Chérie, parchments and quills
Chapter Twenty – Young Darkened Heart

Harry's equanimity exploded in the wake of his outrage. His wild magic crackled and twisted dangerously, nearly blasting the door to the potion's classroom clean of its hinges – it slammed into the wall with such an almighty force that the wood cracked and reverberated through the dungeon corridors.

Ignoring Draco's shocked indignation, reproach, and protests, Harry made a beeline straight for young Mr Silas Avery. His attention was tunnelled only onto the criminal that dared to torture an innocent student! Harry had given the brat a chance, the benefit of the doubt, when all the evil shit really deserved was to rot in Azkaban!

Silas' sense of self-preservation kicked in when he saw the fury radiating from his ex-Defence against the dark arts teacher. The aura around Mr Potter was alarming – it cracked and seeped into every crevice of the potion's classroom, so powerful and vengeful that, yes, Silas was scared! He skidded behind Mr Malfoy's desk, shielding himself from Mr Potter.

Harry slammed his hands down on the teacher's desk, oblivious to Draco's presence – "HOW DARE YOU!" He shouted at the brown-haired Slytherin, spittle flying. "If you're so capable of playing with illegal dark curses, then you're certainly capable of taking the damn consequences!"

"HARRY!" Draco shouted, when the man failed to respond to 'Potter' – Draco was immensely shocked at Harry's behaviour, this wasn't the man he knew. What the hell had he missed? Illegal curses? He grabbed Harry's shoulders, intending on making eye contact in a bid to calm the man down – "Harry! Stop this before you– Aughhh!"

Harry had flung his arms up in a burst of outrage that he was being blocked from his pursuit, and in his haste to get to the evil little shit across the desk, he'd managed to back-hand Draco right under the chin.

Silas had made a break for the door whilst he'd had the chance, not even bothering with his books or his bag, but Harry's wild magic slammed the door closed just as he'd reached it. The door was barely hanging onto its hinges by this point, but Harry's magic kept it firmly blocking the exit. Harry, not even realising that he'd hit Draco, had eyes only for the boy trying to run like a coward – "Oh, no you don't!" Harry growled, advancing on the boy once again - "You're not going anywhere you evil little shit!"

"Harry!" Draco quickly got over behind hit in the face, and he grabbed Harry's arm. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH YOU?"

When Harry growled, yanking himself away from the blond, Draco pulled back and punched Harry square in the jaw! "NOW CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" If it was only by such deplorable Gryffindor actions that he got thru to Harry, then so be it… at least it worked.

It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been plunged over Harry's head – the wake-up call shocking… and painful. Fuck that hurt, Harry thought, rubbing his jaw that was sure to bruise – at least it didn't feel broken.

Draco still felt a small sense of horror that he'd resulted to Gryffindor, muggle methods – not that muggles could help their lack of magic, but he did possess a wand. The satisfaction that he'd gotten his own back for being hit by Harry in the first place was worth it, and the results were favourable over a pissed off Potter that was lost to rageful insanity; however, Harry now seemed to be in a state of shock, and he'd sat down heavily on the edge of a desk.

"Silas, sit down!" Draco firmly ordered the boy. It seemed that Harry's wild magic had placed a rather tenacious lock on the door, and Silas was desperately trying to escape using physical force – his wand in Draco's possession as part of his punishment.

Silas turned like a thief caught red handed, but the boy finally went back to his seat when Draco continued to glare at him. It was unusual to see fear in the boy's eyes, seeing him silent instead of sneering and being obstinate. The boy would be a fool to be heedless of the danger, Potter was rather terrifying when he was angry. Speaking of…

Draco waved his wand, casting privacy spells so that Silas would not be able to hear their conversation (nor lip read), before turning to face Harry.

"Have you regained your faculties enough, Potter," Draco drawled, "to enlighten me as to why you came barging into my classroom with all the finesse of an enraged dragon, and explain to me… what the hell is going on!" He growled. He'd already figured that the news was going to be bad, considering the way Harry had stormed in breathing fire the way he had, and he braced himself for the answer.

Harry winced at Draco's tone and took a deep breath. He refused to look at Silas for the moment, least his anger got the better of him again and he punched the boy … boy.

Silas wasn't a boy any longer, he was an adult, seventeen, but … the boy was still a student, and he was still the teacher. He was ashamed of his behaviour, and no matter how much the… student deserved everything he got, he had responsibilities as a teacher, and he should have enough sense to follow the correct protocols in this situation.

What had gotten into him?

He looked up at Draco, ready to explain, when he saw the redness of the man's jaw – redness that promised to bruise… did he do that?

His stomach suddenly caved into an abyss in his guilt; a memory that hovered in a foggy haze, as though not his own, of a hand colliding into that pointy jaw line with quite the velocity – yanking away from the hands that had only meant to direct his angry focus from the student.

"I didn't mean too–"

"Hit me? I should very well hope not!" Draco interrupted. "What is going on Potter?"

"It's Miss Brianna Payne," Harry sighed, running a hand down his own face. "Silas used the cruciatus curse on her…"

Harry finished explaining everything he knew, which wasn't that much considering that Miss Payne was too terrified to disclose the identity of her torturer. Harry was, however, completely positive that it had been Silas.

"I know it was him," Harry stressed. "The rumours last year, that he'd been practising the Imperius curse on first year Hufflepuffs… who's to say that he wasn't practicing the Cruciatus curse too? I suppose we should be thankful that no one turned up dead!"

Draco felt himself shiver internally. He'd made Silas stay to continue his detention essay, on the history of both the Voldemort wizarding wars, while they'd continued their discussion under the privacy of wards. He was watching the student now, even as he replied to Harry. "I'm not saying I disbelieve you. I am only saying that we have his words against ours." Draco turned to face Harry. "However, I am sure that the Aurors will take delight in using the circumstantial evidence as enough proof of his crimes. Should we contact them, I am certain that Graves will be more then ecstatic to see the boy thrown into Azkaban to be reunited with his father. At this point though, I believe that we have no choice but to pursue the correct course of justice."

Harry sighed. It pained him that he couldn't save a teenager from the warped, evil beliefs of his Death Eater father. The ripples of the war still had its affects, and while most of this generation was free from such influence, the echoes still remained to darken lives when least expected.

Throwing Silas into prison wouldn't change the boy's mind, it wouldn't change anything except that the boy's life would be forfeited, wasted, to one of imprisonment. How many more lives were to be affected before the ripples of war stopped?

"Potter?" Draco frowned in concern. "What do you want to do?"

Harry shook his head and sighed – "I guess we take him to Minerva, call the Aurors, and leave it in their hands… …" Harry paused, wondering if he could get Silas to admit his crimes. "First though, I want to bluff him into a confession."

"How do you suggest we achieve that?" Draco was sceptical. It didn't help that Silas was stubborn, nor that Harry had already shown a colossal failure in controlling his emotions not even an hour ago.

"Leave that to me!" Harry said, standing up.

Draco reached for his arm – "Potter, you are a teacher! You cannot–"

"Relax!" Harry placed the flat of his hand against Draco's chest – for just a moment, just a split second, their eyes met and they faltered – "I'm just going to scare him, not rough him up." Harry finally continued, turning and leaving the area of the privacy wards.

Silas looked up when both the professors approached his desk. The teenager had a blank expression, but fear dulled his hazel eyes. He held his head up, stubborn to the core. That look, the arrogance, the complete uncaring nonchalance irked Harry to rage… but he stifled his anger this time, just as he'd promised, and he worked his interrogation skills instead.

"It's such a shame, Silas, isn't it? That your mother will have to visit her only son in Azkaban." Harry started, acting the part of someone who knew the crimes the teenage-adult had committed without a shadow of a doubt. "Using the imperious curse on me is one thing, but to use the Cruciatus on a student?" He tutted and shook his head.

Silas had obviously opted to remain silent, but Harry could tell that he was weighing his options already; he glanced up at Draco, twitched, and swallowed. Still, the threat of Azkaban didn't seem enough to loosen his lips… he'd try insulting him them – the boy was arrogant, and he usually had a mouth to go with it.

Harry slowly moved behind the teenager, his steps controlled, loud in the quiet room, and he placed one hand firmly onto the boy's shoulder. He leaned closer to boy's ear, speaking quietly – "Practicing the unforgivable curses, the imperious curse on Hufflepuff's. Well, I guess you didn't get much practice after all; your attempt to have me harm Professor Malfoy failed, didn't it? I suppose your lack of powers can't be helped." Harry stood back up, but he gripped a little tighter onto Silas' shoulder. "Pureblood inbreeding and all that."

Silas' mouth twitched as if he longed to argue – to defend his magical ability, but fear kept him quiet. Harry could almost see the cogs turning in the boy's mind; it wouldn't do for him to admit to his crimes, especially if he was soon to face the Aurors, and no one had solid proof it was him. Still, the insult had almost gained a reaction – just a bit more pressure then.

Harry released Silas, turned to grab a stool, and let the screech slice through the silent potions lab as he dragged it languidly across the stone floor. Draco winced, but remained silent, leaning his buttocks on the desk to the left of them, his arms crossed as he observed. Harry then plopped his butt on the stool and faced the felonious little brat.

"You're not going to deny any of it?" Harry casually asked, but he didn't wait for a response. "No need though really, is there; you tortured a little girl! Did you find pleasure in her screams? Did she beg for relief, or was it terrible and d-drawn-out?"

The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above.
"HERMIONE!" Ron bellowed "HERMIONE! HERMIONE!"

Blinking away the memory, Harry went on as if he'd never even stuttered. Draco had noticed, and Harry could tell that he was concerned, but at least he didn't say anything – for that Harry was grateful.

"Why did you stop?" Harry asked Silas, his voice casual. "You got bored? Scared? Maybe you just didn't have the guts. I expect you weren't powerful enough to maintain it – the effects of your family's incestuous habits I suppose."

Silas twitched again, a burning rage seething beneath the surface. The brat was on the edge of blurting something from his tight lips.

"Of course," Harry continued, just as casually. "I don't have that problem. There's nothing wrong with my magic." Harry smirked as he looked over at the door – it was still locked. "I expect mummy will be ashamed to have such a weak son, but then again, she can't exactly help the fact that her own mother and father were cousins, or that you came from ill-bred families. Add that to your use of dark magic, and you're heading to the Janus Thickey Ward... well, in your case, Azkaban. It fucks with your mind you see, corrupts your blood and slowly turns you mad." Harry tapped his own head, eyes piercing into Silas's. Then he turned away, as if it didn't matter anyhow.
"Weak or not, you did manage a slither of the curse I suppose… only six seconds of it though. Yep, I'm sure Auror Graves will be very interested in the proof we have of your weak cruciatus curse on a student… the evidence we gathered of your feeble magic. I expect it will be all over the papers by tomorrow, your–"

"You have nothing!" Silas sneered, finally unable to remain silent. "My magic isn't weak!"

"No?" Harry feigned shocked. "Why else would you need to practise on Hufflepuffs? Why did you fail to gain control over me with the Imperious curse, and why did you fail to keep the cruciatus curse on Miss Payne? Your magic is weak, you are disgusting, and it is you that knows nothing!"

"It's your fault my father is in prison!" Silas shouted, slamming his hands on the table.

Harry knew that Silas was trying to distract him from the topic of Miss Payne and the unforgivable curses the boy had used, but Harry had worked hard to rid himself of blame. To be blamed for Mr Avery senior's imprisonment… NO!

"Your father followed a Dark lord! A megalomaniac corrupted and inflicted with madness and arrogance that drove him to his own demise. A product of filth and inbreeding! A selfish, evil wizard that didn't care who or what he destroyed. A raging psychopath, who drew pleasure from murder and torture, and one that physically couldn't comprehend love or affection. Voldemort had no need for human companionship or friendship. The man thought himself all-powerful and eternal. He used others simply for his own selfish wants. He killed without reason, killed his followers for nothing more than boredom or anger. He was loyal to no one! Your father made his bed, chose the path of evil, and now he is paying the price for his sins! I AM NOT TO BLAME FOR THE ACTIONS AND CHOICES OF OTHERS! YOU'RE LUCKY YOUR FATHER IS IN PRISON AND NOT DEAD AT VOLDEMORT'S HANDS."

A burst of magic rattled jars and shook the furniture, but Harry reeled it in by taking a deep breath. Silas appeared somewhat cowed at Harry anger display, now looking down at his unfinished essay.

When Harry continued, his voice was low and quiet – serious and narrative.

"Voldemort was a boy once, just like you. A child named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Unlike you, however, he had no parents to raise him. He was created, not out of love, but out of rape; forcing a man to sire your child via a love potion is rape! Tom was born corrupted, ill, unable to show compassion, empathy, love. He didn't have humanity. Tom should never have been born into this world, should never have been conceived. His mother died in childbirth – his muggle father fled home the moment his mind became his own again.

"The muggle orphanage that Tom grew up in, the muggle staff, they could sense the darkness that radiated from him but they didn't understand it. They were right to be scared of the boy, though. Tom hurt and bullied the other children – traumatised many. He murdered a student at Hogwarts when he was sixteen – for no other reason than to advance his own selfish plans of reaching immortality.

"As the years passed, he only got worse. He became an evil monster. His followers were his slaves – some forced, bribed, or blackmailed into his servitude. He killed anyone for sport, for fun … out of boredom or anger … anyone! Children, babies, Muggles, Half-Bloods … even Pure-Bloods or his own so-called followers should the desire to do so take his fancy. He could order you to kill your own mother, your father, or even your own child – if you so much as hesitated, you'd be tortured, made to watch your loved ones die, and then… he would kill you himself if you were lucky. If you didn't have blind servitude in his destruction of the world, a world he'd promised to make better – didn't eat his shit if he demanded it – you were no longer useful to him and were discarded like dirt. There was no way out once you'd pledged your loyalty to him, no way out except death. Yes, many of his Death Eaters only followed his orders out of fear, many wanted out once they'd learnt the truth, but they knew that it was impossible to leave without a terrible price.

"Tom became Voldemort. Voldemort manipulated and lied, he made false promises, and he spewed nothing but crap!" Harry pierced into Silas' eyes with an intense stare – "That's who your father chose to serve, a monster!"

"You know nothing!" Silas insisted, but his voice didn't seem as sure. "The Dark Lord would have made the wizarding world great! Y-you lie!"

"Do I?" Harry then turned to Draco. "Did I lie?" He asked the blond professor.

"Mr Potter is correct, Mr Avery," Draco said, slowly standing up from the table he'd been leaning against. He'd been listening to every word that Harry spoke, and it made his blood turn cold. He was impressed that Harry hadn't stuttered as he recalled the dark memories, but he'd been worried about him – Harry's eyes had been unfocused, almost as if he'd forgotten where he was and who he was talking to. Yes, Harry's eyes had been so haunted.

"I was forced into his servitude" Draco admitted. "Given the ultimatum of becoming a murder or watching my parents killed." Draco glanced over at Harry, not sure if he should say more or not, but Harry nodded once to encourage him to continue. "Voldemort's goal was to gain absolute control over the wizarding universe, and to gain immortality. He didn't care about anyone except himself, he had a profound fear of death, and his ideals were gravely flawed – delusional. He would have eliminated all the muggles and muggle borns, killed over two thirds of the magical community, and forced his evil philosophy upon all of those that remained. He would have eventually caused an apocalypse: with only a few Pure-Bloods left in the world, and only those that were lucky enough to survive his unstable behaviour and need to kill or torture for entertainment, inbreeding would have become a necessity to survive. With an increase of inbreeding however, fertility would have eventually declined – the number of magical children born would decrease until babies became a rarity in the world. There would be an increase of birth defects, mental instabilities, and genetic illnesses on those children lucky enough to be born. Procreating with family members would also see a decline in magical strength and ability – it has been proven that inbreeding causes magical abilities to decline. The number of Squibs would also increase. Simply put, Mr Avery, we would die out. Voldemort would have ensured that our kind became extinct."

Silas was shaking his head by this point – unable or unwilling to believe what he'd been told. "No! No, no, NO! You're both liars! My father… My father knows what he is talking about! You're both just muggle lovers! Blood traitors with stupid morals!"

"Well, you can talk to your father when you see him in prison!" Harry growled.

"My father doesn't belong in prison! And the Aurors have no evidence against me either!" Silas shouted, standing up from his chair in anger.

Harry stood up too – "Do you know what a pensive is, Mr Avery?" Harry asked, but continued anyway when Silas didn't answer. "A Pensive is a device that lets others see someone else's memories. I have memories of you using the imperious curse on me, memories of myself holding your wand while I tested it for the last three spells that you had used – the locking charm, the Imperius curse, and the feather-light charm. I only need evidence of one unforgivable curse to see you put away for life." Harry watched as Silas paled, but he continued. "How convenient is it then, that I also have your victim's memory of the Cruciatus curse that you used against her." Harry lied – but if he could assure Brianna of her safety, he was sure she would allow her memory to be used. "I'm sure many more of your other victims will come forth once you are expelled, and with the many records that display your questionable behaviour, all the circumstantial evidence against you, and a statement from your head of house and the hero of the wizarding world… I'd say that more than meets the 'reasonable grounds' to force you into using Veritaserum during your trial. You are an adult now, Mr Avery." Harry reminded the boy, seeing as Veritaserum is only used on adults with reasonable cause, not minors – well, not unless the minor is being charged with homicide at least.

Silas was as white as a sheet, and he bolted to the door – it was still locked. Harry figured that his magic recognised intent – not to let the teenager escape – and it wouldn't let up until his intent changed. It was strange how his wild magic had a mind of its own; yes, his magic did as he ultimately wanted or desired, but he hadn't cast a spell or given it permission to do so. Handy right now, but it could be inconvenient.

Harry grabbed the boy by the back of the collar, waved his hand to remove the magic on the door…

BANG!

"Oops!" Said Harry, the door falling to the floor now that magic wasn't holding it in place – he really had broken it then.

"You better fix that, Potter!" Draco growled, but there was something akin to amusement in those coin-grey eyes.

"As your majesty requests." Harry bowed, still with a firm grip on the back of Silas clothes.

Harry pulled out his wand, levitated the door into place, and then quickly cast a strong 'Reparo' charm at the door before it fell again – focusing on his intent: hinges, and door itself to be fixed.

"Show off!" Draco muttered.

Harry smirked. He enjoyed impressing the blond – something that he didn't usually do. It would normally take two wizards to pull off a repair like that: They would first have repaired the door, and then one person would hold up the door while the other fixed each hinge separately.

"Right, move it!" Harry told Silas, roughly dragging him into the hall way.

When Harry Potter had practically thrown a fearful Mr Silas Avery into the Headmistress' office, followed by a rather sombre looking Draco Malfoy – Minerva had been shocked!

Not only had the usually defiant and fearless student looked rather resigned, cowed even, but Harry had been manhandling Silas with a force that she would never have condoned, nor would she have expected it of him of all people. Her surprise however, turned to foreboding when Harry had used a powerful sticking charm on the boy, his emerald eyes so bitingly cold and deadly seriously, and then, Harry demanded that the three of them – the adults, spoke in private immediately.

Minerva had held her tongue as she gestured for the two staff members to precede her into the side room off the main office, behind strong privacy wards. There, Harry had thrusted Miss Payne's medical scan results into her hand. The parchment was crinkled where it had been shoved into Harry's pocket. Flattening the parchment enough to read the words, Harry voice reached her ears – "Last entry!"

Minerva had paled before cursing like a sailor in her Scottish brogue. The only thing that had tamed her anger, that had kept it from exploding, was the experiences her many years had taught her – as a teacher, a headmistress, and as a woman who had lived through two wizarding wars and Gellert Grindelwald's rise.

They all shared a look of sad understanding. No teacher wanted to give up on a student, but Mr Avery had gone beyond the realm of being disrespectful, insubordinate and defiant. No, Silas was now an adult that had committed a terrible crime – the punishment being life in Azkaban.

Minerva didn't doubt that Silas was guilty – not for a single moment. The fact of the matter was that the young man had already used an unforgivable on a teacher – on Harry, which proved that he had no regard for the law. The circumstantial evidence had mounted too high, and the true evidence would be enough to see his crimes brought to justice.

Minerva wilted.

There had been warning signs since Silas' first day at Hogwarts – the boy's growing lack of respect, his concerning behaviour, the incidents and accidents that only seemed to happen when he was in the vicinity, and his growing defiance and animosity towards certain members of staff…

Could she should have done more?

She should have done more!

But then again… hadn't they had all tried to watch the boy?
Tried to guide his behaviour to that of more acceptable standards?

Had they tried hard enough?

When Draco and Harry had explained Miss Payne's alarming reaction to Silas entering the potions classroom, she just knew it had been him that had tortured that poor little girl. She could only blame herself for what Briana had suffered under her care as headmistress.

She felt as if she had failed her students; she longed to be wrong, but she was sure that Silas hadn't just hurt Miss Payne... that there were more victims of his in her school, children.

The air was full of guilt, the grief choking them into temporary silence. They didn't need words to express the unbelievability of the situation, the loss of innocence and purity, and the scars that were still being forged by an evil Dark Lord that had been dead for nearly thirteen years.

Silas may have become a criminal that hurt innocents … but he was another victim of the war. His life about to be destroyed because of the poison Voldemort had left in his wake.

As disturbing as the reality was, they knew there was nothing more to be done now except to follow procedures. Silas' victims would forever be scared by the boy's unforgiving actions, but she hoped they could at least start to heal.

Harry had used Minerva's private fireplace to contact the Aurors. He'd requested to speak to Mr Dale Rogers – the head of the auror department – and had briefly given a summary of why they needed to call in Aurors to the school. Harry had made his concerns about Mr Graves' conduct in this matter known, explained that Graves had a personal grudge regarding Death Eaters and that it was clouding his good judgment – in other words, he was too personally invested in this case.

Draco had written a letter, requesting the presence of Sila's mother – Mrs. Isolda Avery (Nee Carrow), and had given it to a house elf to deliver as a matter of urgency. Draco wasn't looking forwards to meeting that woman again, and even less if Silas repeated Harry's words on inbreeding to her. He inwardly shuddered – what had Harry been thinking? He should have stopped him, but Harry was so powerful and fearsome when he wanted to be – formidably startling!

Minerva had sent a different house elf to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Longbottom. She had asked them both to keep Miss Payne within their care, and that she would send for them later. She would contact Miss Brianna's parents once Silas had been escorted from her school. Miss Payne would need treatment, time off school, and most likely a mind healer to speak to. She would also need to encourage other students and victims to come forward.

Once Draco and Harry had returned to the main office, they silently took a seat on either side on Mr Avery. It wouldn't be long now until the Aurors arrived, until Mrs Avery turned up with vitriol and fury on her tongue.

Soon, a young man under their care would cease to be a student. He would become another corrupted being, a criminal, and a victim of the darkness that had perdured since Tom Riddle's existence.

As Minerva glanced silently at Draco and Harry, at the haunted look in their eyes, she knew that the ripples still pulsed with malevolence. Twelve years hadn't been nearly enough time to purify the world of its corruption.

"He was beyond saving, Harry." Draco tried to comfort him, but Harry was having a hard time believing that; If they had worked together since Silas' first year, put in more effort and time, maybe then the boy would have turned away from his flawed, inimical beliefs.

"You weren't!" Harry growled, pausing in his steps. He was angry – fuming at the injustice of the world.

They'd not long left Minerva's office. The Aurors had taken Mr. Avery away to the ministry holding cells to await trial. Mrs. Isolda Avery (Nee Carrow) had been so hostile and confrontational that she'd been arrested for trying to prevent the course of justice…

Then there was little Miss Brianna Payne, who had embraced her parents with such desperate need, clung to them as if she were far younger than fifteen-years-old. She had been so afraid, yet she had agreed to share her memories with the Aurors once she got home.

It angered Harry that he could not save Miss Payne from her anguish – that the child would always carry the scars of the cruciatus curse. His failure to monitor and guide young Silas, to prevent what the boy had become…

It angered him! How could he have let this happen?

"No." Draco begrudgingly agreed. "Unlike Silas, though, I lived through the second war. I saw it, felt it, lived it! Silas hasn't felt that tangible corruption of death, of guilt, of the immense fear that we all did back then. He can't imagine it. Assuming Silas isn't lost to the darkness, assuming he doesn't just enjoy the thought of such malevolent deeds, his views are most likely based on glorified stories and promises – the same ones that drew in so many Death Eaters like moths. Without truly living it, he will believe that the gain is worth the cost. Without fear, he will not see the truth."

Harry growled, he knew that Draco was right, but it didn't excuse his failure to prevent this outcome. He turned, hastily making his way through the empty Corridors and stairs. He vowed that he would never again allow another student to slip through the cracks.

Something had to give!

Or was the world simply too infected by the stench, scars and memories of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, that it would forever seep into peoples lives?

Was it even possible to cleanse the world of such filth, to find peace from such memories?

The hallways were empty and cold as midnight approached, and the silence only led invitation for Harry's mind to lose itself to the images that the last few hours has burned into his memory: The panic in Silas' eyes as the Aurors dragged him away through the Floo, the realisation of his future finally sinking in – his mother restrained and unable to aid him; Small Miss Briana Payne, clinging to her father as she buried her head into the safety of his arms – crying out in pain and relief; Minerva, weary from all the trials of her past, had looked aged beyond her years, the toll reflected heavily in her green eyes.

It wasn't until Harry arrived at the door to his personal chambers that he remembered how Draco had been ignoring and avoiding him lately. He was rather surprised, therefore, that Draco had followed him.

"I'm fine!" Harry was more abrupt than he'd meant to be, but he just couldn't deal with Draco's rejection right now, nor his personal feelings in regards to the man. "You can go."

"It's not your fault!" Draco said, knowing that Harry was blaming himself, and feeling guilty, for the pain that Briana had suffered at Silas's hand. He was concerned for Harry, and despite his resolve to distance himself from the man, he found himself trailing Harry to make sure he was alright.

Harry frowned at the blond – how dare he! "You rejected me, Malfoy," Harry shouted, no longer heedful of his words due to his growing rage and frustrations. "You don't get to be concerned! You selfish Bastard!"

Draco blinked, the need to argue fell short at the pain glistening in Harry's eyes. He found his tongue frozen before he could speak.

Harry shook his head, his hand still on the door handle. He was too exhausted for this. "Just go!"

"I'm sorry." Draco whispered. He'd never meant to hurt Harry, and his own heart sneered at him for it painfully. "I'll leave, but I meant it, Harry. It's not your fault. None of it." Draco did turn then, and started walking away. He heard Harry sniffle behind him, but he knew he had to stick with his resolve.

"When will it stop?" Harry's quiet voice reached his ears.

Draco stopped walking.

Inside Harry's mind, the question echoed and morphed into his nightmares:

'When will it stop?' – 'it will never stop!'

"Did you really believe that you would be free of me?" Voldemort drawled on, and no matter how Harry moved, the reflection would move with him. "That you would get to move on and find happiness… find love." The word love strained on his snake like tongue. "I never left Harry. I can never die. As long as you breathe, I will always be inside of you … waiting, watching. You can never escape me, never move on while I am here within you."

Draco frowned, wondering what Harry meant exactly by his question – was Harry referring to his rejection, or maybe to the pain of their past? He was torn between walking away, or asking. In the end he turned, ready to ask – 'When will what stop?' But the instant his eyes landed on Harry, he found himself gasping with such acute concern…

Harry had fallen against the closed door, his breathing laboured by desperate and fearful gasps.

Draco moved quickly, grasping Harry by the shoulders before the man could fall, and he caught the fear that darkened emerald eyes – those eyes, so unfocused on reality and seeing what was not there.

Harry was lost to his fears, to his past.

"For fuck's sake, Harry!" Draco swore, but he wasn't angry – he was immensely worried. After everything Harry had been through, the man didn't deserve to be plagued by these fucking PTSD flash backs as well. He knew, intimately, how the disturbing thoughts and memories could invade and control, how they could cripple you – he suffered with his own.

"Come on, Harry!" Draco begged. "Come back to me!"

Draco gripped Harry's chin, trying to get the man to look at him, willing Harry to see him… but Harry thrashed and struggled as he fought to be unrestrained. "Come on, Harry!" Draco repeated, desperate for Harry to calm down and return to him…

'Calm down,' Draco thought, remembering the calming potion. He should have thought of that immediately! Fuck!

Harry was struggling and gasping so much that it would be nearly impossible to get the potion down him… unless…

"Sorry, Harry!" Draco said, releasing the man to grab his wand. "Immobulus!"

Harry's body froze, immobilized by the spell; but, Harry was still taking fearful gasps, and his eyes still moved unseeing of reality.

Laying Harry down on the ground, Draco yanked the chain from Harry's neck, the magic allowing the potion to grow back to its rightful size. "Okay, Harry," Draco said, pushing Harry's damp hair away from his face. "I need you to swallow this, not inhale it."

As Draco uncorked the tear shaped, opalescent glass vial, a memory flutter past his eyes:

"It's a calming draught, Potter. I made it myself, so I know it's safe and most certainly better than where you usually acquire it from."

Harry nodded with a smirk, "Thank you! I really do appreciate it." His smirk morphed into a small smile.

Draco wanted to see that smile again, longed to be the reason that Harry laughed, but neither would happen until Harry found his way back. He carefully lifted Harry's head on to his lap, and gently prised open his strawberry pink lips. With slightly trembling hands, Draco dripped the potion, ever so slowly, onto Harry's tongue. One drip, two… Harry eventually swallowed between his laboured breaths.

One drop, two… Draco gently rubbed Harry's throat until the man swallowed again, all the while, Draco would talk to him, reminding Harry of his presence in the world of reality. "Come on Harry, wake up. You can get through this; I know you can."

And on it went: slow drops, gentle caresses – it would have been tedious, but Draco would patiently wait a lifetime if it meant that Harry would be alright. Draco almost allowed the fantasy to take hold, dared to imagine himself in Harry's arms, in Harry's life, but as he slowly dripped the potion, he wondered if he had caused this episode – had he triggered it somehow?

Every time he had dared to imagine a life with Harry, it was darkened by his past. The dark shadows that followed him would darken Harry's life. He would not allow that to happen!

Eventually, one-third of the vial was gone, and Harry's breathing slowly settled enough to drip more potion into the man's mouth. Harry swallowed easier now, and as he did, his eyes started to gain focus. As soon the potion was gone, Draco removed the Immobulus charm.

Harry's body relaxed – ached, but he had control of his limbs again. He stared up into Draco's eyes, confused at first. The realisation came seconds later – so did the frustration. He was frustrated at his body, demeaned by his episode, and emotionally battered inside, but Draco's eyes bore into his with such captivating concern for him, and Harry remembered the voice – Draco's voice, calling him like a siren from his visions.

"Draco?" Harry whispered with caution. The look he was getting from the blond was filled with such love and care, such relief – it distracted him from the reason he was laying on the floor in the first place, with his head still in Draco's lap.

Why did Draco lie? Why did he deny his feelings for him? Why was the man so determined to reject Harry's advances?

"About time you regained your senses, Potter," Draco said, his mask firmly back in place and no longer showing his emotions. "Don't you think I have better things to do than to save your sorry arse?" As Harry sat up, Draco climbed to his feet. He extended a hand to pull Harry up from the ground. "It's late, we both need to be up early to teach. I suggest you get some rest."

As Draco went to leave, Harry grabbed his arm.

"Stay!" Harry demanded – emerald green eyes burning with such a fierce determination.

"I can't–" Draco started, but he was interrupted.

"I need you!" Harry admitted, moving so close that Draco could feel the man's breath on his face.

"Don't!" Draco tried to pull away, but Harry held him in a death grip. "Harry, I never meant to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you… but we can't do this."

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"It would be a disaster! I don't reciprocate your feelings." Draco lied, hoping to spare Harry's life.

"You're a fucking liar! I see it, the way you look at me, then pretend otherwise. I see the masks you hide behind. Tell me, Draco, what are you so afraid of?"

"This is fucking insane, Potter!" Draco spat, afraid he would fall into Harry's trap. He tried again to leave, but Harry held onto him too tightly.

"Is it? You use my last name to distance yourself from me, you're afraid to be vulnerable." Harry suddenly decided to take a risk, quoting back a sentence that Draco himself had used as Tau. "You cannot live in fear Draco, or else you will not be able to live at all."

It took a moment, but as Harry expected, Draco hesitated. Silver eyes met his – a look of confusion, shock, disbelief… and then nothing. It was as if Draco had chalked it up to coincidence.

Taking one more risk, Harry leaned in closer and whispered – "I love you, Draco Malfoy. Always!"

Draco faltered then, visibly. Harry released his grip, and he watched as Draco stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Draco started shaking his head, and then he ran down the corridor and out of sight.

Harry sighed, glancing up and down the empty corridor. It was a blessing that it was so late, as no one had been around to witness his weakness. He turned, entered his private chambers and shut the door behind him. He was so tired, weary, and the visions he'd been lost in still played havoc with his emotions despite the calming draught – perhaps a dose of Dreamless Sleep tonight would help him feel rested in the morning.

He had not lied to Draco, he did need him – the man had become his beacon of hope, his shrine, the foundation in which his future could grow. He felt grounded, safe and complete whenever he was in Draco's company.

He would not give up!

The seed had been planted now, there was no telling which way this would go. Draco was an intelligent man, but he would go insane if he didn't prove Harry's words to be a coincidence… and in search for such proof, he would discover the truth. It wouldn't be long until Draco figured out who Padfoot really was, and when that happened, Harry would fight!