Chapter Seven of 'Valerian'- Undesirable Sights

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Six.

Chapter One.

Title: Valerian (7/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Severus and Draco/Astoria, past Harry/Draco
Content Notes: Angst, manipulation, past infidelity
Rating: R
Summary: Harry dated Draco until Draco fell in love with Astoria, and never really got over his broken heart. Now Draco is getting married, and wants Harry to construct a unique magical gift for his bride on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. As Harry labors on his creation, telling himself not to be petty, Severus Snape watches to make sure that he doesn’t mess it up—and also, soon, for other reasons.
Author’s Notes: Several people are angsty and not at their nicest here. Don’t read if that bothers you. Also, this is a sequel to my short fic “Aconite,” which you should probably read first, and while this will be much longer than that story, it will be irregularly updated.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seven—Undesirable Sights

“Professor Snape. What are you doing here?”

“I told you before, Ron, he said that he wanted to come over to discuss Harry.” Granger bustled up behind her husband, taking the door from him and motioning Severus inside with a wave of her hand. “Welcome, sir. Can I get you something to eat or drink? Tea?”

Severus sneered at Weasley and walked past him, studying the interior of the house. It was small, but other than that, Granger and Weasley appeared to have done well for themselves. The furniture was antique, the colors on the walls quiet, and the ivy and flowers trained in trellises up on the walls included several rare species as well as those that were useful in brewing.

Severus averted his eyes from a pot filled with lilies of the valley and nodded slightly at Granger. “Tea, with milk.”

Granger went off to make it, while Weasley sat down on a leather couch and frankly goggled at Severus. Severus took a chair that was deep, soft, and done in blue that did not make his eyes flinch, and ignored him.

In the end, Granger brought a tray with tea and milk on it rather than trying to make it to his specifications, which was Severus’s preference in any case when dealing with those who did not know him well. He fixed the tea and watched as Granger sat down beside Weasley. The boy started to open his mouth, but she shut him down with a fierce shake of his head.

I suppose that I must account him a man, now. But for all that he was taller than Harry, Weasley did not project that air of maturity Severus was learning to associate with his—

Project? Lover-to-be? Severus concealed his smile behind the teacup. He was fairly sure it would unnerve Granger and Weasley both.

“What did you need to talk to us about, concerning Harry?” Granger asked him. Her voice and posture were relaxed, but Severus took no particular comfort from that. He had seen how she could bristle in defense of what she thought was right, let alone a friend.

“I want to know how much you know concerning his relationship with Draco Malfoy.”

Weasley and Granger exchanged silent glances. Granger finally nodded, but it was Weasley who took up the tale. “Harry told us that he’d abused Malfoy. I said that was bollocks, but he said it was—it was true.” Weasley hesitated. “I’ve never seen Harry that adamant about anything, including saying Voldemort was back when we were still in school.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. Here, this is the first trace of the trail. “Describe his demeanor when he said that.”

“He was staring straight at me,” Weasley said at once. “Not shouting, but his hands were clenched and he—he acted like he was about to punch me if I didn’t agree. Of course I didn’t agree! I tried to tell him that he needed his head examined, but he told me that everyone else would just blame Malfoy because he used to be a Death Eater. He said he was the only one who knew the truth.”

“Did he ever go to see a Mind-Healer? After the war or after the relationship?”

Granger shook her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “First Harry didn’t want to, because he thought any Mind-Healer he saw would expose his secrets for money. Then he said he didn’t have time, what with participating in Auror training and getting his own business off the ground later.”

“Then he said that he wouldn’t because any Mind-Healer would just blame Malfoy.” Weasley took a slow, deep breath. “I told him Hermione and I blamed Malfoy, too. He didn’t talk to us for a month.”

Severus paused. That was something he had not anticipated. “Because you questioned his guilt?”

“Because we made it clear that we disliked Malfoy,” Granger whispered. She reached out and took a cup of tea from the tray, staring into it as if she intended to Divine the truth. “That was what he told us when he finally reached back out. That we disliked Draco, and he couldn’t be with people who disliked the man he was in love with.”

Severus frowned into the teacup he still held. He had assumed that perhaps Draco had struck Harry with a Legilimency compulsion, but he knew none that could focus on a person to that extent. Legilimency compulsions were supposed to make their victims take certain, limited types of actions. Draco might have instructed Harry to lie about their relationship, or to defend him, or to leave his friends forever, but silence for a month and reconciliation following that were beyond the scope of such compulsions.

Perhaps it was a potion after all.

“And what have you talked to him of since?” he asked, looking up and from one face to another.

Granger shook her head. “Nothing about Malfoy. Now and then I’ve told him that he should see a Mind-Healer for another reason, but he brushes me off. And he won’t talk to us about this wedding gift that he’s making for them at all.”

That was one area where he had an advantage, then, Severus decided. Harry thought that Severus’s friendship with Draco was reason enough not to strike back as hard as he had with his friends. “I agree with you.”

Weasley choked on his tea. Granger patted his back, but kept her narrowed eyes on Severus. “With all due respect, sir, why?”

Severus grimaced. “Because I do not yet know what Mr. Malfoy did to Mr. Potter, but I can see the edges of it, and it is wrong. I also tire of hearing Mr. Potter put down his work and attribute all his accomplishments to Mr. Malfoy.”

“Bloody hell, he’s still doing that?” Weasley sloshed tea over the sides of his cup as he lowered it. “I told him and bloody told him that no one wanted to hear that, and Malfoy wasn’t all that clever anyway, but he just told me that that came from my prejudices—”

Severus inclined his head. “He has said something similar to me, if not in the same words.”

“So there’s something more going on than just wanting to leave the past in the past or defend Malfoy because they dated. Isn’t there, sir?”

“I believe so. But I would like to see your memories so that I can be sure. It may be that something Potter revealed in them would make the matter clearer to me.”

Granger and Weasley exchanged glances. Then Granger said, “I’m sorry, sir, but we’d have to talk to Harry about that. And you already know that he would probably say no, because he doesn’t want anyone prying.”

“Not if you presented it as a method to convince me and help me to move past my ‘prying.’”

Another hesitation. “Now you’re asking us to lie to our best friend.”

“He is not your best friend,” Severus said, and had never been so glad for his ability to make people flinch from his words. “He is a shadow, a shell, of the man that he used to be. He will never grow or change until I can get to the bottom of this.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Weasley subdued his voice a little when Severus glanced at him, but his glare was still a frozen fire. “You’ve always hated him. Just a little suspicious that you suddenly come out of nowhere and want to help him.”

“I want to help him for the sake of solving this mystery. And for not hearing another inane defense of Mr. Malfoy and another attempt to claim that his skill is not remarkable again. I might have to spend months in his company while he works on this wedding gift. I am doing this to preserve my own sanity.”

Weasley settled back against the couch as if he’d swallowed that, but Granger was studying him with a far shrewder gaze. Severus stared back, undaunted. She ought to realize that he was the best chance for Harry to emerge from his shell, that after two years he would not do it on his own.

“All right,” Granger said.

“Hermione! We can’t just do this without asking Harry!”

“We can if we know what he’d say and that it wouldn’t change anything. Don’t put any of your own memories in the Pensieve if you’d rather,” Granger added when Weasley opened his mouth to object again. “I’m probably a closer observer than you are, anyway.”

“I want to help Harry,” Weasley muttered, and Granger nodded as she put her teacup aside and floated a Pensieve into the room that was marked with swirling patterns of silver and white.

Granger knows somewhat about how to manipulate her husband, Severus thought, and then put the thought aside until he needed it again, which seemed unlikely. He would not reject any useful weapon, but there were things he preferred not to contemplate.

Granger drew wisp after wisp of memory out of her head, until the bowl brimmed with silvery liquid. She placed it on the table between them and said in a neutral voice, “Here you are, sir. I want you to promise that you’re going to use them to help Harry and not for anything else.”

“I will not swear a vow.”

“I want your promise.”

Severus traded silent stares with Granger until he decided that she meant what she said and, for some ridiculous reason, was willing to trust him if he was bound by a promise only. He said, “I promise that I will not use anything I see here to harm Mr. Potter,” and dove into the waiting memories.

*

“Mr. Harry Potter is to be coming to the house, yes. Those were Tibby’s orders.”

Harry frowned warily at the house-elf as he stood up from his examination of the reflecting pool that he’d have to incorporate into the maze. He remembered Tibby from his own time as Draco’s lover, and the elf had never been fond of him. Harry didn’t know why he would get an invitation now. “Are you sure?”

“Tibby is being sure.” The house-elf frowned at him and then turned and walked towards the house while Harry was still trying to understand that.

Harry sighed and followed her. Maybe Astoria wanted to talk to him about her wedding gift, and didn’t feel like coming out into the sun to do it. Tibby hadn’t said who’d given her the order. It could have been Astoria. Probably the elves would obey her as Draco’s wife-to-be.

But it might be Draco. They might be in a room alone. He might raise a cool eyebrow at Harry and say—

Harry ruthlessly killed that fantasy. He would never be alone with Draco again. Why would Draco want to be alone with him? Harry had abused him. For his own protection, Draco would make sure to avoid all forced proximity.

Tibby led Harry through a pair of French windows covered in panes of glass that sparkled as if they were made of air, and through fine room after fine room. Harry only noticed the fineness of the furniture and the decorations out of the corner of his eye, though. His pulse was too busy speeding in his ears like a rabbit’s.

I’m going to see Draco again.

Tibby hesitated outside a door that looked as if it was made of cherry wood, which was unusual enough that it distracted Harry from his inner whirlwind. “I’m supposed to go in there?” he asked the elf.

“Yes.” Tibby stepped back, studying the door as if it was a gaping maw instead. Harry frowned, but he couldn’t see any wards or spells, and when he turned the knob, nothing magical leaped out and bit him.

Something else did, instead.

He heard, before the door swung open all the way to give him a view of the inside of the room, Astoria’s low voice. “Draco, I’m not comfortable with this…”

Draco said something, but it sounded muffled, as if he was eating or drinking. Then the door finished swinging open all the way.

Astoria stood against the wall, naked, her arms splayed out as if to keep herself from slipping down. Draco was on his knees in front of her, his mouth buried beneath her legs.

The way Harry had seen them the day he came home and found out Draco was sleeping with Astoria and had been for three years.

Harry stumbled back, his head full of white and raging noise. Starbursts flashed across his vision, and his hands flailed in the air and caught nothing. His breathing was so loud and noisy that he lost track of where Draco and Astoria were and what they were doing behind the mask of rushing air.

Things shifted and broke in his mind, and he felt as if he was falling down the kind of hole that would close in on him and fall on his head and bury him and he would never emerge alive again—

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

The voice snatched him back to reality, and Harry blinked dazed eyes at what was in front of him, still crossed by what looked like fractured lines of silver lightning. Draco’s face slowly emerged. He’d stood up from where he’d been kneeling in front of Astoria, and was watching Harry with contempt so deep on his face that Harry flinched from it.

“I’m sorry.” Harry hated the croak of his voice, the shallowness at the base of his throat. He turned away, because Astoria was wrapping herself in a cloak and Harry didn’t want to stare at her. “Tibby said that I should come to the house.”

“I strongly doubt that she said any such thing.” Draco snapped his fingers, or Harry thought he did. The sound still seemed to come from underwater, and he flinched from that, too. “Tibby!”

The elf appeared between Harry and Draco, staring back and forth. “Yes, Master Draco?”

“Did you tell Potter to come to the house? Did you have orders to?”

“No, Master Draco! He barged right past Tibby!”

“Really, Potter,” Draco said, and his eyebrows crept up higher and higher, while his mouth curved in an intense expression that wasn’t a smile.

Harry felt as if he was falling from a great height again. Was he going mad? Had he gone mad? He didn’t know. He felt as he had when he realized for the first time that he’d been abusing Draco for years and never even known it. He felt the swarming unconsciousness coming for him, and the only thing that occurred to him was that he couldn’t faint in the house and make himself a burden to Draco.

“Sorry,” he blurted, and curled his fingers around a marble in his pocket. He always carried a Porkety, just in case one of his experiments went wrong and he had to get out of the way quickly.

Now, although it was a mercy he didn’t deserve, it struck like fire and carried him away from the condemnation in Draco’s eyes and the sight of Astoria shivering inside a cloak, her head bowed, injured by his gaze.

*

Severus found himself in the same sitting room he’d just been in with Granger and Weasley, but his attention settled at once on the figure huddled on the couch. It was Harry, yes, but so white-faced that he looked as if he had risen from a bed for the first time in months after a long bout of illness. Severus narrowed his eyes and walked closer.

Yes, Harry was pale to the point that his face made Severus ache. And he looked at Weasley and Granger as if they were holding out a healing potion he had to refuse.

“Don’t you understand, Harry?” Weasley was saying. His face was as red as though it had swallowed all the color that should have belonged to Harry’s, and his hands were waving around. “Malfoy is the one who abused you by sleeping with other people! Or just the one person, I have no idea But he’s the abuser, not you! You’re not the one who has anything to be ashamed of! You couldn’t abuse anyone! You’d kill yourself first!”

“Ron!” Granger hissed, at the same moment as Harry said, in a flat voice, “I did consider it.”

“What?” Severus breathed, but of course, no one in the room at the moment could hear him.

“You can’t mean that.” Granger sounded heartbroken, but when she stepped forwards and put a hand on Potter’s arm, he shook it a little and forced her grasp off.

“Yes, I did mean that. If I don’t even realize that I’m abusing someone I’ve loved, and I don’t realize I’ve done it for years, who knows how many other people I might hurt?”

“You weren’t—”

Granger was the one who intervened with what Severus mentally labeled the more practical suggestion. “Okay, Harry, say that happened.” Severus could see her practically choking on the words, but still she spoke them. “What you should do in that case is see a Mind-Healer, so you can become aware of the behavior. And what surrounds the behavior, and what might make you act that way.”

Harry stared at her with vague, empty eyes. Severus moved around in front of the boy so that he could see them for himself, and shuddered when he saw how much depth they lacked.

Yes, they were right to worry about him. And to urge him to visit a Mind-Healer. I do not know how Draco did this, but I’m sure now that it was something to do with Harry’s mind itself.

“I know what a Mind-Healer would do,” Harry said, and then sat silent.

Weasley and Granger exchanged glances. Granger finally asked, “Heal you?”

“They would blame Draco.” Harry smiled, but the motion of his lips had nothing to do with the staring horror in his eyes. “I don’t want them to do that. They would say that he abused me and tried to hurt me, and that’s not true. He was trying to fix me the best he knew how.”

“That’s not true,” Granger said, sounding as if the words had been driven out of her by the Imperius Curse. “It’s just not true, Harry. Malfoy is an idiot, and he doesn’t know what he lost. If he didn’t love you or he th-thought you couldn’t love other people, he should have just said so and left you! And of course you can love other people! You died to save the world out of love, and you came back because of love—”

Harry stood and walked out of the room. A weeping Granger ran after him, but Severus did not need to follow her or hear the slam of the door to know that that moment was the beginning of the month-long period when Harry hadn’t spoken to his best friends.

Severus watched as the memory shifted, and Granger was standing beside Harry in a small green space that must be the garden of the house she and Weasley shared together.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Granger spoke without looking at Harry, keeping her head down and tearing at a few blades of grass she clutched.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. He looked far from it; he looked as though someone had been trying to pull out his intestines with a fishhook, in Severus’s opinion. But he wasn’t going to yield more than that.

“You just—you know that you can always come to me and Ron if you need anything.”

“And if I said that I needed absolution?”

“I’d try to give it to you.”

Harry gave Granger a faint smile. “Thank you. But actually, I found my absolution already.”

“Oh?” Granger sounded as though she was trying to keep both hope and judgment out of her voice, a balancing act that Severus knew well. Who knew what Harry’s idea of absolution would be, when he had such a twisted view of Draco’s innocence and his own guilt?

“Yes. I found charities that help people like Draco, victims of emotional abuse, and I donated my money to them.”

Granger hesitated. Then she said, “That’s good, of course, Harry. But you mean that you donated a lot of your money, right?”

“Of course I do. Most of it. I don’t have the fortune I used to, anymore. But at least it might mean that I’m helping people like Draco for once instead of turning against them.”

Severus hissed under his breath, understanding much better now why Harry had made the gestures with Galleons that he had. The fool. The idiot. This only shows how much his brain has twisted and warped.

Granger made a motion with her hand across her eyes that Severus knew meant her thoughts echoed his, but her voice was remarkably steady as she said, “That could be a good thing, Harry. I hope it is. But what are you going to live on?”

“Oh, I kept enough to live on,” Harry said, in a tone that implied he thought Granger to be the fool for worrying about it. “But I gave enough away that I won’t be a self-indulgent, spoiled little rich boy anymore.”

“Oh,” Granger breathed.

She said nothing. Harry darted a glance at her and frowned. “You don’t agree with me.”

“I think,” Granger said carefully, “that what you think is sufficient to live on and what I would think is sufficient are probably different.”

Harry relaxed enough to smile. “True. But I have a business, and I can support myself. It’s only right that I work, Hermione. I wasn’t really working these past three years, you know. Not working on my relationship with Draco the way I should have been. Otherwise I would have noticed that I wasn’t giving Draco what he needed long before this.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, although he did not yet know what kind of Legilimency attack Draco could have created that would have achieved it, he was sure that this was evidence that Draco had entered Harry’s mind and literally changed it.

Somehow.

“All right, Harry. If that’s what you need to feel that you’ve atoned, then I’ll agree with you.”

Harry smiled and said something else, but the memory was dissolving, and Severus saw no need to linger. He could understand much better now why Granger and Weasley had been ineffective in freeing Harry from his obsessive guilt. They were afraid of scaring Harry away again, making him feel as though he had nothing to live for and not being there to save him.

But Severus would not allow fear to drive him away from Harry’s side or impose a month of silence between them. He had every intention of seeking out and healing the cause of Harry’s foolishness.

Because it is madness to allow this to continue. Because Draco should not have done what he did.

Because I do not want to see him so broken.

*

Harry lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. There were still white bursts of light cutting across his vision, but they had faded gradually throughout the last hour. He was going to be okay. He was going to be all right. He repeated that to himself over and over.

He had to worry about going mad and hearing people, or house-elves, say things they had never said, that was true. But this was where he would let Snape actually help, instead of ask silly questions and make unhelpful comments. There had to be a potion that would help him distinguish reality from nonsense. There had to be. He hoped Snape would know how to brew it.

Slowly, Harry rose back to his feet. He took a deep breath. He still had to return to Malfoy Manor for his afternoon session of working on Astoria’s gift.

But he made a few promises to himself. First, he wouldn’t enter the Manor again no matter what he thought he heard someone say to him, or who invited him.

Second, he would make the gift even more extravagant than he’d been planning on, as a way of apologizing to Astoria for walking in on them.

Third, he would come up with some way to craft an apology for Draco. He didn’t know how yet, but he would. What he had done was inexcusable.