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traintracksTitle: Daylight – Part Four of Six
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traintracks / traintracks
Part Three: On DW | On LJ
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Harry sat in the chair opposite Professor McGonagall’s desk and waited. She was making tea. She and the nurse had already questioned him – asked him what happened – asked him things about Sirius and himself, carefully guarded questions that minced around the real thing they thought they needed to know. Harry had kept a stoic silence. Until they’d asked if Sirius had hurt him.
“No!” Harry had shouted, leaning forward in his chair. “He has never hurt me, and he never would.”
The nurse and the professor had exchanged worried looks, and then McGonagall had dismissed the nurse and started making the tea.
Harry wanted to bolt. He wanted to pull his hair out. He knew only two things: that Pansy had gone straight to Dumbledore and his Pensieve and that Sirius was with Dumbledore now. Harry knew he should be there as well, that his side of things was important, vital. Yet he was being kept here like a child, kept under the motherly gaze of the professor, unable to defend Sirius to the one person that mattered, unable to affect events in any significant way. All he could do was wait. And fume. At Pansy, at Draco, at Sirius for not letting Hermione work the spell that could have prevented this, at McGonagall for being so ineffectual, at everyone and everything.
At himself. For not realizing what was about to happen before it did. For letting this happen to the man he loved.
“Milk and sugar?” McGonagall asked.
Harry just looked at her, unblinking and sick with rage.
“Well,” she said and then flavored tea he had no intention of drinking.
She set the cups on her desk and sat down, pushing his across to him. Harry didn’t move.
“I only want to help you, Harry.” Her face was grey and drawn.
“No, you don’t.”
“But I do, Harry. I do.”
“Take me to see him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Then you can’t help me,” Harry informed her.
She sighed. She wasn’t drinking her tea, either. “If I knew what happened, maybe I could advocate for you.”
“What happened is none of anybody’s business,” Harry spat. “Not Dumbledore’s, not yours. And I don’t need an advocate. Sirius does.”
“I feel very certain Mr. Black can advocate for himself,” McGonagall said stiffly.
Harry huffed and cast his gaze away. Looking at her there, prim and judgmental, made him feel nauseous.
It took an hour. And hour of sitting there and suffering her sighs and her straightening up and her attempts to get him to talk. Then a knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she called.
Harry turned and watched Snape step through. He gulped. He wasn’t exactly the person Harry had expected or really ever wanted to see. To his surprise, though, Snape wore no sneer upon his face – he did not seem victorious or contemptuous. He merely glanced at Harry, swallowed, and then looked at McGonagall. “The boy can return to his room,” Snape said.
Harry leapt from his chair. “My room? I want to see Dumbledore. It’s essential that I speak with him now.”
Snape’s demeanor was cool but not any more than usual. “I’m afraid he doesn’t share your opinion, Mr. Potter. You are to be escorted to your room now.”
“Escorted. You mean like a prisoner? I have to see him!” Harry demanded, balling his hands into fists. Half his mind was on what he was saying while the other half was calculating how quickly he could have his wand out and if he could curse them both before either one of them could draw. “What’s happened to Sirius? Dumbledore can’t do this. What’s happened to him?”
Snape frowned. He said something then that Harry had never expected to hear from him: “I’m sorry.” And before Harry could even see a hint at movement, Snape’s wand was in his hand and he had accioed Harry’s.
“Mr. Potter, it is, for numerous reasons that Mr. Black would fully appreciate you abiding by, essential that you come with me now back to your room. Do you understand? I can force you to go, but no one wants it to come to that. Do you understand, Potter?”
Harry swallowed. What on earth was Snape trying to say? That he was on Sirius’ side? That he was relaying a message from Sirius for Harry to cooperate? Wouldn’t that be precisely the way to get Harry to submit mindlessly to Dumbledore’s wishes? Harry frowned. Snape had his wand, and Harry knew the other man could immobilize him any number of ways. It really seemed he had no choice. That if he wanted the opportunity to leave this room by way of his own two working legs, he was going to have to agree to go back to Gryffindor Tower with Snape as his escort.
Harry nodded. “I understand,” he said, his voice that of someone else, someone not feeling like they might vomit.
“Good. After you, then, Potter.” Snape stood back and held the door.
“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall called after him, and he turned. “Please know….” She stopped and took a breath. “Know that I can be a friend to you.”
It was all Harry could do not to sneer at her before he turned and left, Snape’s wide robes swishing close behind him all the way.
They took the winding path away from McGonagall’s office toward the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry felt like he could hear his blood roaring through his head. His body felt shaky and foreign, like his feet were too big and his hands too small.
When they came upon the landing overlooking the entry hall, Harry stopped short.
“Sirius…” All that came out at first was a choked whisper. He was down below, Dumbledore walking with him much the same way as Snape was with Harry – toward the front door. Harry swallowed. Snape had seen them too now and had his hand on Harry’s shoulder, a significant threat. Harry grabbed the banister as if the force of Snape was but a flood and if he could hang on hard enough, Harry could withstand the current and see him for a few moments more.
“SIRIUS!” he called, using everything he had inside him to shout his name.
Sirius turned immediately and looked up – found him. Their eyes met, Harry’s scared, terrified, the last hope left in him dying quickly as he saw Sirius smile sadly at him – saw him there, resigned, the love shining forth from those deep, remorseful, too-blue eyes.
He was leaving. They were banishing him, and he was leaving.
“No…” Harry croaked.
Sirius nodded, his lips firming. He placed his hand over his heart. He nodded again.
“NO!” Harry screamed. “Dumbledore, NO!”
Sirius had begun to back away. Snape’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“DON’T DO THIS! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!!! SIRIUS, I LOVE YOU!!!”
Snape pulling on him – his grip slipping on the banister. Sirius backing away. The tears starting to fall down Harry’s face.
And then Sirius lifted his hand. Sirius showed him his wrist, showed Harry the bracelet he wore. Sirius nodded again. Harry saw his lips move but heard no sound. He saw Sirius’ lips move: “I’ll wait for you.” He nodded again. “Harry…”
And then Dumbledore was escorting him out and Snape was spelling him and he was falling – he was falling and his eyes were closing, his world ending in that single moment of a door opening and shutting, the sound of it reverberating through his very skin.
…
The sun rose over the sill and woke him. He could hear Ron already stretching and groaning in the next bed over. Harry, like he had for the last nine weeks, contemplated pulling the blanket back over his head and simply giving up. It always only lasted a moment – the sort of moment when you imagine yourself on a deserted island, the sun bathing your skin warm, nothing to do but gather coconuts, fish, and think about how blissful your life is. He allowed himself that moment – maybe a minute or two if he was indulgent and feeling particularly self-destructive – and then he tossed the blankets away and got up.
“Merlin, Harry,” Ron yawned. “You look like hell, mate.”
“Thanks.”
“What I mean is—”
“You’re sorry. I know. That’s what you keep saying. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. It seemed that in this short span of time, he’d become capable of a beard. He felt the sandpapery skin of his jaw and wondered if, instead of magicking it away as he’d taken to doing, he should just let it remain, some testament to his inner life, to who he’d become: an invisible man rather than The Boy Who Lived.
Frankly, the invisibility suited him just now. The fact that no one wanted to look him in the eye – the famous sixth year freak who had slept with his own murderer of a godfather – that they avoided him entirely now – was a blessing. It meant he could carry out his plans without worry of being caught. Being the only one left to know who he really was had its benefits. Only he knew what he was capable of. Only he knew what he had to do. The only other person who could have known was gone.
“I’m not apologizing,” Ron said. “I just…”
“You feel bad for me.”
“Would you quit interrupting me like I’m so bloody easy to figure out that I may as well not even speak?”
It was the first time since Sirius had left that Ron had said anything to him but the most contrite and uniform platitudes. Harry took a moment and just looked at his friend. Maybe someone else could see him. Maybe. “I’m sorry,” Harry said.
Ron sighed. “I don’t just feel bad for you. I want to help.”
“What are you going to do? Pay for a night at a seedy motel for us? Sirius is gone, Ron. You’ll never find him.”
“I’m not daft,” Ron said, a look of real defiance on his face such that Harry had never seen. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had changed. “I know you’re up to something. And I know it’s not looking for Sirius.” His next words struck Harry to the bone. “I know you, Harry.”
In the same instance as it felt like the most tremendous relief that someone could still reach him to that extent, it also ached beyond reason. Because he simply couldn’t let Ron in. Not anymore.
Harry stood and grabbed fresh robes. “I’ve got to go.” He left Ron sitting there on his rumpled bed.
It hadn’t been a lie. He had yet another meeting with Dumbledore planned. Another trip into the Pensieve to gather Tom Riddle’s secrets. He had an appointment to show up and play the recovering, lovestruck student, the sycophant to Dumbledore’s immense but merciful power. He had information to glean – information Dumbledore had freely offered – information Harry knew he would eventually use for his own reasons. And the farther away he could keep Ron and Hermione from his fate the better. In fact, it was a relief that Sirius wasn’t around to question and get it out of him, to interfere. To get hurt by Harry’s mission. Again.
It was right that he was alone.
He always had been. Anything else had always just been a convenient illusion.
Harry couldn’t afford illusions anymore. He had a job to do, and it was something he had to do by himself. He was getting more and more used to that fact.
He showered and then wiped the fog off of the mirror and looked at himself. Haggard, older, determined. Closed.
Harry dressed, slipping the necklaces with the rings on it over his head and then hiding them under his robes as always. He felt them there, warming against his skin. He left the stubble on his face and walked out of the room.
…
The mission was set. They’d leave that evening while the others were at supper. Harry walked out of Dumbledore’s office with a sense of certainty. Certainty that this was all happening. Certainty that soon he and Dumbledore would part ways for good. He was becoming increasingly intolerant of being used. Increasingly sick of Dumbledore reducing him to a quest that could be controlled with enough secrets, enough flattery and conspiracy.
The only person Harry conspired with now was his own conscience, and that spoke to him loud and clear about who he could trust (and how far) and who he could not. Dumbledore was on the Only So Far and No More list. This mission to the cave would be their last, then he was leaving Dumbledore and Hogwarts and everything he knew behind. He would find and fight Voldemort on his own – as he was destined to.
Harry suffered through his classes: Herbology (what a joke), Transfiguration (slightly less of a joke), and, of course, Defense.
Harry found it difficult to keep the sneer off his face. Not only had Sirius lost his job and the students a remarkable teacher because of the debacle with Pansy, but, of all people, Snape – Snape who had fairly lusted after this job from day one – had profited from Sirius’ banishment and taken over the class in his stead. It left Harry with a sick pit in the depths of his stomach. His only consolations were that Pansy had been suspended for two weeks for casting the Legilimens spell on him and that Snape, for whatever reason, left Harry alone for the most part. Inexplicably gone were the days of his bating and contempt. He taught the class, Harry had to admit, competently and fairly.
He just wasn’t Sirius. And Harry couldn’t abide Snape’s windfall at Sirius’ expense. At his own.
But if there was one class he still diligently exerted himself in, it was Defense against the Dark Arts. He excelled not solely to honor the man he loved, the man who had taught him so much, but because, as ever, more than ever, he knew what was at stake. For that, Harry stowed away the bitterness he felt, drew his wand, and dedicated himself completely to whatever Snape was teaching them that day.
“Potter, Malfoy.” It was a familiar refrain. Snape seemed to agree with Sirius on at least that point: apparently Harry and Draco were perfectly matched in Defense.
Harry took his place opposite Draco and looked into the other boy’s face. What he saw there was shocking. If Harry had thought he looked haggard…. Draco looked practically ill – paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes becoming permanent bruises. And there was something there inside his sickly eyes. Something like fear. Like dread.
It gave Harry a moment’s pause. And that was enough for Draco to best him. Harry didn’t even know which spell it was. He just knew he was on the floor and Draco was standing over him with his hand held out. Harry took it, unthinkingly.
Snape walked over to them as the rest of the class continued dueling. “Sportsmanlike,” he said with the slightest drawl of disdain. Then directly to Harry, “But better we didn’t wind up on the floor at all.” As he stalked away he shouted, “Again!”
Harry dusted himself off, aimed his wand, and this time it was Draco who fell.
They spent half their class dueling, until everyone was panting or blue or had their legs glued together and such. Then Snape did a quick Dispense spell which nullified all of the others and called for silence.
“Today, for the rest of class, we’re going to learn about protection spells.”
Hermione leaned over and whispered into Harry’s ear, “I’ve never heard of these.”
Snape proceeded to explain that a protective spell was something you conjured on someone else, an ally, something that would shield them in a fight.
Ron nudged Harry in the ribs. “Doesn’t sound very…Snapey…does it?”
Harry frowned. He didn’t say anything, but Ron was right. It didn’t seem…Snapey.
Snape took five minutes to show them how it was done – “Swish the wand to the right and then down and then say, ‘Servoatum’!” – and then he declared, “Pair up.”
“With who, sir?” Draco asked.
Snape gave him a penetrating stare. “The same.”
Draco gulped a swallow and then nodded. He looked at Harry, and Harry managed a small nod at him, too. They took to the front of the room.
“You first,” Draco said.
Harry frowned. “ You first,” he replied.
“The persons on my right will go first,” Snape shouted to the room. “Cast the protection spell on your partner and then try hitting them with the Cruciatus curse.”
Gasps and small shrieks erupted around the room. Harry and Draco frowned at each other.
“But Professor…” Hermione began.
“No buts. If you do your job well, your partner will come to no harm. Take your positions!”
There was an uneasy rustling of robes. Half the class, everyone on Snape’s right, raised their wand arms. Harry noticed a lot of trembling around him. His hand was steady, and he concentrated on Draco’s face – his anxious face – and he realized that once he would have loved having Draco in this position: reliant on him to do the right thing and afraid he wouldn’t. He didn’t love it now. He only wanted to do a good job – to get the spells right. He only wanted to defeat Voldemort. He watched Draco standing there panting, and Harry couldn’t help but whisper, “Breathe, dammit, I’m not going to fuck this up.”
Draco blinked at him. But then he nodded, and he did the breathing exercise Sirius had taught them both. Harry swallowed down the emotion that wanted to rise in him, seeing that. He concentrated. He raised his wand.
“Now,” Snape said.
“Servoatum!” the class exclaimed.
Harry saw the bright pink light leave his wand and surround Draco in a luminous bubble and then disappear.
“The curse! Now!” Snape roared.
More than half the class hesitated. The rest mumbled the curse, unable to give it any real intent. Harry raised his wand, and he remembered Bellatrix Lestrange. He remembered Sirius dying, remembered her horrible laugh, and he shouted, throwing the curse hard at Draco’s chest, “CRUCIO!”
The whole class was watching, transfixed and wide-eyed at Harry’s gall. The curse streaked visibly from Harry’s wand, like a band of blue lightning, and it hit just inches from Draco’s heart, connecting with the pink forcefield, igniting for a moment, and then drizzling to nothing at Draco’s feet. Draco just stood there, unscathed, looking like he might die of fright. They stood like that for several seconds. And then Draco did the breathing exercise again, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.
Snape spoke. “Under school policy, I suppose I am obligated to give you an Outstanding for that, Mr. Potter, even though it was only the completion of the assignment as it was given.” He cast a furtive glance at Draco. “Nice work, Mr. Malfoy.” And Harry thought he saw something like relief, maybe pride, but it was so fleeting as to seem a trick of the light after the fact. “The rest of you were abominable. Now switch!” Snape stalked away.
Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry felt it distinctly – how set apart from the others they were. Draco raised his wand, and Harry felt no fear. He lowered his wand arm and nodded. Draco nodded back.
Something – something fundamental – had changed.
…
Sirius signaled to the bartender with a lazy finger. Another Guinness was set before him, and Sirius muttered his thank you. The bar was only a quarter full as it was just five o’clock. Most Muggles were only now getting out from behind their desks. Only the do-nothing losers were already here, not the do-something losers.
Sirius wasn’t drunk. This was only his third beer, and he figured he’d stop after he was done with it. This was not one of those get-as-drunk-as-possible nights. Although he’d had plenty of those lately. More than enough. A shameful amount. And he was ashamed. But no, this was a meeting. Or it wasn’t yet but it would be. Sirius looked at his watch. 5:02. He took a sip of his stout and stared at the rugby match on the telly. The players’ young bodies were brash and hard and dirty – something he could have really enjoyed before. Now he just waited for it to be over.
He’d watched the rest of the match and half the news before Remus finally showed. Sirius was well into a fourth beer after all, but he pushed it away as his friend approached. Sirius stood from his barstool to embrace his friend and swayed.
Remus hugged him, but the voice in his ear was biting, “Don’t you owe him better than this, Padfoot?”
Sirius was immediately, horribly, sober. He shoved Remus away and swallowed. “Why’d you call me here?” Remus had owled him that they had to meet, that it was urgent, but that they couldn’t speak over owl or floo either one. His owl hadn’t expressly said any of that, of course; he had used the code they’d perfected back in their junior year – him and Remus and James and Peter. This was the bar they knew to meet at if either one used the code word – this stinking Muggle joint with over-priced, watered down drinks.
So Sirius was here, as requested, and now Remus was looking at him like he was a huge disappointment. “Let’s get a booth,” his friend said.
Sirius followed him into a smoky corner and sat across from him.
“What have you been doing these past two months?” Remus asked in a hiss.
Sirius shrugged, looking at the table, scratching at an old water mark.
“You haven’t…” Remus started. “You haven’t been—”
Sirius looked up, his eyes hot with anger now, “How can you ask me that?”
“How?” Remus asked. “I can ask you because when James found Lily you fucked every wizard in sight looking for solace. Because I had to put you back together again then, too, Sirius.”
Sirius dropped his gaze once more. The shock at hearing his demure friend use that kind of language sobered him. It must have been Tonks’ influence, Sirius decided. And as much as he wanted to defend his honor in the face of the insinuation, he knew he was poorly lacking in that virtue lately even if he hadn’t been sleeping around. “This is different,” he said.
“Bloody right it is,” Remus dogged him. “You’re nearly forty. I shouldn’t have to drag you out of bars with your dick hanging out of your trousers anymore.”
Sirius growled at him, “Do I LOOK like I need that? Do I look like I’m having any FUN here?”
Remus gentled his voice. “You weren’t then, either, my friend.”
Sirius sighed. “Why did you call me here? To berate me? Believe me, I feel bad enough.”
“No. That’s not why.” He cleared his throat. “I called you here because the war’s begun. Because we need you.”
Sirius felt all the blood in his body rush for his chest. “What’s happened? Is Harry all right? Dumbledore said he’d contact me if—”
“He’s fine. Harry’s fine.” Remus laid his hand over Sirius’ on the table top. He squeezed reassuringly. “But I’ve gotten hold of some information that leads me to believe he’s going to be putting himself in danger soon and that he’s going to need our help.”
“What? How? What are you talking about, Remus?”
Remus looked around the bar, and then he smirked sheepishly. “I’ve had – I’ve had someone watching Dumbledore.”
Sirius’ eyes went round. “You what? Who? How?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what I know and what to do about it.”
“What the hell do you know?”
Remus looked around again. “I know we’re gonna need Charlie Weasley, some polyjuice potion, and heat resistant trousers.”
“What?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you more when we get back to the house. You need to eat a home-cooked meal, Sirius.”
Sirius didn’t tell his friend that he dreaded seeing him and Tonks together, that easy intimacy, the off-hand touches, the purposeful touches, the looks they’d no doubt share. He didn’t say that the last meal he shared was with Harry, that he’d kissed the cherry sauce from Harry’s lips and laughed. He just fingered the bracelet on his wrist, which had become something of a nervous habit. Then he got up and followed Remus out the door.
…
One moment the sea winds were whipping around Harry’s face, his heart was pounding in his chest, and Dumbledore was yelling over the gale for him to hold on and the next…things got really bad.
Harry had but a moment to savor the feel of the locket in his palm. Then they’d Disapparated back to the school, and it was darker than it should have been except for an eerie green glow over the—
“Merlin,” Dumbledore breathed.
Harry shoved the Horcrux into his pocket, his eyes going wide at the site of the Dark Mark hanging malignantly over the astronomy tower.
“Hold on,” Dumbledore said again, and Harry took his arm. In the blink of an eye and a terrible squeezing crack, they were on the tower, choked by the green mist. “They’re here,” Dumbledore said.
“How?” Harry croaked. “They knew? They knew you’d be gone and—”
“Be quiet, Harry, and hide.”
There were footsteps coming up the winding stair. Harry didn’t think about whether it was the right move or the wrong one; he backed up against the far wall, into the shadows, and watched as Draco Malfoy stepped onto the landing. Harry stilled the gasped breath that wanted loose.
“Draco,” Dumbledore greeted amiably.
From where Harry stood, he could see everything – how Draco shook, how he lifted his wand slowly, how wrecked he was. He just couldn’t see his face.
But it was Draco. The Room of Requirement. Pansy fighting with him. His job. It had been Draco all along. How could it have been Draco all along? Harry’s heart sank.
“I’m here to k-kill you,” Draco announced in a small, scared voice.
“I know,” Dumbledore said, nodding. He held his hand stiffly at his side, the one that wasn’t decaying. Harry realized it was a message to him to stay out of it, to keep quiet and let Dumbledore negotiate with him. All Harry wanted to do, though, was take Draco down. He knew he could do it. He had the drop on him. Harry seethed with fury and fear. And with hurt. As horrible as it was, Harry was hurt – that the boy he had helped up all those times – who he had come to see as more broken than evil – was here, ready to kill Dumbledore. He had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts somehow. That had been – THIS was his job. Harry felt sick.
Yet even as Harry seethed, he watched Draco falter. His wand hand rose and fell in indecision. His breath was shuddering, and Harry could smell the sour stench of his fear.
As soon as Harry thought it, Dumbledore voiced it, “You don’t want to kill me, Draco.” He was calm, resolute, and oddly kind. “I know that you don’t. I know that they – he – is making you do this. And that you don’t want to. It’s all over your face, my boy.”
“Shut up!” Draco cried, actual tears choking his voice. Harry snuck his hand into his pocket for his wand, closing steady fingers around it. Dumbledore’s hand once again stiffened, a mute message for him to wait, to stand down. Harry firmed his lips.
“They’ve probably threatened your life. No,” Dumbledore changed his mind. “No, they’ve threatened your family. Your mother and your father.” A terrible sound came from Draco’s throat, but his wand arm dropped an inch. “I can protect them, Draco. We can fight him together.”
“No…” Draco moaned miserably. “No, you CAN’T. Nobody can help me. Nobody!” Draco sobbed. His wand rose once more, and Harry withdrew his, ready.
“If you have to do this, Draco, I understand,” Dumbledore told him, and Harry frowned deeply in the shadows. “I do.” Then he shook his head. He looked immensely sad then. More than Harry had ever seen. “I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry I let it come to this. It is I who should be seeking your forgiveness. I can only promise that I will help you now.” Dumbledore extended his hand toward Draco’s wand. “I can only promise you that I would never put you in this position – that I will protect your parents, not threaten them. I should have made that clear to you a long, long time ago, Draco.”
Draco was openly crying, his wand arm all but dropped. But then more footsteps came pounding up the stairs. As if wakened from a trance, Draco lifted his arm again, training it on Dumbledore’s heart. “It’s too late,” he cried. “It’s too late.”
“Put down your wand, Malfoy,” came a cold voice from the top of the stair. His black robes were like a deep void in the night, and Harry watched him approach Draco’s side.
“It-It’s my job…Professor,” Draco said.
Snape laid his white hand on Draco’s forearm, pressing it down, and Harry let his wand arm relax, too. But then Snape’s voice turned icy and contemptuous. “This is no job for a boy. It has been mine to do all along.” And with that, he raised his own wand.
The first half of the Avada Kedavra curse was out of Snape’s mouth before Harry could shout, “Servoatum!!!” his wand pointing at Dumbledore’s heart. Snape’s curse took the same route and sizzled, crackling like lightning as it hit Harry’s protection spell and then evaporated.
Snape spun in his tracks, spotting Harry against the dark wall and spearing him with a look of shock and dismay. His features hardened, and he drew back his wand once more. “Crucio!!!” he called, even as Harry drew back his own wand. He didn’t get the chance to strike or protect himself. A body flew in front of his own, and the curse that Snape had thrown hit it instead, sending it to the stone floor, writhing and screaming in pain.
“Draco!” Snape shouted, and he fell to his knees beside him. Harry’s eyes were wide with fright and his breath was hard. He hardly had time to register what had happened. That Draco had thrown himself in front of the curse. That Draco had…saved Harry. That Draco was crying and shivering and rolling on the ground and that Snape was removing the curse as quickly as possible. Harry did the only thing he could; he ran to Dumbledore’s side and took his arm, and Dumbledore Disapparated them both in a sickening flash.
“Why are we here?” Harry pleaded once he realized they’d landed in Dumbledore’s office. “We have to get you away from the school. I have to fight them. I have to get them out of the school before they kill everyone!”
But Dumbledore grabbed his wrist in his blackened hand tightly. “No,” he said. “We have to destroy that locket. We have to destroy it now.” He reached up and took down the Sorting Hat. “The sword has always been yours, Harry,” he said.
Harry reached into the hat and withdrew the Gryffindor sword.
“The locket,” Dumbledore demanded.
Harry handed it to him, and Dumbledore opened it. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Harry frowned, and Dumbledore picked it up. They read it together.
“Who is R.A.B.?” Harry asked frantically. “This isn’t the real locket? We did all that for nothing? And now Snape wants to kill you?”
Dumbledore looked crestfallen. Then he took a deep breath. “There’s no time to discuss it. We must—”
He was cut off by a massive explosion. The very walls came apart around them and all Harry could do was cover his head and dive to the ground, the sword rocked from his grip. Black robes swarmed around them, and Harry drew his wand in the flying rubble and dust and threw curses blindly. He could hear the Death Eaters laughing around him – he heard their shrieks when his spells hit on target.
“Harry! To the door!” Dumbledore called. Harry saw the open path to the gaping wound the doorway had become and ran for it. Someone grabbed his arm hard, but Harry called, “Incendio!” and the burned fingers snatched back, their owner howling in pain.
Harry stumbled over a pile of jagged stone, slipping once, nearly dropping his wand, and then regaining his footing and launching himself toward the smoke-filled hallway. He could hear Dumbledore’s spells behind him, the zinging sound of them and their counters, the blasts and groans, the shouting and breaking of the walls. Harry left it behind and flew down the corridor, down the stairs, down another corridor. He had to find Ron and Hermione. He had to save them. Dumbledore, Harry had to assume, could save himself.
The whole school shook, and smoke filled Harry’s lungs. He coughed and ran, feeling along cracked walls for the way to Gryffindor tower.
“HARRY!”
“Cho?!” Harry squinted into the darkness. Then he saw her, fighting with a robed figure twice her size at the end of the corridor. She was hexing it as fast as she could, but it was throwing off her spells like they were blown kisses. “Aquamenti!” Harry called and blasted the thing with water until it staggered back and tumbled down the stairs, landing, its neck broken, on the landing below.
Cho ran to his side and Harry took her by the shoulders. “Hermione and Ron. Where are they?”
“Down in the…entry…” Cho panted.
“Gather as many of the kids as you can, Cho, and get them out. The young ones. Get them out. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “I’ll get them to Hagrid’s.”
“Good! Go!” Harry called, and then they parted ways, running.
Harry descended the stairs, leaping over the body of the Death Eater he’d just killed, and made his way to the front of the school. Two Death Eaters rounded the corner on him, and before he could think, Harry threw a spell at them both, one with his wand hand and the other from his empty palm. They flew backwards, hitting a wall fifteen feet away and crumpling unconscious to the floor. Harry stood, breathing hard, his arms still out before him, eyes wide, uncomprehending. The spell had come out of the tips of his fingers, straight out of the palm of his hand! He wiggled his fingers – they tingled like they’d been asleep. He swallowed, unable to give it another thought, and continued down the staircase.
When he reached the landing overlooking the entryway, he stopped short, momentarily shocked. Down below were all his closest friends and a handful of teachers, and they were fighting almost double their number in flying Death Eaters. “Merlin…” Harry breathed. The front hall was a battlefield, with spells flying and lighting up the smoky air. The ground shook with the ferocity of the fight.
Harry quickly cast his gaze around and spotted Hermione in the corner, single-handedly holding off three Death Eaters. But she was on the floor, whipping her wand as fast as she could, and she’d no sooner have one knocked away than the other two would be almost on top of her.
“Servoatum!” Harry called, and without thinking, he gestured with wand-hand and free hand alike. The pink field that shot across the space was huge, and it made a three foot bubble around Hermione. Suddenly, the Death Eaters couldn’t touch her – they couldn’t even get near. Hermione looked up and found him, her face splitting in a brilliant smile. At the same time, one of the Death Eaters turned with a shrill scream and hurled a hex at him. Harry dove beneath the banister and then came up with a wordless curse, flinging one and then another and another at the group until they fled out the front doors, screaming.
Hermione scrambled up the stairs as he ran down and they met in the middle. “Ron!” she shouted. “I can’t find Ron! We got separated.”
There was a sound worse than thunder from outside, something like a Muggle bomb going off, and Harry and Hermione both reflexively ducked. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm.
“What—” she began.
“Come on!” Harry yelled and began pulling her back down the stairs toward the entryway doors. The Death Eaters swarmed, and Harry heard Hermione throw the protection spell on him as well. He cast wordless spells left and right and ran as the very ground beneath his feet felt like it would cave in.
They burst through the front doors into the night. McGonagall was on the front steps with Hagrid, a dozen Death Eaters crumpled on the ground below, some moaning and trying to crawl away. Harry and Hermione skidded to a stop next to McGonagall. An enormous cloud was roiling nearly overhead like a black hurricane, and green lightning was striking out from it, tearing into the forest surrounding Hogwarts, toppling stone statues that had stood their ground for decades if not centuries. Harry didn’t know what it was, and he very nearly didn’t care. His friends were inside fighting a losing fight and he’d be damned if he would be watching the weather while they fell. He was about to turn and run back inside when all the Death Eaters that remained flew out past him, shrieking and howling, some so close their robes whipped his face.
“Where are they going?” Hermione shouted over the gale.
“To him,” McGonagall answered, nodding to where, in a burst of unnatural lightning, a hooded figure appeared just outside the school gates, walking slowly through the wreckage, through the warped iron and decimated magics. Harry watched as Voldemort strode forward, unimpeded, entering Hogwarts as though he intended to own it, maybe already did. Harry repositioned the wand in his hand, stepping forward.
McGonagall caught his sleeve. “Harry…”
He snatched his arm back and swallowed, descending the steps. His heart was in his throat. He remembered the false Horcrux, the very thing that could have weakened Voldemort, and wanted to curse their horrific luck. But he didn’t. He would fight him anyway. Harry would fight the Dark Lord at his full strength if that’s what had to be done. He knew he wasn’t ready – knew it down to his soul – but he walked forward without hesitation. If this was his time, so be it. Harry knew there was no one else and never would be. He felt alone and weak, only his anger and a sickening sense of destiny holding him together, making him walk. He felt the rings, warm against his heart, and he spared one single breath for the thought of him.
Sirius…
Voldemort held his arms out to the side, his wand looking like an extension of his grotesque hand. His Death Eaters flew to his side, falling in behind him, an ominous sea of black robes and concealed faces. Except that some threw back their hoods, and Harry recognized Bellatrix Lestrange among them. Draco’s parents were there, too, but their demeanor was off. They huddled together, near the back of the group, clutching one another’s arms and moving forward as though not by choice. Harry trained his attention back on Voldemort who stopped at the far end of the courtyard but whose voice carried strangely, slithering across the space like his snake, and indeed, Harry did recognize it as parseltongue.
“If you wish to fight me and die, Harry Potter, I invite you. But you are not the one I’m here for. Stand aside if you value your friends’ lives.” His eyes burned into Harry’s. “Stand aside and I will kill only him. Only Dumbledore.”
Harry took a deep breath and maintained his ground, though he did not speak; he felt like he couldn’t.
“Do not stand aside,” Voldemort continued sounding nearly good-natured, “and I will crush every last one of you. Starting with this one.”
And at that moment, one of the wizard’s lackeys thrust a figure forward. A boy. And that boy was—
“Ron!!!” Hermione yelled. She sprang forward, but Hagrid held her back.
Voldemort smiled, and Harry felt his bones go cold, everything in him turning to ice. Fear and rage trembled through him.
“What shall it be, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asked now in English.
Harry saw that Lestrange had Ron by the throat, her expression was one of insane triumph. Ron’s eyes were round and afraid, but Harry saw him shake his head, telling him not to give in. Harry swallowed again. Hermione was begging him, angry, trembling and holding back tears, “Harry, no. We’ll find a way to stop him, but you have to let him through. Don’t let him kill Ron. Dumbledore wouldn’t want that. There’s a way. We’ll find a way. Please!” Then again, across the courtyard, “Ron!!!”
Harry wanted to listen. More than anything. It was agony to think of sacrificing Ron, even if it saved everyone at Hogwarts, not only Dumbledore. Harry tried to think past the fear. He swallowed down the pain. Hermione was smart. She was the smartest among them, probably the smartest in the school. Probably the smartest in the school ever. She had to be right. She had to be. Because Harry was taking a step back and away. And then another. He swallowed and watched Ron’s eyes, his pleading eyes which held for him, of all things, disappointment.
Not disappointment. Just fear and sadness.
Harry backed up, one step at a time, watching Voldemort’s eyes twinkle with sour delight. They shone with victory and malice, and he began to lower his arms. And then Harry watched his eyes change again. The mirth left them, and he was…listening to something. Harry heard it, too – like a ship’s sail set to the wind. Over…and over…and over again.
Ka-thwap…..Ka-thwap…..Ka-thwap.
And then something massive blotted out the lightning strikes, blotted out the moon, a dark shape taking over the sky. Voldemort looked up. Harry looked up. And then a deafening sound –a piercing roar – broke the night, and fire rained down on the Death Eaters.
END PART FOUR
Continue to Part Five: On DW | On LJ
Author:
traintracks / traintracksPart Three: On DW | On LJ
Harry sat in the chair opposite Professor McGonagall’s desk and waited. She was making tea. She and the nurse had already questioned him – asked him what happened – asked him things about Sirius and himself, carefully guarded questions that minced around the real thing they thought they needed to know. Harry had kept a stoic silence. Until they’d asked if Sirius had hurt him.
“No!” Harry had shouted, leaning forward in his chair. “He has never hurt me, and he never would.”
The nurse and the professor had exchanged worried looks, and then McGonagall had dismissed the nurse and started making the tea.
Harry wanted to bolt. He wanted to pull his hair out. He knew only two things: that Pansy had gone straight to Dumbledore and his Pensieve and that Sirius was with Dumbledore now. Harry knew he should be there as well, that his side of things was important, vital. Yet he was being kept here like a child, kept under the motherly gaze of the professor, unable to defend Sirius to the one person that mattered, unable to affect events in any significant way. All he could do was wait. And fume. At Pansy, at Draco, at Sirius for not letting Hermione work the spell that could have prevented this, at McGonagall for being so ineffectual, at everyone and everything.
At himself. For not realizing what was about to happen before it did. For letting this happen to the man he loved.
“Milk and sugar?” McGonagall asked.
Harry just looked at her, unblinking and sick with rage.
“Well,” she said and then flavored tea he had no intention of drinking.
She set the cups on her desk and sat down, pushing his across to him. Harry didn’t move.
“I only want to help you, Harry.” Her face was grey and drawn.
“No, you don’t.”
“But I do, Harry. I do.”
“Take me to see him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Then you can’t help me,” Harry informed her.
She sighed. She wasn’t drinking her tea, either. “If I knew what happened, maybe I could advocate for you.”
“What happened is none of anybody’s business,” Harry spat. “Not Dumbledore’s, not yours. And I don’t need an advocate. Sirius does.”
“I feel very certain Mr. Black can advocate for himself,” McGonagall said stiffly.
Harry huffed and cast his gaze away. Looking at her there, prim and judgmental, made him feel nauseous.
It took an hour. And hour of sitting there and suffering her sighs and her straightening up and her attempts to get him to talk. Then a knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she called.
Harry turned and watched Snape step through. He gulped. He wasn’t exactly the person Harry had expected or really ever wanted to see. To his surprise, though, Snape wore no sneer upon his face – he did not seem victorious or contemptuous. He merely glanced at Harry, swallowed, and then looked at McGonagall. “The boy can return to his room,” Snape said.
Harry leapt from his chair. “My room? I want to see Dumbledore. It’s essential that I speak with him now.”
Snape’s demeanor was cool but not any more than usual. “I’m afraid he doesn’t share your opinion, Mr. Potter. You are to be escorted to your room now.”
“Escorted. You mean like a prisoner? I have to see him!” Harry demanded, balling his hands into fists. Half his mind was on what he was saying while the other half was calculating how quickly he could have his wand out and if he could curse them both before either one of them could draw. “What’s happened to Sirius? Dumbledore can’t do this. What’s happened to him?”
Snape frowned. He said something then that Harry had never expected to hear from him: “I’m sorry.” And before Harry could even see a hint at movement, Snape’s wand was in his hand and he had accioed Harry’s.
“Mr. Potter, it is, for numerous reasons that Mr. Black would fully appreciate you abiding by, essential that you come with me now back to your room. Do you understand? I can force you to go, but no one wants it to come to that. Do you understand, Potter?”
Harry swallowed. What on earth was Snape trying to say? That he was on Sirius’ side? That he was relaying a message from Sirius for Harry to cooperate? Wouldn’t that be precisely the way to get Harry to submit mindlessly to Dumbledore’s wishes? Harry frowned. Snape had his wand, and Harry knew the other man could immobilize him any number of ways. It really seemed he had no choice. That if he wanted the opportunity to leave this room by way of his own two working legs, he was going to have to agree to go back to Gryffindor Tower with Snape as his escort.
Harry nodded. “I understand,” he said, his voice that of someone else, someone not feeling like they might vomit.
“Good. After you, then, Potter.” Snape stood back and held the door.
“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall called after him, and he turned. “Please know….” She stopped and took a breath. “Know that I can be a friend to you.”
It was all Harry could do not to sneer at her before he turned and left, Snape’s wide robes swishing close behind him all the way.
They took the winding path away from McGonagall’s office toward the stairs up to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry felt like he could hear his blood roaring through his head. His body felt shaky and foreign, like his feet were too big and his hands too small.
When they came upon the landing overlooking the entry hall, Harry stopped short.
“Sirius…” All that came out at first was a choked whisper. He was down below, Dumbledore walking with him much the same way as Snape was with Harry – toward the front door. Harry swallowed. Snape had seen them too now and had his hand on Harry’s shoulder, a significant threat. Harry grabbed the banister as if the force of Snape was but a flood and if he could hang on hard enough, Harry could withstand the current and see him for a few moments more.
“SIRIUS!” he called, using everything he had inside him to shout his name.
Sirius turned immediately and looked up – found him. Their eyes met, Harry’s scared, terrified, the last hope left in him dying quickly as he saw Sirius smile sadly at him – saw him there, resigned, the love shining forth from those deep, remorseful, too-blue eyes.
He was leaving. They were banishing him, and he was leaving.
“No…” Harry croaked.
Sirius nodded, his lips firming. He placed his hand over his heart. He nodded again.
“NO!” Harry screamed. “Dumbledore, NO!”
Sirius had begun to back away. Snape’s hand tightened on his shoulder.
“DON’T DO THIS! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!!! SIRIUS, I LOVE YOU!!!”
Snape pulling on him – his grip slipping on the banister. Sirius backing away. The tears starting to fall down Harry’s face.
And then Sirius lifted his hand. Sirius showed him his wrist, showed Harry the bracelet he wore. Sirius nodded again. Harry saw his lips move but heard no sound. He saw Sirius’ lips move: “I’ll wait for you.” He nodded again. “Harry…”
And then Dumbledore was escorting him out and Snape was spelling him and he was falling – he was falling and his eyes were closing, his world ending in that single moment of a door opening and shutting, the sound of it reverberating through his very skin.
…
The sun rose over the sill and woke him. He could hear Ron already stretching and groaning in the next bed over. Harry, like he had for the last nine weeks, contemplated pulling the blanket back over his head and simply giving up. It always only lasted a moment – the sort of moment when you imagine yourself on a deserted island, the sun bathing your skin warm, nothing to do but gather coconuts, fish, and think about how blissful your life is. He allowed himself that moment – maybe a minute or two if he was indulgent and feeling particularly self-destructive – and then he tossed the blankets away and got up.
“Merlin, Harry,” Ron yawned. “You look like hell, mate.”
“Thanks.”
“What I mean is—”
“You’re sorry. I know. That’s what you keep saying. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry scrubbed his hands over his face. It seemed that in this short span of time, he’d become capable of a beard. He felt the sandpapery skin of his jaw and wondered if, instead of magicking it away as he’d taken to doing, he should just let it remain, some testament to his inner life, to who he’d become: an invisible man rather than The Boy Who Lived.
Frankly, the invisibility suited him just now. The fact that no one wanted to look him in the eye – the famous sixth year freak who had slept with his own murderer of a godfather – that they avoided him entirely now – was a blessing. It meant he could carry out his plans without worry of being caught. Being the only one left to know who he really was had its benefits. Only he knew what he was capable of. Only he knew what he had to do. The only other person who could have known was gone.
“I’m not apologizing,” Ron said. “I just…”
“You feel bad for me.”
“Would you quit interrupting me like I’m so bloody easy to figure out that I may as well not even speak?”
It was the first time since Sirius had left that Ron had said anything to him but the most contrite and uniform platitudes. Harry took a moment and just looked at his friend. Maybe someone else could see him. Maybe. “I’m sorry,” Harry said.
Ron sighed. “I don’t just feel bad for you. I want to help.”
“What are you going to do? Pay for a night at a seedy motel for us? Sirius is gone, Ron. You’ll never find him.”
“I’m not daft,” Ron said, a look of real defiance on his face such that Harry had never seen. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who had changed. “I know you’re up to something. And I know it’s not looking for Sirius.” His next words struck Harry to the bone. “I know you, Harry.”
In the same instance as it felt like the most tremendous relief that someone could still reach him to that extent, it also ached beyond reason. Because he simply couldn’t let Ron in. Not anymore.
Harry stood and grabbed fresh robes. “I’ve got to go.” He left Ron sitting there on his rumpled bed.
It hadn’t been a lie. He had yet another meeting with Dumbledore planned. Another trip into the Pensieve to gather Tom Riddle’s secrets. He had an appointment to show up and play the recovering, lovestruck student, the sycophant to Dumbledore’s immense but merciful power. He had information to glean – information Dumbledore had freely offered – information Harry knew he would eventually use for his own reasons. And the farther away he could keep Ron and Hermione from his fate the better. In fact, it was a relief that Sirius wasn’t around to question and get it out of him, to interfere. To get hurt by Harry’s mission. Again.
It was right that he was alone.
He always had been. Anything else had always just been a convenient illusion.
Harry couldn’t afford illusions anymore. He had a job to do, and it was something he had to do by himself. He was getting more and more used to that fact.
He showered and then wiped the fog off of the mirror and looked at himself. Haggard, older, determined. Closed.
Harry dressed, slipping the necklaces with the rings on it over his head and then hiding them under his robes as always. He felt them there, warming against his skin. He left the stubble on his face and walked out of the room.
…
The mission was set. They’d leave that evening while the others were at supper. Harry walked out of Dumbledore’s office with a sense of certainty. Certainty that this was all happening. Certainty that soon he and Dumbledore would part ways for good. He was becoming increasingly intolerant of being used. Increasingly sick of Dumbledore reducing him to a quest that could be controlled with enough secrets, enough flattery and conspiracy.
The only person Harry conspired with now was his own conscience, and that spoke to him loud and clear about who he could trust (and how far) and who he could not. Dumbledore was on the Only So Far and No More list. This mission to the cave would be their last, then he was leaving Dumbledore and Hogwarts and everything he knew behind. He would find and fight Voldemort on his own – as he was destined to.
Harry suffered through his classes: Herbology (what a joke), Transfiguration (slightly less of a joke), and, of course, Defense.
Harry found it difficult to keep the sneer off his face. Not only had Sirius lost his job and the students a remarkable teacher because of the debacle with Pansy, but, of all people, Snape – Snape who had fairly lusted after this job from day one – had profited from Sirius’ banishment and taken over the class in his stead. It left Harry with a sick pit in the depths of his stomach. His only consolations were that Pansy had been suspended for two weeks for casting the Legilimens spell on him and that Snape, for whatever reason, left Harry alone for the most part. Inexplicably gone were the days of his bating and contempt. He taught the class, Harry had to admit, competently and fairly.
He just wasn’t Sirius. And Harry couldn’t abide Snape’s windfall at Sirius’ expense. At his own.
But if there was one class he still diligently exerted himself in, it was Defense against the Dark Arts. He excelled not solely to honor the man he loved, the man who had taught him so much, but because, as ever, more than ever, he knew what was at stake. For that, Harry stowed away the bitterness he felt, drew his wand, and dedicated himself completely to whatever Snape was teaching them that day.
“Potter, Malfoy.” It was a familiar refrain. Snape seemed to agree with Sirius on at least that point: apparently Harry and Draco were perfectly matched in Defense.
Harry took his place opposite Draco and looked into the other boy’s face. What he saw there was shocking. If Harry had thought he looked haggard…. Draco looked practically ill – paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes becoming permanent bruises. And there was something there inside his sickly eyes. Something like fear. Like dread.
It gave Harry a moment’s pause. And that was enough for Draco to best him. Harry didn’t even know which spell it was. He just knew he was on the floor and Draco was standing over him with his hand held out. Harry took it, unthinkingly.
Snape walked over to them as the rest of the class continued dueling. “Sportsmanlike,” he said with the slightest drawl of disdain. Then directly to Harry, “But better we didn’t wind up on the floor at all.” As he stalked away he shouted, “Again!”
Harry dusted himself off, aimed his wand, and this time it was Draco who fell.
They spent half their class dueling, until everyone was panting or blue or had their legs glued together and such. Then Snape did a quick Dispense spell which nullified all of the others and called for silence.
“Today, for the rest of class, we’re going to learn about protection spells.”
Hermione leaned over and whispered into Harry’s ear, “I’ve never heard of these.”
Snape proceeded to explain that a protective spell was something you conjured on someone else, an ally, something that would shield them in a fight.
Ron nudged Harry in the ribs. “Doesn’t sound very…Snapey…does it?”
Harry frowned. He didn’t say anything, but Ron was right. It didn’t seem…Snapey.
Snape took five minutes to show them how it was done – “Swish the wand to the right and then down and then say, ‘Servoatum’!” – and then he declared, “Pair up.”
“With who, sir?” Draco asked.
Snape gave him a penetrating stare. “The same.”
Draco gulped a swallow and then nodded. He looked at Harry, and Harry managed a small nod at him, too. They took to the front of the room.
“You first,” Draco said.
Harry frowned. “ You first,” he replied.
“The persons on my right will go first,” Snape shouted to the room. “Cast the protection spell on your partner and then try hitting them with the Cruciatus curse.”
Gasps and small shrieks erupted around the room. Harry and Draco frowned at each other.
“But Professor…” Hermione began.
“No buts. If you do your job well, your partner will come to no harm. Take your positions!”
There was an uneasy rustling of robes. Half the class, everyone on Snape’s right, raised their wand arms. Harry noticed a lot of trembling around him. His hand was steady, and he concentrated on Draco’s face – his anxious face – and he realized that once he would have loved having Draco in this position: reliant on him to do the right thing and afraid he wouldn’t. He didn’t love it now. He only wanted to do a good job – to get the spells right. He only wanted to defeat Voldemort. He watched Draco standing there panting, and Harry couldn’t help but whisper, “Breathe, dammit, I’m not going to fuck this up.”
Draco blinked at him. But then he nodded, and he did the breathing exercise Sirius had taught them both. Harry swallowed down the emotion that wanted to rise in him, seeing that. He concentrated. He raised his wand.
“Now,” Snape said.
“Servoatum!” the class exclaimed.
Harry saw the bright pink light leave his wand and surround Draco in a luminous bubble and then disappear.
“The curse! Now!” Snape roared.
More than half the class hesitated. The rest mumbled the curse, unable to give it any real intent. Harry raised his wand, and he remembered Bellatrix Lestrange. He remembered Sirius dying, remembered her horrible laugh, and he shouted, throwing the curse hard at Draco’s chest, “CRUCIO!”
The whole class was watching, transfixed and wide-eyed at Harry’s gall. The curse streaked visibly from Harry’s wand, like a band of blue lightning, and it hit just inches from Draco’s heart, connecting with the pink forcefield, igniting for a moment, and then drizzling to nothing at Draco’s feet. Draco just stood there, unscathed, looking like he might die of fright. They stood like that for several seconds. And then Draco did the breathing exercise again, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.
Snape spoke. “Under school policy, I suppose I am obligated to give you an Outstanding for that, Mr. Potter, even though it was only the completion of the assignment as it was given.” He cast a furtive glance at Draco. “Nice work, Mr. Malfoy.” And Harry thought he saw something like relief, maybe pride, but it was so fleeting as to seem a trick of the light after the fact. “The rest of you were abominable. Now switch!” Snape stalked away.
Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry felt it distinctly – how set apart from the others they were. Draco raised his wand, and Harry felt no fear. He lowered his wand arm and nodded. Draco nodded back.
Something – something fundamental – had changed.
…
Sirius signaled to the bartender with a lazy finger. Another Guinness was set before him, and Sirius muttered his thank you. The bar was only a quarter full as it was just five o’clock. Most Muggles were only now getting out from behind their desks. Only the do-nothing losers were already here, not the do-something losers.
Sirius wasn’t drunk. This was only his third beer, and he figured he’d stop after he was done with it. This was not one of those get-as-drunk-as-possible nights. Although he’d had plenty of those lately. More than enough. A shameful amount. And he was ashamed. But no, this was a meeting. Or it wasn’t yet but it would be. Sirius looked at his watch. 5:02. He took a sip of his stout and stared at the rugby match on the telly. The players’ young bodies were brash and hard and dirty – something he could have really enjoyed before. Now he just waited for it to be over.
He’d watched the rest of the match and half the news before Remus finally showed. Sirius was well into a fourth beer after all, but he pushed it away as his friend approached. Sirius stood from his barstool to embrace his friend and swayed.
Remus hugged him, but the voice in his ear was biting, “Don’t you owe him better than this, Padfoot?”
Sirius was immediately, horribly, sober. He shoved Remus away and swallowed. “Why’d you call me here?” Remus had owled him that they had to meet, that it was urgent, but that they couldn’t speak over owl or floo either one. His owl hadn’t expressly said any of that, of course; he had used the code they’d perfected back in their junior year – him and Remus and James and Peter. This was the bar they knew to meet at if either one used the code word – this stinking Muggle joint with over-priced, watered down drinks.
So Sirius was here, as requested, and now Remus was looking at him like he was a huge disappointment. “Let’s get a booth,” his friend said.
Sirius followed him into a smoky corner and sat across from him.
“What have you been doing these past two months?” Remus asked in a hiss.
Sirius shrugged, looking at the table, scratching at an old water mark.
“You haven’t…” Remus started. “You haven’t been—”
Sirius looked up, his eyes hot with anger now, “How can you ask me that?”
“How?” Remus asked. “I can ask you because when James found Lily you fucked every wizard in sight looking for solace. Because I had to put you back together again then, too, Sirius.”
Sirius dropped his gaze once more. The shock at hearing his demure friend use that kind of language sobered him. It must have been Tonks’ influence, Sirius decided. And as much as he wanted to defend his honor in the face of the insinuation, he knew he was poorly lacking in that virtue lately even if he hadn’t been sleeping around. “This is different,” he said.
“Bloody right it is,” Remus dogged him. “You’re nearly forty. I shouldn’t have to drag you out of bars with your dick hanging out of your trousers anymore.”
Sirius growled at him, “Do I LOOK like I need that? Do I look like I’m having any FUN here?”
Remus gentled his voice. “You weren’t then, either, my friend.”
Sirius sighed. “Why did you call me here? To berate me? Believe me, I feel bad enough.”
“No. That’s not why.” He cleared his throat. “I called you here because the war’s begun. Because we need you.”
Sirius felt all the blood in his body rush for his chest. “What’s happened? Is Harry all right? Dumbledore said he’d contact me if—”
“He’s fine. Harry’s fine.” Remus laid his hand over Sirius’ on the table top. He squeezed reassuringly. “But I’ve gotten hold of some information that leads me to believe he’s going to be putting himself in danger soon and that he’s going to need our help.”
“What? How? What are you talking about, Remus?”
Remus looked around the bar, and then he smirked sheepishly. “I’ve had – I’ve had someone watching Dumbledore.”
Sirius’ eyes went round. “You what? Who? How?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what I know and what to do about it.”
“What the hell do you know?”
Remus looked around again. “I know we’re gonna need Charlie Weasley, some polyjuice potion, and heat resistant trousers.”
“What?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you more when we get back to the house. You need to eat a home-cooked meal, Sirius.”
Sirius didn’t tell his friend that he dreaded seeing him and Tonks together, that easy intimacy, the off-hand touches, the purposeful touches, the looks they’d no doubt share. He didn’t say that the last meal he shared was with Harry, that he’d kissed the cherry sauce from Harry’s lips and laughed. He just fingered the bracelet on his wrist, which had become something of a nervous habit. Then he got up and followed Remus out the door.
…
One moment the sea winds were whipping around Harry’s face, his heart was pounding in his chest, and Dumbledore was yelling over the gale for him to hold on and the next…things got really bad.
Harry had but a moment to savor the feel of the locket in his palm. Then they’d Disapparated back to the school, and it was darker than it should have been except for an eerie green glow over the—
“Merlin,” Dumbledore breathed.
Harry shoved the Horcrux into his pocket, his eyes going wide at the site of the Dark Mark hanging malignantly over the astronomy tower.
“Hold on,” Dumbledore said again, and Harry took his arm. In the blink of an eye and a terrible squeezing crack, they were on the tower, choked by the green mist. “They’re here,” Dumbledore said.
“How?” Harry croaked. “They knew? They knew you’d be gone and—”
“Be quiet, Harry, and hide.”
There were footsteps coming up the winding stair. Harry didn’t think about whether it was the right move or the wrong one; he backed up against the far wall, into the shadows, and watched as Draco Malfoy stepped onto the landing. Harry stilled the gasped breath that wanted loose.
“Draco,” Dumbledore greeted amiably.
From where Harry stood, he could see everything – how Draco shook, how he lifted his wand slowly, how wrecked he was. He just couldn’t see his face.
But it was Draco. The Room of Requirement. Pansy fighting with him. His job. It had been Draco all along. How could it have been Draco all along? Harry’s heart sank.
“I’m here to k-kill you,” Draco announced in a small, scared voice.
“I know,” Dumbledore said, nodding. He held his hand stiffly at his side, the one that wasn’t decaying. Harry realized it was a message to him to stay out of it, to keep quiet and let Dumbledore negotiate with him. All Harry wanted to do, though, was take Draco down. He knew he could do it. He had the drop on him. Harry seethed with fury and fear. And with hurt. As horrible as it was, Harry was hurt – that the boy he had helped up all those times – who he had come to see as more broken than evil – was here, ready to kill Dumbledore. He had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts somehow. That had been – THIS was his job. Harry felt sick.
Yet even as Harry seethed, he watched Draco falter. His wand hand rose and fell in indecision. His breath was shuddering, and Harry could smell the sour stench of his fear.
As soon as Harry thought it, Dumbledore voiced it, “You don’t want to kill me, Draco.” He was calm, resolute, and oddly kind. “I know that you don’t. I know that they – he – is making you do this. And that you don’t want to. It’s all over your face, my boy.”
“Shut up!” Draco cried, actual tears choking his voice. Harry snuck his hand into his pocket for his wand, closing steady fingers around it. Dumbledore’s hand once again stiffened, a mute message for him to wait, to stand down. Harry firmed his lips.
“They’ve probably threatened your life. No,” Dumbledore changed his mind. “No, they’ve threatened your family. Your mother and your father.” A terrible sound came from Draco’s throat, but his wand arm dropped an inch. “I can protect them, Draco. We can fight him together.”
“No…” Draco moaned miserably. “No, you CAN’T. Nobody can help me. Nobody!” Draco sobbed. His wand rose once more, and Harry withdrew his, ready.
“If you have to do this, Draco, I understand,” Dumbledore told him, and Harry frowned deeply in the shadows. “I do.” Then he shook his head. He looked immensely sad then. More than Harry had ever seen. “I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry I let it come to this. It is I who should be seeking your forgiveness. I can only promise that I will help you now.” Dumbledore extended his hand toward Draco’s wand. “I can only promise you that I would never put you in this position – that I will protect your parents, not threaten them. I should have made that clear to you a long, long time ago, Draco.”
Draco was openly crying, his wand arm all but dropped. But then more footsteps came pounding up the stairs. As if wakened from a trance, Draco lifted his arm again, training it on Dumbledore’s heart. “It’s too late,” he cried. “It’s too late.”
“Put down your wand, Malfoy,” came a cold voice from the top of the stair. His black robes were like a deep void in the night, and Harry watched him approach Draco’s side.
“It-It’s my job…Professor,” Draco said.
Snape laid his white hand on Draco’s forearm, pressing it down, and Harry let his wand arm relax, too. But then Snape’s voice turned icy and contemptuous. “This is no job for a boy. It has been mine to do all along.” And with that, he raised his own wand.
The first half of the Avada Kedavra curse was out of Snape’s mouth before Harry could shout, “Servoatum!!!” his wand pointing at Dumbledore’s heart. Snape’s curse took the same route and sizzled, crackling like lightning as it hit Harry’s protection spell and then evaporated.
Snape spun in his tracks, spotting Harry against the dark wall and spearing him with a look of shock and dismay. His features hardened, and he drew back his wand once more. “Crucio!!!” he called, even as Harry drew back his own wand. He didn’t get the chance to strike or protect himself. A body flew in front of his own, and the curse that Snape had thrown hit it instead, sending it to the stone floor, writhing and screaming in pain.
“Draco!” Snape shouted, and he fell to his knees beside him. Harry’s eyes were wide with fright and his breath was hard. He hardly had time to register what had happened. That Draco had thrown himself in front of the curse. That Draco had…saved Harry. That Draco was crying and shivering and rolling on the ground and that Snape was removing the curse as quickly as possible. Harry did the only thing he could; he ran to Dumbledore’s side and took his arm, and Dumbledore Disapparated them both in a sickening flash.
“Why are we here?” Harry pleaded once he realized they’d landed in Dumbledore’s office. “We have to get you away from the school. I have to fight them. I have to get them out of the school before they kill everyone!”
But Dumbledore grabbed his wrist in his blackened hand tightly. “No,” he said. “We have to destroy that locket. We have to destroy it now.” He reached up and took down the Sorting Hat. “The sword has always been yours, Harry,” he said.
Harry reached into the hat and withdrew the Gryffindor sword.
“The locket,” Dumbledore demanded.
Harry handed it to him, and Dumbledore opened it. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Harry frowned, and Dumbledore picked it up. They read it together.
“Who is R.A.B.?” Harry asked frantically. “This isn’t the real locket? We did all that for nothing? And now Snape wants to kill you?”
Dumbledore looked crestfallen. Then he took a deep breath. “There’s no time to discuss it. We must—”
He was cut off by a massive explosion. The very walls came apart around them and all Harry could do was cover his head and dive to the ground, the sword rocked from his grip. Black robes swarmed around them, and Harry drew his wand in the flying rubble and dust and threw curses blindly. He could hear the Death Eaters laughing around him – he heard their shrieks when his spells hit on target.
“Harry! To the door!” Dumbledore called. Harry saw the open path to the gaping wound the doorway had become and ran for it. Someone grabbed his arm hard, but Harry called, “Incendio!” and the burned fingers snatched back, their owner howling in pain.
Harry stumbled over a pile of jagged stone, slipping once, nearly dropping his wand, and then regaining his footing and launching himself toward the smoke-filled hallway. He could hear Dumbledore’s spells behind him, the zinging sound of them and their counters, the blasts and groans, the shouting and breaking of the walls. Harry left it behind and flew down the corridor, down the stairs, down another corridor. He had to find Ron and Hermione. He had to save them. Dumbledore, Harry had to assume, could save himself.
The whole school shook, and smoke filled Harry’s lungs. He coughed and ran, feeling along cracked walls for the way to Gryffindor tower.
“HARRY!”
“Cho?!” Harry squinted into the darkness. Then he saw her, fighting with a robed figure twice her size at the end of the corridor. She was hexing it as fast as she could, but it was throwing off her spells like they were blown kisses. “Aquamenti!” Harry called and blasted the thing with water until it staggered back and tumbled down the stairs, landing, its neck broken, on the landing below.
Cho ran to his side and Harry took her by the shoulders. “Hermione and Ron. Where are they?”
“Down in the…entry…” Cho panted.
“Gather as many of the kids as you can, Cho, and get them out. The young ones. Get them out. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “I’ll get them to Hagrid’s.”
“Good! Go!” Harry called, and then they parted ways, running.
Harry descended the stairs, leaping over the body of the Death Eater he’d just killed, and made his way to the front of the school. Two Death Eaters rounded the corner on him, and before he could think, Harry threw a spell at them both, one with his wand hand and the other from his empty palm. They flew backwards, hitting a wall fifteen feet away and crumpling unconscious to the floor. Harry stood, breathing hard, his arms still out before him, eyes wide, uncomprehending. The spell had come out of the tips of his fingers, straight out of the palm of his hand! He wiggled his fingers – they tingled like they’d been asleep. He swallowed, unable to give it another thought, and continued down the staircase.
When he reached the landing overlooking the entryway, he stopped short, momentarily shocked. Down below were all his closest friends and a handful of teachers, and they were fighting almost double their number in flying Death Eaters. “Merlin…” Harry breathed. The front hall was a battlefield, with spells flying and lighting up the smoky air. The ground shook with the ferocity of the fight.
Harry quickly cast his gaze around and spotted Hermione in the corner, single-handedly holding off three Death Eaters. But she was on the floor, whipping her wand as fast as she could, and she’d no sooner have one knocked away than the other two would be almost on top of her.
“Servoatum!” Harry called, and without thinking, he gestured with wand-hand and free hand alike. The pink field that shot across the space was huge, and it made a three foot bubble around Hermione. Suddenly, the Death Eaters couldn’t touch her – they couldn’t even get near. Hermione looked up and found him, her face splitting in a brilliant smile. At the same time, one of the Death Eaters turned with a shrill scream and hurled a hex at him. Harry dove beneath the banister and then came up with a wordless curse, flinging one and then another and another at the group until they fled out the front doors, screaming.
Hermione scrambled up the stairs as he ran down and they met in the middle. “Ron!” she shouted. “I can’t find Ron! We got separated.”
There was a sound worse than thunder from outside, something like a Muggle bomb going off, and Harry and Hermione both reflexively ducked. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm.
“What—” she began.
“Come on!” Harry yelled and began pulling her back down the stairs toward the entryway doors. The Death Eaters swarmed, and Harry heard Hermione throw the protection spell on him as well. He cast wordless spells left and right and ran as the very ground beneath his feet felt like it would cave in.
They burst through the front doors into the night. McGonagall was on the front steps with Hagrid, a dozen Death Eaters crumpled on the ground below, some moaning and trying to crawl away. Harry and Hermione skidded to a stop next to McGonagall. An enormous cloud was roiling nearly overhead like a black hurricane, and green lightning was striking out from it, tearing into the forest surrounding Hogwarts, toppling stone statues that had stood their ground for decades if not centuries. Harry didn’t know what it was, and he very nearly didn’t care. His friends were inside fighting a losing fight and he’d be damned if he would be watching the weather while they fell. He was about to turn and run back inside when all the Death Eaters that remained flew out past him, shrieking and howling, some so close their robes whipped his face.
“Where are they going?” Hermione shouted over the gale.
“To him,” McGonagall answered, nodding to where, in a burst of unnatural lightning, a hooded figure appeared just outside the school gates, walking slowly through the wreckage, through the warped iron and decimated magics. Harry watched as Voldemort strode forward, unimpeded, entering Hogwarts as though he intended to own it, maybe already did. Harry repositioned the wand in his hand, stepping forward.
McGonagall caught his sleeve. “Harry…”
He snatched his arm back and swallowed, descending the steps. His heart was in his throat. He remembered the false Horcrux, the very thing that could have weakened Voldemort, and wanted to curse their horrific luck. But he didn’t. He would fight him anyway. Harry would fight the Dark Lord at his full strength if that’s what had to be done. He knew he wasn’t ready – knew it down to his soul – but he walked forward without hesitation. If this was his time, so be it. Harry knew there was no one else and never would be. He felt alone and weak, only his anger and a sickening sense of destiny holding him together, making him walk. He felt the rings, warm against his heart, and he spared one single breath for the thought of him.
Sirius…
Voldemort held his arms out to the side, his wand looking like an extension of his grotesque hand. His Death Eaters flew to his side, falling in behind him, an ominous sea of black robes and concealed faces. Except that some threw back their hoods, and Harry recognized Bellatrix Lestrange among them. Draco’s parents were there, too, but their demeanor was off. They huddled together, near the back of the group, clutching one another’s arms and moving forward as though not by choice. Harry trained his attention back on Voldemort who stopped at the far end of the courtyard but whose voice carried strangely, slithering across the space like his snake, and indeed, Harry did recognize it as parseltongue.
“If you wish to fight me and die, Harry Potter, I invite you. But you are not the one I’m here for. Stand aside if you value your friends’ lives.” His eyes burned into Harry’s. “Stand aside and I will kill only him. Only Dumbledore.”
Harry took a deep breath and maintained his ground, though he did not speak; he felt like he couldn’t.
“Do not stand aside,” Voldemort continued sounding nearly good-natured, “and I will crush every last one of you. Starting with this one.”
And at that moment, one of the wizard’s lackeys thrust a figure forward. A boy. And that boy was—
“Ron!!!” Hermione yelled. She sprang forward, but Hagrid held her back.
Voldemort smiled, and Harry felt his bones go cold, everything in him turning to ice. Fear and rage trembled through him.
“What shall it be, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asked now in English.
Harry saw that Lestrange had Ron by the throat, her expression was one of insane triumph. Ron’s eyes were round and afraid, but Harry saw him shake his head, telling him not to give in. Harry swallowed again. Hermione was begging him, angry, trembling and holding back tears, “Harry, no. We’ll find a way to stop him, but you have to let him through. Don’t let him kill Ron. Dumbledore wouldn’t want that. There’s a way. We’ll find a way. Please!” Then again, across the courtyard, “Ron!!!”
Harry wanted to listen. More than anything. It was agony to think of sacrificing Ron, even if it saved everyone at Hogwarts, not only Dumbledore. Harry tried to think past the fear. He swallowed down the pain. Hermione was smart. She was the smartest among them, probably the smartest in the school. Probably the smartest in the school ever. She had to be right. She had to be. Because Harry was taking a step back and away. And then another. He swallowed and watched Ron’s eyes, his pleading eyes which held for him, of all things, disappointment.
Not disappointment. Just fear and sadness.
Harry backed up, one step at a time, watching Voldemort’s eyes twinkle with sour delight. They shone with victory and malice, and he began to lower his arms. And then Harry watched his eyes change again. The mirth left them, and he was…listening to something. Harry heard it, too – like a ship’s sail set to the wind. Over…and over…and over again.
Ka-thwap…..Ka-thwap…..Ka-thwap.
And then something massive blotted out the lightning strikes, blotted out the moon, a dark shape taking over the sky. Voldemort looked up. Harry looked up. And then a deafening sound –a piercing roar – broke the night, and fire rained down on the Death Eaters.
Continue to Part Five: On DW | On LJ
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Date: 2012-08-14 11:10 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for this! I can't believe you're reading the whole thing at once. You're awesome!!!
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Date: 2012-08-15 01:05 am (UTC)