Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Weakness and Strength

When Harry woke up the next morning, he realised that he'd dreamed far more than just Samhain. Once his emotions had recovered from the shock of finding out that Draco had been there, the Truthful Dreams Potion had seemed to regain power over his mind. For the rest of the night, his sleeping thoughts had ranged far and wide, seeking out things Draco had said and done. Patterns . . . ones that Harry should have noticed sooner.

The time early on in the hospital wing when Draco had stopped by, when Harry had thrown things at him . . . Too bad you missed me, Draco had said, and then all at once had groaned Oh, shite. Look, I didn't mean to say that . . . At the time the words hadn't made sense, but since dreaming Samhain, Harry could see the connection. He'd said those same words to Voldemort: too bad you missed me, when they'd been sparring over the curse that had killed Harry's parents. Draco had obviously realised that he'd repeated Harry's words, and he'd been dismayed . . .

Yes, that made sense, as did other things that had baffled him at the time they'd happened. When Harry had first moved into the dungeons, he'd overheard Snape asking Draco, Did you tell him? And what had Draco replied? I can't think he'd appreciate it very much. To my way of thinking, you're reminder enough . . .

From just a few days after Samhain, Draco had been doing his best to help Harry. From returning his wand . . . to trying to avoid references to Samhain . . . to reading a book written by Muggles, for Muggles. That last was probably the most impressive, considering Draco's long-established views on all things pure-blood.

Draco's sudden conversion to the Light made a bit more sense now, but Harry thought he must still be missing something. Granted, seeing torture carried out was a far cry from just hearing about it second-hand . . . so maybe Voldemort's utter ruthlessness had sickened Draco? Maybe he hadn't liked learning that his own father had such a vicious streak? But that didn't really make the pieces come together, not for Harry. After all, he knew from bitter experience that Draco Malfoy had a vicious streak of his own.

Maybe it had more to do with the way Draco would go on about Voldemort being stupid enough to let Harry get away, over and over? That certainly made sense. Draco wanted to be on the winning side; maybe he'd concluded that Voldemort was just too inefficient to ultimately triumph.

Harry frowned, because the idea that that might be Draco's motive for everything tended to rather taint the friendship they'd developed. How far could he trust the boy if it all boiled down to the simple fact that he thought Harry was a better bet than Voldemort? If that was the case, then how could Harry know that Draco wouldn't change sides again, the moment some other dark wizard looked like a better bet, still?

Harry sighed, and then went motionless, wondering if he'd alerted the Slytherin boy to the fact that he was awake. When he cracked his eyes to check, though, he realised he was alone in the room.

Sitting up, Harry took a few moments to decide how best to handle the entire situation. Definitely, he had to talk to Draco about Samhain. If anything was certain, however, it was that Harry didn't want to hash all this out in front of Snape.

Thinking of Snape, though, brought a whole other question to Harry's mind. Why hadn't the man told Harry the truth ages and ages ago? There are some things I want Draco to tell you for himself, the Potions Master had once said. Harry supposed he could understand that . . . but when it had become clear that Draco just wouldn't own up to his presence on Samhain, why hadn't Snape spoken up then?

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Draco and Snape were already eating breakfast by the time Harry had washed up and got dressed. The smooth scent of warm, buttered porridge wafted from the table, reminding Harry of his time here after Samhain. The memory had a calming effect on Harry.

Draco, in contrast, was anything but calm. He was scowling into his porridge, his forehead wrinkled, his normally shining hair lank and dull as he sat there slouched. At the Gryffindor boy's entrance, he glanced up, a quick panic darting into his eyes, but this was almost immediately masked by the familiar superior, bored look he adopted just before he looked back down at his meal.

Snape trained his gaze on Harry, the intensity in his dark eyes reminding the boy a bit of Legilimency, though he didn't feel any tell-tale pressure on his thoughts.

"Morning," Harry casually greeted them both, pulling out his chair and dropping into it. He wasn't quite sure what else to say. He didn't like the feeling that the two Slytherins had been sharing a secret about Samhain the whole time they'd been rooming together down in the dungeons. It would serve Snape right, Harry decided, to have a taste of his own potion. Yeah, let him wonder what's really going on with me, Harry thought to himself. Do him some good to see what it feels like to be kept in the dark.

"Seems like a nice day out." Harry smiled at them both, trotting out the words as though he hadn't a care in the world.

He saw Snape and Draco exchanging a puzzled glance. Harry wondered what they had expected from him. Tears? Shouts of recrimination? It was rather amusing, he decided, to watch the Potions Master taken out of stride for once.

With that thought in mind, Harry applied himself to eating his porridge.

For a moment, Snape didn't seem to know how to react, but he didn't remain flummoxed for long. "How did you sleep?" he inquired after Harry had taken about six bites.

"Oh, all right," Harry returned, deadpan. He made a little show of stretching a bit, and glanced at Draco, who was barely breathing by then. Since it wasn't his goal to torment the Slytherin boy, Harry lifted his lips in a bit of a smile. "I've got a crick in my back, though. Think you could transfigure the mattress to be a little harder? Like the one you did for me before. That one was perfect."

Draco slowly nodded, but his silver eyes remained wary. Harry mentally shrugged, figuring there was only so much he could do to put the other boy at ease.

"Did you dream of Samhain, Harry?" Snape took a more direct tack.

Harry thought briefly of lying, then decided it would be pretty stupid, considering that Snape would know everything before the day was out. So perhaps casual unconcern was the correct tack to take. "Among other things," he answered, reaching for his juice. Orange juice. That was nice. Actually, it made him feel a bit less like watching Snape twist in the wind.

Just a bit, though.

"And?" Snape prompted, his voice beginning to sound impatient.

"And what?"

"Harry," Snape chided, tired of the game.

Harry decided it would be hard to manage the conversation unless he threw Snape something to keep that keen mind occupied. "I did find out one really interesting thing," the boy admitted, belatedly realizing that words like that were almost guaranteed to panic Draco. "About the potion," he rushed to add. "It didn't exactly work right."

Reaching out, Harry took another swig of orange juice. A long swig. After that, he carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin, though normally he wasn't so fastidious about his table manners. He was just stalling for time as he figured out how much he wanted to admit.

"I surmise the difficulty wasn't with the Loosestrife," Snape fished.

Harry gave a slight smile. "No, that worked perfectly well. I feel really relaxed. Have you ever thought of marketing some of your inventions, Professor?"

He should have known that Snape was hardly a man to let flattery distract him from his objective. "In what respect did the potion fail, Harry?" he asked, his voice a tad acerbic.

"Oh, I wouldn't say it failed," Harry explained. "Could you pass the salt?"

Snape did, shoving it into Harry's hand with a little more force than was warranted. Deciding that he'd made the man wait long enough, the boy went on, "I was dreaming Samhain for a bit, but then it seemed like I somehow broke free from the truthtelling part of the potion. Things began to happen that I know perfectly well never occurred in real life." Harry couldn't help but notice that at that little tidbit, a sly smile curled Draco's lips. Ignoring that for the present, Harry detailed, "For example, the whole dream sort of froze solid . . . I walked over to Voldemort and shoved him straight onto his back."

Snape leaned forward. "Did it seem as though you were able to wander at will through a scene reminiscent of ah . . . a Muggle photograph?"

"Muggle photograph?" Draco questioned.

"They don't move," Harry informed him.

Draco made a face. "How perfectly bizarre."

"It's not," Harry laughed, thinking it was good that Draco seemed to be unwinding a bit. Maybe if Harry could keep him that way, he'd be less guarded when they got around to having the big talk. "Anyway, Professor, I was the only one who could move, so yes, it was like walking through a Muggle photograph."

Leaning back again, Snape crossed his arms and regarded Harry through hooded eyes. "I'm familiar with the phenomenon. What do you think precipitated it?"

Uh-oh, dangerous ground. "Uh, I don't know," Harry hedged. "It just sort of . . . ah, happened."

"I seriously doubt that."

Harry gave Snape a look that said to leave it alone. Much good that it did him.

"I've walked through Truthful Dreams too," Snape informed him, one eyebrow raised. "In all such cases I had seen something unexpected, something profoundly shocking."

Laughing low in his throat, Harry brushed off the pointed hint. "Hmm. Well, Samhain was nothing but one big shock from start to finish, wasn't it . . . so . . . that must be it, then. Thanks, sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes as though he had a good bit more to say on the topic. Thinking quickly, Harry turned to Draco. "I didn't bring my Firebolt along, but yesterday when I saw you on your Nimbus 2001, I started wondering if a broom might work for me. You know, like how I can use the Floo now? Would let me try out your broom?"

Draco shook his head, which Harry thought was pretty petty, until the other boy admitted, "I'd be concerned your magic might fail in mid-flight, Harry." He pushed away his bowl. "You could plummet to your death."

Since all Harry really wanted was to get Draco out of range of Snape's phenomenal hearing, he conceded. "Fine. We'll save the flying for later, but you owe me for the disappointment. You're coming with me out into the meadow to look for plants we can identify."

Draco actually snorted. "Still trying to cheat on your latest well-wish?"

"Well, I am half-Slytherin," Harry reminded him, sort of liking the phrase. It gave him an easy excuse for any number of things, didn't it? Not that he needed an excuse this time. "Besides, it's not cheating. We're just going on a little nature stroll. Can I help it if the wilds of Devon happen to share some similarities with a certain bouquet I recently received?"

"You're incorrigible," was Snape's wry opinion on the matter. "And somewhat lacking in critical thinking capacity. It's December, in case you hadn't noticed, and the meadow outside isn't a charmed Hogwarts greenhouse. You're not likely to find anything of use."

At that, Draco openly smirked.

"Well, come on a walk with me anyway," Harry crossly erupted. Just how hard was it going to be to get Draco alone? This was getting ridiculous. It didn't help that by the end there, Snape was regarding him with what could only be called a knowing look, as if all Harry's subterfuges were pretty transparent. "I need some fresh air."

"Only if you wear something a bit more substantial than that horrid jumper you had on last night."

"That jumper was a present, and a right good one," Harry defended Molly Weasley. "But it wasn't as warm as I would have liked, so all right." He headed to the bedroom to fetch his warmest cloak, adding gloves and a scarf as well.

After all, he'd probably be talking to Draco for a good, long while.

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After they'd walked to the far edge of the substantial property, they began to follow the boundary line marked by an uneven stone wall no taller than their waists. Now that he had no more reason to put off this discussion, Harry realised he felt completely awkward. How did you open a conversation like the one they had to have?

Maybe, Harry thought, the best way to begin would be to simply tell the truth.

"I didn't feel like talking to Snape about my Samhain dream," Harry admitted, leaning against the wall. "But I do want to discuss it with you."

Draco's shoulders tensed. "I can't imagine why."

"I think you can."

Draco planted his feet, his whole body taking on a defensive stance. "I thought you didn't like it when I speculated on trauma recovery and your psychological needs and all that."

"I don't. That wasn't what I meant."

Draco pulled his cloak more tightly about him and shoved his hands more firmly into the pockets. "Anyway, you're fine now, right? Thanks to Severus, you don't even have any scars. So there's no need to talk about the matter."

"I think there is," Harry insisted. He waited for Draco to look at him, but the other boy seemed resolved to study the horizon instead. Well, fine. Harry'd had enough of circling the issue. "I know, Draco," he said. "I know you were there on Samhain."

Draco's skin went ashen, his expression looking as though he'd just been punched in the gut. Even his lips seemed to whiten. He rallied quickly enough though, protesting, "That's just bloody ridiculous, it is. You're not going to believe what you saw in a nightmare, are you?"

"Truthful Dream," Harry corrected.

"But you said yourself you broke free of the potion," Draco smoothly countered. His colour was coming back now, so Harry supposed the boy felt himself on firmer ground.

"Remember how the professor said that something horribly surprising could cause that to happen?" Harry raised an eyebrow in unmistakable challenge. "What do you suppose I saw that shocked me so very much?"

"How should I know?" Draco coldly snapped back, his voice beginning to waver. "Unlike you, I'm not given to spouting off bizarre predictions."

Since Harry hadn't ever shared his seer dreams with Draco, that charge was spurious at best. Recognizing the red herring, Harry ignored the insult completely. "I saw you there, Draco. You reacted when I echoed your comments about my scar. You panicked when Nagini licked your boots. You--"

"I'm not listening to this, Potter! I'm going back in!"

Grabbing Draco's arm when the boy would have begun to stalk back toward the distant cottage, Harry insisted, "That's why you tried to grab the potion away from me last night. You didn't want me to know you were there with your father on Samhain!"

"Let go of me, Potter," Draco drawled in a low, dangerous voice, the muscles in his forearm tensing until they felt like braided steel.

Harry held on more tightly, determined to have this out, once and for all.

"Look, I wasn't there!" Draco suddenly yelled, yanking his arm away so forcefully that he fell over backwards into the stiff winter grass. "I wasn't! I don't care what you think you dreamed, I just wasn't! How can you think that of me?"

Harry stared down at him, seeing fear in those silver eyes. Or really, terror. Draco wasn't just scared of being found out a liar, or frightened that Harry might reject him.

It was as Snape had said: the boy was literally afraid for his life.

When Harry thought about that, it made sense. If he were to denounce Draco and regard him with distrust and suspicion, the Order would follow suit . . . and with Lucius out for his blood, Draco needed all the help he could get.

Reaching down, Harry extended a hand to help Draco up.

The Slytherin boy must have thought their dispute was over, for he took Harry's hand without hesitation and let himself be helped. Harry held firm to that hand even after Draco had gained his feet. "You were there," he said again, doing his best not to let the simple statement emerge as an accusation.

He might as well not have bothered. "I wasn't!" Draco shouted, clearly defensive.

"Then how do I know your father calls you Dragon?"

When Draco started to protest even that, Harry squeezed the boy's fingers hard to make him stop. "Enough with the lies, Draco. I saw the truth. I know! Are you trying to make me angry?"

Draco went frighteningly still. "Angrier, you mean."

"Is that why you never told me?"

Giving up on the pretence, Draco simply groaned, his gaze seeking the ground.

At that, Harry let his hand go. "You should have explained."

"What good would that have done? You didn't trust me as it was."

"And after I did?"

"Well, I couldn't tell you then, could I?" Draco cried, flinging his hands upward, his grey eyes turbulent. "I didn't want things to go back to the awful way they'd been before!"

Harry sighed. "But Draco, the reason things were that way was because I couldn't trust you, not when your sudden conversion to the Light just didn't make any sense."

Draco's brow furrowed. "And now it does?"

"No, not really," Harry admitted. "But I think now that maybe it can. Why don't you explain? The whole truth, this time."

"I was at that meeting to take the Dark Mark," Draco murmured, a low flush creeping up to stain his face. Shame? Harry wasn't sure.

"Did you know I was going to be . . . er, sacrificed?"

Draco nodded. "My father told me. I wasn't supposed to take the Mark until I was a little older, but my father liked the symmetry of me joining the Dark Lord on the night he finally did away with you. One era displacing another, something like that. Anyway, I--"

Looking away, Draco swallowed back whatever he'd been going to say.

"The whole truth," Harry reminded him.

Another nod, that one stark with determination. "All right. You have to understand, back then all I really knew about you was that you were this snotty little whelp who kept messing up the Dark Lord's grand plans, not to mention constantly showing me up at school. I figured you deserved what you got, and I was looking forward to seeing you get it."

No lack of honesty there, Harry thought. He smiled a little bit as though to reassure the other boy that he knew things between them had been different. "So what changed your mind?"

"This is going to take a while," Draco informed him. "And like you said yesterday, it's wicked cold. Why don't we do something about that?" With that, he was transfiguring his cloak into a thick, soft duvet for them to sit on.

"Why not just Accio a blanket?"

"Snape might get curious and follow it out."

Harry nodded in agreement, though it seemed to him that without a cloak, Draco was going to get awfully cold. He should have known that the Slytherin boy had a plan for that. "Draw your wand," Draco went on. "Delimit an area for us and then cast a weather charm."

If I can, Harry thought, then chided himself for being so defeatist, as Draco would put it. He'd controlled and channelled his so-called wild magic just the day before, though that had been more instinct than intent. All the same, maybe he could access some sort of power through his wand now . . .

Or maybe, he couldn't. Harry repressed a sigh, and tried not to get too discouraged.

Draco pursed his lips, either in sympathy or impatience--Harry couldn't tell--and performed the charm himself.

Sitting down on the blanket, Harry shrugged off his own cloak and basked in the warm air that now surrounded him. "Nice," he complimented the other boy.

Draco gave him a look that seemed to say, Of course. I am a wizard . . .

"Now, you were telling me how much you were looking forward to seeing me tortured and killed," Harry reminded the other boy, seeing no reason to sugar-coat the truth. "What changed your mind?"

"You did," Draco said, dropping down to the blanket himself and gazing morosely past the shimmering curtain of magic that surrounded them. "I thought it would be so glamorous, you know? The hero of wizardry brought low. But that's just it: you weren't brought low, and no matter what the Dark Lord did, he couldn't bring you low. He simply didn't have the power." The Slytherin boy turned to look into the green eyes steadily assessing him. "You were so fucking brave it was ridiculous. You stood there and called him Tom to his face. You stood up to him. Sweet Merlin, you had the guts to tell him to fuck off!"

Harry mulled that over for a bit. "I'm surprised you don't just sneer Gryffindor about that. I mean, why would it impress you? It probably just means I'm brave to the point of idiocy."

Draco abruptly covered his eyes and bowed his head, his whole body shaking. Was he crying? Harry couldn't be sure, not until the boy spoke. "Because my father was there beside you, Harry, but he was on his knees!" Draco sucked in a harsh breath. "It was awful! He was grovelling, calling that arsehole my Lord, acting just as though he were some kind of slave! And there you were, right alongside, steadfastly refusing to degrade yourself! The pair of you . . . I knew what I was seeing, Harry. It was impossible to miss! Weakness and strength . . . and since you were the strong one, I knew then and there that I'd been on the wrong side, all along." Draco's other hand came up to rub his eyes.

Harry wished he could transfigure something into a handkerchief, since Draco at that moment didn't seem coherent enough to realise he needed one. The best Harry could do was reach out and pat the other boy's knee.

Draco flinched away, and raised a tear-streaked face. Then, as if realizing just how much he was revealing, he muttered a spell to dry the tears away. It didn't disguise the redness in his eyes, though.

"So . . . you changed sides to fight against your father because you were ashamed of him?" Harry hazarded, but not to rub it in. He was just trying to understand.

"No! Well, maybe partly, I guess," Draco immediately revised his instinctive denial. "But that wasn't the main thing, Harry. I swear it wasn't. I know you think I'm shallow, but even I'm not as petty as all that."

Harry folded his cloak across his bent legs, but not for warmth. It was more that his hands had begun aching again, and he thought the feel of the brushed wool might soothe them. "There's more to you than I used to realise," he slowly said. "Or maybe, there's more to you than there used to be. But you're not in Lucius' shadow now, Draco. So what was the main thing that made you change sides?"

"You didn't even have any magic," Draco stressed, waving his hands randomly as though it was hard for him to find the words he needed. "Or not any that you knew of, at any rate. You didn't have a single hope of getting out of there alive. I know now that you were counting on Severus to do something, but that must have looked pretty unlikely at the time. You were helpless, but still strong enough not to bend one inch. And then there was my father, abasing himself, practically begging to lick that arsehole's boots, and getting Cruciatus for his troubles! I could hardly believe my eyes, Harry. It was like the world had been turned completely upside down! I mean, I'd been taught all my life that pure-bloods were superior in every way. But I could hardly miss the contrast, could I? You were superior to Lucius Malfoy. A boy with a Muggleborn mother! But even reduced to a squib, you were the only one there with pride and courage! All the Death Eaters had was submission and fear. I . . . I swear, Harry, I think I blacked out for a second. And then I looked again, and it was still true, and I remember thinking, Oh, shite. I can't possibly take the Dark Mark after this . . . crap, it was like I went there living one life and came out of it living another!"

"Paradigm shift," Harry murmured.

Draco didn't need the phrase explained. "Yes. Epiphany, exactly. And Severus was part of it. Because . . ." Draco closed his eyes on a rush of pain. "I'd always admired him, always, Harry. I thought following the Dark Lord had to be the right thing to do if someone as brave and strong and intelligent as Severus Snape had made that choice. But on Samhain I watched him get on his knees, too, and I thought I'd sick up. What he was in that clearing . . . that wasn't the man I thought I'd known."

"You never wondered if he might be playing a part?"

"No, not once. Which meant that when he portkeyed you out, I thought my heart would stop from the shock of it all. There I'd been so bitterly disappointed in him, wondering how he could possibly welcome the utter slavery the Dark Lord insisted on, wondering how he couldn't see that you were the only strong one in that clearing. But it was all an act." Draco's shoulders collapsed as he gave a heavy sigh.

"That's actually a good thing," Harry dryly pointed out.

Draco nodded, but didn't smile. "I know, and I wouldn't wish it otherwise, believe me. For all that, though, one part of it all bothers me." The boy raised distressed eyes, the grey reminiscent of storm clouds about to burst. "Severus was watching me follow a path he knew to be a colossal mistake, and he didn't do anything to stop me. Not one single thing."

Lacing his fingers together in an effort to stretch away the ache, Harry sighed too. "Be reasonable. What could he have done that wouldn't have placed his life in danger?"

"Yet he risked his life to save you," Draco quietly pointed out. He said it without resentment of Harry, but not without pain.

Harry thought about that. "Yes, but when he did, he didn't have to worry about me turning on him, Draco. I mean, he could trust me to protect him too, right? I'm not trying to hurt you, but you can't hide from the truth. You weren't trustworthy back then. Snape couldn't risk trying to help you when you might have run straight to your father with the news that a certain Hogwarts teacher wasn't so loyal, after all."

"I know," Draco admitted, but he hardly looked mollified.

"He does care about you," Harry insisted. "He even told me so. I care about you both, he said."

Draco twisted a lip. "Not equally. Not even close. He cares about me; I'll give him that. But you're the one he loves."

Loves? Harry couldn't help but flinch a bit. He caught himself doing it, and wondered why the word bothered him. Unable . . . or maybe unwilling . . . to complete that thought, he heard himself arguing, "He wouldn't have offered to adopt me except for the fact that we needed it for the warding. You know that!"

"The warding was nothing to do with how he felt, that's what I know," Draco retorted. "All it did was give him an opportunity he wouldn't otherwise have had. In fact, it made you get past your fear of attachments. Well, far enough to agree, at least. Personally, I think you still have some . . . issues accepting Severus as your father."

That was so accurate that Harry almost gaped. Maybe Draco really had learned something useful from that Muggle psychology book. Not liking the feeling that he was so transparent, Harry abruptly changed the subject. "I've often wondered what the reaction was among the Death Eaters when Snape and I vanished like that."

Draco still looked a bit glum as he detailed, "After you released all that wild magic, it was pandemonium. Voldemort had been flung flat on his back. I remember him screaming . . . screeching, really. My father was nearby, almost unconscious from the force of your magic striking him." Lost in memory, Draco let his voice drift off.

"What did you do, in those first few minutes after I'd gone?"

The other boy gulped. "I was ashamed of my father, all right? But I still wanted to know if he was all right. I crawled over to him, but when I got close, I saw his arm, Harry. The way he'd landed, the sleeve of his robe had fallen away from it. And there it was, his mark. It had always looked so . . . exciting to me before. Something to bear proudly. But then . . . I saw it for what it really was. Dark, ugly, burned black. A mark to make a Malfoy into a slave! I didn't want it any more, but I knew I wasn't going to have a choice! If I said no, my father would do worse to me than I'd just seen him do to you, and if after that I still resisted, he'd kill me without the slightest hesitation!"

Noticing that the other boy's fists were clenching, Harry softly reminded him, "But that won't happen now, Draco. Snape and I will keep you safe."

"Right." The word sounded thick, and Harry couldn't tell if it was with doubt or gratitude. "Anyway, when I could rip my gaze away from that awful mark, that was when I saw your wand sticking half out of his pocket. I couldn't have been more surprised than if the Dark Lord had welcomed you into the fold! That is, my father had mentioned your wand to me, but I'd assumed he'd already handed it over. I don't know if he was supposed to do it when he first presented you, and you distracted everyone with your open defiance --Merlin's balls, calling him Tom to his face!-- or if the plan was to give up your wand as some sort of ceremony after you were burned, but the fact was, my father still had it. I slid it out, smooth as I could, but my father felt it move. He tried to reach out and st-- st-- strangle me, but I scrambled away. Thank Merlin, he was too weak to try to follow. When I looked back I saw that he'd fainted, actually."

"When did it strike you," Harry wryly put in, "that with my wand, your whole story would sound a bit more believable?"

Draco's lips tightened. "The moment I saw it. But beyond that, Harry, I knew you needed that wand. Besides . . ." He sighed. "When I realised that you were strength and Voldemort was weakness, it was a foregone conclusion who was going to win this war. I wanted to be a part of that, instead of getting bound for life to servitude and defeat."

Harry stretched out his legs and laid his cloak to the side. His hands still hurt, but he tried to ignore that in favour of reaching some sort of understanding with Draco. "But that's what worries me," he admitted. "This obsession you have about being on the winning side. If you're with me only because you think I'll win, you might run back to Voldemort the moment it looks like he's gained the upper hand."

"He's revolting!"

Harry wasn't about to let it go at that. "Yeah, but that's not proof of much. You didn't use to like me any too well, either. Yet here you are, on my side."

Draco leaned his chin on a curled fist as he pondered that. "This time, Harry, my loyalties don't depend on who I like and who I hate. My decision's based on truth. The Dark Lord makes his followers weak, simple as that. I'd have seen it earlier if I'd ever been allowed to attend a meeting. And you . . . you Gryffindor . . ." Draco coughed to cover a slight chuckle. "You have so much pride and strength that you don't need to leach it out of others. I'm better off on your side, Harry, and I know it. That's never going to change."

A memory glimmered in Harry's mind, something Snape had said about Draco . . . He went about the Slytherin dormitories, banging his way into every room, announcing that the Dark Lord was weak and made his followers weak . . .

Suddenly, Harry wanted the rest of the story out of the way. "So what happened after you got my wand for me?"

"I . . . uh, tried to Apparate to the road outside of Hogsmeade," Draco muttered, clenching his teeth, another wave of colour washing into his pale cheeks.

"Tried?" Harry questioned.

"Look, I was pretty weak from being blasted, and not really able to concentrate," Draco defended himself, speaking quickly. "I do know how, all right? But that night . . . I, er, splinched myself getting away. Lost a hand. Thankfully, not the one clutching your wand, but still . . ." He shivered slightly. "Not an experience I recommend. Anyway, I made my way back to Hogwarts on foot, and threw myself on the headmaster's mercy. Of course, I had to stand there half the night before he arrived, and then, of course, he would have Aurors with him."

"They'd been trying to break through Voldemort's anti-Apparition spells so they could get me out."

"Yeah, but they wouldn't tell me anything," Draco complained. "Not that I can really blame them, considering who I am and how many years I'd spent sort of flaunting my anti-Harry Potter attitude--"

"Sort of flaunting?" Harry mocked.

"All right, spewing it," Draco corrected, waving a hand as though to say that was ancient history as far as he was concerned. "The point is, I was frantic! The last I'd seen, you were dripping blood from about a thousand places and blind as well, and that's not even counting what the fire at your feet might have done. I just wanted to know that you were alive somewhere, but Dumbledore wouldn't tell me a thing. He took your wand, and then watched as the Aurors questioned me up one side and down the other. Hours and hours of it, and all the time me sitting there missing a hand! A couple of times he left me alone with the Aurors . . . and they got a tad rough--"

"How rough?"

Draco's expression turned bitter. "Let's just say there's a reason why Severus doesn't like Aurors any too well. Some of them aren't exactly shining examples of the Light, especially when they're questioning known or suspected Death Eaters." He shook his head at the look on Harry's face. "Don't panic. They backed off when the headmaster returned, and besides, it wasn't anything compared to what the Dark Lord did to you. It didn't even compare to the wizard's beatings my father would dole out to me."

Wizard's beatings? Harry didn't like the sound of that, but figured he could ask Snape about it later. "You weren't arrested?"

"I'd hadn't done anything to be arrested for, though the Aurors seemed to think just attending a meeting ought to do it," Draco grimaced. "Dumbledore kept reminding them that I'd handed in your wand, which was strongly to my credit, though I know perfectly well that at the time, he still had his doubts about me. At any rate, about noon the next day Dumbledore finally told them to charge me or leave, so they left." Just thinking about the Aurors made Draco look a bit as though he'd just finished sucking on a lemon.

Harry couldn't help but ask the question that sprang immediately to mind. "Why were you saying just a few days later that you wanted to be an Auror?"

Draco shrugged. "It's the best chance I'll have, isn't it? The Death Eaters want me dead. I'd rather be on the offensive than work a normal job wondering when they're going to show up to attack me. Or you, or Severus."

Harry supposed that made sense. "So the Aurors left," he prompted, phrasing it a bit like a question.

"Right. Dumbledore told me that Hogwarts could protect me from my father, but only if I did everything he asked. I had to stay confined in this little room beneath his office, and if I set one foot outside it, woe betide me. Those were his exact words. He got my hand back for me, though, just after I started my little self-imposed incarceration, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Madam Pomfrey came along and reattached it. And then I had nothing to do but sit there wondering if you'd survived. Dumbledore still wouldn't tell me a thing."

With a wave of his wand, the Slytherin boy conjured a glass of water, then quaffed the whole thing without taking a breath. "After a few days, Severus and the headmaster showed up to announce that I could stay at Hogwarts if I let them verify my story using truth serum. Technically illegal, but . . ." Draco shrugged as though to say it was just as well Snape could make his own and dispense it as needed. "After I answered all their questions, Severus told me you'd lived, but that for the moment, you were still blind. When he gave me back your wand and said I should be the one to return it to you, I was pretty well horrified."

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "You were afraid to see me that way?"

"Not that. It was the wand, Harry. Proof positive I'd been in that clearing on Samhain!" Draco exclaimed. "I might as well have just announced, Say, Potter, I'm so trustworthy that I was this close to taking the Dark Mark." He blew his breath out through his nostrils. "I could hardly believe it when you didn't put it all together. How did you think I'd got your wand?"

"I guess I just figured you'd gone home for the weekend and nicked it from your father's study," Harry murmured. "Either that, or he'd visited you here. I didn't know he had it with him on Samhain."

Draco nodded, his eyes like storm clouds. "About Samhain, Harry. I feel ill that I couldn't do anything to help you."

"Not even Snape could help me until that Portkey woke up, Draco," Harry assured the other boy. "I have to say, though . . . it's not a shining character reference that you went to that meeting expecting to enjoy seeing me suffer."

"But I didn't enjoy it," Draco objected, as if that made up for everything. "And I wouldn't have expected to if I'd known how gross and awful it was going to be."

"Got it," Harry returned, his voice level.

"You're going to hold it against me, I can tell," Draco sighed. "Not the fact that I was there, but that I went there with such a vicious attitude."

"I don't know if hold it against you is the right way to put it." Harry pursed his lips. "I don't like it, and you can hardly expect me to, but I'm trying to be mature enough to look more at what's happened since." Closing his eyes, Harry did his best to recreate all that. It was more difficult than he would have thought. Even with Truthful Dreams to help him, the memory of Samhain was just so potent . . . and just two months ago, Draco had wanted him to suffer that way. How could they possibly move past that?

But Draco did put himself at risk to steal your wand, his conscience reminded him. And ever since, he's been trying to help and protect you as best he can. He figured out the reciprocal magic so that Dudley could safely come to Hogwarts to ward you. He tutored you in every subject and spent hours and hours trying to get your magic working, and in his free time, wrote endless letters to students in Slytherin, all in aid of you. He saved your life when Darswaithe would have delivered you back to Lucius.

And as if all that wasn't enough, he pushed down his own jealousy and sense of rejection when it came to the whole adoption thing. He could have told the casewitch something to stop her from signing on, but instead he went along with what you needed even when it was something actually hurtful to him . . .

"Harry?" Draco prompted.

Harry tilted his head a little as he opened his eyes to look at Draco. It seemed so strange, looking at him now. They'd been enemies for so many years. And now . . . they weren't exactly friends, but they were house mates, as Snape had said. And whatever the past, Draco had proven himself worthy of trust.

"I understand about Samhain," Harry finally answered. "You were fifteen and an idiot."

"I'm sixteen, just like you," Draco stressed.

"It's a saying, all right? It means . . . Your behaviour was disgraceful and you really should have known better, but you needed to grow up more before you could."

Draco nodded but his silver eyes remained uncertain. When Harry tried to look more fully into them, the Slytherin boy actually shied away. "What?" Harry pressed. "Come on. You can't start holding back now, not when we're finally getting the air cleared! Draco?"

"It's nothing," the Slytherin boy muttered, looking away as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Worse, it's completely stupid."

"I don't care," Harry stressed. "After everything else we've discussed, how bad could it be?"

"It's not bad, it's just . . . kind of personal."

"What?" Harry pressed, but Draco pressed his lips together and gave a small shake of his head. Determined to make the other boy open up, Harry tossed out the most outrageous suggestion he could dream up on the spur of the moment. "You secretly love Hermione?"

For an instant, Draco looked a bit as though he'd just swallowed his own tongue. "Perish the thought," he drawled, that familiar aristocratic light creeping back into his eyes. "Credit me with a little taste."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Just as well he'd mentioned Hermione, since Draco's obsession over pure blood was another thing that needed clearing up. "There is nothing wrong with Muggleborns, Draco. You can't think you're on my side if you're still going to believe Voldemort's bigoted propaganda. My mother was a Muggleborn."

"Yes, yes, and some of your best friends are Muggleborns. Literally." Draco paused, clearly thinking. "Look, I may not have it all figured out, but I'd be pretty stupid if it hadn't dawned on me that supporting you means I can't believe blood to be everything. You're the vanguard and you're only a half-blood yourself!"

"The fact that you even notice things like that is what bothers me," Harry retorted.

Draco squared his shoulders. "I can't help categorizing wizards. It's something I learned to do as a child, same as you learned to chew your own lip when you're feeling worried."

Harry's voice was dry. "It's hardly the same sort of thing."

"No," Draco admitted. "But just answer me this. Have I said one word against Muggleborns since I gave you your wand?"

"You sure have! You called Hermione a cow!"

"Not because of her parentage! That was because she was being one, bleating all over the place about how Hermione-knows-best!"

"It's sheep who bleat."

"Well, forgive me for not being a farmer!" Draco shouted.

The wisecrack somehow broke the tension. Harry felt his lips quirking into a grin, and it only got worse when a nervous laugh bubbled up Draco's throat. "What do you still need to tell me?" Harry pressed a moment later. "Whatever it is, Draco, it'll be all right. I promise."

"It's stupid like I said," Draco muttered. "But it's been on my mind some, and it's one more reason I just couldn't stand the thought that you might figure out Samhain on your own. Of course, I didn't know Severus was going to sneak the truth in by means of his dratted potion, did I--"

"Draco, just tell me!"

Inexplicably, the other boy blushed a deep crimson. "Er . . . well, it's just that since I was there on Samhain, you know . . . I, er . . ." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Saw you naked."

"So?"

"So, I thought you might be embarrassed. Just so you know, I tried not to look, all right? I certainly didn't want to see . . . er, that. No offence."

"Oh, none taken," Harry murmured, raising a hand to his mouth in a vain effort to quell his humour. He finally had to bite the side of a finger before he could get control of himself. It really hurt; his hands were still sore from the not-so-wild-magic he had performed. "Draco, be serious. By the time the Death Eaters stripped my clothes off, I had needles sticking out of me all over at bizarre angles. I had much bigger problems on my mind than who might see what!"

To Draco's credit, he didn't even smirk. "Right," he agreed. "I halfway knew that, but . . . well, sometimes people can get awfully strange about things like that. And with you Muggle-raised, I honestly didn't know how you might react. Are we . . . " He fortified himself with a breath. "Can you still stand me, then? Even with what you know about Samhain?"

"What have I been saying for the last little bit?" Harry couldn't help but ask. "Of course I can. I'd have trusted you a lot sooner if I'd known all this. I kept thinking you seemed so changed, but that it must be an act because nothing you'd told me could explain what had changed you."

Draco made a face. "Severus said that was the problem. In fact he said, and I quote, I know Harry Potter quite well these days, and I do assure you, Draco, he is not so mean-spirited as to resent you for past errors in judgment which you have since rectified." Harry couldn't help but smile at that. It felt nice to know that Snape had had such faith in him. He was really glad he hadn't disappointed the man this time.

Draco acknowledged Harry's smile with a slight one of his own. "Anyway, he kept urging me to tell you the truth. But I couldn't. I was so sure it would ruin everything. I guess . . . he knew you a lot better than I did."

"You owe him a big apology," Harry sternly told the Slytherin boy. "Personally, I think after the way you acted last night, you should have to cook the three of us some . . . uh, gigot d'agneau à la provisoir."

"À la provençale," Draco dryly corrected. "The other sounds like leg of lamb cooked temporary-style. I don't want to know how that would come out."

"Some of us didn't learn French in the cradle."

"Obviously. And some of us didn't learn to cook, full stop. I believe I told you wizards had much better things to do?"

"Not out here, we don't," Harry argued. "Why should Snape have to do all the work? I say you and I should cook him Christmas dinner. Wouldn't that be nice?"

Draco slanted him a glance that clearly announced that no, nice wasn't a word that even remotely applied. "Christmas will be a great deal more enjoyable if the meal is edible," he lightly scathed.

"Oh ye of little faith," Harry murmured, and when Draco looked confused, added, "Muggle saying. I . . . hmm, not sure if I should mention this, but I think I'll go out on a limb. I want you to apologize to Hermione, too. For the cow comment."

"Sure, I'll just tell her it was really sheep I meant."

Harry glared. "No."

"I'll apologize to her the minute she admits that she was wrong," Draco compromised. Of course, his heart wasn't really in it, since in the next moment he was qualifying that with, "And since we know that Granger never ever thinks she's wrong about anything?" He favoured Harry with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

"She is wrong, though," Harry agreed. "Snape's turning out to be pretty good at this father business."

"Then why do you keep calling him sir?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Unless it's because . . . well, I lost my real father before I could even talk, so I obviously didn't call him anything. And since Uncle Vernon was never remotely like a dad to me, I just don't have any uh . . . experience. Everything I can think of to call him just seems . . . clumsy."

Draco was frowning by the time Harry finished. "Don't mention in front of Severus that he's not your 'real father,' Harry."

"I meant real as in bloodline, not real as in real, and you know it!"

"What I know is that Severus is too Slytherin to let you know every time you hurt him."

Harry sighed, and crossing his legs again, bent over them. That was probably true, but it had never really occurred to him. Now, it made him wonder how many times he'd hurt Snape without meaning to. "I'll do better," he told Draco, glancing through his fringe at the other boy. "I mean, I know you care about him. I . . . do too, you know."

"Harry, it's Severus who should know."

"Yeah," Harry said, the single word almost sticking in his throat. "Um, well I think he knows without me saying so."

"Oh, you think Slytherins are so intuitive?" Draco sneered.

"Well, you're not doing half-bad."

"Touché." Draco stood up, then, this time offering his hand to Harry. In just a moment more, he had restored the duvet back to its original form. Before dissolving the warming charm around them, he donned his cloak and wrapped it tightly around him. "By the way, I have to tell you something else. Your scar. It's not hideous and disfiguring."

Harry self-consciously tugged his hair down to hide the scar in question. "I know how it looks."

"Harry, I only ever said that because . . . well, I was sort of jealous of you."

Harry scowled. "I thought you didn't want to be marked by Voldemort."

"I don't. I wasn't jealous because of that. It was more how you always got so much attention, and special privileges, and well, it seemed to me like you had such a perfect life. I said your scar was hideous just to get to you."

"Oh, perfect life," Harry scathed. "Yes, the Dursley house was a lovely place to grow up. It was also wonderful when the whole school thought I was an assassin, and when Dementors had to swarm the grounds because an assassin --or so they thought-- was looking to kill me. And it was marvellous when all of Hogwarts thought I was a liar, and when the press took up the theme--" Harry abruptly stopped whinging on about his troubles. "The Dursley house," he repeated. "That was horrible of you to give your father the address, even if he already did know it."

Draco didn't bother defending himself. "It was," he agreed. "It was one in a long string of horrible things I'd done to you. But Harry. It's the last in that long string. I promise."

Harry nodded, determined that they'd say no more about it. "Let's go in and talk to Snape, now."

Draco's answering smile was sly. "You do realise by now that Severus wanted me to find that mask and robe, wanted me to open that box?"

Harry froze in mid-step. "The professor wouldn't deliberately try to shock me into doing wild magic. He may have plans inside plans, but he has my best interests at heart."

"Oh, no doubt," Draco agreed. "It was a warning, Harry. For me, not for you. Severus told me a few days ago, when we had that late-night chat, that I wouldn't like what he'd do if I kept refusing to tell you about Samhain. I think the Death Eater clothing was his way of threatening to bring it all out into the open himself."

"That's . . . ah, pretty Slytherin," Harry had to admit. Almost on a level with Draco changing their room into silver-and-green so that Harry would have to ask for other colours. It was the same sort of manipulation. Still . . . "How could Snape know you'd open that box, though? It's pretty far-fetched. I mean, I might have opened it."

"Oh, please. I bet you've never opened a Christmas present early in your life."

"Well, no," Harry admitted. "But that might be because I haven't got very many."

"Hmm. At any rate, Severus knows I have a bad habit of it. My father used to have to hex the boxes to make me behave. Severus would expect that I couldn't resist peeking into any mysterious box right about Christmas time."

"So that's why you were so mad," Harry realised. "I thought it was just because he'd been careless."

"He's about the least careless person I can imagine," Draco retorted. "Anyway, I just thought you should know. I can admit I was being a prat last night, but I was seriously provoked."

"And if you hadn't been?" Harry challenged. "I wouldn't have seen the clothes, and dreamed of you at Samhain, and realised once and for all that you did have a reason to switch sides."

"So you're justifying his behaviour?"

Harry thought about that. "Yes, I suppose I am. Even if it didn't work out as planned, he had to do something to make you tell me."

Draco snorted. "You are half-Slytherin. Well, I suppose that's good. You'll probably like your Christmas present pretty well."

"What is it?"

"Oh, you expect me to spill? I thought you didn't open presents early."

Really curious, Harry joked, "Oh, but that was before I knew I was half-Slytherin, see? Come on, just give me a hint."

Draco lengthened his stride, forcing Harry to hurry to keep up. "All right, one hint," he allowed. "It's something I tried to give you before."

Now Harry was the one who was snorting. "You've never tried to give me anything except my wand."

"Wrong, though I don't blame you if it slipped your mind. You were under a lot of stress. It was in the hospital wing. I came by to visit, and you threw your food at my face. Good aim for a blind boy, even if you hit the wall instead of me. So I tossed you a little get-well present I'd owl-ordered for you. You didn't open it though. When Dumbledore gave it back to me, he said you thought it might be hexed."

"Oh, sorry about that," Harry murmured. "I didn't have any reason to trust you at the time."

"But Harry," Draco said, grinning by then, "it is hexed."

And after that, no matter what Harry asked, Draco wouldn't give him any further hints.

Chapter End Notes:

Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:

Chapter Fifty: Christmas

~

Comments very welcome,

Aspen in the Sunlight


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