The Room
As Hermione and Ron pack up the tent, Malfoy strides over to Nuri, having removed the cast on his leg two days ago. Nuri is resting on her front legs lazily, yellow slits following Malfoy’s movements. Malfoy starts to speak in soft voices that Harry can’t quite catch. He turns to the meadow of iced dragonfire instead, glistening under the weak morning sunlight. It’s a large trail to leave behind, they know, but they have no other choice.
The black flames had not managed to crack Nuri’s ice. It had merely been unable to be extinguished until Nuri used her active flame on it.
Harry is broken out of his reverie when he hears the sound of great, flapping wings. He turns around just in time to watch Nuri take flight, shooting up in the sky like a white rocket.
“Ready?” Harry asks as the four of them convene in the empty space that was their tent.
Ron and Hermione nod, faces determined. “In for a knut, in for a war, mate.”
Despite himself, Harry snorts. Malfoy doesn’t comment. In fact, he looks every bit a ghost under the bright sun; white blonde hair messy without his copious amount of hair product, skin nearly alabaster and he’s wearing his original clothing of the black slacks and white dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves.
They clutter under the Cloak. Due to the sheer number and their sizes, the Cloak swishes just by their knees.
“Never mind, now,” Harry says determinedly when Hermione opens her mouth to protest.
With a desperate prayer to the Heavens, they Apparate right inside the Hog’s Head.
Harry braces himself for an alarm, freezing in anticipation. His entire body is stock still, heart drumming away inside his chest, fingers clutched around his wand. But nothing happens. Hermione’s grip on his arm is tight, her face anxious. They don’t move a single inch for a few moments.
The inside of the bar is completely empty. However, before they can decide what to do, or where everyone is, there’s a clambering of footsteps from the wooden stairs in the corner. The old barman is climbing down, wand in hand. He sees four pairs of knees in the middle of the room and then lowers his arm.
“Potter? Is that you?”
Harry removes the Cloak. The barman doesn’t seem surprised whatsoever, not with Harry or the others. He only studies Malfoy with healthy amount of caution and suspicion but doesn’t question his presence.
“Longbottom said you might show up.”
“Er – right. Hello. This is Hermione, Ron, and–"
“Draco Malfoy. The Death Eater who sucked at being one.”
Malfoy tenses beside him. Harry nudges him lightly in warning, then addresses the barman. “Where’s Neville? And why did he tell us to come here?”
“I’ll send him a message,” the barman says, already turning around to head back up the stairs. “He can explain it himself.”
As soon as they are alone, Hermione and Malfoy are quick to flick their wands, drawing all the curtains shut, putting up concealment charms. The room dims but not entirely. Ron moves behind the counter to check for supplies. Harry locks the door.
Once they believe they are safe for the moment, they huddle over one of the tables. Ron plops a few bottles of Butterbeer in the middle and Harry raises his eyebrows.
“Isn’t it a little early for this, Ron?”
Ron is already opening his. “We deserve it.”
Malfoy’s lips thin in debate but then he’s pulling one of the bottles for himself, muttering oh well, what the hell.
“I wonder how Neville can leave the school,” Hermione says anxiously, playing with the label and not making a move to drink it.
“Maybe one of the secret passageways?”
“Check the map,” Ron offers, swallowing a deep gulp, wiping his chin sheepishly. “Let’s see where he is.”
Harry ignores Malfoy’s obvious question mark and takes out the map from the moleskin pouch from around his neck. He places the old parchment on the table as Hermione swaps out the last Butterbeer, holding onto it.
Harry taps. “I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.”
Immediately, lines and curves are spreading from the point where his wand had touched, names appearing alongside the footsteps, Hogwarts blooming nostalgically. Malfoy curses, and for once in his life, shuts up.
Neville is nowhere to be seen. The four of them scan every nook and crevice multiple times, fingers trailing every name closely just in case. It becomes obvious soon enough that Neville is clearly not inside the school.
“This is strange,” Hermione remarks. “I can’t see many of our housemates, Harry.”
“I don’t see Blaise anywhere,” Malfoy frowns, murmuring so quietly Harry is certain that he was speaking to himself. “I know he’s gone back to school. Why can’t I see him?”
The fear is tangible. Harry doesn’t want to, but the worst scenarios are playing in his mind, that somehow the Death Eaters at the school have managed to – to – do worse than kidnap students from the school train.
He becomes suddenly restless, running his hands through his hair, getting up quickly. The table almost topples over but Ron steadies it at the last moment.
Harry is pacing. This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. Sure, they’ve been a little out of the loop with the rest of the world, but it’s just not possible. He tells himself that perhaps some students chose not to return to school. Perhaps, like Malfoy, they escaped. They joined the Order and are somewhere safe. That must be it. That has to be it.
He takes a few steadying breaths to calm himself. The barman is still upstairs doing Merlin knows what. Harry wants to confront him, ask him where Neville is, why is he not at the school, where is everyone, and why is the barman acting like a bloody Floo Network.
But then there is a distinct creaking of door above their heads and Harry almost runs. He exchanges a look with the others, silently gesturing to be armed with their wands. There are quiet murmurs that Harry can’t make out, then another door opens, and there are footsteps clambering down like thunder.
Neville Longbottom, bloodied and beaming, throws himself right at Harry, laughing joyfully.
“Is it true?” Neville asks in an excited rush, gripping Harry tightly. “Is it true that you three escaped from Gringotts with Malfoy on a bloody dragon?”
Before Harry can really form a reply, Neville is pulling away and turning to the other occupants. He manages to get even more excited and quickly hugs both Ron and Hermione. Then he moves to where Malfoy is now standing as though Petrified and heartily extends an arm in greeting.
“I really didn’t believe it at first,” Neville huffs out breathlessly, patiently waiting for Malfoy to shake his hand. “But then Luna and Dean show up one day, saying that it’s true. Draco Malfoy joining our ranks – I’ll be damned.”
Malfoy finally twitches. He hesitantly grips Neville’s hand and Harry is sure that he’s having an out-of-body experience at the moment. He pumps their fist only once before letting go immediately. Neville doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. He merely spots the opened bottles of Butterbeers, picks one right up and takes a hearty swig.
“Neville, where were you?” Ron finally asks, slumping down on one of the chairs. “Are you living in this bar or something?”
Neville laughs, clapping both hands over his thighs, shaking his head. “No. I was at school. Abe sent a message for me that you’ve arrived, so here I am. When we received your letter, everyone got pretty excited. Felt it was about damn time, you know?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Harry holds up one hand to slow him down. “Why do you look like you’ve been railed by the bloody Hogwarts train?”
Neville immediately launches into a story of how some of the students have begun a mass protest right inside the school. How they started fighting back against the Death Eaters. How the older students are protecting the younger ones as much as possible. How they’ve taken refugee inside the Room of Requirement where the Death Eaters can’t touch them. How the Room built a new secret passageway to the bar where he met Aberforth –
“Aberforth Dumbledore?” Hermione gapes, exchanging a stricken look with Harry.
“Yeah,” Neville says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s pretty wild, isn’t it? Never knew Dumbledore had a brother until Skeeter’s book came out. Anyway, Abe has been helping.”
“How did you get around the Caterwauling Charm?”
This time, it’s Malfoy who speaks. His tone is unreadable, neutral, and he’s crossed his arms across his chest, staring intently at Neville. There is no evidence between them that Malfoy has bullied Neville over the years, made his life difficult, that Neville should probably be choking the bloke with his bare hands.
But they are in the middle of a war, Harry thinks, and maybe Neville wants to focus on that rather than a personal spat. Or maybe Neville is somehow convinced now that the Malfoy standing across from him is not the same one who tormented him. Harry doesn’t know which one is true, if any of it is, but he’s just glad he doesn’t have to throw himself between the two of them like he had to do with everyone at the Shell Cottage.
“If you had Apparated outside, you would have triggered it,” Neville explains, frowning. “I don’t really understand it myself. All I know is that if you Apparate directly inside, it doesn’t trigger any bells. Of course, we’ve got to be really careful. The Death Eaters aren’t aware of this yet, and well, we’d rather keep it that way.”
“You said the Room gave you access here?” Hermione muses, mind immediately latching onto another magical mystery.
Neville nods. “I was hiding inside the Room for days. When I got hungry to the point I could no longer ignore it, I wished for food. But, well, the Room didn’t conjure food for me–”
“It can’t,” Ron agrees. “It’s one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.”
“Right,” Neville says. “In any case, it created this passageway.”
“Maybe the magic got transferred along with it,” Hermione chews on her bottom lip, turning away from Ron with a fond expression. “The Room extended it towards this specific place so that it can still provide you with safety.”
Neville shrugs. “It worked out well. We’ve been having Order members over at times to strategize or just to check-in. Which reminds me, we should get going. Everyone is waiting for you guys back at the school.”
“Wait,” Malfoy interrupts firmly. “Where is – have you seen Blaise Zabini?”
To everyone’s utter surprise, Neville positively grins. “Actually, yes. He’s been waiting for you, Malfoy. When the news of Gringotts broke out everywhere, Zabini sort of convinced Seamus and Ginny that he’d rather be on this side.”
Harry’s heart skips. “Ginny is here?”
Neville softens with a knowing look. “Sometimes. She can’t stay for long because it’s too dangerous and Mrs. Weasley never allows it. She’s here today, though. Put her foot down when I told them you’d be coming back.”
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy follow him upstairs in trepidation. They need not have worried, though, because it’s a simple room that is clearly lived-in. Aberforth Dumbledore is at the cracked stone counter, making himself a cup of tea. He turns around when the door shuts behind them.
“Going to Hogwarts, are you, Potter?”
Harry jerks back in surprise at the tone. He can’t think of any reason how he must have offended the man but perhaps he is angry with Harry for being unable to save his brother.
“Yes, Sir.”
Aberforth sniggers, the sound humourless and taunting. It puts Harry on edge almost immediately. “You should run the other direction, boy. War is not for children. Besides, we’ve already lost. Do yourself a favour and leave while you still can.”
Neville begins to protest. “Abe–”
“You seem pretty content for someone who is losing.” Harry’s words are sharp and harsh. He bristles at the man; just because he’s on the precipice of death and can accept it does not mean the world has to. “Albus fought until the very end. He gave everything to this fight and I’m not about to hang up my robes just yet.”
Aberforth is pouring out the hot water into a chipped cup. “My brother tended to do that. Rope in everyone in something he believed was the greater good. What are you here for?”
Harry can feel Malfoy’s heated stare on the side of his face. “I have a mission.”
“Nice mission, is it?” Aberforth laughs, the sound cold and unrelenting. “Easy and laid back?”
“Mr. Dumbledore–” Hermione says, horrified and breathless.
“No, it’s not,” Harry agrees, voice hard and steely. “So what? Wars aren’t meant to be easy. They’re meant to be won. You might have given up on your brother, but I haven’t. He made some mistakes along the way and it nearly broke me.”
Aberforth places the kettle back on the counter, slow and steady. He picks up his tea, turns to Harry with the Blue-Eyes-Not-of-Dumbledore and fixes him with a glare.
Harry holds it and continues, every word truer than he’d realised until now. “He’s still just a man, though. A man with flaws. A man who is trying to make up for every horrible thing he’s done during his teenage years. Did you know how traumatized he still was about Arianna’s death? It was his worst memory and I watched him relive it over and over and I thought he was going to die on me. But he rescued me and he trusted me until his dying breath. If you want to look at a broken man, that’s your decision. He’s still every bit as brilliant and had more nerve than anyone I’ve ever known. Anyone the world will ever know.”
Dumbledore’s man through and through, Harry thinks, blood coursing with pride and loyalty, until his own dying breath.
The tense silence is deafening. In fact, now that Harry pays attention, the entirety of Hogsmeade seems to be as quiet as a graveyard. His heart lurches in his chest at the thought.
Aberforth narrows his eyes minutely, studying Harry closely. When he’s through with his assessment, he jerks his chin at Neville.
“As stubborn as he was. I swear I can’t get rid of him even after his literal death. Get going, then. Probably rename the school after my brother, since every moron who walks through this door is somehow convinced he’s some kind of a reliable role model.”
They don’t hang around after that. But Harry instinctively knows it is Arianna Dumbledore who greets them with a proud smile from inside the portrait before swinging open to reveal a stone passageway, lit on both sides by flaming torches.
The ruckus that greets them is enough for Harry to stumble back in astonishment.
The Room of Requirement looks like a war campsite. There are students, so many of them, beaming and clapping and screaming, welcoming the wayward group with open arms. Harry immediately loses himself in the crowd, shaking hands and hugging tightly, a sense of solidarity singing in his veins like never before.
In his peripheral vision, he sees Malfoy being pulled into a fierce hug by Blaise Zabini, hands gripping around each other like lifeline. It makes Harry ache weirdly, the proof that Malfoy is a human with friends and connections and a whole life. He’s no longer the caricature of a bully, hasn’t been it in a long, long time.
When Ginny finds him, eyes blazing and red hair flying, Harry holds her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He thinks it is, feeling his heart being comforted by her presence, the familiarity of it overwhelming to the point where he has to blink away months of absence.
Ron and Hermione are sucked right into the crowd, as well. Harry catches glimpses of them: Ron hugging Lavender fondly, Hermione hooking her arm around Hannah Abbott, Michael Corner and Ernie McMillian talking enthusiastically. Seamus is there, too, explaining something with wild hand gestures. Luna and Dean cut their way across the crowd towards Malfoy who is speaking lowly in Blaise Zabini’s ear, smiling and smirking.
It takes a while for Neville to calm everyone down, and isn’t that something? Neville leading the rebels as if he isn’t the same red-faced kid who was terrified of his own pet frog. The crushing pride Harry feels is incomparable as he watches the students take heed of his instructions, his command, and settle down dutifully.
Ginny squeezes his hand once before letting go, joining Lavender and the Patil twins on the left side. Cho Chang grins at him and Harry smiles back, the disaster between them melting away as though it never existed.
Ron and Hermione join him again in front of the crowd. Harry searches for Malfoy, raises one eyebrow, and Malfoy says something to Blaise before making his way over. Everyone is staring at him, he knows, and his acting skills are kicking in quite well because he positively struts towards them as if these are Hogwarts hallways and he’s merely going to his next class. Harry’s lips twitch. Malfoy’s tendency to shove down his terror is rather erratic.
Now that Harry finally has a chance to observe his surroundings, there are over twenty hammocks all over the room. A few armchairs, lots of throw pillows, stray pieces of furniture, shelves bursting with books and parchments, a large cracked mirror, and a heap of metal armours in the corner.
“So,” Neville says loudly. “What’s the plan, Harry?”
The sea of faces turn from Neville to him expectantly. This is the harder bit; when they had planned this infiltration, they didn’t exactly have any leads. Harry exchanges a look with the three of them and then declares with a bravado he doesn’t really feel.
“We’re looking for something. An ancient, magical object that must have belonged to the Ravenclaw House.”
The Ravenclaw students stare back blankly.
“It would be more helpful if you could describe it, Harry,” Luna says serenely and Harry feels stupid like he always does, whenever Luna says anything.
“I know,” Harry says, trying to keep his nerves under control. “That’s the problem. I’m not sure what it could be, I just know it’s of Ravenclaw. Godric Gryffindor has the sword, for instance.”
“There is the lost diadem,” Luna shrugs. “It’s said that Rowena Ravenclaw herself created it.”
“That’s the thing, Luna,” Cho Chang says. “It’s lost. No one has seen it in centuries.”
When Ron asks what a bloody diadem is, Luna offers to show it to them. She says there’s a copy in the Ravenclaw Common Room.
“Tonight,” Harry decides. “After dinner, Luna can take me there.”
The crowd breaks apart. Ron yanks the three of them in a corner, leaning down and hissing that they should probably get to the Chamber, as well.
“Once we find the diadem, we can swing by the Basilisk,” Harry suggests.
“Too many of us,” Malfoy points out. “Your Cloak doesn’t fit us all, Potter.”
“Hermione and I will go to the Chambers,” Ron offers. “She’s been sort of feeling left out that she hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Ronald!”
“Gryffindors.”
“You need to know Parseltongue,” Harry reminds him.
Ron shrugs, wholly unaffected by his lack of said language. He imitates a strange, hissing sound a few times until Harry, alarmed and blanching, tells him he’s got it correct on the fourth try. Ron repeats it a few more times to burn it into memory, grinning sheepishly.
“I’ve heard you talk in your sleep for years, mate,” Ron informs him. “I picked up a few things.”
“Great,” Harry grumbles, ears pinkening rapidly. He wonders what else Ron has picked up but from the devious smile that is now crawling all over his face, Harry hastily changes the topic to Hermione’s apparent desire to see a dead Basilisk.
Hermione seems embarrassed but determined, explaining how she’s intellectually curious and Malfoy rolls his eyes so severely, Harry is worried for a moment they might get stuck in his head. Ron is laughing, throwing his arm around her shoulders in good humour.
They are interrupted by Blaise, who approaches them with a sense of careful caution. Harry absently notices that he’s gotten even more handsome than he remembers. He comes to a stand beside Malfoy.
“Hello.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchange looks. But then Harry steps forward genially, extends his arm.
“Hey. Thanks for joining this – Neville. It’s a bit surprising to see a Slytherin, to be honest.”
“Blaise was never a part of this shit,” Malfoy frowns heavily, immediately coming to his defence.
Blaise shakes Harry’s hand politely, then throws an amused glance at Malfoy. He steps back to take his place beside him.
“Looks like we all have to make decisions sooner or later,” Blaise pointedly says.
Malfoy looks extremely annoyed at being called out so casually, so easily, as if his entire life wasn’t shaped around the single future of following his father’s footsteps, even if it led into becoming a Death Eater.
“You didn’t have to,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth. “You could have just waited this whole thing out, Blaise. Your mother is probably the only one who got it right.”
Blaise laughs. “If you mean fooling rich purebloods into marrying her for the wealth, then yes, I’d say she’s successful.”
“Better than playing host to the Chief Baldy,” Malfoy counters immediately. “I have done some thinking on this, you know, what with having so much of free time on my hands recently.”
Both Harry and Ron balk, but Malfoy supremely ignores them in the favour of driving his point home.
“Mrs. Zabini is the Slytherinest Slytherin to ever Slytherin,” Malfoy declares dramatically. “The lady knew there was certain death in either of the options for this war and she just decided that old men, bearded or noseless, are utter dicks. That it’s better to stick to the ones who at least know what truly matters.”
“Money?” Harry asks dubiously.
Malfoy looks disgusted. “No, not money–”
Ron blinks at that, unable to believe his eyes.
But then Malfoy continues. “Wealth. Money is – useless. Wealth is everything.”
“If you’re done doing whatever it is you are doing, I’d like to talk to you,” Blaise says, still amused, undeterred by Malfoy’s irritation. “I haven’t seen you in months, Draco. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Malfoy catches his gaze and Harry nods. Blaise follows their silent exchange, doesn’t remark, leads Malfoy away to a quiet corner.
The morning passes quickly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are requested to regale the story of Gringotts, and Ron gets right in his element, windmilling his long arms for all its worth. By the time he’s through his sixth round, Ron has duelled Travers, Confunded the goblins, nearly got killed by the vicious rampaging dragon, and let out a war cry as he commanded the dragon to burn all the guards, the entire underground structure, and then flew them to victory.
Harry is glad Ron at least skipped over the Horcrux bit quite smartly and smoothly. Hermione keeps sighing in exasperated fondness and Harry finds himself on the receiving end of Ginny’s amused smirks. When lunch rolls around, Neville requests someone to accompany him to Hog’s Head, but then Harry tells him that they could probably call Dobby from the kitchens to help them out.
Dobby appears with a loud crack, tennis ball eyes widening at Harry. “Harry Potter! Dobby is happy to see Harry Potter alive! Dobby did not want to leave Harry Potter behind in Malfoy Manor, but Master Draco winked at Dobby and Master Draco always winked at Dobby when Master was acting mischievously and Dobby knew that Master will save Harry Potter even though Dobby could not believe his eyes. Master Draco has not been very nice to Harry Potter in the past.”
“Right,” Harry replies awkwardly yet smothering a grin. “Well, Malfoy – Draco is here, Dobby. You were right to leave with others. Draco did help me.”
Dobby doesn’t look away, but nods happily, large ears flapping. “Dobby is very happy, Harry Potter.”
“Dobby, we need a favour.”
Dobby continues to nod with same enthusiasm. “Dobby will get food from the kitchens, Harry Potter. Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter and his friends.”
“Great! Thank you, Dobby.”
Dobby hesitates, then says, “Kreacher is here, Harry Potter. He is working in the kitchens like Dobby.”
A surging sense of relief nearly crushes Harry. He had not gotten a chance to warn Kreacher when they had to Apparate away from the front steps of Grimmauld Place, Yaxley on their tail. He wasn’t sure what must have happened to Kreacher and Harry has no idea how he even thought of working at Hogwarts.
Whatever the reason or however he ended up here, Harry is glad that he is safe.
“Kreacher!”
Kreacher appears with another loud pop. More and more students are shuffling closer to Harry to take a look at the events. When they see two house-elves in their midst, it’s clear that they are delightedly expecting to be eating Hogwarts food again.
“Master Harry Potter,” Kreacher croaks out, bowing deep. “Kreacher is glad Master Harry is alive.”
“Er – are you?”
Kreacher lowers his head further. “Kreacher was waiting for Master and his friends but they did not arrive. Enemies of the Master tried to enter the Scared and Most Ancient House of Black but my Mistress was not pleased.”
“Is the house safe?”
“My Mistress was not pleased.”
“I get that–”
“It means the House spit out the intruders,” Malfoy’s voice comes from somewhere to the right. Harry turns. Malfoy is standing with Luna and Dean, arms crossed, eyebrows raised at the scene. “Protected itself. Over time, magical households grow a semblance of consciousness. The Manor has particularly good hiding spots. Hogwarts thinks it’s hilarious.”
Harry thinks of the moving staircases, the groaning suits of armours, the sentient stone gargoyles.
“Dobby.”
Harry hides his surprise at the sheer command in Malfoy’s voice. He wants to instantly throw himself between them but holds back, not knowing why. Perhaps Malfoy doesn’t really pose a danger anymore.
Dobby freezes anyway, as though caught red-handed. Slowly, hesitantly, he catches Malfoy’s gaze, chin defiant.
“Mas – Draco Malfoy?” A pause. “Sir?”
Malfoy’s expression is unreadable. He looks every bit an aristocratic pureblood, despite the wrinkles in his clothes, despite the messy crown of white blonde hair, despite the fact that his pair of shoes has seen better days.
From what Harry has understood until now, all Blacks have the same careless handsomeness, the casualty of wealth, arrogance dripping through every syllable. He’s seen it in Sirius, in Bellatrix, in Narcissa, in Phineas Nigellus, in Regulus, in every portrait lining the walls at Grimmauld Place.
Now, he sees it in Malfoy, in his set of shoulders, in the arch of his brows, in that single word spoken with inherent verdict that does not leave any room for argument. It’s different than Lucius’ attempt at slavery; it’s simply a reminder that Malfoy is the former employer of the being standing in front of him.
For the first time in his life, Harry sees Draco Malfoy, half-Black and the future Heir of the Malfoy bloodline.
What he says next, though, is worthy of a blood traitor. “Well done.”
Harry is not the only one who startles in shock. Dobby nearly jumps out of his skin, fumbles with his tiny hands, mutters Thank you, Draco Malfoy and suddenly disappears, as though embarrassed to be complimented so openly.
Kreacher soon follows and not ten seconds later of confused silence, a large table appears out of thin air, groaning under the weight of piping hot meals, chilled pumpkin juice, tea, coffee, cakes and pudding. It’s enough incentive for everyone to break out of their reverie, grabbing an empty plate each from the stack in one corner and piling it with anything that fits.
Harry is shuffled along with the crowd and he is handed a full plate by a grinning Seamus immediately. Harry thanks him before extricating himself, waiting on the outside for others. Ginny joins him a moment later, nudging him playfully, stealing a piece of sausage and Harry swipes the bacon from hers.
“Join me?” Ginny says after a moment.
Harry understands. “Sure.”
They find an unoccupied place. Harry brings over a few throw pillows and they settle against them side by side, elbows knocking, plates on their knees.
Ginny plays with her food and Harry waits patiently, nibbling on a piece of chicken apprehensively. Ginny asks him how he’s been. She asks him if he’s doing okay, if he’s still mad that Ron had left him. She shares her months with him, when she was attending school full time, when she had to stay away after Luna got kidnapped, and how Neville contacted her once Hog’s Head became safe. She tells him how Hogwarts stopped being safe, how Severus Snape is a piece of vile shit. She doesn’t prod much but she does question Malfoy’s presence, wants to know if Harry is truly alright with their heavy past.
“It’s not heavy – I mean. Okay, it is,” Harry stammers. “But I just – Ginny, I need to look at the bigger picture, you know?”
Ginny smiles, small and fond and kind. “I understand. I think. For me, it’s a little difficult to see past all that. I’ve watched the Slytherins in school doing terrible things. But I can see where you’re coming from, I suppose. You were always too kind for your own good.”
“I know it’s a little weird,” Harry admits, laughing abashedly. “He just grew on me, though. I’m not saying he’s suddenly my friend. But he’s – alright. When he’s not being a complete arsehole, that is. I don’t really mind that, either, anymore. Except when he’s being a prejudiced arsehole.”
Ginny sees something on his face and her smile tightens. Harry’s throat closes.
“Neville said – um. He said Blaise convinced you?” Harry says, suddenly awkward and uncomfortable and has no idea why.
This is Ginny, he screams at himself. The same Ginny who was the only person who could pull Harry out of his self-induced guilt in Fifth Year when he had refused to talk to anyone after Arthur Weasley was attacked. The same Ginny who pulled him away from Dumbledore’s dead body. The same Ginny who was like a breath of fresh air, still is, and who fits in Harry’s life naturally. The same Ginny who understands the cause, understands why Harry is fighting, why Harry had to leave her behind.
Ginny eats a forkful of food, then replies, chewing carefully. “He sneaked behind a few students and then nearly became the target of about fifteen wands. He handed his own wand over and started talking. That was pretty much it.”
“What did he say?”
“Showed us his arm. No Mark. Then asked us if it’s true Malfoy changed sides.”
Harry bites his tongue. “Right. So he joined you guys because of Malfoy.”
Ginny hesitates. “For Malfoy. I think, I think they sort of – are together. Or were. Maybe. He never said anything. But it feels – I don’t know. I might have read too much into it.”
There’s white noise in Harry’s mind; he’s never felt more wrong-footed in his entire life. Including the fact that he’s a walking, breathing goddamn Horcrux. “Malfoy is – is he gay?”
Ginny shrugs, wholly unaffected. “Not sure. Who cares?”
“But – but Pansy Parkinson. I saw them. They were like – close. Really close.”
Ginny fixes him with a strange look. “Harry, are you okay? People are gay, you know. You don’t have to be that surprised when someone suddenly pops up around you. Even if it’s your school nemesis.”
“No, I – it’s just. It’s Malfoy,” Harry tries to make sense of his own jumbling thoughts.
Ginny raises her eyebrows. “So?”
Harry knows his cheeks are reddening. He knows and he cannot do anything about it. “I mean. It’s – you know – cool.”
“Cool?” Ginny’s voice pitches in puzzlement.
“Not that Malfoy is cool,” Harry hastily explains, cheeks resembling Fiendfyre. “Being gay is – it’s alright. I’m cool with it.”
Ginny stares. “Right.”
“Anyway,” Harry says almost desperately. “What else has been happening?”
It’s only when Harry is in the middle of a conversation with Ginny, Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione that he notices Malfoy sitting on the floor in the corner, hands grabbing his hair, head bent low over his knees.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
He jumps to his feet. “Hermione! The Draught!”
He doesn’t wait to see if she follows. He is already running across the room, thinking of all the possible things Blaise could have said to him, which doesn’t really help all that much. Speaking of, Blaise is on his side, his hands hovering over Malfoy’s white blonde hair as though wanting to calm him by running his fingers across his scalp. It won’t help, Harry wants to shout, remembering the way Malfoy literally shrunk away the last time until Hermione and Ron forced the Draught and tea in his grip respectively.
“What happened?” Harry pants, kneeling down in front of the trembling body.
“Bad news,” Blaise says. He licks his lips uncertainly, palm splayed open in the air above Malfoy’s head awkwardly.
Hermione is immediately there, thankfully, and so is Ron. Harry takes the vial of potion from her hand, shuffling forward, feeling the scrape of his jeans rub harshly against the stone floor. Blaise’s arm retreats as Harry leans down right next to Malfoy’s ear.
“It’s okay,” he says as softly, as gently as possible. “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe.”
Harry gingerly pulls at Malfoy’s hand clutched in a fist, insisting the vial in his grip. It takes a few moments for Malfoy to realise its existence and then he grabs at it violently, downing it one go.
Malfoy’s breaths begin to calm, turning deeper and deeper. His skin is blotched red, sweat trickling down his temple. The shakes are dissipating bit by bit, and Harry starts to talk about seagulls. He ignores the stares from others, focuses only on describing the scent of dry grass, of open blue skies of the summer, of reading newspaper with a cup of tea – but then Malfoy lurches forward, pressing his head in Harry’s shoulder, fingers gripping the back of his shirt.
Harry sits, stunned, until the feeling of wetness makes itself known through his clothing. Malfoy is – crying. Actually crying. What the fuck did Blaise do?
He can’t help himself; he glares at Blaise. It’s his fault, entirely his fault, for upsetting Malfoy this much that he’s had to take respite in the first thing that crossed his panicked mind and it happened to be Harry.
“They’re – dead.”
Malfoy’s voice is muffled, pained, rough and raspy. There is no mistaking who they are. His chest burning, Harry lifts his arms and circles them around Malfoy’s back, not knowing what he can say or really do except roll with it.
“All because I – I saved you.”
Harry’s entire body is burning hot. He feels guilty like he’s never felt it before; the emotion so strong and crushing that he feels close to the edge of losing it himself. He had never, ever wanted this. Never, ever wanted anyone to die for him, to save him. Granted, Lucius and Narcissa didn’t exactly do anything for him, but Malfoy feels distraught over the whole thing and with good reason. He lost his parents all because Harry was stupid enough to forget about the Taboo for one goddamned second.
If he says any of this, though, Hermione and Ron will be quick enough to dispute all of it. It was Malfoy’s choice to rescue them. It was Malfoy’s parents’ choices that led to their death. They would be right, of course they would be. It still doesn’t make anything better, he thinks, as Malfoy seems, for lack of a better word, utterly inconsolable.
Harry thinks of his own parents, naturally, and wonders if this is how much it would have hurt if he’d gotten the chance to get to know them, to live with them, to be raised by them. He doesn’t know which is worse anymore – sooner rather than later, or living until everyone else dies.
“This is all your goddamned fault.”
Harry gulps. “I’m sorry.”
“You never should have turned up at the Manor.”
“I know.”
“I never would have had to rescue your stupid arse and Father and Mother–”
He cries harder and Harry tightens his hold. Malfoy is still shaking, but less due to panic and more due to sobbing his eyes out. His body is warm against Harry’s, lean and slight as is worthy of a Seeker. His hair is scraping against Harry’s cheek and Harry can detect the scent of his own shampoo.
It’s only fair, Harry decides, that he has to be on the receiving end of Malfoy’s meltdown when the whole reason for it surrounds him. They sit like that for a good amount of time. Blaise settles down at some point, waiting patiently for Malfoy to collect himself. Ron and Hermione seem more uncertain and Harry catches Ron’s gaze in a silent communication.
Ron nods, pulls Hermione away. As they’re leaving, Harry happens to see Ginny staring back at him with a searching look on her face. Harry holds it until he just can’t, guilt gnawing in his insides tenfold and has no idea as to why.
Ginny is – still as beautiful as ever. Still as strong, fierce. Still every bit of a warrior. But Harry knows where he is needed in the moment, and Ginny is more than capable of handling herself. She’s tough, tougher than her brothers, and Harry still admires that in her.
But she doesn’t need him. Has, in fact, never needed him. She had wanted him and Harry had wanted her and it was perfect while it lasted. In the middle of a war, though, wanting is a luxury. A privilege that Harry knew he had to let go of when he left her behind.
“Stay until I get back,” Harry insists as he tugs the Cloak over himself, keeping his head afloat. “Seriously.”
Hermione shakes her head. “Harry, you be careful. Please remember – Ravenclaw Common Room without any fuss and then right back.”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry promises. “Malfoy?”
Malfoy has calmed down since a few hours ago. To Harry, he still feels brittle and Harry can’t blame him. Now, he seems to be avoiding Harry’s gaze entirely and Harry can’t blame him for that, either.
“I’ll be here,” Malfoy replies, staring at the floor. “Nothing to go back to.”
Harry swallows, sends a silent plea towards Ron and Hermione, not caring if he’s coming across too kind or too desperate. The bloke learned that his parents are dead, for Merlin’s sake. All Harry wants to do is burrito him in sweaters and a thick blanket, and let Nuri fly him somewhere far away from this war. Malfoy probably won’t put too much of a fight. In fact, Harry thinks with a mixed churning in his gut, Malfoy would be glad to be away.
He can’t, though, not when he’s made the Vow.
“I’ll be right back,” Harry says to the room at large, glancing at Malfoy one last time before tugging the Cloak over his head, covering Luna, as well.
The walk towards the Ravenclaw Common Room, up another tower is nostalgic to say the least. He’s never been in this part of the castle before and yet, as they shuffle quietly along the empty hallways, past flaming torches, past chattering portraits and moving staircases, silent classrooms and hidden tapestries, Luna’s fingers are clutched tightly in his, and Harry squeezes back because he gets it. The privilege of being inside the school, inside Hogwarts, however swarming with Death Eaters, is still a privilege.
They climb the Ravenclaw Tower. Once they’re at the top, Luna knocks on the wooden door and a musical voice greets them.
“Where do lost things go?”
Harry blinks, mentally curses. Is this – are they serious? Students have to crack codes to enter their own Common Room? Harry almost snaps at the door, Hogwarts thinks it’s hilarious, but Luna is answering the riddle serenely, as if she has done this –
Of course, she has done this for the past six years.
“To the place they’re meant to be found.”
The door swings open on its hinges. Harry wants to compliment Luna on her smartness but gets distracted by the room he finds himself in. The Common Room is similar to Gryffindors but not exactly. It’s circular, warm, cosy, but more airy and spacious, books lining the walls till the ceiling, strange instruments on the tables, forgotten homework and textbooks sprawled everywhere. Hermione would love it.
A large marble statute is standing right in the middle of the Common Room and Harry instantly recognizes it as Rowena Ravenclaw. He steps out from under the Cloak and climbs on the plinth to take a closer look at the diadem sitting atop the crown.
*“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” he reads the words lining the diadem.
*“Which makes you pretty skint, witless,” a voice cackles from the shadows and Harry loses his footing in shock, falling down onto the blue carpet.
Alecto Carrow steps out from the shadows. Without hesitation, she shakes her sleeves and touches the Dark Mark with the tip of her wand, as Harry watches, horrified.
Fuckity fuck to all fuckery in this fucked shitfuck.
There’s a sudden jet of light, bang, and Alecto crumples to the floor in a heap. Luna tugs Harry back under the Cloak, musing over how she had not expected the spell to be that noisy.
The damage is already done. Voldemort has been warned and there’s nothing Harry can do about it. To make matters worse, the commotion has attracted the Ravenclaw students and there’s scampering on the staircases as some of them hesitantly walk towards the lying figure on the floor of their Common Room.
“Alecto?”
Harry grabs Luna and drags her out of the way to a corner. Amycus is right outside the door and he starts to yell and bang, but the door does not budge. The students rush back upstairs, terrified. Just when Harry is beginning to think that Amycus might leave, Professor McGonagall has joined him.
And then when Amycus and Professor McGonagall are inside, Amycus kneels beside his sister, snarling and angry. He says that Alecto would not touch the Mark unless she’s seen Potter, which means Potter is clearly here.
“Potter is in my House,” Professor McGonagall informs him tightly, although Harry detects a hint of pride underlying it.
Amycus insists that he’s here, going so far as to insult Professor McGonagall by spitting in her face. Harry sees red. He removes the Cloak, raises his wand without a thought.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he sneers. “Crucio.”
Amycus screams. Harry feels a surge of power tingling from his fingers, up his arm, through his whole body. Bellatrix had said that one has to mean it and Harry has never meant anything more in his whole life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he absently notes that this is the second Unforgivable he’s used in this same year, and Malfoy’s voice is ringing in his ears from all those weeks ago – three levels of Dark Arts, how Cruciatus tortures the physical body except that it doesn’t, how Imperius controls the mind, how Avada Kedavra splits one’s soul.
He has two souls inside him, he knows it for a fact now. Knows it the way he knows the Moon revolves around the Earth, the Sun rises in the East. He knows it the way he knows Draco Malfoy was never born to be a Death Eater, was born to be Regulus, the pureblood rebel however terrifying he finds the prospect to be. He knows it the way he knows that Dark Arts is only Dark if one wants it to be.
As Amycus continues to writhe in agony, Harry remembers Hermione on the cold stone floor of the Malfoy Manor, shattering inside her own mind, and then Draco is whispering in his ear, urging him to burn, burn, burn –
And suddenly, Harry can feel it even as his scar splits open. He collapses, the Cruciatus breaks, and then he’s Voldemort, hungry for his blood, his own blood, and then he’s Harry again, hungry for his soul, his own soul, the other one which is twisting and coiling, feeding into his wrath.
Tom Riddle will pay for this.