(A/N: Forgive me for whizzing through Canon. We've read the books. I'm about to shatter it, crush it into dust and snort it like cocaine.)
Until the End, Breaking Benjamin
Why give up, why give in?
It's not enough, it never is
So I will go on until the end
We've become desolate
It's not enough, it never is
But I will go on until the end
Surround me
It's easy
To fall apart completely
I feel you creeping up again
(In my head)
His most recent dream had done awful things to his mood. Watching the macabre scene had been punishment enough, but feeling the raw, familiar pain, followed by the righteous joy as he watched the boy scream, so intense that he'd awoken smiling, had shaken him considerably.
He didn't want to consider the similarities between himself and the Dark Lord. He didn't want to acknowledge the kinship he had felt when the dreams had started, the way he intimately knew the fear, hope, and horror that the Dark Lord felt. These dreams had to be some trick or trap. Again, he pushed away the idea of telling anyone. He could handle this. He couldn't bear the looks on their faces.
He struggled with these thoughts as he sat with his friends at the Three Broomsticks. Ginny sat in the far corner of the pub with Dean Thomas. She had given him a small wave when they entered, then turned her attention back to her date. Harry had expected Ron to react to his sister canoodling in the pub, but he didn't. He sipped his butterbeer and chatted lightly with Hermione, the two of them sensing that Harry didn't want to talk, so they didn't direct the conversation to him.
Harry had noted that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Zabini had swiftly exited the backway when the trio sat down. Malfoy was acting far more sheepishly than his previous behaviour dictated. He had given Hermione a look that said as much, but she shrugged him off.
He sipped his butterbeer and resisted the thought of his latest nightmare for the umpteenth time that morning. The strange hunger grew in his gut as he sat there, making him flinch momentarily before he bit it down. He decided he wanted to get more dreamless sleep before they left Hogsmeade, enough for the rest of the year. He wondered how he would slip away from his friends, unwilling as he was to discuss the reason. He vowed to check the library for a more robust alternative to the potion.
Harry watched as Professor Trelawney entered the pub and struck up a chat with Slughorn at the bar. The Boy Who Lived was bored and agitated. Hermione had engrossed herself in her conversation with Ron, and he took the opportunity to steal away, claiming bathroom. Neither noticed when he slipped out the front door.
Harry had bought his potions and decided to head back to the castle alone, opting to explain his absence later rather than sooner. Hermione had accosted him for just that at dinner that night when he decided to reappear from his hiding spot within the library and join them. He had searched for an alternative to the potion but had come away empty-handed.
"I just needed some fresh air," he'd told her. Freezing cold fresh air. She'd sucked her teeth and narrowed her eyes, saying nothing.
He searched for Malfoy at the Slytherin table, a knee-jerk reaction. He found the blonde with Pansy, the two of them sitting silently. Malfoy looked sick. Pansy's eyes flicked to the staff table, and Harry followed her gaze. McGonagall was whispering in the headmaster's ear, her lips moving rapidly. Dumbledore's face gave nothing away, but he could tell something was wrong. As though the headmaster sensed the thought, his eyes locked with Harry's from across the hall. The Boy Who Lived questioned the man silently but received nothing in return. He said something to Professor McGonagall, and she nodded, then hurried from the room.
Once the others had gone to bed, he found himself with Ginny again. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop since dinner. He sat, bouncing his leg, while the youngest Weasley watched him.
"Everything's okay, right, Harry?" She questioned softly. He realised it was the first time she'd asked him that.
"I don't know," he said honestly. She chewed her lip but didn't press.
The other shoe came in the form of McGonagall mere minutes later, near midnight.
"Potter, the headmaster will see you now," She seemed surprised to find him awake. Professor McGonagall led him to Dumbledore's office and ushered him in, her lips pressed in a fine line. She didn't follow him up the staircase.
"Harry, my boy. Sit," the old man said from behind his desk, his hands steepled on the hardwood. Harry reached for the chair and sat down, not taking his eyes off Dumbledore.
"It has come to our attention that Professor Trelawney is missing. She did not return from Hogsmeade, and we cannot locate her. It is too early to tell, but we believe this may have been the work of Death Eaters." Dumbledore gave a pause before he continued. "I felt I must tell you this tonight, at this late hour. I must confess to you that I have not divulged the whole story."
He waited, narrowing his eyes, knowing he would receive more bad news.
"You see, Harry, Sybil Trelawney foreshadowed your birth all those years ago." The headmaster waited for the Boy Who Lived to understand.
"She gave the prophecy?" Harry guffawed, shaking his head. "That… can't be right."
"Unfortunately so," Dumbledore bowed his head as the gravity of the situation sank in. "I was there to bear witness. And so, you understand the predicament we find ourselves in."
Voldemort was likely torturing Trelawney within a breath of her life as they spoke. Any minute, he would know what Harry knew; he would have the prophecy that Harry had fought tooth and nail to find and protect. Dumbledore looked far more grave than he felt if that were possible. He thought back to that morning when he'd seen Trelawney in Hogsmeade.
"It was Malfoy," Harry said after a moment. Dumbledore's eyes widened.
"That is a severe accusation, Harry,"
The Boy Who Lived could tell by the man's tone that he was already fighting a losing battle.
"I saw him there, at the Three Broomsticks. Trelawney was there. She was talking with Professor Slughorn." He insisted.
"You saw Draco there with Sybil?" The headmaster pressed.
"Well… No, he left when I arrived, and Trelawney came after…" He trailed off when he realised that his reasoning would be flimsy to the Professor. The man's raised eyebrow told him as much.
"We will put the full power of the Order into this, of course, my boy. We will find those responsible."
Harry hadn't felt reassured.
In the days following Professor Trelawney's disappearance, Hogsmeade trips were cancelled. Several families withdrew their children as it became clear that this kidnapping had been the work of Death Eaters. Harry numbly thought that it was good that he had gotten his potions when he did.
Dumbledore's assurances that it would all be fine had been disregarded. He could sense the headmaster's growing anxiety, now poorly hidden, fuelling Harry's fears. Harry was sure that by now, the Dark Lord had the prophecy Sirius had died for. The Boy Who Lived had taken to watching Malfoy on the Marauder's map and noticed that he was frequently very close to the Room of Requirement, sometimes vanishing within it.
One such night, Harry watched the Slytherin on the map, pacing outside the tapestry and disappearing from the map. The Chosen One made a split-second decision and scrambled from the bed, sticking his wand and the map into the pockets of his pyjamas before he took the invisibility cloak from his trunk and threw it over his shoulders.
He made short work of the distance between him and Malfoy. He checked the map and found that the Slytherin must still be inside, judging by the way he was nowhere else. He waited, his heart thrumming in his chest.
He had begun to wonder if he'd missed the blonde and misread the map before the door reappeared, and Malfoy poked his head out, scanning the corridor. Harry waited until the Slytherin had begun down the hall away from him before he threw the cloak off and shouted:
"Hey!"
Malfoy spun, eyes wide. He'd raised his wand on instinct but seemed to hesitate when he realised who was looking at.
"Potter," He sneered, backing away.
"What did you do with Trelawney?" Harry spat, crossing the space between them quicker than Malfoy could create it.
The Boy Who Lived was aware of the ache in his gut, but his adrenaline masked the sensation. Malfoy swallowed heavily and tried to retreat faster. Harry shot a stunner at his feet in warning, expecting the blonde to fight back.
"You don't know what you're talking about," The blonde bit out.
Harry did know what he was talking about. He could feel that he was right—he was just the only one who could see it. He shot another stunner, this time at the wall behind Malfoy. The other teen flinched and stopped his retreat, and, to Harry's bafflement, lowered his wand.
"I'm not going to fight you, Potter,"
But Harry wanted to fight. His blood thrummed in his ears, and his stomach lurched with rage, hunger, and adrenaline. His hands shook as he shot a third stunner, this time narrowly missing the blonde's head. This finally inspired the Slytherin to run.
The Boy Who Lived chased him, pleased to put the rage to good use.
"Sectumsempra!" He screamed the spell, and both teens hit the ground from a sprint.
Blood quickly pooled around Malfoy as he rasped for breath, grasping for his wand before losing consciousness.
The Chosen One vaguely understood that he'd made a mistake. Overpowering relief flooded him. The aching, gnawing hunger finally sated. Bliss numbed his limbs as he spread out on the floor, laughing.
This was how Snape found them.
"Cruicio!" He watched Bellatrix writhe under his wand and hissed in satisfaction. Intense warmth spread through him, washing out the pain.
"Good, Harry. Very good."
The Chosen One snapped awake, slowly realizing that he was alone in the Hospital Wing. Well, not strictly alone; Malfoy slept across the way from him, looking deathly pale. It dawned on him what he'd done, and he promptly vomited off the edge of the bed, alerting Madame Pomfrey in her office.
"Oh dear, Potter, oh dear." She muttered, clearing the mess with a wave of her wand. He allowed her to reposition him in the bed and feigned sleep, unwilling to interact. It was still dark, so he guessed that only a few hours had passed.
He'd cursed Malfoy.
And he'd felt the same as he had when-
He shook his head and buried his face in the pillow.
The sunrise brought with it a flurry of activity in the Hospital Wing. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Snape, and Dumbledore surrounded his bed. Malfoy still slept across the way.
"Is it your belief, Potter, that Draco is somehow responsible for Professor Trelawney's disappearance?" Snape began the interrogation immediately.
Harry pursed his lips, his eyes flicking to Dumbledore and back to Snape.
"I saw him at the Three Broomsticks before she disappeared. I left to get some air. He's been acting strangely," He looked to Hermione for confirmation, but she pursed her lips in response.
"I heard him say on the train that he wouldn't return to Hogwarts after this year. He's up to something, Professor." He said this to Dumbledore.
"So, you took it upon yourself to use dark magic against him?" Snape deadpanned.
"I- No, that's… I didn't; I mean, I didn't know…"
"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said.
Hermione avoided his gaze, instead watching the headmaster with her chin in the air.
"You must know, Harry, that none of this is reason enough to believe that a student is behind the kidnapping of a teacher." Dumbledore addressed him. "And certainly not reason enough to curse them."
The admonishment was clear.
"I found the spell in a book. I didn't know what it did. I was… Angry." He felt ridiculous as heat flooded his cheeks. He looked at Ginny for the first time, and she gave a tiny reassuring smile.
He forced his gaze to the headmaster and pleaded with his eyes. He couldn't bear the thought of the night at the Ministry, couldn't bear the idea that it had all been for nothing, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. They would sit idly by while the Dark Lord plucked them like flowers from a garden. Frustration washed over him when the headmaster ignored his silent begging.
They didn't believe him. They didn't trust his word, and certainly, they didn't trust his intuition. Harry felt a pang of guilt at the thought that they were probably right to distrust it.
Snape had given him detention every Saturday for the rest of the year, and he had been suspended indefinitely from playing Quidditch. Harry hadn't bothered to hide his sneer as Snape and Dumbledore exited the hospital wing. It appeared that they thought Harry had been injured in a duel. That Malfoy had fought back, and that was why he'd been found with his brain leaking from his ears. He pushed the thought away, guilt and fear bubbling. Hermione had left quickly after the headmaster, and the Boy Who Lived got the clear message that she was angry with him.
Madam Pomfrey came to release him from the confines of the Wing, and he walked back to the Gryffindor Common Room with Ron and Ginny, still in his pyjamas.
A few weeks later, Harry watched the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match from the stands alone. Hermione had avoided him, and he had avoided her. Ginny and Ron were both in the air. He had served his detentions thus far wordlessly, ignoring Snape's incessant bullying as he used the time to finish his schoolwork.
He had noticed that he felt clearer after he left the Hospital Wing. Even his magic flowed more smoothly from his mind to his wand. The dreams had subsided as well, as though granting him a reprieve. And so, he watched the match, feeling relatively more soothed even though they had heard no word about Professor Trelawney. He didn't want to think about why, pushing the thought away, sometimes with violence, each time it arose.
Harry noted that Malfoy had been replaced as Seeker by a Slytherin he didn't recognise, and he wondered why he hadn't noticed earlier. He searched the crowd for the blonde but couldn't spot him. He cursed and wished he'd brought the map to the pitch.
He left the match, aiming to check the Marauder's map. He made his way down through the stands as Ron missed his second goal, signalled by the uproar of the Slytherin house. As he crossed the lawn towards the castle, he rehashed everything he'd witnessed Malfoy do or say, trying to make sense of it. The blonde git was up to something, and Harry would get to the bottom of it. Over the last few weeks, the Slytherin had taken to travelling in a pack, never far from at least two of his housemates, even when he paced outside the Room of Requirement. Crabbe, Goyle, and sometimes Zabini would escort Malfoy and wait outside the tapestry before returning the git to his Common Room.
The hallways of the castle were empty, everyone at the pitch. He was lost in thought when he nearly rounded a corner when Snape's hushed voice stopped him. He leaned against the wall, pressing himself close and listening.
"Allow me to help you. I made a vow to your mother-"
"I told you I don't need your help," Malfoy. Harry sucked in a breath and swallowed.
"It certainly appears to me that you do."
"He chose me for this. Me!"
"I suppose being torn to ribbons in front of the Room of Requirement is all part of your… Plan." Snape drawled.
"He came after me! I didn't fight him." The Slytherin hissed.
"It did not appear that way to me."
"I raised my wand, but I didn't use it."
There was a pause.
"I don't need help. Everything is fine," Malfoy's tone made it sound not fine.
The two had separated, blessedly not coming Harry's way as he processed what he'd heard. Snape was in on it. Whatever Malfoy was up to, the Defence Professor had sworn to help see it through. Harry didn't need three guesses to know who had chosen Malfoy to carry out this plan.
The Boy Who Lived understood at once that he couldn't go to the headmaster with this. Anything he said to Dumbledore invariably made its way to Snape, such was his blind trust for the man. There was no way he could go to him and point a finger at Severus. For whatever reason, the older man could not see through the obvious facade.
He knew he couldn't go to Hermione either, not that he'd recently felt particularly inspired to do that. Ron had been detached and distant. He made his way to the Common Room, his original plan, though he no longer needed to check the map.
Harry told Ginny everything he knew about Malfoy that night. She had let him talk and dissect into the early morning hours and told him that she believed him, that the Slytherin and Snape were planning something that Voldemort had put into play. The Boy Who Lived was grateful to be believed.
He had gone to bed at around three in the morning, downing dreamless sleep.