Chapter Thirty-Two

Save Me

Harry and Matt worked together to levitate their luggage off the carriage and through the front doors of Hogwarts castle. Matt's control wasn't fantastic yet, and he banged a few items into the doorframe, but nothing breakable, thank Merlin. Generally speaking, Harry didn't own anything breakable. He had an accident-prone five-year-old wizard, and there wasn't much point. He and Ginny had cleared the house of fragile items and put them in the attic as soon as Sirius was born, and hadn't even considered bringing them down since then.

Clothes, books, toys, potion supplies, Matt's school stuff, a few knick-knacks, and Harry's and Matt's brooms thumped down on the stone floor inside the trunks and suitcases they'd been packed in. House elves were waiting to carry them off to the living quarters laid out for Harry and his kids, and make everything comfortable there. Harry was more than a little bit fond of house elves, ever since Kreacher had accidentally revealed that R.A.B. was in fact Regulus Arcturus Black, the younger brother of Harry's godfather. Kreacher had been highly praised upon this discovery, and had been much nicer to Harry, all the way up to the day of his death when Ginny was first pregnant. He paid the house elves compliments and chatted with them politely while they looked in awe upon the new arrivals.

Harry held Charley against his hip with one arm while the other alternated between using his wand to move the trunks and grabbing hold of Sirius' shirt to keep him from running off. Charley was fussing because she had a cold, and Harry's shoulder was nearly soaked with snot and tears. Matt was depressed and had been acting disrespectful, which was shocking. Harry had never had to deal with Matt being disrespectful before. He supposed Matt was realizing that his dad was a fallible human being who could completely screw up a marriage and family, and that was a hard thing to learn about your father. He snapped at Matt when the boy said something rude to a house elf, and once again lunged to grab Sirius before he could go dashing away with a ghost Harry didn't remember.

It was in this slightly less than dignified state that Draco Malfoy found him in as the latter entered the front doors himself. Well, perhaps Draco didn't really notice. He was looking harassed himself, shouting at a tall, blond man and his shorter coworker, who were carrying several crates inside and apparently not doing it delicately enough.

"That is fragile! Be careful!"

He noticed the Potter family trying to get organized, and nodded at Harry, who returned the nod, feeling for some reason that Malfoy looked different than he had two months ago when they'd last spoken.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

"I didn't think you'd be here this early."

"I'm not," he shrugged. "I ordered several extremely volatile supplies from Sweden for my seventh-years, and they came early. I wanted to watch them unload and make sure there were no accidents. But you seem to be moving in."

Harry nodded, and opened his mouth to speak. Charley sneezed several times and started crying again. He petted her hair and tried to soothe her while he answered. "I just wanted to give them a couple of weeks here before all the students arrived. I thought it might be too much of a shock to come here amidst all that confusion, especially for her," he indicated his daughter, bouncing her gently and laying his cheek on her head. "Shh, Daddy's here, Charley, you're all right."

Malfoy's expression wavered between revolted and fascinated. He started to say something, but abruptly changed his mind, and spun around to roar a few threats at the two men as they brought in another box. Harry rolled his eyes.

"You stop worrying so much about your image when you become a father," he told Malfoy when the other man turned around.

"I see," Malfoy said. "Well, let me just find a wife and I'll get straight to work on that theory."

Harry chuckled obligingly, but he didn't think Malfoy found it very funny. Oh, no way was Malfoy in love. That would just be too priceless.

Sirius had been tugging at his arm and whining something for the past several minutes, and Harry finally looked down. "What, Crash?"

"Matt says he can show me the Quidditch pitch," Sirius said, bouncing up and down with his excitement. "Please?"

Harry cast a glance at Matt, and knew Matt was just trying to keep Sirius happy. He'd been very self-sacrificing for the sake of his younger siblings all summer. "You'd be responsible for him."

Matt nodded, and Sirius shrieked with delight and tore back out into the sunlight, Matt on his heels calling for him to slow down. Harry rolled his eyes again, but this time using it to invite Malfoy to share the annoyed amusement with him. Because . . . well, he didn't know why. Just because. Then he noticed what had been nagging him, what was different about Malfoy.

"Hey, where's the cane?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't need it anymore." And he grinned.

"Why not?"
"Madam's Pomfrey's genius, that's why not. I couldn't explain the whole thing to you, but she said Muggles did something similar, when they rebreak a bone that was badly set the first time. She basically tore my knee apart and rebuilt it. Very painful, I assure you," he said with a shudder, "but effective." He smiled down at his knee, and bent it experimentally. "It's not one hundred percent, but a good deal better than before."

"Why didn't you do that years ago?"

"I was avoiding wizards, remember? I didn't want to be recognized."

"Oh, right." Harry looked down at Charley, who'd gone unusually quiet, and saw that she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. "You know, after the help you gave me, with Voldemort I mean, you could have come to me anytime. You wouldn't have had to go into hiding."

"You're forgetting the part where I went crazy, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, and his eyes looked haunted. "My mother . . ."

"Honestly, I understand that. I felt that way about Snape, after he killed Dumbledore. That's why the Weasley's . . . they were worried about me. They were afraid of what I might do to get revenge on Snape."

Draco frowned. "You— Potter, you were there. How could you not realize?"
"Realize what?"

"Dumbledore didn't fight him. Didn't you . . . didn't you know? Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"What?" Harry was starting to feel very sick to his stomach. Was there something about Dumbledore's murder he'd missed? Had Dumbledore told Malfoy something he hadn't told Harry?

"Snape was supposed to kill him. Dumbledore wanted him to."

Harry barked out a laugh. "Yeah, okay."

Malfoy's face was grave. "I'm being serious, Potter. Snape told me all this himself, when he promised to get me away from the Death Eaters."

"Snape promised what?"

"He was looking out for me, just like Dumbledore asked him to. My mother forced him into an Unbreakable Vow, before our sixth year. He had to swear to kill Dumbledore if I didn't. He told Dumbledore straight away. Dumbledore said his life was worth less than having someone inside Voldemort's camp." Malfoy shook his head. "He was a spy for your side for like, fifteen years, Potter. Didn't you know that?"

"Of course I knew that! I thought he defected or something!"

Malfoy gaped. "He kept mucking up Voldemort's plans, and Voldemort never knew who it was. He kept trying to keep me out of harm's way, and he fed lots of false information through the line about your whereabouts."

"But he never said . . ."

"Apparently Dumbledore didn't see fit to tell anyone that it was all arranged. Merlin, all this time I thought Snape got killed by accident. You mean the Weasels killed him on purpose?"

Harry and Draco stared at each other in shock and wonder. Malfoy almost looked like he would laugh, but he had tears in his eyes. Harry didn't know what he looked like. He felt like he was about to explode. He abruptly turned around and blasted a suit of armour into smithereens.

"God— damn it— fucking— Merlin— hell—" he said, aware he was incoherent but not able to help it. Individual words burst out, trying to vent his rage. "How— Dumbledore— SHIT!"

This last was so loud it woke Charlotte up, and she whimpered. He immediately patted her back and tried to soothe her. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, and Malfoy's eyes were on his wand, his own hand on the pocket where he likely had his. Harry sighed, and brought himself under control.

"You're sure?"

Malfoy nodded. "Like I said, Snape told me when he promised to get me out. Then he was dead," he shrugged, "and I was trapped."

Harry moved suddenly, raising his wand, and Malfoy had a shield up before he could blink, but Harry just pointed his wand at the metal splinters littering the stones. "Reparo." The suit of armour flew back into place, intact once more. "I'll resurrect Dumbledore and kill him again," he said calmly.

Malfoy put his wand away. "Think about it. If he'd told you before, you would have tried to protect him, and that would have screwed everything up. Snape might've gotten killed. And there wasn't exactly an opportunity after. He probably counted on Snape being able to look out for himself. He was a brilliant wizard, you know."
"I . . . I need some time to sort all this out. I need to think," Harry muttered, but he could already feel acceptance of the truth settling into him. He should have known. All along, he should have known that Dumbledore was no fool, that he'd trusted Snape for a reason. Snape had been on his side all along. What he needed time to do was wrap his head around how wrong he'd been and learn to be humble and graceful about it. That would be a long time from now, he thought.

"I'd better escort this stuff down to my storeroom," Malfoy said, looking entirely unhappy to be here now.

"Hang on a minute." He waited until he was sure Malfoy was paying attention. "First of all, thanks for telling me. Really. But I had something I wanted to talk to you about." Harry glanced at Charley to make sure she was sleeping, and eyed the two Swedish wizards to make sure they weren't listening. "I've heard a couple of rumours about you that I wanted to ask you about."

Malfoy shrugged. "Sure."

"I heard that you go down to Rosmerta's at least a couple of times a week, that you've been doing it all year. Do you think it's a good idea? I mean, with all the kids watching you, and now the rest of the world, maybe it would be better if you didn't drink so much, you know?"

Malfoy burst out laughing.

Harry scowled at him. "I'm serious, Malfoy, I really think—"

"Potter, you've been hearing rumours of rumours. Did you actually speak to Rosmerta?"

"No."

"I'll have a glass of mead every once in a while, maybe even a butterbeer for old times' sake, but she usually just lets me sit at one of her tables. I don't go there to drink."

"You don't? What do you do there, then?"

"You know electronic devices don't work inside Hogwarts."

"Yeah . . ."

Malfoy reached into his pocket and drew out a tangle of wires that connected to—

"You go to the Three Broomsticks to listen to your iPod?" Harry said dumbly.

Malfoy gave his pocket a fond pat as he tucked the wires back into it. "I'd go crazy if I couldn't listen to my music."

Now Harry laughed. "Well. That certainly eases my mind." He'd gotten himself all worked up over an iPod. Smooth. Then he frowned, remembering the rest of the story.

"What about the potions?"

Malfoy looked startled. "What potions? I'm not brewing anything illegal, I promise."

"No, I don't mean that. I've heard that you've been downing quite a few painkilling potions. I assume it was for your knee?"

Malfoy nodded slowly, looking unhappy.

"Well, I guess you won't need them so much now that Madam Pomfrey has fixed things up."
"I . . . I guess not."

Harry frowned. "You're still taking them." It wasn't a question. And Malfoy didn't answer. Harry didn't know what to say at this point. He wasn't Malfoy's friend, nor his counselour. It just didn't seem right, to have his son's teacher be sucking down potions all the time. "Malfoy, maybe you should—"

"Potter, my problems are just that. My problems. Not yours."

"You don't think it'll end up affecting my son, my students?"

"No, I don't."

Harry struggled. He was going to see Malfoy every day, beginning in a few weeks. Now was not the time to start fostering bad feelings between them. What to say? Should he say anything?

"Draco. Do you need help?"

The use of his first name seemed to leave him tongue-tied. His battered, scarred face drooped. Then a miracle happened. Mute, looking at the ground, Malfoy nodded.

"Do you want me to help you?"

Again, he nodded. "Yes. You've already done a great deal for me. I don't pretend to understand it, but . . . it's becoming a problem. I think I've become addicted, and I don't like it." He looked up, with a smile of awful bitterness on his lips. "As strange as it is, you're the only one who's offered me anything since my identity was reavealed. I don't have anyone to go to. You're the savior, right? So save me."

Harry nodded. Matt and Sirius came rushing back in, exclaiming over the disappearance of their belongings, something Harry honestly hadn't noticed. Apparently, the two Swedes had decided they were on their own, too, because they'd taken the boxes away.

"If you want me to, I will."