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sua_layAuthor: Rimau Sua Lay
Rating: overall NC-17, Angst, Drama, Action/Adventure, First Time
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Snape, Ron/Draco, (Sirius/Remus)
Date: December 2002 - ?
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Sherbet Lemon?
Summary for Book Four: -Before you can go forward, you must face your past. Sins of the father may bury the son. Harry will find out if a dog really is the man's best friend.
Warning: This part contains deaths, gore, mention of het rape, explicit sex between men, disturbing themes, angst and a partridge in a pear tree.
The earlier parts of the fic can be found here.
Sleeping in the chair hadn't been one of Harry's best ideas. Unlike some enlarged chairs he could mention, the one in his living room had been extremely uncomfortable and hard. It didn't matter the damn thing looked nice.
Trying to stretch the tension away from his shoulders, he looked around the Entrance Hall, sighing as he saw people milling around aimlessly again.
He didn't know when this would end. They were all waiting for things to start happening, but no one seemed to be able to sit and wait.
Everyone was gathering here at Hogwarts, small groups of people talking about the war together or simply sharing ideas.
Harry didn't really wonder why. He didn't like waiting either.
Still, he would have rather stayed home going through the vast amount of old books that had been delivered at their doorstep early this morning. Remus had been overjoyed to see them, spreading books all around the living room and disappearing between the musty pages as soon as they'd finished breakfast.
Reading about dark creatures would definitely be easier than this. Harry shook his head. He was certain Sirius would have preferred coming with him, but since the Death Eater operation with magical beings was still his main focus, he'd stayed behind with Remus.
Harry was actually glad he had. Ron and Hermione -- and of course Malfoy, who seemed to be happy to trail after them quietly -- were with him, and there would be nothing to worry about inside Hogwarts' walls. Besides, having Sirius stay away postponed a scene Harry really didn't wish to witness right now.
He smiled just a little as he stepped into the Great Hall and immediately spotted both Dumbledore and Snape, the two wizards standing together and talking quietly.
Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad day after all.
"I'm going to talk to Terry," Hermione muttered, looking at her friend who had definitely not used any kinds of hangover cure potions this morning.
Ron nodded after casting a look around the Hall and seeing none of his brothers here today. "Okay. I'll come with you."
They'd been talking about some intriguing ideas last night, and he wanted to go through some of the things with Terry again.
After one hesitant glance at Harry, Draco trailed after them. He didn't think his company was wanted, and since professor Snape was with Dumbledore and Blaise was nowhere in sight, he should just try to find a dark corner and stay there.
Harry watched his friends go. There were things he wanted to talk about with Hermione and Ron, and even with Malfoy, but he didn't think this was the time or the place.
Too many people here.
He nodded slightly at those who called out his name, but didn't stop to talk to anyone. When people realized he was walking towards Dumbledore, they didn't even try to approach him.
It was an odd sort of relief.
"Good morning, Harry. Good to see you."
Smiling at Dumbledore, Harry nodded. "Headmaster. Snape." Facing just the two wizards, he let the smile broaden.
"Potter," Snape muttered, his expression haughty. "I see that unlike most of the teenagers, you didn't spend the whole night partying."
Harry wondered if his face would split from the smile. "Not really my style. I much rather spend the night in quiet company." He barely managed to swallow the descriptions of said company, certain that Snape wouldn't want him to say it in front of Dumbledore.
As expected, his words were followed by a raised eyebrow, but some of the haughtiness seemed to disappear from Snape's face.
Not that it probably meant anything, but Harry chose to feel good about it anyway.
"Severus and I were just talking about the projects in Hogsmeade," Dumbledore stated as if he'd completely missed the looks and the lessening of tension. "I do think Mr. Zabini will be able to move into his own apartment soon."
That was certainly good news.
Of course there were more. The plans they had for the small village were rather extensive, and Dumbledore seemed to enjoy outlining the ideas once more, repeating things they had talked about half a dozen times already.
Harry didn't mind. There were worse ways to spend the day.
Even with his attention on Dumbledore, Harry couldn't help being aware of Snape's presence by his side. He had to concentrate on standing still, otherwise he would have swayed closer to Snape.
An evening spent drinking had definitely been a bad idea. All that damn wallowing made him want to go to Snape and now was not the time for that.
He didn't say anything, he simply hung on the edge of the conversation, enjoying the nuances of Snape's voice as he commented on Dumbledore's plans. He liked the sound of Snape's voice; the sarcastic quips and dry wit delivered smoothly.
He could listen to it all day long and it didn't even matter what Snape was saying. He could lecture about Potions or read from the Daily Prophet for all he cared. Even now most of the things he said didn't register.
Harry was more interested in the way he talked.
He cast a look at Snape's lips and then couldn't take his gaze away. Concentrating on every moue was simply too fascinating.
It was a familiar sight, and he realized he could tell Snape's mood by simply looking at the way he pursed his lips together.
He was lost in the memories of seeing those lips twist into a sarcastic sneer whenever he said something foolish, the expression never really changing even though there was no malice in the black gaze these days. Sometimes when Snape was relaxed, there were softer imitations of the sneer, even almost-smiles.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry tried to stop thinking about Snape's lips or any other body parts right now. This was important.
He was going to have to do something about this. Missing Snape's presence was already pulling his attention away from all the other important things, and he couldn't afford that. Maybe he could stay for tea or something after the day's meetings. Just to spend some time alone with Snape.
Not to have sex, but simply to sit there in the dungeons and feel Snape next to him. Watching him relax slightly, feeling his skin brush against his and who was he trying to convince he wasn't going to have sex with the man anyway?
It was not exactly a good thought for the moment, but Harry couldn't help lingering on the yearning no matter how silly it was.
Professor Flitwick joined them, his eyes bright as ever and his whole being shivering with nervous excitement. Harry tore his attention away from Snape, glad of the distraction, and forced himself to listen as the Charms professor talked about all the inquiries the former members of his House had sent him these past few days.
That was actually intriguing. As far as Harry could tell, the Order had always stayed in the background, never attracting multitudes of members. Maybe now that would change, and it was not a bad turn.
They needed more people to defeat the Death Eaters.
"I will brew more Veritaserum then," was all Snape said after Flitwick's exuberant report.
Glaring at his colleague who had the audacity to challenge the integrity of his former students, Flitwick bristled for a moment, but then forgot all about House pride and went on describing charms to Dumbledore who listened avidly and nodded every now and then.
Harry fought against the urge to roll his eyes, pressing his lips together as he saw the dark amusement on Snape's face. He was used to that expression by now, having seen it countless of times, especially when Snape commented on his hormonal behavior.
It was definitely best if he concentrated on something else.
He cast a look around the room, seeing no familiar redheads except for Ron. Hoping it wasn't because any bad news from St. Mungo's, Harry focused on his friends, seeing most of his yearmates gathered near the huge windows.
At first it looked like there was some casual discussion about something going on, Ron and Terry Boot talking and gesturing at Hermione who was actually smiling at Blaise Zabini, but it soon became clear that it wasn't exactly a conversation. Harry could tell when Ron was getting upset, and that point was awfully close.
Frowning, he watched Terry's face get redder, and finally the Ravenclaw snapped out something and then walked away in anger.
"Excuse me." He nodded at the professors -- gaze barely lingering on Snape -- and then went to where Ron and the others were standing. "What was that all about?" Raising an eyebrow, Harry stared at the retreating back. He'd never seen Terry act like that before. He was usually very quiet and composed.
Ron shrugged. "I guess he's just a bit edgy."
They all were. It was no wonder.
This waiting was really getting on Ron's nerves. He liked thinking about strategy when it was about wizard's chess or Quidditch, but not when he should be doing something instead of just talking.
He saw Lee Jordan talking to Seamus and Dean, but didn't feel like going to them. His dad was still at St. Mungo's with Bill, working on getting Charlie better, and he didn't want to spend the day talking to anyone about it.
Like he usually did; talking with Harry and Hermione and the others. Talking and doing nothing really serious about this whole damn war. He hated it, needed to be doing something.
At least it looked like today would be slightly different. Dumbledore was walking towards a side door now, casting a look at them. It was like a sign for something important.
It hit Ron that it probably was a sign. Like other knowing looks and twinkling gazes and a hundred other signs he'd missed along the years.
A look at Harry confirmed his suspicions. He was definitely looking more alert now, getting ready to leave the Great Hall.
Crap.
"Are we supposed to stay here while you go to another secret meeting?" Ron hadn't really understood how that still bothered him until he said it out loud. His voice almost dripped with malice.
He didn't even have to see the way Harry flinched to know that he'd guessed it right.
Harry let out a sigh. He could see how it wasn't really necessary to protect his friends anymore. Sooner or later they would all have to hear the truth, and hearing it now might save their lives later on. "No. You're supposed to come with me to a secret meeting." He managed to even smile at the astonishment on Ron's face. With a glance at Hermione and Malfoy, he gestured at the door. "Let's go then."
Surprised that he was included in Potter's gesture, Draco followed the Gryffindor trio in silence.
There were others going to the Headmaster's office, people who hadn't previously been included in these meetings. Harry nodded slightly at the professors who were here for the first time. It was good to have them here.
Ron tried not to gawk at everyone as he quietly followed the others to Dumbledore's office. There were no couches or comfortable chairs there anymore, simply a round table with wooden chairs around it and he sat between Harry and Hermione. Barely noticing where Malfoy was sitting, he looked around, eyes wide with wonder.
They were definitely the youngest people in the room. There was the Headmaster with professor McGonagall sitting near by. Sprout and Flitwick were talking quietly together while Snape settled on the other side of the table, looking as stern as ever.
He seemed to focus his attention on Harry for a moment, and Ron had to bite his lip to stop the grimace from spreading to his face. He did not like seeing Harry relax ever so slightly when he noticed Snape looking at him.
Since there weren't other teachers here, Ron decided that the ones present had to be here because they were all Heads of the Houses. It made sense. He was definitely glad no one had invited Trelawney. The other people in the room looked familiar from the meeting last spring, but he couldn't remember their names.
Maybe he should ask Harry. He certainly looked like he knew everyone here.
"All right then." Leaning back on his chair, Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and cast a knowing look around the room.
Ron felt shivers go down his back as that piercing gaze met him. It suddenly made this real. He was sitting in Dumbledore's office and this was a very secret Order of the Phoenix meeting! It didn't get much more real than this.
Next to him, Hermione was fussing with a quill and a parchment, and Ron wondered if he should take notes as well. This wasn't class, but he could bet this was more important than anything he'd ever been taught in school. Trying to look nonchalant, he rested his elbows on the table and waited for Dumbledore to go on.
Everyone looked ready for some real action. Even Flitwick looked more alert than in ages.
Feeling the slight tension in the pit of his stomach, Harry wondered if it was because of the boredom of the past days. Was he now thrilled because of the chance to actually do something because he really wanted to fight, or was it because anything was better than just waiting?
He cast a brief look at Dumbledore, not at all surprised to see that the old wizard was avoiding his eyes.
"We have gathered here today to make final plans for the training," Dumbledore said without the usual pleasantries.
It was familiar to Harry, but most of the other people were clearly dismayed. There had been no talk of tea, no Sherbert Lemons or other sweets offered. This was simply business.
No one said a thing as Dumbledore once again introduced people to each other, not even smiling at the silliness of calling out the names of the teachers.
Ron was just glad he wouldn't embarrass himself now that he knew for sure that the witch was Figg and the wizard was Fletcher and not the other way around.
"Now that we've taken care of that..." Dumbledore nodded to his side, his expression softening. "Minerva, would you please?"
Looking down at a parchment, McGonagall read out loud, "We already have people focusing on dark creatures that have been shipped to the country by Voldemort's people." Her voice was firm. "Filius is looking into advanced Charms and Severus is working with Poppy to make sure we have as many stealth potions, antidotes and other medicinal brews in store as possible."
The last comment made everyone tense. Talking about healing meant casualties, and even though they had mentioned those previously, it seemed like the thought hit some hard.
Flitwick's brow was creased with worry.
"Our main concern right now is the Order itself. Not only the housing in Hogwarts and secrecy and security, but preparing everyone to what will come."
Muttering quietly, "Finally!" Arabella Figg leaned back on her chair, looking relieved.
McGonagall threw a stern look at her, as if chastising a student in class. The strange thing was that that one simple look made Figg fluster where nothing said in the secret inner circle meetings ever had.
"As I was saying..." McGonagall tapped the parchment. "We have some veterans from the first war, but unfortunately they're in the minority. Most of the adults that have recently joined the Order have at least some extensive training in defense, but the younger witches and wizards need to learn more. Much more than any Defense Against Dark Arts class has covered."
That didn't come as a surprise to Harry. The classes had been difficult, but they had never really dealt with the darkness waiting for them. Voldemort wouldn't send Red Caps to defeat them or use disarming curses.
Dumbledore nodded firmly, casting a knowing look at McGonagall. "We need to have more training for dueling, defense, strategy and basic healing."
The only sound in the room was Hermione's quill scratching on the parchment.
"Yes," McGonagall agreed. "Also, we need to educate people about what really happened, both seventeen years ago and now. There are so many lies told as the truth, and people deserve to know who fought against Voldemort and who betrayed us all."
Harry opened his mouth for the first time, managing a half choked, "Yes." He was so tired of the lies and half-truths, and it was about time they could be open about spies and heroes.
He was glad for Sirius, but knew it would be both relieving and painful to have the tale of Peter Pettigrew out in the open. Not to mention the publicity their own spy would receive once Snape's story hit the news.
A very forbidding glare on Snape's face told that his past had better not become a matter of public interest.
"That will be quite a lot of work." Sprout shook her head slightly, wondering how could they ever organize half of what Minerva had just said. "Do you think we have enough time for all that?"
Looking down at the tabletop, Harry listened half heartedly as Dumbledore listed all the plans they had already made. It was almost like he was living through those small meetings again, carried back in time to when there had been just Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and him here, with Figg, Fletcher, Sirius and Remus coming to join them as often as they could.
They had discussed this back then, Dumbledore painting a very realistic picture of the training they would still need. Harry didn't need to hear it again, he already remembered every word.
It was going to be hard work. Probably harder than any one of them could imagine.
Still, Harry was glad they would start to really do things. The more they trained their people, the better their chances were. He was not going to let anyone go into the upcoming fights without real skills to actually fight the enemy.
He could see how their plans made Ron and Hermione stare as the enormity of this whole thing finally hit them. This wasn't like one of their adventures, with swift action and a relatively easy victory. Voldemort wouldn't appear at the gates and challenge him. He couldn't go alone to find the enemy and then challenge Voldemort. This would be a real war.
There would be battles and losses and it would probably take a very long time before they could even begin to plan for peace.
Realization in Malfoy's eyes was not as obvious, but Harry could see that their plans for everything unnerved him as well. He'd really have to sit down with Malfoy soon and talk about the different view they had on things, the concepts that were totally alien to him and as familiar as his own skin to Malfoy.
For the first time he felt a small twinge of regret for all those days he'd spent pushing the whole thing away and spending time in Snape's room at the cottage. They should have talked more about this.
Then he looked at Ron, taking in the absolute shock on his face. No, it would never have worked. Ron was barely able to deal with this when Dumbledore was the one outlining their plans. Harry didn't even want to think about how Ron would have reacted to him or Snape saying the same things.
It looked like some people here were having a hard time listening to the Headmaster.
Professor Flitwick was slowly shaking his head, as if he was finding a huge logic loop in Dumbledore's words. Looking around the table, he waited for there to be a pause in the narrative and then raised his hand slightly, asking for a permission to speak.
"You don't have to do that, Filius," Dumbledore said gently. "If you want to say something, say it."
After a hesitant cough, Flitwick asked, "Are we really talking about a war here? A real war against the Death Eaters?"
From the shock reflected on Sprout's face, Harry realized that even after everything that had happened, after all the things they had already talked about, it was hard for some to understand that this was real.
"Yes." Surprisingly, it was Arabella Figg saying that. She'd been sitting in silence as usual, listening to every word said.
Flitwick stared at her for a moment and then turned back to Dumbledore for a confirmation. "Really?"
"Yes, Filius. We're at war, and very soon, it will become clear to the whole wizarding world." There was a note of finality in Dumbledore's voice.
Wondering what more would their world need, Harry shook his head slightly. Two of his colleagues had been attacked, people were killed and still professor Flitwick hesitated? Was this really how people dealt with a situation like this; hid their heads in the sand and wished it'd all go away?
If people really didn't believe Voldemort was back, how could they ever defend themselves?
"Maybe there will be no more attacks." It sounded almost as if Flitwick was still asking a question.
Harry hated to see the glimmer of hope on some faces. He looked up, waiting for Dumbledore to say something. The solemn expression he saw made him almost choke. Dumbledore was looking at him, waiting for him to tell everyone the absolute truth.
He resented it, wanting nothing more than to leave. But he couldn't move. This was indeed his life now, and like it or not, he was going to have to live it.
Not simply in front of a crowd of strangers, but a small group of people he'd known almost half his life.
"Oh, there will be attacks."
Ron jumped at that. It was the first thing Harry had said loud and clear, and he was shocked to hear the words coming from him. He could see Hermione was equally stunned.
Suddenly looking even smaller than he really was, Flitwick asked again, "Really?"
"They'll come for us." Voice perfectly calm, Harry sat there, not looking at anyone. "Once they make the decision, they will come to kill us. Maybe one house or village at the time, maybe a full blown attack, I don't know. But they will come. Not to conquer or take over. They will come to kill us, and at that point, they're not going to ask who's who. They won't care if they kill Muggles or our troops, students or us. They'll just kill everyone."
He was so tired of everyone thinking this wouldn't be a big deal when it was.
Only Dumbledore and Snape nodded at the harsh words, knowing they were not an exaggeration or a morose figment of Harry's imagination. Neither said aything but simply watched in silence as everyone else gaped in obvious shock.
Minerva McGonagall looked at Harry, her expression hard but her gaze misting over with unshed tears. This was breaking her heart, watching her children grow up too soon. It didn't matter Harry was fulfilling his destiny, he was still too young for this.
"That is correct," Dumbledore nodded finally. Here, with the inner most circle of their Order, they would have to be honest with each other. Hiding from the truth would serve no purpose anymore.
"Lots of people will get killed. It doesn't matter how well we plan or how good we are. People are going to die." Harry raised his gaze for the first time, looking at Ron who was now staring fixedly at the tabletop. "How the hell can we prepare them for that?"
There was a silence, filled with pain and sadness.
"We can't. No one can be prepared for that. But we can prepare our people to fight, and to survive." They did have excellent teachers for that.
Harry looked at Dumbledore, nodding curtly. He knew he was right, but hated the feeling of hopelessness. Everyone in the Order would follow him; through flames and pain, to whatever end. He didn't want to think about what that end would be to most. Facing the Death Eaters usually ended in either death or agony.
His expression didn't waver as he said quietly, "We must be honest with our people about what they are about to face. No more lies. They must all understand what this war means. That Voldemort's people show no mercy. They kill. And if they don't kill immediately..." He couldn't say it after all. "We all know what they do to their captives."
No one seemed to breathe for a moment, the tension in the room palpable. As Dumbledore closed his eyes, Harry was finally able to turn his gaze away. He tried not to look at the others, knowing most would know exactly what he was talking about. Fearing that some might not, and he would have to explain.
Draco watched the older members of the Order, wondering what they were thinking. The teachers he'd seen as fools now looked lost in unpleasant thoughts. He'd never seen such anger in the Headmaster or such pain in the usually so jolly Sprout. It was almost as if they were remembering something.
Tasting bile in his mouth, he turned away from the plump herbologist only to meet professor McGonagall's completely empty gaze.
In all his life, he had never felt himself so small; guilt unlike any he'd ever felt was choking him. He was totally unprepared for this. Gryffindors didn't really matter, teachers didn't matter. His life had always been about power and pride and there was no room for regrets in the world where he'd grown up.
"We know." Snape sounded like he was listing the properties of knotgrass. "But the children might not. Whatever they have heard from the older students or their parents, I doubt it's enough. When their training truly begins, everyone should be informed of what they will be facing. Death and torture. Curses they have never even heard of as well as the cruciatus, beatings, rape..."
Draco flinched at the calmly stated list, still unable to turn his gaze from McGonagall's. There had been terrible knowledge in the blue eyes, of all the things Snape had said.
As the familiar voice continued about the Death Eaters, Draco couldn't help thinking about the moment when he'd seen Mordred swoop down from the rafters with a letter in his beak. He'd read the parchment dozens of times before burning it and destroying all the evidence.
He had known. Not everything, but more than most people in the castle. He'd been well aware of his father's plan to take care of some of the most important Order members and those they loved. The list of names and dates had not been long, and he hadn't really concentrated on them, choosing to angst over the big picture and his own future instead.
No matter what his defection had prevented, it hadn't prevented this one person almost dying. He tried not to think about the other things the Death Eaters might have done, but couldn't help wondering.
What a stupid thought. He knew his father and his friends and how they felt about Gryffindors. They would never have passed such an opportunity. He knew without the shadow of a doubt that they had indeed.
Slowly, he turned his gaze to Potter. Did he know? Did he have any idea of what had really happened to the Head of his House when she'd been away? Draco was certain all the teachers at least suspected. But did Potter or his friends know?
He noticed how Potter was sitting completely still, his hand squeezed into a fist. On his side, Weasley was staring with his eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
Draco swallowed. The slight movement made the angry green gaze focus on him, and for a moment he and Potter were looking at each other in perfect understanding.
He knew, had known all along. Draco couldn't even begin to comprehend what else Potter might know, what he saw as reality. How the hell could he offer him a place to stay, knowing what his family was like? Not so long ago, Draco had been more than willing to become like that as well. Like his father was, like Snape had been; a monster.
Still looking into Potter's eyes, he understood for the first time why there was no real enmity between them anymore.
With his silly games and comments, he must appear to be a nuisance, but nothing more. There were people who were the embodiment of evil. After facing such people, no wonder Potter wouldn't spend any time worrying about someone like him.
Draco looked away. It was devastating to finally see just how small his part in this whole thing was. Compared to most of these people, he'd seen nothing. He didn't want to think about McGonagall. Didn't want to think about Snape.
But he couldn't keep his thoughts away from them.
How could they sit here and discuss this when all he wanted to do was to run away and hide in shame? He would never understand them, especially Snape who had once been everything he now hated. How could he bear to sit there and talk about these things?
He looked up to see the black gaze focused on him, revealing nothing of what Snape was thinking.
"But..." Looking pale with shock, professor Sprout was shaking her head, as if she didn't want to believe what she was hearing. "But surely they wouldn't dare. Not now. The Ministry will..."
"The Ministry will do nothing."
There was an awful silence. Draco cringed, refusing to even look at the Transfiguration professor, keeping his gaze on Snape. He wasn't into praying, but right now he begged to the fates and Merlin and anyone who might listen that no one would ask anything.
Minerva McGonagall's voice was icy cold as she went on, "They will turn a blind eye to evidence and truth and will refuse to listen to anyone who tells them about Voldemort or his people and their atrocities." She paused for a moment. "I know Cornelius, and he will never believe that people who are in high places in our society would ever do such horrible things."
Her words couldn't have been clearer even if she had said names out loud. The flicker of completely uncharactaristic pity in Snape's eyes told Draco that he knew the truth as well.
Fortunately no one tried to argue with McGonagall. A moment later Dumbledore raised the question of training again, and everyone seemed to be relieved by the topic.
No more questions were asked about the need of preparing for a fight.
The plans weren't simple by any means, but the calm way Dumbledore talked about teaching and preparing made everything sound so clear. Only the cold look in his eyes spoke of his true anger, and that was somewhat more frightening than anything.
It was not a discussion. Harry had been a part of so many arguments and planning meetings he was actually glad the Headmaster was now stating their plans, not waiting for anyone to say anything intelligent. Everything possible had already been said in this room, over dozens of secret meetings and small gatherings.
No one could pretend this was anything but a war council. Worried and shocked and scared, everyone simply sat and listened.
Harry didn't have to. He knew all this, beyond the things that were said.
As soon as Dumbledore indicated the meeting was over, Hermione stood up and left the room. Her expression was fragile, and no one questioned her as she headed towards the door.
She was soon followed by professor Flitwick who looked like he was going to head straight into his quarters and hide under his bed until the war was over.
Ron was still staring at the people near him, his gaze going from Dumbledore to McGonagall, then to Snape and back to Dumbledore again. He couldn't comprehend most of what had just happened. Sure, he'd heard every word said, but he still couldn't comprehend what they really meant.
He realized he didn't want to be here anymore. This reality of the Order, of the war was too horrible to deal with. Why was he here anyway? Shouldn't his dad be here? Or Bill?
Merlin! He was glad they weren't! He never wanted them to know what he now suspected.
"Harry?" Ron's whisper was frantic. "Do you think that the Death Eaters... That when they had professor McGonagall... That they... They couldn't have, right?" He couldn't be right, because that just didn't happen. Not to old professors, not to someone he cared about.
There was a moment of utter silence before Harry swallowed. "Yes. They probably did." He hadn't asked Snape, and never would. But he did know the reality.
He didn't want to think about it, but seeing the bewildered look in Ron's eyes forced him to sit here and discuss the matter. At least Ron was asking him and not Hermione. He had seen her hurry out of the room when their meeting was over. There was no way she could handle talking about this.
Draco slammed the door shut behind him and walked away. He didn't want to hear Potter explain his friend that the Death Eaters probably had. Didn't want to see the way Weasley would crumble at the words and be reminded of other Weasleys that were dead. He certainly didn't want to hear the name that was connected to both acts of violence, the pureblood family pride making him sick for the first time ever.
Inside the Headmaster's office, Ron was not crumbling. He was still staring at Harry, as if his words made absolutely no sense.
"But... Why?" He didn't know if any answer would be enough.
Harry shook his head, hating the way Ron was staring at him. He looked so damn young, too young to know these things, and it didn't matter that Ron was actually months older than he was. "I don't know."
Because they could. Because it was a show of force and contempt and Lucius Malfoy and his cohorts were sadistic bastards who would take pleasure in ravaging and torturing and killing people.
He wasn't surprised when Ron turned his agitated gaze to McGonagall and then flinched as if someone had hit him. However, he was glad that Ron said nothing and simply got up and scurried out of the Headmaster's office.
Harry was pretty sure they would never talk about this again.
It was a relief, for he was feeling too raw to even try to deal with this in a reasonable way.
He walked across the room, reluctantly discarding his earlier plans to stay and spend some time with Snape. The meeting had been draining, for all of them, and he suspected that once in the dungeons he couldn't really leave any time soon. Having Hermione and Ron go home all agitated would alarm Sirius, and whatever the outcome was, it wouldn't be pretty.
Still, he couldn't simply leave.
Since Dumbledore was staring out of a window Harry had never really noticed before and the others were busy trying to get out, Harry tried to be as unobtrusive as possible.
By the table, McGonagall was muttering quietly to Snape who was scribbling something on a parchment. It almost looked like she was keeping herself occupied so that no one could approach her with questions. She didn't need to bother. Everyone was already abandoning the room as if it were on fire.
Snape nodded slightly. "I will get that to you the first thing tomorrow. It's a simple potion, I could make it in my sleep."
"Thank you, Severus." Touching his arm lightly, McGonagall nodded before leaving. There was no answer, not that she had expected one.
Harry had watched the whole thing from the distance, needing a moment with Snape before going home alone again. He was surprised by the professor's gesture, since she never touched anyone anymore. The only exceptions seemed to be Snape and Dumbledore.
Was it because it had been Snape who had finally rescued her? He had no idea. He wanted to ask, but didn't know if he really should. He didn't want to remind Snape of that night.
"Was there something you wanted, Potter?" Collecting his parchments, Snape cast a glare at Harry. He didn't think he would do anything stupid with people still in the room, but one never knew with the Gryffindors.
The familiar tone made Harry smile wistfully. "Not really. I just..." Realizing he couldn't say anything about how he missed Snape and how he would do anything to spend just a little more time with him without sounding like a real wanker, he said instead, "I'm glad professor McGonagall is all right with you."
Right after the words came out, he cursed his stupidity, hearing how they could be interpreted wrong. "I mean, since she obviously doesn't trust people right now." That felt even more stupid to say. A very awkward way to say something he couldn't really put into words.
"How preceptive of you," Snape muttered, looking actually amused instead of angry. Then all amusement disappeared as he added quietly, "Minerva has a very good reason for not trusting people." He had seen the looks on the teenagers earlier and knew Harry was well aware of what he was speaking of.
Harry nodded. "I know." He wished he didn't know, but now that he did, he wanted to thank Snape again for rescuing McGonagall from even more pain and humiliation and a certain death. "Yeah." There were no words enough to show his gratitude, and he doubted any would be appreciated.
Finishing with his parchments, Snape cast another look at him. He wondered what Harry was thinking about right now. Probably about the things they had just said. Even with his insane notions of trust and other emotional things, he doubted Harry had ever really forgot about his past.
It made no real sense, but he didn't want to ask for Harry's reasons. They would probably be foolish and based on intuition anyway, but something compelled him to say, "She has nothing to fear from me. I have never..." He fell silent. No, he had never felt the need to explain his past to Harry and would not do so now.
Without other words, he squeezed the parchments against his chest and walked away from the table.
The very quiet, "I know," followed him, but he pretended he hadn't heard it. It made no difference what Harry thought he knew, even though there was a very small part of Snape that was actually pleased that he would say that.
Harry let Snape escape, realizing that there was nothing either one of them wanted to say right now. Staying together in a blessed silence was impossible, no matter how he craved it. He'd settle for the second best thing; battered and tired, he felt like he needed a long hot shower followed by a large mug of hot chocolate.
Quite likely a hug from Sirius.
There were still people milling around in the hallways, but Harry paid no attention to them. After talking about the realities of the very ugly war waiting for them, he didn't want to stay here and talk about trivialities. He could see that Ron and Hermione hadn't waited for him, but Draco Malfoy was standing in the shadows of the Entrance Hall. Once again there was no arrogance in his posture, only tired sadness, and that was the one thing that made Harry walk to him.
"Are you going back home?" Harry asked quietly.
Draco nodded, keeping his gaze down. He didn't know what to expect, but he was certain he wouldn't like it.
To his surprise, Potter didn't say anything. He simply joined him on the way back to Hogsmeade, strangely relaxed to walk next to him.
There were other people on the road, but Draco didn't pay attention to them, not even when there was a flurry of action as a flock of hungry looking reporters descended upon them.
It was good to walk in silence; there was nothing to say anyway. For the first time Draco was actually grateful of Potter's discretion and wasn't sure if he should be pleased or annoyed by it. He chose simply to enjoy it, enjoy the silence that was so much better than accusations or questions.
The two older Gryffindors were waiting for them in the living room, both looking worried. Apparently both Weasley and Granger had come home in shock, and they were now anxious to coddle Potter.
Draco ignored Black, who was completely focused on Potter anyway, and Lupin's knowing glances. He simply walked up the stairs to his room.
No amount of coddling or soft words would make him feel any better right now.
Instead of looking for comfort, he wanted to go to Weasley, to pick a fight or yell at him, shag him, whatever it took to get a reaction from the annoying man and lose himself in whatever emotion that wasn't pain.
Yet the same time, the mere thought of touching Weasley in any way made him physically ill.
He didn't want to think about Gryffindors. Or sex. Definitely not sex with Gryffindors. They all should curse him and his name anyway.
Slamming his door shut behind him, he squeezed his hands into fists so hard that he could feel his nails bite into the soft skin on his palms. The pain was a surprising thing, a strangely good feeling that could never compete with the ache inside but was somehow able to dull it.
He would not waste one more moment thinking about what had or may have happened to anyone. He hadn't done monstrous things, he wasn't a monster, though some people would undoubtedly see him as such.
It was pointless to wallow in this ridiculous guilt! Nothing in his power could change what had happened. He was not to blame for things others had done and damn it he was not going to let his mind linger on thoughts that said otherwise.
Grasping the oldest, deepest notion he had buried into his mind so firmly he didn't have to even think about to summon it, he disregarded the hollow feeling inside and repeated to himself quietly, "I'm a Malfoy, the heir of my House and no matter what, I'm going to act like one!"
That meant he couldn't show any weakness. No matter what happened from now on, he could take it. After all the shocking things he'd had to witness by now, nothing would break him.
Absolutely nothing!
Ignoring the dirty feeling he'd had ever since he'd looked into McGonagall's eyes, he straightened his robes, head held up high.
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