What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 11 – I Could Not Travel Both

Harry wasn’t sure what had prompted him to make such a derisive comment but Malfoy didn’t seem to take it as poorly as he was expecting. His eyes were almost flat grey as he gave Harry a hungry stare and arched a brow.

“Enjoyed the view, did you?” he shot back with a sneer and a look. Harry rolled his eyes. Or at least he thought he did. The way Malfoy was looking at him gave him the impression that he was very unaware of exactly what it was he was doing. “And come to escort me as well? My, what a gentleman. I should feel honoured.”

“Do you?” Harry asked with mocking interest. Malfoy smirked.

“No, not really,” he replied casually, adjusting his robes once more for no reason at all and brushing some stray strands of hair out of his face. “Why the change of time? Were you really that excited to see me, you couldn’t wait?”

Harry did roll his eyes this time. He was sure of it. He shook his head, wondering if this was playfulness or ridiculing.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back with an amused smile. He couldn’t identify it, but something about the conversations he had with Malfoy made him feel relaxed. It reminded him of being a teenager again. Of freedom and adventure and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Just wanted to get out of the office to talk, and we have a lot to discuss.”

Malfoy made a disappointed noise and, without expression, led the way back out of his office.

“Always business with you, Potter,” he stated calmly as they walked towards the lifts.

“Not necessarily,” Harry muttered to himself under his breath but said not another word until they flooed into Three Broomsticks.

They stepped out into the little pub, motioned to Rosmerta their usual and walked over to the table that practically seemed reserved for them. Harry dropped onto the seat of the booth heavily, allowing all of his burdens to fall back onto him. He sighed heavily and took the glass of firewhisky that Rosmerta handed him as though it would save him. He downed half of it and dropped it back onto the thick wooden table.

“Something on your mind, Potter?” Malfoy asked skeptically, surveying him like he imagined a psychiatrist would.

“About a million things,” he answered, slowly turning the glass in his hand. He did not elaborate more than that, but continued to stare into the caramel coloured drink and let his mind jump erratically from one subject to the next.

“While I’m still young, Potter,” Malfoy snapped at him. Harry jolted out of his daydream and reminded himself that Malfoy was rather impatient.

“I think it’s too late for that,” Harry mused, knowing full-well that they were the same age and hardly old at all. Malfoy snorted. “I’ve just had a lot going on at home along with my assignment and, frankly, it’s beginning to wear me a bit thin.”

Malfoy took a drink from his glass and studied Harry intently before commenting.

“So which would you prefer to discuss?” Malfoy finally asked, his eyes darker and veiled by his platinum locks. Harry swallowed hard and vaguely remembered his shower earlier that day. “Or rather, which did you bring me here to discuss?”

“The case,” Harry answered after a moment’s hesitation and a desperate urge to reply the opposite. He wanted to share his issues with Malfoy. For some reason, he felt as though he would understand better than anyone else, but Harry could not take that chance. It was not right. He was not close enough to Malfoy and he didn’t know if he wanted to be. Or was ready to be. He couldn’t betray Ginny like that.

“Ah,” the man replied simply, looking aside as though he was disappointed. “Then discuss away. Or shall I have to draw it out of you?”

Harry watched Malfoy for a moment or two. His voice sounded cross but his features betrayed nothing of what he might truly be feeling. The stormy grey eyes were fixated on Harry and he felt almost as though he was being studied.

“Well, it’s just these deaths,” he said in an undertone, suddenly aware that there were people around. “Oh, hold on,” he pulled out his wand and pointed it casually at the room. “Muffliato,” and soon there was a buzzing sound in everyone’s ears when they tried to listen in. “Better.”

“What’s that?” Malfoy asked, glancing around the pub as though expecting the patrons’ hair to have changed shades.

“Er,” Harry began, reminding himself that that spell was not a common one. “A spell that Snape invented. It makes our conversation private, essentially.”

Malfoy nodded though gave Harry an even more unusual look. He seemed to be keeping himself on his toes, awaiting Harry’s next brilliant move of unapproved magic.

“You were saying?” Malfoy urged him on, looking a mite more antsy than before. Harry wondered what had changed his mood this way.

“Well, the deaths,” Harry began again, still instinctively speaking in an undertone though he knew he had no reason to. “I’ve gone through the records probably a good hundred times and can’t find a damned thing!”

Malfoy tilted his head to the side and took another drink from his glass before shaking his head. He leaned over towards Harry and propped his elbows on the table to steeple his fingers.

“Nothing, Potter?” he asked in a tone that brought Harry to believe he was hiding something absurdly obvious. Harry hated those kinds of moments. “You can’t honestly say you’ve found nothing.”

Harry shifted and downed the rest of his drink, relishing in the slow burn of the liquid and hoping that it might wipe him of some of the stress. Naturally, he knew it was a fool’s dream.

“Ok, look,” Harry growled, unable to stand the cryptic messages any longer. “I’ve never been particularly good at this kind of thing, and honestly, I’m not about to ‘learn’ how to do it now. So if you have something to say, just spit it out, Malfoy.”

The blond’s eyes were sharp and his lips thinned to a simple line, giving him a very uncharacteristic stern look.

“These deaths,” he repeated, trying to be more direct for Harry, though he clearly wasn’t getting it. His voice was short and strained. “What do they have in common?”

Harry fought the urge to scream.

“Nothing,” he hissed. “That’s my point. Some of the Blacks died from natural causes like heart attacks or stress or a ruptured spleen or whatever. Others were murdered. Regulus died by Inferi. Sirius died by drapery.” And Harry immediately shuddered and wanted to drown himself in the alcohol for that comment. “They have died from poisonings, curses, torture, you name it. But none of that particularly fits together.”

Malfoy looked bored.

“Unless you count the fact that they all died very young,” he added as an afterthought and Harry had almost missed it. He was about to open his mouth to continued speaking as though Malfoy had not interrupted, when he stopped and cocked his head to the side.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked. Malfoy, at this point, looked as though he was about to explode. He bit his lip hard and clenched his jaw. Harry thought he looked very much as though he was literally trying to escape his own skin.

“You don’t know the first thing about being a pureblood, do you Potter?” he demanded forcefully.

“Well –” Harry tried to reply, feeling affronted.

“It was a rhetorical question, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. He brushed his hair out of his face and shut his eyes for a moment or two to collect himself.

“I don’t know what your problem is –” Harry began again, spitting his comment like a bad taste on his tongue.

“The Blacks died unnaturally young for wizards,” Malfoy interrupted again, clearly not in the mood for Harry’s dense antics. “Normal wizards live for around twice the length of time as a normal Muggle. You know this, surely.”

“Yes,” Harry answered shortly, huffing at having to humour Malfoy.

“But they all die young,” he repeated. “Does that not TELL you anything??”

Harry was standing quite close to his breaking point and Malfoy was threatening to throw him over the edge.

“Yes,” he snarled back. “It tells me they all died young. HOW does that relate if they have all died of different causes??”

Malfoy’s eyes were molten silver and tore through Harry like daggers. He felt the tension rising and wanted nothing more than to throw himself over the table and wrap his fingers around the blond’s neck. He wanted to let out his rage and frustration.

Malfoy looked much the same.

“Purebloods have inherent curses in their blood, Potter,” he finally said as though it had taken all the effort he had to push out the words. “The curses are inherited traits that are only passed down in pureblooded lines.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer but stopped dead. He furrowed his brow and sat back, speechless.

“Half-bloods and mud-” he stopped himself harshly, narrowing his eyes before continuing. “Muggleborns are not affected because the magic is diluted, or new. They call it dirty or impure. In truth, it is impure, but the impurities give the blood strength.” He seemed to be forcing himself to speak quickly to get it all out before his conscience got the better of him and forced him to shut up. “Furthermore, the curses are strongest when passed down from the father. That’s why the Blacks all have the same curse, regardless of the other side of their parentage.”

“Then what is this Black curse?” Harry asked, his anger mounting with every passing second. Malfoy had known this. He had known this for a while now. He must have.

“Early deaths,” he said quietly. “They all die young, no matter what. The second parent contributes to the cause of death. If the mother had heart conditions, then often the cause of death will be a heart attack. If the mother had a poor immunity, then they died of simple diseases that can normally be cured by potions. Those that died of being murdered were ultimately spared the suffering of their family members. Sirius and Bellatrix were killed but wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. And Regulus you say died by Inferi? Well he was clearly unable to defend himself like a normal witch or wizard could. It all comes back to the same thing.”

“That’s why your mother is in the hospital,” Harry said suddenly. The muscles in his jaw felt tense and tight. He couldn’t breathe evenly. “She’s dying of nothing because she survived everything else. That’s why they can’t treat her.”

“Not necessarily,” Malfoy admitted, quietly and casting his eyes away. “I just haven’t found exactly what might be causing it.”

Harry gaped in fury. How could this be. All the answers he was looking for. All he needed for his assignment was staring him in the face. Malfoy knew all along but he didn’t say a word. He let Harry continue agonizing over it. He let Harry waste precious days inside the old Archive looking for clues that he, himself, had already found. He was livid.

“You lied to me!” he hollered suddenly. “You kept this from me the whole time!! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Malfoy’s face was expressionless and his eyes went flat. He looked up at Harry with an expression that could only be described as dead.

“Why do you think I didn’t tell you?” he asked, but not with the tone Harry expected. He expected the question to be sarcastic but it wasn’t. It was genuine and irritated Harry more and more because he couldn’t understand Malfoy at all.

“You wanted to make the discovery for yourself,” he shot out angrily. “You wanted to torture me? I don’t know your motives, Malfoy. I never will.” He threw his arms up and clenched his jaw. “And to THINK I defended you to my wife!”

“Why did you do that?” Malfoy asked, again with the aggravatingly honest questioning timbre to his voice. Harry wanted to scream.

“I don’t fucking know, now do I?” he yelled. “It’s a bloody good question. Why would I put my family through tension and fighting just for the likes of you?? You wouldn’t even help me honestly.”

Malfoy’s face held nothing of the sneer it did before. It broadcast some kind of silent shame that Harry couldn’t identify but that bothered him even more than before. Why couldn’t he react adequately?? Why wouldn’t he just explode in return? Why wouldn’t he deny these motives and give Harry a reason to keep on believing in him??

Why couldn’t he just be predictable for once?!

Then, just as Harry was about to get up and leave, Malfoy’s eyes widened and he pulled something out of his pocket. It was a gold coin that resembled a galleon. On the front, however, was not the usual symbol but words instead. Harry couldn’t read them but recognized the charm from what Hermione had used to inform members about D.A. meetings as well as what Malfoy had used to contact Rosmerta in sixth year.

The blond’s jaw dropped slightly and he got out of his seat, replacing the coin in his pocket and running to the fireplace.

“I have to go, Potter,” he called out without another word. Harry was about to scream at him, demanding to know where he was going and what was going on. Why he was running out like a coward. Why he wouldn’t face their argument but before he could even open his mouth, Malfoy grabbed some powder from the jar on the mantle and threw it into the fire. “St. Mungo’s!”

And he was gone and Harry was left alone, festering in his own anger and rage. He was vindictive and wanted Malfoy to pay for leading him on the way he did. For lying and keeping important details from him. He wanted the prat to suffer for it.

At least that’s what he told himself in that moment. In truth he was hurt for many other reasons.

He felt something in him break at the knowledge that their friendship might not be as pure as he thought it was…

That he might have been wrong for wanting to get close to Draco Malfoy.

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A/N: Ah I’m sorry for not posting yesterday! X_X I post today though, but I think you might not be so pleased with me by the time you finish the two chapters. Ehehehe.

In any caseeeeeeee….

You all have wonderfully valid questions and I promise you will all get answers within the coming chapters, so I can’t answer directly right now. However, Ley has asked some interesting questions that need to be dealt with right now.

First off, Harry’s children, alone with Hermione/Ron’s and Bill/Fleur’s children are all half-bloods. Teddy Lupin is also a half-blood. I am going to attempt to disregard anything that JKR says from now on because she likes to KILL MY DREAMS and screw up my plots.

But it will be explained.

Secondly, I AM an AS/S shipper because they are my second generation OTP hahaha. She just handed the Harry/Draco shippers that one I think… what with throwing that horrible display of glaring heterosexuality at us in the epilogue. It was necessary. Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit. But I love Albus Severus/Scorpius. I want to write a fic just for them.

I also realize and agree whole-heartedly that Harry should send a message to Al more urgently than to James. Believe me. Soon, mind you, you’ll see what he did and how is all plays in.

Sooooooo I’ll post the next chapter a little later tonight. Please don’t kill me.

Reviews are love! LOVE I say!