It was Dinnertime, so the Great Hall was crowded. Harry Potter considered himself lucky that the Gryffindors would, mostly, shield him from the girls. Even the younger Gryffindor girls. They hadn't seemed to realize they were doing it, but that was fine too. Seamus and Ron and Neville and Dean and Hermione, all clustered around him, Dennis and Colin and Ginny a bit farther away.
Malfoy didn't look like he was doing as well, his friends merrily half the table away, as hordes of Slytherin girls (and a flock of Ravenclaws) sat nearby and chatted him up. Harry was deeply envious at how easily Malfoy managed to make talking to Girls seem. Harry didn't know what they'd want to talk to him about, and he certainly didn't want to share his feelings with them. Because, really, "You're an awful person for wanting to date me when we've barely said two words to one another, and I thoroughly hate you" is NOT suitable dinner conversation.
Something he'd picked up last summer at his relations' house, upon Dudley attempting to ask out his father's boss' daughter.
So, if even his relations considered it wrong to do at the dinner table, he'd best steer well clear. Girls around here came with hexes, don'tcha know?
"Have you noticed?" Luna said, from a position about a fist from Harry's ear. He did jump in his seat, barely restraining himself from finding better concealment.
"Luna! I didn't notice you there!" Harry said, his voice breaking in the middle, which made everyone laugh.
"Naturally," Luna said, her eyes turning from Harry... and looking at the Slytherin table, "Have you noticed that Draco Malfoy doesn't look like himself lately? Honestly, he looks like an entirely different person."
Hmm... Harry thought, giving himself a bit of time to think about it, "I can't actually picture him being this nice, no." Harry said, considering, "I'd have expected him to lose patience and start hexing, actually..."
Luna laughed, her silvery laughter permeating the room, "Oh Harry," she said softly, "Never literal, are we?"
Harry chalked that up as something else he'd figure out later - which seemed to often be the case with the daffy Ravenclaw.
Severus Snape stood on the top of the North Tower, as the North wind blew crisp and clear in the growing autumn chill. Atop the railing, beside the drop, sat crystal glasses.
Severus strode to the first one, a bonny gin; the sort he'd never seen his father drink, nor his mum. But he had smelt it, just a bit, when Lily's wedding party had come through. Not that they'd seen him, of course. He'd known better than to use magic, naturally, and a wizard without an alarm was as good as deaf. Lily had eyes only for James, anyway, so what did it matter?
Gin, local gin, the sort the distillery down the road made.
"For Lily," Snape thought but did not speak. Even if the wind made to steal his words from his mouth, someone might still overhear. He sipped the glass slowly, making the drink last as long as the memories, and there were many, up here in the gloaming cold.
There were eleven glasses of scotch, each one for a fighter, as Scots were so often born - and Borderlanders even more likely. As he sipped the fine, smooth liquor, he could smell smoke - hinting of far-off fire. Some he'd set himself, others he was dousing. "To comrades in arms," he said inside the welcoming caverns of his own head, not letting even a hint of his melancholy pass his lips.
Two shots of ouzo, for the strangers in this Mad British land, one on each side of the fight, and both uncaring for whom they fought. Mercenaries, hard men, and yet with that ready Greek grin that said The Devil May Care, but I don't!
Twenty glasses of wine, a third red, and the rest white, for the Continental Wizards - the reds for the French, and the white for the Germans. The Germans, trained at Durmstrang, had fought effectively as a unit, and Snape paid them tribute as such.
A snifter of apricot brandy, Snape poured, remembering how the Dark Lord had smiled at the Swiss Guard he'd purchased, and how he'd smiled more when told they'd perished, "More British Wizards live, for their deaths!" And the English crowd had roared.
Three glasses of sherry, for the Spaniards,and then two glasses of port for the witches from Portugal, who Snape had bet Dolokhov that he couldn't get to say a word, and Snape had won. Bella insisted that they'd speak to girls, but Snape had never seen it to be true.
Snape poured two glasses of rotgut gin, saving the worst for last. These he did not drink, but poured on the ground, a libation that would not pass his own lips. "Black, Potter." He said with his jaw still closed, and let himself remember. He'd had laughs at their expense, and they at his, but there'd been so much bad blood and fighting that they'd never truly reconciled, nor did Snape think they would, if given a thousand years and divine intervention. Still, they were dead before him, he thought, a wry smile on his face remembering - a thousand times, in a thousand places, how he'd told Lily the same thing. They'll be dead before me.
"Doing the right thing is so rarely even possible." Snape bleakly growled, and drowned out all the voices with a Sobriety Potion. As if it was a normal day, and as if he was on his normal insomniac rounds, he headed back down to the dungeons.
Harry hadn't, to this point, really taken into account the idea that he was training, in the morning. Well, he had, kind of.
He'd thought he'd been training physically, and Snape's attacks had been... just a natural consequence of him being awake when no one else was. Not meant maliciously, but more of a "Are you there? Are your wits sharp enough to be awake at this hour?" than actual training. He'd figured he'd done well to escape Snape...
And so he had.
But he'd also been learning, apparently, exercising mental machinery that he hadn't known he'd possessed, let alone how to train. Honestly, he'd thought Snape's training was over when he'd been inducted into the Order. He'd told himself during that month that it was almost over, even.
Apparently not.
Monday Morning, he wasn't at all surprised to be dealing with a disillusioned Snape, dodging hexes and transfigured rocks as he ran. It was a trial, but one he thought he'd mastered.
Until he wound up with a cat as a hat on his head, blood running from dug-in claws.
Prof McGonagall presented a problem he hadn't thought of how to solve, but Harry knew what to not do. And that was stand around. He dove, belly down, under a bush, hoping - futilely, that McGonagall would dive off his head.
Killing his professor (either of them, really) would wind him up in a lot of trouble. And that was above and beside the fact that he didn't want to kill them.
Still, he had three spells in mind before McGonagall had finished digging her claws in - each of which would wind up with her in shreds.
Lesson Learned: He'd look in those books Hermione had for some more non-lethal spells.
In the meantime, he'd better concentrate on surviving, he thought, as he heard a slicing spell slice in atop his bush, neatly severing the top. Shite. He's found me!
Harry went rolling out of the bush, only to find himself pressed to the ground, Snape's wand digging into his forehead. "Hold," Snape said, and Harry froze at the command.
"Inside, for a debrief." Snape said, gesturing to the hidden door that Harry had used just a few days ago. Harry wasn't surprised that Snape had no trouble finding it, either. Sneaky bastard.
Severus Snape swooshed into the classroom as usual, the students clearing out of the way. Harry was near the front - shifted enough to the right that he wouldn't be in a crowd. His instincts said that before this year was done, Snape would point out to them all the detriments of being in a place where they couldn't dodge. So, Harry watched, waited, and observed.
"Can anyone tell me the difference between an opponent and an enemy?" Snape asked, having leapt gracefully onto the small dais.
The room was silent, people shuffling. Snape had one of those tones to his voice, one that said you'd better have the answer, and be right about it. "Weasley?" Snape sneered.
Ron Weasley straightened, as Harry's eyes found him - nearer the rear of course, "An Opponent is the person you compete against in a game of skill or chance. You compete via defined rules, and you each have an objective that will determine who is the winner."
"Very good," Snape said, and Harry could hear the rustling from the Slytherins - annoyed that Weasley was being complimented, and from the few Ravenclaws, who were scrambling to take notes. Harry generally didn't take notes (he'd learned the hard way that Dudley might tear them), and here he simply tried to memorize what Snape was saying. "And an enemy?" Snape purred.
"I do not know. I don't think I've got one, sir." Ron Weasley said, his blue eyes meeting Snape's black ones levelly. Harry suppressed a smile at that sight. Ron was growing up, and in so doing, losing a lot of his intemperance at the crafty old teacher.
"Is that so?" Snape purred, "Malfoy, answer the question." he said, striding to behind Weasley, without sparing Malfoy a single glance.
"An enemy is someone who means you ill, beyond all reason, beyond all temperance. An enemy is someone who you'd better make dead - because if you don't, he'll do the same to you."
Snape gave the entire class a cool look, as he said slowly, "Opponents are people you forgive easily. Enemies are people you'll never forgive. When people use the phrase "bad blood between us" - enemies is what they mean."
Snape snapped his fingers, bringing down a disillusionment spell. To the right of his dais, on the wall, appeared a Wizarding Photograph, of a person with his face torn off, the muscles and blood still working, as he screamed. Harry's eyes drifted lower, looking at the opened chest, the still beating heart, the cage of ribs - each spread out, and the gush of intestines spilled out over his legs and twitching toes. Harry could barely stand to look at him, and that was through a photograph. Harry felt his gorge rising, as he took one last look at the man - vaguely recognizing the platinum blonde hair, half-dirtied and stained with the dark-brown of long-dried blood.
Harry bent over, and spilled the contents of his breakfast onto the floor. From the sounds around the room, there were very few people who weren't doing so - Goyle, strangely, Harry saw was one. Snape, naturally, was another, though Harry thought his face was more than normally pale, if only by a shade or two.
Harry's gorge rose again at the smell, of vomit permeated everything nearby him. He bent over again, as up it came.
Snape snapped his fingers again, and there was a second picture, on the other side of him. This one looked cruder, with less finesse but no less hatred. This man had clearly been silenced, his face still there, but his scalp peeled clear off, the red shock of hair hanging by one thread of skin. He was silently screaming. Below, his lung whistled, punctured through by a stout stick. His heart hadn't been touched, but there were lines of silver thread wrapping around the aorta. His guts hadn't been touched, but his arms and legs had been mutilated - bones removed, somehow, leaving the entire arms and legs flopping back and forth as he struggled.
Harry was bent over before he'd really thought about it, the acrid burn of vomit rising though he'd long since finished evacuating breakfast. Now it was just acid. One thought ran through his head, something Malfoy had said ages past, "You can tell by his red hair that he's a Weasley."
Severus Snape, Potions Professor, was a bloody robot, Harry thought, glaring up at him as he stared the room down. Oddly enough, it was the Hufflepuffs glaring at him.
Snape wasn't one to tolerate insolence. He leapt off the dais, landing soundlessly, as he stalked closer to the glaring Hufflepuffs - Bones and Abbot foremost among them. His mouth quirked into a satisfied smirk, "The door's that way. Anyone who leaves today will get a zero on your assignment." Snape had reached the Hufflepuffs while talking, and proceeded to lean over them, his head bending on his neck to seek out each Hufflepuff's eyes in turn. "But if I were you, I'd keep walking. Take a zero for the year." Snape's mouth curled into something more than a smirk and less than a smile - a cat's look of disdain, perhaps. "Walk over the ocean, and just keep going. I can't tell you how far to go, but if you decide to leave, I suggest you stay moving."
For once, Harry badly wanted to see Snape's eyes - he thought Snape was being truthful, but with how collected the man was, it was often hard to tell. Harry thought Snape'd have the mocking glint of truth in his eyes, and not the sardonic laughter of someone who knows that the more he talks, the less the people in front of him will do as he says.
Snape turned around, raising his voice to a common talking range (easily heard in the dead silence, as most people averted their gaze from the photographs). "I call this A Portrait of Two Enemies. You may thank your Ministry's Auror Department for clearing this evidence from their stockpile, so that I might use it here today." Snape cast a glance across the children in front of him, the way a fisherman casts a line. "I wonder, does anyone recognize these fools?"
Goldstein, from near the back, fairly shrieked, "How could you tell who they were! The one guy's not got his face on, right?" The childish objection sent a ripple of nervous laughter through the crowd.
After that, it was plain that no one was going to have the bullocks to answer the question, so Snape continued, "This occurred in the last Wizarding War. Otherwise, it would have made the papers for months, and no one would have 'forgotten' about it." Snape strode towards his dais, still talking, "This is the legacy of one Fabian Prewitt, felled in an ordinary battle, by an ordinary Avada Kedavra." At this point, Harry could feel people around him shifting uneasily.
"His brother," Snape said, nodding towards the spotted man. "Gideon Prewitt, who loved him well, took exceptional offense that his brother had been killed - so easily," Snape's voice was mocking, short stacatto tones, "And by a Malfoy no less."
"He bided his time, through battles and the tide of the war turning this way and that. But when the Dark Lord's forces were at an ebb, and his great shadow lifted to penumbral darkness, he struck." Snape looked up, not at anyone in particular, his gaze seeming to pin something that no one else could see against the far wall. "Bold, brave Gryffindor, striking the Evil Jean Malfoy, asleep in his bed." Snape's eyes did gleam, then, with a darkling humor.
"The aurors found him days later. Still alive, still screaming." Snape said.
"My father had three brothers. All dead in the War." Draco Malfoy said, simply. Harry found it odd how lifeless Malfoy sounded, as if all his color had bled away in a massive downpour.
"Your eldest uncle felt responsible, I'm sure, for the crack in the wards that let Prewitt through. He fell like a scythe on Ottery St. Catchpole, a place heretofore untouched by the war."
Harry could hear Ron Weasley breathing, it was so loud. It was also through his nose, as Ron ground out, "That's why our house is called The Burrow. It's halfways underground so that it's easier to conceal. The only safehouse that survived."
Harry caught the widening of Malfoy's eyes, the sudden spark of interest.
"Marc Malfoy didn't come for anyone but Gideon - everyone else died a quick, merciful death." Snape said, his voice hypnotic, like a low melody. "But you can see how Gideon died, screaming for anyone to help him, but denied even the slightest mercy."
Snape's eyes seemed to lash out, as he said, "An enemy is intent on making you scream your ruddy way down to Hel's own lair, and doesn't care if he damns himself to do it. In war, plenty of people will be after your head. An enemy is after your soul." Snape looked around, "But by making an enemy, you've probably already damned it yourself."
Harry had been so busy following Snape, that he hadn't noticed both Malfoy and Ron getting a space drawn around themselves, as nervous people sidled out of the way. If this was what happened when you made an enemy of their family... Well, maybe it was just best not to risk it.
Snape's dark eyes sparkled with a malicious glee - though Harry suspected if he got Snape to talking, he'd find a different person underneath - someone a lot more battle-weary than anything. "It's been one thing for me to ask you to think of your friends dead in this war. That's simple reality. Some people standing in this classroom will die."
Snape crossed his arms, "But mark me, and mark me well. If I find a single one of you producing such barbarities as these - you won't ever sleep soundly again. Run past the sun, hide on the dark side of the moon. It won't save you."
"This was a choice," Snape said, gesturing towards both photographs, "and an exceptionally poor one on multiple levels. Anyone care to explain why?"
Malfoy and Ron both spoke up, somehow managing to be completely clear despite speaking over each other.
"It's Horrible! Disgusting! Twisted," Ron fair shouted, his face red - Harry thought it was shame, rather than actual anger.
Malfoy's voice was soft, precision cadence rolling off his tongue, "It's counterproductive. Death's one thing, but this? No one will ever surrender. This is past fear, into hatred."
Hermione's voice was soft as well, "You sound as if you're quoting Machiavelli."
Snape cut in, his voice quiet as a sharpened knife, "Draco Malfoy wouldn't quote a muggle author of any sort. Still, he does have most of the point. The rest is aptly described by the sense of outrage inherent in Weasley's words."
"War should be about following orders, not about exceeding them with excessive cruelty." Snape said, his gaze raking the class, "However, if you haven't the stomach to face up to the sheer brutality that man is capable of..." Snape gestured sharply, "There's the door. There's still time, dwindling though it may be."
No one moved. Harry thought that a few might have considered it if people weren't looking. Certainly, if he wasn't - if Hermione, if Ron, he might have considered just walking. He'd fought a basilisk - let them call him a coward - they'd called him everything else. Didn't make it true, did it?
"Believe it or not, this incident was a small one. Nearly minimal damage, though a good few died. Clans have made of each other enemies, and been slaughtered to the last person. Both sides, not a single person left standing." Snape looked around, "War's a brutal place from the start, but speak what you please, keep your wands within bounds."
The room was awkwardly silent, almost as if waiting.
"There were those that made an enemy of me at Hogwarts." Snape said, his lithe body dancing through the gaps in the crowd.
"They died before me, and not by my hand." Snape said, his teeth flashing suddenly in a broken, twisted grin. "More's the pity."
Harry felt time stop. Snape had just lied. Not just that, but he'd just lied in an incredibly obvious way. How did he expect to get away with it? Maybe, maybe he didn't? What in the hell was Snape doing?
Harry'd had enough of shouting at Snape. At least, with this, it wasn't urgent. He'd give himself a bit of time to sort out what questions he even wanted to ask...
Severus Snape sat at the high table, as always, drinking black coffee and eating considerably less than he ought to. He knew that, truly, but he didn't feel hungry. Not even Minerva's mothering could make him hungry - she always sent a bit more beef skittering onto his plate when he wasn't looking. He'd long ago learned not to glare at her, as it made no difference.
Glancing up at the students, Snape felt Potter's eyes on him. The strength of that look felt like it was going to set his hair on fire (and maybe if it was as greasy as the students always joked about, it would really catch fire!). He'd been pleasantly surprised that Potter hadn't cornered him directly after class - he'd even set aside a bit of time to deal with the tempermental Gryffindor.
Well, all things change, Snape thought, even if few of them change for the better. Potter learning to rein in his temper was progress, as loathe as Snape was to admit it.
Granger was also looking up at him - her gaze weighty, like a ton of bricks. Calmer, more considerate, Granger's stare meant many more questions than Potter could ever produce. She expected everything to be given to her, rather than working it out. It was an approach that tended to chafe - Snape hated when students needed to be spoonfed. And Granger demanded it, despite being perfectly capable of working things out herself.
His gaze darted to the Slytherin table, catching Malfoy's calm gaze - resting today not on Snape but on Flitwick. Some trouble with Charms homework, then, he thought. Theo had his nose in the air, despite the blatant fawning that half the Slytherin table was doing. Blaise was the attractant for the rest of the table - and most of the Ravenclaws as well.
Experiment seemed more than modestly successful, and no reported side-effects.
The Hufflepuffs were taking Snape's lesson the hardest, and he'd have been much more cheered with that realization if he thought that a single one would head for the hills.
There were days, and this was one of them, when Severus Snape's throat craved a drink - that sweet, succulent taste of alcohol that beckoned him into his cups. Just one more...
No.
Not me.
Never again.
Harry hadn't realized quite what it looked like from the outside - when people were avoiding him. He noticed it now, with the seats beside Ron and Malfoy being the hardest to fill, in class after class. He'd only really noticed Ron because he was often late - and Hermione had the tendency to sit beside Neville in Herbology. Her grade was more important to her than socializing in class.
Malfoy, however, was unmistakable. He sat there with that unmistakeable Malfoy arrogance (some might call it charm, ridiculously enough), arms crossed, and didn't bother looking at whatever unlucky person sat beside him.
The classes themselves went just fine - as if by sitting beside either of the two outcasts, the person decided, on the split second, that they could trust Studies First as a motto. Harry Potter knew he'd trust Hermione with that, except if the situation was truly dire. Malfoy... well, he wasn't the one sitting next to him, now was he?
But it was interesting, Harry found, to look at it from the outside. He hadn't realized how much effort, on the part of so many people, it took to avoid someone.
Nor how little it took to not avoid the person.
.../...
Harry arrived first to training that night, awaiting Ron and Malfoy and Hermione. Hermione buzzed in first, summoning the books they'd smuggled out of the library with a thought. Malfoy arrived moments later, as Hermione frowned, looking over at him, "Didn't I just see you surrounded by a horde of fourth years, mugging for all of them?"
"Appearances can be deceiving..." Malfoy said.
Hermione grit her teeth, stalking over to him and growling, "of course they can." She grabbed his left arm, and rolled up his sleeve. Neither Harry nor Hermione was surprised to see the expanse of smooth skin.
Harry was, however, surprised with what she did next. She glared at the arm, and... the glamour melted. Harry couldn't have managed that without at least thinking of the spell... but he sensed that Hermione had done it out of sheer force of will - and the need to verify that the pointy git was actually him.
Hermione gave an impulsive grin, said, "Magically delicious!" and flounced back to her books, curling up there to start reading.
Malfoy and Potter exchanged rather dubious looks, and Harry began his normal stretching, bouncing up and down on his toes as he stretched.
Malfoy, on the other hand, seated himself just a hair behind Hermione and off to the side, drawling, "Stop hoarding the books like they're dragon's gold. You know if you let other people look at them, you won't need to steal other people's turns to teach."
Hermione looked up at him, her angry eyes bright - for only a moment, before she realized that he did have a point. "Here," she said, passing him two books on wicked charms, "You do better at charms than transfiguration, anyway."
Malfoy blinked, taking the books almost absentmindedly, "You noticed..." Harry knew Malfoy was always hard to read, but that sounded suspiciously sentimental.
"I notice a lot of things," Hermione said dismissively.
Ron bounced in the door, and Harry got to work shielding and firing curses. It took about twenty minutes before Hermione and Draco joined in, but when they did, it turned into a fourway that had all of them bound in ropes and immobilized at some point. Everyone was laughing by the end of it, seeming to push away most of what they'd seen earlier.
Hermione broached the subject with the bluntness Gryffindors are known for. "How is it that you two are remotely getting along, anyway?"
Ron took a deep breath, It's never a good sign when even Ron is trying to pick and choose his words, so it was actually Draco Malfoy who spoke up first. "All of that... I'd never heard about it, not really. You know - as a kid, you hear things. And Slytherins have sharp ears." Harry knew. "But... I'd heard disparaging and cruel comments about the Weasleys, along with an undercurrent of we're better than them." Draco softly shuddered, "Not... not that."
Ron took up the words, "Me too. And I'm glad I didn't hear about it. It was bad enough now. Can you imagine, as a kid?"
Ron, Harry and Draco laughed, though it really wasn't funny.
"Nightmares for a week!" Ron roared, in his characteristic understated way.
Ron said, "I heard all about Malfoy's father, the slippery bastard that he was, and how he'd manage to bribe his way out of jail."
Draco Malfoy inclined his head, "Thank you." he said dryly.
"It wasn't a compliment." Ron responded, the grin taking the sting out of the words, "Just accurate."
Hermione, still with that look of "Please Explain This", said, "So what changed? You two used to fight like cats and dogs!"
Ron and Malfoy exchanged uneasy looks, both seemingly unwilling to explain...
Ron spoke up first, "I met Tonks. And, you know," Ron paused, and then said, a bit chagrined, "Actually, you don't. Everyone says that the Blacks are mental. Like, not just crazy, but scary crazy."
Harry asked, hesitantly, "Like Bellatrix Black?"
Draco Malfoy smiled a cold cruel smile, "Just like that. That's the rep." Harry nodded, understanding - if everyone in the neighborhood thought he was a criminal... How much worse would it have been to be thought of like that?
Ron said, "Well, you know, she's normal. Like friendly, even."
"Well, she was in Hufflepuff," Hermione said.
"What does the younger Potions Teacher have to do with anything?" Draco Malfoy asked, looking like he didn't want to ask, but couldn't quite stop himself from revealing his ignorance.
"She's your cousin, your mother's sister's kid." Ron said, then, assessing the confusion, grinned broadly, "Didn't you know?"
Draco Malfoy stared into thin air, blinking, before saying quietly, "No..."
Harry piped up, "Her mother got disinherited for marrying a Muggleborn," he said helpfully.
"oh..." Draco Malfoy said, sounding more lost than Harry had ever seen him.
Ron turned to Hermione, "Anyway, I got to thinking - if she was so normal, then I shouldn't be so quick to judge."
Draco Malfoy nodded, raising his eyebrows slightly. Impressed with Ron Weasley? "I am not my father, no."
Hermione turned to Malfoy, and said, "So, we know what changed in Ron. How about you?"
Draco Malfoy said, "A number of things, really," stalling for time... Malfoy's eyes flicked down... to his left arm. Or not. "But really? I grew up. It's one thing to be a bastard to the next kid, when the best you can do is spit slugs. It's another to knowingly cross people when the cards are down. The stakes are higher now."
Harry nodded, "And one thing about games - you can never tell who'll win."
Ron and Hermione walked out the door, arguing loudly about homework. Harry was about to follow when Draco grabbed the sleeve of his robe. "You asked me to find an answer..."
Harry paused, slowly shut the door, and then turned around, "I did."
"I have the answer now." Draco Malfoy said, "-but I need to tell you something first."
Harry Potter looked at Draco, trying to figure out what Malfoy was trying to say. Slytherins were always tricky to read, and Malfoy was one of the quieter ones when he wanted to be. "Go on, then."
"Theo, Blaise, and I -" Draco paused, then continued, sounding more sure of himself, "We've been switching places. Just for the last week or so."
Harry thought back, mentally reviewing everything, "Not in Snape's Defense class, I hope."
"No, that'd be too obvious," Draco said, smirking, "But pretty much anywhere else."
"How? No, before that - Why?" Harry demanded, his hand finding its own way to his hip.
"Do you have any-" Draco Malfoy broke off, and said, "They come after me too, you know."
Oh. Harry nodded, saying, "Still haven't found a date?"
"I've been letting Blaise run interference, really. He likes flirting with any skirt he can find." Draco Malfoy said.
Harry frowned, saying slowly, "That doesn't sound like you, really... Hasn't anyone noticed?"
Draco Malfoy smirked, saying smugly, "If you didn't notice, do you really think some tatty third year is gonna?"
"How about Pansy?" Harry asked, "Surely she-"
"Doesn't want anything to do with me, now that father's wealth is fast becoming the Dark Lord's own." Draco Malfoy said, smirking. "We weren't well matched."
"Good, that saves me having to stammer out some sort of awkward condolences." Harry said with a laugh that Draco returned.
Suddenly Harry shot up straight, "Luna knew!"
Draco looked a bit confused, "... she did?" Blinking a bit, he asked, "How do you know that Luna knew-?"
Harry laughed, a full throated belly laugh, "She said you looked like a different person." Harry quieted down, "I can understand not wanting to deal with it all - I've been mostly hiding."
"No wonder you've been so dusty." Draco Malfoy said, smiling. "Poor Harry Potter, ragamuffin extraordinare!" Draco Malfoy bowed elaborately at Harry, bending down so his upper body was parallel to the floor.
"Doesn't seem to get you much, looking like Zambini..." Harry said, pondering.
Draco interrupted, "Try to keep up, Potter. I look like Nott, Zambini looks like me."
Harry snorted, "Nobody wants to date Nott?"
"Pretty much," Draco Malfoy said firmly, "He's pretty awkward, with words and everything else."
"I know the feeling," Harry said, "How does he do at pretending to be Zambini?"
Draco Malfoy said smugly, "Well, Blaise looks mysterious half the time - which the girls gush over - so all Nott has to do is not say anything."
"Hell, that's good!" Harry said, "Wish I'd thought of it."
"Of course, what did you expect? We are Slytherin," Draco Malfoy said smugly.
"How in the world are you pulling this off?" Harry asked, his eyebrows creased with the beginnings of a frown.
"Polyjuice, what else?" Draco Malfoy said, "A lot more reasonable than glamours, at any rate."
"How the hell did you get the ingredients?" Harry Potter said, "Two weeks, three people, that's a LOT!"
Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "Surprised you'd realize that, honestly."
"Fourth year, Moody wasn't exactly Moody." Harry said bluntly, "The real Moody told me afterwards. That deception had cost hundreds of galleons."
"Luckily this wasn't that expensive," Draco Malfoy said, "We paid for it in parchment, actually."
"What?" Harry asked, knowing - instinctively, that Draco was just hiding the truth.
"A grant proposal, for Professor Snape. Plus a magically bonded contract saying we wouldn't use it to cheat on anything academic, or do anything romantically permanent." Draco Malfoy looked exceptionally smug, which was saying something.
"Snape's been making you polyjuice?" Harry's jaw dropped open.
"It's good to be a snake," Draco Malfoy smirked.
Harry Potter looked over at Draco Malfoy, and asked slowly, quietly, "You said you had something to tell me. In private, obviously, because here we are." It wasn't quite a demand, but it was a recentering.
Draco nodded, still smirking, "My mother wrote back. I've got a bit of parchment to give you." Something, something strange echoed in Malfoy's eyes. "She said I wasn't to look at it..." Draco Malfoy hung his arm around Harry's neck, speaking nearly in his ear - "But maybe you'll tell me, bucko."
Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling about all this. Not that he was going to let Draco Malfoy know that..., so he smirked back, and said, "Fat chance."
"I guess you win the bet then..." Draco said, stalling - and Harry could tell.
"Yeah," Harry said - then froze, as an impossibly odd idea unfolded in his brain, like an ice flower in the desert.
"Dra-co..." Harry said slowly, "I think you were right. We should go to the Ball together."
"What?!" Draco said, flinging himself away from Harry, then crossing his arms.
"You suggested it, remember?" Harry said, a genuine smile playing on the edge of his lips - not quite all there.
"You know I don't like blokes." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes slightly wider. Maybe he'd just been talking the piss earlier? Teach him to do that with a Gryffindor!
"Neither do I," Harry said, his grin finally breaking through "But it'll make most of the girls go away, won't it?"
Draco Malfoy dropped his frown, smirking as he struck a pose, "Well, when you put it that way." His face turned to Harry's, and he said, with a delighted smirk, "You're on."
Draco stalked close to Harry, and slapped the fine piece of white parchment into Harry's waiting hand. Harry looked at him dryly, and said, "I don't suppose you're going to take a hike, are you?"
"Nope," Draco said, popping the "p". "Fraid not, Potty."
Dammit, Harry thought wrathfully, keeping his face carefully smooth. He was mostly a really shite actor, but he'd had extensive practice at the Dursleys for that particular emotional lobotomy.
Fighting to make sure his hands didn't tremble, Harry opened the parchment. On it were written two words:
Lily Evans
Harry kept his face still, by sheer force of will - but the paper, that he hadn't been thinking about, blazed into fire (Malfoy swore quietly, seemingly from far away). Harry had thought that he'd been... angry, upset, what-have-you, earlier that year. It was nothing compared to this.
People spoke of a broken heart, when they meant one rent, torn in half, and bleeding.
Harry didn't feel like that, no, not at all. He felt shattered, like even his emotions had blasted out of his control.
He wasn't even angry.
He was everything, all at once, a storm of varied emotions.
He turned, like a robot, and said to Malfoy, "Leave, now."
Malfoy stared at him for a moment, almost - but Malfoy wasn't his friend.
Giving the tiniest nod, Malfoy left the room, shutting the door quietly.
And Harry let himself feel.
Fury, Vindication, Betrayal, Exhiliration, Unstaved Curiousity, Bewilderment.
Harry had stopped thinking, and just let himself feel.
It was like painting a picture in three dimensions, and by throwing paint everywhere.
A thousand lines of thought cried out for attention, but, shaking, Harry realized he couldn't think of a single one.
His brain rippled, and his body tensed, his stomach churning with butterflies of unsought emotion.
Hagrid, Sirius, Lupin, even McGonagall flashed thorough his mind. Looming over all of them, charging into the front, was Albus Dumbledore himself.
None of them had said a word - and he'd asked.
He was seized by a mad moment of curiosity - shot through with vermillion rage, to shake them all, to demand answers even if he had to get them from bloodied and bleeding mouths. Betrayal, black as tar and cloying to boot, threatened to bubble up beneath his feet.
Confidence, steady and deep blue, shot through him - he knew how to punch now.
Snape's scene from earlier hit him like a freight train - the slight yellow tinge of fear nearly washed away with the sickly green of disgust.
No - his anger screamed for release, and Harry cast about frantically for any distraction, not wanting to set the room on fire, like he'd set the paper ablaze.
It was difficult, like standing straight in a hurricane - his emotions threatened to sweep him over the side, immersing him in the sea.
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
Harry hadn't realized how disobedient his soul was - humor rippled through him, cheery, boldly bright-yellow, and that calmed the sea, somewhat.
His curiosity shot through him, like a wave of focus, like the scythe of the cutting curse. Images lept to the fore, scenes, little things.
Snape's eyes, that he hadn't seen, but now found he could picture, as he stood in the teachers' stand at Harry's first quiddich game. They burned, as he softly chanted a counterspell.
"Your mother, on the other hand... She was a talented witch, deft with a wand. Not even the Dark Lord would dare to say that she wasn't competent. I'll certainly not be the first." Harry remembered that quite well, he'd made a mental note of it, because nobody ever mentioned his mother.
Snape's voice didn't change in the slightest, and yet by intonation and speed alone, he achieved a completely different feel to his voice. "Severus, you can't keep going after them! You're just encouraging them to come up with more vile pranks! They're in my house for god's sake, I know them well enough to know that!" Somehow that last thought was calming. He'd heard it at the time in Hermione's voice, as she was often the Voice of Reason... But, Harry was sure of it, suddenly, that'd been his mum. It somehow, oddly, helped, knowing that Snape hadn't been trying to hide his friendship with her... that he wasn't ashamed... of her.
And... Shite. The Pensieve! He'd almost glazed over the fact that his mum had been there. What his father had done was sickening, after all. But that hadn't been why, at all, had it?
It wasn't quite remembering.
It was realigning, reinterpreting.
Understanding, teal green - Harry tried to use it to distract himself, letting the magma beneath cool into fluffy stone.
He felt the moment when it cracked, when rage and betrayal began to pour out of his depths, red and black - and as unwavering as lava.
Harry closed his eyes, letting the emotion sway his mind, and not his magic.
He opened his mouth, and screamed.
./././.
That was the sound that the Dark Lord Voldemort heard, echoing down past his frail shields.
Lord Voldemort stirred, and surged in, battered by the deluge of emotion shoved at him.
No.
Exploding everywhere.
Harry felt the soft ripples of Lord Voldemort's penetration, through the waves of emotion Harry himself was throwing to the nine winds.
He felt a quick flash of shocked fear, He's here!
Harry let his eyes close, and he took a deep breath. The same words echoed again - He's here, inside my mind. My turf, my rules. The confidence chased away the vestiges of fear.
And Harry? Harry wanted to see. Who was this, what was this thing inside his mind? Harry wanted to play.
Unbidden, Harry's unconscious reshaped the mental landscape. A green, grassy meadow sprawled in all directions, an actinic blue sky with a blazing sun overhead. Harry himself was a gloriously big, shaggy black dog. And Voldemort? he was a ball - the oddity scented and then trapped, walled off from Harry himself. Harry loped over to the ball, sniffing it curiously. It smelled... a bit like pee. Fear And a bright, spiky scent... Anger. Harry picked up the ball, and started to run, throwing it away from himself in an arcing high arc.
Then Harry gave a woof and ran after it, trying to catch the ball before it dropped into the grass. Got it! Gleaming white teeth closed harmlessly around the bright red ball. That seemed curiously angry about the color choice - with a shake of his doggy head, Harry turned it pine green, which seemed to make it happier. Harry wagged his tail - he liked making happy!
He threw the ball into the air again, and again, sometimes catching it with his teeth, sometimes watching it Bounce! and then catching it. Harry could feel the ball getting dizzy, could almost smell... terror, that was it, black as deepest fear. Harry didn't care much, though. It was a ball, and it was for playing!
Harry played with the ball until his muscles were sore, and he laid down, letting the ball roll from his mouth. He knew, somehow, that he shouldn't just let the ball there. Closing his eyes, he began to grow, as large as a cow, and opened red eyes. He picked up the ball, which swirled green, angry swirls inside itself. Confusion, Trepidation.
Harry trotted towards the horizon, weary but willing, coming up to a circle of stones, where Harry dropped the ball in the dead center. The ball seemed to hum, trying to say something that Harry wasn't listening to. You aren't supposed to be here, Harry thought, and coughed, and coughed again. On the third cough, fire poured from his mouth, engulfing the circle but not setting the grass around it on fire.
Harry curled into a ball by the fire, and watched warily but satisfied as the ball burnt to ash, its cinders and smoke floating upwards on the breeze.
[a/n: This is one of my favorite chapters. Leave a review?]