Before the Dawn – Chapter 2

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Not mine now. Never was. Never will be. World without end.

Summary: Sequel to Walk the Shadows. After a horrific summer, Harry seems to be recovering from his ordeal, with the help of Snape and Lupin, as well as his friends, including, oddly enough, Draco Malfoy. But appearances can be deceiving.

Warning for language.

With that, he closed the door in Hermione's face, and waited for the fallout.

Severus had barely begun his lesson, with the fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, when he was interrupted. Usually, interruptions would cost those doing the interrupting an arm or leg, or their self-respect at the very least, but when he saw Hermione Granger's face as she burst in on his lesson, he was startled into doing something he rarely - if ever - did. He left his classroom.

"Instructions are on the board, if you can be bothered to read them. Ingredients are in the cupboard. Well?" he snarled at the students as he strode toward the door. "What are you waiting for? Begin!"

As the students scrambled madly to obey, Severus steered Miss Granger into the corridor and put up a hasty - but effective - muffling spell to keep their conversation quiet. "What is it?" he asked harshly.

"It's Harry-" she started.

"I gathered as much." His hands clenched into fists, and he barely kept himself from surging down the corridor toward their rooms. "Is he hurt?"

"No!" she said quickly. "Or, I don't think so. . . ."

"Explain," he snapped.

"He's . . . " Granger hesitated, and shifted her weight from foot to foot nervously, even as she shifted the weight of the books in her arms. "I think he's not doing well."

Severus knew that. The boy had not left their quarters since classes began, or, more specifically, since the students returned from summer holidays. And he had not been sleeping well, having nightmares when he slept at all. He needed to have a frank discussion with Harry about the use of his Silencing charm, if nothing else. But rather than say any of that, he crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at the girl. "You interrupted my class for this?"

She frowned back at him, and Severus tried to remind himself that Harry considered her a friend, and he should not decapitate her in front of witnesses. The simple fact that she had interrupted his lesson was almost proof that something was more wrong than he had assumed. He knew she would never have done so otherwise. And wasn't she supposed to be in class!

"Yes. Did you know he blames himself for what happened at the Ministry? With Mr. Malfoy?"

Of course Harry did. He had, after all, reduced Malfoy to a Squib. But Severus had not thought Harry had told the girl what happened. Still, "It was self-defense."

"Obviously," the girl said, fairly dripping disdain, and Severus itched to take her down a peg. "But I don't think Harry sees it like that. He sounded almost . . . like he thought he'd done something really wrong. Like he thinks he's going Dark. He said you were the only thing that saved him from killing Mr. Malfoy."

Surprised, Severus showed it with no more than a slight narrowing of his eyes. But he realized, a moment later, that he should not be surprised. When had Harry not taken up the burden of others' guilt? After all, he blamed himself for every death, every torture that the Dark Lord had meted out since his return, as if his being forced to give the monster his blood at knife point had made him in any way culpable. And he blamed himself for what happened to the Headmaster, too. Not to mention Cedric Diggory, and his Dogfather . . .

With a sigh, Severus said, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Granger. I will speak to him."

"Thank you, Professor." The girl pressed her lips together, then added, "And I don't think he's sleeping or eating. He looks . . . less rested, and a bit thinner than he did a couple weeks ago."

"I know," Severus said. "If that is all?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry for interrupting your lesson."

He nodded stiffly, and returned to his classroom, mulling over what the girl had told him. A headache bloomed behind his eyes, and he rubbed at his temples to ease the pain. Harry was a difficult problem to solve, no doubt about it. But the boy seemed to be making progress. Was it all a lie?

When one of the Hufflepuff's cauldrons started to smoke, he was almost glad for the diversion. Yelling at students was far easier than considering how to deal with his wayward ward.

Draco Malfoy was in a quandary.

Despite what he projected to everyone, had projected to everyone, at least in Slytherin, at least until recently, he really did not want to be a Death Eater. And he really did not like his father. The latter of these particular feelings had been growing stronger since he was a small boy and had learned a healthy respect for his father's sliver-topped cane.

The not wanting to be a Death Eater thing, though . . . that was new. He'd been contemplating the uselessness of the Dark Lord's whole campaign of terror for the last year or so, especially when dealing with idiots like Umbridge and Fudge and the hash they were making of his Hogwarts education. But the feeling had grown resolute after his father had bragged to him about what happened to Harry Potter over the summer, only a week or so before he lost all his magic.

Draco could not believe how naïve he had been.

That his father could do something like that. That the Dark Lord could do it, and encourage his followers to . . . As a pureblood and a Malfoy, he had been raised to believe himself better than everyone else. He had learned he could have anyone he wanted, just as his father could. But willingly. Not by rape. Merlin, never that.

It was so . . . completely uncouth. So unnecessary.

So utterly despicable.

His father's bragging had elicited the opposite reaction Lucius was hoping for, Draco was sure. Draco's feeling of revulsion for his father had been cemented, and he was more than pleased to gloat over the man's misfortune, when he and his mother had learned his magical core had been destroyed.

Despite the fact that his family was now in disgrace, thanks to Lucius' Squibness, Draco had wanted to congratulate Potter on a job well done. But when he saw his one time rival, on the night the students returned to the castle . . . all he had been able to say to the other boy was that his father had disgusted him.

In the dim dungeon light, Potter's face had been so . . . hard, like stone. Like brittle stone. His eyes were filled with too much knowledge, too much pain. Draco had wondered again if the rumors about Potter's home life - about a cupboard and being starved and beaten - were true. Even if not, Potter had been through far too much of late to emerge unscathed.

Thus Draco's quandary. He had a reputation to uphold, and fellow Slytherins to support - if they didn't try to kill him first - but he could not do so if it meant hurting Potter any more.

He, Draco Malfoy, actually cared. About Harry bloody Potter.

He had thought the very idea would be enough to make him throw himself off the Astronomy Tower at first opportunity. But he had managed, for almost two weeks, not to do so. But he had also managed to stay away from Harry, even though he was pretty sure the guy could use a friend, or someone to talk to, at the very least. Oh, sure, he had the Mudblood and the Weasel, but neither of them would truly understand the darkness that Harry had seen, had experienced . . .

And since when had he become 'Harry' anyway?

But then he found out that no one had seen Harry since that night, and he knew such isolation wasn't good for the dark haired boy. And then Granger had arrived late for NEWT Transfiguration. Granger! Though Professor McGonagill was properly horrified, Draco had been merely curious, especially when the Mudblood turned in an essay of Potter's. She had been to see him, then, but from the look of things, their talk had not gone well. Granger had sat down next to the Weasel, of course, and whispered with him, until they were both looking grim.

Thus, after class, when he had a free period, he found his feet taking him to his godfather, Severus', quarters, with barely formed plans of how he would talk to his one time enemy. How he would offer an ear to bend, or something, and how they would be fine old friends, despite the way Potter had rejected him so long ago.

Or, maybe they could just have a truce. No hexing, maybe. And maybe, Draco could get in good with the Chosen One and could salvage something from his father's abjectly miserable failure. Maybe Harry would help protect him from the Dark Lord, now that his father was no longer able to run interference.

Draco really did not want to be a Death Eater.

Drawing a deep breath, Draco knocked on the door. He was not sure what he had expected to see when the door opened, but a bloodshot and wobbly Potter was not it. He did expect the wand currently leveled at his chest, as well as the look of wary curiosity. But Potter was scrawnier and more exhausted looking than he had been less than two weeks ago. Had Severus not noticed?

"You look like hell, Potter," he said. It wasn't what he'd planned on, but the sardonic twist of Potter's lips told him his gaff wouldn't make any difference in his reception.

"Thanks. What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

"Yeah?" Potter's eyes narrowed. They were dark underneath, like he was sporting two black eyes. The only thing steady about him was the wand. "What about?"

"Protection." He drew a breath, and ostentatiously peered over his shoulder before he lowered his voice. "From certain megalomaniacs. Can we not discuss this in the hallway of the dungeons?"

Potter stared at him for a long, long time. Draco tried not to peer down his nose at the other boy, but it was tough not to. Potter was short and scrawny. How could he be the hope of the Wizarding world? But then, he had turned Lucius into a Squib . . .

"I don't trust you," Potter said at last.

"I know." Draco sighed. This was going to take some drastic measures. He slipped his wand into his hand, and Potter tensed. But then Draco spun the wand around, to extend the length of Hawthorne to Potter, handle end first.

Potter stared at him. "That's . . ."

"Take it. I wasn't going to hex you or anything, but now you can be sure of it."

"I don't . . ."

"For crying out loud," Draco said with some asperity. "What do I have to do to get you to talk to me? Just talk, nothing else."

Potter rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked away, shrugging. Then his off-hand zoomed out and he caught hold of Draco's wand, snatching it away as if it were a snitch. Bloody Seeker reflexes. He weighed the wand in his hand, watching Draco from under his fringe, which was shaggier than usual. Draco was trying really hard not to grab his wand back, but his hand kept twitching.

"All right," Potter said after a moment, sounding more weary than anything. "You can come in."

"Thanks ever so," Draco replied, but he followed the smaller boy into Severus' sitting room, where he made himself comfortable on the settee. Potter, he noted, did not sit down, but hovered at the edge of his vision, shifting his weight from foot to foot, while still twisting Draco's wand in his hand.

Finally, Potter said, "Do you want something to drink? Tea?" Then he shook his head. "No, forget that. I'm not have a tea talk with you."

Draco raised an eyebrow in response, an expression he had learned at Severus' knee, and he almost smiled at Potter's scowl. "Tea's all right."

"No!" Potter sighed deeply. "How about hot chocolate?"

"That'll do," Draco said, wondering what the heck was wrong with tea.

A few minutes later, they were sipping cocoa together, and Potter said, "You wanted to talk. So talk."

"So, all right . . ." Draco stalled by taking another sip of cocoa. "I want protection. Like I said."

"Uh huh. And why should I help you?"

Well, Draco had not really considered that Potter wouldn't want to "help someone turn to the Light." This might take some actual work. "I'd think you'd want to help a fellow student, a Slytherin no less, turn his back on the Dark Lord."

Potter's eyes narrowed again, and even though he looked like crap, the predatory gleam in his eyes was very bright. Yet his tone was ice cold when he said, "Call him Voldemort."

"I . . ." Draco steeled himself. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Are you serious?" He shook his head. "Potter, do you not know anything? Saying the Dark Lord's name when you're a Death Eater is just asking for pain."

Draco realized immediately that he had made a mistake.

Teeth gritted and hands clenched into fists, Potter snarled, "You're a Death Eater? Already!"

"No, no, I'm not! I swear! But I was raised to be one. Raised to know what not to say!"

"Let me see your goddamned arm!"

Flushing with humiliation and shaking with anger, Draco rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, knowing which one Potter wanted to see, to show pale, unmarked flesh. This had probably been a big mistake, altogether. "Nothing, see?"

Potter was just as red faced as he was, but he nodded once. "Sorry," he said harshly. He turned to face the fireplace, away from Draco. "But I . . . I mean, your father . . ."

"I know," Draco interjected softly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Potter had just apologized to him. "I know what you mean."

"Do you?" Potter asked, looking briefly over his shoulder.

Draco stood, to try and put them on more equal footing, and Potter turned back to face him, though he didn't back up as Draco thought he might. "Yeah . . . Listen, Potter . . . I don't want to be like him. And I don't want to be a Death Eater."

"No?"

"No." Draco sighed. "You have no idea what it's like, right now. Since my father . . . since he's been disgraced. I mean, if you think Severus has it bad-"

Potter's head jerked up, and the light in his eyes flared. "Wait, what? What about Severus?"

"What do you mean, what about him? He abandoned the Dark Lord. He helped you escape. You didn't think he'd get away with that, did you?"

"He hasn't said anything . . ."

Draco sneered. "Oh, right. Like he was going to tell you about the problems he was having in his House."

"Slytherins?" Potter looked lost, suddenly.

Just managing to not roll his eyes, Draco could not keep the sarcasm out of his tone. "No, the Prince family home. Imbecile."

"Fine, you little snot." Potter glared at him. "Don't tell me. It's not like it's my goddamned life we're talking about here."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Potter."

"I'll be as bloody melodramatic as I bloody well want," Potter growled. "Now get the hell out of here."

"No, wait." Draco held up his hands, to remind Potter than he didn't have his wand. "Please. I . . . I honestly don't want to fight with you. Can we just have a normal conversation for once?"

With a self-deprecating noise, Potter shook his head. "Normal? I don't even know what that means anymore."

Draco bit his lip, and released it almost immediately. Wouldn't do to have Potter see him as nervous. Even if he was. Especially if he was. "Having a bit of a hard time then?"

Rather than snarl again or get angry, Potter shrugged one shoulder and looked away. "Doesn't matter."

Frowning slightly, Draco moved a little closer to the smaller boy. "What doesn't?"

"Any of it. Life, the universe . . . I have a job to do, and I have to get on with it. Everything else is meaningless."

Wondering what, exactly, that was supposed to mean, Draco hesitated a few moments. Then, very quietly, he said, "Everything else is life, Harry."

Potter jerked as if he had been slapped, but that feral gleam was gone from his eyes, and he now looked just tired. World weary. For the first time, Draco honestly thought about what it might be like to be the Boy Who Lived. And he didn't find the idea appealing in the slightest.

"Yeah," Potter agreed in a small voice.

They stood facing each other for a long time, until Draco finally said, "Do you . . . do you want to talk about it?"

A quick shake of the head, but then Potter said. "Thanks, though. I, um . . . I'm kinda tired now. Thanks for coming down."

Recognizing the dismissal, Draco nodded and headed back toward the door. Potter followed him and when they reached the door, handed him back his wand. "I could come back sometime," Draco offered. "If you want."

Potter looked away again, and ran a hand through his hair, which looked more unkempt than usual. "Um, yeah. Okay. If you want."

Draco nodded, but waited till the door closed behind him to smile.

TBC….