube was where one poured the memories into the Pensieve, but he couldn't be sure.
The whole tribunal was bubbling with anticipation: people were whispering animatedly to each other -no doubt speculating about what those memories of Dumbledore's would contain- or staring shamelessly at the defendant, who seemed to have every God in the heavens vouching for him. This turn of events, having the Wizengamot change a passed sentence in favour of the accused, was certainly a first-time event in the history of Magical Justice; Hermione would be very disappointed to know she had missed it; a thought that made Harry suddenly wish his best friend were right there with him. He surely needed some moral support.
At the Media Box, the reporters hadn't stopped their broadcast for one second, and their continuous babble had become some sort of anaesthetized buzz in the background. It was well past noon, thus a special permission had been granted by the Chief Warlock to let some food vendors and their trolleys into the courtroom, so now the once glamorous tribunal looked like some kind of indoors fair. In fact, the overall scene -the strange Pensieve at the front, the people munching their Fairy Cakes and sipping their Butterbeers, the magically-dimmed lights- reminded him of regular Muggle cinemas… except, of course, that in those cinemas there weren't Aurors guarding every entrance and there wasn't a photographer popping out of nowhere every two seconds to snap a picture of some of the attendees; him included.
Nevertheless, the whole irony of the situation was not lost on the Golden Boy of the Wizarding World.
Harry could feel Severus Snape's intense gaze on the back of his neck, and it was certainly upsetting him. He was sure that the sneaky Potions Master knew more than he was letting on; those questions of his had been quite devious indeed. Still, the raven-haired wizard wondered to himself, how could he have answered those questions –in the remote assumption that he'd have wanted to answer them- when he himself didn't know why? Why had he run after Malfoy? Why had he been so worried about him? Why had he defended him? Why was he feeling such strong emotions for the haughty Slytherin? Why had he so fervently wished for a miracle that could save him? And why, for Merlin's beard, did he believe so vehemently in his innocence?
Seeing the word 'Perjurer' appear on Draco's face had been a mighty blow for him; it had felt even worse than that time he had watched Snape's memories of his father. It had been the utmost disappointment mixed with pure incredulity. For a feeble moment, Harry had toyed with the possibility that the spell had gone wrong somehow, that it was all a mistake, but he knew the truth: there was no way anybody could have tampered with that charm. Draco had lied, just like Luton and every single person in that tribunal had expected, which meant that he and his instincts had been wrong all along. Or fooled. Or tampered with since the beginning.
That alone had hurt more than anything.
But then, he had seen Draco's eyes, right when he was casting the Binding Charm on the blond. He had looked into Draco's piercing, grey irises -even when he had purposely told himself not to- and he had seen something that had triggered a rush of electricity to run through him: Draco had been… pleading, with his eyes. There had been so many emotions reflected in those orbs in that single instant that Harry hadn't been able –or hadn't wanted, he wouldn't know now- to decipher them. And then the blond had spoken, said only a few words, and Harry had had to look away because he knew he couldn't stand watching such intensity, such desperation in those eyes of molten steel. In that moment, he had gotten so angry with himself for being so weak; for being so naïve, as Ginny had so deliberately put it; for being so stupid, as Ron had so obviously suggested. He should have known that the blond would try anything to get out of it. He shouldn't have looked into Malfoy's eyes. And yet, he had; and he had suddenly become aware, once more, that Draco's eyes were definitely his damnation, for in that exact moment he knew it: he simply knew that Draco was innocent. Even if the blond had lied, or cheated, or tried to play the whole world -and Harry, for that matter- for a fool, Draco was innocent.
And that was all Harry Potter needed to know.
Of course, two seconds after this revelation had taken place and before he could act on it, Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere, impersonating the miracle Harry had been secretly waiting for all morning. And just as if Fawkes' beautiful trills had washed it away, all of his anger, all of his doubts were put to rest in favour of the most unlikely emotion he could have ever felt: complete and total relief.
Draco was safe.
Now, –and we go back to the main issue, here- why would he feel so relieved about that? What was it about Malfoy that made him so… vulnerable, so weak? Why was he feeling this way all of the sudden? Why now?
Why Malfoy, of all people?
"Ladies and gentlemen; please remain silent and put during the disclosure of the memories. Remember that the charm won't allow for any sudden movements during the examination; so find the most comfortable position in your seat before we start, and just relax. Any disturbance and the examination will be made private. Thank you."
The Wizengamot Guard's grave tone shook him out of his reveries, and Harry asked himself what the hell the man had been talking about. Sure, he had been an Auror for over two years now, but he had never been present for a 'public memory examination' before. In fact, he was sure that not many of the attendees had had that chance, either. Nevertheless, the Guard's warning didn't make it sound that appealing to begin with.
Harry chanced a glance around the courtroom, and found himself wondering if he had been Portkey-ed without his knowledge to another place.
Everybody was utterly quiet. There wasn't the sound of a quill scratching on parchment; there was no whispering, no murmuring, no gossiping, no munching of food. Everyone was sitting properly in their chairs, and every single pair of eyes was set on the weird Pensieve at the front of the courtroom. Even the Aurors had abandoned their posts and rushed forward to find a seat of their own. Several seats to his right were Ron, Angelina, and Seamus, wearing the same frustrated -maybe even resigned- expressions on their faces, although they weren't saying a word to each other. At the defendant dock, Malfoy and Dumbledore had taken their seats once more –the Headmaster was now sitting in the chair Snape had occupied before- and Harry could tell that they too were concentrating on the Pensieve before them.
The lights dimmed even more. Harry looked up at the strange contraption not really sure of what to expect when he noticed a weird, greenish mist coming out of the funnel's end. It swirled and turned upwards, growing bigger and bigger, until it covered most of the courtroom's ceiling like a huge cloud and Harry had to crane his neck to be able to see it. All of the sudden, his seat reclined itself with a whoosh, and he found himself staring at the foggy ceiling, laying on his back, just as he would if he were lying on a grassy hill, looking up at a starry night. His chair and everyone else's had transfigured themselves into some sort of divan.
And then, it all started. Just as if it were a huge screen, the mist up above started glowing before an image took shape. It was the image of a circular room. There were countless numbers of strange gadgets and artefacts sitting on golden shelves, ticking and emitting white puffs of smoke at different intervals. Several portraits hung on the stone walls, mostly of people, but there were a few depicting mythical animals and fantastic places. There was a great oak desk near the centre of the room, complemented by two equally ornate chairs on each side.
It was Dumbledore's office.
The Headmaster appeared behind the desk, old and wise and twinkly as always. It was then that Harry noticed the woman sitting in the chair opposite him; maybe because of the shocking contrast she made beside him. She had long hair that ran down her back, and it looked like it had once been the purest of gold, but it was now a limp mane of dead, matt straw. She was sitting with the air of someone of the noblest lineage, but the slight curve of her back and the quickened rise and fall of her chest betrayed how weary, how tired she truly was, but also how much she was trying to hide it. Her translucent, almost skeletal hands were shaking as she held a tiny blue flask, which she had been staring at the whole time.
"I'm doing this for the good of my son," she broke the silence, and her voice sounded as if it was meant to be superior and firm but had come out breathy and ragged instead; as if it had taken her a great effort to say that much.
"I know that, Narcissa. I know that you love your son very, very much," Dumbledore said softly; his eyes never leaving the broken figure before him. Mrs. Malfoy suddenly looked up. The woman's face was unearthly pale, and countless lines had obscured her undeniably beautiful features, which –Harry noticed with a gasp- were so much like Draco's. There were ominous, dark rings under her glassy blue eyes, and Harry could see the purple spots on her neck and the part of her shoulders the rich burgundy robes didn't conceal. She looked very, very ill, and Harry found himself thinking that he didn't want to know what was going through Draco's mind right now. Surely, this wasn't the Narcissa Malfoy the blond remembered.
"You must promise me you will help him. You must swear to me he won't face any harm!" she said fiercely, her eyes shining like those of a lioness protecting her cubs, just before she went into a horrible coughing fit. Dumbledore stood up swiftly, no doubt to offer her some help, but she made a gesture with her free hand indicating for him to sit back down, and the old man reluctantly complied. He conjured a glass of water and placed it before her on the desk. The witch waited until the coughing subsided, and breathing heavily, she took the glass and downed its entire contents in no more than three gulps. Dumbledore sighed deeply, looking intently into the woman's eyes.
"You have my honest word, Narcissa. I will do anything within my power to help Draco, but it's you who has to give me the means to do it," the old wizard replied firmly, but Harry noticed the concern behind his words.
Narcissa produced her wand from her robes and she tapped the empty glass with it; the glass refilled itself in a split second. She took a shallow breath, and opening the blue flask with some difficulty, she poured some of the clear liquid into it. "I presume that will be more than enough," she said sharply, her voice rusty and sore. She then took several swigs of the concoction. Almost instantly, her face became expressionless and her eyes didn't seem to be focused on anything anymore, which made her look like she was… dead.
Harry felt a strong, icy hand grab his heart and squeeze it. This woman, he realised, wasn't the Narcissa Malfoy he had met at the Quidditch World Cup. That woman had been so cold, so arrogant, so vain he had thought her incapable of having real feelings for anyone but herself. That woman had looked to him like a porcelain doll; extremely beautiful on the exterior but inexorably empty inside, with eyes that didn't reflect the tenderness in her soul but the way she saw the world surrounding her: meaningless, one-dimensional, worthless. This Narcissa Malfoy was completely different from that woman, and Harry knew it had nothing to do with how pale she looked or how obviously sick she was. This woman was exhausted, and yet, her eyes held a gleam of determination that told anyone who cared to see that she would stop at nothing to help her son. This Narcissa Malfoy was clearly dying, and yet she was taking whatever desperate measures she needed to take to insure her only child's protection, because she knew she would not be there to protect him herself.
This woman, Harry suddenly realised, was as courageous and resolute as his own mother had been, a long time ago.
"Ask your questions, Dumbledore," she said in a distant, almost resigned tone.
The Headmaster stared at her for a few seconds before he sat up, resting his folded hands on the desk. His blue eyes were no longer twinkling.
"Very well," he said softly. "Why did Draco run away, Narcissa?"
"Because I told him to," she answered slowly. "I didn't want them to find him; they would have killed him if they did. I wasn't going to allow that. They would not harm my only son." In the semidarkness of the courtroom, Harry's heart started beating extremely fast when he heard those words.
"Who wanted to kill Draco, Narcissa? Why would they want to do that?" Dumbledore asked, but his tone hinted that he already knew the answer. Harry grabbed the edge of his chair-turned-divan tightly as he felt shivers of anticipation running up and down his spine. Somehow, he knew the answer to that question as well, and he knew –he simply knew- that he was right. This was all they needed to hear, and Draco would be free.
"Rogue Death Eaters," Narcissa said in the same distant, breathy, mechanical tone, and Harry nearly cried out loud. His heart felt as if it was going to explode.
"They knew there had been somebody thwarting their schemes, and they suspected that it was Draco because he had refused to take the Mark, but they hadn't been able to figure out how he had been getting such relevant intelligence when he wasn't in the Circle. They had almost given up, thinking that the leak was from somewhere else, when they found out about Blaise Zabini. The boy told them everything, thinking that his confession would save him. They tortured him to death, and not only because his ineptitude was the cause of the Dark Lord's defeat. They branded the words 'Filthy Poofter' on his chest..." Narcissa trailed off for a second, apparently lost in her own secret fears. Unexpectedly, Harry's heart –which had been hammering like crazy when the words he had so desperately wanted to hear were said- skipped a beat. His eyes were fixed on the magical screen; his mind working at a thousand miles per second to comprehend everything the woman was saying.
"With Zabini's confession, things fell into place. It had been Draco who had found the weak link in their network and had used it to help the enemy. It had been he who had been feeding information to the Order the whole time. He was a pureblood, a Malfoy, and yet he had betrayed their Cause, which was supposed to be his Cause in the first place. But no; Draco had allied himself to Potter, so he was to die as the blood traitor he was," the witch finished coolly, her eyes not blinking once.
There was a collective gasp in the courtroom, followed by the expected exclamations, comments, and whispers that all rolled around like thunder. Harry didn't pay attention to any of it. There were so many emotions rushing through him right now that he felt as if he had stepped into some sort of parallel universe. The gravity of the situation was so much greater than he had ever imagined; it surpassed his wildest dreams, his most crackpot suppositions. It wasn't that Draco hadn't been a Death Eater. It was that Draco had been helping them all along and they never knew it; in fact, they didn't even consider it, because, let's face it, who would have thought that of a Malfoy? They hadn't clapped Draco in irons after that sentence was passed; this whole world had clapped him in irons the day he was born!
Harry's mind was swirling with thoughts. He felt guilty, angry, proud, and astonished all at the same time, and all he wanted to do in that moment was to find him; to find Draco, grab him by the shoulders, force him to look him in the eyes, and tell him… Just tell him that…
Tell him what, exactly? Tell him that he had believed him all along? Tell him that he was sorry Draco had had to go through this mess? Tell him that he, Harry, should have acted sooner; that he should have been braver? Tell him something like 'Hey, let's just forgive and forget'? Tell him that he wanted to be his friend?
Right in that moment, Harry understood why Draco hadn't said anything about his true role in the war. The answer was quite simple, really, and Harry saw himself reflected in the same mirror:
Why would you believe me?
Up above, the memory kept playing its course, oblivious to the attendees' reactions below. The Headmaster in the screen appeared to be lost in his own thoughts for a few minutes, until he sighed tiredly. "So many young ones lost in the war. So many of them forced into such difficult choices, into such hard sacrifices. Yet, I wonder why I didn't see it then..." the old wizard trailed off, and Harry noticed a flicker of some unreadable emotion flashing in his eyes before he cleared his throat and his gaze turned to Narcissa once more.
"It was Draco who sent me that message the day of the Final Battle, wasn't it? He was the one who warned us about the ambush that Lord Voldemort had planned to kill Harry?" he asked, and the aforementioned wizard suddenly felt out of breath.
Surely Dumbledore wasn't referring to..?
Narcissa Malfoy smiled softly, almost timidly in her far-away state, as if she had just seen something beautiful and precious in her mind's eye; something not even Veritaserum had been able to wipe away from her thoughts. And somehow, Harry was certain that that something beautiful had been her son. His heart leapt with some indescribable emotion, and she hadn't uttered a word yet.
"Yes, it was him," she answered simply, firmly.
Irrevocably.
"I should have known as much," Dumbledore said with a tiny smile of his own, although his own eyes hadn't yet recovered the soft glimmer they were so famous for. "Your son is very brave, Narcissa. I am so sorry that I didn't realise all of this a long time ago; it would have made things quite… different…"
Dumbledore's words resonated with a dry echo for a couple of seconds before the Headmaster, Mrs. Malfoy, and the round office with all its curious gadgets and portraits disappeared in a whirlpool of green mist and colour. Before Harry could recover his wits or even start putting them into some semblance of order, the strange fog covering the ceiling glimmered and twirled once more, and it was when fragments of another image started to condense in the magical cloud that he realised that the last and probably most important memory, Mrs. Malfoy's, was about to start. His hands tightened their hold on the divan until he felt his fingers go numb.
Swiftly, another room materialized before his eyes. It was a drawing room. Several armchairs, low tables, and cupboards made of the finest fabrics and woods were scattered around the room in an orderly fashion. There was a soft, amber light bathing the comfortable space, and a soothing crackle came from the fireplace at the far wall. A woman wearing a beautiful blue robe was sitting in one of the armchairs. There was a tray with delicate tea assortments on the table by her side and a book on her silk-clad lap, and she kept twirling one of her immaculate golden curls around her finger as she read peacefully. This time, Harry didn't have much trouble recognising her. It was Narcissa Malfoy; the one he remembered.
There was a soft knock before the sound of a door being opened was heard and the woman looked up, closing her book, her face set in a cold mask. Said mask vanished after a second and her features broke into an honest, candid smile; one Harry would have never imagined seeing on that woman's face.
"My little Dragon is home!"
"I've got an Apparition Licence, Mother. You can stop calling me that, did you know?" an all too familiar voice drawled from somewhere in the room, and Harry felt a bolt of lightning flashing through his insides. Draco, the arrogant boy he had always known, the Slytherin Prince, the bane of his school existence, made his way towards his mother and kneeled before her, taking her in an embrace that surprised the raven-haired wizard with its tenderness. His pale, juvenile face was set in his trademark smirk, but there was a warm glow in his grey eyes that made them shine like molten silver instead of the frozen mercury Harry was so used to. Narcissa laughed soundly; a pristine, crystalline sound; and leaned back to look into her child's face, cupping his cheeks with her hands.
"I'll call you whatever I want. Mother's privileges," she said, ignoring her son's scowl. "So, tell me everything. How was the ride home?" Draco blushed slightly -a gesture that the Harry in the courtroom found incredibly endearing for some reason- before he cleared his throat and his face was once again the mask of easy indifference he always wore.
"It was alright. It rained a little, though."
Narcissa arched a pale eyebrow. "That's it? No spectacular mischievous accomplishment? No creating mass hysteria? No terrorizing the trolley lady? My. Are you felling ill, my darling? Otherwise I might think you're growing up!" Draco adopted an affronted expression, his scowl deepening.
"I resent that," he said with his nose in the air, crossing his arms over his chest. Narcissa smiled once again, and he returned the gesture promptly, although making it look like it took him a great effort.
"Seriously, my Dragon. We haven't talked much these past couple of weeks. How was the Leaving Feast?" she asked, taking her son's hands in hers. The blond boy shrugged.
"It was… ok, I guess. Slytherin lost both cups again this year," he said grumpily, and Harry was somewhat perplexed to realise that there hadn't been any real malice behind his words, just annoyance. His mother gave him a knowing look.
"Well, I'm sure it wasn't because you didn't try your best, darling; especially with that Potter boy being…"
"It didn't have anything to do with Ha… Potter, Mother," Draco cut in quickly; his eyes narrowing slightly. Narcissa looked quite baffled for a second; her blue eyes looking intently at her son. Oblivious to the now incessant murmur going on in the courtroom, Harry frowned in his own puzzlement; his eyes glued to the screen over his head. Had he heard correctly? Had Malfoy almost said..?
"Anyway; there's something important I must talk to you about," Draco said, standing up to take the armchair besides his mother's. Narcissa's eyes followed her son's movements, and Harry was taken aback when he noticed that her expression had turned once again cold and detached in a matter of seconds; she now looked downright intimidating. It was as if the content, loving Narcissa Malfoy had never existed. Malfoy was now seated, and his face too had changed into an unreadable mask. It seemed to Harry as if an invisible breeze had come in through the windows and had turned the once comfortable room into a chilly, grey place.
"Very well. Speak your mind, my son," Mrs. Malfoy said stiffly after she had put her book next to the tea tray on the small table. Her back was straight and her long neck extended; her hands were elegantly placed, folded, on her lap. Draco fumbled with a silver band on his right hand's ring finger for a few moments, staring at it, before he cleared his throat and looked up at his mother's face; his expression serious and remarkably… mature, Harry thought.
"Mother, I've decided to…"
"That ring has been passed on for generation to generation in your family; did you know that, my son? It belonged to your grandfather and his father, it belonged to Lucius, and now it belongs to you. I hope you understand the meaning of it," Narcissa cut in sternly, without remorse, her blue eyes weighing on her son. "Have you forgotten your duties, your responsibilities as the last Malfoy Heir?"
"I've not forgotten who or what I am, Mother; you and Father made it certain that I remember that for the rest of my life," Draco nearly hissed, his eyes like frozen quicksilver. "As you've just made it easier, I wanted to tell you that I've decided that it's time I started making my own duties, my own responsibilities… my own choices," he finished somewhat cautiously.
"If this is about that ridiculous idea of yours Severus told me about, then rest assured, Draco, that I won't allow you to…" Draco stood up swiftly, interrupting his mother so rudely with such an uncharacteristic action that she looked for the most fleeting of moments as if she had just been slapped.
"I don't need nor am I asking for your permission. I'm going to do it, whether you want it, like it, or not, Mother," he said firmly. Narcissa didn't even flinch. In fact, she looked colder than ever, but there was something about the way she was holding her freshly-served cup of tea -white-knuckled- that made Harry think it was just a façade. Not that he blamed her; Draco was on the verge of mutiny.
"Well, Draco, darling; then that means that you're not going back to Hogwarts next year." Her tone was dry, hinting the end of the conversation. The blond boy merely laughed sardonically in response as he paced the room. The raven-haired Auror was completely taken aback by this show of disrespect.
"Do you really think that me not going back to Hogwarts will change something; that it will actually stop me? This world is at war, Mother. It doesn't matter how much you try to hide; it will find you sooner or later. And I, for the first time in my life, won't hide; don't want to hide. Father wanted me to become a Death Eater. I certainly don't see where the big difference lies," he drawled, stopping to look out the large window, his rigid back facing his mother.
"All your father wanted was for you to become the great wizard you were born to be, Draco; the Malfoy you have to be," Narcissa said in a controlled tone as she put her cup of tea down a little more roughly than she probably intended. The fine piece of china clattered on its saucer.
"The Malfoy I have to be!" Draco spat, turning from his spot by the window. "Let me tell you what being a 'Malfoy' really means, Mother." He took off his ring hastily and held it in front of him for his mother to see. "For the last hundred years this family has been carrying a burden that has never been ours to begin with. We've followed the orders of whatever madman that comes into existence like lapdogs, be it Grindelwald, Voldemort, or whoever strikes our fancy; deluding ourselves with prospects of power and gold, just because we seem incapable of thinking with our own heads, of making our own rules. And look where that has taken us!" the blond said loudly, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. "My grandfather's body was found in a swamp. My father is rotting in prison. All of our money, all of our so-called prestige, all of our power… it's gone, Mother! We are nothing! The Malfoy name means nothing! We're living off of charity, for Salazar's beard! And all of that in the name of what, exactly? In the name of 'pure' blood? Well, all of our blasted pure blood and our ideals of superiority won't keep us alive; did you know that! But I suppose that dying with a Dark Mark stamped on your arm makes it all worthwhile!"
Mrs. Malfoy stared at her soon with wide eyes and her face was paler than ever. She looked very much like Harry's aunt Petunia used to when she had spotted some particularly nasty water stain on her silverware. Mrs. Malfoy stood up in a swift motion, losing all pretences of glamour and self-control.
"How dare you speak to me like this? How dare you say those things about your family?" Narcissa said fiercely, taking a step towards Draco. Her blue eyes were as cold and ominous as her son's.
"No, Mother. How dare you try to follow Lucius' steps and control my life after everything that's happened? I thought that all the things we've been through since Father's imprisonment had taught you something!" Draco replied harshly, his grey eyes flaring and his whole posture tall and imposing as he stepped towards his mother; stopping when he was standing right before her. Narcissa gaped at him, seemingly at a loss for words, for an indeterminable amount of time.
"It's you who hasn't learned anything!" the woman suddenly cried. Her features were now strained with fear. There was a telltale glimmer in her eyes. She grabbed her son by the arms and shook him roughly as she looked up at him. She was practically shaking herself. It was obvious that she had reached the breaking point of her endurance, and Harry understood that all of that coldness and arrogance were just the defence mechanisms of an extremely fragile, helpless woman.
"Do you know what will happen to you if you're caught? Do you realise what he'll do to you if he finds out you denied him and turned to the other side? I can't let you endanger your life like this, Draco! You're my only son! I won't send you to your death!"
"If I die, so be it! At least that means that I was doing something!" Draco jerked himself free of his mother's hold. "Don't you see, Mother? This year has taught me that I've always taken things for granted; that my whole life had revolved around things that didn't matter! And do you know what the worst of everything was? Realising that I was nothing without Father's power; that I was nothing without our money, simply because I hadn't done anything, anything to earn something for myself! Well, now I have something to fight for, something to care for! And I intend to hold on to it for as long as I can, even if it means having to go against a thousand Dark Lords!"
"Child, you don't know what you're talking about! See yourself in your father's mirror, for Salazar's name!" Narcissa looked desperate. Tears were cascading freely down her cheeks now. If anything, Draco appeared even more determined. His fists were closed at his sides and his face was a mask of iron.
"I've been seeing myself in my Father's mirror for far too long. Is that what you want? Do you want me to end up like him? Well, I'm sorry to say this, Mother, but that's not going to happen. I refuse to be my father!" Draco roared, and Narcissa appeared to have lost it completely with that statement, because she flung herself to her son's feet; grabbing the folds of his robes as if they were a lifeline; looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"My son, Draco, I beg you! Don't do this! Please, don't do this!"
Draco looked surprised for a moment before he crouched on the floor, taking his mother's hands from his clothes. His face was now a mix of disgust and irritation. "Stop it, Mother!" he said, but the woman didn't hear him. She was just crying and sobbing; muttering the same pleas over and over again; her eyes lost and her face contorted with dread.
"Mother, control yourself!" he said fiercely, grabbing her by the forearms. Narcissa stopped her diatribe and stared at her only child, aghast. It was as if she had stopped breathing.
"I… I lost Lucius… I couldn't bear losing you as well!" Her tone was desolate, nearly a howl of pain. Draco appeared indolent to his mother's words and tears.
"I'm going to do it, Mother, and I won't let you stop me."
The resolution in that sentence sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine, making the little hairs on the back his neck stand up. He couldn't hear anything past Draco's voice. He couldn't focus on anything that wasn't Draco's face in the memory before him: passionate, determined, bold. It was as if it was only him in that courtroom… him and a Draco Malfoy he thought he had all figured out, and who Harry now realised he had never known at all. He had stopped trying to analyze all he was witnessing a long time ago. Right in that moment, Harry was just letting these revelations wash over him, overwhelming him, numbing him, tearing him apart; demolishing all of the preconceived notions he had had of that complete stranger that was Draco Lucius Malfoy; his childhood archenemy, his school rival, his unlikely comrade.
His secret guardian.
"Why, Draco? Why?" Narcissa breathed, cupping her son's face in her hands; her own face red and puffy with tears. Draco looked intently into his mother's watery eyes for a few moments, and suddenly, his face softened ever so slightly, and his lips turned into a saddened smile.
Mrs. Malfoy stared at him, mouth agape, as if those irises of molten silver had just let her see something nobody else could understand.
Draco nodded softly to some unspoken question; his joyless smile turning a bit more pronounced, his hand going up to tilt his mother's chin up with such gentleness and care it took Harry's breath away.
"Because I have to, Mother. Because I couldn't bear losing him..."
Before the raven-haired Auror could understand, could even begin to rationalize what the Draco in the memory had just said, the drawing room and its occupants, the green mist, the semidarkness… it all disappeared in the blink of an eye.
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"Draco? We can go now, my boy."
The blond wizard looked up.
Dumbledore was standing right beside him with his godfather; both men looking satisfied to different degrees. The old wizard gestured around with a soft smile on his face, indicating that, indeed, the hearing was over and it was time to go. The last group of attendees was leaving the courtroom animatedly, some of them still drinking their Butterbeers, discussing and recounting the events as they exited. There were Ministry Officers taking care of the cleaning and readjusting of seats with their wands, and several Aurors were standing post at the doors, ensuring everyone's orderly departure. The presidential table was now deserted and the Pensieve had been removed from the premises. On the other side of the courtroom, Luton and his assistant were roughly putting parchments, quills, and folders away with incredibly sour expressions on their faces. With two identical murderous glares in their direction, the two officers left the courtroom through the side door in haste; no doubt not wanting to come across any journalists in their flight.
"I know. Let's go," Draco said coldly as he stood up, stone-faced, from his chair at the defendant dock. Dumbledore simply eyed his Potions Master briefly before the three men started leaving through the centre aisle. Severus was about to turn in the direction of the side door when the Headmaster halted his progress.
"Right this way, Severus," the old man said indicating the now closed oak doors at the end of the courtroom. "Mr. Malfoy is leaving this tribunal as an innocent man, thus he will exit it through the main gates, like everybody else."
The Potions Master glanced at Dumbledore with an obvious urge to roll his eyes. "Do you know what is waiting for Draco on the other side?" The Headmaster's smile grew wider, if that was possible.
"Why, Severus. The world as he never knew it," he said, blue eyes twinkling, as he placed a kind hand on Draco's shoulder, ignoring the hard grey eyes and the tight jaw 'politely' requesting the immediate removal of the extremity. "Now, let's hurry. Fawkes is getting a bit restless." As if on cue, the phoenix perched on the ancient wizard's shoulder gave a loud trill and batted its beautiful wings, conveying his agreement.
They reached the main doors and two Aurors nodded reverently to the Headmaster before opening them. As expected, thousands of flashes blinded their sight the moment the wizards stepped outside the courtroom. Just like before, two Ministry Officers joined them to flank their way to the lifts; this time showing much more courtesy towards the young Malfoy.
There was a mass of people conglomerated in the great hall, all of them wanting a closer look at the newly-proclaimed 'war hero' of the Wizarding Wold. Reporters were asking their highly irrelevant questions, mostly associated to Mr. Malfoy's romantic life and what he was planning to do now that he was once again the richest bachelor in Wizarding Britain –not to mention a possible candidate for the Order of Merlin-. Regular onlookers and former attendees were shouting watchwords and other unintelligible declarations of diverse kinds; some of the most frenzied –mostly female, but there were some wizards bubbling in the lot as well- were even asking for autographs and shouting outrageous requests and proposals, which were not all as innocent as the 'I love you!' and the 'Marry me!' types. All things considered, the harassed group was more or less acceptably responsive… if the couple selected words from the Headmaster, the loud, irritated thrills from Fawkes at so much unwanted petting, and the two snappy expressions on the two former Slytherins' faces were anything to go by, of course.
Finally, and not with small struggle, they got into one of the magical elevators at the end of the hall, and Severus hurriedly pushed one of the buttons. The doors closed swiftly, as if understanding the need for a quick escape, and with a soft 'clink' the apparatus started its smooth way upwards. In the relative privacy of the elevator, the three men let out a relieved sigh. Even the mythical bird seemed quite happy to be able to spread its wings and tail without the threat of somebody wanting to pluck one of its valuable feathers.
"Well, that was not so hard," Dumbledore said, eyeing his younger companion with curiosity and hidden concern. The young Malfoy had been utterly quiet since the disclosure of the memories; his face set in an expressionless mask, but the Headmaster knew it was just a well-practised act to conceal the simmering emotions beneath. Today had been quite the splinching episode for the boy, even if Draco was still standing right next to him in one piece. The old man held the tired sigh that threatened to escape his lips. The easy part was conquered; the real test was merely beginning.
"Lemon Sherbet, anyone?" he asked affably, taking out a small package from his robes, but both Severus and Draco refused; one with a somewhat annoyed "No, thanks", the other with stubborn indifference. The tension was exuding from the blond wizard in waves; the storm was right there, building up, waiting for the perfect moment to break loose. This had to be managed with the utmost subtlety. Dumbledore wondered if he could send his dear Potions Master on a Skrewt hunt once they reached Hogwarts, but he doubted Severus would find that amusing.
The Weird Sisters were playing one of their hits around them; their melancholic tune quite depressing background music, in Dumbledore's opinion. He certainly would have preferred one of Celestina Warbeck's more cheery songs, but maybe the Fates were already conspiring and the mood was being set up for what was to come. Again, he held back another tired sigh. It seemed there was never peace for a brilliant mind. Of course, only Time would tell whose particular mind was being discussed. Hopefully –even if it sounded completely inconsiderate- it wasn't his own.
A couple of seconds later, there was a delicate ring and a loud 'clank', and the elevator doors opened effortlessly. The ancient wizard wasn't surprised to find an empty, softly lit hallway as their greeting instead of the busy, noisy, crammed-full Main Hall of the Ministry of Magic. That's the way it is with magical buildings: they seem to react and somehow accommodate to its inhabitants needs; a property that was certainly appreciated in times like these. Stepping out and not pausing to verify that his companions were following, he sprinted forward in the narrow passageway, star-splashed purple robes billowing behind him, under the questioning glances of the portraits hanging on both stone walls until he reached a small wooden door with a sign that read 'Nowhere's End' in bold, golden letters at the end of the hallway. After a few taps with his wand, the small door flung open, revealing a small street that looked very much like a side alley; scattered rubbish cans, stray dogs, hideous smells and all.
"Good, good," Dumbledore nodded, satisfied, as he stood in the doorway, inspecting both sides of the alley for witnesses. "I imagined no-one would think of this exit," he said in explanation to the somewhat disgusted expressions on Severus' and Draco's faces. The older wizard suddenly rummaged for something inside his robes before he produced what looked alarmingly close to a cuckoo clock. He eyed it airily, smiling softly to himself, before putting it in one of his pockets once again. His two companions glanced at each other questioningly before shrugging the strange behaviour off as one of the man's many eccentricities. Stepping outside into the empty side street, Dumbledore beckoned the other two to follow. Once the three wizards were outside in the Muggle Sector of the city, the wooden door closed automatically and a brick wall now stretched, unperturbed, on both sides of the abandoned warehouse they had just left.
"Albus, I thought you wanted a more… public departure. Surely we could have Portkey-ed from the main hall?" Severus asked obfuscated, glancing around the dirty alley to convey his point.
"Ah, Severus, sometimes a small glimpse is just enough," Dumbledore said cryptically, blue eyes twinkling madly. "Now, do you have that Portkey? We only have fourteen more minutes, if I'm not mistaken." The Potions Master nodded, producing a bended spoon from his robes inner pocket and handing it to his employer with no slight annoyance etched on his pale face.
"Are we going to stay here until the bloody Portkey activates? Couldn't we just wait inside, where it's warm?" Draco asked snappishly, tugging at his robes. Severus and the Headmaster exchanged significant looks, although neither of the two men was exactly sure of the extent of the other wizard's knowledge. Before any one of them could elaborate, however, there was a loud 'clang' and the sound of hurried footsteps running towards them.
"Wait!" The three wizards swiftly turned in the direction the voice had come from to find a very flustered Harry Potter on the corner of the street, just a dozen meters away from them. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, I thought you'd left," the man gasped, his raven-black hair wild and his glasses askew, bent at the waist and hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Fawkes took flight and went to sit on Harry's shoulder, trilling enthusiastically as it nibbled at jet strands.
"Oh, Harry, my boy! So nice of you to see us off," Dumbledore beamed, gesturing for the Auror to come closer to where they stood. The nearly panicked expression that crossed the blond wizard's face didn't escape the Headmaster's all knowing eyes, though, and his lips turned up in a discrete, tender smile as he watched both young men. Harry Potter grinned as he walked towards the group, petting Fawkes' magnificent plumage.
"The Ministry is in complete mayhem. Everybody's wondering how you escaped without them noticing. I remembered this exit and thought you'd use it as a quiet way out," Harry said as his eyes glanced at the visibly irritated blond man standing a few feet away from him, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"As much as I'd love to think you came here looking for me to say hello, Harry, I know there must be something else. What is it, my boy?" The Headmaster smiled as Harry suddenly turned wide, green eyes in his direction.
"I… I wanted to have a word with Malfoy, sir," he said firmly -never mind the initial hesitation- as he looked openly at the aforementioned blond wizard.
Draco eyes snapped up in Potter's direction. He appeared at a loss for actions as he glanced from one older wizard to the other, but neither of them seemed willing to provide any ideas; even his godfather appeared to be enjoying this little show, if his raised eyebrow really meant amusement, as he suspected. Scowling deeply and ignoring the quickened rhythm of his heart, the blond settled for that same old, well-known script.
"Are you keeping up the harassment, Potter? Didn't you get enough entertainment for one day?" he spat, fully aware that his swelling anger was not entirely directed at the annoying hero in that particular moment -and certainly not willing to acknowledge the other infinitely more disturbing emotions the mere sight of this imbecile provoked in him- but being unable to react in any other way nevertheless. This was customary; this was expected from both of them. This was… safe. He needed 'safe' right now.
"Now now, Draco; I'm sure Harry didn't come all the way here to pick a fight with you. Why don't you hear what he has to say?" Dumbledore chuckled softly. Harry looked a bit put out.
"No… It's ok, Professor. I'm really sorry. I better…"
"Mr. Malfoy might growl quite a bit, Harry, but I don't think he bites; not hard, anyway," Dumbledore interrupted him, pointedly ignoring the various reactions his casual comment elicited in the three men in his company. The Headmaster then glanced in the blonde's direction, offering him one of his infuriatingly innocent smiles as if he had no idea whatsoever of the thousand different meanings the words he had just said could have.
Draco stared at him, mouth gaping and reaching boiling point. Knowing that his control was wearing thin, he swallowed hard a couple of times and turned to look at the sky above, inhaling deeply, before the thought of doing something incredibly stupid became much more appealing.
The brat's voice snatched his attention from the waltzing clouds.
"Well, I just… I needed to tell Malfoy that I… that I…" the Gryffindor stuttered, looking up at the bird perched on his shoulder as if asking for assistance. Fawkes didn't seem inclined to help him, though, for he gave another loud trill and flew back to his rightful owner, leaving Harry feeling incredibly exposed, for some reason.
"You're wasting your time, Potter. I'm not interested in anything you could say." Draco's arms were tightly crossed over his chest, as if he was really cold, and his eyes were resolutely set on everything but the man in front of him. Severus did roll his eyes this time.
"What nonsense!" the Potions Master snapped. "Speak your mind now, Potter. We have a Portkey to catch in approximately…" he took out a chain watch and inspected it, "six minutes, and as amusing as I used to find this childish vendetta of yours, it's starting to grate on my nerves."
The acidic tone of his godfather made Draco look –albeit reluctantly- at the intended. Harry appeared as if he had just realised what a moronic thing he had done by coming there. The blond could actually see the twist of emotions playing on his face; from annoyance, to anger, to finally red-cheeked embarrassment. Draco felt that strange, pixie-eaten-alive type of fluttery sensation in his stomach again, which only added to his galloping aggravation and not only because he had the sudden impulse to smack his godfather for speaking so harshly to Potter. Still, it was right there, urging him to do something. There was no way out of it.
Oh, Hell! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!
With a mighty, long-suffering exhalation he walked cautiously towards Harry. The Auror appeared surprised to see him approaching him, and that gave Draco some amount of resolve. He stopped when he was right in front of the infuriating man and out of ear shot from the others.
"Look, Potter, I…"
"Malfoy, I wanted to say that…"
Realising that they were interrupting each other's sentences, an awkward silence sprang between them until it became almost unbearable. Steel grey eyes were locked intensely with forest green, just as it had happened hours ago, but it felt different this time. They stood there for a couple of minutes, saying nothing, just staring at each other, weighing each other's reactions, assessing each other's gestures.
"Thank you."
Just as the words tumbled out of their mouths, they understood that it hadn't been some sort of echo around them, but the other saying the very same thing he just had, at the very same time. The realisation was nearly a tangible push backwards; it sent both their hearts beating at incredibly high rates and a sense of déjà vu through their systems.
"Draco, we need to go," Severus informed warily from somewhere behind them. Both men ignored him, so caught up as they were in their shocked silence.
The blond was the first to recover, though. He cleared his throat curtly, but Harry could see the puzzlement, the uneasiness in his eyes and in the way he clenched his jaw and pressed his arms tightly over his chest. He could see it because he felt it, too, but it didn't mean he understood what was going on. Draco looked at him meaningfully, as if he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking about, and sighed heavily.
"Look, Potter. Thank you for what you did today. You didn't have to… vouch for me like that. There. That's all I needed to say," he finished stiffly, quite aware of the two pairs of eyes watching his and Harry's every move and feeling quite desperate to end this… whatever it was as soon as possible; to leave this utterly upsetting man's presence as fast as he could. Harry Potter was unbalancing him in ways he never thought possible, and yes, no matter how much he'd hate himself for admitting it, he was scared. He didn't want to deal with the implications. He didn't want to think about what all of this could mean; not right now. There were just too many thoughts running around in his head; to many things to figure out, to analyse, to understand. There were too many weird emotions on the loose already. This was not the moment to wonder why Harry bloody Potter affected him as much as he did; that was one inner dilemma he was planning to stall for as long as he could.
Draco turned to leave, but a hand grabbed him swiftly by the forearm, sending an electrical shock through his arm to the rest of his body. He winced visibly at the unexpected sensation –which only accomplished pushing him more towards the edge of losing it completely- and glared at Potter with what he hoped looked like irritation. Harry had the nerve to look sheepish for a second, but then his face broke into a soft smile. His emerald eyes were glowing with hope, and Draco was finding it very hard to breathe properly. He needed to get out of there, and fast, but Potter didn't seem to be willing to let go any time soon.
"Draco…" Severus repeated, this time a bit more exasperated. Harry glanced in the sour man's direction before turning back to look him in the eye.
"Listen to me, please! It's me who should thank you," the raven-haired wizard said hastily. "I didn't… I never knew… about the ambush, about your help… I thought it had been Snape that… You saved my life, Draco. If it hadn't been for those memories, for your mother's, I would have never guessed…"
Harry had a thousand things more to say, but all of his words were caught in his throat. Draco's face suddenly turned into the same mask of iron Harry had seen in that memory. His eyes were narrowed into slits of frozen mercury and he could actually feel the chill radiating from him. It made him release the slender man's arm and take a small step backwards.
"Don't…"
The command was as cold and unforgiving as those eyes. Harry felt suddenly bereft and confused. What had he done wrong now? What..?
"Draco, I…"
"This conversation is over. And it's 'Malfoy' to you, Potter. Don't ever forget that."
Draco felt a pang of guilt shoot across his chest as he said those harsh words and watched the hurt in Harry's eyes -just as he had seen back in that restroom- but he swallowed it back to wherever it had come from. Turning swiftly on his heels, he walked towards the two wizards now staring at him with inquiring expressions on their faces; pain and anger making it easy for him to ignore the feeling of bewildered eyes on the back of his neck.
"Malfoy, wait!" Harry cried, but even when he wanted to run after the blond, he couldn't move from where he was. It was as if his feet were cemented to the pavement. A few meters away from him, Draco was yanking the sparkling blue Portkey from his godfather's hands, ignoring both his and Dumbledore's questions and shaking with rage. "Let's go!" the blond spat, and the visibly flabbergasted wizards had only a couple of seconds to take hold of the activating Portkey before a beam of blue light engulfed them in a cocoon, and with a loud 'crack', they were gone.
Harry Potter stood there in the deserted street for what seemed like a long time, staring at the empty spot the others had occupied moments ago; his heart aching and his mind going wild. He didn't understand anything that had just happened, from his almost manic desire to see Draco after the hearing had ended, to their strange conversation, to the way the blond had snapped for no apparent reason. His whole being felt overwhelmed with emotions, and there was this urgent need inside him to make sure that Draco was ok, that he knew that Harry believed he was a good man; that he knew that Harry was… sorry, for everything and for nothing at all. No matter if the blond pushed him away or told him to go to Hell or even tried to kill him for that matter, Harry had to let him know; he needed Draco to know he cared.
Although, exactly why he cared so much in the first place… that was something the raven-haired man didn't know himself.
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There was a whirl of wind and colour, accompanied by the most uncomfortable 'tugging' behind his navel, but once the world righted itself under his feet again, his anger and the desire to hit something hadn't diminished a single fraction.
He opened his eyes and he found himself in a round, lighted room. The furniture looked ancient but well kept, and there was a soft, lingering sweetness in the air -like the smell of small children, or maybe candy- that was surprisingly soothing, but not soothing enough to settle his flying temper. He had never stepped foot in this office, but he knew where he was, because of those damn memories. He remained immobile for a short while, staring at the floor and breathing heavily, trying to cling to the remaining bits of self-control he knew he didn't have.
"Draco, my boy, take a seat, please." The patronizing tone used in that simple sentence was the last straw. He turned in the direction of the voice, fists closed and grey eyes smoking. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, totally calm, looking at him with the most annoying, understanding expression on his face. His godfather was standing by the large windows, arms crossed over his chest, appraising him with those calculating, obsidian eyes of his. He felt as if he was being examined, and that alone fuelled his already flaring anger.
"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" Draco roared, blowing a chair out of his way with his bare hands. "Don't you think you've done enough already?" The old man didn't even blink.
"What do you think I've done, my boy?" Again, that soft, indulgent tone. Draco felt a rumbling, overwhelming wave of iridescent ire surging upwards from the pit of his stomach, every single cell in his being burned in its wake, placing crimson lenses before his eyes.
"What do I think you've done? What do I think...? You goddamned son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, launching himself against the desk. Slender –albeit unthinkably strong- arms caught him before he reached his objective, though, and he felt his body arching and twisting to free itself from its restrains. It was as if he wasn't part of his own skin anymore, as if his brain had shut down and his body was being commandeered by an animalistic entity. He was blinded by the need to cause pain, to destroy; to hurt as much as he was hurting. His angered cries and growls were making his throat sore, but he didn't care. For once in his life, he just didn't give a damn about losing it completely. Sometimes, enough was simply enough.
"Draco, calm down!" his godfather demanded. The words only made him angrier, more frustrated, and even harder to contain.
"Let me go! God damn it, let me go!" His whole face felt like it was on fire. His arms and legs kept flailing and thrashing around, wanting to hit something, and his jaw ached from the pressure his clenched teeth were causing. But he welcomed it; he embraced the pain in his strained joints and muscles, in his throat that was screamed raw, in the pounding of his head; anything to forget the aching emptiness in his heart.
"Severus, release him. He needs to vent his grief," Dumbledore said softly; his expression sad and his face looking older than ever. With an inquiring, almost sceptical look in the old wizard's direction, the Potions Master let go of his godson.
It was immediate. With a mighty roar, the blond wizard grabbed hold of the first thing he found in his way and threw it as hard as he could over his head. The delicate glass sphere smashed loudly against the stone wall, splinters flying everywhere, but even though the shattering sound made him feel good, it wasn't enough to placate the beast inside. The shelves and the weird artefacts sitting on top of the desk were next; they all tumbled to the ground with a loud crash, puffing smoke and screeching in pain, but it wasn't enough. The tapestries, the portraits, the porcelain figurines on the mantel above the fireplace… they all fell victims to the young wizard's wrath, and still it wasn't enough. Draco screamed and yelled and shouted, hit himself on the head, pulled at his hair, but it wasn't enough. The whole world would never be enough.
He collapsed in a broken heap on the floor. One by one, the sobs rocked his body, breaking the last walls of the dam, opening the floodgates of his sorrow. Utterly exhausted and with nothing else to lose, he allowed himself to be weak, to admit defeat, for the very first time in his life. He cried.
Suddenly, a pair of gentle, tentative hands held his shoulders, but he didn't have the spirit to push them away. Albus Dumbledore was crouching next to him; his blue eyes open, concerned. Behind Dumbledore, Severus remained alert, although his pale, always impassive face showed his own apprehension.
"Why?" Draco's voice was rusty from so much screaming. "Why did you do it? Why did you use her like that?"
"I did what she told me to do, my boy; what was needed to help you. I'm sorry if it hurt you, but it needed to be done," the Headmaster answered softly.
"Rubbish! I didn't ask for your help!" Draco felt his anger returning at those meagre words. He stood up with sheer stubbornness as his drive, staring at the Headmaster with hatred in his eyes. The ancient wizard looked up at him for a short while before standing up himself with a long sigh and going to sit behind his desk once more, which was – amazingly - the only thing in his office that remained unscathed.
"That is enough, Draco," Severus warned. Draco turned to look at him with the same contempt on his face.
"You!" His stormy grey eyes narrowed. "You knew about this the whole time! You let him do it! How could you?"
"Like Dumbledore said, it had to be done, Draco. Narcissa wanted it, and it was your only way out," Severus replied firmly, almost harshly. Draco snorted.
"Fucking liar," he spat, and his godfather looked completely bewildered by the statement. "Everything is a fucking lie! I wouldn't mind being in Azkaban right now if I knew what you were willing to do to 'help me out'!"
"You're out of line, young man," Severus seethed, not understanding his godson's accusations but not willing to let him get the upper hand, either. It had been a trying day for the blond, granted, but some things were unacceptable no matter the circumstances.
"Severus, let Draco speak," Albus said calmly; his blue eyes set on the blond wizard.
"You were the mastermind behind it all, weren't you?" Draco snapped at Dumbledore. "Wasn't enough showing her broken and ill to the world? No, of course not! You had to make her beg in front of them all, didn't you? My father might be a Dark Wizard and a Death Eater, but he certainly was right about you. You are a manipulative, sick bastard!"
"Draco, enough! What the hell is the matter with you?" the Potions Master roared, crossing the small distance that separated him from his godson, wanting to grab the wizard and shake some sense into him. "You will apologize to Albus this instant! The man saved your life, for Salazar's name!" Draco ignored him; he just kept his eyes trained on the old wizard before him. "Tell me why you did it. Tell me why you forged that memory!" Dumbledore's face became puzzled for a split second before something akin to comprehension settled in his eyes and regret marred his aging features. Severus looked from one wizard to the other, flummoxed.
"What do you mean, he forged the memory? Narcissa herself provided it! Dumbledore, what is Draco talking about?" The Potions Master's tone was anxious, nearly alarmed. The Headmaster remained silent; blue eyes betraying raucous thinking.
"I'm just saying that he lied," Draco stated simply, still staring at Dumbledore with frozen eyes. "The memory wasn't my mother's. That memory was fake," he hissed as he placed his hand on the Headmaster's desk, looking rather intimidating. The old wizard looked as if he hadn't even noticed the sudden invasion of his personal space. There was a pensive expression on his face, and he kept muttering under his breath, as if he were running equations over in his mind
"Draco, explain yourself, for Merlin's beard!" Severus was feeling the telltale throbbing of a migraine in the back of his head. His godson regarded him with a devious smirk.
"What part don't you understand? The memory is a phoney, fake; it's not real. And it's not real because…"
"You don't remember it ever happening," Dumbledore said slowly, as if he had just discovered the thirteenth use of dragon's blood, or found the final piece of a puzzle which had been lost for a very long time. His tone made Draco turn swiftly in his direction. Somehow, it didn't make him feel as victorious as it should have; instead, it sent a bolt of cold lightning across his chest.
"Can somebody explain to me what's going on?" Severus barked out after he noticed the odd looks going back and forth between the two wizards. Dumbledore sighed, but there was a satisfied –albeit small- smile on his face. He took out his wand, and with a gentle flick, the two chairs that had been knocked over during Draco's breakdown were set neatly before the desk.
"Severus, Draco; please, take a seat. I'm afraid this is going to be a long talk."
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TBC…
Author Notes: Oh My! The plot thickens! Liked it? Hated it? You know what to do: Feed the starving writer!
