Come Hell or High Water: Chapter Three
Title: Come Hell or High Water
Author: Ebonie Rose/ aletes_muse
Rating: eventual NC-17
Pairings: As of yet only Harry/ Draco and Ron/ Hermione.
Warnings: Language, violence, slash, violent situations, sexual situations, oh and this story is a WiP. I’ll try to update it at least once every one/ two weeks but I’m not promising anything. Also, as with most of my fics, there are a few lines/ paragraphs inspired by bouts of madness. I blame insomnia and an addiction to Cool FM.
Summary: Harry Potter is forced to bear the burden of being not only the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but the leader of the Light also. He must now make the right choices, the right moves, and think with his head instead of his heart. But Harry’s heart is calling him louder than before; telling him who to trust, who to be wary of ― who to love. This is a story of war and the light which can be found even in the blackest night.
Author's Notes:Thanks so much to lunadragon The Beta (yes, with capitals), who whipped this chapter into shape far better than Kingsley ever could and made me grin like a loon with her Ginny commentary. And, as always, thank you to ravenqueen55 who read my first draft and told me how horribly OOC Harry was! Thank you ladies for making this so much easier than I thought it would be!
Previous Chapters: Chapter One| Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Ulysses
Harry’s sleep had always been plagued with nightmares. He had struggled with them so regularly over the years that he thought little of it when he was woken once again by nightmares, some of which reflected real experiences and others which burned his subconscious with their terrifying images. Ever since Dumbledore’s death only three short months ago, Harry’s nightmares had increased in regularity. Lately he had found himself unable to sleep many nights because of the images his brain assaulted him with whenever he desperately tried to grab a hold on tantalising tendrils of sleep. As a result of this, it wasn’t uncommon for Harry to be the first to wake in his particular bunkhouse in the barracks ― bunkhouse number nine ― nor was it uncommon for him to be the first to wander into the canteen, usually shortly after six in the morning. Harry had never been an early morning person and, even when he did not sleep the night before, needed at least two cups of coffee to restore his mind to proper working order.
He was cradling a cup of warm coffee in his palms, staring down into dark brown depths, when the canteen door opened and he raised his eyes to see a slim girl enter the room. She was short, standing at about five foot three, with stunningly bright blonde hair which cascaded over her slim shoulders in careless waves. Her shoulders were stiff and seemed to give out the message that she did not like to be approached, and her posture was ramrod straight. Harry had seen her a few times before around the barracks; she always arrived shortly after he did at the canteen, always sat at the table closest to the back entrance, she was in Neville’s training group and was one of the few who challenged him while he ran. She did not smile at him, choosing instead to scowl, sneer or gaze inquisitively in his direction. She had not attempted to talk to him and appeared to be rather indifferent as to whether he was there or not. Harry, sipping at his coffee, decided he liked her and seized on the chance to talk with her when she sat in her usual seat, a cup beside her elbow and a book in her hands.
He approached her table slowly and as he came closer she glanced up, eyes a deep black colour, in contrast with her hair, boring into him.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She nodded at him. “Hullo.”
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, inclining his head to the seat across the table from her. She appeared startled before a mask slid into place and she shook her head, indicating the seat in front of her before lowering her head once more to her book. Sliding into the seat across from her, Harry noticed the book was one he would not expect many from the wizarding world to have heard of ― ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce.
After at least ten minutes the girl closed the book, taking deliberate care to mark her place, and lifted her cup to her lips as she regarded him from over the rim. When she sat the china back down she asked, “What do you want?”
Harry shrugged. “To talk, I suppose.”
She snorted. “That’s why you’ve sat there for ten minutes simply drinking your black coffee?”
“How did you know it was black coffee?”
Again she snorted. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence. I also know you usually take two sugars in your coffee, three in your tea, none in your hot chocolate; you run every morning before many others are even up, you disappear once a day and sometimes, like yesterday, you disappear for long periods of time to the town just over the way.”
Harry started visibly and gave the girl sitting across from him warily. “Who are you?” he asked finally. “And how the hell did you know I went over to the town?”
She smiled at him, black eyes sparkling. “I know you went to the town because my aunt just happens to work there. She owns a lovely little café in Vierge Fontaine, which was one reason I was so pleased to learn where we were. I always find it more comforting to be close to a place I know and, whereas most would argue, I know that I can turn to my aunt whenever I want help. I was in the café and I saw you walk past ― with two rather unexpected companions, I might add.”
Harry swallowed nervously and bit down on his lip. It was only when he realised what he was doing that he stopped; he did not wish to appear guilty. The girl sitting across from him laughed once more, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder so the ends settled comfortably in the middle of her back.
“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning closer so she could speak in lower tones and no one else would hear her although they were still the only two awake, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Who are you?” Harry demanded.
The girl reached for her cup once more, bringing it to her mouth and drinking deeply before answering his question. “My name’s Daphne. Daphne Greengrass and to tell you the truth I’m not all that surprised that you did not recognise me. You always did pay more attention to Draco than to the rest of us, despite some of our best efforts.”
“Excuse me?” Harry asked, nonplussed. Daphne laughed at his expression.
“Slytherins, Harry,” she explained. “I was a Slytherin. In fact, I daresay that if I was still at Hogwarts I would be a Slytherin. However, I am more interested in fighting in this war so returning to Hogwarts is not an option for me.”
“You were a Slytherin,” Harry said, stating a fact and not asking a question. “Yeah, I think I remember you a bit. You were quite friendly with that dark haired bloke weren’t you? The one who looked rather like he’d be happier in a mausoleum?”
Daphne looked at him oddly for several long moments before she shook her head in amusement. “You don’t conform to opinions. I expected you to run a mile whenever you heard I was a Slytherin and insist I leave the camp this instant because I was likely an unmarked Death Eater spying for You-Know-Who. And, as for the dark haired bloke, that was Teddy. I suppose you could say I was friendly with him, although things became strained towards the end of sixth year.”
Harry leaned forward. “Really?” he asked curiously before blushing and hastily adding, “Er, I mean, you don’t, y’know, have to tell me, if you don’t want.”
“That’s okay,” she said cheerfully. “Teddy and I, well… it’s rather hard to explain. Draco was one of my best friends, you see,” she explained. “We did not really hang around school together because it would have upset both of our images; Draco’s father especially would have furious about it.”
“Why?” Harry asked, interrupting.
“My family is technically neutral,” Daphne informed him, “but, especially recently, there are a good few of us who have been actively working to rid the world of You-Know-Who. You probably don’t know this, but my mother’s cousin, Liza, is a Weasley by marriage and Liza has been working on relations between our two families. She convinced a few people on my mother’s side to contact members of the Order and inform them they would do anything possible to help them. My Aunt Carolyn has her house overrun a few times a month as the Order’s researchers make use of her expansive library, and my sister, Nicola, has been a member of the Order for two years now, although covertly. Not everyone knew that my family weren’t completely neutral like we claimed, but Lucius Malfoy, if he did not know, at least suspected and punished Draco whenever he was supposedly becoming too friendly with me. Therefore we tended to avoid being seen together outside of the Room of Requirement. Then, suddenly, in sixth year Draco became far more distant, even from me, and started calling off our meetings in the Room of Requirement; or he didn’t show up, or I couldn’t get into the room. I was really worried about him and talked about it constantly. Teddy is and was Draco’s friend, but he was nowhere near as close to him as I was and was not as worried. He quickly became annoyed and refused to talk to me if I mentioned Draco. In fact, Teddy and I started dating but called it off quickly because he said I was obsessed with Draco in sixth year. Which is ridiculous really because even if I fancied Draco nothing would have happened, right? Anyway, towards the end of sixth year Teddy became really withdrawn as well, and when I questioned him he said he knew what Draco was up to and was trying to do something about it. Now, looking back, I wonder if he was trying to help Draco or hinder him. Everyone knows Teddy’s dad isn’t the nicest person in the world, but what very few people realise is that not all people are their fathers and that Teddy is a good person.”
Daphne dipped her head and looked down at her cup at the liquid inside as Harry had done only shortly beforehand, long blonde hair falling in front of her face. Harry looked at her, trying to process what she had just told him but one thing was playing on his mind.
“Daphne?” he asked. “Who on Earth is Teddy?”
She laughed softly. “Teddy’s just his nickname, although for Merlin’s sake do not call him that until he gives you permission. Until then I’m sure he’ll be delighted if you simply call him Theodore. Theodore Nott.”
Harry stared at her shocked. “Theodore Nott? You call him Teddy?”
Daphne nodded. “Yes. Why?”
Harry shrugged. “Nothing. It’s its just I heard a Ravenclaw called him Teddy and he couldn’t walk properly for a month!”
“Oh that,” Daphne said dismissively as she sniggered into her cup, “that was because that bloody Ravenclaw, Paul Hamilton, was a complete git who was basically trying to rape him while calling him ‘Teddy dearest’. Awful behaviour you understand, and completely unacceptable. Especially since Teddy dearest is none too fond of being grabbed by the privates, doubly so if it is by someone of the same sex.”
“Ah,” Harry murmured, and then, glancing up at Daphne from under his eyelashes, asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”
Daphne lifted her elbows onto the table top, cradling her chin in her hands and looking contemplatively at him. “You know,” she said slowly, “few people would have thought you one to forgive those who murdered, or conspired to murder, your mentor. Everyone knew how well you and Dumbledore got on together, and I think quite a few people expected you to completely break down after Snape murdered him.”
Harry winced at her words, his mind straying back to the odd, and unexpected, conversation he had had with Malfoy and Snape yesterday morning. Daphne picked up on his wince and smiled reassuringly at him.
“Many people would have suspected but I don’t think I ever did. You see, Harry, I watch people, I listen to what they say and I listen to what they don’t say. I have never been really noticed throughout the school so no one really sees me watching them and, as a Slytherin, I am cunning about what I do. I know a lot about various members of our esteemed school, many facts that would straighten your hair. I see things no one else sees, which is why I noticed Draco’s change quicker than everyone else ― which is why I noticed you following him, Harry. Now, don’t worry, I didn’t tell him, “ Daphne reassured, “I figured that if you could discover what he was up to it would be better for all of us, and out of everyone you had more chance of bringing Draco around to seeing that maybe joining the Light side wasn’t such a bad decision. I guess I still think that. I’m right. I know I am because otherwise you would not have been in Vierge Fontaine with Snape and Draco yesterday. That means that a lot of what I suspected about you is right. Dumbledore’s death was not an easy time for you, but from what I have seen you have too much to contend with to bother with something as trivial as breaking down when the world needs you most.”
Harry did not answer her, just stared at the blonde girl for a further ten minutes. She did not attempt to strike up another conversation but when she made to leave the canteen he called after her, “Should I invoke the philosophy of second chances, Daphne?”
She turned back to look at him, her black eyes raking over him much like Malfoy’s had yesterday, taking in everything about him as if they were sizing him up. Finally she shot a small smile at him and, turning to leave, she said over her shoulder, “Harry, trust your instincts. I do.”
Shaking his head, he watched her leave before turning back to his cup of now cold coffee. Glancing down at the table he saw Daphne’s book left sitting. He slid his hand across and grasped the spine of the book, pulling it closer to him. He had never been an avid reader, choosing instead to leave that particular hobby up to Hermione, who had enough enthusiasm concerning that subject to more than compensate for his lack of interest. He had never before been remotely interested in reading any of James Joyce’s work but, on a whim, he opened the book’s cover and looked at the inside. What he saw there, written in a cursive, flowing script with loops around every appropriate letter, made him start. Underneath the script was a small, scribbled note taped to the inside of the book in handwriting Harry realised most be Daphne’s. He read the page before him once and then started to reread it once more ― just to ensure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. They weren’t.
Draco A. L. Malfoy: Journal, the cursive script read. Beneath that, on the note which had been Spellotaped to the page, were the words: Harry, read it. Please read it all. Maybe then you may understand. But tell Draco and prepare to receive more than a broken nose ~ Daph.
Harry stared down at the book, unseeing, for a long while before he was finally dragged out of his stupor as he slowly became aware of noise and movement around him. The canteen was slowly filling with the camp members and, glancing around, he saw his friends scattered throughout the crowd. He watched as a familiar redhead collected a cup of tea and, spotting Harry, walked over to where he sat.
“Hey, Harry,” Ginny smiled, sliding into the seat across from him, the one Daphne had been sitting in only half an hour or so beforehand. Harry flashed her a quick smile, only briefly lifting his gaze from the book in front of him. He had not turned the page and the book still lay open on the front page, declaring itself as Malfoy’s personal journal. He snorted as he thought that only someone who was a big of a ponce as Malfoy would keep something that was, in essence, a diary.
“Harry, what are you reading?” Ginny asked, leaning across the table to try and read the book ― or at least the title. Panicking, Harry hastily closed the book, slamming the cover forcefully against the pages of Malfoy’s journal. Ginny started and leaned back in her chair, brown eyes wide. “Harry?” she said tentatively.
“What?” He had to make a conscious effort not to snarl the word out at her or bar his teeth at his ex-girlfriend. Briefly he wondered why he cared so much about Malfoy’s privacy but he did not ponder the matter too much, simply putting it down to the fact that he was merely acting as any decent human being would.
Across from him Ginny swallowed nervously. “Are you… are you feeling okay?” she murmured, attention focused on the wood grain of the table in front of her. “You’ve been awfully distant and I know you called off… our relationship but I still thought we could, well, y’know. Be friends. And I thought that after all this we could maybe get back together but… but you’ve been so different recently.”
Harry shook his head at her. “Ginny, people change. I’ve changed. I’m sure that you have noticed; you tend to be nearly as perceptive as Hermione when it comes to these sorts of things. I liked you Ginny, I really did. I loved you and I wanted to go out with you. But I don’t like you that way anymore and I would appreciate it if you’d just accept that. Things are pretty hard on me as they are.” And oh God, I sound like such a selfish prick and I’m sorry, but please just leave me alone for now. Please.
Ginny opened her mouth and closed it a few times without saying anything and Harry could practically see her mind racing, trying to come up with something to say that would convince him to date her again. Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair, pulling the long strands back from his face.
“Ginny,” he said before she could open her mouth once more. “I am not going to get back together with you. I told you I loved you and I did ― as a friend, as a sister, but as someone I could fall in love with and marry? No. I just can’t see it, Gin. I’m sorry.”
Ginny gulped and Harry was certain he could see tears forming in her large, brown eyes. She shifted her gaze from Harry to stare down once again at the wood grain on the table, swallowing back tears. She reached up a hand to tuck a loose strand of red hair back behind her ear, a habit Harry used to think of as endearing but now irritated him, seeing it as an unnecessary gesture made only to call attention to her. He resisted the urge to cluck his tongue disapprovingly, realising at the last minute that it would be scarily similar to Mrs. Weasley’s behaviour if he did.(
“Harry, I love you,” Ginny said quietly as she slowly stood, a few more strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail. “I don’t want you to forget that and I want you to remember it always. I want you, Harry. You have no idea how special you are. You’re noble and brave and loyal and loving and everything I, or anyone else, could ever possibly want. You’re nothing more than you and I love you for it. I don’t want you to forget that ever. I love you and I swear that I’ll wait for you. When this war is over, Harry, come back to me. Please.”
Her eyes, which had been pleading with him, finally tore themselves from his face and she ran across the canteen, slipping through the doors of the large, wooden building. Harry watched her leave, his thoughts racing. He had been so sure, only three months before, only just before Dumbledore’s death that he and Ginny were meant to be. They had been in love, he had been sure of it. They enjoyed each others’ company, got on well and where Harry could be weak, Ginny showed her strength by never once faltering in front of other people. He had talked about his relationship with Remus and had been told how much Ginny reminded Remus of Lily. Harry had been so sure that they would end up married, with children. It had taken him a few weeks after Dumbledore’s death to realise that wasn’t the case.
He and Ginny loved each other, but whereas he was sure Ginny was in love with him and knew she was pining for him, Harry had found himself too wrapped up in thoughts of Malfoy, Snape and Dumbledore to think much about Ginny. She had barely crossed his mind before he had arrived at the Burrow, and once he was there he realised that he didn’t miss her as he thought he would. In fact he missed his arguments with Malfoy where he could guilelessly vent his spleen much more than he missed the covert activities he and Ginny had engaged in. The realisation had left him cold and Harry had purposely tried to avoid Ginny since the thought had dawned on him. He did not want to look into brown eyes that pleaded with him to tell him he loved the person they were attached to, eyes that pleaded with him to take her then and there, eyes that pleaded with him to bestow love upon a person he felt nothing romantically for.
He now knew that, apart from a brief infatuation, he had never felt anything but brotherly love for Ginny Weasley.
Sighing, Harry stood and tucked the book Daphne had left sitting on the table under his arm. He turned to make his own way towards the exit and found himself face to face with Fred and George Weasley. They beamed brightly at him and he smiled weakly up at them.
“Hey, Harry,” George grinned.
“How’re you?” Fred questioned, placing his breakfast tray down onto the table Harry had just vacated. George slammed his tray down cheerfully beside his brother’s and indicated that Harry should sit with them. Harry shook his head at the invitation.
“I’m fine,” he said in reply to Fred’s question. “Really annoyed that Kingsley won’t let us work on spells but apart from that I’m grand. Although I really can’t sit with you. I’ve already eaten and I plan to continue training by myself as well.”
George looked at him worriedly, his usual humour missing from his face. This fact did not escape Harry’s attention and he wondered if this war would change everyone, twisting their personalities and priorities until the person was no longer recognisable. He thought back, with heart-wrenching melancholy, to the carefree twins who had left a swamp in their wake when they left Hogwarts to face the world by themselves.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” George asked.
Harry smiled at the twins. “Of course I am. Don’t worry about me; I’m just desperate to get some fresh air. I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”
Fred and George nodded in unison and Harry smiled once more, turning and leaving the canteen. When he stepped out of the doors, into the large area of ground that had been dubbed the courtyard, his eyes scanned the surrounding area looking for anyone he knew. Seeing no one he sighed deeply and, tucking the book tightly under his arm once more, he made his way to bunkhouse number nine so he could store the book safely under the floorboard he had cautiously ripped up three days previously.
~|~|~|~
The sun was beating mercilessly down on the people assembled in the field just behind the canteen, causing beads of sweat to travel along many backs and form on many foreheads. People all around Harry were panting from exertion and he could feel his chest constricting painfully with every breath he took. Leaning over he placed his palms on his knees and took several deep, steadying breaths to attempt to gain control of himself. A minute later he decided he was suitably under control and straightened his body just as Kingsley began to talk.
“I can see that many of you did not expect the attack that was launched on you whilst you were out running today,” Kingsley said, wry amusement painfully obvious in his voice. “I have listened to and inadvertently heard many complaints about how we refused to train you in regards to using spells and curses. What many of you fail to realise is that the physical activity may one day save your life. It is never possible to predict the future completely accurately and you never know when you are likely to be attacked. With the attitude many of you have been taking I’m surprised that any of you managed to fight off your attackers. The attack certainly took you by surprise and, before many had time to react, more than half of you were decommissioned. Your side was severely outnumbered and it was highly unlikely that you would be able to completely defeat your attackers. With all the lessons in physical fighting, lectures on strategy and essays assigned in which you were to describe how you would react in certain situations, not one of you managed to put this into practice.
Not even Miss Hermione Granger managed to remember the lectures given. All of you reacted purely on instinct and for some, still, that reaction was to scream and surrender.”
A few people in the large group sniggered but Harry found himself feeling distinctly on edge. A moment later he discovered there was reason behind why he felt so uncomfortable when Kingsley’s voice suddenly changed drastically and he snapped angrily at the assembled group, “This is not a laughing matter, people! If Death Eaters had attacked, every single one of you would be dead by now ― or possibly fatally injured. Well, not every single one of you. I would like to draw your attention to people who did not necessarily react properly but who reacted in a far different, far more successful manner than many of you did. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass would you kindly come up here and stand beside me?”
Harry looked nervously around him and caught sight of both Susan and Daphne’s blonde heads moving through the crowd. He turned and caught Neville’s eye, winking at him before striding forward to stand at Kingsley’s side, purposely choosing to stand beside Daphne. From the look she shot him, he knew instantly she realised he had chosen to stand beside her rather than Susan. It appeared that other people were aware of Harry’s blatant choice as several people gasped loudly and fervent muttering broke out among the group of people. Kingsley lifted a hand and quieted them.
“Quiet all!” he barked. “Listen to me as this is important. Susan Bones was not completing the task that had been set for her and that saved her. This method is not a particularly recommended one but it worked nonetheless. Susan had dropped out of the run after the second mile, preferring to shelter in a grove of trees as she has done before. We are not stupid and we know who drops out, when they drop out and where they hide. Susan saw the attackers coming before everyone else and warned a few people, sending up a shower of sparks as is taught. She ordered a few others to form a circle to protect each other but they did not comply. If they had maybe they would be up here also. She defended herself, attacked when needed and protected those she could as she bravely ran on to inform others. She helped all she could along the way.
Neville was not aware of the attackers coming but he did hear Susan screaming for others to be ready for an attack. He whipped out his wand and began setting up spells which encased many in protective bubbles. This was a very smart plan with one flaw: the bubbles did not allow others to cast spells out of them, although they did defend against all but the Unforgivables.
Daphne and Harry reacted in much the same way. Both were well ahead of the rest of the group and were on their ninth mile when the attack was launched. We sent the groups of attackers in from both the front and the back so that the majority of you would be trapped between two groups. Daphne and Harry quickly began to work together, erecting a shield that covered a large area and would not allow the attackers to pass without first weakening themselves. The spell used to erect this shield is not widely known or used but it is not illegal … simply questionable.”
“NO WONDER A SLYTHERIN THOUGHT OF IT THEN!” A member of the crowd bellowed. Kingsley, Harry and Daphne all glared in the direction the voice had come from but Harry was the one to speak first.
“Daphne did not think of it, Seamus,” Harry said calmly. “I did. She did not know the words to chant so I told her them. I could have erected the shield myself but it would not have been as effective and it would have taken much longer and so it would have been likely that some of the attackers got through. With Daphne’s help we arranged enough of an advantage that we could turn and head back, to help others.”
A shocked silence followed as Kingsley nodded his head, acquiescing. “Harry is quite correct. The shield allowed Harry and Daphne to run and find others. They managed to call together a group who fought valiantly against the attackers, but some refused to go along with the strategy Daphne outlined, simply because she was a Slytherin. I assure you that should you have listened to Daphne and used the curses Harry told you to use, then it is likely more of you would have passed this attack. As it is, very few of you did this and so there are only a handful of people who passed this task: Harry, Daphne, Neville, Susan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ron, George and Bill Weasley, Ernie Macmillan and, another Slytherin, Blaise Zabini. It seems that a good many of you were too blinded by prejudice to see the logic behind Daphne’s plan. It is only because of Blaise’s intervention that Bill, Justin and Ron passed. It appears Harry could overcome prejudices. I advise the rest of you to follow his example.”
Harry flushed deeply as the majority of the crowd turned to look at him, either intrigued or disgusted. He turned his head to the side and saw Daphne watching him out of the corner of her eye, looking thoughtful. He smiled shyly at her and, leaning over, whispered in her ear, “Can I talk to you?”
She raised surprised eyes to his and, eyes scanning his face and obviously finding what they were looking for, nodded. “Where do you want to talk?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think you would be welcome in my bunkhouse. It’s mostly filled with people who would hex you just as soon as look at you.”
“And people wonder why I disappear into the woods regularly,” Daphne murmured wryly. “How ‘bout we meet after dinner? I’ll wait for you behind the canteen building?”
Harry nodded briefly and turned to leave when Daphne’s fingers curled around his arm. He turned and looked questioningly at her.
“Harry,” she said, “for Merlin’s sake do not leave until at least ten minutes after I do. There are many here who aren’t as oblivious as you.”
Unsure as to whether or not to be angry at Daphne’s comment, Harry settled for rolling his eyes and crossing his arms huffily across his chest. “I’m not oblivious.”
Daphne’s rather carefree expression changed to one of contemplative regret and sorrow as she whispered, her voice even lower than it had been before, “Ah, Harry, but you are. If you even knew how oblivious you were ―.” She stopped suddenly, shaking her head, and just smiled sadly at Harry. “Never mind. I’ll see you later, Harry.”
She turned and walked away and, confused, Harry turned and walked over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting, holding hands and talking about inconsequential issues such as what they would be having for dinner.
Harry smiled at them and dropped onto the ground beside his best friends. Ron beamed happily at him and Hermione shot him a quick smile, her chocolate coloured eyes roving over him as if searching for something, which they evidently found as the guarded expression left her face and her smile became a little brighter and wider than it had been.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better today, Harry,” Hermione said.
Harry glared at her and said, “I’m ―”
“Fine,” Harry, Ron and Hermione chorused together, the latter two smiling broadly at him. Harry looked at his two best friends and shook his head before, grinning, sat back on his elbows and began to chat freely with his friends, letting his worries fall away from him for a brief hour at least.
By dinner time however, Harry’s worries had returned threefold and he found himself more nervous than he had been in a long while. He selected food blindly, not really paying attention to the lasagna he had accepted, he nearly forgot to check his order in, his hands began to shake so badly that the tray in his hands shook, and when he finally sat down at his usual table he found he could eat little more than three slices of garlic bread. Even his throat seemed to be in on the plot to expose how nervous he really was, as the muscles would not allow him to do more than sip lightly at the pumpkin juice. It did not take long for the people surrounding him to realise but, surprisingly, Neville was the first to pick up on it.
“Harry?” the dark haired boy asked, concernedly. “Are you alright? You look ill and … well your hands haven’t stopped shaking.”
Harry smiled weakly at his friend, hoping to hold the questions off but it did not happen. If anything the wan smile seemed to draw out more people’s concerns and Harry silently cursed Neville for bringing up the topic, even if it was only because Neville had been worried about his friend’s health.
“Neville’s right, Harry,” Hermione said worriedly. “You do look really pale and you’ve barely touched your dinner! And I know for a fact you didn’t eat any lunch.”
“Or breakfast,” Fred piped up as he took a seat on Harry’s left. Harry glared at the redhead but just received an amicable smile in return.
“Harry!” Hermione’s shrill voice reprimanded, causing Harry to wince. “You can’t be serious! You haven’t eaten today?”
“I’m fine Hermione,” Harry said sighing. “Fred wasn’t even in the canteen when I ate. I had about three coffees and a plate of pancakes. Believe me, I ate enough to keep me going throughout the day.”
Hermione regarded him disbelievingly for a long moment but she did not press the issue and Harry was eternally grateful for that. A few people looked oddly at him during the meal and, finally, Harry gave in and pointedly took a large bite of his lasagna, nearly devouring half of the portion he’d selected in one go just to get his friends off his back. A few people smiled at him and Hermione hummed happily in his direction, leaning over the table and patting his hand with her own. Harry raised an eyebrow but she just grinned and turned back to the conversation she’d been engaging in with Ron. Ginny kept darting furtive glances in his direction and Harry was more than a little uncomfortable when he felt someone knock against his elbow. He looked up and glanced over his shoulder to see who had inadvertently hit him when he noticed Daphne sashaying towards the canteen entrance. Nearly everyone at the table noticed how abruptly Harry turned and they, in turn, followed his eyes to see Daphne disappear through the double doors. Several sly glances were exchanged around the table before Fred finally opened his mouth.
“So Harry, mate,” he said, talking around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “I reckon we can honestly say someone’s got a wee crush on a Slytherin, eh?”
Harry glanced at him, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Huh?”
Fred sniggered. “That Daphne Greengrass girl. You just watched her arse sashay outta here, Harry mate, don’t deny it. Isn’t that right, George?”
Fred’s twin nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, Fred. Although I must say for a Slytherin, Daphne does have a fine arse.”
“I concur,” Fred concurred, stuffing another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Hermione tutted loudly at Fred’s antics before glancing at Harry thoughtfully, saying, “Well, I suppose Fred has a point. You do seem to have a thing for blondes.”
“I do not!” Harry protested hotly, glaring angrily at Hermione.
Hermione just shrugged off his glare and said, “But, Harry, remember that girl you introduced me to over the summer? Awfully pale girl, with really blonde hair. I would have classed her as an albino except she had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. And then there the girls you told us about and we mustn’t forget your crush on Hannah Abbot.”
Harry blushed furiously and stood quickly, forgetting about Daphne’s fervent insisting that he wait at least ten minutes after she had left to leave himself. “Hermione!” he hissed angrily. “How dare you! I do not have a thing for blondes!”
“Then why on Earth are you protesting so violently?” she asked.
Harry spluttered angrily at her, unable to find words to voice his fury and terrified to call them up even if he could, in fear of how Hermione would interpret the meaning behind the words. Instead he settled on a rather safe topic he could argue. “I can’t believe you just told everyone I used to fancy Hannah!”
“I can’t believe you’re reacting like a thirteen-year-old,” Hermione remarked dryly as she slid her hand into Ron’s. Harry watched the movement, angry that his friends ― his two best friends ― were now so much closer to each other and were, in a way, excluding him.
Harry sneered at her. “This is coming from the girl who sent canaries after Ron for simply dating another girl!”
Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the canteen, his hands shaking furiously with anger rather than nerves this time. He supposed that anger was a rather poor substitute for nerves and would have much preferred to feel peaceful for once, but he gave it little thought, his hands stealing into the pocket in his tracksuit bottoms, pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. He slipped one between his lips, lit it and took a deep drag from the cigarette, not because he particularly wanted to but because it would give him something to do other than storming back into the canteen and ripping Hermione’s head off her neck.
Sighing deeply, he thrust the packet of cigarettes and lighter into his pocket once more and slowly began walking towards the back of the canteen. He had just rounded the corner when a pair of arms reached forward and dragged him behind a large tree, pinning his back against the rough bark of the tree trunk. Eyes wide he glared at the person who had manhandled him and found himself staring into eyes that wavered halfway between gold and green, with flecks of brown decorating the unusual combination near the iris. He tried to take a deep breath ― finding it incredibly difficult to do so with his cigarette still lodged in his mouth ― and smiled weakly at the boy who had pulled him behind the tree.
“Hello Zabini,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.
Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes. “Call me Blaise,” he said. “We’re on the same side; we may as well get passed the point where we still refer to each other by our surnames.”
“Absolutely,” Harry murmured, “but I did not know it was normal to drag someone on the same side as you behind a tree and slam them against it.”
Blaise snorted. “It’s not,” he admitted. “But I had no other way of getting you to listen to me.”
Harry raised a now steady hand to his mouth and withdrew the cigarette from between his lips. “I don’t suppose you could have just asked?”
Blaise’s lips quirked upwards in amusement. “I could have, but Daphne will tell you I’m known for being rather dramatic.”
Harry glanced over Blaise’s shoulder and finally realised that Daphne was leaning against a tree not too far from where Blaise had Harry pinned.. He smiled softly at her and she raised an eyebrow. “I never pictured Harry Potter for a smoker,” she said, half-sardonically.
He shrugged, the motion causing Blaise’s arms to hitch upwards too. “Yeah, well, I guess that could be a rather common misconception. I actually stopped a while ago but, hell, with current situations what they are…” He trailed off, shrugging once more, and realised Blaise was staring intently at him. Unnerved Harry asked, “Er, Blaise, do I have something on my face?”
Blaise shook his head.
“Then why are you looking at me like I have ice-cream smeared all over my face?” Harry asked matter-of-factly.
Blaise’s eyes sparked with something Harry couldn’t pinpoint and he murmured, “Now wouldn’t that be an interesting predicament?” Harry blinked stupidly up at him before Blaise shrugged and said, “You surprised me Potter.”
“How?” Harry questioned. “I haven’t really said anything to you.”
“No,” Blaise agreed, “you haven’t. But Daphne has.”
Harry quickly flicked his eyes over to where Daphne was leaning in the circle of trees, eyes boring into her. “Excuse me?” he said, a slight threat belying his polite words.
Blaise chuckled and shifted his arms so he no longer had Harry pinned up against the tree. “Calm down, Harry, I’m not here to yell at you. Daphne told me something interesting.”
“And private,” Harry pointed out, still glaring at the blonde girl. He transferred his gaze back to the boy in front of him to answer his question.
“Excellent,” Blaise murmured. He stepped back from Harry and went to stand beside Daphne, stooping down to whisper in the short girl’s ear. Daphne’s eyebrows shot up but otherwise she gave no indication that she had heard whatever Blaise said as she continued to scrutinise Harry. They stood like that for long moments, Blaise murmuring in Daphne’s ear, Daphne scrutinising Harry and Harry squirming uncomfortably under Daphne’s gaze. Finally Daphne nodded at Blaise and said, her voice ringing out clearly in the silence, “I think we can risk it.”
“Risk what?” Harry asked immediately.
Daphne laughed, the sound a light, tinkling melody that floated pleasantly across to his ears. “I knew you were impatient, but still, Harry keep your shirt on.”
Blaise murmured something once more in Daphne’s ear but it was sufficiently loud that Harry could hear it also: “Aw, Daph, does he have to?” At the comment Harry felt his cheeks flush bright red and Daphne laughed once more, this sound more open and honest than the previous one. Blaise raised his eyes and saw Harry’s brightly coloured face and after only a beat joined in with Daphne’s laughter. Harry shifted his weight onto his left foot and raised the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag to stifle the urge to yell at the two Slytherins facing him.
Daphne stopped laughing first. One moment her eyes were wide and laughing and the next they were focused on him with such starling intensity that he felt rather naked under the gaze.
“Harry,” she began. “I want you to know that you can trust us. Neither Blaise nor I have any desire to join the Death Eaters nor have we ever. I despise them, especially after what they did to Blaise’s cousins. I don’t think Blaise would be comfortable talking about it so let’s just say that the incident was quite horrific and only happened recently so the horror is still fresh with both of us. We want more than anything for the Light side to win this war, but we also want to stay as close to our old friends as is possible. Both of us were good friends of Draco’s, although Blaise was more often with him than I. I respected Snape even if I wasn’t his biggest fan and Blaise is very distantly related to him. These are some of the reasons both Blaise and I wish to believe that if Draco and Snape aren’t innocent, there are at least extenuating circumstances to take into consideration. We want to help, Harry. Tell us how.”
Harry stared blankly at the two in front of him. “I don’t understand,” he said finally.
Daphne made to speak once more but Blaise quieted her. “P ― Harry,” Blaise corrected himself, “Draco was my best friend. I said was because he began pushing me away halfway during sixth year and I actively let him. At that point I was aware how involved he was with You-Know-Who and didn’t wish to be associated with anyone with active allegiances to that bastard. So, I let Draco push me away and I reckon you could even say I encouraged it. I know now that I should not have; that if I had only talked with him I may have been able to help him. I didn’t get the chance to help him back then for I would not allow myself. I want a chance to make that right.”
Harry nodded dumbly at the Italian boy who was talking solemnly at him, pinning him with a gaze that matched Daphne’s in intensity but in a different kind so far removed that it was disconcerting; a desperate intensity, one begging Harry to see the truth behind Blaise’s words. Harry could do little more than comply.
“Then I will do all I can to ensure you get a chance to make it right,” Harry said quietly. He looked down at his shoes and realised that the butt of the cigarette he’d been smoking lay, stamped out, beneath one of his trainers and wondered when he had thrown it onto the ground. He shrugged, unconcerned, and did not look up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his eyes and found himself once more staring into Blaise’s wide eyes. Before he could say anything he felt Blaise pull him closer to him and found himself enveloped in a tight hug, which squished his arms against his sides. Blaise’s fingernails were digging painfully into the tender, exposed skin of his forearm but he decided against mentioning it, not wanting to disrupt the fragile trust Blaise had placed in him. When the other boy finally let him go Harry smiled shyly at him and rubbed covertly at his arms, specifically the places Blaise’s long fingernails had dug in. Daphne noticed but did not say anything and Harry was suddenly grateful for just how secretive Slytherins could be.
“That’s good,” Daphne said briskly, her no-nonsense attitude reminding Harry scarily of Hermione. The thought flittered across his mind that maybe the house systems really were just a way of segregating everyone as, from what he had seen, many Slytherins were simply the same as everyone else. Daphne was chatty, friendly, intelligent and brisk when the occasion called for it, and Blaise seemed to be genuinely concerned as to his friend’s welfare. Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered Daphne’s next words and had to get her to repeat them as he feared he had been mishearing things. He had not.
“We want you to take us to see Draco,” Daphne repeated patiently. Harry’s eyes flickered from Blaise to Daphne and back and he began to chew on his lower lip, tearing at the tender flesh.
“Why?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“We want to see him, talk to him. We want to tell him we’re still his friends and that we will be there for him if he wants us to be.” Daphne lifted her hand to her mouth and bit the fingernail fiercely, displaying the first sign of nervousness he had seen from her.
Harry blinked at the duo that were looking at him with expectant eyes. He sank his hands into his pockets and lowered his face so his chin was resting against his chest. “I’m not sure where their loyalties lie, Daphne, Blaise. I’m not sure if it’s safe to bring you to them.”
Blaise snorted. “Of course it’s not safe. It’s Draco. Nothing around him is ever safe. But, Harry, don’t you see the significance of both Snape and Draco approaching you and talking with you? Talking with you and sending you back here unscathed and probably waiting for you to return to them? That should tell you right away where their loyalties lie: certainly not with You-Know-Who.”
Harry nodded. The same thoughts had already crossed his mind last night as he tossed and turned, the scene between Snape, Malfoy and himself playing through his mind constantly, the revelations troubling him to the core. He had analysed everything that was said, considered every option and had already come to the conclusion that he would return to the small motel room tomorrow. He raised determined eyes to Blaise’s, staring straight at the boy as he said, “I’m going to meet them tomorrow. Meet me here, after afternoon training. If you aren’t here by four I’ll leave.”
He turned on his heel once more and left the two Slytherins standing together, discussing matters Harry had no doubt he would not be welcome to listen to.
Author: Ebonie Rose/ aletes_muse
Rating: eventual NC-17
Pairings: As of yet only Harry/ Draco and Ron/ Hermione.
Warnings: Language, violence, slash, violent situations, sexual situations, oh and this story is a WiP. I’ll try to update it at least once every one/ two weeks but I’m not promising anything. Also, as with most of my fics, there are a few lines/ paragraphs inspired by bouts of madness. I blame insomnia and an addiction to Cool FM.
Summary: Harry Potter is forced to bear the burden of being not only the Saviour of the Wizarding World, but the leader of the Light also. He must now make the right choices, the right moves, and think with his head instead of his heart. But Harry’s heart is calling him louder than before; telling him who to trust, who to be wary of ― who to love. This is a story of war and the light which can be found even in the blackest night.
Author's Notes:Thanks so much to lunadragon The Beta (yes, with capitals), who whipped this chapter into shape far better than Kingsley ever could and made me grin like a loon with her Ginny commentary. And, as always, thank you to ravenqueen55 who read my first draft and told me how horribly OOC Harry was! Thank you ladies for making this so much easier than I thought it would be!
Previous Chapters: Chapter One| Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Ulysses
Harry’s sleep had always been plagued with nightmares. He had struggled with them so regularly over the years that he thought little of it when he was woken once again by nightmares, some of which reflected real experiences and others which burned his subconscious with their terrifying images. Ever since Dumbledore’s death only three short months ago, Harry’s nightmares had increased in regularity. Lately he had found himself unable to sleep many nights because of the images his brain assaulted him with whenever he desperately tried to grab a hold on tantalising tendrils of sleep. As a result of this, it wasn’t uncommon for Harry to be the first to wake in his particular bunkhouse in the barracks ― bunkhouse number nine ― nor was it uncommon for him to be the first to wander into the canteen, usually shortly after six in the morning. Harry had never been an early morning person and, even when he did not sleep the night before, needed at least two cups of coffee to restore his mind to proper working order.
He was cradling a cup of warm coffee in his palms, staring down into dark brown depths, when the canteen door opened and he raised his eyes to see a slim girl enter the room. She was short, standing at about five foot three, with stunningly bright blonde hair which cascaded over her slim shoulders in careless waves. Her shoulders were stiff and seemed to give out the message that she did not like to be approached, and her posture was ramrod straight. Harry had seen her a few times before around the barracks; she always arrived shortly after he did at the canteen, always sat at the table closest to the back entrance, she was in Neville’s training group and was one of the few who challenged him while he ran. She did not smile at him, choosing instead to scowl, sneer or gaze inquisitively in his direction. She had not attempted to talk to him and appeared to be rather indifferent as to whether he was there or not. Harry, sipping at his coffee, decided he liked her and seized on the chance to talk with her when she sat in her usual seat, a cup beside her elbow and a book in her hands.
He approached her table slowly and as he came closer she glanced up, eyes a deep black colour, in contrast with her hair, boring into him.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She nodded at him. “Hullo.”
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, inclining his head to the seat across the table from her. She appeared startled before a mask slid into place and she shook her head, indicating the seat in front of her before lowering her head once more to her book. Sliding into the seat across from her, Harry noticed the book was one he would not expect many from the wizarding world to have heard of ― ‘Ulysses’ by James Joyce.
After at least ten minutes the girl closed the book, taking deliberate care to mark her place, and lifted her cup to her lips as she regarded him from over the rim. When she sat the china back down she asked, “What do you want?”
Harry shrugged. “To talk, I suppose.”
She snorted. “That’s why you’ve sat there for ten minutes simply drinking your black coffee?”
“How did you know it was black coffee?”
Again she snorted. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence. I also know you usually take two sugars in your coffee, three in your tea, none in your hot chocolate; you run every morning before many others are even up, you disappear once a day and sometimes, like yesterday, you disappear for long periods of time to the town just over the way.”
Harry started visibly and gave the girl sitting across from him warily. “Who are you?” he asked finally. “And how the hell did you know I went over to the town?”
She smiled at him, black eyes sparkling. “I know you went to the town because my aunt just happens to work there. She owns a lovely little café in Vierge Fontaine, which was one reason I was so pleased to learn where we were. I always find it more comforting to be close to a place I know and, whereas most would argue, I know that I can turn to my aunt whenever I want help. I was in the café and I saw you walk past ― with two rather unexpected companions, I might add.”
Harry swallowed nervously and bit down on his lip. It was only when he realised what he was doing that he stopped; he did not wish to appear guilty. The girl sitting across from him laughed once more, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder so the ends settled comfortably in the middle of her back.
“Don’t worry,” she said, leaning closer so she could speak in lower tones and no one else would hear her although they were still the only two awake, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Who are you?” Harry demanded.
The girl reached for her cup once more, bringing it to her mouth and drinking deeply before answering his question. “My name’s Daphne. Daphne Greengrass and to tell you the truth I’m not all that surprised that you did not recognise me. You always did pay more attention to Draco than to the rest of us, despite some of our best efforts.”
“Excuse me?” Harry asked, nonplussed. Daphne laughed at his expression.
“Slytherins, Harry,” she explained. “I was a Slytherin. In fact, I daresay that if I was still at Hogwarts I would be a Slytherin. However, I am more interested in fighting in this war so returning to Hogwarts is not an option for me.”
“You were a Slytherin,” Harry said, stating a fact and not asking a question. “Yeah, I think I remember you a bit. You were quite friendly with that dark haired bloke weren’t you? The one who looked rather like he’d be happier in a mausoleum?”
Daphne looked at him oddly for several long moments before she shook her head in amusement. “You don’t conform to opinions. I expected you to run a mile whenever you heard I was a Slytherin and insist I leave the camp this instant because I was likely an unmarked Death Eater spying for You-Know-Who. And, as for the dark haired bloke, that was Teddy. I suppose you could say I was friendly with him, although things became strained towards the end of sixth year.”
Harry leaned forward. “Really?” he asked curiously before blushing and hastily adding, “Er, I mean, you don’t, y’know, have to tell me, if you don’t want.”
“That’s okay,” she said cheerfully. “Teddy and I, well… it’s rather hard to explain. Draco was one of my best friends, you see,” she explained. “We did not really hang around school together because it would have upset both of our images; Draco’s father especially would have furious about it.”
“Why?” Harry asked, interrupting.
“My family is technically neutral,” Daphne informed him, “but, especially recently, there are a good few of us who have been actively working to rid the world of You-Know-Who. You probably don’t know this, but my mother’s cousin, Liza, is a Weasley by marriage and Liza has been working on relations between our two families. She convinced a few people on my mother’s side to contact members of the Order and inform them they would do anything possible to help them. My Aunt Carolyn has her house overrun a few times a month as the Order’s researchers make use of her expansive library, and my sister, Nicola, has been a member of the Order for two years now, although covertly. Not everyone knew that my family weren’t completely neutral like we claimed, but Lucius Malfoy, if he did not know, at least suspected and punished Draco whenever he was supposedly becoming too friendly with me. Therefore we tended to avoid being seen together outside of the Room of Requirement. Then, suddenly, in sixth year Draco became far more distant, even from me, and started calling off our meetings in the Room of Requirement; or he didn’t show up, or I couldn’t get into the room. I was really worried about him and talked about it constantly. Teddy is and was Draco’s friend, but he was nowhere near as close to him as I was and was not as worried. He quickly became annoyed and refused to talk to me if I mentioned Draco. In fact, Teddy and I started dating but called it off quickly because he said I was obsessed with Draco in sixth year. Which is ridiculous really because even if I fancied Draco nothing would have happened, right? Anyway, towards the end of sixth year Teddy became really withdrawn as well, and when I questioned him he said he knew what Draco was up to and was trying to do something about it. Now, looking back, I wonder if he was trying to help Draco or hinder him. Everyone knows Teddy’s dad isn’t the nicest person in the world, but what very few people realise is that not all people are their fathers and that Teddy is a good person.”
Daphne dipped her head and looked down at her cup at the liquid inside as Harry had done only shortly beforehand, long blonde hair falling in front of her face. Harry looked at her, trying to process what she had just told him but one thing was playing on his mind.
“Daphne?” he asked. “Who on Earth is Teddy?”
She laughed softly. “Teddy’s just his nickname, although for Merlin’s sake do not call him that until he gives you permission. Until then I’m sure he’ll be delighted if you simply call him Theodore. Theodore Nott.”
Harry stared at her shocked. “Theodore Nott? You call him Teddy?”
Daphne nodded. “Yes. Why?”
Harry shrugged. “Nothing. It’s its just I heard a Ravenclaw called him Teddy and he couldn’t walk properly for a month!”
“Oh that,” Daphne said dismissively as she sniggered into her cup, “that was because that bloody Ravenclaw, Paul Hamilton, was a complete git who was basically trying to rape him while calling him ‘Teddy dearest’. Awful behaviour you understand, and completely unacceptable. Especially since Teddy dearest is none too fond of being grabbed by the privates, doubly so if it is by someone of the same sex.”
“Ah,” Harry murmured, and then, glancing up at Daphne from under his eyelashes, asked, “Why are you telling me all this?”
Daphne lifted her elbows onto the table top, cradling her chin in her hands and looking contemplatively at him. “You know,” she said slowly, “few people would have thought you one to forgive those who murdered, or conspired to murder, your mentor. Everyone knew how well you and Dumbledore got on together, and I think quite a few people expected you to completely break down after Snape murdered him.”
Harry winced at her words, his mind straying back to the odd, and unexpected, conversation he had had with Malfoy and Snape yesterday morning. Daphne picked up on his wince and smiled reassuringly at him.
“Many people would have suspected but I don’t think I ever did. You see, Harry, I watch people, I listen to what they say and I listen to what they don’t say. I have never been really noticed throughout the school so no one really sees me watching them and, as a Slytherin, I am cunning about what I do. I know a lot about various members of our esteemed school, many facts that would straighten your hair. I see things no one else sees, which is why I noticed Draco’s change quicker than everyone else ― which is why I noticed you following him, Harry. Now, don’t worry, I didn’t tell him, “ Daphne reassured, “I figured that if you could discover what he was up to it would be better for all of us, and out of everyone you had more chance of bringing Draco around to seeing that maybe joining the Light side wasn’t such a bad decision. I guess I still think that. I’m right. I know I am because otherwise you would not have been in Vierge Fontaine with Snape and Draco yesterday. That means that a lot of what I suspected about you is right. Dumbledore’s death was not an easy time for you, but from what I have seen you have too much to contend with to bother with something as trivial as breaking down when the world needs you most.”
Harry did not answer her, just stared at the blonde girl for a further ten minutes. She did not attempt to strike up another conversation but when she made to leave the canteen he called after her, “Should I invoke the philosophy of second chances, Daphne?”
She turned back to look at him, her black eyes raking over him much like Malfoy’s had yesterday, taking in everything about him as if they were sizing him up. Finally she shot a small smile at him and, turning to leave, she said over her shoulder, “Harry, trust your instincts. I do.”
Shaking his head, he watched her leave before turning back to his cup of now cold coffee. Glancing down at the table he saw Daphne’s book left sitting. He slid his hand across and grasped the spine of the book, pulling it closer to him. He had never been an avid reader, choosing instead to leave that particular hobby up to Hermione, who had enough enthusiasm concerning that subject to more than compensate for his lack of interest. He had never before been remotely interested in reading any of James Joyce’s work but, on a whim, he opened the book’s cover and looked at the inside. What he saw there, written in a cursive, flowing script with loops around every appropriate letter, made him start. Underneath the script was a small, scribbled note taped to the inside of the book in handwriting Harry realised most be Daphne’s. He read the page before him once and then started to reread it once more ― just to ensure his eyes were not playing tricks on him. They weren’t.
Draco A. L. Malfoy: Journal, the cursive script read. Beneath that, on the note which had been Spellotaped to the page, were the words: Harry, read it. Please read it all. Maybe then you may understand. But tell Draco and prepare to receive more than a broken nose ~ Daph.
Harry stared down at the book, unseeing, for a long while before he was finally dragged out of his stupor as he slowly became aware of noise and movement around him. The canteen was slowly filling with the camp members and, glancing around, he saw his friends scattered throughout the crowd. He watched as a familiar redhead collected a cup of tea and, spotting Harry, walked over to where he sat.
“Hey, Harry,” Ginny smiled, sliding into the seat across from him, the one Daphne had been sitting in only half an hour or so beforehand. Harry flashed her a quick smile, only briefly lifting his gaze from the book in front of him. He had not turned the page and the book still lay open on the front page, declaring itself as Malfoy’s personal journal. He snorted as he thought that only someone who was a big of a ponce as Malfoy would keep something that was, in essence, a diary.
“Harry, what are you reading?” Ginny asked, leaning across the table to try and read the book ― or at least the title. Panicking, Harry hastily closed the book, slamming the cover forcefully against the pages of Malfoy’s journal. Ginny started and leaned back in her chair, brown eyes wide. “Harry?” she said tentatively.
“What?” He had to make a conscious effort not to snarl the word out at her or bar his teeth at his ex-girlfriend. Briefly he wondered why he cared so much about Malfoy’s privacy but he did not ponder the matter too much, simply putting it down to the fact that he was merely acting as any decent human being would.
Across from him Ginny swallowed nervously. “Are you… are you feeling okay?” she murmured, attention focused on the wood grain of the table in front of her. “You’ve been awfully distant and I know you called off… our relationship but I still thought we could, well, y’know. Be friends. And I thought that after all this we could maybe get back together but… but you’ve been so different recently.”
Harry shook his head at her. “Ginny, people change. I’ve changed. I’m sure that you have noticed; you tend to be nearly as perceptive as Hermione when it comes to these sorts of things. I liked you Ginny, I really did. I loved you and I wanted to go out with you. But I don’t like you that way anymore and I would appreciate it if you’d just accept that. Things are pretty hard on me as they are.” And oh God, I sound like such a selfish prick and I’m sorry, but please just leave me alone for now. Please.
Ginny opened her mouth and closed it a few times without saying anything and Harry could practically see her mind racing, trying to come up with something to say that would convince him to date her again. Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair, pulling the long strands back from his face.
“Ginny,” he said before she could open her mouth once more. “I am not going to get back together with you. I told you I loved you and I did ― as a friend, as a sister, but as someone I could fall in love with and marry? No. I just can’t see it, Gin. I’m sorry.”
Ginny gulped and Harry was certain he could see tears forming in her large, brown eyes. She shifted her gaze from Harry to stare down once again at the wood grain on the table, swallowing back tears. She reached up a hand to tuck a loose strand of red hair back behind her ear, a habit Harry used to think of as endearing but now irritated him, seeing it as an unnecessary gesture made only to call attention to her. He resisted the urge to cluck his tongue disapprovingly, realising at the last minute that it would be scarily similar to Mrs. Weasley’s behaviour if he did.(
“Harry, I love you,” Ginny said quietly as she slowly stood, a few more strands of hair coming loose from her ponytail. “I don’t want you to forget that and I want you to remember it always. I want you, Harry. You have no idea how special you are. You’re noble and brave and loyal and loving and everything I, or anyone else, could ever possibly want. You’re nothing more than you and I love you for it. I don’t want you to forget that ever. I love you and I swear that I’ll wait for you. When this war is over, Harry, come back to me. Please.”
Her eyes, which had been pleading with him, finally tore themselves from his face and she ran across the canteen, slipping through the doors of the large, wooden building. Harry watched her leave, his thoughts racing. He had been so sure, only three months before, only just before Dumbledore’s death that he and Ginny were meant to be. They had been in love, he had been sure of it. They enjoyed each others’ company, got on well and where Harry could be weak, Ginny showed her strength by never once faltering in front of other people. He had talked about his relationship with Remus and had been told how much Ginny reminded Remus of Lily. Harry had been so sure that they would end up married, with children. It had taken him a few weeks after Dumbledore’s death to realise that wasn’t the case.
He and Ginny loved each other, but whereas he was sure Ginny was in love with him and knew she was pining for him, Harry had found himself too wrapped up in thoughts of Malfoy, Snape and Dumbledore to think much about Ginny. She had barely crossed his mind before he had arrived at the Burrow, and once he was there he realised that he didn’t miss her as he thought he would. In fact he missed his arguments with Malfoy where he could guilelessly vent his spleen much more than he missed the covert activities he and Ginny had engaged in. The realisation had left him cold and Harry had purposely tried to avoid Ginny since the thought had dawned on him. He did not want to look into brown eyes that pleaded with him to tell him he loved the person they were attached to, eyes that pleaded with him to take her then and there, eyes that pleaded with him to bestow love upon a person he felt nothing romantically for.
He now knew that, apart from a brief infatuation, he had never felt anything but brotherly love for Ginny Weasley.
Sighing, Harry stood and tucked the book Daphne had left sitting on the table under his arm. He turned to make his own way towards the exit and found himself face to face with Fred and George Weasley. They beamed brightly at him and he smiled weakly up at them.
“Hey, Harry,” George grinned.
“How’re you?” Fred questioned, placing his breakfast tray down onto the table Harry had just vacated. George slammed his tray down cheerfully beside his brother’s and indicated that Harry should sit with them. Harry shook his head at the invitation.
“I’m fine,” he said in reply to Fred’s question. “Really annoyed that Kingsley won’t let us work on spells but apart from that I’m grand. Although I really can’t sit with you. I’ve already eaten and I plan to continue training by myself as well.”
George looked at him worriedly, his usual humour missing from his face. This fact did not escape Harry’s attention and he wondered if this war would change everyone, twisting their personalities and priorities until the person was no longer recognisable. He thought back, with heart-wrenching melancholy, to the carefree twins who had left a swamp in their wake when they left Hogwarts to face the world by themselves.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” George asked.
Harry smiled at the twins. “Of course I am. Don’t worry about me; I’m just desperate to get some fresh air. I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”
Fred and George nodded in unison and Harry smiled once more, turning and leaving the canteen. When he stepped out of the doors, into the large area of ground that had been dubbed the courtyard, his eyes scanned the surrounding area looking for anyone he knew. Seeing no one he sighed deeply and, tucking the book tightly under his arm once more, he made his way to bunkhouse number nine so he could store the book safely under the floorboard he had cautiously ripped up three days previously.
~|~|~|~
The sun was beating mercilessly down on the people assembled in the field just behind the canteen, causing beads of sweat to travel along many backs and form on many foreheads. People all around Harry were panting from exertion and he could feel his chest constricting painfully with every breath he took. Leaning over he placed his palms on his knees and took several deep, steadying breaths to attempt to gain control of himself. A minute later he decided he was suitably under control and straightened his body just as Kingsley began to talk.
“I can see that many of you did not expect the attack that was launched on you whilst you were out running today,” Kingsley said, wry amusement painfully obvious in his voice. “I have listened to and inadvertently heard many complaints about how we refused to train you in regards to using spells and curses. What many of you fail to realise is that the physical activity may one day save your life. It is never possible to predict the future completely accurately and you never know when you are likely to be attacked. With the attitude many of you have been taking I’m surprised that any of you managed to fight off your attackers. The attack certainly took you by surprise and, before many had time to react, more than half of you were decommissioned. Your side was severely outnumbered and it was highly unlikely that you would be able to completely defeat your attackers. With all the lessons in physical fighting, lectures on strategy and essays assigned in which you were to describe how you would react in certain situations, not one of you managed to put this into practice.
Not even Miss Hermione Granger managed to remember the lectures given. All of you reacted purely on instinct and for some, still, that reaction was to scream and surrender.”
A few people in the large group sniggered but Harry found himself feeling distinctly on edge. A moment later he discovered there was reason behind why he felt so uncomfortable when Kingsley’s voice suddenly changed drastically and he snapped angrily at the assembled group, “This is not a laughing matter, people! If Death Eaters had attacked, every single one of you would be dead by now ― or possibly fatally injured. Well, not every single one of you. I would like to draw your attention to people who did not necessarily react properly but who reacted in a far different, far more successful manner than many of you did. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass would you kindly come up here and stand beside me?”
Harry looked nervously around him and caught sight of both Susan and Daphne’s blonde heads moving through the crowd. He turned and caught Neville’s eye, winking at him before striding forward to stand at Kingsley’s side, purposely choosing to stand beside Daphne. From the look she shot him, he knew instantly she realised he had chosen to stand beside her rather than Susan. It appeared that other people were aware of Harry’s blatant choice as several people gasped loudly and fervent muttering broke out among the group of people. Kingsley lifted a hand and quieted them.
“Quiet all!” he barked. “Listen to me as this is important. Susan Bones was not completing the task that had been set for her and that saved her. This method is not a particularly recommended one but it worked nonetheless. Susan had dropped out of the run after the second mile, preferring to shelter in a grove of trees as she has done before. We are not stupid and we know who drops out, when they drop out and where they hide. Susan saw the attackers coming before everyone else and warned a few people, sending up a shower of sparks as is taught. She ordered a few others to form a circle to protect each other but they did not comply. If they had maybe they would be up here also. She defended herself, attacked when needed and protected those she could as she bravely ran on to inform others. She helped all she could along the way.
Neville was not aware of the attackers coming but he did hear Susan screaming for others to be ready for an attack. He whipped out his wand and began setting up spells which encased many in protective bubbles. This was a very smart plan with one flaw: the bubbles did not allow others to cast spells out of them, although they did defend against all but the Unforgivables.
Daphne and Harry reacted in much the same way. Both were well ahead of the rest of the group and were on their ninth mile when the attack was launched. We sent the groups of attackers in from both the front and the back so that the majority of you would be trapped between two groups. Daphne and Harry quickly began to work together, erecting a shield that covered a large area and would not allow the attackers to pass without first weakening themselves. The spell used to erect this shield is not widely known or used but it is not illegal … simply questionable.”
“NO WONDER A SLYTHERIN THOUGHT OF IT THEN!” A member of the crowd bellowed. Kingsley, Harry and Daphne all glared in the direction the voice had come from but Harry was the one to speak first.
“Daphne did not think of it, Seamus,” Harry said calmly. “I did. She did not know the words to chant so I told her them. I could have erected the shield myself but it would not have been as effective and it would have taken much longer and so it would have been likely that some of the attackers got through. With Daphne’s help we arranged enough of an advantage that we could turn and head back, to help others.”
A shocked silence followed as Kingsley nodded his head, acquiescing. “Harry is quite correct. The shield allowed Harry and Daphne to run and find others. They managed to call together a group who fought valiantly against the attackers, but some refused to go along with the strategy Daphne outlined, simply because she was a Slytherin. I assure you that should you have listened to Daphne and used the curses Harry told you to use, then it is likely more of you would have passed this attack. As it is, very few of you did this and so there are only a handful of people who passed this task: Harry, Daphne, Neville, Susan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ron, George and Bill Weasley, Ernie Macmillan and, another Slytherin, Blaise Zabini. It seems that a good many of you were too blinded by prejudice to see the logic behind Daphne’s plan. It is only because of Blaise’s intervention that Bill, Justin and Ron passed. It appears Harry could overcome prejudices. I advise the rest of you to follow his example.”
Harry flushed deeply as the majority of the crowd turned to look at him, either intrigued or disgusted. He turned his head to the side and saw Daphne watching him out of the corner of her eye, looking thoughtful. He smiled shyly at her and, leaning over, whispered in her ear, “Can I talk to you?”
She raised surprised eyes to his and, eyes scanning his face and obviously finding what they were looking for, nodded. “Where do you want to talk?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think you would be welcome in my bunkhouse. It’s mostly filled with people who would hex you just as soon as look at you.”
“And people wonder why I disappear into the woods regularly,” Daphne murmured wryly. “How ‘bout we meet after dinner? I’ll wait for you behind the canteen building?”
Harry nodded briefly and turned to leave when Daphne’s fingers curled around his arm. He turned and looked questioningly at her.
“Harry,” she said, “for Merlin’s sake do not leave until at least ten minutes after I do. There are many here who aren’t as oblivious as you.”
Unsure as to whether or not to be angry at Daphne’s comment, Harry settled for rolling his eyes and crossing his arms huffily across his chest. “I’m not oblivious.”
Daphne’s rather carefree expression changed to one of contemplative regret and sorrow as she whispered, her voice even lower than it had been before, “Ah, Harry, but you are. If you even knew how oblivious you were ―.” She stopped suddenly, shaking her head, and just smiled sadly at Harry. “Never mind. I’ll see you later, Harry.”
She turned and walked away and, confused, Harry turned and walked over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting, holding hands and talking about inconsequential issues such as what they would be having for dinner.
Harry smiled at them and dropped onto the ground beside his best friends. Ron beamed happily at him and Hermione shot him a quick smile, her chocolate coloured eyes roving over him as if searching for something, which they evidently found as the guarded expression left her face and her smile became a little brighter and wider than it had been.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better today, Harry,” Hermione said.
Harry glared at her and said, “I’m ―”
“Fine,” Harry, Ron and Hermione chorused together, the latter two smiling broadly at him. Harry looked at his two best friends and shook his head before, grinning, sat back on his elbows and began to chat freely with his friends, letting his worries fall away from him for a brief hour at least.
By dinner time however, Harry’s worries had returned threefold and he found himself more nervous than he had been in a long while. He selected food blindly, not really paying attention to the lasagna he had accepted, he nearly forgot to check his order in, his hands began to shake so badly that the tray in his hands shook, and when he finally sat down at his usual table he found he could eat little more than three slices of garlic bread. Even his throat seemed to be in on the plot to expose how nervous he really was, as the muscles would not allow him to do more than sip lightly at the pumpkin juice. It did not take long for the people surrounding him to realise but, surprisingly, Neville was the first to pick up on it.
“Harry?” the dark haired boy asked, concernedly. “Are you alright? You look ill and … well your hands haven’t stopped shaking.”
Harry smiled weakly at his friend, hoping to hold the questions off but it did not happen. If anything the wan smile seemed to draw out more people’s concerns and Harry silently cursed Neville for bringing up the topic, even if it was only because Neville had been worried about his friend’s health.
“Neville’s right, Harry,” Hermione said worriedly. “You do look really pale and you’ve barely touched your dinner! And I know for a fact you didn’t eat any lunch.”
“Or breakfast,” Fred piped up as he took a seat on Harry’s left. Harry glared at the redhead but just received an amicable smile in return.
“Harry!” Hermione’s shrill voice reprimanded, causing Harry to wince. “You can’t be serious! You haven’t eaten today?”
“I’m fine Hermione,” Harry said sighing. “Fred wasn’t even in the canteen when I ate. I had about three coffees and a plate of pancakes. Believe me, I ate enough to keep me going throughout the day.”
Hermione regarded him disbelievingly for a long moment but she did not press the issue and Harry was eternally grateful for that. A few people looked oddly at him during the meal and, finally, Harry gave in and pointedly took a large bite of his lasagna, nearly devouring half of the portion he’d selected in one go just to get his friends off his back. A few people smiled at him and Hermione hummed happily in his direction, leaning over the table and patting his hand with her own. Harry raised an eyebrow but she just grinned and turned back to the conversation she’d been engaging in with Ron. Ginny kept darting furtive glances in his direction and Harry was more than a little uncomfortable when he felt someone knock against his elbow. He looked up and glanced over his shoulder to see who had inadvertently hit him when he noticed Daphne sashaying towards the canteen entrance. Nearly everyone at the table noticed how abruptly Harry turned and they, in turn, followed his eyes to see Daphne disappear through the double doors. Several sly glances were exchanged around the table before Fred finally opened his mouth.
“So Harry, mate,” he said, talking around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, “I reckon we can honestly say someone’s got a wee crush on a Slytherin, eh?”
Harry glanced at him, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Huh?”
Fred sniggered. “That Daphne Greengrass girl. You just watched her arse sashay outta here, Harry mate, don’t deny it. Isn’t that right, George?”
Fred’s twin nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, Fred. Although I must say for a Slytherin, Daphne does have a fine arse.”
“I concur,” Fred concurred, stuffing another forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Hermione tutted loudly at Fred’s antics before glancing at Harry thoughtfully, saying, “Well, I suppose Fred has a point. You do seem to have a thing for blondes.”
“I do not!” Harry protested hotly, glaring angrily at Hermione.
Hermione just shrugged off his glare and said, “But, Harry, remember that girl you introduced me to over the summer? Awfully pale girl, with really blonde hair. I would have classed her as an albino except she had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. And then there the girls you told us about and we mustn’t forget your crush on Hannah Abbot.”
Harry blushed furiously and stood quickly, forgetting about Daphne’s fervent insisting that he wait at least ten minutes after she had left to leave himself. “Hermione!” he hissed angrily. “How dare you! I do not have a thing for blondes!”
“Then why on Earth are you protesting so violently?” she asked.
Harry spluttered angrily at her, unable to find words to voice his fury and terrified to call them up even if he could, in fear of how Hermione would interpret the meaning behind the words. Instead he settled on a rather safe topic he could argue. “I can’t believe you just told everyone I used to fancy Hannah!”
“I can’t believe you’re reacting like a thirteen-year-old,” Hermione remarked dryly as she slid her hand into Ron’s. Harry watched the movement, angry that his friends ― his two best friends ― were now so much closer to each other and were, in a way, excluding him.
Harry sneered at her. “This is coming from the girl who sent canaries after Ron for simply dating another girl!”
Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the canteen, his hands shaking furiously with anger rather than nerves this time. He supposed that anger was a rather poor substitute for nerves and would have much preferred to feel peaceful for once, but he gave it little thought, his hands stealing into the pocket in his tracksuit bottoms, pulling out a battered pack of cigarettes. He slipped one between his lips, lit it and took a deep drag from the cigarette, not because he particularly wanted to but because it would give him something to do other than storming back into the canteen and ripping Hermione’s head off her neck.
Sighing deeply, he thrust the packet of cigarettes and lighter into his pocket once more and slowly began walking towards the back of the canteen. He had just rounded the corner when a pair of arms reached forward and dragged him behind a large tree, pinning his back against the rough bark of the tree trunk. Eyes wide he glared at the person who had manhandled him and found himself staring into eyes that wavered halfway between gold and green, with flecks of brown decorating the unusual combination near the iris. He tried to take a deep breath ― finding it incredibly difficult to do so with his cigarette still lodged in his mouth ― and smiled weakly at the boy who had pulled him behind the tree.
“Hello Zabini,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.
Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes. “Call me Blaise,” he said. “We’re on the same side; we may as well get passed the point where we still refer to each other by our surnames.”
“Absolutely,” Harry murmured, “but I did not know it was normal to drag someone on the same side as you behind a tree and slam them against it.”
Blaise snorted. “It’s not,” he admitted. “But I had no other way of getting you to listen to me.”
Harry raised a now steady hand to his mouth and withdrew the cigarette from between his lips. “I don’t suppose you could have just asked?”
Blaise’s lips quirked upwards in amusement. “I could have, but Daphne will tell you I’m known for being rather dramatic.”
Harry glanced over Blaise’s shoulder and finally realised that Daphne was leaning against a tree not too far from where Blaise had Harry pinned.. He smiled softly at her and she raised an eyebrow. “I never pictured Harry Potter for a smoker,” she said, half-sardonically.
He shrugged, the motion causing Blaise’s arms to hitch upwards too. “Yeah, well, I guess that could be a rather common misconception. I actually stopped a while ago but, hell, with current situations what they are…” He trailed off, shrugging once more, and realised Blaise was staring intently at him. Unnerved Harry asked, “Er, Blaise, do I have something on my face?”
Blaise shook his head.
“Then why are you looking at me like I have ice-cream smeared all over my face?” Harry asked matter-of-factly.
Blaise’s eyes sparked with something Harry couldn’t pinpoint and he murmured, “Now wouldn’t that be an interesting predicament?” Harry blinked stupidly up at him before Blaise shrugged and said, “You surprised me Potter.”
“How?” Harry questioned. “I haven’t really said anything to you.”
“No,” Blaise agreed, “you haven’t. But Daphne has.”
Harry quickly flicked his eyes over to where Daphne was leaning in the circle of trees, eyes boring into her. “Excuse me?” he said, a slight threat belying his polite words.
Blaise chuckled and shifted his arms so he no longer had Harry pinned up against the tree. “Calm down, Harry, I’m not here to yell at you. Daphne told me something interesting.”
“And private,” Harry pointed out, still glaring at the blonde girl. He transferred his gaze back to the boy in front of him to answer his question.
“Excellent,” Blaise murmured. He stepped back from Harry and went to stand beside Daphne, stooping down to whisper in the short girl’s ear. Daphne’s eyebrows shot up but otherwise she gave no indication that she had heard whatever Blaise said as she continued to scrutinise Harry. They stood like that for long moments, Blaise murmuring in Daphne’s ear, Daphne scrutinising Harry and Harry squirming uncomfortably under Daphne’s gaze. Finally Daphne nodded at Blaise and said, her voice ringing out clearly in the silence, “I think we can risk it.”
“Risk what?” Harry asked immediately.
Daphne laughed, the sound a light, tinkling melody that floated pleasantly across to his ears. “I knew you were impatient, but still, Harry keep your shirt on.”
Blaise murmured something once more in Daphne’s ear but it was sufficiently loud that Harry could hear it also: “Aw, Daph, does he have to?” At the comment Harry felt his cheeks flush bright red and Daphne laughed once more, this sound more open and honest than the previous one. Blaise raised his eyes and saw Harry’s brightly coloured face and after only a beat joined in with Daphne’s laughter. Harry shifted his weight onto his left foot and raised the cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag to stifle the urge to yell at the two Slytherins facing him.
Daphne stopped laughing first. One moment her eyes were wide and laughing and the next they were focused on him with such starling intensity that he felt rather naked under the gaze.
“Harry,” she began. “I want you to know that you can trust us. Neither Blaise nor I have any desire to join the Death Eaters nor have we ever. I despise them, especially after what they did to Blaise’s cousins. I don’t think Blaise would be comfortable talking about it so let’s just say that the incident was quite horrific and only happened recently so the horror is still fresh with both of us. We want more than anything for the Light side to win this war, but we also want to stay as close to our old friends as is possible. Both of us were good friends of Draco’s, although Blaise was more often with him than I. I respected Snape even if I wasn’t his biggest fan and Blaise is very distantly related to him. These are some of the reasons both Blaise and I wish to believe that if Draco and Snape aren’t innocent, there are at least extenuating circumstances to take into consideration. We want to help, Harry. Tell us how.”
Harry stared blankly at the two in front of him. “I don’t understand,” he said finally.
Daphne made to speak once more but Blaise quieted her. “P ― Harry,” Blaise corrected himself, “Draco was my best friend. I said was because he began pushing me away halfway during sixth year and I actively let him. At that point I was aware how involved he was with You-Know-Who and didn’t wish to be associated with anyone with active allegiances to that bastard. So, I let Draco push me away and I reckon you could even say I encouraged it. I know now that I should not have; that if I had only talked with him I may have been able to help him. I didn’t get the chance to help him back then for I would not allow myself. I want a chance to make that right.”
Harry nodded dumbly at the Italian boy who was talking solemnly at him, pinning him with a gaze that matched Daphne’s in intensity but in a different kind so far removed that it was disconcerting; a desperate intensity, one begging Harry to see the truth behind Blaise’s words. Harry could do little more than comply.
“Then I will do all I can to ensure you get a chance to make it right,” Harry said quietly. He looked down at his shoes and realised that the butt of the cigarette he’d been smoking lay, stamped out, beneath one of his trainers and wondered when he had thrown it onto the ground. He shrugged, unconcerned, and did not look up until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his eyes and found himself once more staring into Blaise’s wide eyes. Before he could say anything he felt Blaise pull him closer to him and found himself enveloped in a tight hug, which squished his arms against his sides. Blaise’s fingernails were digging painfully into the tender, exposed skin of his forearm but he decided against mentioning it, not wanting to disrupt the fragile trust Blaise had placed in him. When the other boy finally let him go Harry smiled shyly at him and rubbed covertly at his arms, specifically the places Blaise’s long fingernails had dug in. Daphne noticed but did not say anything and Harry was suddenly grateful for just how secretive Slytherins could be.
“That’s good,” Daphne said briskly, her no-nonsense attitude reminding Harry scarily of Hermione. The thought flittered across his mind that maybe the house systems really were just a way of segregating everyone as, from what he had seen, many Slytherins were simply the same as everyone else. Daphne was chatty, friendly, intelligent and brisk when the occasion called for it, and Blaise seemed to be genuinely concerned as to his friend’s welfare. Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered Daphne’s next words and had to get her to repeat them as he feared he had been mishearing things. He had not.
“We want you to take us to see Draco,” Daphne repeated patiently. Harry’s eyes flickered from Blaise to Daphne and back and he began to chew on his lower lip, tearing at the tender flesh.
“Why?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
“We want to see him, talk to him. We want to tell him we’re still his friends and that we will be there for him if he wants us to be.” Daphne lifted her hand to her mouth and bit the fingernail fiercely, displaying the first sign of nervousness he had seen from her.
Harry blinked at the duo that were looking at him with expectant eyes. He sank his hands into his pockets and lowered his face so his chin was resting against his chest. “I’m not sure where their loyalties lie, Daphne, Blaise. I’m not sure if it’s safe to bring you to them.”
Blaise snorted. “Of course it’s not safe. It’s Draco. Nothing around him is ever safe. But, Harry, don’t you see the significance of both Snape and Draco approaching you and talking with you? Talking with you and sending you back here unscathed and probably waiting for you to return to them? That should tell you right away where their loyalties lie: certainly not with You-Know-Who.”
Harry nodded. The same thoughts had already crossed his mind last night as he tossed and turned, the scene between Snape, Malfoy and himself playing through his mind constantly, the revelations troubling him to the core. He had analysed everything that was said, considered every option and had already come to the conclusion that he would return to the small motel room tomorrow. He raised determined eyes to Blaise’s, staring straight at the boy as he said, “I’m going to meet them tomorrow. Meet me here, after afternoon training. If you aren’t here by four I’ll leave.”
He turned on his heel once more and left the two Slytherins standing together, discussing matters Harry had no doubt he would not be welcome to listen to.