Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: Yay! I had more free time than I thought I would in the run-up to my honeymoon, so I was able to post this chapter. I'm positive that this will be the last one before I leave, but I'm glad I was able to get this one up for you all.
Thank you to the new reviewer who congratulated me on my wedding! And thank you all again for understanding about the time off during the honeymoon. You're all wonderful.
Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! I'm really glad you enjoyed the chapter.
I agree - Blaise's reasoning isn't very sound at all. But like you said, he's got no moral compass and still has the mentality of a child, no matter how sophisticated he thinks he is. And the plan was definitely chilling.
And Draco definitely feels betrayed. Again. He's already experienced a lot of shock this year, and this only compounds it. His worldview is being turned on its head for sure.
Harry's attitude towards Dumbledore in this chapter is entirely different from canon, but that's because his character is rather different from in the books. And as for Dumbledore ... there are so many different interpretations and opinions of him. So many fanfic authors portray him in so many different ways, and he's truly fascinating. I don't think he's pure evil like some do, but I do think he's extremely flawed and has made a lot of mistakes. And the way Harry treats him in this chapter ... bear in mind that he's in a very dark place emotionally right now. I just figured I'd warn you.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
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Harry lay in his bed in the hospital wing, having just woken up from a nap. Madam Pomfrey had told him that his fever was very close to breaking now. As soon as it did, she would think about discharging him. However, she had explicitly told him that he would feel weak for a while, and to not do anything strenuous. Flying was on top of her list, and Harry scowled when she dared to mention that. The Quidditch season was cancelled anyway, but Harry loved flying - he couldn't wait to get back on his broomstick, but of course, Madam Pomfrey had ruined that plan.
The logical part of him told him that it was unfair to be angry with the school matron. She, after all, had done her best to help with the recovery process, and he could see how much his poisoning had affected her. She tried to keep her professional demeanor about her, but there were times when the cracks showed. She had been deeply upset by the fact that her patient had almost died. Again.
He knew what was really darkening his mood. It had been sour anyway, but now the darkness had opened up in front of him like an abyss, beckoning for him to fall into its depths. The hopelessness and depression surrounded him on all sides, not giving him a moment's respite.
His friends had visited him this morning, and they had all known something was wrong. Ron and Hermione grew increasingly frustrated when Harry refused to talk. Neville had come to his defense, however - Harry had never known him to speak so sharply to Ron and Hermione. "Leave Harry alone. Don't you understand that you're alienating him by trying to get him to talk? He'll tell you in his own time, for Merlin's sake."
Eventually, they'd left him to sleep - the exhaustion had hit Harry again. He just wanted the darkness to consume him - he wanted the bliss of not needing to think about anything. But even sleep had failed him on that score. After Snape had visited last night, the nightmares had been vicious and horrific, prowling around him and taunting him with past demons.
Snape. Even the name was too painful. Thoughts of Snape led him to thoughts of Quirrell. Last night's nightmares had consisted of the man's burning body, his screams as his skin came in contact with Harry's. But there was something different about the dream - something had happened that hadn't occurred in real life. Quirrell had stared at Harry with bulging, crazed eyes and howled accusingly, "You murderer! And you call the Dark Lord evil? You think it perfectly okay that my life is forfeit. You think I deserve this pain, this agony. At least the Dark Lord is honest about his intentions. You, however ..." His skin continued to peel off as a blood-curdling howl escaped his lips.
Harry had awoken, panting and sweating, and he knew it wasn't only from his persistent fever. That nightmare had been so vivid and terrifying, and the image of Snape loomed before him in his waking thoughts, telling him that he had killed Quirrell. He had never actually said those words last night, but the implication was clear.
And even worse was the fact that he had dragged Ron and Hermione into the whole mess. Of course, they'd wanted to come along, and Harry had no doubt that if he brought it up to them, they would attempt to rid him of the notion that he had forced them to do anything they didn't want to. After all, they had been trying to solve the mystery of Flammel for months. They'd tell him he was being ridiculous and that he shouldn't wallow.
But the depression and guilt wouldn't lift from Harry. He wanted to muster up the energy to be angry with Snape, but somehow, he couldn't do it. At first, he had been furious at the way Snape was treating him. It was like Harry's first day of Potions all over again, when he'd been very much looking forward to the subject and Snape had rid him of that feeling faster than Harry could blink. But as last night's confrontation had progressed, the truth that was delivered to him hit Harry like a sledgehammer.
Why had he never figured it out? Why had he never thought about the full implications of Dumbledore's plan with the mirror? He had received so many accolades after the fact, and Ron and Hermione had been filled with overpowering relief at seeing him alive. It was then that he got his first inkling about what he was putting them through - they looked drained, as if they'd barely gotten any sleep since finding out that Harry had gone into a coma and might not wake up.
But it was true. The trio hadn't even needed to go after the stone in the first place. Lying in the silence of the hospital wing, he remembered waking up from the three-day coma with Dumbledore by his bedside. He recalled how the man had been so incredibly proud of him. He remembered vividly the raucous cheers from his house table when he won sixty points for Gryffindor. For the first time in his life, he honestly felt like he had achieved something, no matter how terrifying the experience had been. He had been constantly told that he was nothing for years - living in a filthy, cramped cupboard was all he was good for.
But now, what Snape had said hit him like an axe to the gut. He had risked his life needlessly, but it was even worse that he had almost sacrificed the lives of his friends in the bargain. Just because he'd had awful experiences with adults in the past didn't mean he should discount every single one of them.
But he'd had good reason to do so. No one seemed to look past the mask he always put on. No one realized what went on behind closed doors in the Dursley household. No one realized that in the Muggle world, he was nothing more than a freak and a burden. His relatives wished he had died that night with his parents. And sometimes, in Harry's darkest moments, he wished he had died with them as well. And now was one of those moments.
After Snape's brutal words last night, he couldn't stand to have any more visitors. When Professor McGonagall had come to see him, he couldn't help but be angry. She hadn't cared enough to visit before now, had she? Harry had a sinking feeling that somehow, she had run into Snape and figured out what had happened. Maybe he was being too cynical about it - McGonagall could have decided to come of her own volition. But it seemed far too coincidental that she would show up after Harry had had a run-in with Snape. Therefore, he refused to talk to her, much to her chagrin. He gave one-worded answers to all her questions until she finally gave up and left him alone for the night.
Harry came out of his brooding thoughts when he heard the doors of the hospital wing suddenly open. He looked up, trying to be discreet about it. At least this could be a distraction from the horrible thoughts that had been plaguing him. Instantly, he chastised himself - what if someone was really hurt?
It was Snape, and he was Levitating a clearly unconscious Draco Malfoy. Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to see, but it certainly hadn't been this. Why in the world was Malfoy unconscious? What had happened?
Snape strode over to a bed and laid him down on it. Harry realized that he was openly staring - discretion had flown out the window. Snape, however, didn't comment on it and strode to Madam Pomfrey's office, knocking on the door. "Come in," she said briskly, and Snape disappeared inside.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry was truly curious. He'd said only days ago that he was tired of solving mysteries, and he remembered the alarm on Ron's face at his admission of not really caring who it was that had poisoned him. But Draco Malfoy being Levitated by Snape to the hospital wing? He felt some of his old, restless energy resurface.
He really wanted to stand outside Madam Pomfrey's door and listen to what Snape was saying, but he knew the man would catch him at it. A reckless part of him didn't really care, but it was the same part of him that would jump into dangerous situations without thinking. That part of him had succeeded in almost getting him and his friends killed. And ... he shuddered, Quirrell's burning skin on the backs of his eyelids ... a man had really and truly died because he hadn't left well enough alone.
Forcibly pushing those memories back, he ignored that voice in his head that wanted him to suss out the situation. Settling back under the covers, he heard Snape speaking to Pomfrey in low tones, but of course, he couldn't hear exactly what they were saying. He couldn't see Malfoy, since the bedcurtains had been closed around him. But from the brief glimpse he had seen, the boy didn't look well at all. He was pale, and looked like he had been through some horribly harrowing experience.
And Harry found himself feeling actual concern. Concern for Draco Malfoy. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you, Harry? It's MALFOY!" He heard Ron's voice in his head. "You've got to get your priorities sorted, mate. This is getting bloody ridiculous."
But Harry couldn't not be concerned. It was a strange feeling - last year, if Malfoy had ended up unconscious in the hospital wing, Harry would have been overjoyed. At this time last year, he'd been livid with the disgusting, vile slug. Because of him, Buckbeak was in danger of being put down, all due to Malfoy's hatred of Hagrid. The memory of the awful thud Harry had heard in June came back to him - it was still strange, and an enormous relief, to know that that sound hadn't been McNair's axe killing Buckbeak at all. But he could still never forget it, nor the sound of Hermione's rage-filled sobs that permeated the night air.
And there were all the other things Malfoy had done, too. He'd endlessly made fun of him regarding how deeply he was affected by the Dementors, culminating in an incident where he, Crabbe, and Goyle had dressed as them, for Merlin's sake. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!" Harry remembered the smirk that had lit on Malfoy's face when he'd seen the writing on the wall outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, proclaiming that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened again. He remembered the boy's disgusting excitement at the prospect of Hermione being murdered by the monster in the Chamber. He recalled vividly that first trip on the Hogwarts Express when Malfoy had said that if Harry continued to hang out with Ron, he'd end up just like his parents. None of those instances could be forgotten.
Yet, this year, Harry had seen something else - he'd observed small changes in Malfoy that many others hadn't noticed. He'd seen the distinctly odd looks the other boy shot at him, and even though many of them still contained hostility, there was wariness and confusion in those gazes too. Every time Harry had addressed him by his first name, he'd visibly flinched. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd even done that in the first place.
No, that wasn't true - he did know why. There had been something just so ... lost about him that day, and something in Harry needed to reach out to him. He'd never expected the other boy to react so strongly when he brought up the fact that it had been Crouch, not Moody, who had hurt him. Merlin, the boy had run out of the library like the hounds of Hell were after him!
As Harry lay in bed, he suddenly realized something as his mind flashed back to a confrontation in the hallway that he, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had had with Malfoy. It seemed like ages ago now - it was before Snape had assigned that bloody project. Malfoy had accused Harry of being absolutely fine with dying if it meant receiving more attention, and Ron had almost blown his top over it. When Hermione had reminded Malfoy that it was a Death Eater Harry had saved him from the day he was transformed into a ferret, the blond had spat, "I'll hurt you for that one, Mudblood," and raised his wand at her. And that was the moment Snape had come upon the scene.
Harry suddenly saw this moment in a new light. Not that he would ever excuse Malfoy's use of the term Mudblood - it was truly revolting. But the defensive posture, the anger in his eyes, the way he'd raised his wand ... how many times had Harry observed others displaying those same mannerisms? Malfoy had had the truth brought home to him brutally, and that reaction ... it was of someone who didn't want to acknowledge that the speaker was opening his eyes to something he didn't want to see.
And it was after that incident that Harry had noticed Malfoy's subtle changes. But they'd really begun when they started working together on the Potions project. He shuddered at the prospect of continuing it - he did not want to think about poisons ever again. He had experienced the true horrors of being affected by one.
At that moment, Snape and Pomfrey walked out of her office. Snape walked over to Malfoy's bed, and Pomfrey arrived there moments later holding a vial of potion. With Snape's assistance, the matron fed the potion to the unconscious boy, neither of them saying anything at all.
Then, without glancing once at Harry, the Potions Master billowed out of the hospital wing. Unlike the night before, Harry did not ask for his attention. He closed his eyes, the awful confrontation resurfacing in his mind. Quirrell's screams rang in his ears, and a shiver worked its way down his spine.
Once again pulling his mind back to the present circumstances, Harry wondered for what felt like the thousandth time what in Merlin's name was the matter with Malfoy. What potion had Pomfrey just given him? Had he been hurt? Was he seriously ill? Was he going to be okay?
Harry didn't know how long he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for something to happen. If Malfoy woke up anytime soon, did Harry have the nerve to go and speak to him? Would Malfoy tell him anything, or would he spew out his usual nonsense? It was more than likely he'd turn Harry away with a nasty insult.
But, Harry realized, he had to try. It might be minor, but he felt he'd made some progress with Malfoy during the time they were working in the library together. How had it happened that he actually wanted to get to the bottom of the conundrum about this boy? Why had Malfoy suddenly become so interesting?
Then, what felt like an eternity later, something did happen. That something was a someone - it was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, making an appearance in the hospital wing. He entered, his midnight blue robes swishing behind him, and strode purposefully to Harry's bedside. Harry never failed to notice that Dumbledore always dressed in ways that stood out, that made people notice him.
Harry wished he could pretend to be asleep. He really, really didn't want to see Dumbledore. Before this year, he'd trusted the man a lot more, but somehow, this year, the good feelings Harry had once possessed towards the man had started to wane. After all, how had Dumbledore been fooled by a man who was said to have been one of his dearest friends for decades?
"Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain. Probably in the entire world, because Dumbledore's there."
"They say he's the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared. Nothing can go wrong here at Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore knows what he's doing. He might be a bit off his rocker, but he's bloody brilliant. He won't let anything bad happen."
Voices, recollections, whispers from old conversations flew through Harry's head. They all acted like Dumbledore was some infallible God who could do no wrong. They all said that no harm would come to Hogwarts as long as he was there. They all said that he could be trusted to protect the sacred castle and all of the students who dwelled within it.
But they were all wrong. Every single last one of them. Harm had come to Hogwarts, year after year. And this year had been the worst. Neville, having to stare down the man who had been one of those to torture his parents into insanity. Harry, knowing that if he hadn't seen Barty Crouch's name on the Marauder's Map, Crouch's diabolical plan might have succeeded, and Harry would have ended up as nothing more than a lifeless body at the feet of the newly resurrected Dark Lord Voldemort. And all because this oh-so-wonderful man had failed to spot an enemy from a friend. The same man who hadn't seen that Quirrell had Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. The same man who had no idea where the Chamber of Secrets was located or what monster was inhabiting it. The same man who had no inkling that Sirius Black might not be guilty. The man, Harry realized, that he didn't trust anymore. The culmination of all of those events had led him to that conclusion, and now, he was the last person Harry wanted to see.
Why was he here? He couldn't imagine that the man was going to tell him what had happened to Malfoy. Was he going to give him empty reassurances about how he was going to catch the person who had poisoned him? Because, yeah, that was another thing. If Dumbledore was so bloody wise and all-knowing and all that rot, then why had Harry been poisoned in the halls of his school and he'd been none the wiser?
A part of him told him he was being ridiculous. Why should he resent Dumbledore for not knowing everything? Why should he blame him, and not any of the other staff? Why was Albus Dumbledore suddenly his scapegoat?
But he knew why. It was because when Dumbledore talked to him, he gave off an air of knowing everything. It was because in those twinkling eyes and in that smile of his, Harry had wanted to find hope. He needed something to believe in. Dumbledore had offered it to him on a silver platter, and he had taken it. And somewhere along the way, he'd lost that faith. Albus Dumbledore was not the legend everyone said he was - he was nothing but a human being with the same flaws and foibles as everyone else. He wasn't some almighty God on high. He was a lowly, mortal man who had let Harry down one too many times.
"Hello, Harry." It made his skin tingle when Dumbledore conjured a chair by his bedside and sat in it, making himself perfectly at home. The way he did this struck Harry as intrusive and rather rude, but he kept his mouth shut. Maybe it was his bad feelings about the man that were clouding his judgment.
"Hello, Headmaster," he replied, keeping his voice as polite as he could. "How are you?"
Dumbledore sighed, looking at Harry closely. He did not like the way the Headmaster was scrutinizing him. It wasn't like it was the first time this had happened, but he truly felt like he was being x-rayed. "I am fine, my boy, although I am very sorry to hear what happened to you."
Harry resisted the temptation to sneer in a rather Malfoy-like fashion. Dumbledore was sorry - of course he was bloody sorry. He was always sorry, so sorry. Sorry he hadn't gotten to him and Quirrell until the very last minute, sorry he hadn't realized who was opening the Chamber of Secrets, sorry that he hadn't saved Ginny from a year of horrific trauma, sorry that he hadn't fought for Sirius to receive a fair trial, sorry that Crouch had almost resurrected the Dark Lord under his very nose. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Harry was sick and tired of Dumbledore's apologies.
"That's okay," Harry lied, speaking in a monotone and looking away from Dumbledore. "I'm getting better, so what does it matter?"
"It does matter, my boy." The endearment, instead of convincing Harry that Dumbledore really cared, only caused his temper to fray more. "I am here because we finally know who did it, and how the plan was carried out."
Here goes nothing, thought Harry, and he could almost hear the sarcasm dripping from his inner thoughts. He resisted the strong urge to laugh bitterly at that moment - Merlin, he wasn't right in the head anymore. He could feel the very last of his sanity practically oozing from him.
And Dumbledore told him. For once, he wasn't cryptic, and he did not speak in riddles. A part of Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew he wasn't trusted anymore, and was therefore trying to get in his good graces again by being completely honest. But whatever the reason, Harry believed him as the entire plan was revealed to him.
To find out Draco had been put under the Imperius Curse ... he looked over at the bed he knew the blond was in, feeling stricken. How truly horrifying. To not be in control, to be forced to do things against your will ... it made goosebumps prickle all over his body. He couldn't think of anything more awful. He recalled the spider performing unnatural feats under Crouch's wand, and shuddered.
And ... Blaise Zabini. It had been Blaise Zabini. Harry didn't know that he could still be shocked by anything, but somehow, he was. Zabini, of all people? Sure, he didn't strike Harry as a very nice person. Their brief interactions had never been very civil. But to be guilty of attempted murder? Merlin, the boy was fourteen!
But Draco was only twelve when you accused him of being Slytherin's heir, Harry thought. And you were twelve when many in the school thought it was you. And look at what Tom Riddle did when he was young. Don't dismiss evil on account of age.
At the revelation that Zabini had used Dobby to achieve his goal, Harry was completely sickened. He instantly thought of Hermione, and what she would say about it all. At the beginning of the year, when she'd found out that house-elves worked here at Hogwarts, she'd flipped. She'd refused to eat anything, and Harry could distinctly recall Ron tempting her with her favorite desserts, but she wouldn't budge. She had been outraged by how Barty Crouch, Sr. had treated Winky. She was bound to be livid when she heard about Zabini putting the Imperius Curse on Dobby.
Harry felt pure and utter sympathy well up inside him for the poor little elf. To have his memory tampered with, to be used to do something so heinous ... and Harry knew that Dobby adored him. Sure, he had shown it in some rather ... strange ways, but this ... he couldn't imagine how Dobby would react to something like this. He hoped that the poor little thing would never find out.
"I am happy to see that you hold no blame towards Dobby," Dumbledore said, and Harry found the comment rather patronizing.
"Of course I don't." He couldn't help the rather harsh way in which he spoke. "I know what the Imperius Curse does."
"Good. That is good." Dumbledore smiled at him, and all Harry wanted to do was tell the man to piss off, and then go back to sleep. "Of course he will not be punished. I have no doubt, however, that he will wish to punish himself if he is to discover he was used in such a way."
"I won't let him," Harry vowed quietly. "It wasn't his fault."
Dumbledore nodded, still smiling. Then, he went on to tell Harry that this was not all Blaise Zabini had planned to do.
Harry gasped, a reaction he truly couldn't help. The reason Malfoy was in the hospital wing became all too clear. "He was going to kill Malfoy?" he whispered in horror. "And he was going to frame Ron?"
"We are all very lucky that Professor Snape managed to stop those events from occurring," Dumbledore said somberly. "Blaise is currently being held at the Ministry, awaiting whatever will happen to him next. Harry, I ..."
Harry suddenly couldn't handle being in this man's vicinity anymore. Just the sight of him and his saddened expression made his skin crawl. "Please," he whispered. "Go away. I need to think."
"Harry ..." Dumbledore insisted, his gentling tone only raising Harry's blood pressure even more.
"Go away!" he said fiercely, and the glare he shot at Dumbledore silenced him. "You were going to say you're sorry again, weren't you?" he snapped. "It's the same every time. You're always saying you're so grateful to someone else for stopping some horrible event. But I've noticed something - you never stop it yourself. Now go away and leave me alone. I'm tired."
Dumbledore didn't react to Harry's rudeness - he only stared sadly down at him in the way a parent would stare at a child when they were deeply disappointed by their behavior. "I will take my leave," he said quietly. "Please feel better soon, my boy."
And with that, he left the hospital wing, leaving Harry in a world of dark emotions that threatened to pull him under, never to let him breathe ever again.