Triple Deception

Chapter 3; of Danger and Secrets

He had to work with Draco Malfoy. He had to work with Draco Malfoy because Draco Malfoy had put him up to it knowing his stupid Gryffindor pride wouldn’t let him drop the subject. He had to work with Draco Malfoy because he couldn’t hold onto his temper. He had to work with Draco Malfoy and the other teachers in the staff room had seem his little display of emotion and had been sending him pitying glances ever since. He had to work with Draco Malfoy for Christ’s sake. He had killed the man’s father and had gotten away with it!

In short, Harry Potter was pissed off. Not just mad; but royally and completely, beyond-all-reasonable-doubt, don’t-even-breathe-in-my-direction-or-I’ll-hex-you-into-next-teusday ticked. Goddamn him!! He cursed silently, Goddamn him, goddamn him and goddamn me too while we're at it! Might as well kill the whole goddamned, blood-cursed, idiotic, Boy-Who-Fucking-Didn't-Want-To-Live problem!! He could almost feel the cold of his fury seeping into the stone around him as he stalked in utter silence toward the Great Hall. Contrary to the inner turmoil, the outer shields of blank disinterest and dangerous relaxation were of absolute calm. A very cold calm.

His eyes of brilliant jade glittered softly in the torch light, bringing with them secrets and warnings. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t be down here, about to share a dinner with hundreds of happy students while he was in such a riled temper but that somewhere was much too far away to be heard clearly. He had spent the day pacing his room, working himself up into a state until he convinced himself that not showing up for the dinner would give Draco an edge Harry couldn’t afford.

His boots made no sound on the stone as the approached the doors of the hall. The doors themselves made no sound as they slowly opened just before Harry reached them. It occurred to the wizard that the doors don’t usually open by themselves but passed it off as Dumbledore knowing he was coming. The soft chatter of excited voices was abruptly cut short as he made his way down the center isle. He didn’t notice much of it, only the quiet amusement dancing in quicksilver eyes at one end of a very, very long staff table. Goddamn him! Harry noticed his appointed seat was beside the current point of his fury. And on the other side? One Sibyll Trelawney, at your service. God was definitely not on his side today. He decided now was probably a good time to damn Him too.

Silence pervaded the room as Harry took his seat, robes billowing gently about him. Draco leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Nice entrance, how’d you get the doors to open? I still can’t do that yet…”

Harry turned to look at the genuinely curious blonde and had the sudden urge to strangle him. Instead he delivered quietly the words he had been running over all day. “We are not friends, Draco.” The purr was back. “We are not pals, buddies, chums, or anything more than reluctant colleagues. We work together in order to teach a younger generation. I want nothing more than to never see you again but as that is not currently an option I will settle for simply ignoring you whenever possible.” Here Draco gave an incredulous snort. “I will not talk to you about things better left unsaid and I will not entertain you by rising to your bait.”

Snape, seated at the end of the table on the other side of Draco, raised a single eyebrow. Dammit, thought Harry, Maybe that didn’t go exactly the way I planned it out… He ignored both the potions professor and his new colleague in favor of his dinner. Again he missed the look Albus and Snape exchanged over his head, he was a little caught up in focusing all of his murderous thoughts toward something productive.

Dinner was a more or less quiet affair. After his dramatically silent entrance the students had erupted in whispers while the teachers had done much the same, if slightly more civilized. Draco and Snape seemed to be the only two, Dumbledore notwithstanding, who were unaffected by Harry’s display and had quickly involved themselves in a discussion involving potions. Harry found that it was not very difficult at all to ignore his proclaimed enemy and needed only to put up with Trelawney’s occasional spout of impending doom which everyone seemed to ignore anyway. He briefly toyed with ideas as to why the Headmaster kept the eccentric woman on as teacher (Ferenz had done a wonderful job, thank you) but found himself going in circles as was often the case with Albus’s thought process. Upon reflection, his conversations weren’t much easier to puzzle out.

It was only after Hooch called at him (“Some good talent in Gryffindor this year, eh Harry?”) did he realize he had been searching the Gryffindor table for a familiar face… and hadn’t found it. Because of his delayed entrance, Harry had missed the sorting and, as a result, had no idea where Thomas had been placed. Instinctively he had been searching the Gryffindor table but he supposed the boy could have been put in Ravenclaw (Hermione was his mother after all). After a moment of searching it was decided that he wasn’t there either. The Hugglepuff table showed no sign of the first year and Harry wondered if the boy was sick and had simply missed the feast.

It took only a glance at the Slytheren table to prove the theory wrong. There among the first years was Thomas, quietly eating while his peers chattered around him. Harry watched as a fourth year stood and moved down the table, commenting now and again and grinning at his friends when the chosen victim spat his food out or choked on her pumpkin juice. The boy reached Thomas but before he could say anything, the young Granger turned and looked him in the eye. The fourth year faltered for a moment, then sneered and made a comment that caused more than a few students to fall silent. Thomas replied quietly and returned to his meal while the older boy was left floundering for a retort. Harry wondered what words had been exchanged but had no time for anything else as Dumbledore stood and excused the students. Among a myriad of groans (they had classes the next day, after all) the prefects collected their houses and herded them toward their respective dormitories. The heads of house followed closely behind. Harry slipped away during the confusion and raised voices to reach his room before the rush of noise and bodily traffic on the stairs.

The familiar atmosphere of the dinner had calmed his nerves and quieted his anger. Harry had enough time to drop his robes before the exhaustion of maintaining so much fluctuating emotion during the day hit him and he collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep before the first of the Gryffindors stormed past his room.

--//--

Dobby popped into Harry’s room carrying a tray of hot tea as he had been instructed but was not expecting all the lights to be on or the clothes scattered on the floor. Harry Potter, Dobby knew, was a very clean person and never left his things strewn about. Placing the tea on a table he collected the discarded robes and put the lights out one at a time. As soon as the last light was doused, however, a sound from the bed drew his attention. Flicking the torch on again, Dobby saw Harry twist on the bed, a small whimper escaping his lips. There was a moment of silence then Harry shifted again, curling in on himself and shaking like a leaf. Dobby saw tears dripping down Harry’s face as another whimper reached his ears. The house elf crept forward and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder to wake him. The wizard twisted away with a cry.

Pop

“Don’t wake him.”

Dobby squeaked in surprise and cowered in the juncture of the bed and wall. He peered between his fingers at the strange woman in black but squeaked again and hid his face when she looked his way. He didn’t notice the gentle caress on his personal yotel until the feeling was gone. It was common among elves to soothe and communicate through vibrations on yotel but Dobby had never heard of a human able to do the same. He reached out to return the caress, another elven custom, but found himself blindly reaching for something that wasn’t there.

His eyes popped open and he tried again to find her personal yotel. Everything emitted yotel, the bigger the object, the stronger the yotel around it were. At least, that’s what he had been taught. The woman had, in the meanwhile, leaned over the bed and started humming softly under her breath. Dobby watched in silence, head cocked slightly to one side. Harry gasped and arched off the bed, face contorted as if in pain. The woman traced something in the air that glowed a sickly green. Harry collapsed on the bed with a sigh.

“D-Dobby sees elf magic but not… not elf?”

Dobby was unable to formulate his confusion into coherent sentences but the woman seemed to understand anyway. She shook her head and traced another rune in the air. It too, glowed green and she disappeared with a pop before the magic fully dissipated. Dobby blinked with unseeing eyes. The elf stood in place, staring into nothing for quite some time. With a jerk he abruptly came to himself and shook his head. Harry was in a quiet sleep, the room was tidy, and the tea was delivered… why was he still here? With a shrug he disappeared as well.

--//--

Harry shifted and found sunlight striking his face. “Bloody hell, who turned on the light…?” Blinking rapidly he cleared the sleep from his eyes and found his glasses. It took a long moment for Harry to acknowledge that, yes, it was dawn, yes, he was still in bed, no, he wasn’t sick (at least he didn’t think so), and no, he didn’t remember taking a sleeping draught…

Harry honestly couldn’t recall when he last slept in past five in the morning. It had become routine to rise before the sun and fight off whatever mental demon had plagued him over the night, or simply forgo sleep altogether. Brushing such thoughts aside were not very difficult and as he readied himself for the day he found that he was quite refreshed. Even the thought that he would need to endure Draco’s presence throughout it couldn’t put too heavy a dent in his sudden spirits. He wasn’t happy about it, make no mistake, but he wouldn’t kill him on sight. The tea on the table went completely unseen.

His walk down to the Great Hall was interesting to say the least. He walked among various Gryffindors as they yakked among themselves. Many gave him a wide berth but he couldn’t really be bothered to care. He wasn’t particularly happy but he wasn’t seething with anger either. He didn’t go out of his way to greet any of the students, though he did acknowledge them with a nod if they said hello, and found that the results were quite preferable. No one dragged him into a conversation, no one tried to test the limits of his patience, students parted to allow him to pass, what in God’s name had happened to the world and why hadn’t he tried this sooner? Snape had the right of it after all.

Breakfast was similar to the previous day’s dinner; without the tiring emotional turmoil. Draco occupied himself in conversation with Snape and Harry ate his meal in relative silence. He didn’t notice much of the meal itself, that wasn’t what had caught his attention. Even Draco’s various, if weak, insults were ignored in favor of watching the unfolding drama at the Slytherin table. Granted, being Slytherin, it wasn’t very obvious, but Harry had spent seven years being tormented by a Slytherin, he knew action when he saw it, especially if it involved Thomas.

It wasn’t that there was a flurry of activity involving the boy in question but rather, a lack thereof. All around him students were talking and generally having a good time whereas Thomas simply ate his breakfast. There was a brief commotion when a swift falcon landed on his shoulder to deliver a letter and then remained for the duration of the meal. It seemed that birds were not usually ‘allowed’ at the table and even though the falcon wasn’t much larger than anyone’s fist it attracted the attention of quite a few students. The bird itself was quite well trained, it would seem, as he merely blinked large golden eyes at anyone who came close. Either that or it was simply a very Slytherin bird.

Harry noticed with some amusement that the fourth years remained some distance away, apparently word of Thomas’s remark had swept through their dormitory, and no doubt it would reach other years during the day. Ah yes… the day. As it was Harry had no idea how to go about teaching anything. He was not a teacher; he couldn’t even begin to predict what kinds of questions to ask… or would be asked. I wonder if Draco knows what he’s doing… I just can’t seem him with the patience to handle so many kids, never mind teach them all.

“Like what you see, Potter?”

Draco’s sensual voice was warm against his ear. Harry jerked backwards as his lip curled into a sneer. He hadn’t been staring at Draco… had he? If I say yes, he’ll mock me. If I say no, he calls me a liar and mocks me. If I don’t say anything he takes it as a yes… and mocks me. Wonderful. “Fuck off, Malfoy.” Oh, now that was good. Two points for originality, Harry.

Draco seemed to have the same thought and sneered before rising with a mock bow. “Very well,” the blonde smiled “See you in class.” With that arrogant smirk he sauntered away, leaving Harry with an amused professor Snape. The younger wizard glowered and continued to glower until the majority of the Hall had emptied.

Harry realized he would be late for his first class and, as before, couldn’t bring himself to care. Stalking the corridors toward the room he caught a pair of seventh years loitering and snapped at them for missing the first day of lectures. When it was discovered that the boys were missing Trelawney’s class, Harry simply couldn’t give them detentions (he had done his own share of skipping after all) and let them go with a ‘don’t let me catch you again’ stare that would have made McGonagall proud.

With a sigh he found the classroom (Who in their right mind puts a classroom behind a riddled wall?) and opened the door.

Upon reflection, Harry had to say that Draco was nothing if not sly. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the door and before his gaze could be raised past rows of rapt first years, the curse had been hurtled at him with an almost hissed “Incendo Impedimenta” The few days in relative safety hadn’t dulled Harry’s reactions in the least. His slightly melancholy mood was wiped away and in the process of drawing his wand (always kept at close hand within his robe sleeve) Harry focused suddenly hard eyes on Draco.

“Murus Contego. Expelliarmus. What exactly is going through your head, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco’s spell struck Harry’s barrier with a ripple of silver light and the blonde smirked even as his wand was slipped from his grasp into Harry’s waiting hand.

“First lesson:” he said smoothly to the students. “Keep your wits about you. As you can see, even though Professor,” a fleeting glance was sent to Harry, “Potter isn’t at his best, he was still able to defend himself and retaliate before my spell ever reached him.”

“Not at my best? I do believe I have your wand, Malfoy.” Harry’s voice was dark. A few of the students around him shrunk in their seats.

Draco sent him a glare. “Which brings me to the second lesson,” He stretched out his hand toward Harry. “Accio Wand.” His wand floated back to him much to the surprise of many students, “Your enemies don’t always need a wand to perform magic.”

“Fortunately for you,” Harry addressed the students though his hard gaze remained on Draco. “Voldemort very much likes to use his wand. He’s an arrogant man, and believes that nothing can stop him. He relies on his wand and that means you can take it from him.”

Draco leveled his stare at Harry, raising an eyebrow that seemed to say; Are we really talking about the Dark Lord? Aloud he said, “Let’s start them out with something a little less deadly, eh? No one’s going to be fighting Voldemort aside from you, Potter.”

Harry gave him a hard gaze that replied, What do you truly think, Malfoy? but soon relented and stalked the remainder of the classroom in a very Snape-esque manner. Draco smirked. “You’re late” he hissed, than louder, “Can anyone tell me what my spell was designed to do?”

A few hesitant hands were raised, Harry noticed that Thomas’s was among them. He pointed to the boy while sending a muttered “What’s it to you?” at Draco. “Yes, Mister Granger”

Thomas instantly sprang into a description of the spell and how to identify each of its effects. Both professors allowed him to run on for a while as they gazed over the class, continuing their own conversation.

“Nothing at all, it was very Gryffindor of you.”

“What are you getting at, Malfoy.” Harry turned to stare at his colleague, eyes guarded and dark.

Draco shot him an almost worried glance; Harry caught it and decided to ignore it. “Lighten up, Potter. Someone might think you were out to get me.”

Harry’s gaze returned to the class. “And if I was?” The comment was delivered cold. Draco didn’t reply.

--//--

Harry’s days fell into a predictable pattern. He woke early, often around three, and flew over the grounds until the mists had burned away. From there he would show up at breakfast while Draco and Snape talked and Sibyll spouted various impending deaths. Harry then would follow Draco’s lead in the classroom. The blonde, he discovered, was well versed in Latin while Harry was more experienced in visual identifications of spells. Between them (and Thomas), the students received a well-rounded lecture every day.

Lunch was a silent affair spent alone in his bedroom, ruminating over what someone had said or simply his thoughts. Further classes were taught, followed by dinner (a similar affair to breakfast), and finally a few hours of time to himself before he turned in for the night. In fact, aside from the various hexes he had to fend off during classes, Harry could have gone through the routine half asleep. After that first day, Draco had taken to ignoring Harry as much as Harry ignored Draco. Not a single word had been shared between them for a week. Harry found that it suited his purposes quite well. He didn’t have to come up with not-quite-witty retorts and Draco took the lead during class so that all Harry had to do was follow along with the pretense of knowing exactly what he was doing.

Draco on the other hand, was furious, loathe as though he was to admit it. Over what, exactly, he couldn’t rightly say, but that was beside the point. He was mad, it was Potter’s fault, and he had not a clue what to do about it. While it simmered, Draco took to starting at the smallest of things. A brush on the arm or the dropping of a coin was enough to make him tense; so often, in fact, that Snape commented on it one morning when his head whipped around in the midst of the conversation. “Draco, would you care to join me tonight for a drink?” Drink, not tea. He picked up the difference instantly. Until then, Draco had been able to restrain his startlement to a twitch of elegant fingers or hide it with little more than a pause in his lectures. He mentally kicked himself for his lack of self-control, but replied with a calm, “I would, my last class ends at five.”

“Very well, five thirty then. You know where my chambers are.” It wasn’t a question, and as such; an open invitation to visit intermittently. Draco nodded his assent. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few things to prepare for my afternoon classes.” Another hint, his later classes were more advanced, probably sixth and seventh years, possibly fifth. Visiting during that time was not recommended… also meaning, don’t. Draco nodded again; Snape swept out of the hall. After that the blonde had simply no reason to stay at the table. Without a similar intelligent mind to have a conversation with, Draco was just bored. Soon enough, he too left the hall to face another predictable day, and with only the thought of decent conversation at the end of it to see him through.

--//--

He knocked twice, a delicate touch of knuckles on wood the hardly made any sound at all. The door opened silently to his touch. “Good evening, Professor.” Draco stepped through and the door closed behind him just as silently. His silver gold eyes swept over the immaculately cleaned room and he smiled softy. The man never changed. The room itself was not overly large, but the layout made it seem much bigger. Huge bookshelves spanned two walls of the room, full to bursting (in direct contrast to the ordered room) with all manner of books, scrolls, loose pages, and novels; both wizerding and muggle. The contents seemed to be in no particular order and even, in some cases, completely random but Snape knew ever page of those shelves down to the letter. A large desk was the secondary piece of the room, sturdy and of polished oak, various carvings were magically imbedded within its grains, though they did not move. The desk was shadowed almost black in some corners while others caught the light and gave a brilliant amber brown shine. A small fireplace was situated in the opposite corner with a decently long coffee table (of the same polished oak) placed perpendicularly. Around it perched a few well-stuffed muted green chairs.

“Come in, Draco. Take a seat.” Snape’s voice drifted from the bedroom, an adjoining door was cracked open and beyond it the blonde could hear the soft clink of glass. Draco moved to what had, over the years, become known as ‘his’ seat. During his student days, Draco had often been privy to the professor’s thoughts simply by being present within his rooms at the time. The blonde would sit for hours beside the fireplace, sipping his tea, and simply enjoying the sound of Snape’s dark voice until said voice urged him back to the dorms. Draco had never seen the bedroom, nor had any wish to. The door was always closed and Draco respected the man’s privacy. It had come as a pleasant surprise that the older man trusted him to some degree but he made no mention of it.

Snape entered the room with two square glasses and a large bottle in his hands. Draco watched silently, waiting for some untold signal as how to proceed. He received it in the form of the professor sitting opposite him beside the fire, leaving the ‘head’ of the coffee table open. An informal discussion. The drink was poured and Draco took a hesitant sniff. “Scotch?”

Snape scoffed lightly. “Do you honestly think I enjoyed your father’s wines?”

Draco smiled and shook his head. “I guess not,” He took a sip and looked thoughtful for a moment. “It suits you though.”

The professor blinked, surprised, then looked at the drink in his hands as thoughtfully. “This is suppose to be a conversation about you.” He said with a snide glance.

Ah, to business then. Draco sat back quietly, properly admonished. Snape looked up again, his dark eyes searching Draco’s, slightly concerned. There was a long silence before he posed a question. Well… it was a Slytherin question, meaning a short statement that asked a hundred questions while telling the individual inquired of very little indeed. “You’ve always kept yourself under strict control, Draco.” And nothing more was forthcoming. A staring match ensued, one that Draco was bound to loose from the start.

With a sigh the blonde dropped his gaze and sat up in the chair, staring at his glass of scotch for a long time. He downed the drink in one go and stared at the empty glass for another length of silence. Snape allowed him the time to think and at great length Draco set the glass on the table between them with a thump that implied finality and looked back up. “Where did he go during those five months?” Snape winced involuntarily and too, sat up. The root of the problem then, and a question that asked another. ‘What did my father do to deserve the death he was given?’ Both answers were one and the same, neither one would be answered tonight.

“I’m afraid I cannot give you the answers you seek; it is not my tale to tell.”

“He told you.” The retort was immediate, emotionless.

“No. Albus told me.” Snape’s voice was quiet.

“He told Dumbledore.” Again, immediate. Still emotionless.

“Yes, but he was not aware of it. He spoke of many things in his sleep those first nights back when he slept at all.” Softer still, Draco caught a hint of… concern?

Draco looked thoughtful again as Snape refilled the empty glass. At length, “What can you tell me?”

The professor spoke quietly as he stood from the chair, placing his glass on the table. “I have a gift for you, Draco.” Snape moved to his bedchamber. “Come.” Draco blinked at the non sequitor.. He remained where he was, staring at the now full glass of scotch. Again he downed the liquid in one go (on the thought that it was an infinitely better idea to dive into the problem slightly off rather than completely rational) and followed the older man into the bedroom.

Snape waited just inside and when Draco joined him, still waited. The blonde cast his eyes about the room. Quite a large bed (again of that polished oak though dyed black) graced one end of the room, another set of bookshelves capturing the walls and just as equally filled as the first. Torches gave the room a delicate light but Draco saw none of this. What captured his attention was the piano. It was the piano.

Draco stepped forward, elegant fingers gently tracing the deep ebony of the instrument, as one would caress a lover. He slipped into the well-known seat and lifted the cover, revealing ivory keys. The piano wasn’t new, it showed gentle signs of wear in the places it counted, but it was still a beautiful piece of work; and it was perfectly tuned.

“I had it brought from the Manor in hopes you would continue to play.”

There was only one song Draco had ever played on the piano. Albus had said once that his playing, sometimes, was the only thing that gave them hope. Draco had found the song a few days after Harry had disappeared and had tried it out after some encouragement from his father (a rather ironic setup he would later discover). From then on he had played the song daily, refilling their hopes that The-Boy-Who-Lived would reappear, hopefully not too harmed. The notes held a lot of emotion for all of them.

Draco didn’t reply, simply let his fingers rest on the keys, lost in thought. They began the movements of their own accord and he had no desire to stop them. Music filled the room, gentle at first, than with more strength. A pure sound seeped into the very stones and Draco lost himself in it as he had so many times before. All conversation lay forgotten.

--//--

Harry had retired to his room after his last class and sat cross-legged on the bed, staring blankly out the magically darkened window. His thoughts were turned inward, though not on anything in particular. The usual day aided in his thinking of nothing and he eventually lay down of the coverlet, content in the ability to simply exist for the moment.

He didn’t know how long he lay there but with time his thoughts turned down a dark road, as they normally did. He saw Lucius’s silver eyes; their mocking stare, and he sighed inwardly. He remembered the cold stone at his back, the iron that chaffed his wrists raw only to be magically healed so that the injury could begin anew. He remembered a song, drifting from the chilled stone to envelop him and remind him that there was a world outside of the cell in which he was kept. He held onto those notes, so emblazoned in his mind, and truly believed they were the only thing that had kept him sane during those months.

He sighed again and opened his eyes but the song remained with him, clear as a bell. With a jolt he sat up, wide awake and daring to hope. Harry had never discovered who it was that had played the song. He knew it had not been Lucius but beyond that he had no possible way of knowing. He ran to the door and wrenched the portrait open, ignoring it’s pleas to be careful and the startled gasps of several students on the stairs. He paused in a very cartoon-esque manner, listening for the music.

The professor of defense bolted down the stairs as fast as his feet could carry him. He jumped the space as two staircases broke away from the wall and swung past each other, much to the startled fear of many students; apparently it was high time for them to be returning to their dormitories. His robes snapped behind him as he sped down the steps, sweeping down six flights of moving stairs faster than he thought was possible. The music reached its crescendo as he hit the main floor and sprinted toward the dungeons. The notes dimmed and before Harry had reached the end of the hall, the last had faded from the air. He came to an abrupt halt, robes askew but hardly breathing any harder than normal. He had lost the song… it had finished… he had lost the song again…

A gargoyle shifted and opened to reveal a spiral staircase. Dumbledore stepped out and looked Harry up and down, slightly concerned. It wasn’t every day that former students sprinted from the Gryffindor tower post haste only to abruptly decide that their mission was no longer required. The dark-haired man (and aforementioned Gryffindor) saw nothing but cold stones and felt only the loss of the notes. “Is there something I can do for you, Harry?”

Harry’s head snapped around and green eyes focused intensely sharp on the Headmaster. The wooden rail beneath his hand splintered as he valiantly tried to collect himself without completely breaking down. Pain sliced up his arm as sharp wood cut into his palm. He focused on it, driving away the desperation and emotional scars to someplace where they could simmer without displaying themselves too readily. He took a breath, then another, and slowly straitened from his slightly hunched position. His robes fell back into place and, after another calming (or was it restraining?) breath he managed to reply. “No. Thank you.”

Stiffly he turned about and began the long climb back to his room.

--//--

Five days captive

The dungeons were cold; they always were, though not naturally. There was light provided by a single candle perhaps ten feet away, perhaps twenty; he didn’t care anymore. It was just enough to illuminate the pale figure of his captor, trussed in silver. In any other situation it would have been a gift from the gods. As it was he was chained to the wall, bound wrist and ankle, and his captor wasn’t about to be giving anything except pain, and that in great quantities.

Lucius stepped forward, well-manicured fingers brushing Harry’s cheek lightly. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and immediately regretted it when that hand snaked down his neck and brutally ripped his stained and torn robes from his chest. The fabric fell and tangled around his ankles where it would remain for weeks in the future. Open your eyes. Harry’s lips curled into a sneer but he complied, not to would be worse. His emerald gaze slitted and he watched those mocking silver pools as they crept closer.

Eternally soft lips brushed his own, fleeting, there again. Harry pursed them into a thin line, refusing to respond. The lips continued to tease, brushing and begging. When Harry didn’t relent a cruel hand wrenched his head back by the hair, striking it against the cold stone. He cried out in pain and Lucius took the opportunity. The mouth hardened, stopped teasing and started taking, ruthlessly demanding all that hadn’t been freely given. His tongue invaded, tasting, claiming, and taking without giving. Harry bit down hard and felt a wash of satisfaction when Lucius hissed and retreated.

The Malfoy muttered a spell and Harry found he couldn’t move anything but his eyes, and even those were no longer under his control. Fixated on Lucius, if a look could kill, Harry’s would have murdered.

“You’re going to pay for that little stunt, Potter. You’re going to pay for a lot of things, but not yet… in time… in time.”

With that dark promise Lucius took Harry’s mouth again and the music started. It pulled him in two. Lucius drew out his anger and hatred, taught him how to truly fear, while the piano calmed him, convinced him that with patience, all will be mended. He clung to the song, tried to escape into the notes as Lucius moved from simply assaulting his mouth to assaulting his cock as well, excruciating pain so intense it bordered on pleasure, but never quite seemed to cross the line. Harry’s voice rung in the stones, a howling scream that ripped his throat raw before Lucius’s spell resumed its effect and he was again immobile.

Harry could only watch as the man stripped in the half dark and approached; the music pulled at him, convinced him that sitting and taking the inevitable was infinitely simpler than fighting it. The building anger and fear spiked the adrenalin in his blood and warred with the attempt to restrain it all. The internal struggle only served to stress him further and in an attempt to save itself, his mind retreated and shut down… only to find itself brutally surfaced and forced to continue working. Harry was past panic by the time Lucius first touched him and still the music pulled at him. In a fit of helplessness, Harry let his consciousness meld with the notes and allowed Lucius’s fierce coupling to wash over him from afar.

By the time the song died away and Harry slowly and reluctantly came back to himself, Lucius was gone and all that remained in the dark were the stench of blood and semen, and the drip of sweat to remind him of what had transpired. Physically exhausted and mentally unstable, he fell into a black doze wrought with nightmares and song.

--//--


Three weeks into the year on a Friday, Harry found himself at dinner between Draco and Trelawney as usual. He filled his plate, glancing now and again over the students, down the table, and generally keeping an eye on where everyone was. The actions were habitual, a first defense against anything. Thus far in his career and time spent in the castle, Harry had not discovered anything threatening, nor was he expecting to. But today, tonight, something had settled over the castle that no one seemed to have noticed. There was a heavy feel to the magic, something he could not really put his finger on. He made a point to speak with the Headmaster about it after dinner.

Conversation floated about him, completely ignored. He allowed it to, loosing himself in thought as he often did of late. They weren’t anything specific, but it was calming to be able to simply exist with nothing too pressing looming over him for the moment. He wondered briefly about his students; how they were getting along and if he was pressing them too hard. That line of though didn’t last very long, though, and he found himself touching on other, seemingly unrelated subjects. Would Hermionie ever fill him in on her research on elf magic? Thomas had lived up to his mother’s grade standards thus far. He would need to pick up some supplies this weekend from Knockturn Ally. Where had Ron gotten off to? He would send a letter tomorrow. Remus was due for a letter as well.

Harry was jerked back to the present when he heard his name in a low voice. He flicked his gaze to the potions professor at the end of the table, noting that Draco was listening expectantly.

“I’m delighted you’ve joined us, Mister Potter. Now would you be so kind as to answer my question?” One of those sarcastic black eyebrows was raised. Harry ignored it.

Draco took pity on him, apparently, as he repeated the question. “He wanted to know if Thomas Granger had ever mentioned a book called Veneficus Priscus.”

“No, not that I recall.” Harry shook his head softly. Although, wasn’t Hermionie looking at it? Old magic users, ancients and such things?

Draco had turned back to Professor Snape. “Like I said, it’s an old book. I don’t think Hogwarts has a copy, though Mother’s library might. It is part of our family history after all, yours too; I’m rather surprised you don’t have it.” That caught Harry’s attention and he listened carefully while doing his best to delay finishing his meal.

“It’s one of the few I have failed to reclaim to over the years. I’m certain I saw an edition among the Headmaster’s collection though he denies it.”

“I’ll lend you Mother’s copy.” Draco stood, placing his napkin on the table and nodding gently in the elder professor’s direction. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some papers to grade before the weekend.” Snape nodded in return.

Harry polished off his drink and a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding slowly bleed out of his shoulders. He relaxed into the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s rather monotonous, isn’t it?” Harry slid a look over to Snape who continued his meal as though he had never spoken. Harry watched him for a long time, simply watched. The professor’s movements were all so very controlled, precise and never more than needed, smooth and he found it more than a little relaxing. That thought caught him off guard but he didn’t have the time to analyze it.

He answered at length. “Yes… but the pattern is comforting. I know what to expect each day.”

“Don't think there are no crocodiles because the water is calm.”

“I never thought you one for proverbs, Professor.” Harry remarked.

The elder man glanced up briefly; “Assume nothing, Mister Potter.” He went back to his meal, “I’m not above advice if that advice has proven itself over the years. Most proverbs are such things, if a bit cryptic at times.”

“Hmm..” Harry’s reply was noncommittal. “Ask advice only of your equals.” He stood but before he could even leave the table, Dumbledore’s voice called him back to it.

“Harry, I’d like to speak with you. My office in an hour?” The new professor nodded and took his leave, wandering slowly toward his rooms.

Time passed, as it has a tendency to do, and the wet blanket feel of the magic around him had increased to a heavy sense in the back of his mind; a feeling that he simply couldn’t put words to. He muttered to password to Albus’ office (Baby Ruth) and knocked lightly. The door opened and Harry’s gaze instantly fell on Remus Lupin. There was a brief moment of surprise where it occurred to Harry that his face displayed a completely blank image. He called up the mask quickly enough, but not before Dumbledore noted its absence. Harry smiled and captured the werewolf in a bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, Remus. It’s been a long time.”

Almost six years, but no one was going to mention that. Not now; not tonight.

Remus couldn’t help but grin and hold the man out at arms length, tisking softly. “If only your mother could see you now…”

Harry shook his head and smiled softly. “What’re you doing here, Remus? I thought you were in Romania?”

“Well I was but Charlie’s wrapping up the base they’ve set up and are moving out. It seems we’ve been too active around the dragons and they’re taking back old nest sites that our buildings were all but on top of. They weren’t very happy.”

Harry chuckled, “I can imagine; so are you going to be sticking around?”

“If the Headmaster will let me.” Remus flashed a grin to Albus who returned it with gusto.

“Of course, Remus; though Harry’s taken the last room up in Gryffindor tower. The only space left is down in the dungeons.”

Harry saw the brief wince pass over his friend’s face, quickly masked. He spoke up before the werewolf could. “I don’t mind being relocated. I know how you like that big window in my room; you can take it.” Remus seemed about to object but Harry rushed on, “Besides, it’s hard for me to stay asleep with students rushing back and forth at all hours; the dungeons will be quieter.”

“But Harry, you’ve been in there for quite a while; you don’t need to move...” Remus’ resolve was crumbling, Harry could see it. The man didn’t want to be put in the dungeons (He and Snape had never truly gotten along) but he also didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

“The lower levels are closer to my classroom and office, anyway. Take the room, Remus.”

Albus nodded his agreement. “I’ll see that the elves know of the change. But sit down, both of you; and tell us Remus, of your adventures. Ah, here’s the tea.”

--//--

Several hours and many cups of tea later, Harry followed Dobby down to his new quarters. It occurred to him as he descended farther and father into the castle, that he never mentioned the change in the magic. In fact, he had been so caught up in Remus’ telling of Charlie’s follies that he had completely forgotten. He stepped into the audience chamber of his room and almost immediately began pacing. Why has Remus come back? He has no work here and plenty with Charlie. He didn’t give the place more than a cursory glance to tell him where things were before delving headlong into his thoughts. The moment didn’t last long though. The feeling in the back of his mind had increased to a soft humm and soon enough he was pacing the room for the sole intent of blocking out whatever it was that was altering the magic of the castle. What, by Godric, is going on around here? Why hasn’t the Headmaster said anything?!

With each length of the room the tension grew. His fists curled and he sneered at the walls. His own magic all but crackled around him, restricted to that tiny space. “Damnit, I can’t THINK in here!” The wizard stormed out of the room and back into the hallways, slamming the door smartly behind him.