Author's Note: As some of you know, I lost my first copy. I now have several back-ups, just in case. That should never happen again.
-:-O-:-
[Harry Potter and the Cursed Amulet]
Choosing Sides
"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality."
Dante Alighieri
"Surely, you can't possibly be thinking of letting them go. Have you listened to a word I've said?" The worried, berating tones of Severus Snape could be heard coming from the office of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was lucky he had a sound-proof office. The business they were discussing was not for everyone's ears.
"I most certainly am," Albus said, in his usual calm tone. "Please, sit back down, Severus. Surely you see that we can't let fear drive us?"
"But to walk into a trap is bloody suicide!" Snape was leaning on the Headmaster's desk now, trying with all his might to make him see reason.
"Only if we aren't prepared, Severus. You have, luckily, provided us with this vital information. We shall be able to protect ourselves."
It was inconceivable. Snape was positive that the Headmaster must have lost his mind. Nothing else could explain the utter lunacy he was spewing. He was actually going to let his students walk into an ambush.
-:-O-:-
Time at Hogwarts was going past quickly. The already gruelling lessons were growing in intensity and the already astronomical piles of homework were getting larger. Harry couldn't believe that he was already in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Less than two years and he'd be out in the world, having to find a job, earning his own money and living by himself. That was, of course, if he survived those two years. At the moment, the likelihood of that wasn't very high.
He sighed once again as he spun his cereal around the bowl with his spoon.
Dean was sitting beside him in a rather un-talkative mood, which was just as well, because Harry didn't feel much like talking. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, considering the fact that Hermione was usually the one pestering him to get ready for breakfast faster. Seamus was the only one around who actually wanted conversation. He had been annoying at first, until he'd given up trying to hold a conversation with Harry and moved on to Neville. They were now discussing some topic that Harry probably didn't care about.
Breakfast was abruptly disturbed by the words of Albus Dumbledore.
"Students! How does it feel to be halfway through the first semester? I hope you have all been enjoying yourselves. I am pleased to inform those old enough that the first Hogsmeade weekend will be this Sunday. I trust you'll all enjoy. For those of you who aren't old enough, I've organised a special event for you all, so don't feel left out." With that, he sat back down, allowing the students to file off to class.
"Hogsmeade? Surely that'll be dangerous, what with Voldemort back and all..." The plan sure seemed ludicrous and just a little crazy, but it was a very Dumbledore thing to do and Harry, after a while, could see the logic in it. Show Voldemort they weren't scared and reduce his power over them.
Still, Hermione was shocked when he told her. Ron was livid.
"Fucking unbelievable! Is he trying to get us all killed?!" Ron was fuming, storming back and forth in the common room, looking like he wanted to wring the Headmaster's neck for being so idiotic.
"He's showing a strong front," Harry said. "Prove we aren't scared."
"Show a strong front, my arse! Does he even realise what he's gotten the third years into? It's a death trap, a bloody death trap. He's supposed to protect us, not serve us up on a silver platter."
"I see his point, though," Hermione muttered, logic taking back over as shock subsided. She really was an exceptionally bright witch, Harry knew. "Voldemort's biggest weapon is fear, Ron. By locking ourselves up we let him win. If we stop enjoying life, he wins. We need to live our lives, Ron, or we may as well just die and let him have the world."
Ron was, obviously, stunned. He just stood there, gaping like a fish. Harry didn't show his reaction quite as obviously, but it was just as profound. He knew there was a double meaning there, whether Hermione intended it or not. Those were almost the exact words she would tell him, probably wanted to tell him. He knew they were true, deep down. He just couldn't follow their advice.
-:-O-:-
The trip to Hogsmeade came around faster than Ron expected. Even up until the time when he left the castle door, money in his pockets, ready to buy as many sweets at Honeydukes as he could carry, he expected Dumbledore to call the whole trip off. He could certainly see the reasons for letting the students go, but he fervently believed that the cons clearly outweighed the pros. He didn't see how any sane person could agree to letting over a hundred young children loose into a village when a delusional maniac was out looking for blood. Namely, the blood of one of the people in the group of children. It was inconceivable.
He had to admit, though, that he wasn't adverse to getting a chance to see Hogsmeade again and visit the shops there. It was at least good for morale.
The young third years were racing past him, hurrying towards the wizarding community for the first time. They were so young and full of life, and seeing the joy on their faces made Ron smile. They made his favourite female smile too, and he watched Hermione laugh as a hurrying third year almost bowled her over. That was another benefit of such a day, seeing Hermione smile and laugh like that. It was... magic.
How much he wished he could reach out and wrap his arms around her. How much he wished that he could walk with her, hand in hand, down to Hogsmeade. How much he wished he could take those soft lips with his and kiss her deeply and passionately. However, he couldn't. He didn't have the guts to do that; he was too scared of what she might say, what rejection might do to their relationship. Life with friend-Hermione was better than life with enemy-Hermione, he reasoned. Still, it was torture watching her so happy and beautiful. She may have stopped straightening her hair and it may have been slowly returning to its frizzy state, but the spell had already been weaved and he was already its victim. Not that hadn't always always been there, though.
"Come on, Harry!" he heard that angel's voice call. As she turned, he turned with her to spot the third member of their party sulking along behind them. Harry. He was an enigma these days, a mysterious puzzle that was impossible to solve. Perpetually depressed, his best friend was never fun to be around any more. Something had changed during the summer, and it was quite obvious, he just couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and more than a little troubling.
"Coming," came the exasperated reply. Hermione gave him a look and Ron agreed. Wordlessly, they shared their concerns through their eyes. They had to do something. Somehow, they both understood each other. Today could provide the perfect opportunity.
As Harry eventually caught up, the three of them set off, once again, towards the village of Hogsmeade. It was a quiet journey, Harry refusing to talk and his friends feeling too worried to try talking to him. Ron missed the days when they would hurry down to the village, talking animatedly about what they would buy and the day they would have. Those were the days, when they acted more like the excited children around them rather than the depressed band they currently formed. His heart filled with nostalgia reflecting on the days of yore. He missed those days.
Eventually they arrived at their destination: Hogsmeade. Ron surveyed the scene in front of him and the nostalgia crept into his heart once again. Hogsmeade, despite the war surrounding them, was as beautiful as ever. He had always loved this place; had always been fascinated by the village. It was so pretty, so picturesque, and he wondered what he would do if it was destroyed. In this time of war and conflict, Ron was always worried that things would be destroyed. Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, The Burrow, his friends. Nothing was safe from destruction; nothing was safe from death.
Still, one could find happiness in odd places and, as the trio entered Honeydukes, Ron smiled. The walls were lined with sweets of all shapes and sizes. BertieBott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Sugar Quills; this shop had them all. It was so exciting and such a treat – not having had sweets since the train ride to Hogwarts.
Hermione smiled at him and they both set to work.
That smile was such an additional incentive.
God! he was so infatuated.
"Oh my, Harry, look! They have Fizzing Whizzbees! I haven't had any of these since that time we ate too many and were stuck up near the ceiling for hours! Do you remember that?"
"Harry! They have Cudley Cannons chocolate, can you believe it? Think I should get some?"
It went on for ages, Hermione and Ron's attempt to cheer up their friend. It began in Honeydukes and ended up in Zonko's. All the while the two friends tried in vain to cheer Harry up. They were beginning to abandon hope. Their morose friend reacted to nothing. As they entered The Three Broomsticks, Ron and Hermione were about to give up hope of ever lifting their friend out of his perpetual mood of depression. That was, until they saw a man who might just be able to help them.
Ron and Hermione had gone to buy drinks for the three of them, Harry choosing to slump at the table, when they saw him. Remus Lupin – a man who might just be able to help them. It was a long shot, but then, everything to do with Harry was a long shot these days.
"Professor!" exclaimed Ron and Hermione together.
"Hello!" came the reply. "Must I inform you yet again that, as I am no longer your professor, it is illogical to call me such. Remus will do fine."
"We were wondering, sir, if you could help Harry," Hermione asked politely, not being able to slip out of formalityaltogether. Not matter how many times he told her, she never could break propriety.
"Whatever seems to be the problem?" he asked in reply, immediately growing serious, yet with a soft tone in his voice.
"He's... well... depressed," she said hesitantly.
"Very," Ron added.
"Let's see what I can do." Ron thought he sounded like he understood, like he possessed some higher knowledge both he and Hermione lacked. "May I ask where he is?"
"He's over..." But, as Hermione turned and went to point towards the table Harry had been sitting at, she realised he was nowhere to be seen. Little did she know he had fled from the tavern.
-:-O-:-
"Father?!" Draco exclaimed as he spun around on the spot. He had felt the firm grasp on his shoulder and had known instantly from whom it had come. It was ingrained into his brain now. That touch; that presence. He had to restrain the shudder that wanted to take over his body; he had to withhold the grimace that wanted itself shown.
It wasn't unusual for Lucius to visit his son at random occasions: trips to Hogsmeade, Quidditch games, strolls through Hogwarts ground when no event was taking place, even. It was just that it hadn't happened so far this year; it hadn't happened since he'd grown and matured beyond a young, naïve child. On top of that, Lucius had promised – now Draco was older and Voldemort recognised by the ministry – to include Draco in inner circle discussions and keep him up-to-date with big events. Draco was, after all, the youngest Voldemort had even recruited, even if he was not yet an official member. Voldemort thought highly of him, merely because he was Lucius's son and a Malfoy.
"Draco," his father said blandly, "how nice it is to see you."
"It is nice to see you also, father." Draco tried his hardest to keep the bitterness out of his voice, though he was sure he had failed. He waited for the harsh, stinging pain to break out on the side of his face, but it never came. It appeared that his father's inflated ego eliminated Draco's need to worry. Or at least, it meant that, if he tried his hardest, he was believable.
"Draco, today is going to be a very special day," Lucius continued, a wry smile forming on his face. It made Draco want to cringe, Lucius in such a cheerful mood could not be good. Draco instantly feared the worst. "And, what's more, you have been chosen to partake. You should feel privileged."
Draco froze. It seemed that the worst was indeed what it was. Of course, Draco knew it was coming. How could he not? Voldemort wanted him marked; was going to have him marked as soon as he could. This was merely the test he had been expecting ever since he had seen Voldemort this summer. The problem was, he hadn't expected it so soon. He had expected, had hoped beyond belief, that he would have more freedom before he was forever enslaved to the malevolent creature. He was meant to have two more years at least before he was forced into the eternal life of servitude. Never did he doubt that he would join that malicious enterprise that was the Death Eaters, he had just wished for longer before it would occur.
"You don't seem too pleased, Draco," Lucius warned, rather sternly.
"No father, just shocked. I am honoured; I did not expect this so soon." It was the truth, if one ignored the fact that he wasn't honoured. Draco thought for a moment that Lucius wasn't going to buy it – the man's scrutinising gaze fixed on him and he judged the statement given, scanning it for defects – but, eventually, he nodded his head in acceptance.
"That is understandable, Draco," was all he said.
-:-O-:-
Hogsmeade was just how he remembered it. Yet another place that had kept living while he was kept confined in the hell-hole that was his aunt and uncle's house. Sure, there were one or two shops that had closed down and everywhere there was a general feeling of fear and distrust, but these people were still living. They, themselves, were not tortured day and night by memories of what had happened to him. They were sad, they were depressed, but they weren't in agony. Terrible, constant agony.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued moving along as a bunch of lively third graders ran past him. They were so happy, so full of life, looking forward to a bright future once Harry "Omnipotent Teenager" Potter had killed the pesky snake-man. Harry shuffled into Madam Puddifoot's with his head bowed and his posture slumped. These children had expectations in him that were beyond realistic, and he couldn't help think, every now and again, that perhaps he might disappoint them. Perhaps, he might fail. It had never really crossed his mind in the past, but then, there hadn't been an ultimatum in the past. Now there was, and that meant one of two things: he won, or he died. He didn't think he was strong enough to do the former.
"Would you like something, dear?" a friendly-looking waitress asked him.
"Sure," he said listlessly, "could you bring me a Butterbeer?"
"Anything you like, deary," she stated with a smile, and headed off into the kitchen to retrieve his order.
He was finally alone, away from his overzealous friends. At last, he could have some quiet peace.
As he waited he stared outside the window of the café, falling back into contemplation. He seemed to be doing an uncommon amount of that recently: thinking. Not that there was anything better to do. Everything that had once brought him joy seemed, now, to only bring him despair. His friends had once been dear to him, his most treasured possession, but now they were merely concerned shadows that flittered in front of him. He had once enjoyed Quidditch, relishing the feeling of soaring through the air after that tiny golden ball, but now it was a hollow, pointless exercise. There was no pleasure in anything any more. Food had even lost its taste. There was little hope left for him.
Then there were his dreams. Vernon, Cedric, Sirius and Voldemort still featured prominently in his dreams, but there was something else now, something he couldn't put his finger on. It was worse, though; much worse than his abusive uncle or his disappointed godfather or the evil demon himself. No, this was worse than even him. This was deep-rooted evil. Something he dreaded seeing every night.
"There you go deary, hope you enjoy." The waitress had come back with his Butterbeer. He took a sip and, as he suspected, it tasted bland to him. It wasn't the Butterbeer, he knew that. It was the taste of despair.
-:-O-:-
"So, boy, you understand? Injure, torture or kill anyone you like, but don't go near Potter." The wheezing, crazed words of his aunt were received by muffled ears. Draco was in shock; still unable to comprehend that he was entering into battle so soon. He was sure this was it, that today he would either die or get caught and thrown in Azkaban. Neither option held much appeal, but at least death would be over faster.
"And don't get caught," came the sneering voice of Antonin Dolohov. Draco thought he was in Azkaban. But then, that counted for little these days. Anyone Voldemort wanted, he broke out almost as fast as they were put in.
"They wouldn't bother breaking you out, though."
"Why can't we attack Potter?" Draco asked stoically. He was still in shock, and those were the only words he could manage.
"Insolent one, isn't he Lucius," Bellatrix sneered, though she answered his question anyway. "The Dark Lord has bigger plans for him, Draco. Much bigger plans for him..."
"Come on boy," Lucius said blandly. "Put this on." Draco watched as he thrust out one of the things Draco truly feared – a long black mask with a pallid white skull face. It sat there for several moments, though to Draco it seemed much longer. It was as if time had stopped as Draco just stared at the mask in his father's hands. There it was, the label, the symbol that would mark him a Death Eater forever. The only thing more permanent than the mask was the mark, and Draco knew that once he got the mask that was soon to follow. It was surreal, he could not possibly be a Death Eater already. But he was, he knew he was, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Soon, he grabbed the mask and pulled it over his face. It felt disgusting, like some alien body that attached itself to him and sucked all that was good from him. It was a thing of evil, a thing that drove fear into the hearts of many, and yet he wore it freely. He felt disgusted with himself, he felt like turning on the spot and vomiting all over Antonin Dolohov's shoes. He couldn't, though. That just wasn't an option.
"My, my, Lucius. Doesn't my nephew just look so grown up!" Draco heard Bellatrix screech.
"Yes, he's truly my son," Lucius replied back, still as cold and bland as ever. Strange, Draco had always wanted to please his father, always wanted his father to say those exact words. Now, though, that he could finally get his father to be proud of him, he wanted nothing less than that pride.
"I'm your son only in blood..."
It was a shame that, in the wizarding world (or at least that which Draco had experienced), blood was considered quite an important thing.
-:-O-:-
The scream pierced the air and resounded throughout all of Hogsmeade. It was high, a shrill shriek of terror. It lasted for only a few seconds before it was eerily silenced. How it was silenced couldn't be determined, but by the abruptness of it, it didn't sound good. from where Harry sat, he could hear it and it chilled him to the bone. No one screamed like that, not unless they were petrified beyond a state of normality. That could mean only one thing. The eventuality he feared had arrived. He could feel his stomach sink.
He was up and out the door before anyone else in the Madam Puddifoot's, letting his eyes search to and fro for the source of the unearthly sound. There was no repeat, and all the occupants and visitors of Hogsmeade had stopped in their tracks at the sound. The village was silent, eerily silent, and Harry couldn't stand it. He felt like he was a sitting duck. He was lost and confused, a mighty predator ready to swoop down and gobble him up. It wasn't a case of if, it was a case of when. The question was whether or not he survived.
A few waves of murmurs swept through the crowd, and Harry though he heard soft, low chanting. Squinting his eyes he could see them, advancing on the outskirts of the village, their long pallid masks full of distaste and malice. Spinning quickly, he decided that they must have had the village surrounded. That was not good. They were trapped.
Then I came, the first curse, muttered by one of the masked figures. He couldn't see who it was aimed at, but he could imagine the outcome easily enough. He had seen it enough times in the past.
"Crucio!"
That was the end of it, the eerie silence was over and the cacophony began. It was a madhouse. There were third and fourth years everywhere, petrified children, running scared wherever they could find a hiding spot, wailing as they went. Harry drew his wand and prepared to do what he could. Out of all of these students, he was probably one of the most capable and most experienced duellers. He wasn't going to run scared and hide for this duel. This time he would fight, and he would fight well. It was probably his fault they were here anyway.
"Expelliarmus!" he yelled, aiming his wand at the nearest Death Eater he saw. It was deflected easily enough, but that was to be expected, really. He tried again, much to the same effect. He heard the Death Eater mumble some words and deflected the hex that was sent his way right back at the Death Eater. They hadn't been expecting that, and were knocked off their feet, flying back against a tree. A hint of a smile crossed Harry's face.
There was a scream from someone near him and Harry turned to see a Death Eater advancing down on a cowering woman, wand drawn, ready for torture. Harry's eyes were set ablaze by emotion and his Stupefy not only stunned the man, but sent him flying off the woman as well. She went to thank him, or at least he assumed that's what she was doing. He was off again to find his next opponent before he gave her the chance.
Time passed in a blur, confusion was all around him and he couldn't tell one person from another any more. He did know that he took down another three Death Eaters in the matter of a few moments. He had been hit twice by spells that didn't seem to impede him, and that just gave him more incentive to have them fleeing back from wherever they came. Right now, the objective wasn't about capturing. The objective was about protecting.
He could feel it when Voldemort arrived. His scar went berserk and he doubled over in pain for a few moments. There was a warming in his chest and the pain soon subsided. Harry paid little notice; instead, looking around to see where Voldemort had apparated in with a swirl of black mist. It was almost comedic how theatrical Voldemort was at that moment, but Harry wasn't laughing. There was no time for thoughts apart from battle.
He was moving in the direction of Voldemort, when he felt a disturbance to his right and set up a shield charm just in time to block an incoming curse. There was a Death Eater advancing on him, wand pointed directly at him, ready to send another curse flying. His Protego couldn't shield him from the second charm flying at his back as well, and the hex from the second Death Eater left a long gash on his left arm. There was no pain though and he barely registered that he'd been hit. Instead, he just sneered at the second Death Eater that had chosen to challenge him.
"Levicorpus," came Harry's spell as he levitated one, dodging to the side to avoid getting hit by another curse. It was uncanny – he knew what was coming and when. Everything he did was almost automatic. Every move he made just felt right and he went with it. He was a puppet to his instincts, letting his reflexes take over.
His body bind hit the second and he sneered again. He was enjoying this: the raw power, the energy. It was intoxicating. His eyes flashed a strange tint of yellow as he flung the levitated Death Eater up against a nearby wall. Quite hard, too.
Harry needed to do that again. He needed to find someone else and he turned to scan the village turned battlefield. He sent a jinx across towards a Death Eater he thought was Bellatrix LeStrange and smiled as he watched her keel over, suddenly feeling like she'd been kicked in the stomach. His eyes went to scan again when he realised something that snapped him out of his strange, sadistic mood.
Some time between when Voldemort had arrived and now, Dumbledore had arrived with other members of the Order of the Phoenix. The old headmaster was currently locked in duel with a blonde-haired Death Eater that seemed reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy. He was concentrating so hard he was completely unaware of what Voldemort was about to do. Harry could see the worlds on his lips, the hate that he needed in his eyes. In a moment a streak of green light would shoot from his wand that would end Dumbledore's life forever.
He felt no more need for revenge, no more need to cause pain. All he felt now was an inherent need to save his headmaster and mentor from death. And he did it the only way he knew how.
Harry Potter jumped in between Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, yelling a quick Protego before the killing curse was sent.
Harry could see the shock in Voldemort's eyes as the green light sent him flying into a brick wall much harder than he'd sent the Death Eater.
-:-O-:-
Everything around her was clearing. It was strange to watch from up the top of her raised position. She had been duelling, doing what she could to help even if no one seemed to want her to, when they had finally managed to chase the Death Easters off. She could see them still, around the edges of the town, disapparating. There was nothing more she could do, though; the last of the Death Eaters were either being arrested or pursued.
All that was left was the clean up.
As Hermione's thought moved out of "battle mode", thoughts of her friends filled her head and she was immediately off and racing.
"Harry! Ron! Harry! Ron!" she yelled, the mantra continuing over and over again, hoping beyond hope that nothing had happened to either of them. Her logical mind told her Harry was at least alive because, if he wasn't, the whole of the battlefield would know in seconds, she was sure – though logic had little opportunity to take hold in her brain. Ron was another matter, and she worried about him more than her dark-haired friend. Though, there may have been some bias in that worry too. Somehow, thoughts of Ronald Bilius Weasley seemed to consume most of her day.
"Hermione!" came the voice Hermione was just dying to hear.
"Ron!" she exclaimed in return, turning around just in time to have two arms draw her into a rather large chest. He was OK; in fact he looked like he had barely a scratch on him. That was a wonderful relief, and she hugged him back as tightly as she could manage, just glad that he was alive.
"Have you ummm... seen Harry?" Ron asked, eventually separating himself from the raven-haired girl, a slight blush rising in his cheeks.
"No," was the only answer she could give him, turning away and once again resuming searching for a friend. "God, I hope he's all right."
"Yeah, me too."
It didn't take them long to find their friend. At first, they feared the worst. Hermione gasped, running to the side of the magically-produced stretcher hovering above the ground, tears beginning to run down her face fast and thick. Ron just froze, noticeably blanched and made just one sound.
"Fuck."
Harry lay there, unconscious, and if Madame Pomfrey wasn't currently telling Hermione that her friend was merely that, Ron would've sworn he was dead. He looked it, that was for sure. He was pale, paler than anything Ron had ever seen, and covered from head to toe in bruises. Not an inch of his best friend was really left unscathed, and deep purple circles covering most of his body. He looked like he'd been beaten to a pulp, with blood overtly clear in his mouth. To say he looked dead was almost an understatement. Harry looked like he could never have been alive.
Ron's fists clenched, his teeth ground and his temper rose. How could they do this? How could they possibly cause such brutal disfiguration to one whose only crime was to be born? With raw anger driving him, he turned to the small procession of captured Death Eaters being led towards Hogwarts castle and punched the closest one square in the jaw. Hard. Hard enough to leave a deep purple bruise. He thought is was rather fitting.
-:-O-:-
He ran. He had run as soon as he thought it was safe to get away, and now he kept going. He had shed his mask long ago and was now just running. Draco was himself again, though he didn't think he could get the filth off of him. It was permanent, it would forever cling to him. Nothing could change the fact that he had worn that mask of terror, that mask of evil.
Bursting through the doors to Hogwarts castle, he shot off down the closest corridor. If anyone saw him, they might wonder at the fact that the usually calm and composed Draco Malfoy was currently bolting through the corridors at lightning pace. No one was there to see him, though; the first and second years at the Quidditch pitch for some activity Dumbledore had decided to organise for reasons Draco couldn't grasp. He had beaten the medical staff up here, and everyone else was down in Hogsmeade. Even the third years. Even the poor, innocent third years had witnessed the terrifying sight that was the Death Eaters. Even the poor, innocent third years had witnessed the agony that was torture.
Thinking about it made him want to retch, and once he reached the bathrooms in the Slytherin dormitory that was what he did. It was disgusting, but he had done it so many times that he was used to it. Usually it was from his own pain, though, not that of others. That was an emotion Draco was still coming to grips with.
As he wiped the last of the bile from the corners of his mouth, onto the sleeve of his robe, he staggered out of the bathroom and towards his room. He inhaled through his nose, trying to keep his mucus contained and his tears back. He was enough of a wreck as it was, and if anyone came in now he needed to be as prim and proper as he could manage. He may as well not have bothered, as he still look dreadful, but it was a compulsion, a habit. It was something he had to do to stay alive every moment of every day, and it didn't stop just because he was depressed. Staying alive was first on his list of priorities – something that would surprise many – and how to do so was ingrained deeply into him.
Finally, he reached his room, shutting the door firmly behind him just as he heard someone enter. He had been lucky. Fumbling in his pockets he found the long, slender piece of wood he was looking for and soon secured his room. At last, he was safe.
That was when he collapsed. In his own private room, sanctioned off from the rest of the world, he was finally free. There was no one here but him and, though the lack of a confident scared him and made him feel lonely, he knew it was just reminiscent of his life. He was alone and every day he struggled alone. No one could possibly understand how that felt, to be completely alone in the world, isolated from everyone else. It was painful, it was torture, it was murder.
Sliding down the door, he hunched over on the floor in a heaped mess. Then he cried and he cried and he cried. He let it all out in a way that he had also done many times. Tear after tear rolled down his cheek, sniff after sniff relieved his issues. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this wouldn't make them go away, but it certainly made them feel better, at least for now. That was all he really cared about – that he could feel at peace for once. He had given up on happiness, he'd even forgotten about just being content. Now, all he wanted was to have some sort of resignation, to be able to live his life as some sort of shell that didn't feel or want. A pretty fucked up dream, he would agree. It wouldn't happen, though; he was far too head-strong.
He glanced down at his wand and the thought that had lingered in the back of his mind for months came to the forefront once again. He couldn't deny that he hadn't considered it, because he most certainly had, he had dreamed of feeling that release from his life. There was no way he could actually do it, though. Death was so final, even if it was so appealing. Draco knew he couldn't bring himself to do that any more than he could merrily torture someone.
Hours pasts as he just sat there. Eventually, he stopped crying. Not because he felt at peace, but because he ran out of tears. Then, he just sat and thought. Until well after dinner was over and people were settling into their beds, worried about what tomorrow might bring, he sat there, slumped, thinking about his life, the war and his sick, twisted father.
-:-O-:-
The hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a nice quiet resting place for all those who had managed to injure themselves during the course of their magical studies. At least, that was normally, and Hermione Granger could not believe the transformation. It was barely an hour since the Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade, but, already, the room looked like it had housed these people for years. Stations were already set up for those with only minor injuries; workers quickly healing them and sending them on their way. Those with worse injuries had Madame Pomfrey slowly doing what she could. Some of them had been hit with some nasty curses. Some of them had been hit with Unforgivables.
Hermione was just glad no one had been hit with an Avada Kedavra.
"Madame Pomfrey?" she asked shyly, knowing that the medi-witch was busy, but knowing that she needed to interrupt nonetheless. It wasn't as if she would be slowly down any time soon, especially considering that the people from St Mungo's still hadn't arrived.
"What is it?!" she snapped, turning on Hermione. Soon realising her mistake, however, she simply bit her lip and attempted a smile. "Sorry," she apologised. "He's through there." Her pristine, medical hands indicating a door to a sanctioned section of the Hospital Wing.
Hermione advanced through, not really sure what to expect on the other side. She had seen Harry on the battlefield, and she feared the worst. As she entered the separate room and closed the door to the main ward behind her, the first thing she noticed was the drop in noise. It was quiet in here – quite eerie, really. The second thing she noticed was the sullen expressions on everyone's faces. Ron was there, she noticed, slumped in his chair, looking a combination of angry and sorrowful. She noticed Lupin, standing with a hat he was nervously fiddling with in his hands. Dumbledore was there too, though he wasn't quite as morose, taking on a mask of thoughtful reflection. Not that she expected anything less.
"Hello Miss Granger," that very same man said, glancing over his half-moon spectacles at the newcomer. "I'm glad to see that you are all right. I trust you aren't too beaten up after what happened earlier today?"
"God, he makes it sound like it was friendly Quidditch match or something."
"No, headmaster, thank you. I'm fine." She paused, glancing over at her friend lying on the hospital bed. "Worried, is all."
"And quite understandably, too, Miss Granger."
"Look Albus," Lupin interjected. It was a long time coming, Hermione could tell. From the way he had been fidgeting Hermione was surprised he hadn't burst and insisted on hearing the news earlier. "Do you know what's wrong with Harry or not?"
For the first time since she entered the room, Hermione took a good look at her friend. She hadn't wanted to, avoiding it for as long as she could for fear of what she would see, but now it was inevitable. Well, he looked better than he did when she saw him on the battlefield, at least. Some colour had started to come back to him and a lot of the bruising seemed to have disappeared. Hermione suspected Madame Pomfrey had something to do with that. He was still unconscious, though, which wasn't a good thing in her books. He looked somewhat at rest, so that was probably a good thing also. She worried how much rest he was actually getting these days.
"He's theoretically fine," Albus said, effectively ending Hermione's mental diagnosis. "I'm not sure what happened, though I have no doubt some of you saw it. I am surprised, really. It's not supposed to be possible. We have no idea what will happen, though I suspect he's in some sort of magical coma. To have been able to do what he did, well, that would've taken a great deal of magical expenditure..."
"Um, sir..." Hermione interjected, for once unsure of what was going on, "may I ask: what exactly did Harry do?"
"Why, you did not see, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione shook her head in reply. It was Lupin who answered her.
"He blocked an Avada Kedavra." Hermione just gasped.
-:-O-:-
"I still can't believe he did it, Ron," Hermione said, entering the room and squeezing tightly on her boyfriend's shoulder. Ron just nodded in return, swallowing heavily. He was very worried, she could tell, and he had been for the past two weeks – ever since Harry had fallen into the coma. It was, obviously, something she would have expected – after all, she was worried too – but, she wished he would talk to her about it.
"I can," was Ron's simple reply.
"You can?" Hermione had to move to get a better look at Ron's face, she couldn't believe he had said such a thing.
"Well, come on Hermione! You waltz in here every day proclaiming how you don't believe Harry could have been so noble and brave but, please, we both know just how noble and brave Harry is. Stop making him out to be some dishonourable scum because you know just as well as I do that, if anyone was to give their lives for someone else, it would be Harry."
Once again, Hermione was struck by the loyalty of Ron. He would defend his friends to the very end no matter what, and she still couldn't believe that she was one of those lucky people he placed on the list of people he'd defend. It was touching, she thought, and it made her feel very wanted and accepted and, dare she say it, loved. Plus, she knew there was a little truth to what he was saying. Hell, there was a lot of truth to what he was saying. Harry was willing to face possible death to fight for the freedom of strangers who seemed to do nothing but ridicule him, of course he was capable of placing himself between someone he admired, looked up to since he was a small child, and the Killing Curse. Not only was Ron loyal, but Harry was loyal as well. Perfect Gryffindors, the both of them.
"You're right," she said, realising that, for once, she had been wrong. "He would do something like that." She paused, setting herself down on his lap and settling herself so she could lean comfortably against his chest. "You know him better than I do," she finished quietly.
"Not at the moment," Ron replied, just as quietly. Hermione sighed at the truth.
"No one knows him at the moment."
Silence stretched across the small room attached to the Hospital Wing where the two of them sat, watching over their friend who lay comatose in his small bed. They were happy just to sit in each other's arms, making sure no harm came to their loyal friend to whom which nothing in life seemed to come easy.
"Do you think, when he wakes up, he'll be better or worse?" Ron asked eventually. Hermione noticed the use of "when" rather than "if". That was a good sign. Sadly, "when" could be a very long time.
"Better, I hope. I just want him to trust us enough to talk to us about it."
"I want him to trust anyone enough to talk to them about it."
A second silence took over the room for quite some time, until Hermione finally turned and kissed Ron on the nose.
"I'm glad I have you, Ronald Bilius Weasley."
"And I'm glad I have you, Hermione Jane Granger."
-:-O-:-
Draco Malfoy moved slowly through the corridors, knowing full well the time of night and what he was doing. His stealth was unmatched by may though, apart from Potter, who had the ability to almost vanish during the night if he so wished. He wasn't skulking along the walls as one might expect, but looked like it was the most normal thing to wander the corridors and his venture perfectly within the rules. It was the fact that he made not a noise as he walked that never gave him away. Plus, he was sure the way he walked like this fooled Mrs Norris into thinking he was meant to be here.
Eventually, he arrived at his destination: the hospital wing. The normally bright white room was dark in the shadow and it was hard to see. As he searched the edges of the room for the door he needed, he mentally prepared himself for the task at hand. It would be hard – it would be impossibly hard – but he had expected that. He just still wasn't sure he was ready. The doorknob clasped in his hand, he sighed and mentally told himself he was. As ready as he would ever be.
He opened the door to a small private room that housed one Harry Potter. It was darker in here, and a quick Lumos was required in order for him to see properly. He bit his lip when he saw Potter lying there, dead to the world. The "Chosen One" didn't look all that well, Draco decided. It could have been worse, should have been worse, after what he was hit with, but it was a little shocking nonetheless.
Moving slowly into the room he set his illuminated wand down at the beside table and sat in a nearby chair. There was only one chair in the room, and Draco wondered where Granger and Weasley both sat when they came to visit their friend. Probably in each other's laps, he had no doubt. If the pair weren't going out already they were both stupid. Their amorous feelings were so overt an especially idiotic troll could work it out.
"Well, eeeerrr... hello," Draco started lamely. It felt so weird, talking to someone who couldn't hear him and wouldn't respond. Yet, he ploughed on, knowing that he had to continue. He felt like sprinting back to his common room, snuggle up in his bed and forget his ridiculous idea. The need to tell someone won; he needed a confident, even if it was a comatose Potter.
The notion had come to him little more than a few days ago. After the battle, his stupor had steadily gotten worse. He hadn't wanted to talk to anyone, hadn't wished to attend classes, had wanted to skip meals. Most of all, he hadn't wanted to hold up his Malfoy façade. Talking to someone was meant to help, he was told, and the only one he could trust was someone who wouldn't hear – Potter.
"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," he continued. "That's a, ummm, long story, actually. Would you like to hear it?" Silence resounded around the room and Draco decided that could pass as a yes. "All right then, I'll tell you. I have a confession to make and you're the only one I can make it too. Ha! think about it Potter: you're the only one who I can trust. Sad, really, isn't it? That the only one in the world I can tell is my worst enemy. Still, that's the life I lead, Potter. That's the life I lead...
"I'm not a Death Eater, Potter. Yes, sorry to disappoint, but I'm not actually as evil as I seemed. It's a façade, Harry, a mask. Do you mind if I call you that: Harry? It's a nice name and I've decided that, seen as you are my confident and secret-keeper, I should call you by your first name. You don't mind do you?" Harry's chest continued to rise and fall in long, calm breaths; silence still enveloped the room. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Well, as I was saying, I'm not actually a follower of You Know Who. He's a bit too cruel for my tastes. I don't actually get enjoyment out of torturing people. I've been tortured enough times to know how awful the feeling is. I bet that's another thing you didn't know about me, Harry – that I've been tortured. Tortured in more ways than one, too. Sure, my body's taken a beating. I've been hit with the Cruciatus more times than you could count. I've been beaten to badly I kept vomiting and pissing blood for days after. My father's hit me with curses I didn't even know existed and wouldn't even try to pronounce. Yes, you heard right, my father. He's the one that's tortured me beyond belief.
"He's done it to me mentally, too. Do you know what it's like to choose between your life and the life of another?" There was a feeble attempt at a laugh from Draco. "Of course you do. Well, that's one thing we have in common then, don't we Harry? Except you chose to end your life instead of let another die. I couldn't do that. I wished I was able to, it would've saved me so much pain, but I couldn't. I don't want to die, Harry; I'm a coward. Life is severely fucked and death would be so much sweeter, but I can't end it. I'm fucking petrified." He wiped his tears on his sleeve.
"You probably don't know what it's like, growing up with parents who think you're a failure. Everywhere you look they're trying to improve you; trying to mould you into a perfect son. They don't care about you, they don't tuck you in at night, they don't tell you bedtime stories, they don't hug you and kiss you and tell you everything will be all right when you have a nightmare. I was always envious of you for that – having a family. I don't have one of those. Parents are meant to love. I have guardians, not parents.
"Anyway, I have to go, I don't think I can stand sharing too many of my secrets in one day. Perhaps I'll be back tomorrow, I like talking to you. You listen, Harry, did you know that?" Draco stood, looking less than his perfect self. Talking, for the first time in his whole life, had really taken it out of him. His eyes were red from tears, his nose sniffling and his sleeve damp. Moving towards the door and opening it, he went to leave.
At the last moment he turned back around and added, "Just so as you know, in case you hadn't already guessed, I'm on your side, Harry Potter." With that he muttered a Nox and left.
-:-O-:-
Author's Note: Review? puppy dog eyes Trust me, reviews are so motivating.
I know that Levicorpus was technically created by Snape and unknown to most of the world in canon, but can we call it creative licence? This story doesn't have "the half-blood Prince" and no potions book by him, and I knew you'd all know what the spell did.
By the way, you'll find out how they got together. Don't worry, I'm not that mean. Often.