The Joining of the Ways
When Draco opened his eyes again, the room was no longer nearly pitch black, but filled with the warm golden light of sunrise. And no longer did he smell the sterileness of a hospital, but the warm, flowery perfume of a woman he knew very well.
“Mom…” He groaned, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness of his vision and focus on the women seated beside him, smiling warmly, but also with the tired air befit for someone who was going through all she must be. “Mom… you’re here…”
“I am.” Narcissa raised her son’s hand to her lips, kissing his fingers and smiling. “How are you feeling, my love?” Draco registered how he was feeling and groaned as a dull pounding met his head, wincing while saying, “I’ve got a big headache. But it’s a lot better than last night.” He reaches a hand up to feel his forehead, only now noticing the bandage that’s been wrapped around his whole head thickly, and missing the faintest trace of horror at the mere mention of the night before, but it’s gone in an instant, and Narcissa is back to smiling warmly at her son.
“Where’s Dad?” She glances around a bit, trying to see if anyone might be listening, then pressing close as if to kiss her son’s forehead and whispering, “With Barty. They're working out a deal. The Dark Lord isn’t happy about what you did, Draco. Not one bit.” When she sits back she looks just as motherly, but Draco feels shattered by her words, as if he’s the one in the wrong.
“Are you mad…” “No.” She quickly says, shaking her head. “No, I could never be mad at you. You’re my son.” She stroked a hand through his hair, pushing back his bangs. “But your father may be--on the outside at least. On the inside he’ll always love you, you know that.” Her son nodded numbly, unsure if he really did know that, but chose to trust her word for it.
“Will you stay?” “I can’t. I have to get back to the Manor to be there for your father, but I’ll be at King’s Cross, I promise.” Draco nodded, forcing his own smile, afraid to let his mother be alone with hers. “Okay…”
“I hope you know that we’re very proud of you, Draco.” Narcissa said, stroking his hair again. “All you’ve done this year… you’ve been so brave. And I’m happy for you and the friends you’ve made, truly. Not… proud of that… but happy.” Now Draco’s smile was genuine, and Narcissa beamed like sunshine.
“I love you.” She whispered, bending down to kiss him on the forehead then cheek for real this time. “I love you so, so, so much, my darling. Stay brave for me and your father, okay?” Draco nodded. “Okay.” And as she stood and let go of his hand with a final squeeze, he called out, “I love you!” and she smiled, a tear stinging one of her eyes briefly and running down her cheek once she’d turned away. “Goodbye, my son.”
As Narcissa Malfoy glided towards the doors out of the Hospital Wing, breathing in and out sharply to calm herself so she could maintain the formal composure of a rich pure-blood witch, Molly Weasley perked up in her seat and paused in her knitting, calling out.
“Mrs. Malfoy?” The other woman froze at the door, hand raised to the handle, and Molly smiled. “You have a wonderful son.”
Another sharp intake of breath, then a slow breath out.
“And you as well, Mrs. Weasley.” Narcissa said sincerely, then swung open the door and stepped out, closing it softly so as not to disturb the other children in the wing then swiftly prancing down the corridors out of the castle, sniffing and choosing to wipe any memory of that brief conversation from her pure mind.
-*-*-*-
When Harry awoke it was to the sound of shouting, a few hours after the early talk Narcissa had with her son, and he instantly scrambled for his glasses on his bedside table, startled, as he squinted and saw that the Weasley’s--Molly and Bill, had stood up and were approaching the doors, the other kids in bed shifting upright to see what was going on.
“They’ll wake them all if they don’t shut up!” Molly was shouting, but Tess rubbed her forehead with her good hand and groaned, “Too late.” catching their attention and causing Molly to see all the other kids awake and throw her hands up in the air in very Mrs. Weasley-esque exasperation.
“What are they shouting about?” Bill wondered aloud. “Nothing else can have happened, can it?” Molly took a closer step to the door and froze. “That’s Fudge’s voice.” she whispered. “And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?” Now Harry could recognize distinctly the voices of the people running, and picked up a couple more along with Molly. “And Severus Snape as well, and Dumbledore! My, my, what’s the wracket?”
She had no sooner grabbed the door handles then the Minister himself had thrown them open, storming straight across the room to Harry’s bed, causing the boy to shift and shrink under his furious gaze. He was gripping his bowler hat in one hand, his whole face bright red, and his eyes were bulging with fear and anger.
“Cornelius!” Dumbledore shouted. “I must insist you not question that boy!” “For goodness sake, leave Potter alone!” McGonagall yelled shortly after, and Harry took in just how angry she looked, hands balled into fists, face blotched with red. He’d never seen her like this, and preferred to never see her like it again.
“I must question him, I must, Dumbledore! You tell me he’s alright in the head and I want proof of it! You tell me he’s back and I want proof of it! Your word is useless, Headmaster, without substantial evidence, in the eyes of the Ministry.” Dumbledore froze, and the look on his face was something akin to hopelessness--the closest the greatest wizard of the age could come to such a thing--but it was gone in a second. Meanwhile, the kids around the arguing adults seemed to process the Minister’s words as Draco shifted in his bed and raised a pale eyebrow.
“Have you been reading the Daily Prophet, Minister?” He asked coolly, and Fudge’s head snapped around to him, face getting even redder. Clearly, he’d been asked this question before.
“Rita Skeeter has provided me very intriguing information that I was not privy to before, and has been a proven reliable source of information--”
“Hah!” Everyone was startled at the sound of Hermione’s voice as she scrambled out of bed. “I’ll show you reliable!” She pressed her hands around her pockets for something and pulled out her hand to reveal a jar with a beetle inside, which Harry squinted at. He recognized this beetle. It had been the same one that he’d caught at Gryffindor window, then again in the Divination classroom, and buzzing in his ear at other inconvenient times in the day. Fudge stared at the jar, blinked, then raised an eyebrow at the girl, something of a smile snaking its way across his lips.
“And what is this?”
“Not what, Minister, who. This is Rita Skeeter. She’s an unregistered animagus, you see, and has been following me and my friends' conversations all year, chasing us around the grounds. I thought she was just another beetle at first, but then I did some research, and it all adds up! She overheard conversations that she couldn’t possibly have heard otherwise, as no one was there to hear them and tell her, and she’s forbidden from the grounds, right Headmaster?”
Dumbledore, who was smiling with a familiar gleam of triumph, nodded slowly.
“But that could be any other beetle! You don’t have any substantial--” Hermione shook her head. “Come closer.” She said and the Minister looked around, sighed, and stepped over to the jar, bending down and squinting and widening his eyes.
“See right there? Her spectacles! And look, she was hiding a second ago, and now it’s as if she’s speaking to you. Not to mention, I have this…” She reached in her pocket again, then drew out a stack of photos, and handed them off. The Minister shuffled through them silently, then walked to the center of the room, pacing in a circle just as silently. All the while every pair of eyes in the room was on him intently, some shocked and in awe at what Hermione had discovered.
“So you,” He pointed a finger at Harry. “Are not going…” Harry shook his head, attempting a sort of crooked grin, not able to help himself from the feeling of warm triumph filling him with the hope that Fudge would listen. “No, Minister, I am not a lunatic.”
“And you,” He pointed over at Draco. “You were at this ‘graveyard.’ Are these two telling the truth?” He gestured to Harry and Dumbledore and Draco, chin high and eyes stern with the spark he’d used on Snape and Bagman, nodded. “Yes, sir.” Most definitely because he was the son of one of his most trusted officials, Fudge seemed to take Draco’s word for it above all else, and sighed heavily, collapsing in the nearest chair and rubbing his temple with two fingers.
After a long moment of silence where no one dared to disturb the Minister’s thoughts, he threw the pictures aside onto the table beside him, which was closest to Draco, who leaned over and grabbed them and stared at them in horror, seeing they were a bit blurry but seemed to have been taken when the photographer caught Rita mid-tranformation, looking to Hermione who waved her hand as if to say, ‘later.’ Fudge pointed a finger at Dumbledore, brow furrowed, looking obstinate, still.
“This does not excuse you choosing to hide information from me, Albus. A Parselmouth, eh? You should have told me years ago…” “To that I agree.” Dumbledore nodded, looking formal and cool once more. “Agree and regret. And, might I add, that any headaches or faints described in those articles, all tie back to the pain in Harry’s scar, which, I might remind you, was given to him by Lord Voldemort--”
“Coincidences!” Horror overtook Dumbledore’s face again in an instant. “‘Coincidences?’ You believe it is a coincidence that Harry has been dreaming about the plans between Voldemort and Barty Crouch Jr all year?” Again Fudge’s face reddened more. “More secrets!”
“He didn’t tell you,” Harry spoke up, voice shaking slightly. “Because I didn’t tell him. That was my mistake.”
“Well it looks like everyone in this room messed up in some regard.” Draco said, “But who hasn't made mistakes? And, may I remind you, Minister, that Harry is underage. A child. You can’t expect him to reveal every detail of his life to his Headmaster.” Once more Draco was proving himself to be the Slytherin in the room as he pointed this out with a mischievous smirk Fudge pretended to miss, or really did miss, as he was busy staring at Dumbledore, eyes wide, shaking his head with true horror striking his features, the redness fading to pale white.
Dumbledore seized the opportunity and stepped forward, radiating a sense of power Harry and Draco had only ever seen before once when he had burst into ‘Moody’s office.’ “Listen to me, Cornelius. Harry is as sane as you or I, and the connection between Harry's scar and Lord Voldemort is irrefutable evidence that he has returned. I believe it only hurts him when Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”
Fudge wet his lips, swallowing once before speaking up again, that same denial in his voice but not quite reaching his eyes. “You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before…”
“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted suddenly, struggling to get out of bed but Draco raised a hand towards him to stop him from moving and speaking, saying, “We both did. And, we saw his Death Eaters. I can even give you their names!” In a calm, clear voice.
Fudge raised an eyebrow, and Draco took this as an opportunity to blurt out every name he remembered hearing that all tied back to people he'd met through his father. “Macnair. Avery. Nott. Crabbe. Goyle.”
But Fudge was shaking his head again, the denial at last reaching his eyes. “You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” He shouted angrily. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore--Harry Potter told me some crackpot story last year too--his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them--the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?”
“And you don't take my word for it?” Draco asked, eyes wide as saucers and Fudge scoffed. “Why should I? What evidence is there to prove any of those men are Death Eaters? The word of teenaged boy whose head is currently–”
“LUCIUS MALFOY!”
Every single person in the Hospital Wing flinched, and Fudge could have been hit by a rock by how much his head flew back, but then became stuck back in place as he was almost physically held under the cold hard gray stare of Draco, eyes narrowed dangerously and hands balled to fists on his sheets. “My Dad was there, okay? Believe us now?”
Fudge was still hesitating, so Harry decided to speak up, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and glancing worriedly over at Draco. “That's true. He was there. And he stalled Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Snape's arrival to restrain Crouch Jr, then helped him to escape. Right?” Draco nodded solemnly, others talking instead of him giving leave to the opportunity to think of the consequences of blurting out such a thing.
“And I heard him talking with Crouch in Hogsmeade over a month ago, about who was going to be 'topman' for You-Know-Who after the Tournament.” Ron chimed in.
“If you would let us leave, Draco has evidence as well. Paper evidence of a letter he sent to his father asking if Professor Moody was really Barty Crouch Jr, and his confirmation.” Hermione pointed out.
“I doubt the death of Viktor Krum nor the existence of Crouch impersonating Moody was a coincidence this year either.” Snape agreed while McGonagall cried, “Or the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins!”
“I see no evidence to the contrary!” Fudge continued shouting, pushing himself out of his chair, his face now turning a violent purple. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”
Harry glanced over at Draco, at a loss for what could be done to help the Minister at this point, but Draco too seemed at a loss, as if his last Slytherin Cunning card had been played.
“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore instead took the lead on repeating. “You have been given mounds of evidence, you are just refusing to see the truth. If you continue to do so, disaster may ensue, but if you accept the truth now, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors–”
“Preposterous!” Shouted Fudge again. “Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!”
“And the rest of us will sleep soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters out of the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!”
And with the same voice he’d used for Crouch Jr hours ago, Draco said, “Forget getting thrown from office, think of how you'd be worshiped as a hero for taking swift action before anyone else on stopping Voldemort before a war could even begin.”
Fudge was opening and closing his mouth, head snapping between Dumbledore and Draco, and in a way that showed he didn’t know who to listen to. Just as Dumbledore tried to continue Draco beat him to it, knowing he was the one Fudge was more likely to listen to, and that he was on a roll appealing to his ego instead of stating the things he’d have to do when potentially believing in Voldemort's return.
“What's the worst that could happen if we are all wrong, after all? Your defenses are strengthened and the people feel all the more safer in their beds each night? Would you really risk your career against the fate of the Wizarding World?”
And while it was true that Cornelius Fudge did care more for his career, stating such a thing seemed to strike a nerve as the Minister glared at the boy, analyzing him up and down for any flinch in an act or crack in a lie.
Fudge looked away after what felt like an eternity to sigh, rubbing his temple once more. “I don't believe this. I won't! No… I can't!” He glared back at the blonde. “There will be no office to worship from if I do all he asks.” The Minister said, pointing an angry finger at Dumbledore. “So what is the point in all of this?”
“The point, Minister,” Hermione spoke up again, surprising everyone a second time as she had gone suspiciously silent. “Is that the Wizarding World, and the millions in it, especially those like me, who go against what You-Know-Who's forces promote as ‘purity of blood’, will get to see another day, their lives saved, because of you.”
Dumbledore stepped towards the Minister and, miraculously, he didn't flinch this time. “I tell you now--take the steps I suggest to you, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act--and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldenort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”
“Insane,” whispered Fudge, “Mad…” But even he didn't seem fully convinced in his own words as he began to pace again, and the whole room fell silent as they watched the gears turn.
Tess and Fluer were both confused by all of this but intrigued, leaning towards the fight in their beds. Hermione sat rigidly straight, hands clenched around the jar hard enough to create indents in her palms. Ron also leaned towards the action, hands gripping his sheets in a similar way to Draco, but out of stress, whilst the blonde did out of anger. And Harry stared Fudge down coldly, similarly to all the adults.
“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius, then we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I--I shall act as I see fit.” Dumbledore's voice was formal and full of exhaustion, carrying not even a hint of a threat, but still Fudge seemed to take it that way, as he bristled and rounded on him, waving a threatening finger.
“Now, see here, Dumbledore, I’ve given you free rein, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. And now here you stand among those students, claiming that he is back–”
“I do not wish to work against you, Cornelius.” Dumbledore interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I never have. I’m simply begging you, we all are, to see the truth, so that the Wizarding World might stand a chance against the might of Lord Voldemort and his Dark Order.”
Fudge opens his mouth to speak, then freezes, and glances around the room. At the Professors staring him down. At Madam Pomfrey, froze stiff at her office door, hands to her mouth. At the children all in beds around him, beaten and undeserving of the treatment they've received the past twenty four hours, including from him, waking them up so early.
For a long moment, longest of them all, he simply rocked back and forth on his heels there, turning his bowler hat in his hands, shaking his head and blinking as if he hoped to wake from a bad dream. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice,
“He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be…”
In one swift moment Snape had strode forward, past Dumbledore, straight up to Fudge and pulled up the left sleeve of his robes as he walked. He stuck his forearm out under the Minister's nose and showed it to him, and Fudge recoiled in an instant.
“There,” The Potions Master said harshly, with the air of someone who was exhausted by the argument and simply wanted it to end quickly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”
Fudge stepped back from Snape, frozen stiff, but not shaking his head. The denial in his eyes had entirely faded, and his grip on his hat had become so tight his knuckles turned white.
“That’s true!” Ron found himself exclaiming in the silence. “Draco overheard Karkaroff talking in the woods about You-Know-Who and his mark.” “And Draco and I overheard his conversation with Snape as well.” Harry nodded, avoiding Snape’s accusatory stare as he focused instead on the Minister, who seemed to be processing it all.
Then, after a short long moment, he raised his bowler hat and jammed it on his head, stomping over to Draco’s bedside and removing a large bag of gold from his pocket and dropping it on the boy’s bedside table. “Your winnings. One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…” Fudge paused, shaking his head, then stomping toward the door.
When he reached the handle he turned, eyes scanning the whole room a final time.
“I have seen a lot tonight, and have been told of more. Your evidence, Dumbledore, is substantial. I will be conducting a full investigation on this entire year and sending out a search party for Barty Crouch Jr. Then, and only then,” He pointed a firm finger at the old man, the redness fading completely from his face at long last. “Will I believe you.”
“And let us hope it won’t be too late.” Dumbledore agreed, bowing his head as the Minister swung open the doors and pranced out, letting them slam behind him.
Instantly, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and slumped, but not Dumbldore, who quickly turned to the Weasley’s, not missing a beat. “There is work to be done,” he said. “Molly… am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”
Mrs. Weasley dropped the hand covering her mouth, looking very white, but resolutely nodded. “Of course you can. Fudge may believe you by the end of this day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll listen. We know how he is. It's Arthur’s fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.”
“Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” said Dumbledore. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius.” Bill stood up, saying firmly, “I’ll go to Dad. I'll go now.” Dumbledore nodded his thanks.
“Excellent. Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry–”
“Leave it to me,” said Bill firmly, then kissed his mothers cheek, waved to everyone else, attempting to kiss his brother but being shoved away roughly, then pulled on his cloak and strode quickly out of the room.
“Minerva,” Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also--if she will consent to come--Madame Maxime.” The Professor nodded and briskly left without so much as another word.
“Poppy,” Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey. “Would you be very kind as to lead Ms. Whitlock and Ms. Delacour to the Great Hall for breakfast?” And though the question waz strange, as the two girls were still very bandaged together, an understanding seemed to be passed between the two adults and Madam Pomfrey simply nodded. “Very well.”
Once she had gotten Tess and Fleur out of their beds and led them out, closing the door, Dumbledore turned to the others in the room and declared, “And now it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius...if you could resume your usual form.” The great black dog still seated loyalty at Harry’s bedside looked up at Dumbledore and smoothly turned back into a man. In that same moment, Mrs. Weasley screamed and leapt backwards.
“Sirius Black!” She shrieked, pointing at Harry’s godfather while at the same time Ron held out his hands in a calming manner. “Mum, shut up! It’s okay!” He yelled.
Meanwhile, Snape neither yelled nor moved an inch, simply freezing still from pulling down his sleeve again to glare at that man before him with a mix of fury and horror. “Him!” He snarled, Sirius’ face mirroring his own. “What is he doing here?”
“He is here at my invitation,” Dumbledore explained, looking between them apprehensively like a teacher preparing for a fight between students, which was pretty much what he was. “As are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.”
The lingering looks on both men’s faces said they’d be doing quite the opposite, which was realistic as what Dumbledore asked was a miracle in itself, but they seemed to know enough to stay quiet, at least for now. “I will settle, in the short term,” continued Dumbledore, still sounding quite impatient. “For a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”
Neither man moved, so Draco, never one to stay quiet, chose to run his mouth and exclaim, “Hey, it worked for Harry and I, right Potts?” And the Gryffindor didn’t spend a second to question him, smiling with the gratitude of someone who couldn’t believe he was still able to and saying, “Right back at you, Mals.” With a wink. Meanwhile, now Snape and Sirius had matching expressions of disgust towards the two boys, but at least the former sighed and stopped forward, prompting the latter to follow.
Slowly, very slowly, their hands raised and met, but once shaking firmly up and down, they let go instantly.
“That will do to be going on with,” Dumbledore said, coming to stand between them, again acting as a teacher attempting to prevent a fight. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s reaction has been both expected and unexpected. I will admit, I didn’t think he’d believe us. Even then, it will be a slow struggle until we get a full upper hand against Voldemort. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher--the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while; I will contact you there.”
“But--” Harry found himself blurting, suddenly filled with a familiar cold dread once more, Sirius seeming to get farther and farther away when he wanted him to stay right here beside him.
“You’ll see me very soon, Harry. I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?” Harry gnawed his cheek, and when he met Sirius’ eyes again he didn’t have much light in his own, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah… of course I do.” Sirius forced a smile that appeared to be more like a grimace and clasped his hand briefly, then nodded to Dumbledore, morphing back into the black dog and ran out the door, turning its handle with his front paw, then gone in a flash of dark fur.
“Severus,” Dumbledore turned to Snape. “You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…” “I am.” Came the immediate response from the Potions Master, and Dumbledore nodded, utmost gratitude expressed in his eyes and the sinking of his shoulders. But Snape still had gone pale as a sheet, eyes glittering strangely, though Harry swore it had to be the light. Dumbledore noticed, and, with a trace of apprehension in his face, watched the man leave wordlessly with a call of, “Then good luck.”
Several minutes passed. Dumbledore stared at the ground, face unreadable. Harry shifted in his bed, and Molly swept over to his side, clutching his hand tight. Draco frowned at the bag of gold on his bedside table, feeling guilty, because in no world would he ever need the money.
“Mrs. Weasley?” The redhead looked over at the blonde in surprise, who wet his lips, picking the bag up from the table and reaching it out to her. “Will you take this? I don’t need it. I don’t deserve it. It belongs to Krum. Please, take it.” But the woman was already shaking her head, smiling. “Oh, I couldn’t. You won fair and square. You came back with the Cup, you--”
“Because he got to Viktor first!” The sudden shout made everyone flinch and Dumbledore raised his head in surprise, but the look on the boy's face was worse. Suddenly, all the built up emotions he’d attempted to suppress of Viktor’s death, all the things he’d tried so hard not to think about, came to fruition. “He got him first because he was in the way. He was just the spare. And it should have been me! I was the spare! But of course my dad made a deal, he always makes deals. And he--I don’t deserve this money!” With a rough throw Draco tossed the bag to the floor, right at Molly’s feet, causing her to startle. “So take it! Just take it… please!”
He was crying. It was a horrifying thing to see, though the whole school had seen him cry when he returned with Viktor’s body, but still to see it up close, the hot wet rivers running down pale cheeks… All Harry wished to do was stand up and hug him, but he knew he had to give him space as the blonde pulled his knees to his chest, sobbing while gripping his hair and tugging at it.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Molly whispered and Draco yelled his response back, muffled by his knees, “I know! It’s his. It’s my dad’s. I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him!” Dumbledore watched him solemnly, then turned to the rest of the room.
“Molly, would you kindly take Harry and his friends out. I would like to speak to Draco alone.” The Weasley mother nodded quickly and pulled back Harry’s covers, helping him to stand while Hermione and Ron practically sprung out of their beds. As they all headed out the door, Harry and Hermione were the only ones to cast a glance back at their friend before they were closed off from him by wood.
“Draco.”
“Professor.”
“Look at me.” Draco slowly lifted his head from his knees, his eyes puffy and red, with tears still pouring. “You don’t hate your father.”
“Yes I do!” The blonde said stubbornly, sniffing and wiping the tears away with his sleeve and kicking off his blankets. “And why shouldn’t I? I’m finally happy, you know, with Harry, but because he has to remain loyal to his… his master… people are going to get hurt because of me, Professor! Viktor was just the first, soon others will--”
“--Will stop Voldemort’s forces before they can hurt any of your friends, I promise you.” Dumbledore sat at the end of Draco’s bed and placed a calming hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing. “But right now you and Harry should focus on being kids while you still can, so the friendship you’ve built doesn’t crumble under the wait of an impending war.” Draco’s eyebrows shot up instantly.
“Do you think there will be a war, Professor?” The Headmaster hesitated, then sighed, and nodded his head.
“We must be prepared to face any possibility. For now…” He stood up, smiling down on the boy and squeezing his shoulder. “Stay with your family. Show them the good you’ve found in this world. There may still be hope for them to reform, if you could. Just… try. Not for me, not for Harry, but for yourself. You’ll need them.”
Gray eyes blinked then focused on Dumbledore, and softened under his mentoring gaze.
“Thank you, Professor, for being there for me this year.” Dumbledore nodded, and for the first time in his life, Draco caught sight of the twinkling Harry could always find comfort in in the blue orbs. “You’re welcome, Draco.”