MEMORY VIAL 28: QUIBBLING OVER THE QUIBBLER (YEAR 5)

Harry had not expected Snape to figure out what was happening between him and Draco at their next Occlumency lesson on Wednesday. In hindsight, though, he knew he should have seen it coming. The memories of his night spent with Draco spilled over into his conscious thought throughout the days that followed it, so that it would have been a miracle if the corresponding images had not reared up into Snape's view while Harry was under the effects of Legilimency.

Not long into the lesson, Harry found himself on his knees, as usual, having struggled to no avail to push Snape out of the disinterred memory of him and Draco doing the unspeakable. It was Snape who put an end to the exercise, and he was so disgusted by what he had seen that he withdrew to the other side of the room behind his desk for a moment to collect himself, while Harry also tried to regain his composure.

Protego. Harry swore to himself. Why didn't I try using Protego?

Harry expected Snape to explode on him but, curiously, he did not. Snape simply stood with his back toward Harry, which felt somehow worse than if he had yelled. Harry decided he had no choice but to protect Draco, or else they were likely to get exposed to the whole school, similar to how Snape had exposed Lupin's condition to the Slytherins two years ago.

"It… it was a dream," Harry said tentatively. "What you just saw—it wasn't real."

"I understand you are rotten to the core, Potter," Snape said disapprovingly under his breath, "but I will not permit you to lie to me, nor will you address me in any other way than 'sir', or have you forgotten your manners yet again?"

"Sorry, sir." Absentmindedly, Harry rubbed the heel of his palm against his side. "But I'm telling the truth. It was a dream. A nightmare, even. I'd never do anything like that with him if my life depended on it, and neither would he. Ask him yourself." He swallowed nervously. "Sir…"

"Do you take me for a fool, Potter?" Snape whirled around, the wings of his robes billowing outward. His eyes glittered balefully, like twin black holes, as they bored into Harry's. "Like the Dark Lord, I'm free to sift through these images and emotions of yours with impunity and use them against you if I wish. What you call a 'nightmare' has certain feelings attached to it that you would rather not admit to, is that right?"

When Harry failed to answer quickly enough, something in Snape broke so that he dropped the stoic façade and bellowed, "A DEATH EATER'S SON—ARE YOU MAD?"

"I figured you already knew!" Harry shouted back, folding under the pressure and instantly regretting not sticking to his story.

"Oh, yes… I knew," Snape said in a calm and sinister voice. "I knew ever since last year, when the evidence of your revolting affair was left behind in the garden two Christmas's ago. I read the signs easily enough, but I had assumed Draco was smart enough to keep his distance after that."

"Well, he didn't," Harry said insolently. "Neither of us did. And not even his father will be able to get in the way of us being together."

There was silence, during which Professor Snape sneered thoughtfully at him. He remembered seeing the boys' dance marks in the snow at the Yule Ball, and the blushing fairy lights that gave their nascent love away. He saw how they always sought each other's glances in the Great Hall when they thought no one was looking, to say nothing of the crass note Snape had confiscated from Draco at the beginning of the school year. He knew they were in love.

Harry quaked from a combination of embarrassment and moral outrage at his most private memories being pried into and challenged like this. Not to mention the guilt he felt for Draco's sake, whose nature would no longer be a secret.

"Your arrogance never ceases to amaze me, Potter…"

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord would do to Draco if he found out?"

"Obviously we were willing to take the risk," Harry said boldly, not really knowing if that was true. If Draco had known Snape was going to effectively read Harry's mind in the same way Mr. Thorne had threatened to do to Draco while interrogating him, it might have deterred Draco from pursuing Harry at all this year.

"Allow me to be more explicit with what I'm getting at." Snape squared his shoulders. "The Dark Lord could not only hurt Draco and his whole family over this, but he could use Draco to influence you. Did that ever occur to you? Of course it didn't, because you're as dim-witted and headstrong as your father—and equally as entitled."

"Don't insult my father." Harry bared his teeth. "But as for Draco, Lupin said—"

Harry stopped himself, sensing it was not any of Snape's business what his favorite teacher had once told him.

Snape took a tentative step forward, fingers curling over the backing of his chair. His eyes narrowed cruelly, and there was a pensive look set on his face. "So… Remus encouraged this abominable union, did he…? He was always a sentimental fool."

"A fool for ever liking you," Harry blurted caustically, but then he wished the words had never left his mouth.

"Oh… so he told you, did he?" Snape was disturbed by this unexpected revelation.

"Not in so many words," Harry said anxiously, wishing to protect Lupin as well. "I figured it out on my own, after you lashed out at my godfather the way you did after Christmas. Sir."

But Snape ignored this explanation, which was not enough explanation as far as he was concerned. "They broke confidence," he decided. "Sirius and Remus…"

Harry did not have the heart to fully correct him. The last thing he wanted to do was admit to spying on Lupin and Sirius in the kitchen—although there was nothing stopping Snape from unearthing those memories as well.

After a prolonged silence, Snape said, "You will mind yourself going forward, Mr. Potter… Don't ever discuss what they told you with anyone, do you understand?"

"Only if you promise to return the favor," Harry said in a low voice. "Sir."

"I'm not asking for a favor, Potter. It's a command. One that the Headmaster will back me up on. On the other hand, I will tell whomever I wish about your little dalliance, and you will thank me for exposing you if I see fit to. Do I make myself clear? You are the one the Dark Lord would want to influence, after all—or have you forgotten?"

"Whatever I do with my own life is my own business. It has nothing to do with you."

"Unfortunately, until you master Occlumency, Potter, you don't get to make demands for privacy. You will have to work for it, if it really means that much to you. Everything you do, or think, or feel in secret is within the Dark Lord's reach, and he need only know that your thoughts are there just waiting to be picked at and reconstructed into something he can use. For that reason, I demand that you stop seeing Draco at once."

Harry's eyes widened in outrage. Was he really having this discussion with Professor Snape of all people? He could navigate this conversation with Professor Dumbledore, maybe, and Lupin definitely—but the teacher he hated most?

"Fat chance! I'm not a coward. I'm not like you—I won't abandon him."

Snape's nostrils flared at the accusation of abandonment. "Then Draco will have to be the one to stop this nonsense. He will leave you, Potter, I will make sure of it. Unlike you, that boy can scent danger from afar and has a keenly developed sense of self-preservation."

"He won't stop seeing me," Harry said confidently. "Draco swore to never leave me if his feelings never change—and it's none of your business anyway."

Snape stared blandly at him, and it made the skin on Harry's nape prickle horribly.

"I had hoped that nominating Draco as prefect would put a stop to whatever budding romance existed between you two. Especially if your nomination by Minerva had gone through… it would have been all-out war between you two."

Harry said nothing to this. But he knew for certain now that he had been on the docket for prefect as well, and Professor Dumbledore had been the one to overturn it.

"We will end the lesson here," Snape said coldly, "but I will leave you with this: If you have any 'love' for that boy, or any sense at all, you will think with the right head of yours, Potter, and not the one that's bound to lead you both to an early grave."

"I'll think with my heart, sir," Harry said bluntly, feeling inordinately possessive of Draco. "With all due respect, you can mind your own damn business."

"Get out of my sight. You've polluted my mind with enough filth for one night."

Harry scowled and then bolted from Snape's office, heart thundering the whole way as he rushed out of the dungeons. He wondered what would happen from here, feeling horribly as if it couldn't be anything good.

The prefects' bathroom, he thought belatedly. We can't meet there anymore if he noticed where we were…

But Harry decided to not warn Draco, since Snape had not interfered until now. If there was a chance Snape would continue to ignore them, then he was willing to make that bet, rather than upset Draco for no reason.

When The Quibbler article of Harry's interview came out, Draco was enraged by it, and not solely because his father was identified as one of the ten active Death Eaters. His friends' fathers were identified as well, which made the smear campaign feel that much more personal.

"I can't believe you ever thought he'd make a good friend," Pansy said the next day over breakfast in a depressed tone. She rubbed a hand over Draco's knee. "Remember the day we first came to Hogwarts? You wanted to be friends with him so badly that you even said you'd rather kiss him over me."

"I was exaggerating, obviously," Draco said, trying to block out the memory of how he had developed a crush on Harry's reputation first, before quickly falling for his looks. "Besides, you're missing the point of if we had been friends. If I had been guiding him all these years, none of this would be happening. He'd be one of us."

"He's too much of a goody two-shoes," muttered Goyle from behind his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Rotten bloke doesn't care who this interview effects, as long as everyone believes him. He's a bloody attention-seeker. And what's this article going to accomplish, anyhow?"

Crabbe nodded in agreement before packing several forkfuls of egg and sausage into his mouth. He had been in a foul mood ever since reading the article with Blaise and Theodore Nott during morning break the other day. Crabbe had hardly spoken a word since.

"Assuage his ego," Draco answered Goyle in an undertone. "Make him feel more powerful in this little cold war he's been waging with Professor Umbridge—and you can hardly blame him. He's so weak and pitiful that I'd be desperate for a sliver of power too if I were him."

Draco felt a knot twisting up his insides. Something wasn't right about the whole situation. Harry never gave him so much as a heads-up about what was coming, which he would have expected from someone who claimed to love him, the Promise Line be damned.

"So, what're we gonna do?" Pansy asked. "Vincent's really upset by this, and his mum probably isn't doing much better. We have to do something."

Draco glanced around the table at all of them, catching each of their eyes in turn. "Nothing hasty," he said calmly, stirring his porridge in endless, thought-provoking circles. "We mustn't be stupid. Hotheadedness is for the Gryffindorks, not us."

Pansy nicked the spoon out of his hand and stole a mouthful of oats from his bowl, but Draco was so accustomed to her acting like an extension of himself that he simply dropped his hand and continued to think. His gaze wandered the Great Hall before alighting on Harry at the exact moment he arrived with Ron and Hermione from the Entrance Hall. Their eyes met for one tense moment.

A conflicted expression of triumph passed over Harry's face, so that the niggling sense of betrayal dug even more deeply into Draco's heart.

You rat! Draco wanted to scream, but maintained his calm. They had just been shagging again over the weekend, and all the while, Harry never hinted or mentioned anything about what he had done.

When Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table, Draco's rage quelled upon realizing that this was probably not as big a problem as everyone thought it was. Draco mulled quietly, while his friends exchanged banter about all the ways they could get back at Harry.

"Could vandalize the Quidditch trophy case where James Potter is displayed," suggested Goyle.

"We could leave him a parcel of cursed cream horns as a gift," said Crabbe, finally speaking up now that they were bandying ideas for revenge. "Mum has a recipe book with those at home. She won't ask questions if I ask for it."

"We'd need to borrow the kitchens for that," said Pansy loftily, "and I'm not going anywhere near those filthy slaves." She peeked sideways at Draco, hoping he would smile in agreement, but he was too busy glaring blankly across the Hall again.

"Then you come up with something," Crabbe told her, scowling. He personally had always wanted to venture into the kitchens, since he enjoyed cooking with magic.

"I say we start sending him fake letters from a made-up secret admirer," she said, face flushing scarlet with excitement. "We set him up over the course of a month and lead him on. We tell him things like, 'Yes, I'm exactly who you hope I am, and I really can't stop thinking about you.' Then we schedule a date between him and the made-up girl—and who else should show up but myself?"

"Or any of you three boys," suggested Dorian from Goyle's right. The seventh-year had been listening in on the conversation with Miles and Daphne Greengrass. "I think it'd be more humiliating for him if it was one of you three."

Draco scowled reproachfully at Dorian and looked away. His blood went suddenly cold when he realized Snape was watching him from the High Table, and he felt like it was supposed to mean something but didn't know what.

"You guys are cruel," said Daphne with a troubled look. "I think the best thing you can do is just move on."

Blaise nodded to Daphne. "She's right."

"You think so too, Zabini?" Draco's attention returned to the conversation. He was heartened that Blaise and Daphne would agree with him if he asked his friends to not make a target out of Harry.

"It's generally good policy to keep away from the walking dead," said Blaise in his usual subdued voice. "You shouldn't prod Untouchables even with a conjured stick. He'll get his comeuppance in the end."

Pansy shrugged delicately, while Goyle nodded with his typical thinking-hard expression on his face. Crabbe groused, but did not gainsay what Blaise had said.

"Listen," Draco said, putting on airs now that he seemed to have enough support for what he thought. "Zabini is right. We'd be better off not letting him take up precious space inside our heads. No one will believe The Quibbler anyway; it's got a reputation, which favors us. Only nutters and conspiracy theorists like Loony No-Brains read it, so we shouldn't be surprised if they listen to the most famous nutter of them all." Of course, he, Crabbe, and Goyle knew that the article was true, but Draco had never confided in anyone else, except Pansy, that Lucius was in fact a Death Eater.

"If he wasn't banned from Quidditch," Miles said offhandedly, while rotating a piece of waffle on his fork, "we could've played as if he were a Bludger for a stint."

"Could've broken his broom with our bats," said Goyle, nudging Crabbe with an elbow. His eyes went dreamy with regret at the lost opportunity, especially since the Firebolt had been in their possession not too long ago.

"Yeah, well…," Draco said, meaning to mollify their combined need for revenge, "you can rest assured that getting banned from Quidditch destroyed him more than getting his Firebolt destroyed. Trust me. Besides, we already played Gryffindor, so realistically we wouldn't have had the opportunity to do any of those things."

"Unless we crashed Gryffindor's practice," Miles said darkly. "Usually you're the creative thinker, Draco, so I'm surprised you didn't think of that. And Potter doesn't need to play Quidditch in order for us to kidnap him for one of our own practice sessions. We could Dangle him in the air as a target for Crabbe and Goyle to practice whacking the Bludger at. Potter would be singing a different tune after an hour of getting his skull crushed in."

"That'd be a great way to get expelled," Daphne murmured under her breath. Meanwhile, Pansy's eyes were shining with lust at the idea. She began formulating several plans to lure Harry into a trap, in case Montague decided to go through with Miles' idea.

The conversation went on from there, but Draco's attention was diverted from their collective fantasizing when a familiar dark-haired girl sat a short distance away from them. Astoria Greengrass swarmed the table with her second-year friends a couple seats to the left facing Draco. Her eyes darted towards him surreptitiously, and Draco raised an eyebrow at her curiously.

Her smile was sympathetic. She had obviously heard about the article in The Quibbler and meant to offer him silent support.

Draco shoved his plate to the side, while Pansy continued chatting with Daphne and Blaise on the other side of him about all the ways they could trick Harry while the teachers were occupied. Using his knife and wand, Draco took his time over the next five minutes carving the green rind of an apple, which he bewitched to shape itself into a fox.

The miniature fox sat on its haunches and licked a front paw. Impressed, Crabbe ogled the inanimate creature from the opposite side of the table next to Goyle. Draco flicked his wand so that it strutted regally across the table toward Astoria's plate, upon which it placed its front paws and sniffed the air in front of her.

Astoria giggled heartily with her friends when the fox flipped over onto its back. Then, she looked up at Draco with a look of undiminished desire on her face.

Draco still had her in the palm of his hand, then, and for some reason that bolstered his ego just enough to make him feel like everything was still under his control, even with The Quibbler making the last of its rounds.

Everything was under his control, except Harry, that was, who was chaos incarnate. Draco needed to get a handle on him, but that was very unlikely to happen given how unexpected this all was.

Draco's sense of betrayal swelled to a pang as the days went on. The air soured between him and Harry without them ever speaking to each other, and Draco made no attempt to visit him in the prefects' bathroom, since he expected Harry to explain himself before he deigned to cross the Promise Line again. His anger festered, and he stoked it habitually in the company of his friends, enduring hot jolts of rage every time he thought he saw a look of smug satisfaction on Harry's face.

So much for boyfriends, Draco thought miserably, after the fifth day of them not speaking to each other came and went.

And then one rainy day in March, while Draco was having a final look over his Potions homework with Crabbe and Goyle, he noticed that Harry's seat was still empty when the class was about to start. Harry's friends were already in their seats, and so after glancing around the room when he sensed Professor Snape was about to collect the homework, Draco rose from his seat and announced, "Toilet, Professor."

Draco left his homework for collecting on his desk and rushed out of the room. But just as he turned into the corridor from behind the heavy door, he crashed into Harry, and Harry stumbled back while swearing and rubbing furiously at his scar.

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy! Damn!"

A couple of books were knocked out of Harry's bag along with his quill. Draco noticed that one of the books was the same one he had given him for Christmas. At the sight of it, Draco hesitated against what he was about to do, but his indignation overruled whatever sentiment he felt.

"Enjoying the limelight, Potter?" Draco folded his arms and watched Harry stoop to pick up his books and quill.

Harry—who had been feeling the same grim satisfaction over Draco's reaction to The Quibbler as he had felt on the occasions that he had hurt Ron and Hermione—said curtly, "I don't know what you're talking about." He knew he had to tread carefully about mentioning the magazine article, since he did not want to receive a fourth round of detentions with Professor Umbridge if he could help it.

"Oh, come on. You're stupid but not that dumb." Draco blocked Harry's path when the Gryffindor attempted to swerve around him. "No one will believe you, you know. It's The Quibbler, you vicious-minded little queer."

Harry's heart began to beat more rapidly. Somehow, those words infuriated him enough to make him reckless. "Your father is a Death Eater, Malfoy."

"Shut it, Crackpot. Or haven't you learned from your favorite teacher that you mustn't tell lies?"

Harry balked. "But you know the truth!"

Draco blocked Harry's attempts to get around him a second time. "You're messing with my family, as much as you're messing with my friends. You do realize that?"

"If being a Death Eater gets your father into trouble, that's his problem, not mine," Harry said impatiently.

"Oh, it is your problem because I'm making it your problem, you filthy cunt. You thought it was necessary to get involved in my family's business, and I don't take kindly to that."

Harry's heart stung at the unwarranted insult. The maliciousness in Draco's tone hurt more than anything else. "Get… get out of my way."

Draco blocked Harry a third time, then swiftly herded him back against the opposite wall as a show of dominance. He towered over Harry, doing his best to suppress the full force of his wrath. Meanwhile, Peeves cackled somewhere nearby, filling the stretch of uneasy silence with something eerily and hilariously out of place.

"Listen, you—"

"Cunt, is it?" Harry's nails dug into the strap of his bookbag. "You used to call me other things, which I fancied."

"Potter," Draco said, ignoring Harry's heartbroken appeal, "you ought to have learned by now that telling the truth gets people killed! Think of when your own parents' secret came to light."

Harry was flummoxed at the mentioning of his parents. "You can't compare those situations, Malfoy. My parents were innocent! They were victims of Dark wizards like your father!"

"Your parents defied the most powerful wizard of our time, and they knew what they were getting themselves into."

Harry searched Draco's face, desperate to spot a crack in his expression, but Draco's stony front was as solid as an iceberg. "I'm proud of them for defying him," Harry said shakily. "If they were going to die, then at least it was for the right thing."

"It was a waste. Their choice endangered you."

"My mum would have been killed on sight if she hadn't opposed him."

"Which is what happened anyways, right? So much for that! Like I've always said, your parents were stupid. It was all the same sacrifice—except now you've lost your father and have to live with those disgusting Muggles."

Harry was shaken. He didn't know how to respond. In all their arguments, Draco had never worded Harry's situation like that, and he couldn't help almost feeling convinced. It scared him, that Draco could be so persuasive.

"If they'd been smart, you'd still have your father. You'd be living with him, and we'd be together instead of being driven apart! But your mummy and daddy preferred to make you an orphan. So much for their love."

The muscles in Harry's face contracted as a dark emotion took over him. He hated and loved Draco all at once, but the hatred was winning out easily this time around. He gritted his teeth, feeling conflicted about what he said next. "You want to follow the most powerful wizard, do you…?" Harry paused for theatrical effect, savoring the look of anticipation on Draco's face. "Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard." And while he had said those same words a few years ago, they left a bitter taste in his mouth this time around. "Seriously, Malfoy, you're the one who sounds crazy if you'd defend a murderer to me."

Driven by a blind rage, Draco raised his arm and used it to shove Harry into the wall by his throat. Harry winced and coughed, failing to prevent his fear from leaking out.

"I'm not kidding, Potter. If you keep this up, you will force my hand. I will hurt you." After saying so, he lifted the weight of his arm and drifted back, feeling thrilled at what he had just done.

"I've been expecting it anyways," Harry wheezed, while rubbing at the crackling sensation in his windpipe. "And what happened to 'I love you', anyways?"

Draco's eyes somehow narrowed and become wider at the same time. "I'd say anything to get what I want. You know that."

An uncomfortable silence followed Draco's statement. "Y…You don't mean that."

Draco smirked nastily at him, hiding the same hurt that he was feeling.

"I…," Harry's hands balled into fists over his book bag. "I hate you, Malfoy. More than anything."

"Don't think I've heard that one before," Draco said sarcastically.

"More than Umbridge, even."

"Wow. Sounds like you really are pissed this time."

Harry snarled. "Let me through, ferret. I'm late for class."

"What Potter wants… Potter gets." Draco stood aside, feeling bemused at Harry's ability to stand up to him. Before letting Harry through, however, he held up a hand and said, "Tell me. Did you at least hesitate when you gave Skeeter my dad's name?"

Sensing the hurt beneath Draco's veneer of angry calm, Harry sharpened his tone and blurted, "No." Then he walked past Draco, hoping he had gouged a big enough wound in Draco's heart to ease his own pain.

I hate you, Harry thought furiously as he opened the door. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you… Harry glanced at Draco's empty desk at the front of the class. I hate you, and I hope Voldemort kills you. You're just as evil as him, you and your whole family.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked, then shook his head, not having realized he was standing still in the back of the class. "Sorry, Professor?"

"Sit down. Mr. Weasley already informed me you were feeling unwell, so you are excused from being late."

"Thank you, sir." Harry was shocked at Snape's unusual civility, and—

I hate you.

"Do you have your homework?"

"Yes, sir." Harry dug through his bag for the roll of parchment he had finished at the last minute, then let it loose when Snape Summoned it.

I hate you. I hope you live, and your father dies!

"Mr. Potter, you will remain silent for the rest of the class, or I will have to ask you to leave."

Harry blinked once more and glanced around him. The whole class was staring at him, and even Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked distressed.

"Harry," Hermione hissed as he sat down. Her brow was furrowed with concern. "You were speaking Parseltongue just now."

A chill went through Harry's spine. "What?"

"You didn't notice, mate?" said Ron, while glancing furtively up at Snape while the lesson droned on. "It freaked even Snape out, if you couldn't tell."

Harry glanced around the room, his eyes filling up with angry tears. He had been venting all those words out loud in Parseltongue and hadn't realized it.

Timeline of events in this chapter (as it relates to canon):

1. On Valentine's Day (Saturday), Harry and Cho date in Hogsmeade, and Harry interviews for The Quibbler.

2. Harry and Draco experience their first time on Valentine's night.

3. That Wednesday, Harry fights with Snape about Draco during Occlumency in this fic.

4. That next weekend, it's hinted in this fic through Draco's reflections that Harry and Draco "shagged again."

5. March edition of The Quibbler is released on February 23rd (Monday) according to hp-lexicon, and in the canon of OotP (p. 583) Harry notices Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle watching him in the library that same day. He's happy they're upset.

6. In this fic, Draco and the Slytherins chat more in depth about Harry over breakfast the next day (Tuesday). Harry is still feeling good about what he did, but this fic asserts that Harry's happiness is similar to what he felt whenever he hurt Ron and Hermione.

7. Harry and Draco stop communicating.

8. At the beginning of March, Draco and Harry fight in the corridor outside of Potions. Draco threatens and physically assaults Harry. Both are heartbroken and distrustful of each other.