Do You Believe in Miracles?

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

You’re Joking, Right?

Harry awoke early Tuesday morning, filled with dread for his first NEWTs Potions class. He had never got along well with the Potions master. In fact, the two had never gotten along at all. Harry could not shake his foreboding all morning and arrived in the common room earlier than usual.

“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione greeted him. Harry noticed she was the only other person in the common room, as they were the only Gryffindors in NEWTs Potions, which just happened to be the earliest class of the day. “I brought you some breakfast so we can make it to class on time.”

Harry mumbled his thanks and took the offered stack of toast. He matched her pace as they made their way out of the tower, hardly listening as Hermione rambled about his new Defence lessons.

“I mean, think of the things he could teach you, Harry! I bet you could use it all for the D.A., too!” she exclaimed.

Harry tried to match her enthusiasm, but he could not shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. Snape and he had left on bad terms the previous year, and if Snape’s foul attitude outside the Headmaster’s office was any indicator, this year would be no different. However, this year, Harry had defied the odds and achieved an “O” on his OWLs. Of course, that meant Snape was bound to make some sarcastic comment about, “how the influence of fame can guarantee success for even the most unsatisfactory students.”

They reached the dungeon classroom door, and Harry’s eyes widened to see so few students in the class. He knew Snape only took the best, but he and Hermione were two of only ten students from their year. Harry took a seat towards the back and took stock of his classmates.

Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini represented the Slytherins in the class. At least it’s only three…, Harry thought. Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan were the only Hufflepuffs. A girl Harry did not know represented Ravenclaw, leaving Harry and Hermione as the Gryffindors.

Snape stormed into class in his usual dramatic fashion. He stood in front of the class and took in his pupils. His eyes lingered on Harry, but at least the scowl remained the same for them all.

“Well since you’ve all miraculously achieved a satisfactory OWL in your Potions studies,” he drawled, glancing at Harry for the particular emphasis on the ‘miraculously,’ “we’ll see just how competent you are. The instructions are on the front board.” With a wave of his wand, complex instructions immediately formed on the blackboard. Harry gave a silent groan. They were asked to produce a Burn Salve, one of the most complicated healing potions as the ingredients were incredibly volatile, and Harry knew Snape gave them this as a sort of test.

“Those of you who are truly gifted in the art of potion-making should find this task challenging, yet attainable. For the rest of you, please try to not get yourselves or your classmates permanently injured,” he said seriously, not a hint of sarcasm. “You’ll work in pairs. Granger and Parkinson. Zabini and Macmillan. Malfoy and Potter…”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He was being made to work on a Burn Salve with Malfoy of all people?! Was Snape trying to get him killed?

Harry took a nervous seat near the blond boy. Malfoy did not look pleased to be working with him, but oddly enough did not protest or insult him as he took his seat.

The class went smoothly, considering. Harry found Malfoy was actually quite gifted in Potions, and he could almost tolerate him when the boy was not being a complete git, although he was extremely distracted by the boy’s uncharacteristically polite manners and civil conversation. Sure that Malfoy was plotting some way to get to him, he hardly noticed when he spilled his armadillo bile on their desk.

Snape chose that moment to walk by their station.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for carelessness, Potter. You‘ll stay after class and scrub the desks.” Harry set his jaw. He grabbed an old rag to begin cleaning up some of the mess, silently cursing the fact that potions ingredients could not be cleaned with a simple ‘Scourgify.’

The rest of the lesson proceeded calmly, that ended, however, when Harry accidentally bumped into Malfoy’s back as he made to return their extra ingredients.

Malfoy flinched harshly and his skin took on immediate paleness.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter,” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Harry was taken aback. It was one thing if Malfoy did not want Harry to touch him, but what the hell was that about?! he thought. Malfoy usually pushed him in the halls at every chance. Now he was being civil, and he could not even handle an accidental touch?

Harry and Malfoy worked in practical silence for the rest of the lesson. He was mildly surprised that their Burn Salve was nearly perfect by the end of the hour. Perhaps there were some advantages to working with a Potions genius.

“Flask a sample of your potion and leave it on the desk to be graded. Class dismissed.”

Harry brought a sample of his and Malfoy’s Salve to the front desk. He waved goodbye solemnly to Hermione, and waited until the last students had left before approaching Snape.

He stared at the man fiercely, waiting for him to initiate his punishment. Harry sighed when Snape refused to look up from the stack of papers on his desk.

“Well,” he bit out in frustration, “do you have a bucket and sponge, or can I clean it with magic?”

Snape lifted his head marginally to look at Harry through his dark hair. He lifted his wand and cast what Harry recognized as a powerful silencing ward. Harry took an instinctive step back. Silencing wards ensured you could hold a private conversation. They also meant no one could hear you scream.

“I have no intention of you cleaning a desk that is already perfectly clean. I do not approve of your tone, however, Mr. Potter. Five points from Gryffindor,” he responded, after a calculating moment.

Harry bit his tongue and tried counting to ten to rein in his anger. After he had calmed enough to answer, he replied, “If I don’t have to clean the desk, why did you ask me to stay after to do it?”

Snape scowled. “Misdirection, Potter! I needed a reason to keep you behind, and you gave me one. And you address me as ‘sir‘ or ‘Professor.’”

Harry sighed. “Why did you need to keep me behind, sir?”

“Mr. Potter, I am sure even your Gryffindor brain is capable of simple deduction. The Headmaster has already informed you that we will be continuing Occlumency this year. Since it would be impertinent to hold back one of my NEWT level students to schedule Remedial Potions lessons, I was forced to find an alternative means to keep you behind.

“Your lessons will be Wednesday and Friday evenings at eight p.m., starting tomorrow. I expect you to arrive on time. We will employ a different approach, one I truly hope you will prove more adept at than your previous attempts.”

Snape’s tall form disappeared into the Potions office without another word. Harry sighed again. How did Snape expect successful Occlumency lessons, if they couldn’t even hold a conversation?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Anxiety ate at Harry as his first Occlumency lesson approached. He had hardly absorbed a word of information in his morning lessons of Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms, but fortunately they were still reviewing past years’ spells.

He chewed his abused bottom lip and stared out of the clear Transfiguration classroom window. Only hours away from his lesson with Snape, Harry could not help but remembering his last lesson. Snape’s pale and outraged face after Harry emerged from his Pensieve played in his mind like horrifying wizarding photography.

At least Dumbledore will be there, Harry told himself. Dumbledore’s going to be there, Snape can’t do anything, Harry repeated to his nerves, trying desperately to conquer his apprehension, with little success. The rest of the lesson was spent frantically trying to avoid thinking of his father and Sirius, laughing at a scrawny boy hung in the air by his ankle, or of a surprised Sirius falling through the veil, all because Harry failed at his last lessons in Occlumency. More than once Harry had to stop blinking to keep himself from crying in the middle of Professor McGonagall’s lecture, and the guilt sat with him like a boulder on his conscious.

“Harry, could I talk to you for a moment?” Hermione accosted him on their way back to Gryffindor Tower after dinner.

“Er, sure…?” He answered tentatively. Hermione tended to be extremely blunt when she was confronting someone, and Harry was wary of what she wanted to discuss.

“It’s about Sirius,” she said, not disappointing Harry with her directness. “You’ve been incredibly introverted ever since you arrived at the Burrow this summer, and you looked on the verge of tears in McGonagall’s classroom. I’m really worried, Harry. You avoid talking about Sirius like people avoid Dementors, and I think you’ve got a serious case of depression.”

Harry stared at her in disbelief. He wasn’t depressed! Of course he didn’t want to talk about Sirius, but depression?!

“Hermione, I’m just nervous about Occlumency,” he said, trying to reassure his distressed friend. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I’m sure your lessons are going to go fine, Harry. But this thing with Sirius has been going on a lot longer, and you can’t deny that you’ve been withdrawn. You’re so quiet most of the time, I feel like I haven’t heard your voice in ages! You really need to talk about this, Harry. It’s not health--”

“Hermione!” Harry interrupted. “I’m fine, really.”

“But you say you’re fine when you’re an inch away from death, Harry! Just talk to me, please.”

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK, HERMIONE!” Harry yelled. Could she not understand that he did not want to talk about Sirius? She did not know why he was truly nervous about Occlumency, but why would she not leave it alone?

Hermione flinched. Harry took a deep breath but could not completely rein in his anger.

“I’m nervous about Occlumency, Hermione! Snape and I got into a huge row last year about Sirius and my dad, and I don’t want things to be awkward between us tonight!” He panted and his magic crackled the air.

“But did you bother to ask why I’m nervous?” he continued with his outburst. “NO! You just assumed it was something else and gave me a bunch of psychological garbage when you have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Harry hardly registered that Hermione was crying before he stormed off down the corridor. His own tears prickled his eyes in his anger, but he ignored them and forced them away.

Harry stormed through the Hogwarts hallways, avoiding students and teachers alike on his journey to the dungeons. He had not realized that his nervousness had disappeared on his furious walk and he stared at the Potions classroom door with a fading anger, in addition to Gryffindor determination. Harry held his breath and knocked on the heavy wooden door, before making his way into the dreaded Potions classroom.

As he carefully entered the familiar room, he was shocked by the group of people before him. Snape sat scowling at his desk. Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry from Snape’s side, and on the other side of the desk sat the thin, blond figure of Draco Malfoy.

Harry gaped. What was Draco Malfoy doing here? Surely he had no business at Harry’s Occlumency lessons. He approached the front of the classroom slowly. Setting his bag on the nearby desk, he waited for an explanation. When none came, he asked the lingering question himself.

“What is he doing here?” Harry said, slightly higher than natural.

Snape scowled. “Well, Mr. Potter, since you planned on these lessons being under my guidance, and knew they were suggested by the Headmaster, I must interpret that your vague question was reference to Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry clenched his jaw and nodded stiffly. Different this year, my arse, he thought.

“Harry, my boy!” exclaimed Dumbledore cheerfully in spite of the otherwise tense atmosphere. “Young Mr. Malfoy here has kindly consented to help with your Occlumency training.”

He stared incredulously at the three. Dumbledore must be playing some twisted sort of joke, he thought and began to laugh freely.

“Hahaha, very funny, but really, why is he here?”

Snape’s glare could have pierced stone. “I assure you this is not a joke, Mr. Potter, and I would appreciate it if you not treat it as such.”

Harry looked at them again. He took a moment to absorb that they truly were not joking with him. His grin slowly became angered as he took in the repercussions of the situation.

“Oh, really?” asked Harry sarcastically. “He’s here to help me, is he? Make friends?” he added with a sneer. “Because I’m really interested to hear him say, ‘Potter, I can’t wait to introduce you to my father! Did you know his set on your death and destruction?’ Or how about, ‘Really, Harry, thanks for giving me the weapons to turn you over to the Dark Lord, it was really sweet of you!’”

Harry’s voice was obscenely saccharine. He waited a moment to be rebuked by Dumbledore or yelled at by Snape. The former stared quite pointedly at Malfoy. When Harry joined his gaze and stared at the other boy, he could not help but notice that Malfoy was trembling slightly.

“How about, ‘Potter, my father spent the summer torturing me because I wouldn’t take His Mark'?”

Harry’s jaw dropped in his initial shock. That was definitely not the answer he was expecting. Draco Malfoy, the boy with more pride in his name than hairs on his platinum blond head; Malfoy, the boy who practically waltzed out of the womb in a Death Eater robe and mask.

“You’re joking, right?”

Harry looked to Dumbledore. The man looked aged and solemn.

Dumbledore raised his chin slightly, making eye contact with Harry. “I assure you, Harry, he’s telling the truth. Young Mr. Malfoy came to us at the beginning of the school year to pledge allegiance to the Order, and we confirmed his allegiance.”

“Confirmed his allegiance?” Harry asked confusedly.

Malfoy sighed sadly. “Veritaserum and Legilimency, Potter, they didn’t let me switch sides without proof, believe me.”

Harry shook his head.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked sceptically. Harry did not doubt Dumbledore’s ability to extract the truth, but he had to hear it from Malfoy himself.

“Remember your conditions, Draco. Remove it, and tell him. All of it,” Snape commanded the boy sternly.

Malfoy shot Snape an angry glance and pulled out his wand. He murmured a spell to remove a Glamour and looked up at Harry with intense grey eyes.

Harry flinched and pushed back against his chair. Malfoy’s left cheek was horrifyingly purple and swollen. His lower lip was healing from a bad split, and angry red scratches and cuts disfigured the normally attractive boy.

Having been on the receiving end of Malfoy’s glares for years, Harry felt they were nothing compared to how Malfoy was looking at him now. The boy’s normally light grey eyes were clouded and dark, a stark contrast between his pale skin and blond hair. Dark circles marred his eyes, his eyelids red and puffed. Despite the physical appearance, what shocked Harry most was what was behind it all. Harry knew that sad, intense look in the eyes of those who had seen too much; it was the look Harry saw every day in the mirror.

“The Dark Lord broke my father out of prison to ‘teach him a lesson.’ He tortured him for fourteen hours in the Manor, casting a spell so everyone on the property could hear it clear as day,” Malfoy said, his voice tired and harsh. Harry sat stoically as he listened to Malfoy’s tale. Harry may have disliked Draco Malfoy, but their rivalry paled in comparison with the contempt he held for the boy’s father.

“I made up my mind that night that I wasn’t going to take the Mark. My father pledged his life to that sadistic bastard, and all he got in return for his troubles was torture and punishment. I grew up hearing fascinating tales of a great leader, one who would restore wizard kind to its proper place in the world, one who rewarded his followers beyond their dreams, and gave pure-bloods the kind of status they deserved. The Dark Lord may have been all that at one time, but all I saw was a twisted madman who wanted world domination with no regard for anyone. ” Malfoy paused.

Harry felt slightly sickened. Was that really what Malfoy had heard about Voldemort? He was subconsciously glad the boy had figured out that Voldemort was a sick bastard.

“I went to visit my father once he’d healed, three days after the Dark Lord tortured him. I sat by his bedside and told him I wasn’t going to follow a tyrant and that Malfoys deserved better.” Harry heard the other boy’s voice catch. “Do you want to know what he did, Potter? Why I turned my back on everything I ever was?!” Malfoy’s face was flushed and his voice harsh. Harry nodded numbly, not entirely sure he wanted to know what Malfoy Sr. did to make his son so distressed, but morbidly knowing he needed to hear it.

“I told my father I was going to restore the Malfoy name, and he smacked me so hard I saw stars. He pulled me off the ground by my hair and told me I was a fool, that I would take His Mark and that would be done with. I told him I was never going to take the Mark.” Malfoy paused.

“That was the first time he cast the Cruciatus Curse on me,” he whispered. “Every day after that, he came into my bedroom and caned or cursed me before asking if I had smartened up yet. When September came around, he became livid. He knew I was leaving for school, and I still hadn’t changed my mind. He refused to send me before the Dark Lord because he knew we’d both be killed if he got wind that I had ‘betrayed’ him. I packed everything I exclusively owned into my trunk. I knew the moment I declared allegiance to your Order, I could never go home again.”

Malfoy stared blankly at an expanse of stone Potions classroom wall as he spoke, his eyes haunted and glistening.

“Is that explanation enough for you, Potter?” Malfoy asked, frighteningly quiet and cold. Harry nodded sadly.

“Malfoy,” he called to the boy. “I’m sorry,” he finished and realized that he truly meant it. He may not like the git, but no one deserved that.

Malfoy eyed him curiously for a moment before tearing away from his gaze and giving a jerky nod.

“Right, Potter. Whatever,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Harry looked over to see Dumbledore eyeing the boys sadly, but with an odd look of satisfaction etched into his face.

Harry caught the older man’s eye. “I may believe he’s switched sides, but I still don’t want him in my head.”

“He’s an extremely well trained Occlumens, Potter. I assure you he is up for the task and would help you develop strength in different areas, as well as against simultaneous attacks,” interjected Snape.

“Still,” Harry replied.

“It’s quite all right, Severus,” said Dumbledore. “The boy’s talents in the meditation and relaxation techniques will perhaps teach young Harry here much about Occlumency without ever entering his mind. There is no reason not to grant the request, as you are quite capable to perform the Legilimency until such a time when the boys agree otherwise.”

Harry silently doubted that he would ever agree to let Malfoy invade his mind, but he was not about to state that when Dumbledore was helping him. Snape gave the Headmaster a curt nod, and Dumbledore’s maniacal eyes began to twinkle.

“Jolly good, my boys! In that case, I will leave you to your practices! Good day, gentlemen.”

Without further ado, Dumbledore left from the dungeon classroom. Harry felt tension fill the air in the Headmaster’s wake, and Harry looked awkwardly between Malfoy and Snape.

Snape stood and cleared his throat. “Let’s begin.”

With a wave of his wand, the set of desks behind Harry were Transfigured into a pair of plush green mats. Malfoy immediately stood and sat down cross-legged on the nearest mat. Snape glared expectantly at Harry, and Harry nervously did the same.

Harry thought it odd that Snape was just as menacing from head-on or below. He stared up at the dark-robed teacher and waited for a lecture, or, knowing Snape, an attack.

Snape handed them each a vial of dark-blue potion that Harry immediately recognized as a Calming Draught.

Malfoy immediately took the offered vial and swallowed the contents. Harry reached out a tentative hand and cautiously swallowed his own. He watched as Snape followed suit and joined the boys, sitting on his own, much larger version of the green mats.

“We are going to attempt a different approach to Occlumency this term, Potter. Since you cannot clear your mind on your own, we’ll attempt meditation, to guide you. The Calming Draught should relax your body and aid in the meditation. After your body has relaxed properly, we’ll begin the actual meditation process. Is that clear?”

Harry nodded slowly; his body felt incredibly relaxed. His arms hung limply on his legs, and he fought to keep his head from drooping onto his chest.

“Draco?”

“All right, Potter,” said Malfoy, sneering only slightly. “You have to pick an image: something soothing, relaxing. Natural scenes work best: a forest area, a starlit sky, a river. Choose an image and focus on it entirely.”

Harry thought. What image could he use? He remembered when his primary school class took a trip to the beach, and Harry was exhilarated with the waves crashing onto the shore. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on his image. The warm sun on his face, feet shifting in the wet sand, ankles tickled by the incoming waves.

“Okay, I’ve got one,” Harry said quietly.

“Keep your eyes closed and tune your breathing to the natural pulse of your image. Let the image fill your mind, and let yourself feel….”

Harry left the Potions classroom an hour later feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. He was mildly surprised to learn that Malfoy was a decent teacher. The meditation was actually easy, he realized, once he relaxed enough to stop worrying that Malfoy or Snape would hex him when his eyes were closed.

Maybe, just maybe, he could get Occlumency mastered this time. Harry made it through the rest of the evening without a single guilty feeling or depressing thought about Sirius and had a truly restful night sleep for the first time in weeks.

To Be Continued…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Author’s Note: Sooooo… *whistles* Poor Draco?

Update’s a day early this week, as I will be gone the next few days! Props to Amazonia for correctly guessing that Harry and Draco would be partners in Potions. Lol :]

Thanks to KitBaiu, who takes my distasteful grammar and makes it appropriate. Thanks also to ShawdowSamurai, for keeping my characters real and in check.

And I thought from now on, I might give you amazing readers next week’s chapter title in advance. What do you think??

And in the meantime, next week’s title is….

“Why Do You Do That?” Coming soon!