The Bond of Brothers
A/N: I'm just blown away by all the reviews! You all are just fantastic! The most reviews I've ever gotten : ) They honestly were the entire motivation for getting this chapter done!
For those of you who read the old version of this story, I'd say there's about two chapter's after this until they're at the same point. And considering I've got a good chunk written already, I'm going to optimistically predict that tbob will be surpassing abatt within the next month (fingers crossed!). Hopefully that makes all my old readers happy! New plot is almost here!
Thanks to my wonderful reviewers! Kari Minamoto, sailorroxy, MaileS, Seablue eyes 9311, DaughterOfApollo96, Peregrinus, MDarKspIrIt, Mego225, juventus, bookivore, Berttie Botts, VelvetyNightSky, Teufel1987, brownsugar808, DragonFoxx, Woemcat, MissRei24, and ten anonymous reviewers!
Chapter Disclaimer: The quote at the beginning is by Jan Glidewell.
"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that is leaves your arms too full to embrace the present."
Chapter Five
He'd taken to lying awake at night, just listening. Nott slept as silent as death, a fact he'd always found unnerving. Blaise breathed quietly, turning over from time to time. Crabbe and Goyle sounded like a pair of baby trolls, muttering and snuffing and snoring into their pillows.
That was all of them. There was no one else to listen to.
But there might have been.
The blasted voice that had been haunting him for the past month whispered in his ear again, making him cringe. He hated Potter for doing this to him, for being able to affect him this way. It shouldn't bother him, what he'd said. It shouldn't matter that Potter had disliked him so much that he hadn't wanted to be in the same house. He should glad he hadn't had to share a dorm with the famed boy-who-lived. Still, he couldn't help but wonder, what if?
If he'd acted differently that day in Madam Malkin's, if Potter had chosen Slytherin instead of Gryffindor… could they have actually gotten on? And, maybe, if they'd been friends, would he still be a Death Eater?
It was a ridiculous thought. He was always destined to follow in his father's footsteps. He knew that now. It had really only been a question as to when. Yet, the idea made his chest tight and uncomfortable, his past actions reaching up to engulf him in regret and anger.
For this, he only hated Potter more.
It wasn't befitting a Malfoy to doubt himself as he was doing. Malfoys were proud and noble, one of the oldest, most respected families. They were confident, and assured, and powerful. They were not meant to be sad boys who worry about their past and fear their future, allowing themselves to be confused by attention seeking, foolish Gryffindor heroes.
But look where your father ended up?
The voice spoke again, and Draco couldn't deny the truth of its words. His father had been everything the Malfoy house represented, and now he was rotting in a cell in Azkaban. Not for the first time since his conversation with Potter several weeks ago, he wished he'd listened more to his mother than his father in childhood. Only now was he beginning to realize that she had been in the right, while his father had led him into the very position he was now stuck in.
And he was stuck. Potter had said everyone had a choice, but that wasn't right. Sometimes, fate took away those choices, or made them for you. He had to follow through on his task, or his mother and father would die. When faced with that choice, there was no decision at all for Draco to make. He had to save his family.
So, Potter was wrong. He may have had a choice once, long ago when he was still an innocent child. But he'd unknowingly picked his road that fateful day in Diagon Alley when he was only eleven years old. And there had been no going back. There was no way out.
Or is there?
Damn Harry Potter, he thought, damn him.
000
From behind his desk, Remus watched his sixth year class work studiously on the assignment he'd given. At least, most of them were working studiously. Two, however, were not. And it was these two who drew his attention.
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
Never before would Remus think to liken the two to each other in anyway, but their recent behavior had forced him to reconsider. Both boys had become obviously withdrawn from their respective friends, or followers in the case of Malfoy, to the point where they rarely seemed to speak a word to any of those around them. At first, he'd assumed this behavior was due to the events of the last several months, Harry struggling with the death of Sirius, and Malfoy with the imprisonment of his father. However, he soon realized, that something else was at play, and it was this second source that gave him the most concern.
Even as he watched them now, in a class full of students, he could practically smell the tension between them. When neither thought the other was looking, they'd sneak furtive glances, Harry's expression contemplative and impatient, Malfoy's hateful and the smallest bit hopeful, for what though, Remus couldn't begin to guess. He'd also been witness to a few occasions when Harry had done a poor job of 'mistakenly' running into the Slytherin, wherein an awkward moment would pass before the latter would make a hasty retreat, leaving the former to stare after him in puzzlement.
To Remus, it was clear something had happened between the two boys, but all his attempts at finding out what it was had ended in failure. First, he'd approached Ron and Hermione, assuming they would be the most likely to provide him with the information he sought. However, he'd been most surprised to find that Harry had barely spoken a word to his two friends ever since the summer, despite their best efforts. Understandably, they were frustrated and worried, but they'd been so focused on their friend's odd behavior that they'd failed to notice another student also acting out of sorts. Remus had decided it would only trouble them more to alert them to his suspicions about Malfoy's involvement in Harry's changed demeanor, so he left them with a reassuring sentiment and moved on.
Next, he'd tried young Ginny Weasley. He was no fool, he'd seen the way the two looked at each other. Yet again, when he asked the girl if she knew what was causing Harry's behavior, she had nothing more to offer than her brother and Hermione. While it seemed that although Harry spent more time with Ginny than anyone else at the moment, it didn't mean that he shared more with her as well, a fact that appeared to deeply trouble the girl. There was one thing the fiery red head had noticed that her other friends had not, though, and that was Malfoy's irregular behavior as well. Remus had smiled to himself during his talk with the girl where he caught a glimpse of her passion and determination. She'd come a long way from the second year girl he'd taught last time, and he couldn't help but approve of Harry's choice, even if the boy hadn't realized he'd made it yet.
When asking Harry's friends hadn't provided him with any more information than he'd already known, and the prospect of getting information from the Slytherins slim to none, he decided to casually prod his fellow teachers to see if they, too, had noticed the change in two of their students. Minerva had admitted she was concerned about her Gryffindor, but was at a loss of how to help him. The other professors said much the same, although to a lesser degree. Even Albus chalked up Harry's behavior to the loss of his godfather. It was only Severus' reaction that gave him pause. When he'd mentioned the boys' behavior in passing over lunch, the Potions Master had stiffened. It had been an infinitesimal amount, but being a werewolf did come with certain perks, and he'd managed to pick up on it. The lank haired man had gone on to express how little he cared what troubles accosted the students, but Remus had seen through the lie.
Severus knew something.
However, the chance of getting the hardened spy to divulge even the smallest of clues was nigh impossible, leaving Remus with only one option left. He had to confront Harry directly. Which was exactly what he planned on doing that very day.
As class ended and the students began to file out, laying their written assignments on his desk as they did so, he kept his eyes on the back of the line where Harry had maneuvered himself to stand next to Malfoy. Another student pushed forward from the back, knocking the blond into the side of Harry.
"Sorry," Malfoy mumbled under his breath, making Remus' eyebrows rise. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard an apology from the boy before, and certainly not directed to any Gryffindor, let alone Harry.
Further chance to observe the boys was lost as they both reached his desk and deposited their papers, neither of which, he noted, where to the required length.
"Mr. Potter," he called out, halting said boy from following Malfoy out into the corridor. "Stay behind a moment, if you will."
"Yes, sir," replied Harry with only the slightest hint of irritation, casting one last glance in the Slytherins direction before coming to stand before him.
"Why don't we talk in my office," he said, standing. Harry gave a short nod, and Remus led the way. After they were both inside, he shut the door, casting a wordless spell to insure no eavesdroppers could listen in. He turned to find Harry examining a cage on his desk that was currently home to a Hinkypunk. "It's for the third years lesson next week," he commented idly.
Harry made a noise in his throat in acknowledgment, then leaned back, saying "What did you want to speak with me about, Professor?"
"You don't have to call me that in private, Harry." He settled himself into his large chair behind his desk, looking the messy haired boy up and down.
"Okay," said Harry, staying standing.
Remus sighed inwardly, suddenly wishing that Sirius were there to have this conversation instead of him. It wasn't that he didn't love the boy as much as his old friend, it was quiet the opposite, but he couldn't replace Harry's godfather. Sirius had always been more like James, more like the father the boy had lost. He was… an old, tired werewolf. But Prongs and Padfoot were gone, and Wormtail was worse than dead, so, as the last Marauder, the responsibility of watching out for the cub fell to him.
"How have you been?" he lightly questioned, futiley hoping the boy would open up to him without prompting.
"Fine," was the short answer.
"I've noticed your grades have been slipping."
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, and Remus could see him falling into a defensive posture. "I've had a lot on my mind."
"So it would seem," hummed Remus, reclining back in his chair. "Perhaps you'd like to share what's been troubling you?" It was at this point he decided he needed to stop spending so much time around Albus, as he sounded far too much like the old Headmaster for his liking.
"Stop," Harry bit out, the hostility in his tone surprising him. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."
"And what am I trying to do?"
"Get me to talk about Sirius."
Remus let some of his weariness seep into his voice as he said, "Believe me, Harry, I wouldn't ask you to open up about him until you were ready."
Green eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then what did you bring me in here to talk about?"
Hesitating for a moment, Remus decided to go for the blunt approach. "What happened between you and Mr. Malfoy?"
Eye's widening slightly, Harry looked slightly unsure of himself before he quickly regained control. Remus made a mental note to tell Severus the Occlumency lessons were starting to pay off. "What do you mean?" the boy asked.
"Both of your behaviors have changed. You're both withdrawn, and you're constantly following Malfoy while he's constantly avoiding you." He leaned forward now, placing his elbows on his desk. "So, I'll ask again, what happened?"
"It's nothing," Harry replied, not missing a beat.
"I don't believe you."
"It's the truth." The lie stung Remus more than he expected.
"Professor Snape knows, doesn't he," he said, and it wasn't a question. As he predicted, this comment threw Harry off guard, but the boy stayed quiet, pressing his lips firmly together. After a few minutes of silence passed between them, Remus let out a breath, backing down. It would do no good to try and force Harry to tell him.
"Fine," he murmured, waving his hand. "Just promise me you won't put yourself in harms way, that you're not doing anything dangerous."
Harry looked at him for a few seconds, then dipped his head. "I promise," he said, but Remus had been a Marauder for a long time, and he recognized the tone in the boy's words. His heart gave a particularly hard thrum against his ribs.
The boy stood up and made to leave, and he didn't move to stop him. When he was halfway out the door, Harry paused, turning back to look over his shoulder.
"Remus," he said.
"Yes?" His mouth twitched with the faintest smile at the use of his name.
"I'm sorry," Harry told him, then disappeared, as did the hint of a smile from his face.
Closing his eyes, Remus pictured a little baby with jet black hair and green eyes, giggling as he looked up at his Uncle Moony, and wished for those long ago days and happier times.
000
Severus sat in his chambers, ruminating over a quickly cooling cup of tea, waiting for Harry to arrive for their weekly Occlumency lesson. It still felt strange to him, calling the boy by his first name, even if it was only in his thoughts. He'd taken to referring to him this way in the hopes of making the truth easier to accept, but it was hard to see past the years of built up hate towards the supposed reincarnation of James Potter.
As he'd found himself doing often in the last few months, he cast his thoughts back to those dark years, searching every memory for the faintest of hints to what he now knew to be the truth. Unsurprisingly, he once again surfaced empty handed. This irked him to no end. Being a spy, knowledge and secrets was his area of expertise, and the fact that he'd been completely ignorant of such a great deception was a blow to his pride. He still found it amazing that Narcissa and Lily and managed to pull the wool over the wizarding world's eyes. Alone, they had each been brilliant witches, but together, they had been unmatched.
His heart gave an unwelcome throb at the thought of the bright, beautiful red headed witch who had never truly been his, and never would be. But before his thoughts could stray down such dangerous territory, the door slid open, admitting Harry into his rooms.
The boy looked beleaguered, dark smears making his eyes shine brighter than normal, his mouth etched into a permanent frown. Even the boy's hair seemed to be less enthusiastic, its perpetual messiness not quite so pronounced.
"Your late," he drily announced, to which the boy muttered a weak apology and took his usual seat, all the while not meeting his eyes. He had to resist the urge to reprimand the moping child right then and there. However, angering the boy now would only hamper what little progress they'd made in the lessons. Recalling the promises he'd made to both the Headmaster and Narcissa, he decided to wait to badger the child till the end of the lesson.
"Let us begin," he announced, and then quickly muttered the spell. Giving the boy only a seconds warning, he entered the Gryffindor's mind. He could feel hostile irritation from Harry at the unexpected intrusion, but ignored it. Perhaps next time, the boy would arrive on time.
As he had done countless times before, Severus easily tore through the wispy storm clouds that served to protect the boy's mind, the task made easier by his surprise assault and Harry's weariness. He began to idly sift through the jumbled mess of memories, watching uninterestedly as images raced by - a very young boy-who-lived was sitting in a dark, small space, a snake was slithering out of some sort of exhibit, a boggart was taking the shape of a dementor, a troll in one of the girls' lavatories – all things he'd seen before.
Feeling vindictive, Severus decided to push harder than he'd done so far, brushing aside Harry's still weak attempts at blocking him. Driven by anger and frustration stemming from learning the truth, he dove into the darkest part of the boy's mind where his worst memories and deepest secrets were hidden. Without mercy, he ripped into the black center, letting lose the horrible things within.
"Freak! …freak… Little freak!" The voices of Lily's sister and husband and nephew echoed in his ears, but he had no time to think on what or who the words had been directed to before the memory of Black falling through the veil flew to the surface, quickly followed by Harry casting an unforgivable at Bellatrix Lestrange. Then came the feeling of Quirrell's skin burning under the boy's touch only to be chased away by the horrific sight of a skeletal, snake-like Voldemort rising from a bubbling caldron.
Severus shied away from the darkness he had so foolishly unleashed. Many of these memories he'd glimpsed before, it was true, but they had only been echoes. These images were real, and he could feel and hear and smell everything that Harry had when they'd occurred.
It was enough to make a grown, war hardened wizard sick knowing that a child's innocence and naivety had been replaced by cruelty, hate, and death.
In his moment of horror, Severus numbly allowed Harry to push him out, retreating willingly from the boy's troubled mind. Lowering his wand, he focused his obsidian eyes on the child before him, now sweaty and pale faced, feeling as if he was seeing the boy for the first time. The wasted time spent hating a person who never even existed fell to the background. The wound of Lily's loss that had reopened when he'd learned the truth was momentarily forgotten. All his feelings of animosity and disdain he'd so long directed at the boy were eclipsed in that moment, leaving only a child who'd been unfairly and unjustly given the damning task of Atlas.
"You git!" Harry exclaimed panting, his green eyes blazing like the curse that had sealed his fate.
And just like that the moment passed, and a young James Potter was standing in Harry's place. The familiar ire retook its usual place in the sneer he shot at the boy. "Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor."
Harry spluttered, his face growing red with anger. "But you gave me your word you wouldn't enter my mind without warning! Not until I was ready!"
"Then, next time," he drawled, straightening himself. "Do not be late."
000
He was tired.
That was the short and simple truth.
In fact, Albus Dumbledore didn't think he'd ever been more tired in his life, and that was saying something seeing as he'd walked the Earth for well over a century.
Of course, this fact was irrelevant. He still had a job to do, people depending on him, a war to fight. It was not his first war, but a chill in his bones told him it would be his last. This did not bring him fear. He'd long ago learned that Death was not a thing to be feared, for in that particular fear laid the path to darkness and vileness and all that is evil and wrong.
No greater example of this fear of Death existed than Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort himself. And for this, he could never forgive himself. If only he'd seen the darkness in the heart of that little boy at the orphanage, if only he'd paid more attention as a professor, if only he'd followed what his instincts were telling him, so many deaths could have been prevented. But he hadn't seen or paid attention or followed his instincts, and the deaths had happened, and wizarding kind had once again looked to him to defeat the dark wizard who threatened them. Only this time, the enemy wasn't a man who'd once been a brother to him, wasn't a man he'd known everything about and understood implicitly. Tom Riddle was no Gellert Grindelwald, and no Albus Dumbledore, a wizard of a different age, could defeat him.
Albus had always known this, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to fight. He'd restarted the Order of the Phoenix, rallying the light behind him in the hopes that the one who was destined to defeat Tom would find their way to his ranks. And when the individual was found, he would teach them, guide them, and prepare them for the task that had once been his. But that person hadn't been found.
Not until one dark day when a prophecy was given to him foretelling the birth of the Chosen One.
Suddenly, he'd found himself faced with a situation he hadn't anticipated. A child, a mere babe, was the one destined to stand against Tom. The thought was nearly unthinkable, but think on it he was forced to. Now, instead of training and leading an adult, he had to protect and shelter a child for years and years until they reached an age to take on the war.
Hope had been mixed with pessimistic exhaustion.
So, he'd watched over both the Potter child and the Longbottom child, knowing that the choice had come down to the two, small boys. And, after a year when it became apparent that Tom had made his choice, he'd put the Potters into hiding with their young son and Sirius Black as their secret keeper. However, unbeknownst to him, Mr. Black had only been the secret keeper for one week before handing the duty to one Peter Pettigrew.
And a week after Mr. Pettigrew became secret keeper, James and Lily Potter died.
It should have been simple after that night. A Dark Lord had been reduced to shadows, a mother and father had died, and a child had become an orphan. It should have been a simple matter. He'd known even then that the peace would be short lived, that the only safe place for the child was with his relatives, barricaded behind wards of blood and bond.
It would have been simple, but for a letter received by him two days before that Halloween night.
The letter had been from Lily, and it haunted a hidden drawer in his desk even now, fifteen years later.
Mrs. Potter's words had thrown yet another twist into his plans, clouding what he thought was a straightforward prophecy. In the fateful correspondence, Lily had divulged a secret that was much larger and encompassing than he could have imagined. She then asked for a promise. It was only one promise, and after learning the truth of the matter, it was far from unreasonable… yet he could not make it.
When news reached him of the Potters demise, his heart had grown heavy, and his shoulders bowed. He'd written a letter and delivered it with a sleeping child on the steps of a muggle couple and their small son.
Young Harry Potter's life may have been all a carefully choreographed act, but it was a necessary one. And Albus had to continue it, no matter how much Lily's desperate plea weighed on his conscience. The world needed its savior, and that was more important than one boy's identity.
The sun had long ago sunk under the horizon, his office filled with night unbroken by a candle flame or wand light. The portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses snoozed in their frames, and the normally whirring trinkets that lay scattered about were still and quiet. Fawkes was on his perch, his red plumed head high, intelligent eyes watching Albus. The phoenix let out a mournful coo.
The current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat in his high backed chair, a piece of well-worn parchment clutched in his old fingers. He had no need to read the words inked thereon, having long ago branded them into his thoughts. It was the very letter that resided in the hidden drawer in his desk, the letter sent to him by Lily Potter, the letter that caused his current anguish.
For the first time since he'd left Harry Potter with the Dursleys, he doubted his decision.
In his life, he'd always strove to do what was right instead of what was easy.
Only now, in the twilight of his years as the war rose up all around him, did he realize that on that Halloween night fifteen years ago, he'd done what was easy… and not what was right.
Albus closed his tired eyes, but no sleep came, no respite was granted him.
000
"How much do you know?" Malfoy hissed at him, cornering him in the library. Harry turned startled eyes to the Slytherin, having got up in search of a book for his Charms essay and not noticing his approach.
"What?" he rather dumbly replied, trying to overcome his surprise at the blond seeking him out after weeks of avoidance.
"How much do you know?" Malfoy's eyes were narrowed into menacing slits, his hair slightly askew. He jerked his head towards his left arm, and Harry got the message.
"I know enough."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
"How did you find out?"
"Like I'd tell you."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed further. "Was it Snape?"
The question surprised him, and he couldn't stop his eyes from widening slightly. "No," he responded perhaps too quickly, and he could see vindication sliding into the Slytherin's eyes. Harry cursed silently, knowing he'd just given Malfoy dangerous information.
"I knew it," Malfoy grinned darkly, taking a step back. "Who else knows? Dumbledore?"
Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't know," he ground out. This second conversation was not going nearly as well as their first. He was hard pressed to keep his usual irritation at bay, biting his tongue to keep from spitting out an insult or two.
"What's your plan?" Malfoy pressed. "Going to try and stop me, is that it?"
Shaking his head, he forcefully spat, "No." This seemed to catch Malfoy's attention.
"You're not trying to stop me?" The Slytherin almost sounded like he was making a joke.
"No," Harry repeated.
"Going to expose me to the school? To the Aurors? Get me sent to Azkaban alongside my father?"
"No," he said again.
"Then what!" Malfoy nearly shouted, his nose flaring and fists clenched at his sides.
Remembering what Narcissa Malfoy had said to him in Diagon Alley, thinking of the images he'd seen in her memories, he answered quietly but not without resolve, "I just want to show you that you have another choice."
Malfoy stared at him in disbelief, then flung his fist harshly into the nearest bookcase, causing several large tomes to tumble to the floor in a cloud of dust. "You're wrong!" he snapped. "There isn't always a choice, Potter!"
"Go to Dumbledore," Harry tried to make him understand. "He can help you-"
"That barmy idiot wouldn't lift one bloody finger to help me. He's more worthless than you!"
"Dumbledore's a great man!" he hissed back, anger bubbling to the surface. He knew the Headmaster had his faults, but he didn't deserve to be talked about like that. He'd done far more for the wizarding world than Malfoy could ever dream of doing.
"Of course you'd think that, you're his little poster child, his precious Chosen One." Malfoy taunted.
"Shut your mouth, Malfoy." Harry snarled, hand itching to reach for his wand. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"And neither do you! So stop with this 'you have a choice' bit!"
Deciding to end the conversation before he did something he'd regret, Harry shoved roughly passed Malfoy, muttering under his breath, "I knew your mother was wrong… completely hopeless…"
A hand shot out, gripping his arm painfully. "What?" Malfoy whispered menacingly.
Harry shook the offending hand off, scowling. He hadn't meant for the blond to hear. "It doesn't matter."
He left before Malfoy could say anything else, marching past a bewildered looking Ron and Hermione, his homework forgotten. Running his hands roughly through his hair, he let out a frustrated sigh. He was trying for the sake of his mother, but the Slytherin was so infuriating. It all seemed so futile that someone like Malfoy, the epitome of pure blood elitism, could change his stripes.
He escaped the castle out into the cool October evening, walking over to his favorite spot near the lake. He threw himself down into the grass, something Malfoy had said nagging at him. The blond had told him that there wasn't always a choice, and Harry couldn't deny the truth of that statement. Where was his choice when it came to him and Voldemort? True, he could choose how he dealt with his fate, but was that really a choice?
How could he make Malfoy believe in something that he didn't even have?
"Mum," he whispered. "I don't know what to do."
The wind through the trees was the only response.
000
End Chapter Five! Apologies for any mistakes (I'm sure there's at least one lurking in there somewhere). I'm tired, but this chapter's been bugging me and I wanted it get it done and posted. Besides, I'm terrible at grammar and spelling anyways :) Not being tired probably wouldn't make much of a difference in my editing skills!
Alright, not really pleased with Snape's part (I just find his character so hard to capture), and this last bit was causing me a good amount of trouble. I'm not really satisfied with it, but I didn't want to spend several chapters with a brooding Harry and gloomy Draco, boring to write and read (New Moon, anyone? Sorry to any twihards out there, but that book was nauseatingly depressing and despondent). I wanted to get all the mopey-ness out in one chapter so we can get into more of the meat of the story.
I've got a lot of next chapter written, and it's shaping up to be a long one. I'm pretty excited to get it up, so look for it in the next week I'd say.
Keep up the amazing reviews! Also, let me know if you'd prefer me to personally reply to your reviews. I've never done so before, but I was wondering if it matters a lot to readers.