Madrigal

Potter arrived at his Saturday afternoon detention in a predictably sullen mood. I set him to work disemboweling toads at a desk in my Defense classroom. I kept getting nauseated from the smell while trying to concentrate on grading essays. After a couple hours I couldn’t take it any more and told Potter he could stop. He looked up with a relieved expression, his face pale and greenish.

He started to get up to leave, but I halted him with a raised hand. “Potter, I need to speak with you…” I began, not even quite sure what I was doing.

He sat back down, looking at me curiously. “You’re probably wondering why I made that comment about your mother the other day,” I began, and he nodded fervently. “Your mother and I grew up together, Potter. We were the best of friends…” He stared at me, mouth gaping open in a stunned expression. “She was my first, closest, and for a very long time, only friend… I can’t overstate how much she meant to me… But when she started to develop feelings for your father, well you saw what happened…” I trailed off, looking down shamefully at the highly polished surface of my desk.

“So that’s why you were so protective of that memory- not because of them bullying you- it seemed like that happened all the time, huh? But because you called her a mudblood. You were ashamed of yourself…” he said thoughtfully, staring at me across the classroom with surprising perceptiveness in his bright green eyes.

I took my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes exhaustedly. “Correct. She never spoke to me again after that, other than to join the Marauders in taunting me,” I sighed. “From that day on, I started spending all my free time with the other Slytherins. Without her positive influence, I dove deeper and deeper into studying the Dark Arts. I was spending a lot of time with the other proto-Death Eaters, and their rhetoric about the superiority of the wizarding race really appealed to my desperate, grasping need to feel powerful. That book you found was full of my Dark teenage musings, Potter. I altered it a few months ago.” He gaped at me, shock fully evident in his expression.

“I was obsessed with that book… And then it just randomly stopped working for me one day… I thought it was so bizarre! I even looked back at old entries and could have sworn they had been different!” he exclaimed, clearly relieved to find out that he hadn’t just been imagining things.

“Do you understand why I had to change the book? You could have easily killed Draco in that bathroom if I hadn’t removed those spells…” He nodded ardently, his eyes wide as he realized how narrowly he had avoided getting himself thrown in Azkaban.

I continued brusquely, “I’m not sure why I’m saying all of this right now. I suppose I just wanted to attempt to bridge this divide that’s formed between us over the past six years. You’re the only piece of Lily that I have left, and I’ve held that against you for so long… But it’s not your fault that she fell in love with an arrogant, bullying prat. I’m sure James would have eventually grown up to be a perfectly wonderful husband and father, had he been given a chance. But that chance to grow old, to raise you, was stolen from them…” I steeled myself, taking a number of deep breaths before spilling out, “I stole that chance from them… I’m the reason you’re an orphan, Harry. I overhead Sybil Trelawney prophesizing to Dumbledore through a crack in the door at a pub. I only heard the first part of it… I couldn’t have known it was about her…” I trailed off, holding my head mournfully in my hands.

He stood up from his chair, eyes blazing, and shouted, “YOU told Voldemort about the prophesy?! YOU got my parents KILLED?!” He was nearly vibrating with fury, hands shaking as he yanked his book bag off the floor.

I looked up at him, allowing all the grief that had suffused my soul for the past 16 years to show on my face. “Yes, Harry. I’m completely responsible. You have every right to despise me.”

He seemed to struggle for a long time, taking steps to storm out of the door, but then reconsidering. He finally sat back down, face red, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff. “Well, at least you told me. I didn’t have to find out from somebody else. I mean, I can tell you feel really bad about it…”

I nodded mournfully, rubbing my eyes, exhausted from my unnatural expression of raw emotion. “She’s the reason I switched sides. I couldn’t bear to live with what I had done. Albus told me that I could atone for my sins if I worked for him, if I joined the Order. Desperate, overwhelmed with grief, I’d have done anything he asked of me. I have done everything he’s asked of me. Too much. Far too much.”

He looked at me then with a surprisingly kind expression in his eyes. “I understand, Sir. I’m sure I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of awful shite he puts you up to.” I simply nodded, glaring darkly at my stack of essays.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, I waved him off imperiously, growling, “Now get the hell out of my classroom. If I find out you’ve told anyone about the things I’ve said tonight, I will personally scoop out your bollocks and feed them to you with a spoon.” He nodded, giving me a small amused smile before he strode purposefully from the room. Wondering what the hell had just happened, I returned to my grading, dreading Malfoy’s arrival for his own detention.