The clattering of the Express sent familiar rhythmic vibrations through the small cabin. The landscape sped by; a dead winter landscape, devoid of snow beneath a shining sun. It was an odd sight, as his time on the train had always bookended the Summer holiday. Due to his inexperience, he wasn't entirely sure if Luna riding in their cabin was customary, but if he had to guess from the awkward conversation Hermione kept trying to start with the odd girl, it was as new a development as his own presence.
"Did you have a good holiday?" Hermione asked Luna after another conversation about school fell flat.
Luna lit up at the question, or rather…appeared more coherent than she had before. Harry tried not to frown. He had often relied on his intuition when it came to what people were thinking or feeling. It was hard to tell if Luna was feeling anything at all.
"It was wonderful," she said, a crooked smile pulling at her pale lips. "Daddy found a marvelous little boat ornament that sailed up and down its branch and our Yule log burned for all twelve days."
"Ours did too," Harry said. "Just barely made it."
Hermione's head swiveled to look at him. "I didn't know Sirius celebrated Yule."
"It was the house-elf, Kreacher."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't see one while I was there."
"Me neither," Ron said with a smile.
Harry bit back a groan and tried to focus on the positive side of Ron's incessant jokes. He had been worried that his friend might have another bout of jealousy flare up after Harry and Fleur started dating and he had spent the holidays in the company of Veela. Instead, Ron had found fun in reminding Harry, in whichever way he could, that his luck had finally turned.
Harry couldn't disagree but had asked his friends to keep the information between them. When Hermione had asked if he was embarrassed, he had nearly laughed aloud. He was sure one of those ridiculous magazines would find out sooner or later and he far preferred the latter. They had been printing conjecture about him since his return to the Wizarding World, and his association with Sirius had only catapulted him back to the forefront of their speculative articles since their trip to Diagon Alley before term started.
"Kreacher is…peculiar," Harry said, opting not to mention the often hostile relationship between Kreacher and Sirius.
"It is a rather odd name," Luna said. "Perhaps that is the reason."
"Er…maybe," he allowed.
Again the conversation fell away and Luna returned to the far-off stare that rested so readily on her features. Though he didn't mind the odd girl, he lamented the missed opportunity for talking about his Christmas with Fleur and the Delacours.
After all, a little bragging wouldn't go amiss.
Fleur had almost insisted.
He would find time to talk to them in private, he was sure. Even if he didn't, he was almost positive Fleur would bring it up the next time she came following one of Dumbledore's lessons. He put the thought out of his mind and focused on his next, much more pressing issue.
How in Merlin's name was he supposed to go back to his mundane life as a student after such a life-altering break?
The Scottish hills rolled by and offered no answer, no matter how long he stared.
XxX
The first week back passed with an agonizing slowness that Harry was unaccustomed to feeling while at Hogwarts. Classes stretched across too-long hours with little to grab his attention. Preparing for the OWLs had been more boring than even Ron had guessed, with the bulk of their studies being on terms and theory, rather than the practical side. Hermione, of course, was delighted.
His evening ritual of pretending to study in bed while instead writing to Fleur was one of the few things that helped keep him sane, though she had never been able to talk for long, citing exhaustion from work as her responsibilities at the DMLE grew. So he had been forced to actually study, or try to fall asleep, which was often difficult, as memories from Christmas Eve often interjected themselves into his thoughts, keeping him awake.
So when Dumbledore's first lesson came around during their first weekend back, Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement tired, but excited. What he hadn't expected when opening the door, was to find the Headmaster looking as though he were about to fall asleep on his feet.
"Ah, Harry. Come in, please," Dumbledore said, waving Harry into a much smaller room than their standard lesson space. Two chairs sat next to a plain circular table with two steaming cups resting on top. "I am aware it is unorthodox to begin a lesson with tea, but I hope you will indulge an old man in one of his few peaceful moments. I am not as adept at long nights and early mornings as I once was."
"Of course, Professor," Harry said, being sure to hide his disappointment.
The holidays had been an incredible light in the midst of the shadow cast by oncoming war. Dumbledore's request for a lesson, delivered via Hedwig, had suppressed that light and brought with it a reminder of who he needed to become. He had to protect those very people that had provided such a wonderful distraction.
He sat down next to Dumbledore and sipped on the cup of tea offered to him. It was warm with a slight touch of spice, and rolled through his body in a wave of warmth that perked him up, despite his poor sleep.
Dumbledore took a long drink as well, then let out a long sigh of contentment.
"It is times such as these that I wish I learned to enjoy a simple coffee," he said, taking another sip then setting his cup down. "Though there is most certainly something to be said about a well-brewed tea."
Harry nodded into his cup, then set his down as well. He had also found coffee a hard taste to develop, even after he'd grown to enjoy the aroma of it permeating Delacour Manor in the mornings.
"I regret to say that my free time is growing ever shorter," said Dumbledore. "So I must ask that you continue your work towards a non-verbal stunning spell in your own time. For now, we must move on."
Despite the allusion that there would be fewer upcoming lessons, Harry found himself excited for what Dumbledore had prepared next. Secret apparition lessons? Animagus training? New non-verbal spells? Secret magic that only the most powerful wizard in the world knew?
"Our next topics are two areas in which you already possess some experience."
He tried not to deflate. No secret magic then.
"We will be working on your Patronus and tackling a boggart."
This time he let himself slump. The Patronus was as exciting as it was impossible. His tutelage under Professor Lupin had failed to produce even a puff of silver.
The boggart though…
Even the memory of his uncle spawning from the roiling mist set his heart to thundering.
Could a boggart touch him? If he couldn't get the spell out in time, would massive hands clamp over his throat, preventing his apology? Preventing the placating words that would save him from his uncle's incensed wrath? Could a boggart fill his vision and spew the epithets that had weathered his thoughts like a violent storm, leaving cracks splayed across his mind?
His uncle would stomp forward, face purpled and spittle flying. A hand would clutch his collar, a sign he needed to get his hand behind his head to prevent smacking it against the ground. The other hand grabs his wand. Snaps it. The ground hits hard.
A warmth in his fingers made him jump and he found that his tea had been levitated into his hands.
"Take a drink, Harry. I can see this idea sits poorly with you, but it is necessary. There is a reason we are addressing these things at the same time. Can you tell me why?"
Harry took a long drink of the tea, trying to savor the warmth as it ran through his body, rather than focus on the pit of ice in his chest. He set the empty cup down and took a long breath in, then let it out slowly.
"They…" he tried, but his voice faltered. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I guess…I guess a boggart is what you fear and a Patronus has to be a happy thought. They're kind of opposites."
"You are close, but headed down the wrong path. Think of it this way. What do the 'Riddikulus' spell and the Patronus charm have in common?"
Harry thought back to the repetitive instruction that had seemed so simple, yet in the end left him feeling hollow and broken.
"You have to think happy thoughts," he said, staring down at his empty cup. "For the Patronus anyway. Something funny for the boggart."
"Well done," Dumbledore said, nodding. "Not only must you focus your mind with discipline and intensity, but you must also do so under duress. A boggart shows you your greatest fear while you will likely be face-to-face with a dementor should you need a Patronus."
Harry shuddered, remembering the bleak screaming agony of a herd of dementors surrounding him and Sirius. Their only salvation that of a shining silvery phoenix.
Dumbledore stood with a soft grunt and motioned for Harry to do so as well. Once they were both standing, the table and chairs vanished and an armoire appeared in front of them.
"As is the way with most magic, the skills you learn in this situation are applicable in many ways. Being able to focus amidst distraction is the fundamental skill for dueling."
Dumbledore's face grew hard, the kindly smile lines at the corners of his eyes deepening into battle-worn scars.
"It is my sincerest hope that what we are doing here is an unnecessary waste of time, but my naivete has cost you dearly already and I will not make the same mistake again."
Harry felt as though he should nod or acknowledge the admission in some way, but the old piece of furniture in front of him held his attention in a crushing grip.
"Are you ready, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, stepping back. "Remember. Before we release the boggart, think of what you will do to make it change. Hold the picture in your mind. See it happen."
Harry nodded, remembering a time when his uncle had tripped while storming away from a furious punishment. Harry's laugh had cost him dearly, but he treasured the memory nonetheless.
"Prepare yourself."
Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and tried to remember to breathe.
He had faced the boggart in the maze without freezing. He'd needed to get to Fleur. He could do the same now.
He had to get better.
His friends needed him to be better.
He allowed himself to picture the raised fists and hear the echoes of degrading shouts. He repeated the charm under his breath, then nodded.
With a flick of his pale knobby wand, Dumbledore swung open the wooden door to allow the curling mist to spew forth.
But nothing happened.
No fog heralded angry stomping footsteps or obscured a hulking form. No shouts or insults spewed from within the armoire.
Instead, darkness more complete than the illumination of the room should allow rested inside, with only a faint undulating light flickering somewhere in its depths.
Harry glanced over to Dumbledore, who hadn't looked away from the furniture.
"Focus."
A sound echoed around them like a downpour against a window in another room or a forgotten faucet that was not-quite-closed.
Water trickled from the bottom edge, splashing onto the stone below. The drops became a rush, a foaming, pulsing torrent bursting forth as though spilled onto the stones by a violent sea. It crawled across the floor in a pool that spread too slowly for the fountain spewing from the depths.
It crept across the floor, searching.
Predatory.
It stopped before it reached him, drawn up against an invisible line less than a pace away. The murky green puddle jostled and spread until it found the corners of its prison with clawing liquid hands. The flow of water from the armoire burst forth with a violent roar, spewing a pungent mix of musky frigid air into the room. It chilled his lungs and stole his breath. His hand went to his throat, fighting to breathe as the oppressive sight grew and churned in front of him, a black wall of water that promised impossible depths and biting cold.
It stilled as it reached the ceiling, the flickering from before becoming visible again at the top. The light shimmered above him; shifting, tumultuous gems of weak yellow.
Of distant unreachable sunlight.
Something shifted in the depths. Sharp, jerky motions disturbed the water; a shadow in the blackness.
The light stretched cruel fingers to the figure, casting a halo of silvery hair in its false sanctuary.
Bubbles poured from her mouth as she reached for him, fingers straining, arm stretched painfully forward. Fingernails raked her neck as the stream of escaping air slowed to a trickle and ice-blue eyes met his, wide and white with fear.
Her violent twitch resonated in his arms. The water drug at him, tore at his muscles as she gave a mighty heave against him.
Twitched.
And stilled.
A roaring sound echoed through the room, incongruous to the rushing in his ears. It fought through the murky water-filled memories, hauling him to the surface.
"Harry!" Dumbledore's voice called from some unfathomable distance. "Focus! Use the spell!"
His wand dug into his palm, trembling as he fought to remember where he was.
Limp arms and a vacant stare threatened to drag him back.
"Harry! Focus your thoughts!"
He…
He should have saved her.
If he had been faster. Stronger.
Better.
But…she was alive.
The judgment from cloudy blue eyes was not real. Had never been real.
His arm strained with the pressure of holding onto his wand. He would focus, and it would vanish.
It wasn't real. It would never be a reality.
Humorous or otherwise, it was going to go away.
It would disappear.
And then it did.
There was no shift or twist into something else. No burst of light from his wand that would shatter the horror in front of him.
It simply…left.
Harry and Dumbledore stood alone in the Room of Requirement without even a damp spot remaining on the floor to denote the waking nightmare that had plagued him mere moments before.
He sank into a chair that appeared behind him and rested his head in his hands.
Dumbledore stepped over and placed a cool hand on Harry's shoulder. He twitched away from the contact, then hung his head further.
"You have exceeded my expectations in an unusual way," Dumbledore murmured, letting his hand drop away.
Harry let out a shaking breath, clutching tight to the frayed threads holding him together.
"Did I…cast it non-verbally?" he finally managed after a handful of slow deep breaths.
"No, I don't believe you did." Dumbledore glanced around for another chair before speaking again. "You appear to have wrested control of the room away from me in your desire to see the boggart vanish. I suppose that is as effective an example of extreme focus under duress as any other."
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Oh my, don't be." Dumbledore conjured a chair from the air and placed it alongside Harry's. "A few minutes ago, I would have thought that there was no-one in this castle capable of a strength of will that could outmatch my own. I am delighted to be proven wrong."
"My boggart wasn't…before…" He trailed off, his voice as weak as if he'd been screaming.
Had he been screaming?
"As we grow, our fears change," said Dumbledore. "A child's boggart might be a thunderstorm, while an old man might see a tombstone. Those who are likely to come into contact with them often keep one handy, to ensure they will not be surprised by a new form when it might be detrimental."
Harry nodded into his hands, a shiver running down his spine at the thought of willingly putting himself through such torture on a regular basis.
A silence stretched between them as Harry collected himself. It wasn't until he had sat up straight that Dumbledore spoke again.
"I had planned on working on the Patronus tonight, following your work with the boggart. However, I think it may be best to allow you some time to recover."
Harry straightened in his seat even further.
"I'm okay, Sir."
"Nevertheless, I will make time next weekend for another lesson. For tonight, go see Poppy and get a dreamless sleep potion. Experiences such as these can often dredge up memories we would prefer forgotten."
Harry nodded and rose when Dumbledore bid him goodnight. He allowed his feet to lead him to the hospital wing of their own accord.
The halls were blissfully unoccupied so close to curfew, allowing him time to think and process as he trudged the chilly halls.
Wind gusted through courtyards and corridors, whistling as it sped by. It was cold and fast, filling the halls with its biting presence. Stones slick with melted snow lent their ancient earthy scent and his throat closed to deny it access.
He was sweating, the droplets falling across his eyelashes and peppering his glasses as he picked up the pace, turning his sedate walk into a jog. Light from torches swam and undulated as he blinked away the moisture and felt the bite of ice on his wet skin.
He was near to sprinting by the time he pushed open the doors to the Hospital Wing, breaths coming hot and ragged as he panted from fleeing those frozen, disappointed eyes. He startled a second year, whose wrist churned and molded with the telltale signs of mending bones. The banging of the doors against the wall drew Madam Pomfrey from her office at a run and he became dimly aware of being bustled away from the beds and into her office.
A respectable fire burned in a hearth across the room from the door, the warmth of it suffusing the room like a blanket. Madam Pomfrey moved with careful precision, guiding him to a wooden chair near the fire with a hand that didn't quite touch his shoulder.
"Sit, Mr. Potter," she instructed, levitating over a towel from a cabinet in the corner.
She offered it to him, holding it out until he grabbed it with shaking hands.
"What happened?"
He pulled off his glasses and wiped his face, the fire-warmed towel driving away the chill of the icy depths that had chased him through the castle. The smell of burning logs suffused the fabric, a piney wooden scent marred only slightly by the smell of acrid smoke. The chair was cool beneath him, despite its proximity to the fire and he melted into it, exhausted.
"I worked with Professor Dumbledore on a boggart, Ma'am," he said, once he felt as though his voice wouldn't fail him. "He sent me for some dreamless sleep potion."
She peered down at him, the familiar lines of her face gentle and stern all at once.
"And he sent you sprinting down here in a blind panic?"
"Er…no, Ma'am."
She nodded and moved to a glass cabinet behind her spotless desk, lifting a small violet bottle from the shelf.
"It is not as uncommon as I would like for a student to have such a visceral reaction to their fears." She handed the bottle down to him. "Drink this once you're in bed. The effects will come on quickly, so be sure not to drink it before you're ready to sleep."
He nodded his understanding, handed her the towel, and stood to leave. She regarded him with scrutinizing eyes, giving him a familiar once-over.
"You may stay if you need to," she said after a moment. "But I understand if you would rather put this day behind you as soon as possible." She relaxed and gestured a hand towards the chair. "Feel free to stop in again if you find that you need to talk about it."
Harry nodded dutifully. The only thing he wanted to do was forget.
Satisfied with his response, she let him go, calling a reminder about taking the potion while in bed.
He walked the empty halls with the presence of mind to force his thoughts to the present. On the next step, the next turn, the next flight of stairs. Formless anxiety boiled inside him, searching for purchase in his mundane, focused thoughts. The Fat Lady asked for the password and swung open as his mouth took over and uttered the words. His feet carried him through the common room, step by step until they brought him up the stairs and into his dorm.
The room was thankfully empty and he plonked the potion down on his bedside table next to his notepaper. He snatched the parchment and held it up to find both sides blank. Shaking hands scrambled in the drawer for his inkwell and quill then set to writing, hoping his hasty words wouldn't convey his frantic need.
Hope you're doing well. Have a good night, Fleur.
He flipped the sheet over and dropped onto the side of the bed. His trembling hand held the paper aloft while his nerves coiled and screamed against the prolonged tension pulling his body; each nerve a frayed rope, flapping uselessly in the tempest of his mind. The anxious dread found eager cracks in his thoughts, slipping its cold wet fingers around his throat. The stare of frozen eyes lifted the hairs on his neck and drove the last of the air from his lungs.
Motion shifted across the page, a black, delicate line tracing perfect, looping, incredible letters across the page.
I am tired, but well. I had to work today, despite it being the weekend, and seeing your message just before going to bed was a lovely treat. Thank you. Good night, Harry.
The ropes snapped and he fell backward onto the bed, taking long deep breaths and fighting the instinct to gasp for air. In a shaken haze, he set the paper back on his nightstand and grabbed the potion, downing it in a quick gulp. He rolled over, uncaring of the bunching of sheets around his shoes or the pressure of his glasses against his face.
With his head on the edge of his pillow, he curled up and fell asleep.
XxX
It took him a few days to feel back to normal, or rather, whatever passed for normal for him recently. In years past, normal was studiously ignoring the growing dread as each day brought him closer to the end of term and taking great care with what he divulged.
Now?
Now it was dodging Hermione and Ron's inevitable questions about his wellbeing the morning after his lesson, and earning a simple, 'That's fine,' after saying he didn't want to talk about it. That in itself was a marvel, though something inside him felt right when he caught Hermione eying him curiously that evening at dinner.
Near the end of the week, he had settled enough to tell them about the lesson, though he left out the shape of his fears. Hermione, as he had expected, expressed her doubts about wresting control of the room from Dumbledore and suggested that the headmaster's obviously exhausted state of mind had a large part to play if it happened at all.
He couldn't disagree.
But rather than wonder about it, he did his best to put the whole experience from his mind. He hadn't even told Fleur everything that had happened. It was oddly embarrassing to tell someone their death was his greatest fear, no matter the boggart's piercing accuracy.
So when the next lesson rolled around the following weekend, he felt recovered, for the most part, and ready to at least try to produce a small jet of silver mist.
"I suspect you recall the deceptively simple instructions to perform the charm?" Dumbledore asked once their lesson had started.
"I have to think of a happy memory, then say, 'Expecto Patronum.'"
Dumbledore nodded, his long gray beard pushing against his chest with the motion. His eyes shone with interest behind his spectacles, though exhaustion still sat heavy on his shoulders.
"It would be more accurate to say that you must feel the memory. As with the other spells we have worked on, you must feel the shape of the spell before you are able to cast it effectively. Let the memory fill you completely as though you were living it for the first time, then use the words to manifest that feeling."
As he finished speaking, Dumbledore raised his wand, and with a soft incantation, a silver phoenix burst from the wand-tip.
Harry spun to follow the ethereal bird's flight, eyes trailing gaseous silver wisps that trailed behind the phoenix. The tendrils floated in the air on an unseen current, buffeted by long sweeps of the phoenix's wings. They splashed against the ceiling and floor, curling away into nothingness as they dissipated.
"It will take time," Dumbledore said, allowing his Patronus to vanish, "but do not be disheartened. If you find a memory that isn't working, try examining your feelings and figure out why. Is there a part of the memory that detracts from the happiness? Can you think of one that doesn't possess a similar component?"
He conjured a cushioned chair with a wave of his hand and slowly lowered himself into it.
"I will be here if you have any questions."
"You're just going to…watch me?" Harry asked, incredulous.
Dumbledore smiled and nodded.
"It is a welcome break from my work at the Ministry. I dearly loved teaching and often wish I could set aside my responsibilities and return to it, but alas, such things are not meant to be." He nodded towards Harry. "Listening to the prattling of an old man will not grant you experience with the Patronus Charm."
What followed was a frustrating hour of sifting through hazy memories and muttering the spell to no effect. Memories of boarding the Express to go to Hogwarts or seeing the castle for the first time produced little more than a tingle. He found mild success when he thought back to catching his first snitch or winning the Quidditch cups, though neither brought with them the surge of emotion he supposedly needed. Even then, during such triumphs, the memory felt muted and distant, like he had heard someone tell the story so often that it blurred into his own life.
He felt pointedly shallow when the memory of his and Fleur's first kiss spawned the most tangible reaction he'd managed yet.
Personal success and the freedom of flight didn't do it, but kissing a beautiful girl did?
But most of the memories of that unbelievable night produced a similar reaction.
The warmth of the stove as she hummed next to him while they cooked dinner together. The distracting scent of cinnamon as they sat side-by-side on her couch, enveloped in the warmth of her blanket. The firelight glinting off her hair as she tied a lavender ribbon through her mesmerizing, shimmering locks.
Of a form-fitting blue dress and bluer eyes.
Each memory brought a warmth so heady that he thought it impossible that nothing would burst from his wand.
And yet the holly remained stoic, unforgiving in its reticence to perform for such memories.
He found instead, that his thoughts drifted away from their private seclusion to cheerful smiles watching him as he opened acceptance in the form of a golden plaque. The warmth of Fleur's hand on his arm, Apolline squeezing Sebastian close with unshed moisture clinging to her eyelashes. Gabrielle's head thudding against his shoulder as she peeked at the broomsticks zooming across the edges around his name.
And Sirius.
Healthy, whole, with trembling joy struggling against his stoic self-control, grey eyes wet and smiling.
Cinnamon danced in his nose and twinkling Christmas lights adorned the edges of his vision. The warmth rose into an unbidden smile on his face, pulled free by the feeling of being wanted.
He raised his wand, his arm odd and distant from the vibrancy of his memory.
The pine scent of the Christmas tree wafted through the cinnamon and the logs in the fire popped.
" Expecto Patronum."
A shining silver eagle burst from the tip of his wand with triumphant beats of its wings.
As had the phoenix before it, the eagle trailed silvery light behind it that spun and danced through the air. After a single circle of the room, it landed next to Harry, its head nearly up to his waist.
Movement caught Harry's eye and he turned to find Dumbledore standing, his expression a picture of utter surprise.
"I don't believe it," Dumbledore muttered, his eyes blinking behind his spectacles. "In my long years, I have never heard of someone skipping the incorporeal stage entirely."
"Oh," Harry said, looking down at his Patronus, which peered around the room with its mercurial eyes.
"I had anticipated that we would be working on this for quite some time," said Dumbledore. "I will revise our lesson plans as soon as I am able."
The awe in his gaze faded and he fixed Harry with a tired smile.
"Our campaign to have the Ministry's acknowledgment is moving forward, however slowly. The Minister has become more cooperative of late and that bodes well for us when the time comes to present our case. Soon, I must ask you and Miss Delacour to submit your memories of the night of Voldemort's resurrection."
Harry frowned.
"Mr. Delacour said that memories from stuff like that are unreliable. What if I remember it wrong?"
"He is correct, but we are collecting every last piece of evidence we can. Additionally, the presence of two memories of the same event will help corroborate the validity of both of them, so long as the events align."
"I'll tell her, Sir."
A gray eyebrow raised and Harry felt his face grow warm.
"I would appreciate it," Dumbledore said, rather than voicing his obvious question. "Sebastian has been working overtime and I suspect he barely goes home to sleep. I am glad to not have to ask him to carry messages home during his limited time with his family."
Harry couldn't help the twinge of pain he felt for Apolline. She must be going spare being home alone so much more often than before.
"It is, however, getting late. I have some more work to do, and you should return to your dorm before curfew."
"Yes, Sir."
Dumbledore smiled down at Harry, his mustaches lifted in a broad grin.
"Excellent work. You continue to surpass every expectation I have for you."
"Er…thank you, Sir."
With a quick, 'goodnight,' Dumbledore followed Harry from the room and started down the corridor, opposite Harry's path back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry again let his feet lead him from the Room of Requirement, though his distraction was to marvel at his holly wand, which had produced something of such spectacular beauty and warmth.
In the lingering comfort of his memories, icy fingers could not reach him.
XxX
Can you cast a Patronus charm?
I can only perform an incorporeal Patronus. Why do you ask?
I just got done with a lesson with Dumbledore. It's what we worked on today.
First a boggart, then a difficult spell such as that? You have had a busy few weeks.
Figuring out the Patronus was a bit more fun than the boggart was.
Of that, I have no doubt. You still have not told me your boggart. If you do, I will tell you mine.
Harry paused, his quill held aloft. He had no doubt he would tell her the truth eventually, just not when the feel of frozen dread was still so...raw.
Do you think you'll be able to come next weekend? We haven't had a study session since school started up again.
I am surprised it took you so long to ask. I was beginning to wonder. I should be free to come work with the three of you. Having even an incorporeal version may help illustrate what you are trying to accomplish.
Looking forward to it.
As am I. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight.
XxX
Mother,
You asked me to let you know when the headmaster takes a leave of absence. After a few questions, I discovered that he has taken leave until the end of term. I couldn't get anything else out of those idiot sycophants of his, but he's gone. Left last night if they are to be believed.
Have you given any more thought to what I asked? I would be of much more use to the cause were I at Hogwarts again. The Dark Lord can use all the spies he can get when it comes to Dumbledore. The lessons here are okay, but useless if I don't get the chance to use what I've learned.
-Draco
Narcissa burned the letter with a touch of her wand, scowling. She loved Draco with every fiber of her being but the foolish boy was the worst combination of her and Lucius. His father's ambition with her pathetic bleeding heart. Even now, doing whatever it took to keep him safe, her chest ached in keeping him so far from her.
Her home once held the warmth and energy of the plans she and Lucius concocted in the twilight hours. Two minds building upon each other while their little son slept in his nursery. Now, she was alone with the Dark Lord and his trusted inner circle who had nothing but disdain for the unmarked servants of their master.
So she yearned for the comfort of her son. Near-white hair and fierce gray eyes like his father, with a nose that she saw every morning in the mirror. She clenched her fists on the desk next to the pile of ashes. Draco was all she had of Lucius and he had to stay away. Widowed arms sat empty and cold because of the madman in her parlor.
She banished the ashes out her open window, catching sight of the letter tucked away underneath her mundane family finance paperwork. A joint letter from both Sirius and Andromeda. Her cousin must owe a significant favor to have gotten Andy to put words to page. They hadn't even been harsh words.
Her infiltration into her family, as bizarre as the thought was, was working. And yet the Dark Lord still thought her efforts a waste of time. She was a tether to her son, nothing more. Just as she had been a hostage to be used against her husband.
But…love without pain was unproven.