Triple Deception

Chapter two; In which fickle emotions run rampant.

Nothing at all compared to the blissful chill of dark morning air high above the spires of the Hogwarts castle. With his robes billowing and snapping behind him in the dew-laden air, Harry sped just below above the low mists that crawled over the grounds and slipped into the cracks. The cold felt wonderful against his face though he had quickly discovered that the dew collected everywhere. He didn’t mind so much, though he did take off his glasses. He couldn’t see any better with them fogged up and dripping chilly water anyway. He got a thrill from flying almost blind. He was high enough to know that he couldn’t run into anything and yet, he could still navigate with only a little difficulty.

The chill brought him out of the surreal events of the morning and into the day. He pondered over the witch’s words, turning them over and over again in his mind. Who are you? Who do you want me to be? What is your name? I have many. Why are you telling me this? It is possible to do so. Each answer was evasive, yet told as much as it hid. She could take on the personality of anyone he named (weather it was accurate in any degree remained to be seen) if he chose to see her as such. She would put on a mask, much as he did, and become whomever she was expected. Yet it hid who she was. She was called many things, she probably had many aliases she went by, changing callings as it suited her needs. Many call me Eyrnis. Her real name? Probably not… though I wouldn’t be surprised if it is a variation. There is truth in everything…

It was the last comment that confused him the most. She did not tell him of danger because she feared for his life, nor because she feared for her own, or anyone else’s. She did not tell him of danger because she had been ordered to do so or because she felt some obligation of any kind. She did not tell him because she was blackmailed into doing so, because someone had asked her to, or because she simply wanted to. She told him, plainly and simply, because it was within her range of ability to do so. Why do people climb Mount Everest? Because they can. Harry suddenly wondered if she had any communication with Death Eaters or even was a messenger for the Dark Lord.

Dawn combed through the mists like a multicolored brush. The light filtered a bluish green on the shifting clouds, then slowly tinted pink. A sudden flair of red spiked through the middle of it all then bled slowly into a dusky orange. Slowly the mist burned away under the lingering yellows and by the time Harry replaced his glasses the temperature was beginning to rise. He landed, entering the castle through one of the many doors. He shrunk his broom and magiked it to his quarters, wondering if his wards were still in tact. He couldn’t tell from this distance, but it was probably a moot point anyway.

After finding his way down an unlit corridor, the pathway spit him out into the middle of the dungeons. There was a moment of brief confusion on his part before he simply picked a direction and started walking. The torches flickered softly as he passed, as if telling him they knew he was there. It was rather unnerving. Two lefts, a right, and several other random choices later, Harry found himself in a familiar hallway. Now confident in his direction he headed for the Great Hall where it would no doubt be announced the teacher of the class.

The only thing to be found in the Great Hall as Harry entered were piles of books at the far end of one table. The sound of shuffling papers and the scratch of a quill indicated someone behind said books and quite involved in their work. Harry rounded the corner and stumbled upon none other than Hermione, flipping through a dusty tome in great haste.

“Where’s the fire?” He chuckled softly, putting a hand on her shoulder to announce his presence. She jumped then put a hand to her chest and let out a breath of relief with an apologetic smile.

“Hey Harry, I was just going through a few things. Dumbledore mentioned something about elf magic and referred me to a book.” She paused, glancing about at the stacks as if she hadn’t noticed them until just now. She probably hadn’t. “I guess I got carried away…” She smiled again. “But you wouldn’t believe how much information there is on it! Look here.” She flipped open a book and skipped a few pages, pointing to a paragraph of miniscule script that Harry couldn’t even try to read. “It says here that elves harbor a great power that surpasses that of any wizard known to date, but that they voluntarily trapped that power when they accepted servitude to seven pureblood wizard families hundreds of years ago.”

“So you’re saying house elves have more magical power than any of us but can’t use it because they are servants?”

“Exactly. But not just house elves, Harry. All elves.”

“What is there besides house elves? And why would they give up all that power?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of forest elves. You know, tall and graceful beings that all the stories talk about?”

“Well yeah, but I thought they were just stories.”

“One word for you, Harry. Fluffy.”

He laughed and held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. So elves gave up all that power, and not just house elves but all of them; that still doesn’t tell me why.”

Hermione snatched another book and flipped through it. “I’m not entirely sure myself but it seems there was a gathering of sorts, like a council, and the decision was made to devote themselves to servitude until the last member of each pure bloodline had died. Only then would the elves be able to access their power again. Which brings me to the next question, who were the original seven?”

A third book was extricated from the stacks. “This says that the seven were not all of high prestige but all of them were pureblood. So my guess is they took a few from the upper class, a few from the middle and a few from the low class. That doesn’t give me any clues as to their reasons for accepting servitude to begin with though. For instance, if they wanted it to be more of a temporary thing than why not pick all low class purebloods? Or, on the flip side, if they wanted it to be next to permanent why not pick all from high-class lines? The high class is very stoic on making sure each generation has one to follow.”

“Maybe they wanted to even it out. Keep it out of reach for a decently lengthy time, but not make it impossible.”

“Than why pick from the high or low classes at all? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Well obviously they didn’t give up all their power. During second year, Dobby attacked Lucius after I tricked the man into freeing him. How much power are they able to access if they can’t get it all?”

“Quite a bit. Not enough to kill but if they honestly wanted to do some damage, they could do it. Most house elves are raised to serve, they don’t know any other life and the outside world, as it were, terrifies the hell out of them so they don’t try to go against those they are bonded to. It’s a magical bonding anyway one placed when they gave up their power, I don’t think they can break it themselves.”

“Alright, so where did all that power go once it was closed off? Do they harbor it like wizards do, inside themselves?”

“Good heavens, no. No one can channel that much power and live. I don’t think you understand the magnitude we’re talking about, Harry. One elf could call on more power than one hundred wizards as powerful as Albus.”

“So if they don’t hold it, where is it? And on that note, if you knew where it was, could you access it? You’re not an elf so whatever spell they cast wouldn’t apply to you, right?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “I don’t know… It’s a scary thought. What if Voldemort got a hold of that much power? What if anyone did, for that matter?”

“Hermione, you just told me the elves have been holding that power in limbo for the past millennia, I don’t think anyone will be getting to it any time soon.” He looked at his watch. “Where is everyone?”

“What?” Hermione was momentarily confused by the change of subject. “Oh, they all went home last night. And on that note, why are you still here?”

“Went home? Who’s the new teacher then?”

“Albus said he would send letters out when he had decided. Weren’t you listening?”

“No, I had left for bed before he had fini- Were you here yesterday? Why didn’t I see you?”

Hermione chuckled as she closed and stacked the books. “I wasn’t in the Great Hall, no. But I was in the outside most of the day, and night for that matter, working with Professer Flitwick. He retired last year and needed help picking a new Charms teacher.”

“Where’s Thomas?”

“Hell if I know, the little devil-“ She was interrupted by the slam of the Great Hall’s doors as they opened to admit the aforementioned boy.

“That is perhaps, an accurate representation, Miss Granger.” Professor Snape coldly followed the young Thomas as he flung himself toward Harry with a loud “Uncle Harry!” Harry inwardly winced at the name; it was Hermione’s doing, but knelt to gather the boy in a bone-crushing hug.

Hermione glanced from her son to the potions professor in question.

“I’ve been entertaining him in my rooms for the past two hours.” He raised a significant eyebrow.

Hermione abruptly pointed a finger at Thomas. “I thought I told you to say out of the dungeons?! Professor Snape has enough to do without you getting underfoot as well.” She looked back to Snape once the boy had enough sense to look apologetic. “I’m sorry professor-“

He held up a hand. Hermione fell silent. “It’s quite all right.” Those hard eyes flicked to the boy and Harry thought he saw them soften slightly. The professor likes little kids? Hah. But he filed the thought away for later. “He was very interested in the potion I was brewing so I took the opportunity to teach him how to make it. He is a remarkable learner. You should find that if you are ever in need of a simple sleeping draught, Thomas would be able to tell you how it’s made.” First name basis? Well the boy isn’t a student yet… “Now, I have important matters to attend. If you will excuse me.” Snape inclined his head in farewell and promptly exited.

Hermione looked back to Thomas but the boy spoke up before he could be scolded again. “Mum, can I go get lunch?” She bit back the tirade of reprimands that leapt to be free and nodded after a moment.

“Alright. You know where Dobby is.”

The boy nodded and after one more hug for Harry he scrambled back out the doors. Harry gazed after him, schooling a slightly worried expression over his otherwise blank features. “He knows the way to the kitchens?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t he? We practically live at the school what with all the work Albus has me doing.”

“Well yes… but are you sure that’s a good thing? He does attend next year after all.”

Hermione suddenly looked thoughtful. “Oh… oh I suppose that probably wasn’t the best of ideas, was it?” A deep sadness slowly worked its way over her face. Harry watched, entranced, as the emotion crept around and completely invaded while thoughts flickered like lightning bugs beneath the glossy surface of tears in her eyes. She met Harry’s gaze, an almost pleading look. “Robert would have known, Harry. Have I been doing it right all these years?” Her voice broke and the tears began. He gathered her in his arms, holding her silently as she cried. Her voice was deceptively calm despite them. “I wonder sometimes if I make the right choice. I let him wander the castle because I know Albus will keep him safe, or any other teacher here. But he could get into trouble. He could get lost. Robert always knew weather something was right or not for him. He would explain it all in perfect sense so I wouldn’t ever have any reason to doubt the choice.” Her voice hitched and she clung to Harry’s broad shoulders, burying her face in his neck. “I just don’t know anymore.” Her voice broke again and Harry stroked her back lightly, waiting for the tears to run themselves dry.

“He’s growing up to be a fine young boy, Hermione, you’ve nothing to be worried about. Do you honestly think that between me, you, and Ron we wouldn’t be able to raise a child? Robert is gone, we can’t bring him back, but we can make sure that Thomas doesn’t ever forget his dad.” He hugged her tightly as the tears slowly abated. She and Robert had met not long after the trio’s graduation from Hogwarts. The marriage was swift, and surprising. No one had expected her to get hitched so quickly but it was obvious that the two were a pair from the start. No one protested the union. Thomas soon followed and the family was well on their way. A particularly cruel twist of fate and irony found the Death Eaters at their door. Robert had died trying to defend his family, Hermione had Apparated with her five year old to the only safe place she knew, number four Privet drive.

The loss of Robert had hit everyone hard, but especially Hermione. She had become adept over the years, at controlling her emotions so it was a rare thing that she indulged in tears over her husband. Now, six years later, Harry allowed her the indulgence; she would force herself out of it too soon. “’s’all right Hermione, we’ll get through it all. He’s healthy and happy, that’s all you can ask for.” The tears were drying slowly and the sobs were banked. She conjured a tissue and dried her eyes, muttering a charm to reduce the swelling and redness. No one would see anything less than the prestigious Hermione Granger. Harry frowned softly but let it go. She smiled at him weakly and turned back to her books, carefully stacking them and sorting out her notes.

Her fingers brushed over a sealed envelope and she started. “Oh, Harry. I almost forgot.” She handed him the envelope. It bulged with whatever contents it held. “This is for you. Colin thought you might like them.”

Harry popped the seal and carefully lifted the flap. He peered inside. “There must be hundreds of photos in here.”

“A few of them were taken by Ron so the pictures didn’t turn out. After he took one with the cap on the lens, Colin refused to let him touch it again.”

--//--

After a day spent entertaining Thomas and various conversations with Hermione (no other mention of Robert was made) Harry was glad to be away from it all. He couldn’t say he was home, but he was back in his house. Hedwig chirruped her usual greeting and resumed her quiet slumber on the bedpost, head tucked beneath one wing. Harry sat cross-legged on the bed and dumped the contents of Colin’s envelope over the coverlet. The wash of miniaturized pictures seemed to go on forever. When the last one was fished out of an obscure fold in the paper Harry grabbed a small handful and pointed his wand. “Engorgio.”

The handful of small squares became a small stack of moving pictures. On top was a collective photo of the Weasley family at the burrow. Harry smiled. Ron and Ginny were on the right, beaming at the camera. The twins, George and Fred were alternately snickering and pointing at Bill who’s long hair was flashing from black to red to blue and back to black again. He didn’t seem to mind too much. Charlie was in the background pointing out a young dragon to his smallest daughter Marie. Charlie’s wife, Roseanne, stood next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on the left. Harry pointed his wand at the picture, “Circumvenio Pinetum” A delicate pinewood frame surrounded the photo and Harry propped it up on his bedside table.

Three hours later Harry was still looking at photos. Many he had framed and spelled to various locations in his room. It was starting to resemble a decent living space. Others he had framed and stacked to place around the house. All the walls were bare, so he could put them wherever he wished. Still others had been shrunken once more and collected in a small box. Harry added another compartment to the box and piled the hundreds of remaining photos inside, sealing off the top and putting it into his desk drawer. The stacks of framed pictures hovered behind Harry as he made his way outside the room.

Working from top to bottom Harry spelled the pictures to the walls. Four individual shots of Hermione, Robert, Ron, and Thomas decorated the stair wall. Another collective picture of the Weasleys was placed just inside the doorway. Various dragon photos were lined up along another wall there they formed a panoramic view of a desert valley. After some trial and error Harry managed to figure out how to link the photos so that the dragons could travel from frame to frame. A photo of Hermione and Robert on their wedding day found its place on the mantel over the fireplace next to one of Charlie and Roseanne’s event. Pictures of Thomas, one for ever year, were lined up on another wall right below Marie and above Luane, Charlie’s second oldest, and Evon, his first son.

It suddenly struck Harry that he was decorating the house… It was no longer simply a place of residence but now held something of him on the walls. The last picture was of Remus, hung in the kitchen across from the large window so that he could see the view. Harry smiled softly, a genuine smile untainted by worry or staled by a mask. Sensitive fingers brushed the wooden frame, engraved with wolves and a delicate pattern of moons. His smile faded and Harry retreated upstairs to the darkness once more.

--//--

The glittering silver eyes of Lucius Malfoy taunted him from across the room. They mocked, mocked his nakedness, mocked his inability to help himself, and mocked his cowardice and humiliation. He was chained to a wall, half on the ground, half suspended by numb wrists and shoulders by the cold bite of steel. His breath came in ragged gasps that were spaced too far apart. At each pause he wondered if he should take another and continue living. At each pause he saw those glittering quicksilver eyes. At each pause he hated the man behind those guarded, mocking eyes more than he thought it capable to hate. How was it possible that so much of the raw emotion could be sustained for so long a time in such a fragile body? It didn’t make any sense and he should be dead. It shouldn’t even be plausible for a body to remain in tact after the brutal… it wasn’t torture… it was worse than torture, there was no word for what he had been through, what he would go through, what awaited him soon. He took another breath. And he wondered…

--//--

The message came three days later, after Harry had rummaged through most of the countless pictures. Few others had been separated from the collection and placed around the house, giving it a gentler feel. He would walk in the door and be greeted by the Weasley family, his family, and it would remind him of better days, better times. Dragons now circulated the house over plains, white tundra, open waters, dense forest, and deserted mountain chains where, if one looked closely enough, giants could be seen.

The message came while Harry was closing the familiar box of photos and returning it to his desk drawer. Despite the scattered pictures, the room still did not seem to be lived in. The bed was unrumpled, all clothes hidden away in the closet. No papers littered the desk, no pen or ink balanced on the corner. The chair was lined up exactly within the hollow, not even turned slightly to indicate anyone had sat in it recently. Nothing decorated the bedside table aside from the one photo. Harry’s wand was tucked snugly at his wrist and any letters he cared to keep were stacked neatly within the drawer.

The message came via a large bird that Harry didn’t recognize. It swooped in through the parted window and deposited its burden on the bed, banking and silently exiting without so much as a glance to anyone. Hedwig hooted and turned her back on the window, ruffling her feathers. Harry picked up the letter, a Hogwarts seal stamped in white wax held it closed. Ah, from Dumbledore then… He slipped the flap open and pulled out a small, index card sized note.


Master Wizard Harry Potter

May I be the first to congratulate you on your obtaining of the position Defense Against The Dark Arts instructor. You and one other will co-teach the class. Students arrive on the twenty-ninth of August. Classes begin on the first of September. A staff meeting will be held on the twenty-eight, please be settled in before hand.

Like the one before it, Harry burnt the paper to nothingness. The twenty-eighth is tomorrow… Some notice he’s given. Setting aside his annoyance, Harry dragged two large trunks out of a small closet. Flipping one open he skimmed its contents. “Cloak; one, two, three vials; shoes; knife; rope” He muttered under his breath as he mentally checked each item off. “Water, spare wand, parchment, quill, ink, all here.” He closed the trunk and locked it securely, levitating it onto his bed.

The second trunk was opened and with a few choice words all of his clothes were neatly folded and shrunk into a corner of it. His small collection of books was next, followed by various other necessities. As an afterthought he added the box of photos then closed and locked it as he had the first. “Duo Armarium Leviosa.” Both of the trunks lifted from their positions. Harry grabbed one handle on each and closed his eyes.

--//--

The only word Harry could come up with to describe Hogsmade was chaos. He was suddenly and keenly aware of why he had arrived in the dead of night last time. People whispered and shot him knowing glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. Their eyes lingered on his scar, even though his mop of black hair was too long to see it. He stalked through the crowds, sending death glares to anyone who even thought of talking to him. They allowed him a wide berth, not nearly wide enough for his liking but one can’t have everything.

Despite his efforts it still took an ungodly amount of time to get to Hogwarts. The path was swarming with people and all of them wanted to get a look at the Boy-Who-Lived turned Man-Who-Was-Livid. His constant and unwavering glare would have made even Snape proud. That thought made him smile, though it probably looked more like a sneer than anything else. He barely managed to avoid snapping at a particularly bold wizard who wanted his autograph. His autograph for god’s sake!

Disinclined to evoke the wrath of a deity he didn’t exactly believe in but occasionally (ok, maybe more than occasionally) abused the name of, he stormed onto Hogwarts grounds. The safety of the wards only served to piss him off further and he all but floated into the castle in a freakishly cold rage of hypothetical blue fire and ice. All but running into Snape in a similar mood snapped him out of it fast enough to disorient him momentarily. The potions professor sneered. “Mister Potter, how delightful.” Sarcasm dripped from the words. “You couldn’t be content haunting me for seven years, no. You felt the need to return and bring chaotic ruin to my doorstep for another indeterminate amount of time. Remind me to celebrate after I discover where Albus has hidden his sanity.”

Harry blinked, the slightly bewildered mask falling automatically into place. It suddenly occurred to him why Snape harbored such anger toward him. He had taken the position that the former Death Eater had been chasing after for years on end. He applied for the position every year, and every year, Dumbledore chose someone else. Every year was one more year Snape didn’t get what he wanted, and Harry was sure Snape was well accustomed to getting what he wanted. Remarkably like a Malfoy, in fact. That thought sobered his mood quickly enough and he turned away without a word, hefting one chest onto his shoulder and charming the second to trail behind obediently.

There was no one on the staircase, as the students wouldn’t arrive for two days yet. He didn’t allow the solid mask to slip just yet, however, as he had a few flights of stairs to navigate before finding his room. A good decision, as it turned out, because he met up with Hermione and Thomas on his way. The boy had paused in his assent to inquire about a stair that seemed to like chewing on the corner of his robe. Hermione was in the middle of explaining how much magic was a part of the school when she spotted Harry. He gave her a brief smile and a nod as he passed, Thomas didn’t notice in favor of watching the step.

A few moving staircases and a moment spent talking with McGonagall later, Harry found the picture he was looking for. A fairly obscure painting that not many paid attention to, but it opened onto one of the more traveled hallways. It was the same room he had always used, not because he liked the location, but because that’s what he had been given; what others expected him to take. He said the password and the picture swung open silently. He made a mental note to secure the area later and carried the trunk into the adjoining room.

One of the trunks was placed at the foot of a huge bed it’s locks double-checked. The second was placed on the bed and Harry was about to open it when a gentle chime echoed in the room. It took him a moment to remember that the sound meant someone was waiting at the entrance for him. He left the trunk where it was and returned to the picture, gesturing for it to open.

“Potter! We meet again.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Malfoy. What can I do for you?” His tone was carefully neutral.

Draco smirked. “Nothing, I expect. Everybody’s golden boy doesn’t do things for others.”

Harry was half expecting the blonde to spit on him. Draco looked as though he was seriously considering the option. “What is it you want, Malfoy?” Harry’s voice was still carefully guarded, betraying nothing. Inside his emotions were in turmoil. Harry had no quarrel with the younger Malfoy, he had no reason to fear or hate him after what he had endured at the hands of the blonde’s father. On the other hand he had a very strong desire to see that pale complexion stained red with his own blood and Harry’s fists dealing the blows.

Draco leaned forward, a few strands of golden silver hair falling in front of similarly colored eyes. His voice was little more than a whisper but it still managed to portray every ounce of pure, fierce hatred as had his father’s during those long months. “I want to know why you did it.”

Memories better left buried and forgotten surfaced with a vengeance. An uncontrollable anger stirred within Harry. A spark of fear slipped through his mask, answered by a spark of superior arrogance from Draco. Before either of them could do something they would regret Harry quietly and precisely closed the door in the wizard’s face.

--//--

Sleep did not come easy over the night to Harry and when it did finally arrive it brought nightmares along with it. Around three in the morning (after waking up for the fourth time in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, and a scream waiting on his lips) he decided enough was enough and escaped to the cold, dark air of the grounds outside. The familiar feel of the broom beneath him and the open space of the skies slowly dispelled the knots in his stomach and the fear that ran in his blood. It wasn’t until just past dawn, however, when the mists had burned away, that he had pulled himself together enough to face the day.

Harry, showered and dressed, showed no sign of anything but a restful night. His wild black hair had finally grown long enough for him to pull it back into a small tail at the base of his neck. It still looked like an unruly mop, but at least it didn’t constantly fall into his eyes. His robes, a dark wine red lined with a subdued gold to show his house colors yet not attract undue attention, fell about him gently. If there was one thing growing up had done, it was allow him to don wizarding robes and not look like an utter fool. He entered the staff room in a silent ripple of fabric and the soft sound of his boots on the carpeted floor, his emotional masks donned.

Dumbledore nodded a greeting when he entered, gesturing toward a pair of empty seats. Harry sat, green eyes taking in the picture of well-known teachers lounging about while time allowed. Snape glowered at anyone who so much as breathed in his direction. Hooch and Sprout seemed to be in a heated argument over something. McGonagall held a copy of Witches Weekly in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, her small glasses perched on the end of her nose. Trelawney was there, consulting the remains of her tea and peering at a book now and again, probably predicting someone’s death. Various other teachers were absent from the able, Binns and Sinistra for instance. Harry noticed that Hagrid was not there either. It didn’t account for the extra empty seat, though.

The door opened to admit the last teacher in question and Harry’s heart fell. Draco certainly knew how to make an entrance, he’d give him that. The blonde had bound his hair much as had Harry, in a tail at the base of his neck. The strands washed quite a length down his back. The Slytherin green and silver were a given but Harry had no idea the colors could be displayed in such an elegant package. Robes of deep forest green were patterned with dark silver that didn’t shimmer or glitter in any way, and yet, still reflected the light enough to draw the eye. A complementing silver shirt was tucked into similar pants, though the latter seemed patterned in the same dark green as the robe. Harry’s assessment didn’t get any farther because his stunned gaze met a pair of highly amused silver eyes.

Anger boiled his blood, but underneath ran a bone deep fear. Draco’s father had those eyes… those silvery gold eyes that turned to a deep, stormy gray when angered. Harry knew every nuance of them, and it scared him to no end. They haunted him in the night. His own gaze hardened as his mind raced, pinpointing the only possible reason Draco (he had stopped being Malfoy a few months out of Hogwarts for reasons better left forgotten) could be here. Draco seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same time and both of them shot rivaling glares at the Headmaster who had the cheek to grin with that twinkle in his eye.

Harry’s temper flared hot, but as such it was bound to run its course quickly. He struggled to keep his voice relatively quiet but he could feel Draco’s amusement. He could feel those silver eyes laughing at him… mocking… always mocking. “Headmaster, is this your idea of a joke because I find none of this even slightly amusing.” He noticed McGonagall carefully set her paper down but couldn’t bring himself to care. “If it is the capability of either of us that is in question I will more than gladly step out of this position before it has even begun. However, something tells me that is not the case and I tell you now, Headmaster that I will not be a pawn in your little chess game of life.”

“Is the golden boy afraid to show off his lacking skills to small, impressionable minds?” Draco gasped softly and put a hand to his heart in a display of mock disbelief. “I thought I’d never see the day.”

“Malfoy you will stay out of this. Or need I remind you of your inept display at the graveyard?” Harry spat the words with all the caustic venom Draco had given him during his years as a student. It snapped the blonde out of his amusement but didn’t stop him from commenting. The graveyard incident wasn’t actually Draco’s fault, but he blamed himself for it anyway.

“Well at least I stuck around to repair the damage, Potter, unlike you who up and vanished for five months only to show up on my doorstep and murder my father! He had –“ Draco paused mid-word when Harry’s hot anger burned away to be replaced by a cold fire. A deadly cold fire far more unpredictable than a simple shouting match.

“You will watch your next words very carefully, Draco.” Harry had turned to face his opponent and saw the shudder the sadistic chill of his voice had caused. The other’s name had come out as a dangerous purr so low that it was hardly audible yet it caused a dramatic change in the atmosphere of the room. All pretense of masks had been abandoned and the malicious grin that he now displayed didn’t help to calm the situation. Hooch and Sprout abruptly ceased their argument to stare in shock. McGonagall looked horrified yet at the same time, seemed confused as to why she felt so. Snape portrayed a mix of mild disbelief followed by reluctant acknowledgement that maybe, just maybe, Harry was better at the ‘suddenly evil’ thing than he was. It was then undermined by a fear that he had horribly misjudged the effects the aforementioned five months had had on Harry and as a result, misinformed Albus. The Headmaster himself had lost the telltale twinkle in his eyes and now watched the quarreling pair with an air of seriousness.

Harry, meanwhile, had turned back to Dumbledore, that foreboding smirk still playing on his face. “Very well, Headmaster, I will play you a game of chess but remember that it is always the quiet ones who go unnoticed.” With that cryptic statement he whirled and exited the room soundlessly, green eyes fiercely locked in front of him. So distracted was he by his cold fury that he missed the glance shared between the potions professor and the Headmaster. He missed the whispered gossip between Sprout and Hooch. He missed McGonagall’s worried gaze after him. He didn’t miss, however, Draco’s fearful shudder, though the blonde did an impressive job of hiding any other emotions.

Harry didn’t make it more than twenty feet before he felt a presence behind him. Once again, said presence held no sound to accompany it and his first reaction was followed. This time, however, when Harry found his wand pointed at the nose of the potions professor, his mild amusement at the man’s not quite hidden bewilderment twisted his face into a dark sneer. His green eyes slashed over the man before him harshly, searching for something perhaps. Harry then gave an incredulous snort and stalked away.

“We hardly believe you abandoned us Potter. It was low, even for Mister Malfoy.”

Harry paused, slowly turned around to face the dark clad man. He laughed; a short bark of desperation and hopelessness. “Low even for Malfoy?!” The cold fury was back, Harry’s voice quietly dark. “With all due respect, professor, you don’t have the foggiest concept of low.” He slowly walked toward Snape who hardly batted an eye. It seemed the professor had regained his composure. “You, with your years under the Dark Lord, have known nothing of pain.” Another step brought him nose to nose with the man. Harry’s proximity wards buzzed in his ears. “You, sir, still have an identity.” Harry turned away for a second time.

“I once spent three weeks at Malfoy Manor.” Snape’s tone was utterly flat. For the second time Harry stopped before he got ten feet away. He spent a brief moment pondering the implications of that single statement. The moment passed and he spoke over his shoulder, neither glancing behind him nor giving Snape the benefit of any emotion other than the previously displayed chill.

“The only consolation I can give you is the assurance that he never broke you.”

--//--

He never broke you…

Severus Snape paced his bedroom, those four words cropping up whenever he tired to replay the conversation from the previous day.

He never broke you…

Weather those words were a hidden acknowledgement of Snape’s mental strength or simply another cryptic warning from one who had been through every circle of hell and back, he had no idea. Albus was right, Harry had not come through those five months unscathed and he was a fool to have even suggested it. He himself had spent a mere three weeks so many years ago, and that event had taken years for him to overcome. Lucious had no doubt perfected his techniques since then and Severus couldn’t imagine what sort of things the man could do with five months time. From what he knew, the boy (for Harry was still a boy in his mind though that would undoubtedly change in light of yesterday) hadn’t spoken to anyone about his absence, and most people had the presence of mind not to bring it up.


He had gained the inane ability to construct walls around himself, walls that not even Severus had recognized, so similar were they to his own, until that fated staff meeting. He hadn’t even wanted to go, but Albus had away of manipulating people. He now wondered if the Headmaster hadn’t made him come for the sole reason of recognizing Harry’s current state; if one could call it a state.

He never broke you…

Severus had the feeling that those four words were as close Harry had ever come to admitting what had happened in those months to anyone other than himself. The boy confided in no one, much as Severus had done. The difference was that Severus had blamed himself, an effect of Lucius’s brainwashing. Harry on the other hand, blamed only Lucius. All of his anger had been focused on one point and that’s all fine and good while that point still exists. Unfortunately Draco had come home for an unscheduled visit and that point had been abruptly eradicated. That was two years ago when Harry had been ‘rescued’ from the manor.

They had thought him alright, a little worse for wear, but otherwise fine. Harry’s ability to mask his thoughts and emotions had fooled them all. He was unstable, emotionally, physically, probably magically as well. The outburst and abrupt changes in tact had proved that during the staff meeting. Just how much so, and what it would take to heal it, was still unknown.

He never broke you…


AN: Please review.