oOo .. night-singer -v. 6- this phantom innocence

» Raindrop «

     In the five years since Harry had begun teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the old tradition of singing gatherings he’d had with the Weasleys and friends had spread into the faculty of the school. Tonight was one such night. They were held in the Room of Requirement, which provided them with a very large room full of soft bean bags and chairs of all sorts, with a warm fire crackling in a hearth to the left of the door and a table in the middle with various snacks and beverages. Harry had been very surprised when he arrived one day to find Lupin, McGonagall, Flitwick, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Sprout, Dumbledore, and even Trelawney in the room with the usual guests. Ron and Hermione’s most recent children, a four-year-old girl named Bebhinn, and two-year-old identical triplets—they were all boys, named Darren, Gaelen, and Shanahan—were being watched by Arthur and Molly, who had decided not to attend the singing gatherings at Hogwarts.
     But tonight, he got even more of a surprise.
     When he arrived at where the door would appear, he walked back and forth three times, thinking to himself that he wanted the room big enough for several people to sing in. He opened the door, and stopped, staring, before he even stepped completely into the room.
     “Snape?”
     The Potions master looked up, usual sullen expression set on his face, and scowled at him. Then the very corners of his mouth pulled up into the faintest ghost of a smile, and he quirked an eyebrow. “Even I can sing, Potter,” he said coolly, but Harry detected a hint of amusement.
     He blinked for a moment longer, before shaking his head and entering fully, closing the door behind him. He moved to the only remaining seat, a large red bean bag, and settled into it with a sigh. “So. Who’s going first?” Harry glanced around with a raised eyebrow.
     When no one volunteered, Snape cleared his throat. He looked slightly uncomfortable, and when everyone looked at him it didn’t improve. But he opened his mouth, and began to sing. As Harry listened, he was very surprised to realise that Snape had a good singing voice. He would never have expected that.
     Snape finished singing, and everyone was silent for a moment. Then Harry began a song of his own, one he knew that most of the people in the group could sing along with.

“Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore...”

All the others in the group who knew it joined him, now.

“The natives are hostile whatever I say
The thing they fear most is I might want to stay
By their side on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore

I escape my tormentors by crossing the sea
What I cannot escape is the memory
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore...”

They let him sing the last verse by himself, though.

“Everyone knows that there’s no place like home
I’m just seeking refuge in a world full of storms
Washed up on a distant shore, can’t go home anymore.”

Seamus sang one then, a pretty piece in Gaelic named “A Chomaraigh Aoibhinn ó” that Harry had first heard performed by a Celtic group named Solas. They went around the group, each singing a song. Even Dumbledore sang one.
Then, it came to Faolan, Ron and Hermione’s son who had come to Hogwarts two years ago and joined in on their group without hesitation. He took a deep breath and then glanced at Harry, who smiled slightly, knowing what he was about to sing, and then at his mother.

“Ó chaitheas-sa seal i measc na bponcán
Ag codailt amuigh fé chrann mo dhóchais
Ag réabadh fallaí a thóg m’athair romham
Idir é is an doicheall i bhfuinneog a súl...”

Faolan sang each line, and then Hermione repeated the line after him. It was a rather ingenious arrangement, one they had learned from Karan Casey’s version of this song.

“’Sea thugador go fial dúinn a raibh acu le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile in Éirinn.”

Harry joined Hermione in on the second line, and all three of them sang the last two lines together, without repetition.

“Is chuas ina dhiadh sin go Londain groí
Mo dhá láimh liom is mé liom féin
Dá mbeinnse céad bliain ag doras Sheáin Bhuí
Ni bhfaighinn bheith istigh i ngar dá chroí...”

This time Hermione sang each line once, and then Faolan repeated it. The two of them sang the first line of the chorus by themselves, and Harry repeated it, before all three of them sang the rest of the chorus.

“Is bhios ag a’ deireadh i ndeireadh an domhain
Ag luí béal faoi i bpoll uaignis
Ag scríobadh na cré i dtrínse ró mhór
A bhí chomh cúng le huaigh mo linbh...”

Harry sang first this verse, with Faolan repeating each line. All three of them sang the chorus this time, repeating each line together.

“Is bhíos-sa lá i dtír na ndall
Ag iarraidh dídean ó racht na farraige
Ní bhfuaireas-sa ann ach airgead ag méileach
Is fliuchadh mo bhéil de mo dheora féin...”

He sang this verse as well, with Hermione repeating each line.

“’Sea thugador go fial dúinn a raibh acu le tabhairt
Bata is bóthar is fonn abhaile
‘Sea téir abhaile go h-ifreann
Is fan sa bhaile as Éirinn.”

     All three of them sang the chorus this time as well, the same way as the previous, and repeating the last two lines twice afterwards.
     Again, there was a long moment of silence after they finished, in which Ron swelled with pride at his wife and son’s singing abilities. Harry lifted an eyebrow at Ron, who deflated like a balloon, glaring pitifully at him. Then the entire room erupted into applause, which wasn’t something that happened often, and the three of them sat blinking in surprise.
     Everyone looked around again, and then Harry shrugged. “What the hell, I’ll go again.

“Just a note for the time is short dear
Hard is the work and long the day
But my fond heart will be with you Mary
Although you are many, many miles away

“Kiss the children for me Mary
Do not let them pine or grieve
Tell them I will be working for them
How our home I had to leave

Building dams in the fields and the factories
Moving concrete by the load
Tell them I will be with you Mary
When I am finished working on the road

Just a note for the time is short dear
Hard is the work and long the day
But my fond heart will be with you Mary
Although you are many, many miles away
Although you are many, many miles away...”

     When no one volunteered to sing again, Ron shrugged. “It’s getting late, anyway,” he announced. “Faolan has to get to bed, and tomorrow is the first day of school.”
     Everyone agreed, and they slowly melted into the shadowed corridors when they left the Room of Requirement. Harry was the last one to leave, pausing at the doorway and glancing around in the empty room. Then he set off down the empty halls, footsteps echoing hollowly.
     A voice speaking from the shadows when he reached his rooms made him jump. “You have a nice voice, Potter,” Snape commented. Glancing around as the man spoke, he pinpointed his location, and sure enough there was a slightly darker shadow there. “Pleasant to listen to.”
     Harry tilted his head, still slightly startled. “Thank you,” he murmured, truly pleased. He nodded. “Good night, Snape.” And then, a faint smile on his face, he opened the door and entered his rooms to be attacked by an overeager Kacey.

     “You know,” Harry murmured to Lupin, “even after five years it feels strange to be sitting up here instead of down there with the students.” The werewolf glanced up at him, smiling slightly. Harry’s eyes swept over the Hall, watching as the students chattered quietly amongst themselves.
     McGonagall arrived them, opening the door with a crowd of First Years following behind. He smiled when he captured a glimpse of Alanna and Kristen, fiery hair easy to spot, and he frowned, recognising that head of white-blonde hair for some reason. Lupin glanced over the group, too, and laughed softly. “Those must be the newest Weasley additions to the school,” he commented, lifting an eyebrow.
     Harry nodded absently, before looking up at the ceiling. It had been dark out for an hour or two now, and it had begun to rain half an hour ago. But now, as made evident by the ceiling that reflected the current weather conditions, it was pouring, with thunder rolling in the distance and lightning flashing. “Wonderful first day for this year’s First Years, hmm?”
     Lupin looked up, making a face. “Indeed,” he murmured sarcastically.
     The Sorting Hat began its song, but Harry didn’t pay attention; he never did. When it was done, the sorting began.
     “Anemone, Letha.” The Hat put her in Gryffindor. “Anscom, Forest.” Slytherin. The list went on, until...
     “Malfoy, Rhiannon.”
     His head snapped up at that name, and both Lupin and Snape glanced at him, startled. Sure enough, the little blonde fairy that was Draco Malfoy’s daughter skipped—skipped, she had obviously not lost her energy since he’d seen her five years ago—up to the stool, sitting down with a graceful flop. True to her heritage, she sat straight and tall, chin held high as the Hat debated. She was clearly five years older; she’d grown about a foot, almost two, and she’d lost some of her baby fat. Oh, Malfoy, you must be proud of her, he thought before he realised the direction his musings had taken, and then he forced a frown onto his face.
     “Ravenclaw!”
     He was sure everyone in the room blinked. There hadn’t been a Malfoy in anything but Slytherin for longer than the Wizarding world could remember. But looking back at the conversation he’d had with Malfoy at the coffee shop, he understood.
     “I have a six-year-old illegitimate daughter, Potter, and she’s become my life, the only person who can uphold the Malfoy name. Why in hell would I teach her to treat others the way I did?”
     Rhiannon had most likely been raise on different ideals than Malfoy himself had been. If she had been taught not to look down on people, or be snide and cruel, she would most likely not be in Slytherin. Children generally acted the way they were taught to.
     Silent, he watched as she made her way to the Ravenclaw with a sort of energetic grace, and was greeted with surprise and joy by the students at the table.
     Harry was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed it when Alanna and Kristen were Sorted into Gryffindor. They were the last people, so Dumbledore stood up then and made his speech.
     “Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I’d like to make a few announcements. First, I’d like to welcome Harry Potter to his fifth year of teaching here.” He watched as Rhiannon glanced up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Also, Remus Lupin and Justin Finch-Fletchley to their tenth year. And we have a new professor this year.” He nodded to someone at the other end of the table, who Harry couldn’t see. “Madam Hooch retired last year, and replacing her is Draco Malfoy.”
     The next thing Harry knew he was face down in his gravy-covered mashed potatoes.
     Startled, Lupin stared for a minute, before quickly pulling him up and cleaning his face off with a quick spell. Harry was staring straight in front of himself, eyes wide as saucers.
     “Really, Potter.” He stiffened at Snape’s drawl. “You and Mr. Malfoy may not have gotten along well in school, but that’s no reason to try and drown yourself in gravy and mashed potatoes.”
     For some reason, he felt the urge for hysterical laughter. “Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to hold it back. Then he stood and almost bolted from the Great Hall.
     Thoughtfully, Lupin leaned back in his chair to look down the table at where Malfoy was. But he paused, frowning, and leaned forward again. Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Where did Malfoy go?” Lupin asked quietly, before glancing back the way Harry had gone with a worried frown on his face.

     Harry paused at his door, leaning on it for a moment, before opening it. Kacey jumped on him the instant the door was opened enough for her to fit through, but sat down and stared up at him, head tilted, when she noticed his mood. “Come on, Kace,” he murmured. “Let’s go for a walk.”
     Quietly, and knowing well enough by now to stay close to him, she followed him through the halls, watching him with something that eerily resembled empathy in her eyes. When they reached the doors, he opened them and followed her out. With a sigh, he settled down on the stairs, hugging his knees as he watched her white form run ghost-like through the night.
     “Potter.”
     He froze, eyes widening. He knew that voice. Closing his eyes, he swallowed, and hid the lower half of his face behind his hands. “Malfoy,” he said softly, voice even more muffled by his hands.
     With a rustle of cloth and the soft sound of shoes on stone, Malfoy moved forward, settling down on the steps beside him, little more than a foot away. They sat in silence for a long time, simply watching Kacey run around in the dark, before the new professor finally spoke. “It’s been a while,” he murmured, glancing over at Harry.
     Staring out into the night, he chuckled mirthlessly. “Five years,” he confirmed.
     The silver eyes did not move from his face. “Why did you leave?” Malfoy asked quietly, a strange mixture of hurt and indignation in his voice.
     For a long moment, Harry stared at him, perplexed. “Dumbledore offered me the job,” he replied, “and, well...I’d always wanted to teach DADA. Why wouldn’t I take it, when given the opportunity?”
     Malfoy didn’t answer for a minute, but he seemed to be swallowing repeatedly, presumably in discomfort. Finally, he sighed heavily, turning away. “I don’t know,” he whispered. There was a sense of loss, frustration, and sorrow to his words, and it made Harry study him more closely. Were those tears he saw sparkling on the blonde’s eyelashes, or was he imagining things? Malfoy looked at him again, sideways, and asked, “Why can’t we just start over, pretend it never happened?” Watching him in some concern, Harry frowned. An air of desperation had closed around his colleague, and it disturbed him to see Malfoy, calm, collected and silent Malfoy, act this way. “Why can’t we just say that all those years of school never happened, or that last fight we had before you left?”
     “Malfoy—” He swallowed, gazing at him in anxiety. What had gotten into him? “We’re not children, Malfoy,” he answered at length, voice soft in an effort to calm the blonde. “We can’t do that, not anymore.”
     Licking his lips, the Slytherin swallowed, closing his eyes and slumping forward. “I—I know,” he whispered. “But sometimes...I wish we were. I wish we could.” Then he stood, somewhat abruptly. “I have to go.”
     He almost let him walk away without saying anything.
     Almost.
     “Malfoy,” he called, raising his voice just enough to be heard. The man stilled, turning halfway to look at him. “She’s beautiful, Malfoy,” he commented. “You must be proud.”
     There could be no doubt of who he was speaking. Malfoy cocked his head, a new light shining his eyes. “I am,” he replied, smiling faintly. His voice was sincere when he continued, “Thank you.”
     Then he left, and Harry let him walk away.

September 1, 2009

    I had a couple of surprises, today.
     I hadn’t realised it until Minerva was calling the First Years up for their Sorting, but it’s been five years since I saw Malfoy’s daughter. And today was her first day of school. I was so startled by her name being called that both Snape and Lupin looked at me in concern—well, maybe just Lupin, but Snape looked at me strangely, too. Anyway. Madam Hooch retired last year, and guess who replaced her? Malfoy. You’ll probably find this funny, but I was so startled that I fell face first into my mashed potatoes before I even realised what had happened. I had to leave then, though, because the idea of spending time with Snape sneering at me about it...Well, let’s just say it didn’t sit well.
     So I took Kacey out for her last run of the day. And dammit, Malfoy followed me out there! The stupid bastard...He couldn’t wait for me to get my nerves settled...Oh well. I probably shouldn’t have called him a bastard, because he wasn’t rude or anything. But... Come to think of it, I’m kind of worried about him after the conversation we had.
     He started it off with simply commenting on how long it has been, and then...He asked me why I left. I really still don’t understand what he meant by that...Why did I leave working at the bank? Well, it was getting too boring for me. But...What if he meant why I left him? That’s what it seemed like he was asking me...It never occurred to me, though, to think of it as leaving him. And why would it? We had barely started getting along, for maybe a week at most, and then he got so upset about me taking the job here...It still confuses the hell out of me. I don’t get it, at all...
     And then, when I told him it was because I’d always wanted a job teaching here, he asked me if we could start over. Pretend school, everything, hadn’t happened. He sounded so desperate, though, like...Like it was all that mattered to him. And I swear that I saw tears in his eyes when he asked me that...What was the most disturbing about the whole incident was that the last time I’d seen him he was so calm, and collected. He was so...So...So quiet, and sure of himself, and he had this...air of...mystery? No, that doesn’t seem right... Apathy? Indifference? Maybe... It was just... That sudden surge of emotion, such raw, painful emotion...It kind of scared me. He sounded so lost... But as much as I wanted to say we could...We’re adults. We can’t do that anymore.
     Of course, he agreed with me... But he also said that sometimes, he wished we were, and that we could. I suppose, in a way, that I agree with him. Life as a child was so much less complicated—Well, maybe not. I did have to deal with Voldemort, after all. But...Emotions, and beyond the Voldemort element, life itself, were so easy, so simple...I guess I can see why he’d want to go back to that. But then again, Malfoy doesn’t seem like the type of person who would want to return to the past... He’s always seemed like the kind of person who lived for the future. I don’t know, maybe time has changed him even more than I thought, or maybe I never guessed him right, but whatever. And who knows? Maybe I’m just imagining things.
     Ugh. So many maybes...It’s mad. And now I’m in a nostalgic mood... Ah, well, might as well indulge myself. I wonder... What would have happened if Voldemort had never existed? Would I have taken Malfoy’s hand in friendship that day on the train? Or would I still have turned him down? I can say one thing for sure, though: I would never have had to deal with Quirrel, the basilisk, Tom Riddle, seeing Cedric die in front of me, losing my godfather...Most of my life would never have happened. My parents would still be alive, and I would have known Sirius from the beginning. I would never have had to live with the Dursleys and been abused my whole life. I wouldn’t be the Boy Who Lived; I’d just be an average, normal Wizard walking down the street. But would I be teaching here? Or would I still have that job at the bank? Or would I be working somewhere else?
     Gah. I can’t do this crap... It’s too melancholy for me.
     I’m going to bed.

     Harry’s first class the next day was with the First Years, most of whom had already had one class, and his feelings were mixed when he saw Rhiannon enter, the first student to arrive. She paused, glancing around in interest, before she moved to the front of the classroom and took a seat directly in front of his desk. For a long moment, she merely looked at him, and he met her gaze steadily.
     She spoke first. “You came home with Daddy one night,” she said, sounding surprised.
     Despite himself, he found his eyebrows rise. She couldn’t have been more than six! “I’m surprised you remember that,” he replied calmly, although he did allow the faintest hint of amazement to slip into his voice.
     The girl shrugged carelessly. “Daddy still talks about you all the time,” she continued, then fell silent when the rest of the class filed in.
     Late.
     They all looked guilty, except for the few wearing Slytherin robes who just smirked smugly at him. He stood, moving around to the front of his desk and gazed over his classroom, arms crossed in front of his chest and eyebrow lifted. “You’re late,” he commented. There was a clamour as everyone tried to explain, but he held up a hand and they fell silent. “You,” he said, pointing to a small boy, slightly on the pudgy side who looked very nervous. He reminded him of Neville. “What’s your name?”
     Swallowing, the boy stammered, “Dian Cecht.”
     “Ah,” he uttered, smiling faintly. “Dian Cecht. Named for the Irish god of healing, am I correct?” Blinking and clearly startled, Dian nodded shakily. “Why was everyone late?” he asked gently, the faint smile still on his lips.
     The boy, who was a Gryffindor as made apparent by his robes, licked his lips nervously. “We—got lost,” he whispered, clearly mortified.
     Chuckling kindly, Harry nodded. “I got lost several times my first year, too,” he assured. “Who showed you the way?” he asked curiously. He needed to thank them.
     Chewing on his bottom lip, the boy appeared to be thinking hard. “I—can’t remember his name,” he admitted, ashamed. One of the boys from Slytherin snickered, and Harry gave him a quelling look that Snape would have been proud of. “He’s new this year, I think?”
     Both of his eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Malfoy, you mean?” Dian nodded. “Really,” Harry murmured. “Interesting...”
     He didn’t know what made him look, but he glanced at the door. Malfoy, smiling faintly, nodded to him, and then turned and left. Eyebrows drawn, he stared after him for a moment, before collecting himself. “Right. I am Professor Potter, and this class is Defence Against the Dark Arts.” It was time for the introductions. “Now, I’ve been told by a few specific professors that my teaching style is unorthodox,” he informed them. Snape, of course, was the professor he was speaking of.
     That captured the class’ interest, which he couldn’t help but smile faintly at. He had learned over the past several years that anything different drew attention.
     “First off, there are a few things that you need to know about this class.” He ran a firm eye across his students. “I do not play favourites, nor do I favour any specific House. If you do well, I reward you. If you do badly, I do my best to help you improve. If you misbehave...” He paused dramatically, meeting every single eye in the room before continuing. “I will take points, and if further disruptions occur, you will meet the Headmaster in a way that will not be pleasing.” He smiled grimly. But then he laughed, lightening the mood. “But don’t worry, I haven’t had a single student who didn’t enjoy this class.” He paused, looking over them again.
     “A few rules,” he continued. “Keep your language and behaviour appropriate; and believe me,” he said, glancing sharply at one of the Slytherins who was looking rather conniving, and lowered his voice menacingly, “I will hear or see you.” He paused again, and noticed that the Slytherin he’d singled out looked somewhat disturbed. “Keep the lavatory visits to a minimum, please. I will, however, give you a slip if you ask, but I expect you back as quickly as possible. No food or drinks in class.” He stopped, glancing around the room and frowning. “I think that’s everything. Now, a little bit about me.”
     Some of the students glanced at each other dubiously. He chuckled to himself, but made no comment. “My full name is Harry James Potter, and don’t take this as arrogance, but I’m quite sure most of you have heard of me?” He lifted an eyebrow. The entire class nodded, though a few sneered; he ignored them. “I am thirty years old, and I graduated from Hogwarts a little over ten years ago. I have ten-year-old husky named Kacey, who looks and acts like she were five. She wanders around outside during the day, and she’s very friendly, so if you see her, go ahead and pet her.” He paused, frowning. “However, should you try and injure her, she will protect herself, and you will be responsible.” He coughed, taking a sip of water he’d left on his desk.
     A Slytherin who vaguely resembled someone he recognised snorted in amusement at that, doubt clear on his face, and seemed startled when Harry turned to him. “And you are?” he asked, eyebrows lifted and arms crossed again.
     Recovering his composure admirably quickly, he sneered, “Bevan Montague.”
     Harry smiled grimly, standing up straight and meeting the boy’s eyes head on. “I went to school with your father,” he commented, watching the boy blink. “He was a hot-headed idiot who was shoved head first into a toilet, and came back up several weeks later without his memory.”
     The junior Montague flushed angrily, and opened his mouth to retort.
     He simply lifted an eyebrow. For a moment, the boy looked like he was still about to snap, but then he slunk back in his seat and closed his mouth in a deep scowl. “Child, I have been glared at far more often by people more frightening than you, I do not find you imposing,” he said with some amusement. Then he turned to the rest of the class. “Now, class, get out a scroll, a quill, and your Standard Book of Spells, and we’ll begin your first lesson.”

     Instead of eating lunch in the Great Hall, he and Lupin had a small picnic outside by the shore of the lake. Food held in paper plates and bowls, drinks in plastic cups, and paper napkins were all spread out on the red-and-white checkered blanket lain out across the recently cut grass. It was a beautiful day, all remnants of the storm last night long gone, and the sun shone down brightly on them through the clear blue sky. He had always loved eating outdoors, and the sound of the birds chirping, the wind in the trees and the waves lapping at the narrow stretch of sand all soothed him like little else could. They were in the middle of a conversation about a book that Lupin had recently discovered when they were both surprised by a voice behind you.
     “Potter, Lupin,” the voice he recognised without difficulty greeted, and they both looked up to see Malfoy standing above them. “Mind if I join you? I’ve brought a few little snacks, myself.”
     The werewolf glanced quickly at Harry, and said when he received no negative, “Go right ahead.”
     Quietly, Malfoy folded his legs under him, sitting Indian style, and after a brief glance between them layed his own food out. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly.
     Lupin nodded, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at Harry, who nodded to tell him he’d explain later. “You have a beautiful daughter, Malfoy,” he commented, and the blonde paused for a brief second while running his fingers through his hair, before continuing what he was doing.
     “I seem to be getting that a lot,” he mumbled, half to himself, before smiling at Lupin. “Thank you, though. It means a lot to me.” He cast a questing eye across the picnic blanket, looking over all the food. They watched quietly as he selected a baked and breaded chicken leg, a large chunk of Italian bread, and an apple.
     “So Malfoy,” Lupin began, obviously wanting to make conversation. Harry glanced at him, frowning slightly. What was he up to? “How did your first classes go?”
     Malfoy chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Amusing,” he replied. “But only because it reminded me of our—” he motioned to Harry and then himself “—first flying lesson.” The DADA professor lifted an eyebrow, now interested, and leaned forward. “One of my students reminds me of Longbottom—”
     “Dian Cecht?” Harry inquired, having an idea where this was going. Slightly startled, Malfoy nodded. “He was in my first class, today,” he explained.
     The blonde nodded, before continuing. “And then another—Well, he reminds me of me, during school.”
     Now Harry knew for sure what had happened. “Let me guess: Bevan Montague?” Again, Malfoy nodded, and he snorted, shaking his head in mild amusement. “Yes, I could see how he’d remind someone of you when you were in school,” he commented. “I think he’s going to be causing some problems, soon.”
     For a moment, Malfoy frowned at him. “Are you going to be able to deal with him?” he asked, sounding worried.
     He snorted. “I dealt with you, didn’t I?” he retorted. “And that was during school. Trust me Malfoy, I’ll be fine. I can handle a few rowdy students.”
     “You two don’t seem like the last time you saw each other you hated each other,” a calm voice observed beside Harry, and they both looked at Lupin in surprise, having forgotten he was there.
     Malfoy glanced at him for permission, and Harry shrugged. He really didn’t care if Lupin knew. Taking that for what it was, the blonde swallowed his food. “We didn’t,” he replied simply.
     At Lupin’s raised eyebrow, Harry continued. “You remember that I was working at Gringotts, right?” he asked, and the werewolf nodded. “Well, one day Malfoy showed up and announced that he had been told he was to be my partner.” He bit into his bologna and mayonnaise sandwich, chewing and swallowing before he spoke again. “He’d changed enough that it was scary, but...About a week later Dumbledore offered me this job.”
     It was amazing, how quickly Malfoy’s emotions changed. At the mention of the job offer, Malfoy seemed to shrink into himself, and he lowered his eyes. “Potter..,” he began quietly. “About that...I’m sorry...”
     Frowning slightly, Harry stared at him. After a moment, he murmured, “No, it’s all right...”
     “No, it’s not,” Malfoy snapped, looking angry all of a sudden. “Dammit, Potter! You don’t get it, do you?! I—” He stopped abruptly, closing his mouth with a snap, and winced slightly. “I have to go,” he muttered, and stood, walking away.
     Now angry himself, Harry scowled. “You can’t keep running away from things, Malfoy,” he said irritably.
     The Slytherin froze for a moment. “I’m not doing it for me, Potter,” he said quietly over his shoulder. “I’m doing it for you.” Then he broke into a run and vanished in the shadows of the trees.
     Harry stared after him for a long time. “I’m sorry about that, Lu—” he apologised, turning to the werewolf, and stopped. “—pin?” Glancing around in confusion, he looked for the professor. He seemed to have vanished. “Where did he go?” he wondered.

     “Where did you go?” he asked Lupin later on that day at dinner. “You just disappeared.”
     The werewolf chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he helped himself to more potatoes. “Harry, sometimes you can be really dense,” he commented in amusement. Before he could act on the insult, though, Lupin continued. “That was obviously a personal conversation you were having, and I didn’t want to intrude.”
     Harry eyed him suspiciously. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not what you meant when you said I could be dense?” he asked dubiously.
     Both of Lupin’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Because it wasn’t,” he replied, smiling. “But interpret it as you will, because I’m not going to explain. You need to figure it out for yourself.”
     Grimacing at him, Harry set to his food. “You sound just like Hermione,” he grumbled, before forking a slice of roast beef and bringing it to his mouth.
     This time he outright laughed. “She was Head Girl for a reason, you know,” was his smiling reply.
     Somewhat miffed, he silently mocked the werewolf, much to Lupin’s amusement. When the man snickered, Harry glared irritably at him. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, reaching for his pumpkin juice and taking a drink.
     “You two act like a married couple,” Snape sneered.
     Taken by surprise, Harry lurched forward, spraying his drink all over the table in front of him. Lupin choked, before laughing loudly at his companion’s expression; Snape just smirked faintly. The entire Hall turned their heads and stared at them, Harry sputtering, Lupin laughing like a madman. After he calmed down, however, Harry stilled, staring thoughtfully down at his food.
     “Dear lord,” Snape commented scornfully, “the world has come to an end. Potter is thinking.”
     Feeling not quite insulted but somehow both indignant and melancholy, he glanced at Snape. “You know, Snape,” he said quietly, “after five years of knowing me as an adult you’d think you might have started to treat me like one by now.” He paused. “You always said I would have to grow up eventually.” His smile was both cold and sad. “I never thought I would have to say it to you. Excuse me.” Standing, he turned and left, heedless of the startled obsidian eyes staring after him.

September 2, 2009

     I did something today that I had never thought I would ever have to do. I told Snape to grow up. Can you believe that? But... He’s never stopped treating me like he did when I was in school. In actuality, it’s gotten even worse. He’s been name calling, making snide comments about my intelligence, etc. In other words, he has been acting like Malfoy did in school. By tonight at dinner I’d gotten sick of it. And then he made a comment about how the world was ending because I was thinking. So I told him to grow up, if a little more elaborately. The strange thing is, he actually commented on my singing voice two days ago, about how much he liked it. So...I guess I just don’t understand the way other people’s minds work.
     During lunch today Lupin and I ate outside in a sort of picnic by the shore of the lake. We were talking about a book that Lupin had found about foreign magic and magical theory—it sounds extremely interesting, but I’ve completely forgotten the title; I should ask him again—when Malfoy decided to join us. He started talking about his first class, involving both Dian Cecht and Bevan Montague, both of whom I mentioned later on in my entry yesterday. Apparently it was very similar to our first flying lesson. And then Lupin commented on how it didn’t seem like when we’d last seen each other we were enemies. So we explained to him about the whole week at Gringotts, and then Malfoy began to apologise for getting so angry when I left Gringotts. Of course, when I told him it was all right, he immediately got angry and told me very vehemently that it was, and started to say something—and then stopped. And said he had to leave. So I told him he couldn’t keep running away from things. And he said...one of the strangest things anyone’s every said to me. That he wasn’t doing it for himself, but for me. I have absolutely no idea what he could have been talking about. Why would he be running away for me?
     Anyway. When I turned to apologise to Lupin for having to see that, he’d vanished. So I asked him today at dinner where he’d gone and he told me that I could be “really dense” sometimes, and that he’d left because it was a “private conversation”. Except that wasn’t what he mean when he said I was dense. Everything is so confusing at the moment, I’m just so frustrated! I don’t know half of what’s going on around me, and it involves me—

     “Professor?”
     Startled, he looked up, eyebrows raised. Dian Cecht stood hesitantly in the doorway of his office, swallowing nervously. “Yes?” he asked curiously, tilting his head.
     Licking his lips, the boy moved half a step closer to him. “I—Could—you help me with my Potions homework?” he questioned haltingly.
     Brow drawn, he nodded, motioning the boy in and closing his journal. “Of course, come on in,” he replied, somewhat concerned. He watched as the boy tentatively crossed the room, looking around anxiously before pulling a chair up next to Harry at his desk. “Why couldn’t you ask your professor?” he inquired.
     The Gryffindor paled drastically. “I—He—”
     “Ah.” Understanding dawned quickly. Yes, he is very similar to Neville, he thought. “You’re afraid of Professor Snape, aren’t you?” Flushing in shame, the boy gave a tiny jerk of his head. Harry chuckled softly, not unkindly. “Well, Dian Cecht, I happen to be very good friends with someone who was terrified of Snape.”
     Surprised, Dian looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Really?” he breathed.
     Smiling faintly. “Yes,” he replied. “His name was Neville Longbottom. Perhaps you have heard of him..?” Neville had grown to be one of the leading Wizards in the field of Herbology, and had actually published nearly a dozen best-selling books on different areas of the field.
     Dian took a moment to think about that, and then recognition dawned on his face. “He
was afraid of Professor Snape?” he asked, stunned.
     His smile widening, Harry leaned down and nodded, meeting the boy’s eyes kindly. “Actually, Dian Cecht, you remind me very much of him,” was his reply. “He was very awkward, very shy, and very nervous. And his worst fear was Severus Snape.”
     The look on his student’s face had changed from one of surprise to one of both awe and a sense of fellowship with one he had probably considered more than human. Harry’s smile was a private one, now; it gave him a feeling of accomplishment, doing that. “As for Snape, well... He’s only human.” He paused, before moving towards the doorway. “Come with me, hm? There’s something I want to show you.”
     Curious, the boy followed, and Harry lead him through the halls until he reached the entrance to the Potions classroom. Dian drew away from it, looking fearful.
     “Wait here,” Harry said softly. “Come in when I call for you, all right?” Then he leaned forward, hand on the boy’s shoulder, and whispered, “I see fear in your eyes. Let it overwhelm you, or try and suppress it, and it will consume you. But use that fear, and it will make you stronger.” With that, he turned and strode confidently into the classroom, moving to the entrance into Snape’s office and knocking on the door.
     After a short pause, the door opened and Snape stood before him, frowning. He hesitated for a moment, in which Harry lifted an eyebrow, before motioning Harry in. Fortunately, he left the door open behind him. “Potter,” he murmured. An odd look settled in his eyes, and he moved somewhat uncomfortably towards his desk. “I—have something I wish to say.”
     Lifting his eyebrow again, he leaned against the side of a shelf, carefully checking that it contained nothing breakable. “Really?” he asked, surprised. I hadn’t expected that...
     Swallowing awkwardly—And isn’t that something I never thought I’d see...—the man moved to sit on the corner of his desk. “I have thought much on what you said to me earlier this evening,” the professor started, “and come to the conclusion that you are correct. I do need to ‘grow up’, as you put it.”
     This time, both of his eyebrows shot up and nearly into his hairline. “Are you apologising?” he questioned. This visit was turning out to be something pleasantly surprising.
     Grudgingly, he nodded. “Apologising,” he confirmed, “and offering a—truce, of sorts.”
     Tilting his head, Harry studied the Potions Master for a moment, before smiling faintly. “Severus Snape, I accept your apology, and agree to your truce,” he said quietly. He felt oddly proud. “Now. As for the reason I paid you this visit. I have a request to make of you.” He waited until Snape lifted his head in acknowledgement before continuing. “It’s only the first day of classes, yet you already have students afraid of you.” The professor’s black brows beetled downwards, almost meeting in the deep crease that had formed between them. “My request is this: That you ease off on them, stop favouring the Slytherins as much, and help them when it’s needed.” Irritated and possibly insulted, Snape opened his mouth to protest that he did help his students, but Harry cut him off first. “Not just your Slytherins, Severus.” The use of his first name obviously caught him off guard, because Snape blinked, staring at him. “And from what I remember and what I have witnessed while teaching here, you do not help the other students when it is so obvious they need it. That needs to change, Severus.”
     For a long time, they simply looked at each other. It was clear, both by the frown on his lips and the crease of his brow that had not faded, that Snape was struggling with his decision, but thinking hard. Finally, he grudgingly nodded. “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll do my best—I’m warning you, though, that it will not be easy.”
     Harry laughed, mirth restored. “Oh, I never thought it would be,” he replied laughingly. Then he turned. “All right, you can come in now!” Startled, angry black eyes snapped to his face, and Snape’s jaw dropped indignantly. It melted into a jaw-clenched glare as Dian Cecht tentatively poked his hand around the corner before carefully creeping towards Harry, watching Snape the whole time and clearly prepared to bolt. He hid behind Harry, anxiously wringing his hands together. “Severus, this student of yours came to me for Potions help because he was too afraid of you to ask,” he informed the professor calmly. His gaze as cool, eyebrow quirked, as he asked, “And now that I have brought him to you, would you deny him the help he needs?”
     Scowling, and glaring for all he was worth at Harry, he gritted his teeth and shook his head. “No,” he ground out.
     Smiling smugly, Harry tilted his head in a way that would later remind him eerily of Malfoy in school. “Oh come now, Severus,” he mock-soothed. But then his expression darkened. “But be warned, Severus Snape. If he complains once, I will report you to the Headmaster.” Then he smiled kindly at the boy, giving him a gentle push forward. “Remember, Dian Cecht,” he whispered, “let the fear take root, and it will rule you. But use it, and you become strong.”
     Then he left, smiling faintly.

[Chapter 3] | [Chapter 5]