Chapter Seventeen: Forgiveness

Harry hated this. It was the gnawing sense of guilt in his gut at using Daphne to get to Slughorn, nor was it the insistent sideways looks and hopeful glances from girls that were trying to get his attention while Daphne spoke in hushed tones to the only man that could help them. No. That didn't help, but it wasn't that. All he felt was useless.

His entire life he'd been dragged from decision to decision, step by step. Go here, Harry, save these people, Harry, find out how many Horcruxes Voldemort has, Harry. He may have wanted to take those steps, of course, but they'd never been his idea in the first place. Not really. The only two things he'd ever chosen from himself were his friends and his girlfriend.

He was a piece on a board, watching the pieces moving around and waiting for his turn. Voldemort was out there and what was he doing? Yeah, waiting in case Slughorn needed extra emotional blackmial to give up what he should've done in the first place.

The plan was a simple one really and one he had to admit he'd never have volunteered himself. Gryffindor not Slytherin. He would've just asked, tried to be charming maybe, but definitely been outright. Daphne, well, she was different. She'd suggested reminding Slughorn about who Harry was, who she was, what they could offer and then very gently steering the conversation towards the upcoming war, getting his opinions, his ideas, and moulding everything he said into one key idea. Voldemort winning was bad for business.

Not bad for all the people who'd die, though if a certain emotional kick was needed then everyone knew how Slughorn had felt about Harry's mother. The notion made him to his stomach, it was why he was hovering my the door, hoping not to be needed because he wasn't sure if he could say what he needed to.

And what then? Once they knew, what then? Did he go back to being just a pawn on the board or was he path outside of those confines?

"Bit of a dull one, isn't it?" Zabini asked by way of introduction. He winked at the serving boy who offered him a drink and with the kind of style and sophistication that only came with far too much money and a frivolous childhood, he extracted the drink and took a sip.

"I thought you weren't talking to us."

"Times change." Yes and people too. Zabini's falling out with Tracey had been one thing, but then his sudden palliness with Draco and his goons had resulted in quite a few frosty prefect evenings, according to Daphne and Hermione. Neville, being Neville, had taken it upon himself to switch with Zabini - meaning that Hermione missed her newfound alone time with her boyfriend and Daphne felt scorned that someone was looking after her. In short, in trying to help, he managed to upset everyone.

"What do you want?"

"Polite conversation, an escape from this irrevocably boring evening?" When Harry's face didn't so much as crack, Zabini sighed. "I really rather did prefer when we were somewhat friends."

"Yeah, well, I don't make friends with Death Eaters." The lack of surprise told Harry everything he needed to know. "Thought so."

"You don't understand -"

"No, I don't. I don't get how anyone could be on their side."

Zabini, for his credit, considered his drink before quietly muttering, "Security, fear, I'm just guessing."

"That worth people dying?"

"People die every day, Potter. I could say the same for you, really. If you didn't fight, if you simply let the world be how it always has been, wouldn't fewer people die?"

"Right now? Probably. But later, no. It doesn't stop here, Voldemort's not going to just walk into the Ministry and tell everyone purebloods should have their way. There'll be more, there'll always be more. When the muggles are dead, who next? Muggleborns. Then half-bloods. Then all those nasty little pureblood families who've got a muggle ancestor or two. He doesn't kill for order, Blaise, he does it because that's all he can do."

"He'll win." The boy spoke with such conviction that Harry almost felt himself agreeing. There was a point, sure enough, if he had enough pureblood houses onside it didn't matter what the Ministry did and even if he didn't, he could die and come back. He'd outlive them. With every generation, it would get that little bit easier.

"Maybe, maybe not. But if people like you give up before it's even started, yeah, he's going to win."

"Easy for you to say. You won't lose everything. Your mother, the families who've always supported you, the life you were supposed to have. Your life. He doesn't like traitors very much. Purebloods who side with you are traitors. You're asking me to die."

"People die every day, Zabini," Harry said, mirroring the boy's words.

"How true." The boy swallowed hard and let out a long sigh. "I wish I was built like you, you know. Confident. Self-righteous. Desperate to do the right thing simply because it's the thing to do. Pity really."

"You hide," Harry pointed out. "It's what you do. First Tracey, then this."

"I'm a coward." Zabini's thin smile was totally void of humour, rather filled instead with loathing. "Yes, I am aware."

"You don't have to be."

"That's rather where you're wrong. I may despise myself for it, but it is simply who I am. None of us can change that."

"No?"

"No." There was a finality to his words, as though he'd had this conversation countless times with himself, as though he'd willed himself to try and be anything but the boy who ran back to what he knew, what was safe. "You'll get her killed, you know that, don't you?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out who he was talking about, mainly because Harry himself had fought against those very feelings at Christmas. He'd tried to push her away, but even though he'd accepted she'd never leave, it didn't stop the sliver of guilt stabbing in his chest every time he was reminded of it.

"Have you ever convinced Daph to do anything she didn't want to?"

"I suppose not. She is a very singular woman. And to think for all those years you overlooked her."

"All Slytherins are Death Eaters, right?" Harry didn't even wait for the reply, if he did, then he'd likely curse him. Through a small gaggle of girls, all of whom were staring, Harry looked for Daphne.

Over the other side of the room, Daphne Greengrass was silently cursing stupid people, specifically the stupid moron before her. He wheezed and whined, and moaned and bleated about yesteryear. "Let me tell you, my dear, things were far better when -" or "I must say, your father rather reminds me of Earnest Bigglesworth -" and, her personal favourite, "Minister Bones, yes, I grew up with Amelia. Happy memories. I must tell you about the time -"

He was in the middle of one such scintillating tale when she noticed a rather distressed-looking Harry. He probably thought he was being subtle, bless him. Mind you, the sycophantic idiots who were lustfully sizing him up in her absence probably thought the same thing.

"Excuse me for one moment, Professor," Daphne smiled, doing her best not to vomit as she did so and causing a rather blustery halt to what was probably a very 'interesting' story. Merlin's beard, the man was revolting. She loathed Malfoy for riding his father's robes, but at least he'd been born into and didn't know any better. Slughorn was a professional limelight stealer and all the worse for it.

She carefully navigated her way across the room, glowering where she needed to and smiling where it would offend, simply just to get it out of her system. People who thought too much of themselves were far too easy to annoy and she was almost at her limit. The only genuine look that crossed her face was that of concern as she looked eyes with Harry. It wasn't an emotion that came naturally to her, at least, not in how to express it. She did care, but her face was rather terrible at telling people that. But being with someone who was hell-bent on getting themselves into any mountain of trouble they could, meant that she was starting to learn how to be concerned.

It helped that he looked cute, too. Cute and so much more. Especially in those robes. There was only so much kissing could really do. Not now. Fate of the world. Fate. Of. The. World. Well, their portion of it anyway. Summer. Just a few more months. Being sixteen before him was killing her.

"You okay?"

"Mmm, what?" Somehow she was standing in front of him and his hand had found hers. It was warm. "Sorry, yes. That was my line."

"Oh, well, I'm fine."

"Really? Because you've got your 'the world is ending' face on. You know, the one where you try and chuck me out of your life for no good reason."

"I said I'm sorry."

"And I said I'd forgive you. Eventually." Why did her words always come out before her brain could think about them? "I'm joking, that's a joke." He hummed. Never a good sign.

"What is it?" It helped that he was easier to read than most textbooks.

He only managed one word, but it was all she needed to understand. "Zabini."

"Ah, how is our little Death Eater in training? Still scared for his life and being a useless coward?"

"Yep."

"Classic," Daphne let her gaze wander until it found the pathetic excuse for a friend. The glower was good, her mother would be proud.

"How can he do it?"

"He's scared. Scared and stupid. That's a nasty combination." She rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand. "We can't fix everyone. No matter how much you might want to. Some people just stay broken."

"I know, I just…"

"Get so angry you could turn him into a spider and crush him?" A personal favourite. "Oh, or you could petrify him and dangle him off the Astronomy Tower until he realises how stupid he's being."

"You've thought too much about this."

"What can I say, I'm a vengeful person." He grinned, which was all she'd wanted in the first place. He had a nice smile. The kind that could make her almost forget she was in a dress that was too tight, heels that made her feet ache and a room full of people she typically despised.

"Good to know." There was that small smile, mission successful. "How's Slughorn?"

"Ugh, a waste of skin and an utter bore. And he's not listening. It's like his mind's just on go." She gestured the sentiment with her hand, almost taking out a passing waiter. Waiter, yeah right. Students too boring to be invited but too needy to miss out.

"Even with the Quidditch stuff?"

"If I have to pretend to care about a bunch of idiots on brooms for another second, I'm going to explode."

"As one of those idiots, I'm offended."

"Yeah, but you're fun to watch."

"Now that really is good to know," he smirked, God, why did they have to be here? An all-to-familiar heat spread up her neck as her heart once again began to race a little faster than she'd like in a room full of strangers. There was a look in his eye that told her he was having the exact same thought.

"Stop it, later, you know, after."

Harry hummed, returning to the dour expression that had plagued his face. It was no secret that he wasn't keen on the plan of emotional blackmail via dead mum. Not that Daphne could blame him, she barely was able to get anything out of him about his parents and didn't want to. There were certain boundaries even she couldn't cross. Their work at Greengrass Manor had helped, looking into his family, figuring out who they'd been, but that didn't stop the fact he didn't know. He had no idea how they laughed, what they liked, hated, if they enjoyed reading, running and rampaging. None of it.

"Think he'll go for it?"

"Everyone knows he loved your mum," Daphne sighed, resting her hand gently on his arm. "It's horrible and kind of weird, but true."

"Okay."

"You sure? 'Cause we can try something else."

"And that'll work?"

"He didn't go for family bribery, so, probably not."

Harry blew out a breath. "Then let's get it over with."

He didn't take her hand, she realised as they walked across the room. That was the strange thing. Whenever they'd done this kind of thing before, Sirius' trail, the dumb games, even the Defence Club, he always reached out for her. Yet as he strode across the room to Slughorn, he did so alone. A confident figure striding through a sea of sycophants. She wished she was a better person, because in that moment she didn't feel pride or joy, the only thing that clawed in her chest was the roaring beast inside her. The one that she thought they'd long since buried but that came out when she was scared. She scowled, tried to banish the thoughts, but whispers of rejection, she knew, were a hard thing to ignore.

"Ah, Harry, my boy!" Professor Slughorn warbled as they neared, completely ignoring Neville who had been cheerfully chatting to him. The poor boy looked like he wanted to drown himself in his own compost. Beside him, Hermione's eyes flicked between Harry and Daphne then she forced a smile and managed to tug Neville away.

"Professor," Harry started, a little stilted. For the briefest moment, she saw his hand flick towards her, but then he shoved it into his pocket. It was only that small motion that convinced the screaming in her brain to quiet down, as if the storm had thrashed itself to sleep. Everyone has something they hate about themselves, Daphne had always reasoned, pity that hers was so ugly. It called to her with every glance in the mirror, every whisper in the hall, every reminder that she wasn't good enough. Because she wasn't. She wasn't anything special. Even if she pretended to be.

"How are you?"

"Well, well, much better for seeing you I must say." There was a slurred nature to his words. "Your lovely Miss Greengrass -" Daphne had practically clamp her mouth shut at that. "Was telling me how delightful well your club's going. Marvelous work, Harry. Marvelous. Your mother would've been proud."

Harry didn't take the bait. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, don't mention it." Whatever he was drinking slopped over the floor as the man wafted his goblet with the authority of someone who was stealing the next day's happiness. At least, that's what her father called drinking. "It is rather rewarding to see, I can't remember any students cultivating such, such… unity."

Daphne frowned, she didn't remember him being this drunk when she'd left him. That was what? A few minutes?

"Harry." His name was nothing more than a whisper.

"Yes, yes, remarkable," Slughorn rambled on. "Remarkable. Sad really, rather unfortunate that it has to be considered remarkable, isn't it?"

"Sir?"

"Harry," Daphne said again, but he'd noticed it too. They stared, almost captivated, as the man before them sloshed more drink and then the goblet fell from his grasp. It tumbled and clanged. A sharp noise in the middle of civilised conversation.

"Sir." Harry's voice was louder. "Professor Slughorn."

"Yes? James? Merlin's beard. You've not aged a -" He hiccuped. A real, actual hiccup. Daphne didn't know what happened first, Slughorn's legs giving way or Harry hurrying to catch him. Someone screamed, and it was only later that Daphne realised it was her. Really mature. It was a ripple effect. There were shouts. Some people ran. Others hurried over. Daphne found herself scanning the crowd.

"Get Pomfrey!" Harry yelled to the room in general.

"I'll go!" Neville shouted as he tore across the room. Hermione, trying to do her prefectly duty, was loudly telling everyone who was trying to look that she would put them in detention if they so much as moved nearer to Slughorn. That left Daphne standing stuck like a statue as she watched Harry cradling Slughorn in his arms, the man's greater weight causing them to slip to the floor.

"Professor. Professor, can you hear me?"

There was a light foam forming at the edge of his mouth. Rapidly thickening, dripping, oozing. Every detail burned itself into her mind. The way his fingers twitched. His eyes bulged. His breath rasped. Rattled.

And then it was as if someone flipped a switch in her head and suddenly those details didn't matter anymore.

"What do you need?"

"Help me roll him over," Harry said. He was heavier than he looked, but together they managed to get him onto his side.

"Now what?"

"No idea," Harry admitted. "Poison, it's got to be."

"Looks that way."

"How do we stop poison?" There were shouts all around them. Hermione had, by the sounds of it, put three people in detention and was threatening to hex a pompous-sounding sixth-year boy. "Where's Snape when you need him?"

"Never thought I'd see the day," Daphne heard herself say. She didn't care. She was too busy trying to think.

"First year."

"What?"

"First year. Snape embarrassed me, remember? Reading up on stuff before school. Why am I thinking that?" Slughorn was clawing at his throat. Never a good sign. He was writhing. "Monkshood. No. Wolfsbane. No. C'mon. Stone thing. Stone. Goat. Goat! Why goat?"

There was a moment of silence as they furiously tried to cross-reference whatever desperate memory Harry was trying to cling to. Goat. Of course. "Beazor!"

"Yes!" Harry leapt to his feet. There was the sound of Slughorn's supply cupboard door being yanked open, of boxes flying everywhere, of loud swearing and then, finally, a triumphant roar. "Open his mouth!"

"What?"

"His mouth."

"I heard you, I just don't want to," Daphne muttered to herself. With a reluctance that she wished she could banish, Daphne tried to get the man's mouth open. "Quit moving." His head shook, her hands clawed and no matter how firm of a grip she managed to get, somehow he'd wiggle free from her grasp. There was only one thing for it. Wishing there weren't so many people watching, she withdrew her wand. "Sorry, Professor. Petrifius totalis."

There were screams.

"Is he alright?"

"What're you doing?"

"What's that thing?"

"She's killed him!"

"Greengrass killed -"

"Silenco!" Hermione yelled. "The next person who speaks will be cleaning with Filch for a month."

Daphne wanted to scream at them, but before she could Harry was there, the weird stone in his hand and a fierce kind of calm on his normally expressive face. No wonder Voldemort was so scared of him. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

The first thing she felt was how wet it was. Then the harsh scraping of his teeth on his skin. But all of that paled in comparison to the noise. He might be frozen but his inside still fought to cling to life. The gagging, rasping, choking was deafening, at least until Harry shoved the stone straight down his throat.

Nothing happened. He didn't so much as twitch.

"Is he dead?" The voice was frightened, quiet.

"Will you shut up!" Daphne yelled, not looking at whoever was asking such stupid questions. Then it hit her and she remembered to actually undo her jinx. As soon as the counter-curse left her lips Slughorn shuddered, let out a great sigh and then, finally, went limp. Slowly the room watched as his chest gently rose and fell. He was alive. Barely. But alive.

It was only then that she allowed herself to turn to the crowd. Only when Slughorn was fine did she take in everything else. There were girls in fine gowns, boys in dress robes, and a great white stain all up Harry's arm. Hermione's wand was pointed at the crowd, far more threateningly than Daphne had ever seen the girl wield it. There were others too, the rest of the Defence Club had moved away from the crowd and had formed a kind of protective shield around them, as if the crowd had been ready to rush them at any moment.

So much for being observant.

"It's alright," Harry said to Hermione in a bid to get the girl to lower her wand, "he's okay."

"How do you know?" A member of the crowd asked, more interestedly than anything else.

"I know what dead looks like, that's not it," Harry explained, which as disturbing as it was shut everyone else up. They stood there, all eyes on them and no doubt the rumour mill would turn into some kind of victory pose. An epic show of force from the Boy Who Lived and the Slytherin girl the school hated. Astoria would have a field day.

But the reality was so much bleaker. Harry wasn't fierce, he was tired. Daphne didn't look at them with defiance, but contempt. Slughorn didn't recover, he wheezed and barely clung onto the small sliver of life Harry had just shoved down his throat. It wasn't adventure, it was murder without the consequence, and the sick feeling that clung to her stomach told Daphne she had a funny feeling who had delivered the almost fatal blow because no matter how much she scanned the crowd, no matter where she tried to find the face of the boy she'd called a friend, he was nowhere to be found.

oOo

Three days. That's how long it took Slughorn to wake up. Three days. The Ministry questioned him, questioned everyone who was there. No one had any idea what had happened and no matter how many times Harry repeated the story, he couldn't stop the feeling that somehow this was his fault, even though Daphne repeatedly told him it wasn't.

Even as everyone else prepared for their exams, Harry found himself walking the halls, wondering if there had been anything he'd missed. It was obvious who had done it. It didn't take a genius, especially when Zabini became even more withdrawn than ever. He'd given up on his prefect duties, handing in the badge to Snape and was barely seen in lessons.

Had that been why he'd sought Harry out? To talk to him out of it? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he'd not done the deed but had known what was to come, or perhaps he'd been the one to pass Slughorn the glass that had been filled with a poison so deadly Pomfrey had told Harry if he'd been even a minute later shoving that stone into Slughorn's mouth then the man would be dead.

He wasn't, but as Harry passed his office, as he often did, he heard sounds that told him he very soon would be. Days before, he would've walked by leaving the Professor to his own decisions, but as he heard the trunk lid slam and the fervent muttering, he couldn't stop himself.

"Professor?" The room was a mess. Clothes were strewn across the floor, the precious photos and lauded trinkets that Slughorn clung to were stacked in a chaotic mess in one corner. Potion supplies and boxes littered the middle of the room and in the midst of it all stood Slughorn. His hair stood up at various angles, despite how thin it was, and his usually carefully considered appearance was ragged. It was as though he were standing in the ruins of his life.

"Mmm?"

"It's me, Harry, sir."

"Ah, Potter," Slughorn said airly. "I'm sorry but I can't help you today. Whatever it is ask Professor Snape. Yes. He'll help."

Harry carefully picked his way into the room, letting the door shut gently behind him so as not to startle his teacher. "I wanted to ask if you were alright?"

"Alright?" The question came with an almost crazed laugh. "I nearly die and you ask me if I'm alright?"

"Sorry."

"You, my boy, are the one person who shouldn't be sorry. You and your Miss Greengrass. I owe you my life, my life!" He was wringing his hands together and finally turned to look at Harry. The sharp intelligence, self-serving though it had been, that had always burned bright in his eyes had dimmed. Left in its place was the kind of pain Harry had only ever seen in Amos Diggory's eyes. "So no, do not be sorry, Harry. I implore you. It is I who should be sorry. I never should have come here."

"What're you -"

"I'm sure you know," Slughorn said. "No, no. Spare me lies, Harry. Please. I am an old man with very little time left. Dumbledore asked you for my help, didn't he?"

Ron would've told him to say no. Hermione would've insisted on the truth. Daphne? Well, she would've said to do whatever they could to get the Horcruxes, more than ever. "Yes."

"I thought so, I thought so. I am not a stupid man. No. I wished only for the best in my life. For a long time, I had it. Is that such a crime? To surround oneself with those who aspire to greatness, when greatness is so thoroughly unobtainable for me?" When Harry didn't answer, he continued. "I have lived a life filled with pleasure, my boy. But I was foolish."

"Sir?"

"To return, here. Yes. Dumbledore said I would be safe, and I suppose I was. Until I wasn't, of course."

"No one is," Harry told him. "If Voldemort wants to kill you, he generally does."

"Except for you." A watery smile at the centre of his wrinkled face. "All except for you, Harry."

"Then help me," Harry said. "Help us."

"Because I am going to die either way?"

"No. Because it's the right thing to do. Because it's what -" he faltered, somehow unable to do what he'd planned. It didn't feel right. "Because if you don't, you're not the only one he's going to come after. I don't know what happens next, sir. I just know that I'm going to do everything I can to stop him, whether you help us or not."

"I thought he was interested, that's all. He was a smart boy. So very smart. Cleverer than Miss Granger and even more dedicated, if you could believe it. I thought him only inquisitive, you have to believe me."

"I do." Maybe it was the truth, or maybe Slughorn had always known what would happen next and was too scared to admit it. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that Slughorn believed it was the truth, that he wasn't a bad guy in his own story and Harry didn't have the heart to break that illusion.

"You are so very much like your mother," Slughorn said, bridging the gap between them so that he could take his hand. "Lily was always my favourite. Many people are blessed with greatness, but few of them can be kind. Oh, they can be philanthropic, they can pour money on strangers, but in their hearts, there will be a darkness. A pragmatism. Never give into that, Harry. No matter how dark it may get."

"I promise, sir."

"Then, please, forgive me." He clung to Harry so tightly that Harry was sure the mark of his nails would be scarred into his hands forever. "So I may, perhaps, forgive myself."