Transformation: Chapter Eight

 

A rush of color. Wind stinging his face. Flying forward, forward . . .

Harry landed with a loud crash, his knees buckling as he pitched forward on a cold stone floor. His thoughts were racing. Draco had sent him somewhere, and it couldn’t be good. He was stranded in the dark, the frigid stone a cold shock against his knees.

Which was when Harry heard the laughter. He looked up, heart seizing.

“Well, if it isn’t Harry Potter coming a-calling,” Bellatrix Lestrange drawled, a smile like the Cheshire cat spreading on her face. She was sitting in a low armchair, legs crossed, holding her wand idly. “Stand up like a proper guest, Potter. Unless you’d prefer to grovel as you are.”

Harry leapt to his feet, his wand already in his hand. Could he be in Wales? Was anyone else around? His scar was not bursting with pain, which meant Voldemort couldn’t be near . . .

“I’d have brought you to the Black mansion,” Bellatrix said sweetly, “but you’ve been there already, and it’s rather infested at the moment. Some bothersome werewolf has set up residence and it’d be such trouble to waste time killing him.”

“Remus,” Harry choked out. “Don’t you dare–“

“A pity your godfather never showed you a proper Black welcome,” Bellatrix smiled. “Though it’s too late now. And I’d have welcomed you at the Lestrange home, but it seems to have been confiscated by the Ministry. My sister’s humble manor will have to do.”

Her sister. Harry whirled, but Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere in sight. He did, however, catch a glimpse of the door.

“Do for what?” he demanded, stalling.

“For your death, of course,” Bellatrix said, leaning forward and giving him a long, appraising look. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten your little adventures last June.”

“Why Malfoy Manor?” Harry rasped, as Bellatrix unwound herself sinuously and stood up. “Why couldn’t you do it at Hogwarts?”

“I’m afraid the old fool Dumbledore has quite the security system,” Bellatrix snarled. “And besides, Harry. I believe you and I have some unfinished business to tend to. I couldn’t very well let someone else steal you away from me, now could I?”

“Unfinished business?” Harry hissed. “Like the fact that you killed Sirius?”

“Like the fact that I’m about to kill you,” Bellatrix corrected him, an ugly smile on her face. “And then I’m going to kill your pretty little friends. The little redheaded girl first, I think . . . I’ll have her squealing by the time I’m through with her . . .”

“Stupefy!” Harry roared, but she dodged the curse and it hit the wall, shattering flecks of stone into the room with a loud ringing sound. Bellatrix laughed raucously.

“Baby Potter wants to play,” she mocked, carefully stepping over a chunk of stone before raising her wand to chest height. “Think you can get the best of me, wittle baby Potter? I’ll show you what Crucio really feels like–“

But Harry narrowly dodged the curse and shouted, “Impedimenta,” sending Bellatrix flying backwards into the chair she had been sitting in. Before she could recover, he started to cast a Silencing Spell, but she was quicker than he realized. Bounding to her feet, she threw another Cruciatus Curse at him, which knocked him to his knees. Even with the pain of it shattering through him, he could hear her maniacal laughter.

“Feel that, Potter?” she screeched. “You can watch your little friends take that much pain twenty times over! I’ll torture them until they’ll scream! Oh no, Potter, no easy death for you – you’ll watch them die, you’ll hear their screams for days and days–“

“Silencio!” Harry yelled, and Bellatrix’s eyes bulged as she tried to speak and couldn’t. She looked insane, eyes bloodshot and wide, her expression livid, and it was a terrifying sight as she leapt at him, hands outstretched for his throat. He shouted, hoarse, “Stupefy! STUPEFY!”

She landed, twisted, half on top of a low table, one pale arm twisted behind her back; her face looked almost regal in repose, but Harry had no time to contemplate it, as his first thought was escape.

He ran for the door, hearing what might have been Bellatrix stirring already behind him, but there was no time now. He raced out of the room, the door ricocheting wildly on its hinges, and pelted down the hall. Where could he go? Where was the exit in this cold, terrifying manor?

It seemed as if he were in a dungeon of some kind, and he threw himself up the first staircase he saw, a cold stone one that was more slippery than it appeared. But just as he had scrambled to the middle of it, it rumbled loudly and began to swivel in the opposite direction. Harry groaned. He was all too familiar with staircases that changed directions mid-ascension, but this was not a matter of being late to Charms. As soon as it locked into place in its new location, he ran desperately up it, determined to reach the next level before it decided to relocate again.

At the top of the stairs, a life size statue waited, and his head swiveled slowly to look at Harry as he ran past. On the wall, several dim figures fled from portrait to portrait to watch him, most of them as pale and blonde as Draco. His feet were pounding on ringing tile and he grasped the doorknob of the first door he saw, though it twisted wildly in his grasp and bit him. He seized it again and wrenched the door open.

He was in a long, empty room walled with windows; the only furniture in the room was a shining piano that looked as if it had seen better days, and several high-backed gold chairs lined up beside the door. On one of them stood an empty, dusty wineglass, as if it had been forgotten when its owner was distracted.

It was of no use to Harry, unless he could leap out the windows. He retreated from the room and dashed to the next, which was full of mirrors. Thousands of panting, wide-eyed Harrys stared back at him, all of their expressions desperately demanding, Where to go? Where now? He slammed the door and ran for the last one on the right side of the hallway, just as he thought he heard Bellatrix’s mad laugh somewhere behind him. The door had monstrous faces carved into its surface and they bared their teeth at him as he shoved it open, but let him inside. Once he was in, he immediately bolted the door behind him.

He had entered a study: Lucius Malfoy’s, it appeared, judging from the sneering portrait hanging directly above the fireplace. “Harry Potter, here?” Malfoy gasped and instantly vanished from his portrait, probably to alert the rest of the house. Harry paid him no mind, glancing around the large room at shelves of old books, several delicate metal instruments Harry had seen in Dumbledore’s office, a Pensieve tucked out of the way on a shelf. Much as Harry would have liked to seize it and take it to the Ministry, he figured the Ministry had already been there to look at it, and besides, he needed to escape. Where . . .?

The fireplace. Desperately casting around the room, Harry leapt for it. He had to think quickly. Where could he go? Not Hogwarts. That would only put Hogwarts in danger, and for all he knew, it could be under a full-scale attack. Where, then?

Somewhere safe, he thought desperately. Not Hogwarts, not even to get Dumbledore, where else? Somewhere safe . . .

The word niggled at him through his frantically scrambling thoughts, something familiar, something he remembered . . . He couldn’t go to Grimmauld Place; he would bet Bellatrix knew it inside and out. And the Ministry was out of the question. Perhaps he should go to Dumbledore, after all . . .

No. He knew where he had to go.

Seizing the Floo powder, he knocked it to the floor in his haste – someone was rattling the door – tossing the biggest handful he could grasp into the fire, Harry’s lungs seized up as he accidentally inhaled a mouthful of the dust, but there was no time to spare – outside, he heard a shouted Alohomora and the door burst from its hinges –

Green flame roared and, coughing on the powder, Harry dove headfirst without a backwards look. Over Bellatrix’s screams, he yelled out, “Arabella Figg’s house!”

It was a whirl of soot and darkness and rushing in his ears, and then Harry scrambled into a cold, empty room, tripping over a cat that yowled and skittered out of his way. He realized, belatedly, that Mrs. Figg was a Squib and could do nothing to protect herself if Bellatrix followed him. The Death Eaters would kill her without a thought. But it was too late now. Perhaps she was asleep.

There was nothing else for it, and with one look behind him at the fireplace, Harry ran for the door, scattering cats in his path. He wrenched it open and tore across the lawn. The cold night was a blessing as he sprinted to the house, panting and wheezing. His left ankle throbbed as if he’d twisted it, and his lungs burned, whether from the Floo powder or his frantic flight, he didn’t know.

“AUNT PETUNIA,” he screamed, breaking the pristine silence of Privet Drive. Across the street, a light went on. Harry hammered at the door. “UNCLE VERNON! You’ve got to let me in – please, you’ve got to – remember Dumbledore’s warning–“

Harry continued to pound at the door until the house lit up, but the man who answered the door was far from Uncle Vernon. He was a short, balding man in pyjamas, who was clutching his overcoat like it was a weapon.

“Here now, what’s this?” he said, puzzled, with the amiable confusion only a man who is still half asleep could muster for an unknown, panting boy clutching a polished stick. “Who’re you?”

“Where . . . Dursleys?” Harry wheezed.

“Can’t say as I know a Dursley,” the man said thoughtfully. He appeared so calm about the entire situation that Harry wondered if strange boys turned up on his doorstep every night. “Oh, wait now. The couple who owned the house, that’s right! Bit unpleasant, if I remember correctly, but quite eager to sell, I–“

“Moved?” Harry gasped out, glancing over his shoulder desperately. Any minute now, someone would come. “But . . . why? Where to?”

“America, I think,” the man mused. And then, with the sudden realization he was speaking to a panting, wild-eyed boy, he added with concern, “Say, do you need to call someone? Have a lie down? I’d–“

“It’s all right,” Harry said, on the verge of panic, “thanks.”

“Some tea?” he continued to offer. “Are you bleeding? I’m sure I could find their address, if you need to contact them – Vernon Dursley, wasn’t it, bit of a large man–“

“No,” Harry panted, “no thanks–“

And just then, with a loud crack, Bellatrix Apparated onto the street. “Potter!” she shrieked, pelting down Privet Drive towards him, wand extended before her.

“GET INSIDE,” Harry yelled to the man who had bought the Dursleys’ home. He looked more curious than terrified, but Harry shoved him backwards so forcefully that he toppled over the doorstep and stared at Harry as if shocked at such a display of violence. But Harry had no time for niceties, as Bellatrix was racing towards him, and as he held out his wand, more windows flared with light –

“You can get away with that once, Potter!” Bellatrix screamed at him. “But I’ll have you! Crucio!”

Harry shouted desperately, “Protego!” but Bellatrix’s spell shattered right through his shield charm and he was knocked back against the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, his entire body screaming with pain – somewhere, faintly, he heard somebody yelling and realized it was him –

“Had enough, baby Potter?” Bellatrix yelled, crouching behind the low garden wall, laughing madly. “You can’t best me – I know spells you can’t even dream of – spells that make your skin crawl off your flesh, make all your blood boil right out of you! Would you like that, Potter? It’s a pity my dear cousin died so easily, it would have been such fun to torture him–“

“Crucio,” Harry bellowed, leaping forwards and throwing the spell at her as she peered above the wall at him – a few bricks exploded with the force of it, and Bellatrix was on the ground, writhing, her limbs jerking involuntarily –

Lights were going on all over Privet Drive, and across the street, some particularly loud neighbor shouted out the window, “It’s the middle of the bloody night, you hooligans! Go home!” But Harry had no time to pay attention to anything else, as Bellatrix was leaping to her feet, and before she could recover fully –

“STUPEFY,” Harry screamed, feeling as if his whole body were pulled into the spell, so filled up with hatred was he, and a bolt of red light shot straight from his wand and hit Bellatrix squarely in the chest. She hit the ground so suddenly that the abrupt silence in Privet Drive was deafening.

Harry let out a heavy breath, feeling as if he’d just fought an army of Hippogriffs. He turned, wondering if he should bother the poor man in the Dursleys’ house, and stopped still.

Draco Malfoy was standing before him on the gravel driveway, wand extended, staring at him with cold fury in his eyes.

“Malfoy,” Harry said weakly. “I should have known.”

He felt something tidal breaking inside of him, as every warning that had been thrown at him over this mistake of a year came flooding back: Malfoy’s dangerous. Malfoy could be planning something. He remembered the words that had come out of his own mouth: I don’t know if he’d hesitate to kill me if he had the chance. He remembered Ron shouting at him: But don’t say nobody warned you! And, irrationally, he remembered Draco drawing close to him, rubbing his thumb across Harry’s lip, saying softly, “Lupin’s waiting.”

There had been something gentle in his voice, Harry had thought then.

Standing there, facing down Draco, both their wands held chest-height and their gazes locking, Harry felt torn between the utter pain of betrayal and his overwhelming fury at it.

He chose fury.

“You think you can best me?” he hissed, taking a step forward. “After all this time, do you think you can possibly be better than me? You’re nothing, Malfoy. You’ll never be anything. You’re pathetic – just like your father–“

“Wait,” Draco might have said, but Harry was already yelling, “Stupefy!” Draco barely managed to dodge the jet of light that shot towards him, but it struck the garden wall instead, in a spray of sparks.

“I practiced all those spells with you,” Harry snarled, still advancing. “Oh, I’ll bet you loved that. Is that what this was all about, Malfoy? Playing your twisted games? All of this – the Defense practices, the money, the – the sex–“

Draco opened his mouth, but Harry yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Draco’s block was barely sufficient, though he managed to keep a hold of his wand.

“Potter–“

But Harry, who had tuned out whatever Draco was about to jeer at him, raised his wand while Draco was still mid-sentence and shouted out, his voice ragged, “Avada Kedavra!”

Nothing happened.

Harry’s hand shook as Draco stared at him in equal shock. He hadn’t done it. He couldn’t. After everything, after all of it, Harry could not muster the will to kill him.

“Stupefy,” a voice said calmly to Harry’s left. A jet of light shot over his shoulder and before him, Draco dropped like a stone.

Harry whirled around. Standing there was Remus, looking haggard and anxious, his wand extended. But Harry was not looking at him. At Remus’s side, arms folded belligerently, so achingly familiar, was . . . Draco? Harry stared at him, stunned.

“Lord, Potter,” Draco said, sounding exhausted and very much annoyed, “must you be so thick?”



&*&*



It was past midnight when Remus Flooed with Harry back to Hogwarts and, after forcing him to take a cup of tea and a half-melted bar of chocolate, led Harry into a small, dusty room on the second floor. “It’s been a long night, I know,” he sighed, one arm around Harry’s shoulders. “But here – everything will be explained, I think Albus must be here–“

Dumbledore was, indeed, in the room when they entered, talking in low tones with Moody. While Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at Harry, Moody glanced suspiciously towards the corner, where Draco sat. He was slumped in his chair and did not appear to be willing to look at anyone.

“Harry,” Dumbledore welcomed him, as if he were presiding over something as innocuous as a Hogwarts feast. “It appears you have had quite the evening. Remus, thank you for bringing him back safely. Now, Harry, why don’t you sit down–“

“I don’t want to sit down!” Harry snapped. “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t supposed to be treated like a child! I just want to know what’s going on!”

“Which is exactly what I intend to find out,” Moody said darkly, giving Draco a suspicious look. Somehow, it seemed he’d acquired several more scars on his already terrifying face, and it lent him an even more menacing air. “It appears that Nymphadora Tonks was less trustworthy than we had thought.”

Harry’s mind whirled. “Tonks?” he stuttered out. Tonks, who had befriended him; Tonks, who had told him, a strange look in her eyes, that her Muggleborn dad had been killed. Who’d said, so calmly, that her mother missed the House of Black sometimes, that she couldn’t bear to face the sisters she’d abandoned. “But she – she was part of the Order, she taught Defense–“

“She’s being held at the Ministry,” Remus interrupted, putting an awkward hand on Harry’s shoulder. “There will be a thorough investigation, of course. There is always the possibility of Imperius, and perhaps her relationship to the Black family was–“

But Harry, stunned, didn’t hear him. He was thinking of the first time since King’s Cross that he had seen Tonks . . . she had been sitting casually on his front stoop, her hair turned brown, as if she wanted to pass easily among Muggles . . .

“She killed Dudley, didn’t she,” he blurted. “She knew about Privet Drive. She was there herself, I showed her my room, I–“

“Steady on, Potter,” Moody said gruffly. His eye spun in a dizzying whirl of blue. “We’ll straighten it out soon enough. Kingsley’s at the Ministry now, he’s got a team covering the case.”

And Tonks had sought him out in the club. Why? She’d befriended him, she’d seduced him – he remembered, with a flash, the oily man she’d met in Hogsmeade – the way Draco had taunted that he thought he had everyone pegged –

“What about Malfoy?” he said, hating the way his voice shook.

“We know that the Draco Malfoy you faced on Privet Drive was really Tonks,” Remus said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “And as for the real Draco, Moody thinks it best that we take precautions and question him under Veritaserum–“

Harry looked at Draco, who was slumped pale and weary in the shadows. He didn’t look up, and eventually, Harry looked away.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Moody rumbled. At his voice, Draco’s head flew up and he stared at Moody, glaring balefully as if he didn’t trust him. Moody continued without hesitation, “Potter, you’re here to give us your side of the story. Albus, have you got the serum?”

“Now hold on just a moment,” Remus interrupted. Moody’s good eye glanced towards him, while the other spun wildly. Even Draco glanced up, surprised, though he still eyed Moody as if Moody were about to attack at any time. Remus appeared to notice this, as he said evenly, “You already scare the boy, Alastor. You’ll remember that your impersonator had quite the year at Hogwarts. And we’ve all had a long night.”

“I hardly see what that has to do with questioning the boy,” Moody snapped.

“Perhaps you aren’t the best one to be doing the questioning,” Remus replied. Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who did not look surprised in the least, and was smiling at Remus. “I’d be quite willing to have a transcript made of everything spoken in the room, if you’d like–“

Moody looked taken aback. “Here now, Remus, surely–“

“Remus is right, old friend,” Dumbledore said smoothly, and Moody’s glass eye even stilled for a moment to stare at Dumbledore. “Perhaps you should attend to Nymphadora and leave these Hogwarts students to me. She is, after all, as an Auror, under your jurisdiction. And these boys are under mine.”

Glass eye whirling agitatedly, Moody glanced around at all of them for one long moment, and finally he stumped out of the room without a word. Remus squeezed Harry’s shoulder one last time and moved to shut the door.

“Dobby should be bringing some chocolate,” Remus said, looking kindly at both boys. “It’ll be just a moment – in the meantime, Harry, why don’t you tell us your version of what happened tonight?”

Harry did not particularly want to think about it, much less talk about it, but he leaned against the wall, exhausted, and said dully, “I was going to practice some Defense by myself. So I went to the Room of Requirement, but Draco – I thought it was Draco – he was there. And he apologized – we’d been fighting, see – and we.” Harry flushed, trying to look anywhere but at Dumbledore, whose twinkly blue eyes seemed to already know. “We, um, sort of made up. But I got angry, and we were arguing–”

He could feel Draco staring at him, almost in disbelief, and he stared pointedly at the floor. “Anyway, the important part isn’t until after that, when he gave me a Portkey. I didn’t know it was a Portkey, so I took it, and it took me to Malfoy Manor–“ here again Harry felt Draco’s eyes burning into him in shock – “where Bellatrix was. She tried to kill me and I Stunned her, long enough to get away, and I ran into some kind of study with a fireplace. I Flooed to Mrs. Figg’s house, but I think she heard me, and it didn’t matter anyway, the Dursleys had moved.”

Harry didn’t expect to feel any emotion at all as he said this, but a sudden sense of loneliness overwhelmed him. He had grown up knowing that the Dursleys didn’t love him and never would, and he loathed them in his own way, but they had left him without a word, left him for dead. Now he had no family, not even his horrible aunt and uncle . . .

“Harry,” Remus said gently. “Then what happened?”

“Then Bellatrix arrived and we fought and I Stunned her again,” Harry said flatly. “And then I saw Malfoy – Tonks – I don’t know, and I tried to kill him. Her. I, but I couldn’t, and then you came. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore said gravely. “And it seems – oh yes, here we are. Thank you, Dobby.”

Remus took the tray the house elf had brought and set it down on the table. Harry watched him without interest as he squeezed two drops of Veritaserum in one of the mugs and handed it to Draco, then offered another to Harry. Harry took it simply because he didn’t want to go through the effort of declining. He felt very tired, suddenly; trying to wrap his brain around all that had just happened was more of an effort than he had the energy for.

Taking a cup for himself, Remus said, “Albus?”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. He reached into his pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a Quick-Quotes Quill. “Ah, here it is . . . I believe Rita Skeeter introduced me to the use of these handy little things. With some exaggeration, perhaps, but Alastor will just have to accept it . . . Shall we proceed?”

“Certainly,” said Remus, as Dumbledore set the quill to parchment. “Now. Are you Draco Malfoy?”

“Naturally,” Draco said, sounding reluctant and irritable. He was still hunched in the chair, deliberately avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Remus gave him an encouraging smile as the room filled with the Quick-Quotes Quill’s furious scratching. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Where were you after dinner tonight, Draco?”

“Studying Potions with Daphne Greengrass in the Slytherin Common Room.”

“You were nowhere near – where was it, Harry?”

“The Room of Requirement,” Harry muttered, trying not to look embarrassed. He pulled out a chair and sat down just to avoid looking at any of them.

“Not until later,” Draco said.

“But you didn’t see Harry at all?”

“Only when he was fighting in Little Whinging and you took me there.”

“Ah,” Remus said. He took a sip from his mug. “And how did you know Harry would be in trouble? You didn’t have, let’s say, any prior knowledge to what might be happening tonight?”

Draco was scowling. “I went to the Room of Requirement to look for him and saw his things but not him,” he explained brusquely. “I was worried so I came to tell you.”

“Why’d you come to the Room of Requirement?” Harry demanded, interrupting Remus’s questioning. “I thought you said you wanted nothing to do with me, Malfoy.”

“I wanted to see you, Potter,” Draco blurted, and immediately looked furious at the words that were coming out of his mouth. “I missed you and I was going to tell you that I hadn’t meant it and if you wouldn’t listen to me I was going to cast a Body-Bind Hex on you and kiss you.”

The look on Draco’s face at what he had just said was pure horror, and Remus had to take a swift sip to cover his growing smile. “To get back to what happened in Little Whinging,” Remus said, when he’d recovered. “Draco, you never cast an Unforgivable Curse on Harry Potter tonight?”

“No.”

Remus glanced across the room at Dumbledore. “I think we’ve established that you are not responsible for the acts that, under your appearance, someone else committed,” he said, to which Draco sneered. “Now, a few more. Did you have any idea that Tonks would try to pose as you?”

“I didn’t know that’s what she was going to do,” Draco snapped. At his wording, both Remus and Dumbledore straightened significantly, and Harry stared at him.

Remus’s voice was harder, now. “But you did know Tonks was up to something.”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you this?”

“My mother told me. She sent me owls sometimes.”

“Your mother told you that Tonks was plotting against Harry.”

“Yes.”

“When? When did she first tell you this?”

Draco wasn’t looking at Harry. “She told me that Tonks was something of an ally before school began and she started owling me at the end of September.”

Remus was not smiling now. Harry felt as if his insides were crawling with one of Bellatrix’s horrible spells.

“Did you have anything to do with the attack on Hogsmeade?” Remus asked, very quietly.

“No.”

“Did you know about the attack on Hogsmeade?”

“Yes.”

“Did you – “

“You knew?” Harry shouted, interrupting Remus. His chair flew back as he leapt to his feet. “You fucking knew the whole time, you–” Suddenly, it dawned on him, and something clenched tight in his stomach. Dully, he said, “That’s why you apologized to me outside the Three Broomsticks. That’s why you demanded to practice Defense right away. Right?”

“Yes,” Draco said. His expression was impossible to read.

“You fucking bastard, you were trying to save me and not anybody else?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know, Potter,” Draco said savagely, “I didn’t know what would happen, I thought they were just looking for you, my mum said Tonks was going to lure you there and that was all! And my mum would know right away if I’d informed, I was the only one who knew besides those involved, and I told the Slytherins not to go, I said–“

“You warned them and left the rest of Hogwarts in danger?” Harry yelled.

“I DIDN’T KNOW,” Draco shouted again, his voice raw with fury, “do you think I’m glad about it? Professor Snape died and that was my fault! I could have told him, I could have told anyone! And you wouldn’t shut your mouth about how sorry you were, how it was all your fault, how it was all up to you to save the world, you were blaming yourself left and right; well, Potter, now you know! It’s not your fault, it’s mine!“

Harry gritted his teeth. “Yeah,” he said coldly. “It is.”

“Harry.” Remus gave him a knowing look. “You’re here because we need to hear your side of the story too. Let me ask the questions, and–“

“This is my side of the story,” Harry snapped. “I’m the one he pulled out of Hogsmeade just before the attack. I’m the one who was fooled, all this time.”

“Tonks is – “Remus began, but Harry interrupted him again.

“No,” he said, voice bitter, “I know about Tonks. I meant by him.”

He didn’t look at Draco. He didn’t want to see his expression, whether it was wounded or expressionless. He didn’t want to care.

Remus squeezed his shoulder and said quietly to Draco, “What happened after the attack?”

“My mother was suspicious about Harry Potter missing the attack and cut most of our communications off,” Draco said sullenly. “Tonks was instructed to keep a closer eye on me. I told Potter he didn’t know what he was doing, I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen–“

“How was I supposed to listen if you wouldn’t give me any fucking evidence?” Harry demanded. “Don’t blame me, Malfoy, for your Death Eater loyalties–“

“Harry,” said Remus. “Go on, Draco.”

“She found out where I’d spent the holidays and stopped writing. That’s all.”

“Meanwhile, Tonks was still teaching and working with the Order,” Remus said gravely. “It didn’t occur to you to tell anyone?”

“Who was I supposed to tell?” Draco snapped. “I would have told Snape but I got him killed, didn’t I?”

Harry looked at him, then, this hunched figure in a chair, his mug of chocolate going cold; he looked vulnerable there, like a child. He felt a stab of the familiar longing and wanted, for a second, nothing more than to go to him and wrap him in his arms. Everything was confusing. He hated Draco. He didn’t. He –

“You could have told me,” Harry said, quietly.

“When you were blathering about Quidditch, shouting at me about Granger, or demanding I let you fuck me?” Draco said, so frankly that Remus coughed loudly to cover what might have been a laugh. “Now it’s your turn to tell the truth, Potter. Tonks warned you about me, didn’t she?”

Harry looked away. “So what if she did?”

“Who do you think you would have believed?”

Remus sighed. “Draco’s right, Harry. But it’s in the past now. We should–“

“No!” Harry exclaimed. He whirled on Draco. “Why did you agree to Defense lessons, then, were you just using them to spy on me? Is that what your mother wanted? Did Tonks know, too? Is that why you kept coming back, because those were your instructions, is that it?”

“No one told me to practice with you,” Draco snapped. “And my mother was rather incensed at the idea.”

“Harry,” Remus began, putting a hand on his shoulder, but Harry shook him off.

“Why, then?” Harry demanded. He stalked back towards his chair and picked up his mug savagely. “Why did you want to?”

“You looked at me,” Draco answered, so simply that Harry stilled and twisted to look at him again. He looked mortified at having to admit anything of the sort. “You were hexing me and then I jumped at you and you wrestled me to the ground, and I could see it in your eyes, Potter, how insignificant I was to you, how forgettable, and I thought it was true, everything you’d ever said, that you could care less. But I looked up and you were looking at me.”

Harry stared at him before turning back to the wall. He knew how it felt, he supposed, to be so singled out – that night at the club –

“You still hated me,” he said flatly. “You were horrible.”

“Well, forgive me for being conflicted!” Draco snarled. “I was curious about you, not fucking in love with you.”

Harry stared. “Conflicted? Malfoy, you were helping to get me killed!”

“I was trying to help you,” Draco said, and Harry could see in his eyes that, despite himself, he was telling the truth.

“Some help,” Harry spat. “Following in Daddy’s footsteps, is that it? Thought you’d make him proud when he came home for you?”

“Harry!” Remus snapped. “That will be quite enough.” He turned to Dumbledore, who was listening calmly, eyes on the parchment. “Albus? Perhaps we might alter the record slightly – to cover Draco’s more, ahem, personal admissions – and, unless you have any questions?“

“I have none,” Dumbledore said, and his eyes twinkled. He picked up the quill and tucked it back into his pocket, along with the roll of parchment. He patted his pocket carefully. “I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, smiling. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Very well. Draco, the Veritaserum should be wearing off,” Remus said. “I’m sorry you had to endure that. Veritaserum is never a pleasant experience. And as for old Mad-Eye, I wouldn’t worry about him. In the end, you’ve acquitted yourself very well, and that’s something to be proud of. And, Draco?” He paused in the doorway. It took a moment of silence before Draco lifted his head, but he did. Remus smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“Remus?” Harry said quickly, before he could disappear out the door. “Can I – I need some time alone with Draco. To ask him some questions.”

Remus looked towards Dumbledore, who inclined his head, and back towards Harry. “It’s been a long night, Harry,” Remus said quietly. “And we all have things to be ashamed of. Remember that. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Harry waited, leaning against the wall, as Dumbledore gave him a serene smile and exited, followed by Remus, who gave him a warning look before shutting the door. It was oddly quiet, the skritch of the quill gone, and the only sound their breathing.

After a moment, Draco said, “The Veritaserum’s worn off, Potter.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said honestly, and he folded his arms. “I need to know, and I’m trusting you to answer.”

"Now you’re here to interrogate me too?"

"Just answer my questions," Harry muttered. He leaned against the door. "Please.”

Draco looked as if he were about to answer with a retort, but something in Harry’s plea seemed to make him hesitate. Harry saw in his eyes a cold, cruel boy who had walked as if he owned Hogwarts, a boy who began every other sentence with "My father . . ." and sneered as if he had been born with that expression. But beyond that, he saw a boy who had kissed him in a dusty shed, a boy who had fought him and hated him and saved him and changed him, more than Harry was willing to admit.

Catching Harry watching him, his lip lifting in a bitter echo of an old sneer, Draco nodded. "Fine. Ask away, Miracle Boy."

Harry looked Draco squarely in the eye and steeled himself not to back down, even when his gaze crashed against those emotionless walls. Voice as steady as he could make it, he said, "Why did you want to be my friend?"

Draco blinked. He looked blankly up at Harry, as if that had not been the question he was expecting, and its deviation threw him off. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "What?"

"In first year. You know, did your father tell you to, or what?"

Again, Draco hesitated, as if he were planning to answer sarcastically and then thought better of it. In the end, his eyes tore away from Harry's and he watched his hands as he spoke. "I'd never had many real friends. My mother wanted to keep her only son as 'her baby' as long as possible. Excuse me for wanting to make some. I don't see why you keep harping on it. Get it through your thick head, not everything is about you, Potter."

Harry thought of a proud, haughty little boy who said all the wrong things and was left with a hand refused. "I just wanted to know why you'd wanted to be my friend," he said quietly. "I'd never had real friends either."

"Touching," said Draco with a sneer. There was a cutting edge to his words. "Is the inquisition over yet?"

"No." Harry steeled himself. "Why do you call Hermione a Mudblood?"

"What is this, confession?"

"Tell me."

Draco shrugged. "I did because she is. Satisfied now, Potter?"

"No, I'm not. Why do you call them that? How come you hate Muggles so much, if you aren't following Voldemort?"

"You don't know anything," Draco said, and his voice was sharper than Harry expected. His tone seethed. "You come walking in here like the hero you think you are, so righteous and self-satisfied. Fuck you, Potter. You don't own the world."

Harry was outraged. "Me? I'm not the one who acts like it! You're the one who struts around like everyone else is dirt!"

Draco's eyes snapped with rage. "Did you know that Mudbloods are proven to dilute the bloodline of Purebloods, Potter? Did you know that over forty percent of children from mixed descent are weaker than those of pureblood descent? Did you know that only four fifths of children from those mixed families are born with magic on average? They are slowly and surely killing our magic! Did you know that, Potter? Of course you didn't. You only know what your Mudblood tells you, and why would she tell you shameful statistics like that?"

"You can't judge people by how powerful they are," Harry shot back. "So what if they don't have magic? Even if that is true, which I doubt, so what? There's nothing less noble, less human about them! You can't treat them like they don't exist!"

Draco was on his feet by this point, his words spilling out with more vehemence than Harry had ever heard from him. "And you can't clump us all together under the same category! I just want to survive! I want my line to survive! I want magic to survive! That's what you don't understand, Potter. My father would have killed a world to keep me strong. He would never let anything contaminate my blood because he loves me that much!" He was past the point of going back. "Your father never did that for you."

"My dad loved me enough to die for me," Harry yelled. "Nobody's ever done that for you!"

"Oh, so now you're proud that you've got people killed? What a hero you are, Potter, sending your family and friends to death."

Sirius's lazy fall. Cedric's last smile. The flash of green. His mother's eyes. Seamus’s arm around his shoulder, an easy camaraderie. Dudley’s piggy grin. Sirius . . .

Harry barely realized that he had slid down the door until he was slumped against it, sitting with his knees curled to his chest. The silence was deafening. Draco stared down at him, looking terrified. "Potter?" It was clear by the glazed look in Harry's eyes that his voice hadn't registered. "Potter. Potter. I didn't–"

Empty, Harry looked up at Draco. He couldn't think through the sound of the pounding of his heart. "So why aren't you a Death Eater then, Malfoy?" he asked dully. "Why aren't you out there murdering people, if Muggleborn are so bad? Why did you save me from Tonks, if you think all of this?"

"I told you," Draco replied, though his tone was far more constrained this time. "You can't lump us all together. I hate what they stand for, killing out the magic, slowly but surely turning us into them. But I'm not going to wipe them out because of it." Once, he might have smirked at this; now he only peered at Harry, half-afraid, half-belligerent. "I just don't want to have anything to do with them."

"My mum was Muggleborn," Harry said. His voice was still heavy. "That makes me half-Muggle."

"Yes, well. Since I want nothing to do with you, I think that settles it rather decisively. Now get out, Potter, I'm tired."

Standing above him, Draco looked achingly familiar and like a stranger all at once; he wasn’t sneering, he was simply staring away from Harry, his face a mask of coldness. For a brief, terrifying moment, Harry thought he looked like Lucius.

Helplessly, lost, Harry pressed on, “What you said earlier. About, er, missing me, and how you were worried – I didn’t know, I thought you were just. I didn’t know.”

“Sometimes the truth has nothing to do with what someone wants,” Draco said tightly. “And I want nothing to do with you. We’re through, Potter.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. Then he retorted, “Fine, Malfoy. Good. I never should have trusted you in the first place.” But though he climbed to his feet, he didn’t move. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

“Then leave,” Draco finally sneered. “Or do I have to hex you out of here? I have nothing more to say to you, Potter. Goodnight."

"I just thought," Harry muttered, "I just thought, if you've got something worth killing for, you should have something worth dying for."

Draco snapped, "What?"

"You're so ready to preserve the magic for your descendants, but you can't even protect the magical world itself. That seems a bit hypocritical to me."

"You forget, Potter, that I've nothing to lose,” he snarled. “If the Dark Lord wins, I win. If you win, I win. Otherwise, I don't care. I'm not you."

“No,” Harry said. “You aren’t.”

“I’m a Slytherin,” Draco hissed at him. Harry had the sudden impression of seeing him for the first time, standing before him as a stranger. Was that how it would be from now on? “And you’re everyone’s favorite Gryffindor. How did you think it would turn out, Potter?”

They were standing only a foot apart, but it seemed as if the entire country of Wales was between them. Harry thought that, in a way, it was.

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Maybe you should next time.” For the first time, Harry realized what had changed, what made Draco’s voice so unrecognizable; he wasn’t furious, he wasn’t anything. He spoke as if he didn’t care.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, as coldly as he could manage in return, “there won’t be a next time.”

For the barest instant, emotion flashed in Draco’s eyes, and he looked as if he were about to speak. But before Draco had a chance to react, a loud knock sounded at the door. Harry yanked it open to find Remus looking wearily down at him.

“Harry,” he said, one hand resting on the doorframe. “I think that’s about enough, don’t you? It’s very late. And you both need to rest.”

“I, but,” Harry said. “What happened to Tonks? I haven’t heard – and I’m not–“

“In the morning,” Remus said gently. “It can wait. For now, I am going to bed, and so should you.” Glancing over Harry’s shoulder, he added, “And you, Draco. Goodnight, boys.” And with that, he gave Harry some small, sad look and turned away down the hall.

By the time Harry stepped back from the door, Draco had sat down once again in the chair by the window, his arms folded in impatience. His expression was cold and closed off. Harry thought he looked strangely small, sitting there, haughty and alone.

“Well?” Draco demanded, not looking at him. “You heard him. Time’s up. Get out of here, Potter.”

Tired, aching, not knowing what more to say, Harry went.

 

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