Cleo’s hands shook, caked with dried blood.
Harry, standing beside her, wished there was something he could do to quell them.
Their Heads of House flanked them on either side as Dumbledore’s voice descended on them like a gavel.
“Explain.”
No invitation to make themselves comfortable, no small talk, no sweets on offer. Just a single word. An unmistakable order.
And Harry obeyed it without thinking. “Professor, I--”
“The question is for Miss Croft.”
Harry’s shallow breaths sounded loud in his ears. He saw Cleo’s fingers twitch where they were clasped in front of her.
“Last week, there was an incident during my shift at work that involved Miss Ayers,” was her formal preface. Harry stared at her, wondering how she could possibly maintain such a level tone and expression at a time like this. “She felt in danger since one of her captors was being given free roam of St. Mungo’s. I brought this complaint to staff and the Aurors in charge of her case. Her concerns were not only belittled, but completely dismissed.”
Dumbledore watched her from behind his half-moon spectacles, fingers threaded together atop his desk. Beside him, a quill fluttered midair, taking note of what was being said.
“I made the executive decision to bring Miss Ayers to the castle--”
“Wait,” Harry objected. “That makes it sound like--”
“--on the day a second visit by said captor had been planned by the hospital.”
His gaze darted frantically between her and the headmaster. “You didn’t have a plan at all until we talked about it!”
She continued talking over him. “I realized that the only means I had to safely remove her from the hospital was my portkey--”
“Professor, it wasn’t just her!”
“--the one I utilize to get to and from work. I waited until the end of my shift and--”
“None of it would have been possible without my invisibility cloak!”
Dumbledore raised a hand, gaze severe as it fell on Harry for the first time. “Mr. Potter, this is an official record. Do not interrupt.”
Mr. Potter? Mr. Potter? Harry gaped, feeling as if he’d been displaced to another universe entirely. In disbelief, his gaze sought out the other teachers. McGonagall’s arms were folded as she watched Cleo with a tense frown, but Snape…
“I took advantage of the gap in time when Miss Ayers was unattended by her Minders--”
Harry met Snape’s steely, baleful glower with a dazed sort of turmoil.
“She and I had spoken and agreed to the terms beforehand; so, when we arrived at the castle, I had a dress and mask prepared for her so she could blend into the crowd during the Ball. We agreed that we would stay the rest of the night in the choir room and return during my next morning shift.”
His gaze broke from Snape to appeal to the only person left. “Cleo, please don’t do this--”
She didn’t say anything. Not to him, at least. “We were in the corridor when Mr. Malfoy approached us. He attacked me and then chased Miss Ayers down the hallway, where Mr. Potter interceded.”
Harry couldn’t say why, but the placid cadence of their discussion was having quite the opposite effect on him: he felt positively frenzied, his breaths coming faster as Cleo’s story unfolded without him.
The quill beside the headmaster paused when she did. Dumbledore prompted her, “Please provide a more detailed account of your altercation.”
Point after point, she detailed her encounter with Malfoy. His threats, her defiance. The unmistakable danger Violet was in. Cleo’s description of their violent clash was dispassionately clinical; every absently spoken word weighing down on his overburdened frame until it became difficult to stand. Several times, Cleo abruptly stopped talking, her teeth clenching against a rush of discomfort, a reflexive amplification in the trembling in her arms.
All the while, she did not mention Harry once.
“... And Malfoy then used a non-verbal spell to incapacitate me. I don’t remember what happened after that.”
“And where does Mr. Potter enter this series of events?”
Her eyes closed. “I remember hearing him from behind me. He probably noticed something from the Great Hall and came to investigate. I remember telling him to help Miss Ayers. From there, he went in pursuit of Mr. Malfoy and… the details aren’t something I can recall, Headmaster. By this time, I was having a hard time keeping conscious.”
Harry wanted to scream: That’s not how it happened! But the words remained harrowingly trapped inside his mouth.
“I remember Mr. Potter yelling something and I felt compelled to go check. So I got up, and I stumbled down the corridor where Miss Ayers had her accident. Mr. Malfoy was nowhere to be seen; I don’t know what happened to him. After having Mr. Potter assist me in a few first aid procedures, I instructed him to find help and administered chest compressions with rescue breaths until Professor Snape arrived.”
“I see,” was the headmaster’s cool response. “Is there anything further you would like to add to your record of events?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well.” Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, the iridescent sheen of his robes moving with him. “The testimony of Miss Clytemnestra Croft, Sixth Year Hogwarts Student, has been concluded,” he stated for the quill’s benefit. It finished this last with a flourish before going still at his command.
Taking hold of the parchment, the headmaster lifted his gaze to Cleo once more. “You understand, Miss Croft, that you must sign this document in full acknowledgement of its veracity?”
She took a few steps toward the desk. “I do, sir.”
“And you are aware of the charges which will likely be put before you by the Ministry, based on this testimony?” Dumbledore stressed. “Child Abduction and Negligent Harm to an Innocent Being?”
Her jaw quivered. “I am, sir.”
“I trust it is also clear to you that these charges have the potential to place you in Azkaban.”
Her eyes had gone dewy. “Yes, sir.”
Harry moved so quickly that he hardly registered his own action; in an instant, he was between Cleo and the desk, actually shoving her out of the way. She staggered, both of the professors drawing wands at the disturbance, but it was Dumbledore’s voice booming behind him which gave him pause.
“I will not permit violence in my office!”
Harry rounded on him, grabbing a fistful of the parchment before him and crumpling it as much as he could in Dumbledore’s grasp. “Oh, so the rest of the castle’s fair game, then?!”
The man did not rise to this bait. “You and I will be speaking later.”
He gritted his teeth. “Don’t bother!”
“Mr. Potter, the Ministry requires--”
“Who fucking cares about the Ministry?” was Harry’s vitriolic sneer. “You never have before, so why start now?! You know this isn’t right!”
He heard Cleo from where he’d pushed her. “Harry--”
Dumbledore regarded him with a flinty stare. “That will be ten points from Gryffindor for language.”
Harry huffed an incredulous breath. “You serious? You think I care about that when you’re sending my friend to Azkaban?!”
Cleo was begging. “Harry, please--”
“A girl under the Ministry’s care is now laid up in hospital, gravely injured.” The headmaster’s voice was still hopelessly, impossibly calm. “The Aurors will not leave without an explanation.”
“Then give them one!” Harry twisted the parchment further, trying to tear it out of Dumbledore’s grasp, but it did not budge. “The real one, for God’s sake! She was protecting Violet from Voldemort! You know that!”
“That is enough,” Dumbledore reprimanded him, rising to his full height. “You will stand aside and allow these proceedings to continue, unhindered. Is that clear?”
“Stand aside?!” His anger and desperation was such that he felt the tears in his eyes as if they were daggers. “You may as well say ‘Kill the spare’!”
There was a hand on his shoulder; he flinched away from it, but it held fast. “Mr. Potter.” McGonagall’s voice. “Circumstances are not quite so dire. Calm yourself.”
He couldn’t. How… how could he possibly--?
McGonagall squeezed his shoulder as Dumbledore decisively pulled the parchment from his numb fingers. The headmaster smoothed it with a wordless tap of his wand before pointedly looking over and past Harry, like he didn't even matter. Like he wasn't even there.
McGonagall’s hand guided him backwards, allowing Cleo to pass. His heart plummeted into his stomach as she approached to take the quill from the headmaster’s hand, but he felt powerless to stop her. The feathered end fluttered as she moved to dip the quill into an inkwell, but she was blocked once again by someone unexpected: Snape.
“Headmaster, I must insist that we speak privately.”
In a single fluid motion, he had replaced the lid on the ink, his gaze firmly rooted on Dumbledore. The older man met his stare with a reproachful frown.
“No, I think not.”
Snape’s expression did not waver, his stance very still. “I refuse to stand as witness to this testimony until the matter has been taken into full advisement--”
“Then Minerva will do so in your stead,” was Dumbledore’s firm retort.
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “If we are forbidden to act freely or speak our minds, then you might just as well hire statues to replace us.”
“You of all people should understand what is at stake here, Severus,” the Headmaster warned. “It is not your place to interfere.”
“With all due respect, Headmaster,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I categorically disagree.”
Dumbledore’s reply was neutral in the extreme. “Your dissent has been noted.”
This only served to anger Snape further, his every word punctuated with razor-sharp precision. “Then your intention is to proceed shamelessly? To sacrifice a girl’s life -- her entire youth, her future -- so as to not besmirch the name ‘Potter’?” A bitter resentment colored his tone. “I would say I’m surprised, but we both know that’s a lie.”
McGonagall’s hold on Harry’s shoulder tightened. “Severus--”
“This is a disgrace,” he declared with a voice pitched low, deceptively calm. Dumbledore did not react except to regard his subordinate with stern indifference. “And if you think I will allow--”
“You will do as I require, Severus,” the headmaster told him, unmoved, “or bear the consequences.”
Snape remained in place, but did not reply. The inkwell was clenched in his grip atop the table, and Harry feared a repeat of that night when he’d invaded Snape’s memories; the man shifted, almost imperceptibly, and Harry tensed in anticipation of that little glass jar smashing against the wall opposite, its oozing contents staining the stone floor black.
But it didn’t. Snape very deliberately released the inkwell, his expression unreadable as he turned away to pace out toward the unlit fireplace. His back stayed turned as Cleo moved to sign the parchment without hesitation. His back stayed turned as Dumbledore marked the testimony with a large wax seal. His back stayed turned as McGonagall was beckoned forward to take hold of the folded parchment.
“Take her to meet with the Aurors outside,” Dumbledore told her, finally sinking back into his seat. “I daresay they might set up camp if you don’t.”
“Headmaster,” McGonagall addressed him then, her tone careful. “Is there nothing more that can be done?”
Dumbledore lifted his eyes to her with a weary air. “I tire of objections, Minerva. My mind is made up.”
Her disdainful sniff was all disapproval. “I mean have you provided Miss Croft all necessary aid? She is Muggleborn -- her knowledge of Ministry judicial matters is not guaranteed.”
It frightened Harry how passive Cleo seemed in the face of this. “I understand what I’m doing, Professor.”
Dumbledore sighed, agreeing with a simple, “There is little time for formalities, Minerva.”
She was undeterred. “Permit Severus to recommend her a barrister--”
“There is already--”
“--it is, after all, the least you could do.”
Dumbledore regarded her solemnly for a moment. Then, he sighed. “Very well.”
Under his permission, she then addressed Cleo. “Miss Croft, if it is a worry of yours, I assure you there is no danger of your being questioned under Veritaserum, as you have provided a confession in writing. However, you will likely be held at the Ministry while your testimony is admitted to their official records, and perhaps indefinitely until you stand trial. Your wand will be confiscated in the interim. Do you understand?”
Cleo made a frustrated turn toward the headmaster, apparently unwilling to entertain Professor McGonagall further. “You will alert my family of my arrest?”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised. “Of course.”
The facade slipped as her voice cracked for the first time. “And my son?”
His head dipped into a plaintive nod. “You need not worry in that quarter, Miss Croft.”
Harry’s blood chilled as he listened to the girl let out a shuddering breath. “Okay.” She turned toward the exit. “Okay.”
He heard, rather than saw, the hurried steps that led Cleo out of the office.
When Harry dared to look again, there was only a slight shock of blonde hair peeking through the crack of the already closing door, looking dull and lifeless in the firelight. Professor McGonagall quietly followed after, but the rueful expression she focused toward Dumbledore lingered long after she’d departed.
The three of them were left in utter, bone-chilling silence. Snape still turned toward the wall, Harry’s gaze directed at his feet. He couldn’t help but feel the prickle of unwanted attention, couldn’t help but notice the Headmaster’s incessant stare.
Predictably, he spoke first. “Harry?”
It sounded so gentle, but hearing his name coming from Dumbledore after what he just did… It made him feel sick. He frowned at the floor, saying nothing.
He heard the man shift behind his desk. “Please, take a seat.”
Harry looked up at him with eyes full of contempt. “No.”
Dumbledore’s worry was pronounced as he canted his head. “I understand that you may not wish to speak with me at present,” the man sympathized. “But I am prepared to hear your version of events.”
“What for?” Harry spat. “You obviously don’t need it.”
“On the contrary,” Dumbledore asserted. “Your input is invaluable.”
The compliment chafed. “Sure.”
“I feel certain that you will provide some much-needed insight into--”
“Are you quite finished?” Snape’s words viciously sliced through the headmaster’s sentence.
Dumbledore’s tone was flat. “Obviously not.”
“I will not stay silent about this, Albus--”
“And I do not require you to be,” Dumbledore remarked. “However, at present, I am speaking with Harry.”
“The boy doesn’t want to talk,” he sneered. “And who can blame him? You’ve erased any and all consequences for him--”
“Your willful misunderstanding aside,” the older man interrupted him, “I expect you to discipline yourself in a public forum, Severus; your conduct tonight has been reprehensible.”
Harry looked on with increasing trepidation as Snape advanced on the headmaster’s desk. “You dare lecture me after you have handed over yet another of my students to the Aurors?!”
Dumbledore’s frown was quite severe. “It is Miss Croft’s actions alone which have placed her in this untenable position--”
“How much longer must I endure your pitiful excuses for punishing my Slytherins while your favorites walk free?!”
“I take no pleasure in such matters, as much as you woefully attempt to insinuate I do,” Dumbledore stated, his spectacles gleaming as he turned to glare at the other man. “As it stands, the Order’s secrets must be protected--”
Snape’s lip curled. “The Order’s prized pet, more like--”
“Severus!” the headmaster’s use of his name sounded dangerously close to a reprimand. “What would you have me do? Leave Harry at the mercy of the Ministry? Throw our informants to the wolves after they invariably tear what information they can from this boy’s mind? Leave us in a position where we are so shattered and weakened that we are unable to push forward at this critical point? You know better!”
“We would not be in this position at all if you had left Potter to his studies!” Snape retorted. “Instead, you insist on involving him in matters which are far above his ability and attention span--!”
“He is fully capable of making--!”
“-- entrusting the wretched boy with information he has no business knowing--!”
There was a hardness to Dumbledore’s tone when he cut in, “Severus, you are out of line--!”
“-- and then you throw up your hands when he inevitably fails to live up to your expectations--!”
At that, Dumbledore stood, raising his voice for the first time. “The only one here who has failed my expectations is you!”
Snape stopped talking, drawing back a step, his expression frozen in indignation.
“I had thought, given time, you would let go of your senseless animosity. I had thought, after years of exposure in class, that you might tire of antagonizing the boy. And yet, it seems that even when I give you the explicit order to take care and responsibility for Harry, you are unwilling to rise to the task.”
Snape bared his teeth. “I am not Potter’s babysitter--”
“I never asked you to be!” Dumbledore countered, relentless. “I asked you to be a mentor. A counselor. A comrade. I asked you to do the bare minimum of what is required of you as not only a member of my staff, but as a member of this organization!”
The professor stood very still, his displeasure etched into every line of his face. “It was Potter’s own defiance which--”
“Are you, or are you not, the adult in this situation?” the headmaster questioned. “Was it not your duty to engender a sense of fellowship in Harry, to impress upon him that the Order is made up of allies whom he can trust?”
Snape grimaced, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “How can I, when he refuses to--?!”
“Look where we are, Severus!” the man bellowed, angrier than Harry had ever witnessed. “Circumstances have only grown more precarious since last summer, but still you are determined to cling to your resentment!”
Snape hands clenched at his sides. “I have only ever done what you asked!”
“I asked you to work as a team,” Dumbledore seethed, “and yet you could not find it in you to do even that much!”
“And that somehow justifies laying the blame for this disaster on my shoulders?!” the professor hissed, livid.
“Who else, Severus?” Dumbledore returned, letting his accusation linger in the air for a moment before continuing on. “It is indeed curious that this situation should blindside us so thoroughly when I tasked you with monitoring Miss Ayers’s condition--”
Snape’s interruption was explosive. “I cannot be in three places at once!”
“-- and it was you who was in the best position to anticipate this series of events,” he barreled on. “As professor and advisor to these two students, they ought to have felt at liberty to seek your assistance. And yet, they did not.”
Snape heaved a frustrated breath. “I cannot be held accountable for--”
“You are their teacher,” Dumbledore told him point-blank. “Your role is to provide guidance and support. Nevermind Miss Croft’s reasons -- her knowledge of matters was limited. But Harry? He was fully aware of our movements regarding Miss Ayers. Had you conducted yourself in a manner befitting your station, perhaps he would have considered seeking your aid instead of proceeding with matters on his own.”
The silence that followed was tense, agitated. Snape’s gaze darted briefly to Harry as if he’d only just remembered he was there.
“It was well within your power to assuage these concerns, to deal with the matter in a way which did not involve Aurors at my doorstep once again,” he continued. “And yet, here we are in this loathsome position, all of which was entirely preventable from the start.”
Snape drew in a tense breath, looking murderous, but his arguments were locked tight behind gritted teeth.
By contrast, Dumbledore’s ire seemed to be fast fading. Still, he was no less stern when he prompted, “Yes, Severus?”
He did not reply, though the heat of his glare was likely to bore a hole through the headmaster’s skull.
Dumbledore sighed, looking down at his hands where they were flat against the desktop. “I do not say all this to badger you; I own my part -- I am as much to blame. I have indeed involved Harry before he was ready and, in my haste, caused him a considerable amount of harm. He might have asked for help from any number of us and, had I been paying closer attention, I, too, might have been able to intervene. The fault lies not only with you and I, but with every person in this school charged with the students’ care. We have, all of us, failed today.”
Harry let out a careful breath, fighting the urge to fidget in the uncomfortable quiet. Dumbledore let loose a second sigh, reaching up to slide his spectacles off his nose.
“I have made many mistakes where it concerns Harry, but offering him my trust and respect is not one of them,” was his solemn declaration. “You would do well to remember that.”
The professor’s expression did not change, nor did he seem inclined to respond in any meaningful way. When Dumbledore sank back into his seat, apparently having said all he meant to, Snape abruptly turned on his heel and walked away. Without a single word, he passed by Harry and left the office, the door slamming behind him with a thunderous bang.
Dumbledore’s voice seemed exceptionally quiet in his absence. “Harry, my boy. Please-- have a seat.”
This time, Harry didn’t quite have it in him to refuse. He took up his usual perch, his whole body feeling sore and stiff.
“I am sorry you had to see that,” the headmaster said, glancing toward the door. “I prefer to keep my temper at even the worst of times -- I should not have raised my voice in front of you.”
He wasn’t particularly concerned about it. “S’fine,” Harry mumbled with a shrug. “Just… never seen Snape get to someone like that. I mean, besides me.” He stared at his hands, picking at the dried blood there.
“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore gently corrected. “I should like to have held this conference with him in private, but, though that did not occur, you are still his pupil, and will show him your respect.”
Harry’s nose wrinkled. “You just said he hasn’t shown me any, so why should I bother?”
“Just as he is your teacher and mentor, I am his," he replied, patient. "And as such, I expect the both of you to maintain a minimum level of courtesy, Harry."
Huffing, Harry replied with a curt, "Fine."
"Good." The man raised his head, suddenly all business. "Now, are you prepared to give your statement?"
He swallowed, hating how dry his throat felt. "Is… is Cleo really going to go to Azkaban?"
Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, stroking his beard in thought. "Truthfully? It may depend on Miss Ayers's fate."
"How is she?" he asked at once.
"Alive, as yet, but not well," the older man divulged. "I gather she sustained a rather severe head wound, though I feel certain you would know more about it than I."
“She fell on the steps to the Entrance Hall," Harry responded to that blatant hint, wincing at the memory.
Dumbledore threaded his hands together, resting them on the desktop. His attention was rapt, but he did not prompt Harry as he had Cleo.
At his own pace, Harry began, "Malfoy was chasing her. He, er… I wasn't really in the Great Hall like she said. I came out to talk to Cleo and Violet because I got ah… distracted, and I couldn't spot Malfoy anywhere. I'd been watching him all night because I sort of, ehm…"
When the headmaster regarded him with a single raised eyebrow, he blew out a breath. "Well, I kind of… stole something from him? It was a watch, with a ward on? It… twists up people's emotions. He was using it in his fights to make people go mental on him and send him off to the infirmary--"
"Harry, we have spoken about this already," Dumbledore intoned with disappointment.
"I'm not--" Harry sighed, trying to sound as credible as possible. "I'm not ‘refusing to take responsibility’. There really is something funny with the watch; Ron said--"
Oops. He'd planned on keeping his friends' involvement a secret, but Dumbledore did not seem particularly surprised by this information. As if reading his mind, the headmaster pointed out with an air of amusement, "Harry, it would be far more shocking to hear you had acted alone. There's not a spot of trouble you've had where those two weren't in the thick of it."
Well, that didn't quite ring true this year, did it? He’d almost shut them out completely -- like a total prat. Still, he'd rather not get into it with the headmaster all the same. "Anyway," he switched off, "I thought it was Dark magic, but Ron said it was an Amplifying ward? Even Urquhart said that he didn't understand what happened the day he fought with Malfoy -- that one second, he was fine, and the next, he wasn't. Like something came over him, same as me."
"Where is this watch, then?" Dumbledore asked, clearly humoring him.
Harry gestured toward the door, as if that were an accurate indication. "Ron has it. Said he was going to do some tests?"
"Harry." His name was said with a great deal of reproach. "It is dangerous to tamper with an unknown magical artefact. You and your friends are not trained Cursebreakers."
“Yeah, I know,” he groused. “We’re being careful.”
Dumbledore certainly didn’t look pleased by this, but, oddly enough, did not inquire further. “In any case, I imagine Mr. Malfoy did not appreciate your burglary?”
“Er… no.”
“And so you were monitoring his behavior…?”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, sorting his thoughts again. “And when I went out to warn Cleo, Malfoy attacked us. That bit wasn’t a lie-- he and Cleo really had it out while I was tied up with an Incarcerous.”
The headmaster’s nod was short, and Harry ploughed on, “So… after I got free, I went after him. He was chasing Violet, and… and when I got through the doors, I tried to stun him but it missed. And then-- when Violet ducked his Crucio, she sort of… lost balance and…” He paused, taking in a bracing breath. “She-- er, hit her head on the steps. Stopped moving. And Malfoy was gaining on her, but by then I’d caught up and pushed him further down. I was standing next to Violet, and I was going to cast another Stupefy, but then Malfoy was just… gone.”
“Did you not see where he ran?”
Harry shook his head. “I called for Cleo because Violet was… and when erm… ” He fidgeted. "She told me to get help, so I ran to find someone and…”
When his sentence trailed off, Dumbledore supplied, “And found Professors Snape and McGonagall.”
“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “So... it wasn’t just Cleo. And honestly Ron and Hermione weren’t really involved, but I was; I helped come up with the idea, and I gave her my cloak so she could hide Violet.”
“I see,” was all Dumbledore said.
He didn’t particularly appreciate the neutral tone. “Then you should tell the Aurors the truth.”
The headmaster frowned. “Harry, I feel certain you were listening while I was speaking with Professor Snape.”
“I mean, yeah,” he huffed. “You don’t want Order secrets getting out. But I mean, some of the Aurors are Order members, right? They wouldn’t--”
“Harry, I am glad to hear you have faith in our organization to protect you,” Dumbledore prefaced. “But those choice persons do their work for us at great personal risk. I will not endanger their lives or positions unless the situation is especially dire.”
Harry squinted at him. “What, a girl going to Azkaban isn’t ‘especially dire’?!”
“I feel you have, perhaps, latched onto this notion too completely,” he replied. “There is no guarantee of a sentence so severe, but it was pertinent to warn Miss Croft so she may not be blindsided by potential consequences.”
“But if people knew she was just trying to protect Violet--”
“They will, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “It is, after all, present in her testimony.”
Harry sighed, looking away. “Yeah, but it just feels like-- I don’t know. I’m not sure she would have done it at all if she hadn’t talked to me. I’m just as responsible as her, but…”
He wasn’t sure how to continue. He wasn’t sure how to order his thoughts. Everything was a jumble.
Dumbledore leaned back in his seat. “Harry, were you to hand yourself in, that would not diminish Miss Croft’s punishment. You would merely fall under equal scrutiny, and that is an eventuality we cannot afford.”
“Why should she be punished at all?” he argued, hands gripping the arms of his seat tightly. “Violet would have been perfectly fine if Malfoy hadn’t--”
“Even if there were no harm done, Miss Croft still chose to displace a girl from a safe environment to an unsafe one.”
“It was never safe in the first place!” Harry disagreed. “Look, the Ministry knows now that Voldemort is back; so, if they knew the whole truth about how Violet was taken captive by him then maybe, I don’t know-- Maybe Cleo wouldn’t have to be arrested.”
“A thorough explanation to the authorities would not save her from the repercussions, Harry,” the headmaster explained. “It would only serve to complicate matters unnecessarily. She is fully willing to take responsibility for both her actions and yours, and I intend to allow her to do so.”
At that, Harry rallied to a new flag. “Then-- what about Malfoy? Is he supposed to walk free when he’s the one who actually-- I mean he was actually casting Unforgivables at us like it was nothing! If I’d been a second later, he would have carried her right off to Voldemort! Again--!” Sickened at the thought, Harry cut off, pulling in a shaky breath. “And I told you ages ago that he was out of line but you wouldn’t listen!”
“I have listened-- truly,” Dumbledore insisted. “And I have also said to you that Mr. Malfoy’s situation was in Professor Snape’s hands--”
“All he ever did was tell Malfoy to bugger off!” Harry angrily blurted.
“He has been doing what he can, and that is all I will say of the matter.”
“Yeah, because there’s nothing else to say!” he accused. “Malfoy’s gone off his block, and Snape did nothing to stop it! If anyone should be arrested for ‘Negligent Harm of an Innocent Being’, it should be them!”
“Harry, please,” Dumbledore chastised. “I understand you are angry, and rightfully so, but the fact remains that there is much about this situation that you do not fully comprehend. And, in any case, Mr. Malfoy’s location is unknown, and he therefore cannot be held accountable for his crimes at this time.”
“I know Snape knows how to track people, so why can’t you just find him?!”
“Because Professor Snape was standing right here in my office until five minutes ago,” the headmaster pointed out, peering at Harry with concern. “I assure you, we will, in due time, exercise all resources at our disposal to locate him.”
“That’s not good enough!” Harry ranted, standing again. “Malfoy nearly took her right back to Voldemort! Because of him, she’s laid up in hospital, and now you’re going to let him get away?! He couldn’t have gotten far, so we should be searching for him now!”
“We?” Dumbledore’s expression was both grave and weary. “Harry, I have suspended you from all Order activities for this precise reason. You are operating by anger, fear, delirium… Given all you have experienced, it is understandable for you to feel as urgent as you do; and, in truth, I once thought similarly -- that all might be solved with quick thought and decisive action.” He forestalled Harry’s retort with a raised hand. “But, my many years have taught me that there are things more important than retribution. More important, even, than pursuing absolute justice. You vowed previously to cease your contention with Mr. Malfoy, and I will forgive today’s events due to the extenuating circumstances, but Miss Croft cannot be pardoned by accusing another. And, to be frank, I consider the safety of the remaining students, and Miss Ayers herself, to be of highest priority. The rest must, unfortunately, wait.”
Harry sank back into his chair. “You don’t believe me. Again.”
Dumbledore laid one hand atop another, inclining his head forward in apparent earnestness. “Of course I believe you, Harry.”
“But you think I’m delusional.”
“I think you are under a great deal of strain,” the man corrected.
“That’s a nice way of saying mental--”
“Harry, I think you know that was not my intended message. It is important to be temperate in these matters. I know this concept is upsetting to you, but I am asking for your trust, Harry. If only in the smallest degree.”
“Trust,” he echoed, mocking. “Right.”
“Do you think you can do that?”
Harry had no idea how to answer. If he said no, then they’d only circle back to another lecture. If he said yes… Well. He realized, with some disquiet, that it would be a lie. He truthfully did not trust the man before him one whit and, besides, letting this go quietly was not an option he could live with.
His next thought reached his mouth before he’d had time to consider what he was even saying: “What’s stopping me from telling the Aurors what really happened?”
The Headmaster peered at him, solemn and… disappointed. "Are you threatening me, Harry?"
"No!" was his prompt denouncement. “I just-- how can you expect me to sit here and watch as Cleo’s life is completely destroyed? I can’t!”
"Then don’t," Dumbledore plainly stated. "Harry-- both you and this organization are integral to winning this war and preventing a countless number of deaths. You absolutely will not share in Miss Croft's punishment. I understand you think that is not fair, but that is what it means to be an Order member. Our mission must be carried out, no matter the cost."
"That 'cost' is a person!"
"Then perhaps in future, you will think twice before acting on your own," Dumbledore countered without hesitation.
"What, and you expect me to just do nothing? You have to be joking!"
"Harry, I would caution you not to force my hand in this matter."
He balked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, regardless of your personal beliefs, you now have an important choice to make," Dumbledore explained, eerily calm. "You can do as I have instructed and vow to betray nothing which transpired between you and Miss Croft regarding Miss Ayers. Or, I will have the memories removed from your mind."
For a second, the shock of it was so bone-deep that Harry thought he'd heard wrong. “... What?”
“This is a very delicate and serious matter, Harry,” the headmaster continued. “As I said, our work must go forward, no matter the cost. If you are determined to refuse a direct order, then my hands are tied.”
Harry expelled a breath. “Is this another one of your tests?”
The man’s stare was unyielding, his expression so very severe that Harry didn't dare question again; he knew this was no empty threat. At that moment, the headmaster rose from his seat, and Harry sank further into his.
“You have fifteen minutes to make your choice.”
He left unceremoniously, the door closing soundlessly behind him, but the inauspicious click of the lock seemed, to Harry’s ears, boomingly loud.
Alone in the room, Harry immediately jumped up out of his seat to check the doorknob. A habit of his upbringing -- sometimes Uncle Vernon would slam his door so hard that it would pop open, or fumble about with the locks in such rage that they didn’t catch properly. However, as he compulsively jiggled the knob, he found it holding fast.
This news was a jolt to his system, despite the fact he’d very much been expecting it. The room felt very small all of a sudden. And fifteen minutes… Well. Fifteen minutes was really no time at all.
He needed to get out. Now.
He tried dispelling, but was unsurprised to find a simple Finite did not do the trick. He tried looking about for a key, but Dumbledore’s desk was similarly locked tight. He tried Flooing, but his Incendios fizzled in the grate, never taking hold. He even tried Apparating, despite knowing full well the endeavor was doomed from the start.
A snide voice muttered above him, “Not very bright, are you, boy?”
The portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black stared down at him, unimpressed, and Harry shot him an equally vicious glare. “Shut it.”
He had to have wasted about a third of his time by then. But-- what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let Malfoy escape. He just couldn’t. Not only would it be a betrayal to Cleo, but it would be a betrayal to the girl he’d sworn to protect. Unthinkable. No, he couldn’t back away from this. If Dumbledore wasn’t going to do anything… then he absolutely would. If he ended up losing his memories, the result would be exactly the same, and he couldn’t let that happen either.
As he shook the tension and melancholy from his limbs, gearing up for another round of escape attempts, a sudden noise at his side startled him badly enough that he whipped his wand in that direction on reflex.
“Mr. Harry Potter, sir!”
The figure that appeared was instantly familiar. The pair of bulging eyes, the pointy protruding nose, the knobby little knees, and the many layers of child-sized jumpers were more than enough to tip him off.
“... Dobby?!” His wand arm fell back to his side in relief.
“Dobby is most happy to be finding you alone!” The little elf’s ears raised. “It has been very, very difficult, sir!”
“I can imagine,” Harry muttered, glancing at the paintings on the wall.
“But Dobby is being most diligent, Mr. Harry Potter sir! Dobby has been waiting for the right moment to warn you!”
He frowned at the elf. “Warn me? About what?”
At this, Dobby’s expression became quite severe and almost angry, but exaggeratedly so, as if the emotion was foreign to him. “Warning you about Master Draco Malfoy, sir!”
Harry felt a clenching sort of feeling in his chest as he stooped down to put an urgent hand over Dobby’s mouth. “Not so loud! The paintings will hear!” he urged the elf, ushering him further away from Phineas’s suspicious stare.
When the two of them were safely cloistered at the other end of the room, Harry lowered himself to Dobby’s height as his hand fell back to his side. “What’s this about Malfoy, then? Is he planning something?”
Dobby barely caught his breath. “Dobby cannot say! But Dobby has come to tell Harry Potter that he should be staying far away from Master Draco Malfoy!”
“I can’t do that,” Harry said, his voice hushed. “He’s already hurt my friends. I have to find him.”
“No, no! That is the opposite of what Harry Potter should be doing!” Dobby objected at once. “Master Draco Malfoy is very dangerous! He was even sending Dobby as a trap! But Dobby would never be trapping Harry Potter!”
Harry leveled a shrewd stare at the creature before him. “He sent you? Like with a message?”
Dobby stepped back, his frown pronounced. "It is not mattering what Master Draco Malfoy sent Dobby to do! Harry Potter needs to be staying far away!"
"Dobby, this is really important," he urged, insistent. "I need to know what he said. Please."
“Dobby is most sorry, but Dobby cannot!” The elf’s ears flopped as he shook his head. “Dobby was already late to be helping Harry Potter’s friend, but Dobby can still be making sure to protect Harry Potter!”
"No offense, Dobby," was Harry's wry preface. "But after the last time, didn't you promise never to try saving my life again?"
“Maybe Dobby is remembering…” he meekly returned, playing with his own fingers. “But after Dobby is being so good at protecting Harry Potter last summer, Dobby is thinking that… It is sometimes okay!”
"Last summer?" he questioned, puzzled. "What did you do last summer?"
The house elf flashed a dazzling grin at him. “Dobby was making sure no one was bothering Harry Potter!”
For a moment, Harry simply stared at him, trying to fathom what on Earth Dobby was talking about. But then, he went still, his eyebrows lifting. “Wait… you mean… The wards on the house? That was you?”
Dobby appeared to take some amount of joy at the surprise in Harry’s voice. “Of course it was being Dobby!”
There was no ‘of course’ about it; Harry looked away, trying to fathom this new information. He’d been so certain it was Remus who had tampered with the wards, but… That didn’t quite make sense, did it? Not after what the man himself had said about his own absence. It was just that, never in his wildest dreams had he thought it would be Dobby.
“How did you do that?” he found himself asking, meeting the elf’s eyes again. “Snape said it would have to be a really powerful wizard to work around my mum’s wards.”
“It is being very simple!” Dobby exclaimed. “Dobby was only having to tell the house what to do!”
Perplexed, Harry dully asked, “What does that mean?”
“Dobby is not knowing any other way to explain,” he told Harry, his gigantic ears flopping haphazardly as he canted his head. “Dobby was only going to Harry Potter’s home and telling the house to make sure Harry Potter would be left alone.”
“I still don’t really understand…”
“Dobby is knowing that Harry Potter’s relatives are making Harry Potter sad very often, and… Dobby was also knowing that Harry Potter was dealing with the loss of one of his friends.” The elf paused briefly, almost looking like he wanted to… reach out for Harry’s hand, or something equally comforting, but clearly did not act on the impulse. “So, Dobby was thinking that Dobby could ask the house to protect Harry Potter.”
There was an odd clenching feeling in his chest. “You… Dobby, I don’t really know… I mean, why would you do that…?”
At that, Dobby’s eyes grew wider, if such a thing were even possible. “Why wouldn’t Dobby be doing it?”
“You’re a Hogwarts house elf, aren’t you?” Harry mentioned, uneasy. “Wasn’t that a long way to travel…?”
"Dobby would be traveling millions of miles if it meant helping Harry Potter!"
“Well… it could be dangerous, and, and Professor Dumbledore was worried about it, so…”
Dobby's expression scrunched up, all confused. "Why would Professor Headmaster Dumbledore be being upset with Dobby?"
Considering this wasn’t quite the reason the whole situation didn’t sit right with Harry, he was left unsure how to answer. “I don’t think he knows you did it? And anyway, just… promise me you won’t do it again, okay?”
"Was Dobby wrong to be trying to protect Harry Potter?" The elf asked, a sorrowful lilt to his voice.
“Yes--” Harry answered automatically before wincing. “I mean, no-- Look, can we talk about this later? I’m sort of trapped in this room and I’m… really, really short on time--”
“How is Harry Potter being trapped?” Dobby asked, disbelieving. “Harry Potter is in Professor Headmaster’s office! Harry Potter is knowing the way out!”
“I’m locked in, and I think it’s a ward, not a regular spell, so I can’t get through the door,” he explained with such speed that his words tripped over themselves. “And when Dumbledore gets back… Well, anyway, I need to be gone before then.”
“Dobby is thinking that is a very bad idea!” the elf exclaimed, bouncing on his heels. “Harry Potter is being safe enough in here!”
“Safe?!” he laughed. “No, I need you to take me out of here, or at least get help--”
“I could be getting Professor Headmaster for help!” Dobby exclaimed. “Professor Headmaster will be keeping Harry Potter safe--”
“No!” Harry instantly cut him off. “You can’t tell Dumbledore!”
“But Harry Potter must not be going out!” Dobby objected. “Master Draco Malfoy might be finding Harry Potter, and--!”
"Good," he interrupted. "I need to find him as soon as possible!"
“Dobby is telling Harry Potter that is being a very bad idea!” the elf cried. “Dobby already refused to give Harry Potter the note Master Draco Malfoy was wanting Dobby to deliver!”
"... He left a note?!" Harry jutted out an insistent hand. “Then I want to see it!”
The elf shook his head so vigorously that the loose fabric of his jumpers fluttered. “Dobby is being sorry, but Dobby cannot show Harry Potter!”
"I need to find him!" Harry stressed. "I don't care how dangerous it is; I'm doing this!"
“All by Harry Potter’s self?!” Dobby squeaked, eyes widening in absolute horror. “But it is being a trap! That is why Dobby was not bringing it to Harry Potter during the Ball like Master Draco Malfoy said!”
"I know that," he sighed, twitching his outstretched arm as a reminder. "But still. I'm going."
The elf fidgeted, vacillating from one foot to another as he stared at Harry’s hand. “Dobby doesn’t want it to be Dobby’s fault if… something horrible is happening to Harry Potter."
That plaintive admission tugged at Harry’s resolve, reminded him of his own guilt, but he wasn’t about to give up here. He couldn’t.
"Please, Dobby. Give me the note."
Dobby hesitated for an uncomfortable span of time, as if he were fighting against himself, but eventually, a defeated sigh fell out of the elf’s mouth as he slowly reached under his jumper to pull out a small scrap of paper. Before Dobby could place it in his hands, Harry snatched it from him without a second thought.
It was short. Succinct. Not nearly the verbose string of taunts that he was used to. Harry's eyes passed over it several times, committing it to memory.
Potter-- Midnight at the old well. You know what to bring.
He raised his eyes back to Dobby's fretting, nervous form. “He wants to meet at Hogsmeade?”
Dobby’s brow furrowed with concern. “Dobby is telling Harry Potter that it is a trap!”
Harry ignored that. “Are you able to find out where he is right now?”
“It is not mattering! Harry Potter should not go--”
“Can you do it or not?”
Dobby’s posture drooped in some manner of defeat at the force of Harry’s command. “House elves are always remembering how to find their masters.”
“Then you let him know I’ll be there,” he told him, standing once more. "And if you're good enough at warding to make the Dursleys stay away from me all summer, then you can easily get me out of this room, can't you?"
At this, Dobby’s frown was pronounced as he reluctantly divulged, “Perhaps Dobby may be knowing how.”
"Good." Harry blew out a short breath, one hand's grip tightening on his wand as the other crumpled the note in his fist. "Then let me out."
The air was deathly chill.
It had to be below freezing, and Harry was still in his dress robes. No cloak, no gloves, not even a scarf. His fingers were proper icicles already -- and the night was far from over.
Hogsmeade was lifeless in a way Harry wasn’t used to. He’d never been there in the dead of night, had never quite experienced the strange ambience of the dark and quiet there. The cobbled streets were shadowed by clouds. There was no moon to light his way. No sound but the howl of wind through alleyways. No movement but the haunting sway of loose shutters.
Harry crept forward, wand out, wary of making even the slightest noise. He knew Malfoy would be lying in wait again, but this time? He had a plan. A last minute, quickly brainstormed, possibly ill-advised, do-or-die sort of plan… but a plan nonetheless.
The old well was a landmark of sorts, on the outskirts of town, wedged between a disused, half-constructed storefront and a long stretch of overgrown grass ending at the treeline of the Forbidden Forest. The paved street came to a gradual end there, cobbles petering out into a wide, uneven circle of dry dirt. The well itself was boarded up and decrepit, the stone slabs barely being held together by the moss, and around the clearing were various stacks of what Harry could only assume were building supplies. There were some organized groupings of frost-dusted coconuts, a few dozen rusty bits of railroad track lined up on the side of the building, and a mess of white bricks scattered beside an enormous pile of broken china. Easily twice his height, the mountain of tableware gleamed faintly as Harry passed by.
No sign of Malfoy; not from what he could see. Sucking in a breath, he walked to the center of the dirt circle, halting beside the well. The wood slats covering the top were rotten and icy; Harry shifted foot to foot as he stared out across the clearing, folding his free hand under his opposite arm to warm it best he could.
But it was no surprise when he was suddenly assaulted by the same, rushing creep of ropes around his body, though it wasn’t any more pleasant the second time around. Harry offered only a cursory resistance as he fell sideways into the dirt and, almost as if on cue, Malfoy vaulted over the well, wand poised in front of him. He made quick work of searching every open crevice in Harry’s clothes, his motions a touch frantic.
When he stood up, empty-handed, he shot Harry an accusatory glare as a harsh breath pushed out of him. “Where is it?”
Harry gave a bland glance to his bindings. "Twice in one day? Not very creative, are you, Malfoy?"
He grasped Harry by the collar hard enough to make him choke. “Where is it?”
He coughed. "You’ll have to be more specific.”
A sharp pain surged through his windpipe as Malfoy jammed the tip of his wand hard into Harry’s throat. “Where is the watch?”
Harry took a moment to relish the pure rage in Malfoy’s expression before he casually remarked, “You know, I would help you, but I'm a little tied up at the moment.”
His grip on Harry’s collar tightened and he grunted against the pressure. “I’m not in the mood for games, Potter,” Malfoy seethed, gritting his teeth. “Tell me where it is!”
“Do you seriously think I’d be stupid enough to give it to you before I got anything in return?”
“Considering the fact you were stupid enough to call me here?” the Slytherin jeered.
Harry tried to shrug, but couldn’t really move his shoulders. “Let’s not point any fingers.”
Malfoy shook him once by the collar in warning. “I’m not going to ask again.”
“Then pay up, Malfoy.”
At that, a horrible smile slithered onto the boy's lips. “You know, Potter, I just killed a girl I barely knew.” The point of the wand sunk a painful divot into his skin. “So what do you think I’d do to someone I hated?”
Harry managed not to let his fear show on his face, his expression dipping into anger instead when he lifted his chin. “If you kill me, have fun searching all of Hogsmeade for your precious ward.”
Their eyes locked for a span of time that felt like eternity, the intensity of Malfoy’s stare boring into him in a familiar, unsettling way. If Harry hadn’t known better, he would’ve assumed Malfoy was attempting Legilimency. He couldn’t, Harry knew that, but he held his breath all the same, hoping that Malfoy wouldn’t call his bluff.
Unceremoniously, the Slytherin drew away with another enraged huff, dropping Harry from his grip. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as his head slammed back into the well’s decaying stone foundation, barely able to keep track of Malfoy as he paced the area around them with harsh, jagged movements.
Blinking the pain away, Harry cast his gaze to the side, searching. There: his wand, sitting discarded in the dirt only a short distance away… and in Malfoy’s line of sight. He couldn’t risk drawing attention to it on the off chance that the other boy got there first.
He needed to distract him. Right as Malfoy passed by for the fourth time, Harry prompted, “So, do we have a deal?”
“No, we don’t have a bloody deal,” Malfoy sneered, pivoting in his general direction.
“I’ll give you a little hint: the watch isn’t in the well.”
Malfoy suddenly turned on him again, this time directing a massive kick into Harry’s stomach. Hardly prepared for the blow, the pain seared through his lungs as his breath rushed out in hard, rattling coughs.
The boy turned his nose up to Harry’s display of pain, though somehow still disgustingly entertained. “What, not feeling so chatty anymore?”
He grimaced, too winded to retaliate. A foot came down on his shoulder, rolling Harry over until he was on his back, staring up at Malfoy’s scornful visage. “What in Merlin’s name are you hoping to get out of this, Potter?”
“I mean, I was hoping for you to rot in Azkaban for the rest of your miserable life,” Harry snidely informed him. “But since I can’t have that, I’ll take what I can get.”
Malfoy’s expression jerked as he took a step back. “And if I agreed?” he tried, apparently desperate enough to humor Harry. “How do I know you even have it?”
“Guess you don’t,” he said. “If I tell you where I’ve hidden it, there’s nothing stopping you from killing me.”
“Better be quick,” Malfoy sneered, crossing his arms. “I won’t stay this patient for long.”
Harry willed himself not to glance at his wand. “Why did you target Violet, then?”
Malfoy’s gaze narrowed. “Really, Potter?”
“Finishing what your master started?”
“You think I killed her for something as idiotic as that?”
“It’s not exactly a stretch, Malfoy,” Harry taunted. “You know, since you and your best mate Voldemort are murderers.”
His voice deadened as he responded, “Killing the girl sealed my mother’s fate.”
“Right -- because killing's really against Death Eater principles.”
Malfoy lowered himself slightly, reaching down to grasp Harry by the chin, fingernails digging into his jaw as he uttered, “I could serve you to the Dark Lord on a silver platter and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
“So, some random Muggleborn girl is more important than your dear pureblooded Mummy?” was Harry’s nasty comment. “Ironic, that.”
Malfoy’s lip twitched in contempt. With a pang of dread, Harry realized he’d pushed too hard that time; the Slytherin’s eyes narrowed, his nails burrowing painfully into his cheek. He thought he might begin to bleed before Malfoy released him with a hard shove.
Even worse, the boy stood to his full height again and began walking away toward the cobbled street.
Flexing his fingers against the taut ropes surrounding him, Harry cast about for something to say to keep Malfoy talking. His bonds restricted even the smallest movement, but, with a few false starts and an arduous lurch, he managed to wrench himself closer to his wand. Harry was slightly winded when he called after him, “Running again, Malfoy? You’re going to need more than a trip to the Hospital Wing after Voldemort tracks you down!”
Malfoy suddenly turned on him, wand held confidently aloft. He didn’t even hesitate. “Crucio!”
He’d thought this might happen, but even so, the torment was beyond his comprehension; a racking series of spasms seized such control of him that he hardly registered falling back to the ground, hardly noticed Malfoy taking several steps closer, hardly heard the garbled noises he was making in the back of his throat. The ropes made it worse; his convulsions tightened their hold on him, twisting his limbs oddly and restricting his breathing.
When the spell lifted, the aftershocks were almost worse than the initial pain; his head was throbbing where it had slammed against the dirt, his arm felt close to dislocating, and he was gasping for breath, lungs burning.
Malfoy’s foot was square in the middle of his chest, heavy and crushing. “The watch. Now.”
Harry coughed, the expulsion of air just as shaky as the rest of him. Still, his tone was filled to the brim with malice. “F-... fuck off, Malfoy--”
The point of the Slytherin’s wand was locked squarely to the middle of Harry’s face. “Crucio!”
Again, his body lit up with agony. Was it possible to die from Cruciatus? The delirious thought was carried away by wave after wave of misery. His headache grew tenfold, and, that time, his nerves were well primed, making the spasms exponentially worse. His shouts rang loud and piercing, strangled at the tail end, but there was nobody to hear them.
He was shaking even worse when it finally ended, trying to take heaving breaths but failing, Malfoy’s weight hindering him. Harry flexed his hands, desperate, and his fingers brushed against something hard in the dirt.
Despite how weak his voice was, Harry huffed a laugh. “You’re-- hah, sp-- spineless as ever, I see--”
Malfoy pressed his foot down harder, silencing him. “Just tell me where the watch is and this stops.”
“Is it re--...really so bl--...oody important to you?” he mumbled, struggling to draw breath.
Malfoy suddenly knelt down, grabbing him by his lapels as he bellowed, “Tell me where the bloody watch is, Potter!”
Harry wrenched himself to the side, twisting away from Malfoy’s grip. He held fast, but it hardly mattered; Harry’s fingers scrabbled at the ground, desperately catching hold of his wand before awkwardly jutting it into Malfoy's abdomen. “Flipendo!”
The jinx knocked Malfoy back several yards, sending him sprawling in the tall grass, and Harry hurried to free himself from the ropes binding him. His trembling limbs hindered his progress, and his Abscindo was too hasty; though it did sever his bonds, he also cut a jagged stripe into his side.
Careening out of his roped prison and into a standing position, he barely dodged a curse from Malfoy, who had similarly recovered. Unfortunately, Harry knew their positions were unequal; the Cruciatus he’d endured had left him feeling weak and lightheaded.
And the Slytherin was already poised to launch into another round, his wand arm shooting out before him as he shouted, “Crucio!”
The spell fizzled out against Harry's magical barrier, only narrowly constructed in time. He volleyed back immediately, his Stupefy echoing across the clearing, but Malfoy was more than ready for the onslaught; a Protego intercepted his spell with ease before a yellow light shot from his wand.
He tried to dodge, but he was far too unstable to manage any quick footwork; the spell connected with his ankle and, in a white-hot flash, he felt the bone shatter. Harry let loose an agonized cry as he stumbled, his answering Petrificus flying wide of its target.
Malfoy actually had the gall to laugh at him. “You’re completely out of your depth, Potter!”
Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry cast his next spell before Malfoy had even finished his jibe. “Expelliarmus!”
Malfoy let out a loud breath as his wand flew from his palm, clattering a distance away against one of the tree trunks on the edge of the Forest. For a suspended second, they both met each other’s eyes, wide and disbelieving, neither one of them quite expecting their change of fortunes.
But then, Harry moved to take a step forward, only for his leg to buckle under the pain of his ankle, and Malfoy, seeing this, immediately bolted toward the treeline.
“Shit!” Harry expelled, catching himself in a painful kneel. Shaking badly, he heaved himself into a standing position again using his good leg before limping after Malfoy. “Locomotor!”
He directed several bricks to sweep past Malfoy’s feet, tripping him, but he didn’t stay down for long. By then, Harry’s ankle was equal parts prickling pain and numbness; directing his wand at his lower leg, he murmured a hasty, “Petrificus Membrum!”
Thank Merlin for Flitwick’s homework on Field Healing -- Harry’s foot and ankle locked in place like a cramp, but he’d lost precious seconds in which Malfoy had already traversed the length of the clearing. He had no hope of catching up without some kind of interference.
Harry slashed his wand through the air. “Depulso!”
Midstride, Malfoy's body jerked violently sideways, propelled toward one of the nearby trees. His back collided into it with a spectacular, fleshy thump before he crashed to the dirt.
Harry winced as he ran as fast as he dared, his gait awkward with a half-frozen leg, keeping his wand trained on Malfoy as he approached. “Not s-so--… tough now, are you?”
The boy whimpered on the ground, rolling over on his side, both hands covering his face. Harry could see red peeking from under his palm, but even so, he loomed ever nearer to Malfoy, sneering, “You’ll answer my questions, or I’ll turn you over to the Aurors!”
There was a horrid red tint to Malfoy’s gritted teeth. “You’re--… you were clearly going to anyway, and if you think-- think I’m stupid enough to--”
“Then I’ll rat you out to Voldemort and let him finish you off,” Harry interrupted, giving his wand a threatening jerk to emphasize the point.
Malfoy's disbelieving scoff sounded wet. "As if… as if I would believe for even one second you could--"
It was his turn to laugh. “How do you think I knew Death Eaters were at the Ministry last year?” he spat. “He can get in my head, and I can get in his.” It was a half-truth; he’d not had any more dreams from Voldemort since the Ministry -- but Malfoy didn’t need to know that. “Bet he’d love to find you strung up in the forest, wandless and alone.”
Something in the boy’s eyes glimmered. The first hint of true, genuine fear. His upper lip twitched, smearing the blood trailing from his nose. “Potter--”
Harry side-stepped, placing his foot atop Malfoy’s wand before kicking it away further into the forest’s confines. “You killed an innocent girl and now one of my friends is taking the fall for what you did,” he pressed, the anger flaring hot behind his words. “What, don’t think I’ll do it? You really think I care what happens to you right now?”
Malfoy’s body shifted slightly as if he dared try to stand. And, pushing past pain, Harry darted forward, sticking his own wand against the boy’s throat hard enough to cause him to choke. “Force my hand, Malfoy. Go ahead. Do it. I dare you--”
“Don’t!” was Malfoy’s gasped plea, eyes widening as he sunk back against the grass again. “Bloody--... Merlin, just calm down!”
“Give me a reason--!”
“What do you want me to say?!” Malfoy blurted in a panic-stricken voice.
“Voldemort,” he snapped. “What does he want with your mother? With Violet?”
“He never told me!” he exclaimed. “After what happened with my father, there was no chance whatsoever of the Dark Lord trusting me with any of his plans--”
“Then why would he punish you for killing her?”
“Because my mother freed her!” Malfoy yelped. “He needs her-- I don’t know why! And if she’s dead, then it’s my fault, because of what my mother did--”
That tracked with what Cleo had said, but Harry still narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “She only escaped a month ago. You’ve been raising hell longer than that.”
Malfoy grimaced. “Your point?”
“You had to be doing something all that time,” he said. “So what was it all for?”
“Do you truly think the Dark Lord would confide anything in me?” Malfoy challenged. “After the humiliation you brought on my family by getting my father arrested?”
He jabbed his wand further into the crook of Malfoy’s neck. “Then what was the purpose?!”
Malfoy hissed past gritted teeth. “Think, Potter,” he jeered. “Considering you went to the effort of stealing my watch, you’ve ascertained its properties.” His nostrils flared. “What do you think I was doing?”
He knew Malfoy was mocking him, but despite that -- Harry did actually think about it. The watch. The fights. The frequent visits to the infirmary. The drawer filled with potions. The thin vial of blue liquid…
"Dueling random kids at school had nothing to do with your mother.”
Malfoy’s brow wrinkled as he glared. “Clearly not.”
Harry frowned. “But I saw you meet with Snape, and you said she’d die if he didn’t help you.”
“And if you were there, you would know he was about as helpful as a gnome in the hedgerow.”
“Then why meet with him at all?” he questioned, adjusting his hold on his wand. “If you weren’t acting under Voldemort’s orders, and you weren’t acting to protect anyone, then what could you have possibly needed from him?”
Malfoy’s head tilted back against a few stray twigs in the grass as he looked away.
“You had no task to complete, nothing to gain,” Harry continued, shaking his head. “I’d say you were picking fights for the thrill of it except that they laid you up in hospital every other week.”
“I’m getting bored watching you try to plod through this,” Malfoy very suddenly snapped, chest lifting slightly as if he were holding back the urge to propel himself at Harry. “So I’ll make it easy for you: The Dark Lord has no interest in using me. There was no need to, once he was done with my mother. But that didn’t mean our punishment was over.”
A realization snapped into place in his mind. “You’ve been leaving school grounds to meet with him.”
“Obviously.”
“How?”
A loathsome scowl slithered onto Malfoy’s features. “How do you think?”
“Cleo said all the Slytherins were checked for the Mark, and you were cleared--”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors underestimating the Dark Lord to such a degree,” Malfoy ridiculed.
Carried by a frenzied compulsion, Harry pinned the boy’s left arm and pulled his sleeve up to his elbow. He knew what he would find, but even so… That bare forearm felt more of a taunt than anything else. He half expected to see Malfoy smirking in defiance, but instead the boy was looking away, his gaze trained on the dilapidated building.
Harry jostled him, commanding his attention. “Where is it?”
“Potter--”
“Where is it?”
The boy’s mouth stretched in agitation. His brow furrowed. Harry felt Malfoy’s arm tense under his grip.
“You were looking at it.”
Harry’s stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”
But he already knew.
And he watched as Malfoy’s gaze drew overcast, beaten and daunted. “I told you that you aren’t dealing with some absent minded half-wit. The Dark Lord has resources. And he uses them.”
Then Cleo was right. Voldemort had adapted. There were Marks that couldn’t be seen.
A horrible rush thrummed through his head. “How many?”
Malfoy’s expression twitched. “What?”
Harry shook his collar in warning. “How many Marks are like this?”
“How should I know?” he answered at once, clearly rattled.
“He sent you to Hogwarts with an invisible Mark -- did he send anyone else?”
"I told you, Potter," Malfoy stressed. "I don’t know."
Harry’s grip on his collar grew lax as another question occurred to him. “... Why did he send you to Hogwarts?”
There was no answer forthcoming that time. Malfoy’s expression sunk, eyes drifting over Harry’s shoulder as his jaw tightened.
Harry’s swallow sounded loud in the expectant quiet. Their breaths lingered between them in a cold, stifling fog as Harry’s mind tensed around a realization.
That didn’t mean our punishment was over.
“You’ve… been hiding your own torture,” Harry surmised with a grim frown. “He wanted you to suffer, and he wanted the Slytherins to see it, to make you an example-- but if anyone else saw you with unexplained injuries, they’d have questions you couldn’t answer. So, you started fights with anyone you could find. You gave them a reason not to suspect.”
Malfoy’s stony silence was confirmation enough, but Harry’s gaze was still shrewd. He shook the Slytherin once more. “If that's all the watch was for, then why do you still need it?”
His face contorted into an ugly scowl. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Harry glared, gripping his wand tighter. "Answer the question."
There was an awful glint in Malfoy’s eye -- a self-satisfied contempt that called to mind their many previous encounters. A routine, well rehearsed over the last five years, which followed the same, tired steps. But this time…
This time, Harry felt a swelling animosity unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
Like always, it began with a sneer. “Potter, if you think that--”
Harry punched him square in the face.
The pain didn’t even seem to register for Malfoy. The shock took precedence, eyes widened as if he couldn’t comprehend what had happened.
After all, that wasn’t what Harry was supposed to do.
And Harry would’ve hardly believed it himself if he hadn’t been able to feel the dull sting in his knuckles, witness the slow ooze of blood from Malfoy’s busted lip. What was more, he couldn’t feel himself caring about any of it. "Answer. Now."
Malfoy’s gaze flitted between his furled fist and his tightened expression, stuttering through his next protest, “You-- you can’t be serious--”
Harry’s fist caught his jaw that time. "This look like a joke to you, Malfoy?" His third impact met with the fragile cartilage in his nose. “You enjoying yourself?"
He could feel Malfoy trembling in his arms as blood-coated words sputtered from his mouth. “To-- to blend in! No one will-- no one-- no one will notice me if-- if I use the-- ward will-- and if they don’t notice-- if the watch is with me-- then I can--”
The next blow was hard enough that Harry had to shake the pain from his hand. “How?”
“It’s not just--!” The whole of Malfoy's body trembled under the weight of his panicked breath. “The watch-- listen, Merlin-- please-- it’s not just-- negative--... listen-- emotions, it’s not just-- please don’t-- it’s not just negative ones--”
Harry cocked his fist again.
And Malfoy flinched down, turning his head, trying to pull away. “Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t--!”
It didn’t matter anymore, knowing the answer, knowing the reason, knowing anything; now, it just felt so good to see Malfoy finally get what was coming to him. "Too bad you'll never see it again," Harry mocked. "And then, everyone will know exactly what you are!"
He landed another solid jab against his chin. "A bully--"
“Sto--”
His temple. "-- a coward--"
“Pleas--”
His cheekbone. "-- and a killer--!"
“HARRY!”
The sound of his own name, shrieked in such a frantic, strangled tone, halted his fist midair. And the stillness brought with it the keen sense of everything around him. Something dripping from his knuckles. His fingers pressed against the rapid pulse in Malfoy’s neck. The air between them thick with the scent of copper.
But a particular detail struck him more than anything, filled his vision completely. For a suspended second, all he could see was the unbridled terror in Malfoy’s eyes.
The icy air scoured his lungs. His arm was unbearably heavy.
“Please.” The word came as a damp pop from Malfoy’s mouth. The horrid gargle of his next breath made Harry’s stomach churn.
“Please,” he pled again in some desperate attempt to calm the beast; Harry’s arm slowly fell to his side.
Malfoy’s bloodshot eyes observed the slow descent; his swallow was loud and wet. “We can talk. We can work something out.”
Harry's fingers unfurled, one bye one. The Slytherin's head dipped into a conciliatory, encouraging nod. "Yes, that's-- good, yes--"
A crackling sound produced from Malfoy’s nose, a shaky breath lumbering over blood and inflammation. “Just--”
An explosion of red burst in front of Harry’s eyes before the pain struck; the surprise, more than anything else, sent him careening sideways. A disorienting haze fell over his vision as his limbs tried and failed to cushion his fall.
He blinked and saw something large and round roll out of Malfoy’s hand as he scrambled back against a nearby tree.
Cotton mouthed, Harry’s lips slumped open. “Ma--”
But his body gave way.
He awoke to a blinding, yellow light.
Harry squinted, groaning, and brought a hand up to shield his eyes.
He turned his face away.
Then, the pain hit.
He sucked in a hissing breath, jerking his hand away from his temple.
The sound of wind rustling leaves filled his ears.
He was cold.
A lengthy shiver rattled through him. The yellow light moved further away.
Harry’s eyes refocused.
The jagged rock before him had a dark stain on one end.
Footsteps in grass. He turned toward the light again, only to find it receding.
He blinked. Was that…?
The figure before him blurred into the landscape.
Wait. Where were his glasses?
He felt around beside him, but there was only dirt and… bark? Harry peered blearily around, finding that he was lying beside a large, snaking tree root.
With a groan, he pushed off with his elbows into a sitting position. His head swam a bit, but managed to stay on his shoulders.
His hand bumped into rounded glass, and he grabbed hold of it. The weight of it was lopsided when he lifted the thing into middle distance.
His glasses were broken. The frame was bent at the left hinge, leaving one earpiece dangling. When Harry moved to inspect the damage further, it fell off completely.
He looked for his wand next. Pocket, waistband, sleeve… Nothing there. He swept the ground again, fingers searching out that familiar smooth wood texture, but to no avail.
Harry sucked in a panicked breath as his fingers planed across nothing but leaves and twigs. Fearing what he might see, he lifted his glasses to his eyes, holding them in place.
The trees and grass came clear to him, then. The sweeping expanse of stars in a moonless night. The odd, alabaster sheen of broken china. With a sigh, he let go of some tension. He was still in Hogsmeade.
With that thought came others. Violet. Cleo. Malfoy. Harry made a move to pick himself up from the ground, but a sharp pain near his ankle and ribs warned him off.
Oh. Right. He touched his hand to the skin of his side, finding the thin gash he’d cut there was dried, but still angry at being jostled. His ankle throbbed with every slight movement, his Petrificus having worn off. He could renew the makeshift splint if only he could find his wand.
He looked again. The ground was disturbed where he’d been laying, but no amount of squinting or feeling about yielded his wand. His fear trickled back in during the search, reaching its apex when light swayed in his peripheral vision.
Harry observed the figure again, more alert this time. Its movements were fluid and deliberate as it roamed from one end of the clearing to the other, circling the old well. A particular prowl, furtive but quintessential. Harry had learned many years ago how to spot this particular gait in the dark.
“Snape.” His voice was thick with phlegm, and he grunted in an effort to clear it.
As if the name were an incantation, the professor paused, the light stilling with him. Waiting. Harry folded his arms as a cold breeze chilled him.
The approach was nerve wracking, his steps careful and precise. Like he was stalking prey. No doubt Harry felt just as small as Snape wanted him to feel.
Yet, when the man arrived within striking distance, his words were not the venomous snap Harry had anticipated.
“Can you speak?"
Harry stared. “What?”
Snape’s frown tightened. “Can. You. Speak?”
“Yes…?”
Snape was a scant distance away, still and silent, the halo of his wand light providing stark illumination.
Harry expected… something to happen. But for a protracted few minutes, Snape stood in place, saying and doing nothing. Harry didn’t look up to see his expression, but he did witness the restless way the man shifted his weight, the frayed hem of his robes, the muddy scuffs on his boots. Too disoriented to speculate what any of it meant, Harry merely waited.
Then, the professor suddenly spoke. “You will recount to me what transpired here.”
Wandlight was reflected in Snape’s eyes, tiny yellow-white pinpricks. The tense quiet was threatening, like the feeling of air displacing before a slap, but Harry wasn’t sure exactly how to feel in this situation… All he really knew was that he was long past the end of his tether. The day was starting to catch up to him in earnest, and it was becoming difficult to organize his mind, to concentrate on any of his thoughts. They whizzed past him like spell trails, blazing brightly but never making contact.
A languid blink overtook his eyes. “Don’t you already know?”
He didn’t have to look to know that the professor was glaring at him. “You are required to make a statement all the same.”
Well, sure, but he had no idea why he was being required to do it now.
“Right,” he sighed, brushing a hand over his face. His fingers met with a dry, crusted line of something on his cheek. “Ehm… Have you seen my wand?”
Snape did not say a word. Harry peered at him, taking a moment to settle his broken glasses on his nose. They were unbalanced, hanging off only one ear, but serviceable enough for him to see that the professor was holding his wand.
“Oh.” He frowned. “Can I have it back?”
“No.”
The refusal was so instantaneous that Harry winced. “Why not?”
Snape gave no quarter. “Your statement, Potter. Preferably some time before dawn.”
He swallowed, uncertain. “Well… Malfoy sent me a note to meet him here, and I did. We dueled and he got away. That’s… it.”
“I very much doubt that is ‘it’,” Snape snidely remarked. “How did you come to possess this ‘note’?”
Harry grimaced. He didn’t want Dobby to be in any trouble because of him, so he said the first thing that came to mind: “It… came by owl.”
“Is that so,” Snape intoned. “Some twenty Hogwarts elves had quite a different story.”
The man’s expression was entirely too smug for his liking. Harry scowled. “If you already knew the answer, then why did you ask?”
“To see if you would lie.”
“Yeah, well--” He huffed. “Fine. Dobby gave it to me. But he didn’t want to, mind; I made him do it, so…”
He trailed off, not sure how to continue. If Snape knew, then probably Dumbledore did too. Hopefully Dobby wouldn’t be punished for his sake -- Harry’d had quite enough of that for a lifetime.
Snape interrupted his thoughts. “I fail to see why I should believe any further assertions from you.”
“What’s there to lie about after that?” Harry remarked, sullen. “Malfoy’s a Death Eater… Bet you already knew that, though.”
Snape’s expression didn’t move in the slightest, neither did he rise to the challenge.
Harry continued regardless. “He wanted to get the watch back from me because he said it would help him disappear.”
“‘The watch’,” Snape echoed.
“It’s a ward he was using to start fights,” Harry explained. “It sort of worked like--”
“The details of its function are irrelevant to your report,” Snape cut him off.
He grimaced. “Well, no. He said he needed it, so that must mean it’s important.”
“It is not in his possession,” Snape asserted. “Therefore, it is irrelevant.”
Harry squinted at him, suspicious. “How do you know he doesn’t have it?”
He received a bland stare in response. “The Headmaster is retrieving it from Mr. Weasley as we speak.”
Leaning back on his hands, Harry let out a puff of air. “So… you've seen him, then. Professor Dumbledore?”
“Obviously.”
"Did he say--?"
"I am not here to answer your questions," Snape coldly stated. "Continue your report."
Shifting his weight, Harry was filled with an enigmatic trepidation as he looked up at the professor. "I'd… rather report to Dumbledore myself."
"And I rather don't care," he sneered back without hesitation. “I am under orders to bear witness to your account; your preferences in this matter do not have weight.”
“Do they ever?” Harry couldn’t help volleying back. “I mean, how is it ‘bearing witness to my account’ when you’re refusing to hear half of it?!”
Snape’s glare reached full force. “Do not try my patience -- you will find I have very little to spare.”
“Wow, what’s that like?” Harry mocked, spiteful.
“I have no interest in your self-pity--”
“Look, if you’re finished taunting me, can I go back to Hogwarts now?”
The professor’s wandlight shifted slightly as his grip tightened. “Believe me, I am nowhere near finished with you.”
“Can’t you ever give it a rest?” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Why are you always like this?”
“Why?” Snape repeated, advancing another step. Harry leaned away by the same margin, putting space between them. “Why? Are you truly so witless that you cannot comprehend the gravity of your own actions?”
“No--”
“You have yet again left a path of death and destruction in your wake, and still you choose to act alone, to defy the will of your superiors!”
Harry scoffed. “You’re not my superior!”
“Oh, we shall see about that,” Snape continued, unfazed, “You have long been at the center of numerous harebrained schemes-- all of which have accomplished nothing outside of endangering the lives of those you call ‘friends’--”
“I wasn’t trying to--”
“I had thought it was mere folly,” the man talked over him, “A byproduct of those Gryffindor sensibilities you and the Headmaster hold so very dear, but now, Potter-- you have caused a level of devastation within my own House which can no longer be ignored.”
“Good!” Harry spat, his anger rising like bile. “Glad to rid your shitty House of one more Death Eater!”
“You have rid it of a promising student and a level-headed representative,” Snape snarled back.
“Right, like Malfoy--”
“If you believe it is he to whom I am referring, then I have truly underestimated your capacity for stupidity.”
Oh. “Well, Cleo is--” Harry stopped, unsure what to say. The thought of her made his stomach feel like lead. “Dumbledore said she probably wouldn’t go to Azkaban, so… I mean, she’ll… she’ll be back at Hogwarts--”
“So certain of that, are you?” the professor disparaged him. “Tell me, for what purpose would Miss Croft return?”
“To finish her schooling?” Harry rebutted, projecting a confidence he didn’t feel. “She’s been working hard to be a Healer, which is something you’d know if you actually cared!”
There was a truly ugly grimace on Snape’s face as he said, “That is quite an impressive sentiment from someone who has ended her career.”
“What?!” His heated question was overly loud.
“Miss Croft has broken the terms of her apprenticeship. After today, she will no longer be welcome as an employee at St. Mungo’s.”
For a moment, Harry was struck dumb. Snape took full advantage of the quiet. “You have made a mockery of her efforts and rendered them futile--”
“She was keeping Violet from Voldemort!” Harry argued. “There’s no way they would punish her for protecting a patient!”
Snape scoffed. “You forget yourself, Potter. Miss Croft is not the ‘Boy Who Lived’, and is thus not afforded the same allowances.”
“Well, that’s why I wanted to tell the Aurors that--!”
“Another fool plan, as can only be concocted by a professional.”
“It’s not!” he barked, clenching his fists at his sides. “You said yourself that you wanted me to face consequences!”
The professor’s lip curled. “From the Headmaster, not the Ministry!”
“Why?!” Harry blurted, tension singing through his muscles. “How can you care so little about Cleo?! You’re her Head of House, her advisor--!”
“Tell me, Potter: How is it you think I should ‘care’ about Miss Croft?” Snape derided. “If I’m to follow your example, you will need to be more specific. Shall I have several humiliating, public arguments with her? Shall I physically attack her in the corridors? Shall I encourage her to commit a crime which will lose her an apprenticeship and disgrace her name in her chosen profession?”
Harry glanced away, sickened. “That’s not--”
“Well? Which is it?” the professor talked over him. “Or perhaps you were looking for another option? Shall I then include her in Order secrets without regard for the consequences, and without her informed consent? Will that suffice?”
“I’m trying to help her!” Harry insisted. “If the Aurors knew Voldemort was involved--”
Snape’s scoff was deafening. “Your faith in the institution is grossly misplaced--”
“They would believe me!” Harry asserted, firm. “The Ministry admitted that Voldemort’s back, so of course they would--!”
“Are you simple?” The professor spoke very slowly, condescension drenching his tone. “You would treat the Ministry like a monolith, despite the sham trial you were subjected to only last year? Or are you somehow laboring under the misapprehension that all political corruption ended with Cornelius Fudge?” Snape’s stare bore down on him. “To turn you over to the Aurors would be to hand the Dark Lord the identities of every single Order member, and the means to circumvent the defenses of every last safehouse!”
Harry’s next words came on impulse. “What, like you haven’t done that already?”
Snape’s glower came swift and dark. However, he did not address that particular accusation at all. “Finish your report, Potter.”
A rebellious conviction swelled within him. “No.”
The man’s wand was aimed dead in the center of his forehead. “I will not tolerate defiance.”
“Then hex me!” Harry provoked. “See if I care!”
For a suspended second, Snape stared him down. Harry realized, with both consternation and horror, exactly what he’d invited with his statement much too late… But by then, Snape’s wand was already whipping through the air. “Legilimens!”
If his head was spinning before, it was nothing compared to now. He’d always been awful at Occlumency, but even so, he felt so frenzied that his memories were more fragmented and tumultuous than ever. Flashes of Hogwarts, the party, the duel -- all disjointed, out of order. Malfoy, Ron, Dumbledore, Luna, Dobby, Violet, Hermione, Cleo… His vision was red, coated with blood that wasn’t his.
It ended almost as soon as it began, but Harry was no less shaken. When awareness came back to him, he was breathing hard.
“My, my,” was Snape’s deadpan remark. “It’s a wonder you left Draco alive.”
To mock Harry on the coattails of such a horrendous violation was the absolute last straw. The anger seized him so quickly that he was actually shaking with it.
“Go fuck yourself, Snape--”
“As vulgar as you are violent, it would seem,” was his malicious recrimination.
A shooting pain raced up his calf as he lurched to his feet. He winced, clutching the tree for support, but his ire did not lessen. “I’m not about to feel sorry for a murderer!”
“‘Murder’ would imply that a death has occurred. Which it has not.”
“What does it matter?!” Harry gestured wildly with an arm. “Even if it wasn’t by his hand, he was still delivering her to her death-- and you know it!”
The professor half-turned his body away as if to dismiss Harry from his thoughts entirely.
“You were supposed to help her!” Harry erupted. “You were supposed to bring her back to her parents! And instead, you stood by and did nothing!”
“She was, until tonight, safely ensconced in a high-security Ministry building, Potter!” Snape returned, livid. “I had no reason to suspect that she would be displaced by Miss Croft, of all people!”
“But you knew she was alive!” Harry accused. “You knew Voldemort would be coming for her, that he must need her for something if he didn’t just kill her outright!”
“‘Knowing’ and ‘being at liberty to do something about it’ are two separate notions entirely,” he dismissed.
“No they aren’t! You just decided not to bother because you hadn’t been ordered to care!”
“On the contrary, I was very much under orders to ‘care’,” he drawled. “You, however, were under orders to leave well enough alone.”
“I wasn’t going to watch her suffer!”
“Clearly.”
“What, did you expect us to just abandon her to Voldemort?” Harry scoffed.
“If that is how you prefer to see it,” the man replied, “then yes.”
Harry’s reaction was emphatic. “I’d rather die!”
“You just might.”
This pronouncement rang in Harry’s ears as Snape swept his wandlight to the side, his eyes falling into shadow. He turned heel and walked off, his Lumos traveling with him. Harry badly wanted to say something more, to shout and argue, to tell Snape just how bloody heartless he was, but, drenched in darkness once more, Harry felt colder than ever. He sagged against the tree trunk, incredibly lightheaded, but when he reached up to clutch at his brow, he hesitated: His shaking hands were still tacky with Malfoy’s blood.
Here he was, standing on the cusp between the outskirts of Hogsmeade and the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, his clothes stained with blood from two different people, ankle broken and muscles tremoring, the adrenaline he’d been relying on for the last hour gradually waning. All at once, it seemed a wonder he was standing at all.
At first, he resisted the exhaustion. He thought if he could just focus in on Snape, if he could keep the momentum of his righteous anger, then he could delay his inevitable collapse. But it was a futile effort when the man had disengaged. Harry had plenty cause for rage, but without direct antagonism, it did not outweigh his suffering. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away his head’s unbearable throbbing, but when that failed he simply watched Snape’s back with unfocused eyes.
When he finally returned, it was not to address the previous topic, but rather to give an order.
“Drink.”
Pulled from a breast pocket, the vial he held aloft was thin and unassuming. A mere tenth of a single batch, if Harry remembered correctly what Cleo had said about individual versus bulk brewing. Barely a mouthful, by his estimation. He could see a buoyant layer of foam accumulating below the stopper, a translucent, bluish hue refracting across Snape’s palm, but the bloom of wandlight across the glass was blindingly bright.
Harry closed his eyes.
“Potter?”
There was a suspicious neutrality to how Snape said the name. A hollow intonation. Less intensity around the consonants. A tinge of curiosity. If he wasn’t quite so tired, he might have marveled at it. As it was, he hardly had the energy to respond at all.
“I don’t want it.” There was an agitated rustle of cloth.
“You truly are laughably dense, aren’t you?”
He met Snape’s gaze. “I want my wand back.”
“Just take it, you imbecile--”
“I don’t need Malfoy’s castoffs.”
Snape glared. “Excuse me?”
Harry sighed, his voice a flat drone. “Relaxing Solution, isn’t it?”
The professor’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.
Harry cast his gaze off to the side as he lifted his hands to blow hot air on them. “I should have known right off when I saw that full drawer in Malfoy’s room, when Cleo mentioned the potion was hospital-grade… It’s you who always sends Cleo to deliver potions for the infirmary stores. It’s you who makes special order potions for Madam Pomfrey. So, of course, it’s you giving these hospital-grade potions to Malfoy.”
Snape’s gaze was searching, like he wasn’t sure what to make of that statement.
“I saw you meet with him, once,” Harry continued, the vapor of his breath clouding his glasses. “I thought it was by chance, but it was midnight and you had a full crate of potions with you. Should have known you were meeting him on purpose; you never miss an opportunity to rub my nose in my failures. So, the reason you didn’t tell Dumbledore I broke his rules that first night… It was because you had an appointment to get to, wasn’t it?”
The professor continued in his silence. Insisted on it, as he always did.
“You knew what Malfoy was doing all along,” Harry stated, quiet. “The fights, the watch… All of it. And this is what you were doing… what Dumbledore meant when he said you were ‘taking care’ of it. But…”
Harry looked up again. But. There was always that but in the back of his mind. A niggling feeling that something was not quite right, that he was, perhaps, missing some key details about the man before him. That little but had been gaining momentum in his thoughts for some time; it was inevitable that, one day, it would try to propel itself out of his mouth and into the open air.
“If that’s so, then…”
A question, plain but shadowed, crawled its way out of the depths of him, so massive that it crowded the clearing. So sinister that his whole body quaked with the force of it. So barbed that he nearly choked on the words.
“... how could you let him do that to Violet?”
A rush of emotion crashed into him as he said it. The sight of her motionless body rose unbidden to his mind. Her blood coating the stone steps. The towering pillar of suspended leaves in the middle of the forest. The corpses of the bellhounds and their master, abandoned and rotting. Violet’s face, crumpling in abject horror as Malfoy took his first advancing step toward her.
Snape's reply, when it came, sounded garbled, distorted. Like he was hearing it from underwater. “I allowed nothing of the sort.”
It was disturbing how easily Snape’s voice slotted into the tapestry of memories. As if it belonged there.
He felt sick. “She was suffering. She was terrified that he might catch her again.”
The stare Snape aimed at him was cold clear through. Harry shivered at the sight of it.
“She was starved, beaten, tortured, and-- and … ”
He wasn’t sure who he was talking about; his line of thought was knotted and frayed beyond repair. Snape, however, seemed to realize the shift in Harry's focus. He leaned away with folded arms, his mouth drawing down into a grim line.
“She was suffering,” he repeated, “and you knew... but you did nothing.”
Snape's stare was intense. “Potter--”
“How can Dumbledore say he trusts you when...” Harry faltered, hating how his voice wavered. "When all you've done is let Voldemort do whatever he wanted--"
There was a pause in which Snape’s fingers curled around the potion vial as if he might crush it. “I do not require your good opinion to perform my duties adequately--”
“As if you--”
“-- and you only highlight your ignorance with every baseless accusation you spew forth,” Snape talked over him.
“If it’s so baseless, why was Violet left to fend for herself?!”
“She was not!” he snapped. “Miss Ayers was monitored for her entire stay in St. Mungo’s, by a variety of Aurors and Healers alike, due to the precarious nature of her condition. No intervention on your part was necessary, Potter!”
Harry let out a frustrated breath. “That’s not--!”
“As for the rest,” Snape cut in again, “all I can definitively say is that I am not omniscient.”
He grimaced, disgusted. “But you knew what was happening to her--”
“I suspected only,” he admitted with a glare. “The method and reasoning for her abduction remains as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”
“If you ‘suspected’, then why--?!”
“Why did I not save her?” Snape interrupted, his tone colored with contempt. “Why did I not immediately find her location and thwart the Dark Lord’s plans? Why did I not whisk her away to safety and back into the arms of her loving parents?”
Harry fell silent, waiting for an answer.
“Listen well, Potter, because I will only say this once,” he enunciated, leaning down to Harry’s level. “I did not rescue Miss Ayers because it was not in my power.”
He scoffed. “I don’t believe that.”
“Don’t you?” Snape mocked. “If I am to remain in the Dark Lord’s good graces, it is inadvisable for me to interrogate him.”
That nauseated feeling returned full force. “If you’re so ‘close’, then wouldn’t he trust you enough to tell you?”
“The Dark Lord trusts no one.” The professor straightened to his full height again. “And even if he did, he is not the first commander to keep his plans to himself.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” Harry objected, enraged. “You could have looked around! You could’ve-- I don’t know… questioned Malfoy, or… used a tracking spell-- anything! You could have done something instead of nothing!”
“Spoken like a true Gryffindor,” was Snape’s scathing rejoinder. “The gallant hero who has never met a problem he couldn’t simply bash his head against.”
“It’s not Gryffindor; it’s just basic human decency!”
“My business is not basic human decency, Potter!” he snapped, raising his voice. “This is a war! I am to carry out my orders as directed! Miss Ayers is only one of many potential casualties, and I will not jeopardize my position to save a single person when there are thousands more at risk!”
“If you just let everyone die, who will there be left to save?! If you were anything like Dumbledore, you’d save everyone you could!”
“My inaction is the Headmaster’s directive in the first place!”
Taken aback, Harry’s next rebuttal died in his mouth.
Snape’s lip curled with contempt. “You feign certainty about a great many things you do not understand, but one thing ought to be quite clear to you by now: The Headmaster expects obedience, and interprets anything short of it as sabotage!”
“That’s… not true.” His conviction was weak, and Snape sensed the opening to attack.
“Not everyone can be saved, Potter,” the professor told him, his eyes shadowed by the wandlight. “I understand that better than anyone, and it is shortsighted to think otherwise.”
“No it’s not!” His voice had a great deal more strength that time, gaining in momentum. “It’s Dumbledore who taught me that every life is worth saving, that nobody is insignificant! That if we can act, then we should! We’re fighting for a world where people can feel safe and free! So, how can we live with ourselves if we stand back and watch everyone die?”
“The Headmaster is not nearly so concerned with individuals as you seem to believe,” Snape replied, his tone so aloof that Harry felt his anger swell like a lump in his throat.
“How can you care so little?!”
“You claim to know my mind, Potter,” he cut him off with a scowl, “but any fool who acts before he thinks is not well suited to conjecture!”
“And no fool without an interest in human life is well suited to defending it!”
“Your blind moralizing will never win this war!”
“It’s not wrong to care about people, and you will never convince me otherwise!”
For a long moment, Snape let this sentence hang in the air. When he continued in silence, Harry let loose the breath he’d been holding.
There was a sober tone to Snape’s next words. “Potter, the only reason you are at liberty to ‘care’ is because the Headmaster has allowed it.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Snape did not answer. Instead, his eyes raked over Harry, accessing. His expression was inscrutable.
But then, just as the silence was becoming unbearable, he said something unexpected.
“Miss Ayers was my pupil for five years. She was neither magically gifted nor a particularly good student, more often drawing on her exam papers or causing accidents than actually doing the work. She showed little concern or aptitude for Potions, or anything for that matter. But she was straightforward, never lied or minced words. Trustworthy, but unreliable. More interested in making friends than remaining academically sound.”
Harry grimaced, but before he could say a word, Snape continued, “Despite her Head of House’s advocacy on her behalf, she declined to return to school for her N.E.W.T.s, as she had only earned one passable O.W.L. result. Hardly surprising, given that her work ethic was nonexistent. But she was gracious enough to bow out without making a fuss, which is more than I can say for others in her position.”
Harry sighed. “What is the point of saying all this?”
“The ‘point’,” Snape replied, direct, “is that I know her--”
“Listing a bunch of insulting facts about her doesn’t prove you care,” Harry disdainfully pointed out.
“Miss Ayers is not one of the faceless masses, Potter,” he continued on, a glare his only acknowledgement of the interruption. “She is a child who sat in my classes twice a week for five years.”
“So?”
A muscle jumped in Snape’s temple. “So, you, someone who barely knows her, are afforded the luxury of casting aspersions, while the rest of us must bitterly remember and stay our hands.”
Harry had very little idea what any of that meant, but caught onto the scorn well enough. “Who cares if you knew her better? You don’t even have anything good to say about her!”
“I do not have a particular attachment to her, no, but frankly, neither do you.”
“At least I want her to live,” he jabbed.
“Perhaps that could be believed had you not placed her in grave danger this very evening.”
The strength of Harry’s exhale stifled what reply he’d had ready; he slumped, somehow even more winded than before.
“If I had any say in the matter, I would not wish death on the girl," Snape continued, "But I do not have a say--”
“So you let her be tortured, and, and--” God, he still couldn’t say it. “And everything else? You just let that happen?!”
“People will suffer and die in this war -- whether you think they deserve it or not.”
“That’s the coward’s way out!”
Snape towered over him. “Listen, Potter--”
“No, you listen!” Harry shouted, his body rocking with the force of his indignation. “I’m tired of being told what to do, tired of being told how I should think and feel! Dumbledore always told me I should follow my heart -- that courage is about finding the strength to act when no one else will… He praised me for saving anyone I possibly could, no matter the difficulty! And now Cleo’s being locked up, and I’m expected to do nothing about it? Malfoy’s just allowed to disappear after what he did to Violet? Now it’s suddenly wrong that I tried to protect her from a fate worse than death? What sort of sense does that make?!”
Snape stared at him with a rigid, furious attention. But at least he did not interrupt.
“And you! You say I’m arrogant and selfish-- you tell me I should have been more understanding of Violet’s parents, that I should have thought about the other Order members and the hardship I’d caused them. That-- that I ought to be more ‘experienced’ and competent without you actually teaching me anything! You…" Harry gritted his teeth against an uncomfortable sting overtaking his eyes. "You said I had doomed Violet by delaying the investigation, but then you turn around and say I’m stupid for caring so much? That whenever I act unselfishly it’s just my ‘foolish Gryffindor tendencies’, and I should just accept people’s pain and say no more about it?!
“You and him both think I ought to sit down and do as I’m told, but no matter what I do, it’s never enough! I’ve had it!” Harry expelled the rest of his breath all at once, and with it, all his energy and will to fight. “I’m tired!”
His forehead was throbbing with pain and his limbs trembled.
“I’m just… tired.”
He felt like crying, but he didn’t dare in front of Snape. Whatever had prompted the man to ignore it the first time, Harry couldn’t justify giving him a second opening.
So, he held his breath. His back slumped against the tree trunk as he forced himself to stare at the grass until his face was red and hot. He strained despite the ache in his temple, forced his expression to not betray him.
And Snape’s voice, when it came, was slow and precise, but somehow still managed to feel sudden. “If the Headmaster asks," he paused. Harry could see him shifting restless and agitated in his periphery. "You are not to let him know this conversation transpired, nor will you mention your altercation with Mr. Malfoy, or anything to do with your part in Miss Croft’s case.”
Confused, Harry lifted his gaze to meet Snape’s. “... What?”
“That is, of course, if you were planning to keep your memories.”
A breath caught in Harry’s throat, and his eyes widened when he realized just what Snape was implying. “Dumbledore sent you… to Obliviate me.”
He performed a derisive snort. “Obviously. You are a liability, and the Headmaster is not prone to empty threats.”
Harry’s attention turned suspicious. “Then… why?”
To his credit, Snape did not ask him to clarify the question. “Consider it a mutually beneficial courtesy. Or, if you prefer, a favor owed to someone else.”
“To who?”
“‘To whom’,” the professor corrected him.
“Fine-- to whom?” he emphasized acerbically.
Snape just stared at him, evidently not intent on elaborating.
Harry scowled. “You’re seriously more concerned with my grammar than being cooperative?”
That certainly soured Snape’s expression. “Potter, your luck has held out remarkably,” he mentioned, his gaze shrewd. “This evening, you have delivered a former prisoner of war into a room filled with Death Eater’s children, and somehow, only one of them has attacked her; you have conquered Mr. Malfoy by first nearly killing him, then stealing his property from within a space you are not permitted, and then further besting him in open and bloody combat; and you have fashioned Miss Croft as your willing scapegoat, thus managing to come out of the whole ordeal unscathed.”
Harry swallowed, his counter stuck in his throat. ‘Unscathed’ was hardly how he’d describe himself, but how could he argue against the rest of it?
“But at some point -- when your abysmal planning leads you to yet another catastrophic fait accompli -- you will need to find a better strategy than simply doing what your ‘heart’ tells you.”
Snape backed away a step, but before Harry could be relieved about it, he tossed something in Harry’s direction. On reflex, he caught it.
He blinked and swallowed.
His wand.
“When that luck inevitably runs out… You had best know what to do next.”
Harry turned his wand over in his hand, eyeing the professor’s back as he pivoted and walked away.
But… Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of what had just happened -- his mind was reeling from so many other things that it had yet to catch up.
And he knew even less what to think about Snape’s little ‘favor’.