All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.
Particular thanks must be given to the lovely Phoenix Writing for taking time out of her insanely chaotic schedule to help make this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own.
Additional notes are available before the prologue, though I will add a quick reminder that this story is canon through Order of the Phoenix but AU after that. As far as Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows are concerned, it's probably best to assume that the characters, etc. exist, but I'll be ignoring the plots almost entirely.
Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated.
Please accept my *profound* apologies for the ridiculously long delay; I hope you enjoy.
Originally posted 15 Sept. '14
"Did you know them?"
"Yes."
Despite the hour that had followed the speaking of them, an hour filled with Snape lecturing about financial investments and accounting, it was those five words that echoed endlessly in Harry's mind as he climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.
"Did you know them?"
"Yes."
He joined the throng of students heading for the Great Hall but stopped abruptly before he reached the door. He turned and instead made his way up the stairs toward the library. It would be quiet now, with Madam Pince and most of the students at lunch, and Harry didn't want an audience.
"Did you know them?"
"Yes."
Well, Harry hadn't.
McGonagall's comment about 'suitable' relatives suggested there were other ones he could have lived with instead. Cousins, aunts, uncles — the words could have different meanings if they weren't being applied to the Dursleys. Somewhere, he could have relatives who might not hate him. Though they could be the same. Or worse. Given the how unsuitable the Dursleys had been, that was unpleasant to contemplate, but he had to remember that, had to remember not to hope too much.
Using a Catalogue Search Charm for 'Potter,' he found many, many references to potential relatives, but upon closer inspection, most of them were 'Harry Potter.' Many of the others were 'James Potter.' He checked a few of them – they could be family names, not referring to Harry or his dad – but there was nothing to indicate if a relationship existed, and, since he didn't have much else in the way of information, there were too many to go through without looking like he was as self-obsessed as Gilderoy Lockhart. For all that he was constantly told how much he looked like his father, he knew little about his father's family. It hurt, not knowing even his grandfather's name. Aunt Petunia had at least made sure he knew he had no other relatives on his mother's side, if only when she assured him that if there had been any, he'd have been sent to live with them.
He searched through old issues of The Daily Prophet. It was laborious work, since he had to look through each issue individually — Harry's pet theory was that The Prophet had found that a lack of indexed archives impeded libel suits — but he read eagerly through birth announcements, then, with far more trepidation, the death announcements. They could all be dead, now; it had been over fifteen years since he'd been left at the Dursley's. It would almost be easier not knowing, if that were the case. Easier, but not right, he thought, remembering Dumbledore's words. He owed it to himself, and to them, to know of them at least.
For that, though, he needed to find them, and he wasn't having any luck at all. He closed another volume of periodicals and returned it to the shelf with a sigh of frustration.
"Can I help you with something, Harry?" Morag asked. She was the prefect on duty — charged with making sure no one destroyed the library during meals and assisting students when necessary — but he didn't know her well enough to discuss what he was looking for with her.
"I'm all right, thanks."
He moved to wander through the stacks, looking for information — genealogies, newspapers, Ministry records — anything that might help him find the information he wanted — needed — about his relatives. He grabbed a few of the tomes that looked most promising and settled at an unoccupied table in one of the less popular sections of the library.
It would be so much easier if he had someone he trusted to help him.
Snape had hinted but had not expanded. Harry wasn't certain if that was because he didn't want to talk about it at all or if he had prioritized the financial tutoring or if he were daring Harry to figure it out. It was confusing, and he didn't much like it, not when he'd finally started to understand the man and his motivations. Most of the time.
He could ask McGonagall, maybe, since she'd been the first to mention other relatives. Given the trouble James had gotten into at school, she had to have corresponded with his grandparents, if not met them. As tempting as it was, questions of that sort might prompt her to start looking into things they weren't ready to make public, and the information wasn't worth the risk.
The same was true for Ron, Hermione, or Ginny: any of them would ask far too many questions, and the girls, at least, were already suspicious. There was no point asking the headmaster; he'd made his feelings on the subject clear when he'd left Harry with the Dursleys, and each of the subsequent times Harry had asked to leave them.
He knew he could ask Remus, but he didn't want to make him feel as though Harry regretted choosing him — not to mention that there was a chance that he agreed with Dumbledore, since he hadn't ever said anything either.
Harry needed someone who already knew or someone who wouldn't ask a lot of questions, someone who would know how he should go about researching lineage.
He needed... Draco.
Despite the class no longer being mandatory, neither Binns nor History of Magic were any more engaging at the NEWT level than they'd been in years previous, and, given how little sleep he'd had, Draco had been dreading this morning's class.
He needn't have worried: the bond was very successfully keeping him awake – and keeping his attention.
Harry Potter was upset. That itself was not surprising, as he'd been of out of sorts to varying degrees for days, but something had happened early in the second period class – the one he traditionally spent with Severus – and the bond had been apprising him of Harry's disquiet ever since. What it didn't communicate to Draco, however, was anything useful, like what had happened, so Draco was waiting anxiously until he could discover the cause. It would be disastrous if someone were to tell the Dark Lord that Draco Malfoy had been acting oddly when something happened to Harry Potter, however, so Draco was forced to keep still.
He wasn't terribly concerned, really, as neither his classmates nor Professor Binns were likely to notice if he were unsuccessful since most of the students had lost the fight for consciousness. The exception to that, of course, was Hermione Granger. She was carefully taking notes, so it was doubtful, but even if she did catch him – she'd been staring at him oddly for days – she wasn't likely to say anything to anyone they'd have to be concerned about.
Draco was grateful to feel the bond settle a bit as the end of the class neared, but he was no less eager to reach the Great Hall when the class was finally dismissed; he'd feel better for seeing Harry at lunch and well. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one trying to escape the classroom, and he was forced to wait for the bottleneck at the door to clear.
"What's your hurry?" Pansy asked as she slid her arm through his. "You're not usually so eager to join the stampeding masses."
"I'm hungry," Draco said flatly. Contrary to the beliefs of the majority of the school, Draco didn't call his friends to heel that often, so when he did, they generally acquiesced. Today was no exception, though, given the choice, Draco would have done without the long-suffering looks exchanged by Pansy and Daphne.
As was his luck these days, just as they sat down at the Slytherin table, Draco felt Harry change course and head away from the Great Hall. Because Draco had made such a fuss earlier, he had no plausible excuse for abandoning the table without eating. Trapped by social expectations and his own lies, the urge to fidget resumed.
It didn't help that Snape, glowering even more than usual, arrived just as the food appeared and immediately began rebuffing Professor Sprout's conversational offerings, and Harry was evidently planning not to join them at all. Draco knew the two of them were supposed to have met the period previous, the period when his bond to Harry began begging for attention.
His curiosity regarding what had occurred between them, however, was quickly being eclipsed by a mutation of the bond. It was transmitting more than Potter's emotions, something other. It was confusing and distracting.
What wasn't holding his attention was his food, and Millicent called him on it. "I thought you were hungry." She managed to sound more curious than accusatory, nut Draco's response was defensive nonetheless, and the rest of their friends eyed them warily.
"I thought we'd be having something edible." He was grateful that the most of the options on the table were foods he had complained about previously. The elves at Malfoy Manor probably weren't as superior to the school elves as he'd often claimed, but they did cater to his preferences; the school elves definitely did not. He'd always preferred his meat on the rare-side, and since he'd finished his personal project and began running, he'd been even more particular about it; today's comestibles were more charred than usual. Even the thought of trying to force it down while the bond was making his head whirl was nauseating.
Millicent looked as though she were going to lecture – her mother had raised her with an 'eat what's given to you' mentality that she was far too willing to share – but Blaise diverted the conversation.
"Has anyone seen Cadwaller yet?" Blaise asked as he reached for one of the many platters that offended Draco.
"Why would anyone want to see Cadwaller?" Draco returned automatically, forgetting that he was trying not to draw attention to himself.
Always happy to gossip, Daphne explained: "Last night, during practice, Smith was devoting more attention to teasing Madley than what was happening on the pitch. Cadwaller was knocked off his broom by a bludger that would otherwise have caught Smith in the head."
"Should have let it hit, if you ask me," Theo contributed without looking up from his Arithmancy text.
That spun into a discussion about the inadequacies of the Hufflepuff team, and Draco took advantage of the opportunity to retreat from it. His bond-link to Harry had changed again; he would have called it louder if it were audible. Taking up more space within him was the closest he could come to describing it.
"Draco."
At the sound of his name, he turned to Pansy and tried to focus on the conversation again. "How hadn't you heard?" Her words were quiet but pointed and earnest.
Given that he'd been a bit busy the last day or so, what with actual homework, bizarre dreams, a near death experience, and a bond and bonded that seemed to be intent upon pushing him out of his own head, he'd like to know when was he supposed to have had time to listen to gossip — not that he could say that, of course. "I'm busy, Pansy! You know what my course load is like." Even that was harsher than he should have been, but the pulsing and pulling of the bond was disorienting. He realized suddenly what it must be, and he closed his eyes, just for a moment, to find the part of himself that was still Draco and his own, if only for a little while yet.
Pansy took advantage of his silence. "It's not just that — as Head Boy, we expected you to be more involved with the rest of the school. Instead, you've hidden yourself in the library or the potions lab or your rooms every weekend of the term, you disappeared for hours in Hogsmeade, and you missed the Quidditch match! It's not like you." She paused. "We're worried, Draco." The sincerity in her voice was true, but that didn't lessen Draco's need to put her off.
He had been hiding. Head boy duties, his own school work, Quidditch – combined, they had left him with little enough time to devote to the necessary researching, meditating, brewing, and – once that had been completed – running. He had hoped that those patterns would have worked in his favour, but it seemed his housemates were no longer willing to indulge him. Knowing that even if he could trust Pansy the way he wished, others were watching, were listening, he spoke coldly, words and tone both.
"My father may not be as accessible as yours, but no matter where he is, he expects nothing less than my best." Draco was proud that he hadn't stumbled on the word 'father.' The slightest hesitation would have been telling, had anyone noticed it, and it would have been disastrous had someone thought to mention it to Voldemort.
His harsh response to Pansy's question didn't prompt the reaction he hoped; instead of conceding, she wrapped a sympathetic arm around him in a loose hug.
"I'm here if you need to talk," she murmured quietly enough that no one else would have overheard, but obviously enough that everyone would have guessed. Once again, he swallowed regret that he couldn't confide in her and distaste that he needed to push her away.
Even without the political necessity, he couldn't have done otherwise. The urging of the bond had become overwhelming. Harry needed him, was calling him, and Draco could no longer ignore that call than he could ignore the need to breathe. He stood, brushing her arm aside as he did so, and tossed his napkin on his barely touched plate. "I'm for the library."
With luck, Draco's behaviour wouldn't be reported to the Dark Lord. If it were, he would almost certainly assume his restlessness and irritability were due to the effects of an open bond; it was well known that Draco did not suffer pain stoically.
The call was coming from several flights up, but not in the direction of Gryffindor tower. Assuming that meant Harry was in the library, he headed for the staircase that would take him closest to the door. It quickly became evident he'd guessed correctly: as he neared the door, the tide of the bond receded, but that simply left more room for fury. The Malfoy name might no longer carry the respect it once had, and the Black line might be near to extinct, but they were two of the longest-held wizarding lines and two of the purest. He was the heir to both and wasn't to be summoned like an errant child or a servant, and he certainly was not a pet!
His angry strides faltered as Draco realized that, in fact, he was – any of those things, if that was what Potter wanted him to be. Through the horror he felt at that realization, what remained of his indignation bubbled to the surface. But this is neither the time nor the place if he wants to be able to continue to call me to heel.
For the rest of my life.
Draco didn't slow his pace, but he took deep breaths and fought for calm as he navigated through the tables near Madam Pince's desk, toward the place the bond assured him he needed to be. Remembering what he'd overheard Professor Lupin – Remus – saying about needing to learn patience, he vowed to keep his emotions under control. He would determine what Potter needed, and he would do it without being sullen or losing his temper.
Somehow, he would find humility.
And afterwards, he would post the letter detailing what he'd seen in the Forbidden Forest. His magical signature should have faded by now, and someone should know about it. Then, in private, he would mourn the Draco that he would never be allowed to be.
Draco had almost reached the table when Harry closed the book he held with a sigh and reached for another.
"I don't suppose any of those is The Sigismund Solution." Draco said in the carefully neutral tone he'd been using with all the Gryffindors this year. He knew the book wouldn't be there; the library only had one copy, and he'd taken it out himself the day previous, but it would suffice as a credible pretext for anyone eavesdropping.
"Hey," Harry grinned up at him, and the bond sent Draco waves of surprise and pleasure. To hide the hurt that induced, Draco examined the titles of the books nearest to him. He would have stiffened if he hadn't already been holding himself carefully relaxed.
He discretely cast a Silencing Charm before speaking. "What are you doing?" It was sharper than it should have been.
Harry's expression gave way to confusion at his question. "I'm looking for information on the Potters."
"Why?" Why now? was what he meant, but Harry's answer addressed both questions and was worrisome in its blunt defensiveness.
"Because I'm tired of not knowing anything about my family."
Draco flipped through more of the books on the desk. "You're not going to find it here. You need Debrett's Wizardage or Nature's Nobility." Harry seemed to recognize the latter title, at least, and started to write them on a scrap of parchment. Draco sighed. "But more importantly, you shouldn't be doing it now." He was proud that he'd kept the You idiot silent. "Looking into family or family property is exactly the sort of unusual behaviour people will be told to report." There were only a few students nearby, and Pritchard and Baddock were obvious in their attempts to avoid his attention – he didn't want to know what they were researching – but McDougall, shelving books at the end of the aisle, was looking entirely too curious. "And we shouldn't be talking about it here."
He turned back to Harry who had a stubborn look on his face that had never ended well for Draco.
Before the other boy spoke, Draco continued, careful to make his tone conciliatory. "We can speak tomorrow in my room; I may even have some books of use." Harry raised his eyebrow suspiciously and looked fleetingly – disturbingly – like Professor Snape. Draco shrugged, hoping it looked sheepish. "I can't remember if they're still in my trunk." Draco knew they were, but he hoped to speak with Severus before showing them to Harry. Judging from the uncertainty he felt through the bond, however, Harry didn't believe him. That could be an effect of the bond or Potter's frustrating intuition when it came to Draco's plots, but he didn't pursue it. Draco decided not to risk it further, but he couldn't resist one parting shot as he left.
"Far be it for me to tell you what to do, but you might want to be a bit more circumspect about summoning me, at least until hols begin." His tone was quiet and cold, and with an equally sharp slash of his wand, he dropped the Silencing Charm, turned on his heel, and strode out of the library.
In DADA, the lecture on the function and casting of Patronus Charms was not nearly engaging enough to keep Harry from trying to decipher what Draco had meant by his last comment, and Professor Morgan kept him after class to chide him for his distraction. Harry was one of the better students in the class, so after an apology and a demonstration that he knew the charm, he gratefully escaped without detention or a punishment assignment. He did think, however, that the warning he was given about the seriousness of defense in the current political climate was a bit much.
By the time he was released, Hermione had left for her next class, but Ron was waiting for him in the hall. Ron assumed Harry hadn't been paying attention because he was bored; Harry didn't correct him and ignored the now familiar stab of guilt at keeping things from his friends. They reached the dorm, and Harry was considering whether he should work on his assignments – he did have classes besides Potions after all – or the adoption questionnaire, when he felt Ron watching him.
"To Hagrid's, then?" Ron asked. Harry would have demurred, if it hadn't been for the resignation in his voice. It was clear that Ron expected him to refuse, despite it being what they often did this free period. Harry had not only spent last week in the library, but he'd disappeared for several other free periods as well. Vowing to get up early the following morning and work while Ron had his lie-in and Hermione and Draco had their meeting, Harry agreed. Ron's reaction – a combination of surprise and delight – reminded Harry that, regardless of everything else, spending time with his friends was still important.
Since the lesson Hagrid taught following their shared free period was a third form class, the creatures were usually interesting without being life-threatening. There was little chance that Umbridge would return while Madam Bones was Minister, but it was not inconceivable that the Ministry could try to exert more control over the school if some of the changes weren't made, so Hagrid's curriculum had been revised. He wasn't forbidden to teach dangerous creatures entirely, but they were restricted to the senior students.
The subject of this week's lesson was crups, a magical creature that strongly resembled a Jack Russell terrier but with a forked tail. They were friendly and energetic, and the group spent a pleasant hour playing outdoors. Harry was able to put his preoccupations aside. Mostly.
When the chill of the late autumn became uncomfortable, they settled in Hagrid's cozy hut for tea, reminiscing about Norberta and the sharing stories Charlie had written about the dragon reserve. No sooner had they left the cottage, Harry and Ron to return to the castle and Hagrid to meet his class, when they saw Hedwig flying toward them.
Hagrid made her comfortable on a perch and fed her a mouse from one of his many pockets while Harry read the letter she'd brought.
Dear Harry,
I wonder that I am still surprised by your thoughtfulness. I'll need to give additional thought to the majority of your requests, but I think I have a possibility for the most pressing. The headmaster has asked that I return to the school tomorrow to assist Hagrid, and I'll bring it with me. That will leave time to consider other options if you do not think it will suit. If there's anything else you'd like me to bring to the school, let me know.
Best,
Remus
When Harry looked up, he found Ron and Hagrid staring at him curiously, though Hagrid, at least, was trying to hide it.
"Who's it from, Harry?"
"Remus," he replied as casually as he could. He returned the letter to its envelope and stuffed it in his pocket to prevent anyone from accidentally reading it.
Ron's brows furrowed. "Odd time of day for that, isn't it? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah." Harry volunteered the part of the message that wasn't going to raise questions he couldn't answer but significant enough to be worthy of sending. "He's coming to the school tomorrow."
"Again? And last week and over the hols? Is Dumbledore hoping no one notices he's back on staff?" Ron's words were joking, but he looked concerned. Harry was reasonably sure he was hoping for an explanation that didn't involve Harry being in trouble that Ron didn't know about. And Harry didn't want to lie.
"Apparently, Hagrid asked him to come and help with... something." They turned in unison to Hagrid.
He shuffled awkwardly. "Oh, Dumbledore thought he'd be able teh help me with a bit o' trackin'," he said, trying – and failing – to sound casual.
Harry and Ron gaped at Hagrid, then each other. What sort of creature would Hagrid need help tracking? The battle between fear and curiosity waged within each of them, but Ron spoke first.
"…What sort of tracks?" he asked cautiously. Harry pretended not to notice that his voice quivered.
Hagrid forced a laugh. "Oh, just a wolf, nothing teh worry about."
If there was nothing to worry about, why would Dumbledore think Hagrid needed Remus's help? Not to mention – "I thought wolves had been extinct in the UK for the last 300 years." Harry was certain he remembered that from primary school.
Hagrid was shuffling again. "There's still a few, hereabouts." He waved toward the forest. "Not usually so near to Hogwarts, though, 'til the last few weeks. Seems teh be just one, but it's behaving demmed strangely." He shook his head. "Never heard of one escaping a feldrake before, even with the help of a wizard." Hagrid seemed to remember Ron and Harry were there, and his tone sharpened in warning. "Remus is comin' an' between us, we'll track 'em. Yeh'll stay out of it." He waited until they nodded – Harry, at least, had no intention of getting muddled in another escapade – before he finished. "An' no spreading rumours!"
At dinner, Ron told Hermione about the feldrake; she'd heard of them, of course, and, once she'd rolled her eyes at their ignorance, she was happy to share her knowledge. "They're a species of dragon – Harry, how did you not come upon them in your tournament research?" Thankfully, she didn't wait for a reply. "They're most frequently found in southern Europe and Asia and parts of Africa, and they're rarely seen this far north. They hibernate in the winter, and even our summer climate makes them sluggish. Why would one be in the Forbidden Forest, especially with a wolf and a wizard?"
It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke to Harry. "I don't know, but we probably shouldn't be talking about it here." His friends looked up and saw what he had: Snape watching them, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
Hermione nodded in agreement, and they turned to their food.
It was Ron who broke the silence. "So we're on for tomorrow, then? Not planning any mysterious trips?" he asked around a mouthful of potato.
On Wednesdays before dinner, Harry usually met with Ron and Hermione – and often Ginny, Neville, and Luna – and taught them the most interesting or useful spells he'd learned in his specialized classes. But while it wouldn't have been evident to his friends, there hadn't been much time for much in the way of practical lessons this week, not ones that he could share.
He had learned the Revulsion Jinx in his duelling lesson the Friday before the Hogsmeade trip, but he'd been at Grimmauld Place last week, missing their usual session and the DA meeting.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to teach it to them this week, either. "Um, I can't, actually."
"Harry! Why not?"
"I'm meeting Draco."
"Draco!" Harry looked around sharply, but most of Ron's shock was conveyed by his expression rather than his volume, which had been muffled by the food in his mouth. As a result, few people had noticed his outburst; less fortunately, Harry knew Snape and Draco would be among them. "Since when do you call the f—" Hermione straightened sharply, and Ron amended his words. "—Him 'Draco'?"
"I can hardly call him 'Malfoy' all the time; we're paired up on two NEWT projects," Harry replied, more defensively than he preferred.
Ron scoffed. "I don't see why n— Two?"
This was a topic far more dangerous than the colddrake. "Yes, Ron. Potions and Charms."
Ron pulled a face. "Why can't you meet some other time?" he whinged.
"Have you seen his schedule?" Harry countered, intending it as a rhetorical question. "He's got—"
"No, Harry," Ron interrupted, "I haven't 'seen his schedule.' I'm not his new best mate."
"Oh, for— Ron, he's got a schedule that rivals Hermione's! We have exactly two free periods in common all week."
"Why can't you meet in the other one?"
"Because he and Hermione have their Head Boy/Head Girl meeting. They could reschedule, I'm sure, if you'd rather willing to sacrifice your Wednesday morning lie-in and do it then." He wasn't going to suggest they meet without Hermione.
"Why not after classes then?" he asked, as though Harry might not have thought of that.
"Between classes, Quidditch, his head boy duties, DA, and my... lessons, our next common free time is Saturday morning, by which point we'll need to have finished our individual preparations for the next stage of the Animāre potion, so we can plan how to incorporate them into the base, so we'll have something to brew on Monday that won't explode! Not all of us are taking only five classes, Ron!"
The words were out of Harry's mouth before he'd even realized he was going to say them.
Between numerous lectures from Molly and Hermione's disapproval, not to mention Ron's private uncertainty about his professional future, his academic schedule was a sensitive topic, and Harry had previously served as a sympathetic shoulder for his friend. Ron's expression of shocked hurt emphasized the magnitude of the betrayal.
Harry quickly apologized. "I'm sorry! I'm just... frustrated, I guess. When I arranged my schedule" —he emphasized that slightly, hoping Ron would assume he meant the additional training, yet another near lie that wasn't quite— "I just didn't realize how much it would be."
The other students around them had definitely noticed the tension, and Ron was much more adept than he had been as a child at recognizing the time and place appropriate for a flare-up.
"S'alright, mate," Ron replied with exaggerated sympathy. "Not everyone's smart enough to arrange a manageable course load."
Harry, who'd known Ron for years, recognized that the slight may have been pushed aside, but it had not been painless or stopped festering, which made the neutral tone of Ron's next comment all the more remarkable.
"Malfoy, huh? Rotten luck."
"He's not that bad, Ron," Hermione chided.
Under other circumstances, he would have appreciated Hermione's defence of Draco, but she really should have learned by now that the best time to correct Ron's behaviour was not when he was sulking. Ginny distracted Ron before it escalated, however, and Hermione sent Harry a sympathetic half-smile before turning to discuss Herbology with Neville. Harry tuned out both conversations, mentally revising his plans for Quidditch practice so Ron could work out his frustration then.
Staff meetings were amongst Severus's least favourite administrative duties; fortunately, Dumbledore had been summoned away from Hogwarts – to the Ministry, officially, though Order business was equally likely. Without him, they were able to keep to the agenda, and the meeting was much shorter than expected. Severus stood but sat again when Minerva asked him to remain. He would have glared and crossed his arms in annoyance – Minerva enjoyed a bit of theatricality – but refrained when he saw her expression. Minerva usually tried to keep that mask of impassivity in front of the students, but rarely bothered in front of the staff; that she wore it now told Severus what she wanted to discuss.
She waited until the door had closed behind Flitwick and Sprout before speaking. "Why wouldn't he say something?" She sounded so confused, and it was a testament to the amount of respect he had for her that he refrained from laughing at how little she understood her most celebrated charge.
"As the Saviour of the Wizarding World and a model Gryffindor, he wouldn't have wanted to appear weak. Nor would he have wanted to appear ignorant. Should the abuse have become public, as it doubtless would, there would have been unprecedented publicity, which would have reflected badly on the headmaster. And given his experiences in the wizarding world, why did he have cause to believe anyone would care?"
Minerva took an indignant breath but held her protests when he continued. "When he asked that he not be sent back, both Fudge and Dumbledore refused, without inquiring why he didn't want to go or subsequent investigations. He had no reason to expect that you or I could help if they couldn't – or wouldn't, especially knowing my history with this father and the collective powerlessness of the staff against That Woman." He scowled, and Minerva shuddered before he continued.
"I spoke with Poppy." She'd been hesitant, but given his position in the school and his roles in Harry's life, she confirmed his suspicions. "She suspected there was a problem but didn't have enough proof to break patient/client confidentiality. He certainly isn't the only child to arrive at Hogwarts thin and in ill-fitting clothing." He didn't mention that Poppy had added, awkwardly, that he had refused to swap for others from the cast off bin. Severus hadn't done so in his first year either. No matter how cheap and worn his own clothes had been, the fear and humiliation of someone recognizing a castoff was worse. It was one of the few things about his subsequent change in circumstances that had improved his life. "She did get Harry to promise to speak with Dumbledore about not going back; she was under the impression the boy reneged."
"I asked him — Albus — why," Minerva confessed, "He said he regretted the necessity, but without details from Harry, he was unaware of the severity of his situation." It was obvious she both wanted to believe him and felt guilty that she didn't. "We – I – have failed him too many times," she continued fervently. "He needs support! Albus has asked Remus to return and assist Hagrid; I'm going to tell him."
"Are you mad?" That the information might interfere with bonding, disturb the foundation of trust that was so essential to the ritual, was afterthought.
"I know things were difficult for you in school, but Remus is the least deserving of rancour, and I am well aware that any lingering animosity is... habit at best."
"My objection has nothing to do with Remus." he said the name with enough emphasis that Minerva understood.
"Severus." She sounded like nothing so much as his mother, who'd too often had cause to use that tone of disappointment and censure, and his words were clipped in reaction.
"This close to full moon, the wolf is at its strongest, you know that as well as I. You are also aware that the Marauders were not simply boyhood chums: they were a pack, and against all laws of nature, the stag was the leader. What will the wolf do when he learns the extent of the damage done to the son of his alpha?"
"We can make sure he's secured at night." It was an entreaty more than a confident statement. "With the wolfsbane—"
He cut her off. "Wolfsbane suppresses the were by drawing forth the instincts of the wolf. There are both benefits and drawbacks: the were would kill indiscriminately; the wolf would want revenge. It wouldn't matter if he were secured," Severus continued flatly. "This close to the moon, Remus is too far from the surface. He would react to the information as the wolf, even if you spoke with him as the man. It would not only endanger the Dursleys: it would be a death sentence for Remus when he was caught. Can you comprehend the guilt the boy would feel if we failed to protect one of his remaining ties to his parents?"That last was spoken with more bitterness than he intended, given to whom he was speaking.
Minerva gave him a pitying look but her tone was determined. "Well, I can speak with him before Christmas, surely! Remus will be here during the holidays, and Harry's friends aren't staying."
Severus shrugged. Ideally, it would no longer be a revelation by then, but neither the moon nor the adoption would be affected. He did have one additional bit of advice: "You may want to consider talking to Harry before you do." He stood to leave, hoping she would leave it at that, but she spoke again when he reached the door.
"I'm sorry," she said, so earnestly that it left Severus no doubt as to the reason for her apology, "I should have fought harder."
Severus nodded in acknowledgement and in agreement, then left her in silence.
He sat on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the door, the shards of laughter cutting his soul.
There was a break in the sound — one of those strange moments when everyone breathes at the same time, and Harry heard it — further down the hall and very faint — the sound of voices. He scrambled to his feet and ran. He knew the corridor was dark and long, though the grey shadows that served as light gave no impression of distance. It took some time for his eyesight to adjust again to the darkness, and he found himself stumbling. He thought to brace himself on the wall, but there didn't seem to be one anymore, and he was too impatient to reach the voices to spend much time trying to find it.
They were getting louder, and he'd just decided that he must be getting close, when he thought he saw a change in the darkness ahead: not light, exactly, but something less than pitch. A quick burst of speed, another stumble, and his target was in sight. A similar stream of light, less harsh than the previous, and laughter. Concentrating, he realized that he recognized that, too, and he skidded to a stop at the threshold of another door frame.
The Burrow. Nine redheads and a table laid with food enough to feed twice their number.
Eagerly, he moved to step through — and found it blocked by what seemed to be a pane of glass. He couldn't find a handle or release of any kind, so he tried to get the attention of someone in the room, hoping it could be opened from their side.
He was yelling and pounding on the glass, but it was many minutes before Ron looked up. Ron's face broke into a wide grin, and he waved enthusiastically, tapping the closest of his brothers — one of the twins — on the arms and pointing. The rest of them turned as well, smiling and waving, even Percy.
He tried to tell them that he couldn't get in, but all his miming and pounding was futile and didn't affect their behaviour in the slightest.
"They won't be able to understand you." Despite the obvious exasperation, the voice was gentle, if a bit condescending, and naggingly familiar.
He turned quickly and scanned the area, but the light from the door was casting shadows, making the blackness darker and harder to see. He called out, but the voice wasn't any more disposed to answering him than the Weasleys were. Eventually, he accepted the lack of response and the futility of trying to join the Weasleys, if only because the need to do something became overwhelming.
The owner of the voice made no further sound, but he would have sworn that he could feel increasing pique.
Harry started off again — whatever else he'd come across would have to be better than returning to the Dursley room, which, given his luck, he'd be able to enter without difficulty.
The Darkness wasn't friendly, but knowing that the voice was there, there and not hostile, gave him courage.
When Draco woke in the early hours of Wednesday morning after yet another odd dream, he was less confused – he recognized most of the people in this one – though that itself raised more questions. Once again, however, Draco was unable to return to sleep. He was tempted to run, but given the danger he'd found himself in the previous morning, he had to admit it was too much of a risk. He considered reading ahead for class but found himself staring at the books he'd been given in the infirmary. It was time to discover what the Dark Lord considered appropriate reading for his intended vectigal.
Fear.
Not the sort that meant adrenaline and adventure, but the slowly creeping crawl that wound through spine, stomach, and throat leaving mute paralysis in its wake. Harry swallowed hard and tried to calm his breathing and his pulse.
What scared him most was that there was no reason for him to be afraid. This dream hadn't been as disturbing as some he'd had lately; by the end, he hadn't been scared at all, and his scar didn't hurt. He was safe in his room in Gryffindor tower, listening to the familiar and comforting sounds of his sleeping roommates. There was nothing to explain the terror that he felt, and it wasn't lessening, though his breathing had settled.
Needing to move, he stood and dressed. He couldn't sleep, and if this feeling was a warning, he'd rather not race through the halls or fight in pyjamas.
He tried to settle into the window seat or on his bed but either felt confining. He paced aimlessly around the room as quietly as he could and felt ridiculous. Neville began to toss restlessly, and Harry was collecting his things to remove himself to the common room when awareness dawned.
As it had the morning in the Great Hall, the feeling originated outside himself. The fear wasn't his.
Which meant the source was most likely Draco.
Harry hadn't even finished the thought before he grabbed his invisibility cloak and ran out of his dorm. The door that led to the Prefect's meeting room was locked, but – thankfully – Hermione hadn't changed the password since he'd last overheard her speak it. It opened with a slight click, and Harry froze. There was no movement or noise from the room beyond, and Harry eased the door open, just enough to slide himself through, and closed it behind him. The room was quiet and dark, exactly as it should be at this time of night.
There was a hint of light shining through the closed door to Draco's room, and Harry crept closer. He listened carefully but didn't hear anything: no voices, no movement, nothing that suggested a reason for the terror he felt through the bond.
This is ludicrous. There was no hint that there was a problem of any kind, and Draco would not take kindly to Harry bursting into the room unannounced because he 'had a feeling,' no matter how intense it was.
But he would swear the terror was real.
He wished there were some way to communicate to Draco that he was here without whomever, whatever was threatening Draco from finding out as well. After considering several options, each more ridiculous than the last, he was moving to throw open the door and composing the apology he would doubtless have to deliver for waking Draco from a nightmare when he remembered Draco's comment in the library. With queasy, stomach-clenching clarity, he also remembered the way he'd wished for Draco's help not long before.
Once again fighting the urge to vomit, he reached, inside himself, toward the origin of the terror he believed was Draco's. Hoping desperately that words could travel the bond as well as feelings, he thought as intently as if he prepared to cast the Patronus Charm, I'm outside your door, and I want to help, and pushed it down the bond.
It worked, Harry thought dully when the door was opened by a disheveled but uninjured, furious Draco Malfoy. He scanned the area in front of the door, looking for something, then reached a hand and grabbed at the air in front of Harry.
He'd forgotten he was wearing his invisibility cloak, Harry realized, and pulled it off.
"What are you doing?" Draco looked around as though he expected to see an audience in the outer room and took hold of Harry's arm to drag him into the bedroom. "What are you doing here?" He demanded again once the door was closed.
Harry tried to explain the feeling he'd had that Draco was in danger – he thought it best not to use the word terrified – and saw Draco lose the little colour he'd had.
"Well, I'm fine, as you can see, so thank you, but your help isn't necessary."
Harry might have believed that if he hadn't been wound tightly, paler than usual, and slightly green. He remained where he was, watching Draco and waiting for the truth. Draco wrenched open the door, then took Harry's arm and tried to push him out of the room the way he'd pulled him in, Harry locked his knees and grabbed Draco's arm with his free hand. His cloak fell to the floor. "What's wrong?" He asked, hoping Draco realized Harry wouldn't leave without answers.
It seemed he did. He closed the door with a sigh, leaned against it for a moment before he turned to face Harry. "Nothing's wrong."
"Draco–" Harry stopped when Draco held up a hand.
"Nothing's wrong, at least not more so than since this–" Draco seemed to discard several possible words then waved a hand between them "began. I've just been confronted with what it could have been." Draco nodded toward the books lying open on his bed. "Those were... a gift to me from... a potential dominus." He wrapped his arms around himself, and Harry thought it was as much for protection as it was warmth. "They're... Reading them... It was..."
Harry caught Draco's eye and waited for him to stop speaking. "Bad?"
Draco loosed a bark of a laugh – one that sounded far too much like Sirius – but it was followed by a smirk that was much more familiar on this face. "Understatement." He started to add something, hesitated, then continued. "It's bad, but... I'd have preferred a good deal less detail, mind, but it's not entirely unexpected. The bond though... perhaps it's because of how close I came, or because the bonding's not completed, or something else, but it's augmenting my... reaction."
"Maybe I could help?"
Draco shook his head. "You can't touch them; they're spelled so only I can. I don't want to imagine what would happen if you tried."
"I know, but... maybe if I were here while you read it, the bond wouldn't get as … confused."
Draco stared. "You want to sit here and watch me read?"
"If it would help." Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I'm sure you have something I could do." He was about to suggest he borrow one of Draco's textbooks but remembered the books Draco had mentioned in the library. He'd seemed uneasy about offering the books; asking in private meant he could follow up if Draco hesitated.
When Harry asked, though, he felt a fleeting shock of surprise – panic? – through the bond, then resignation as Draco nodded and turned to his trunk. It happened quickly enough that Harry wouldn't have even suspected anything unusual in Draco's response if it hadn't been for the bond, so Harry chose not to pursue it.
Draco opened his trunk and removed a thick volume bound in red leather, then crossed the room and retrieved a sheaf of parchment from the desk. He handed them both to Harry. "The notes are from Monday's Potions class," he said, though Harry had already recognized them as the ones the Quick Quotes Quill had taken after the explosion. "You know we'll have a quiz in the morning."
Harry took both. Draco was right – there was a better than likely chance there would be a quiz in class today, an additional punishment for the explosion that had interrupted Monday's class. That in this instance, every pair's potion was different, and the students had only had one day to try to arrange time to meet to their partners to do the work Snape felt they should have already completed would only give the man incentive.
Looking through the notes Draco had Charmed in Monday's class, Harry knew a quiz was all but guaranteed. The potion Snape had lectured about while they were cleaning hadn't been Animāre but Ambroise's Theriaca, a healing potion Harry vaguely recalled Hermione mentioning she was looking forward to making next term. Despite that, the book Draco had given him – Debrett's Wizardage – was far more enticing. Unfortunately, text in the book was small and there was no organization to it that Harry could decipher. He finally decided to try alternating between the two in an attempt to keep himself awake. He turned back to the notes and had nearly memorized the list of ingredients when he felt his heart rate beginning to speed up, he reached out a hand and placed it lightly on Draco's back.
Draco flinched.
Harry pulled his hand back quickly and apologized. "I'm sorry. I thought it might help. I'm sorry."
"No, it wasn't – It does help; it was just unexpected."
Harry nodded but – pushing aside Professor Snape's voice in his head – didn't put his hand back.
They both returned to what they had been doing, but Harry, primarily focussed on Draco, didn't read much and retained nothing.
Draco read longer than he otherwise would have, enjoying the novelty of being touched casually, without posturing, without artifice. Even when he and Pansy had attempted a romantic relationship, displays of affection had been choreographed by expectation and effect; neither of them has grown up in a household where such things were practiced freely. Harry, by contrast, acted unconsciously – literally so, as he'd fallen asleep nearly half an hour before, his legs just resting against Draco's. It was enough to remind Draco that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't being left to the Dark Lord's depravity.
Eventually, he returned the Dark Lord's books to the bookcase, left the Potions notes on the nightstand, and set Debrett's under the bed where Harry might forget about it in the morning. Draco swallowed bitterness that yet another adult he was supposed to be able to trust had put him in an awkward and difficult situation then straightened Harry as best he could. He covered Harry with a spare blanket before crawling under the sheets on the other side.
He didn't expect to sleep but thought he should try, if only to put some distance between the emotions churned by the books and the mask he would have to wear through the school day. He stared at the ceiling, trying to forget what he'd read, trying not to imagine his life if this madcap plan failed. Next to him, Harry turned in his sleep; when he settled again, his hand was resting against Draco's arm, warm and solid. Moments later, Draco slept, deep and dreamless.
It was the knocking that woke him.
"Draco?"
Granger.
He checked the time and realized he'd missed his alarm entirely. He opened the door slightly to assure Granger he'd be out shortly.
"Are you all right?" She eyed him from head to toe and back.
"Yes, fine, thank you. I'll be ready in a moment." He tried to close the door, but it caught on the flat of her hand.
She gave him another of those strange looks. "If you're sure?"
"Yes," he said firmly. He closed the door and turned, nearly tripping on Harry's cloak lying forgotten on the floor. He draped it over the back of his desk chair.
Draco dressed quickly, using Cleaning Charms rather than showering. It wasn't ideal, but he thought expedience best in this case.
"Harry?" He shook the other boy lightly, ready to cast a Silencing Charm and to move out of the way if he woke swinging.
Neither was necessary: he didn't really wake at all. "Hmmm?" He mumbled into the pillow.
"It's Wednesday. Do you have class first period?"
Harry shook his head without lifting it. "Free."
"Good." He would have sighed in relief, but when Harry gave a pleased hum, snuggled deeper into the bed, and wrapped his arms around Draco's pillow, Draco narrowed his eyes instead. "You're stuck here then," he said a little too casually, "Granger's already in the meeting room."
As he'd expected, the mention of his best friend made Harry's eyes open wide. "Hermione?!"
"She didn't see you," Draco assured him, willing to be gracious now that they were both awake, "but we're meeting in the sitting room, so you can't leave until next class." All three of them had Potions then, but Hermione always went down early.
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Study Potions," Draco smirked. Too late, he realized that might remind Harry of the text but relaxed when Harry made a face and took the notes that Draco handed to him.
After the second time Granger asked if he wanted to cut the meeting short, he managed to keep most of his attention on the conversation. It not his best showing, but they had a relatively productive meeting, discussing changes to next term's Prefect rotation, the latest chapter of the Madley Saga, and a number of other minor issues. They were nearly finished when Draco was overwhelmed by a tide of emotion. Harry was LIVID, and burning cold anger poured through the bond. He adjusted to the sensation, at least enough to open his eyes and speak in short sentences.
"Draco?"
"I think you were right." He'd learned early in the term that that was the best way to get Granger to agree to something. "I'm not feeling very well. Do you mind if we finish there? I'd like to lie down until class."
"Of course." She gave him the same odd look she'd directed at him so often lately and mumbled a few additional words under her breath. It sounded like "we've finished more than I expected we would," and Draco chose not to dignify that with an answer.
He entered his room to find Harry exactly as he'd expected: standing out of sight of the door, nearly vibrating with fury, with Debrett's Wizardage open on the bed. Draco closed the door.
Harry spoke quietly, but his tone and expression were as cold as the bond. "You knew."