OBiaH
Title: Of Butterflies in a Hurricane
Author: roxierose13
Rating: NC-17
Complete: No
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter and/or any other characters used in this fic. They are all property of J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: Sexual content, Minor char. death, angst, Horcrux hunt.
Summary: After Dumbledore's death and Draco's disappearance, Harry knows what he has to do. He must find and save his boyfriend while concealing the relationship, destroy the Horcruxes that will ultimately destroy Voldemort, and deal with his grief. With Ron and Hermione by his side, he may just have a chance. ~Sequel to Falling Away with You~
Reread: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
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"Ow, Ron, you're stepping on my foot!"
"Well, I don't have much room here!"
"Be quiet, you two!" Harry hushed them, peering around the large vase and looking down to where the gargoyle guarded the Headmistress' office.
"Harry," Hermione whined, "why can't we just ask McGonagall?"
"Because she's too suspicious already. I just want to get in there and have a quick look."
Hermione just shook her head and rolled her eyes. It was the next morning and Harry had wasted no time telling the other two of what he had learned in the Pensieve. He had dragged them off right after breakfast, and they had staged themselves behind a vase to watch the office.
Harry didn't want to tell McGonagall because he felt she was too suspicious of what they were doing and was unlikely to allow them to continue making unrelated requests. So they were currently waiting for McGonagall to leave her office so they might sneak in and search for the memory.
"Oh, oh, look!" Ron suddenly whispered, pointing at the gargoyle. All three squished into the shadows, watching as the gargoyle leapt aside and McGonagall emerged from the room. She turned and walked the opposite direction from them, heading for the Great Hall.
Once she was out of sight, Harry carefully crept from behind the vase and walked slowly to the entrance to the office. Hermione, looking uneasy, gave the password and the gargoyle moved aside once more, allowing them onto the revolving staircase.
They pushed open the door and went inside. The office was brightly lit from the sun streaming in the window. Most of the portraits on the walls were asleep, taking a mid-morning nap. Harry beckoned the others forward and they came, though reluctantly.
"Dumbledore hid it somewhere here," he said, pointing to the bookshelf that stood to the side of the desk.
Ron and Hermione looked at it closely. Hermione was reading some of the titles and beginning to look quite interested, momentarily forgetting her apprehension of "breaking into" a teacher's office.
"Wow, Harry," she breathed, "have you seen these books? Some of these are incredible!"
"Hermione," Harry said, annoyed, "that's not why we're here."
"Oh, right," she said quickly, putting back a book she'd been on the verge of pulling out.
"He hid it behind a book. It was on a shelf near the top, I think," Harry said, looking at the books closely. Though he had seen the memory, he couldn't remember exactly where Dumbledore had put the vial.
Around them, the portraits snoozed, one occasionally making a snuffling noise. Their presence made Harry a little uneasy and eager to finish as soon as possible.
"Just look behind them, okay?" he said, reaching up and pulling out a red-bound book. There was nothing behind it.
Ron and Hermione began pulling out books at random, hoping to find a silvery vial behind each one. They found nothing, though. Harry was beginning to become discouraged as they pulled out book after book with no results.
As he pulled out another blue book, he heard a slight cough behind him and froze. One of the portraits was awake. What would happen if it was Phineas? Surely, he wouldn't be supportive of them breaking in to the office to search it.
Ron and Hermione seemingly hadn't noticed anything as they continued to pull books from the shelves.
Harry didn't move, the book still clutched in his hand, praying whoever it was wouldn't mind them in there. He didn't know how many of the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses would approve of students searching their office.
"I'd try one shelf up, Harry, if I were you."
Harry felt a huge wave of relief flow over him as he recognized the voice. It was full of amusement and wisdom. Ron and Hermione now realized what was happening and dropped their books in surprise, spinning around to search the portraits for who had spoken.
Harry turned around slowly, looking at Dumbledore, who sat serenely in his portrait, smiling at the three of them.
"I assume you are looking for something I lost many years ago?" he asked them, his voice pleasant and his eyes twinkling mischievously.
"I-- yes, professor," Harry replied, finding it surreal to be talking to the man he had seen die only four months previously.
"Yes, I remember now," Dumbledore said conversationally, as if it wasn't odd at all. "Took me a while to find it, and then, I lost it! Completely forgot where I put it; silly old men, you know." He gave them an amused smile.
Ron and Hermione both looked shocked as Dumbledore spoke to them in an entirely normal voice. They both glanced at Harry apprehensively like the experience might set him into a relapse. In fact, it was doing just the opposite. Harry felt better talking to Dumbledore. He felt like it was someone who just might understand how he felt.
"Why did you want the memory?" Harry asked pressingly, hoping Dumbledore might be able to give them information.
"Well, Burke always was smarter than he let on. I assume you saw that he did not know how to open the memory?" Harry nodded. "In truth, he did, he just knew enough that he didn't want to know what that particular memory held. Though he was a dirty dealer, he knew when things were valuable, and that memory, Harry, was valuable to him. Therefore, it would probably have benefited me much had I not lost it."
Harry thought for a moment. Dumbledore had never seen what was inside the memory; he didn't know what it was. It could be helpful or it could have nothing.
"Sir, do you know where it is now?" Harry asked finally.
"Yes, I think so, Harry. Since my death, I've spent a lot of time thinking over my past. I believe what you are looking for is one shelf up behind the gold volume."
Harry turned, looking at the shelf. There was indeed a set of golden-colored books. Harry reached up and slowly removed the books. Behind the middle one stood a dusty vial that appeared to have inhabited that shelf for some time. Harry took it down slowly, unable to believe that it was still there after so many years.
"There you go!" Dumbledore said happily. "I knew you would find it."
Harry looked up at him and felt a flare of happiness in his heart. It didn't last long, though, as he heard more noises from the portraits. The other occupants, it seemed, were beginning to wake.
"We have to get out of here," Harry said hurriedly to the other two. "Thanks, Professor."
"It was no problem, Harry," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling madly.
Hermione hastily raised her wand, and with a wave, all the books shot back onto the shelf as they had been before. With a last fleeting smile, all three ran down the stairs and out into the corridor, the door shutting behind them.
They hurried to the Gryffindor common room without a word. Harry kept the vial clutched in his hand the entire time, not daring to let it go. Through the portrait hole and up the stairs they went, ignoring the hails from Dean and Neville, who were sitting in some armchairs by the fire.
They quickly piled onto Harry's bed where he set a Locking Charm and reached into his bag for the Pensieve. As he set it on his bed, he suddenly realized what he was doing; he was showing Ron and Hermione the Pensieve.
He froze for a second as he realized. In all the entire time he had been in possession of the Pensieve, he had never shown it to them. He had guarded it like it was his dirty little secret. He was protective of the little stone basin.
Ron and Hermione were silent as Harry sat on the bed, staring unseeingly at the Pensieve. They both knew it was a rarity, what they were seeing. They were in awe as they looked at the swirling mass of memories that floated across the top of the basin. Of all the descriptions they had heard in the past, it had never quite managed to give a clear picture. Seeing it in real life was completely different.
"Harry, a-are you going to-- I mean, are we--" Hermione couldn't seem to get out what she wanted to ask. She was glancing between Harry and the Pensieve apprehensively.
"Yeah," Harry said finally. He knew the time had finally come to let them into the Pensieve.
Both Ron and Hermione looked excited at the prospect; their eyes lit up at Harry's words and they perked up, waiting anxiously. Harry eyed them for a moment, then carefully removed the vial from his pocket where he'd been clutching it tightly. Ron and Hermione scooted forward eagerly as Harry uncorked the bottle, positioning it over the top of the basin.
The memory hung in the vial for a second when Harry turned it over, and then, like a slithering snake, slid out and coiled into the Pensieve. The memory sunk quickly and the other memories in the basin began to swirl quickly.
Ron and Hermione were in awe as they watched the memories swirl in rapid succession. Harry was sure it was nothing like they had imagined. Even Hermione, who had surely read about Pensieves in books, appeared awed by what she was seeing.
Finally, the memories slowed to a stop and they found themselves looking down on a country road, very similar to the road that led to the Gaunt's house. Harry looked at it for a moment, wondering if it was really in his best interest to go into this particular, unknown memory. He looked up, though, and found himself looking into the very excited faces of Ron and Hermione and knew he couldn't let them down. He had taken them so far; to get the memory and shown them the Pensieve after many secretive months. He just couldn't disappoint them.
"Okay," he said, "let's go." He took a breath and plunged into the memory head first. Ron and Hermione exchanged an uneasy glance but took breaths and followed after Harry.
Harry landed in the middle of a country road, trees and grass bordering on each side. The vegetation was not green, though, more of a yellowish color reminiscent of late summer when all the grass would be dying on Privet Drive.
Harry looked 'round as Ron and Hermione landed beside him. They both looked a little out of sorts as they took in their surroundings.
"Where are we?" Ron asked immediately.
Harry glanced around again, noting how the path ran in front of them and then curved out of site beyond a bend. The sun was shining overhead and Harry guessed it was somewhere around mid-day. He looked to his left and nearly jumped as he caught site of a man standing almost right beside him.
The man was tall and skinny, kind of stringy-looking. He had lank hair that hung over his face like he'd been sweating. His eyes were small and they roved over the area sharply. He appeared to be making sure he was safe before continuing any further.
"Who is that?" Ron whispered, forgetting that he couldn't be heard in a memory.
"I dunno," Harry said slowly, moving closer to the man for a better look. Ron and Hermione shuffled behind, clearly afraid of getting lost or left behind.
Up close, Harry saw that the man had a shifty demeanor. He kept glancing to his left like it was a nervous tick. Harry wondered who the man was and what he was doing in the midst of the country lane, looking like he had nothing better to do.
The man turned suddenly and set off at a brisk pace down the road. Harry beckoned the others forward and they followed quickly.
"Where are we going?" Hermione panted as she tried to keep up. The man was setting quite a hasty pace as they marched down the lane.
"I don't know," Harry said impatiently, breaking into a jog to keep up with the man. "This is a memory, remember? Not my memory."
They followed the man as he went down the road and past the curve in the lane, down past another grove of green trees and yellowing grass. Harry was looking around and wondering if maybe this was where the Gaunt's house was.
They passed a small sign at the end of the road, where it forked off in two directions. As Harry looked at the sign, it appeared blurred, like it wasn't part of the memory. Instead of stopping, as Harry had suspected, the man just took a sharp left and continued on.
Ron and Hermione were lagging behind as the man continued his strenuous pace. Harry struggled to keep up as the man strode purposefully down the new path. They went on like this for some time; the afternoon sun beat down on their sweat-beaten brows as they followed the man.
At once, the man came to a stop. It was so sudden that Harry accidentally walked through him. He backed up, though, and looked around at where they had stopped.
They were in a wooded clearing and in front of them stood the Gaunt House, as old and decrepit as ever. The snake on the door remained hammered there in an unceremonious manner. Behind him, Hermione let out a small noise of amazement.
Harry wondered what they were doing here and hardly noticed as the man crept forward, sneaking through the tall dead grass that snaked over the front steps and side of the house. He didn't notice until Ron poked him in the side and motioned to where the man was now peering carefully in a dank and grimy window.
Harry moved quickly behind him, Ron and Hermione following closely. They also pressed their faces against the window, stepping right through the man. Inside, Harry could see that the house was dimly lit despite the bright sun outside.
In the single room, only one man was. He was sitting in the armchair and looked almost thoughtful. Harry squinted to get a better look at the man. He couldn't see him very well due to the shadows that fell across his face.
"Snape," the man called. His voice was higher than normal but otherwise seemed normal.
Harry gasped as, out of the shadows, his former Potion's professor emerged. His hair was as greasy as usual and his posture hunched as he had been in his teen years. In fact, he didn't look much older than a teenager, perhaps just out of Hogwarts.
"Yes?" Snape replied, coming to face the man in the chair.
"Is it clear?"
"Yes, my lord," Snape said quickly, apparently eager to please. "There's no one at the house beside the old gardener. He has bad hearing and a simple charm could be put on him to prevent anything happening."
Voldemort paused, bringing a long finger up to his chin and tapping it thoughtfully. He shifted and pushed himself out of the chair. Harry was taken aback to see that his face was pale and thin; his eyes were in the process of becoming slits of scarlet but had not quite reached that stage. He wasn't quite the Voldemort Harry remembered, nor was he Tom Riddle.
Beside him, Hermione let out a small gasp, then clapped her hand over her mouth, forgetting she couldn't be heard inside a memory. Harry paid her no mind, though, and went back to listening at the window. The man beside him didn't stir, only listened intently.
"Very good," Voldemort said, his voice alight with cruel amusement now. "You have done well for a first-timer."
"Thank you, my lord," Snape said, bowing low, and Harry felt a clench in his stomach as he watched him. He wanted to run in there and curse the man into oblivion. He couldn't, though, and was forced to watch as he glowed under Voldemort's praise.
"You may leave," Voldemort directed him. "This has been very instructive."
Snape merely smirked at the obvious compliment and backed out of the door. The man at Harry's side crept around to view the front door where Snape emerged. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed carefully. They saw Snape come out of the front door, the smirk still on his face. It soon turned to a scowl as he moved further away from the house.
"Instructive, indeed," Harry heard Snape mutter under his breath as he strode away from the house, vanishing in a Pop at the end of the lane.
Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione, who shrugged. They didn't know what that meant at all.
Apparently the memory was not over because the man in front of Harry turned and slowly crept back to the window, peering in once more at Voldemort. Voldemort looked all around him for a second then, when deciding he was truly alone, Apparated away with a Pop.
Harry was in shock for a moment. Where did he go? Why did Dumbledore think this such an important memory if this was it? Granted, Dumbledore had never seen the memory, but he had still remained convinced of its holding something important.
Harry was beginning to think that Dumbledore had really lost it when he felt himself floating and a white mist came around him. He figured the memory was over and that he was merely returning to the present. Instead, though, he landed on another street.
This one ran right past a large Manor that towered over the town below it. The sloping lawns were well cared for and the flower gardens were alive with color despite it being late summer. Ron and Hermione beside him looked confused and disoriented as they looked around them.
Harry glanced to his side and saw the same man as before. He stood looking up at the house. Harry looked up also and realized that he recognized it. He had only seen it from afar and once in a dream, but he knew where he was. He glanced down to the town below the hill and could see, from a distance, the outline of a church with its steeple and the outline of headstones that spread out from the back door.
Harry gave an involuntary shudder and looked away. Hermione looked at him closely, almost suspiciously.
"You know where we are," she said suddenly. It wasn't a question anymore.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. We're in Little Hangleton."
"Where?" Ron asked, confused. He was looking around him skeptically as though he didn't understand why they were there.
Harry pointed and motioned with his head up at the house. "That's Voldemort's dad's house."
"Oh," Ron said in a comprehending voice, staring up at the Manor.
"Harry, there he goes!" Hermione cried suddenly, pointing at the man they were with. He had begun to climb the hill, keeping as close to the ground as possible. Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged after him, not bothering to stay hidden as they climbed the hill.
They finally made it to the top of the hill and the man pulled himself to his feet, moving stealthily around the edge of the house. Harry followed him, wondering where he was going and why he was so intent on spying on Voldemort.
They moved all the way around the house to the back door. Here, the man paused then cautiously pushed open the door. He went quietly inside, Harry, Ron, and Hermione piling after him, and shut the door.
The man moved up the staircase and down a long hallway to a room at the end. He stopped just before the door to the last room. He pressed his ear against it, as did Harry. Ron and Hermione lingered back, unsure of what to do.
Harry heard a rattling noise coming from the room. It got louder, and, over the noise, he heard words. It sounded like Latin so he was unable to understand. There was a sudden crack that caused Harry to jump back from the door. Ron and Hermione both squeaked and leapt off the floor a bit. But the man at the door didn't react, keeping his ear pressed to it.
Harry heard more words, more whispered spells, until they finally ceased and all was silent. Harry desperately wanted to see into the room but knew it was no use. The man at the door had pulled back and was glancing around surreptitiously.
Harry didn't get any more chance to listen to what might or might not be happening in the room within. The man had turned and was quickly retreating down the staircase, eager to leave the house; Harry could see why.
They made it outside and Harry almost felt blinded by the bright sunlight. He held up a hand to shield his eyes and, therefore, didn't see the small shadow that swooped down upon the man.
Hermione's scream brought his hand down as he looked around in terror, fearful that something had gone wrong in the memory. What he saw instead, was a shock.
The man they had been following was lying motionless on the ground and a small, hunched man stooped over him, wand in hand.
"Can't have you seeing that, now, can we?" the little man muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Harry watched in disbelieved shock as the man pressed the tip of his wand to the dead man's forehead, pulling it away seconds later. A long, thin, silvery strand of memory was now attached it. The man placed the wand to his own temple and Harry was amazed to see that the memory was absorbed into the man's head.
The little man stood up, glancing down carelessly at the body. With a wave of his wand, it was gone, leaving only the dusty road behind. The man looked around carefully then straitened his robes.
"Nosey spies. Don't know when to stop. They get themselves killed this way," the man muttered. "Best hope this memory never goes astray. The lord would not be pleased." The man said the word lord with a sort of contemptuousness that made Harry wonder whose side this man was really on.
The little man then turned and started to walk away. Ron and Hermione made to follow him but stopped as they realized Harry wasn't with them.
"Aren't we going?" Ron asked him.
"No," Harry said simply. He looked around him and saw the gathering white mist and knew he would soon be back on his bed.
Sure enough, the next time he opened his eyes, he was back in his four-poster, looking at Ron and Hermione. They both seemed confused once more. Harry looked down in the Pensieve, seeing only the empty road they had just left.
"Whoa," Ron said finally. To Harry, it seemed just about the only appropriate word to describe it at the moment.
They sat there on the bed for a moment, no one saying anything. They were all too busy digesting what they had just seen. Harry heard the door to the dormitory open and slam shut. He hastily grabbed the Pensieve and shoved it back in his bag. He opened the hangings to see Dean walking slowly across the room. He didn't look good.
"Dean?" Harry asked.
Dean looked over at him, his face blank and his eyes red. Hermione got up off the bed and moved over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder gently.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of concern.
"It's Seamus," Dean said in a hollow, dead voice. "He's dead."
No one spoke as the words spiraled horribly around them. At length, Dean shrugged off Hermione's hand and continued sluggishly to his bed, climbing onto it and wrenching the hangings shut. Harry heard a whispered spell and heard no more from Dean that night.
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A/N: Just realized it had been a month since updating. NaNoWriMo kind of took over my life and finals start next week so... apologies? :) Please review!