Chapter Twenty-Four of 'Leopard's Choice'- Spills

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Twenty-Four—Spills

“Did you see the article in the paper today?”

Draco turns around to stare at the girl who’s approached him. He doesn’t think he’s spoken with her, ever, and so it takes her admittedly familiar face a moment to come clear to him. “Chang?”

The Ravenclaw Seeker nods and bites her lip. “Did you see it?” she asks, and holds the Prophet out as if he might have to depend on her to read the article.

“Yes, I did,” Draco says shortly. It’s yet another article that denies the Dark Lord is back, blames Harry for spreading lies—this time, because he thinks that he hasn’t been in the papers enough—and doesn’t say anything about the fact that Draco’s father died at the Dark Lord’s resurrection. “What about it?”

“Do you think there’s any truth to it? It’s just,” Chang rushes on while Draco stares at her, “I was going to Harry’s study group for a while last year, but then my friend Marietta was blamed for slipping a Portkey to him, and he’s practically adopted Luna Lovegood, the girl Marietta used to make fun of, and—and I don’t know if I’m welcome there anymore.”

Draco doesn’t roll his eyes at the pathetic rambling, but it’s hard. “I have no idea if you are or not. Go ask Potter.”

“But—”

“Yes?” Draco snaps, turning back.

“You used to spend a lot of time around Potter, and now you don’t. I mean, he stares at you sometimes, but that’s it. Does that mean you believe he’s mad?”

Draco stares at her. Chang bites her lip again, and looks nervous but determined.

Draco sighs. “No, I don’t think he’s mad,” he says. Just stubborn, and stupid, and involved in the death of my father, and making me angry.

“But the paper says so.”

“Do you think the Prophet always tells the truth? No, it tells people what they want to hear, what sells. I repeat, I have no idea whether you’re still welcome in Potter’s little group or not. Go ask him.”

“Are you going to go back?”

Draco shrugs. “I have no idea. That doesn’t have any bearing on what Edgecombe did—” except where it sort of does “—or whether Potter would accept you back. I repeat, go and ask him. Until he says no, or unless he does, there’s no way that anyone can know.”

“Maybe I will.” Chang takes a step back and regards him a little defiantly.

That’s exactly what I was telling you to do. Draco manages to keep his reaction to a thin smile and a wave of his hand. He starts down towards the Slytherin common room, ignoring the way that Chang probably stands there looking at him.

“Mr. Malfoy, if I could have a moment?”

Draco controls his immediate reaction, which is to keep walking, and turns around. “Yes, Professor Shacklebolt?”

The man has a smile that looks calculated to invite Draco to join in on his joke or conspiratorial air. Draco ignores that and just waits politely until the man shakes his head and sighs. “I forgot how many of you Slytherins are straight to business all the time,” he says.

That’s an invitation to ask things that Draco’s not going to. He stands a little straighter, but doesn’t say anything. Shacklebolt finally gives up on the camaraderie and reaches into his robe pocket. Draco tenses involuntarily, then realizes Shacklebolt already has his wand drawn and whatever is coming out of the pocket is presumably going to be less threatening.

It is. It’s a folded-up piece of parchment that Shacklebolt takes care to turn around, bringing every corner into contact with his bare skin, before he holds it out to Draco. “Can you make sure that Mr. Potter gets this message?”

Draco swallows the urge to ask if Shacklebolt sees feathers on him and says, “I probably won’t see him until tomorrow at breakfast, sir.”

“Oh. I thought you were his friend…?”

It’s a transparently leading question, but it still takes more self-control than Draco would like to shrug and say, “More like roommate, sir. I can take it if you don’t mind it taking some time to get there, though.” He held out his hand for the message.

Shacklebolt studies him for long enough that Draco thinks he’s changed his mind, but he finally nods and hands him the sealed parchment. “I wouldn’t try to read it if I were you, Mr. Malfoy.”

He thinks I’m stupid. Draco tucks the parchment into his pocket, gives Shacklebolt a tight smile, and starts down the stairs to the dungeons again, ignoring the fact that three of his roommates will be in the same place and some of the Slytherins in the common room might stare at him for being by himself.

Of course, once he’s in a secluded corner, Draco slows down, draws his wand, and takes the parchment from his pocket. His mother taught him a charm this summer that should get beneath a seal if he needs it to. She heard rumors of Umbridge before she was appointed professor, Draco knows now, although Mother’s vague comments at the time didn’t make sense. She only said that she wanted him to “know everything about his post.”

Of course, the charm was mostly meant to allow Draco to see if his own letters were being tampered with. But he can use it for other things, and he executes it neatly now with a twist of his wand above the seal, whispering the charm and watching the seal float off the parchment and hover in midair.

It’s a short note, and Draco doesn’t recognize the handwriting but would be willing to think it’s Shacklebolt’s. Nothing distinctive about the ink or parchment.

Professor Dumbledore bids you remember the stone you were given. It may give you the power to defeat Voldemort.

Draco’s eyebrows twitch upwards. Dumbledore gave Harry a stone? When was that? What was it for?

His curiosity cools a little when he’s reminded of all the reasons that Harry would have had not to tell him, if it took place after the kidnapping and Father’s death. But he still wants to know. As he gestures the seal back onto the letter, Draco thinks he might even get the chance to find out.

*

“Potter.”

Harry turns towards Draco. They’re in the Charms classroom, waiting for Flitwick to arrive, and Draco is leaning a little towards him. He gets cool looks from Blaise and Daphne, who are sitting in the desks nearest Harry’s, but neither of them actually move.

“What?”

“Shacklebolt thinks I’m an owl,” Draco says, in the drawling, bored tone that makes Harry want to shake him, so that he’ll say something real again. But Harry holds himself back. That would ruin what might very well be a gesture of reconciliation. “And he wanted me to give you this message.” He tosses the envelope so that it lands on the floor between their desks.

Harry blinks, and then uses his wand to lift the letter, or whatever it really is, from the floor and slide it onto his desk just as Professor Flitwick enters, colored globes of glass floating around his head.

“Practicing your Levitation Charm, Mr. Potter?” Professor Flitwick squeaks, and winks at him.

“Yes, of course, sir,” Harry says, and grins a little as he tucks the letter beneath his book. It didn’t sting his hands when he picked it up, and the silent detection charm he cast found nothing, either. He thinks he can keep it for now and worry about any danger it might pose later.

Behind him, Daphne is making a noise like an overwrought teakettle that suggests he can’t, but Harry smoothly ignores her. He’ll let his friends examine the letter after class and see if there’s any trace of Dark magic on it; of course he will. He just doesn’t think the schedule is very important.

And if what Draco said is true…

Shacklebolt thinks I’m an owl.

Any problems with the letter didn’t originate with Draco, anyway.

Harry waits until Professor Flitwick is in the middle of showing them the charm that will allow the globes to weave in an intricate pattern without bumping into each other, and then catches Draco’s eye and nods, letting a little grateful smile break out on his face. Draco blinks and stares at him for a second before he carefully wipes his face clean.

Maybe this letter isn’t a gesture of reconciliation after all. But that doesn’t mean Harry can’t treat it like one.

*

“And you just believed him?”

“Draco’s seen the consequences of lying to me about things like this, Daphne. I don’t think he would do it just because he believes it would be funny.”

Daphne glares at Harry. He glares back, so profoundly unimpressed that Daphne wants to kick him.

Yes, she doesn’t think Draco has any bad intentions towards Harry. And sometimes he’s been painfully upset about being ejected from their group. He wouldn’t knowingly pass along a letter that could hurt Harry.

The problem is that knowingly part.

“You should have let one of us check the letter for you.”

“I already did, just now. Or do you mean right at first? Because you’re better at me than detection charms?”

Daphne huffs. She isn’t, and she knows it. But she knows Harry probably doesn’t want to hear the real reason, which is that it would hurt their group less to lose one of them than it would him, so she says, “Because you know that Shacklebolt could be taking aim at you in a way that he wouldn’t have a reason to take aim at us.”

Harry pauses and considers that. They’re in a corner of the common room that Daphne almost marched Harry to after lunch. Theo and Blaise are upset, she knows, but the kind of upset where they would start a yelling contest with Harry, so they agreed with low grumbles and silent nods to let her handle this. At least Harry had the sense to put up Privacy Charms around their little island of chairs, if not enough sense to not pick up the letter in the first place.

“Fair,” Harry says finally. “But I think the letter’s safe. I would have been alerted now if hostile magic of any kind was on it.”

“Because it would have attacked you, you mean.”

Harry shrugs like it’s no big deal, and floats the letter out of his robe pocket. But Daphne is half-sure that’s only because she’s watching. He would probably have used his bare, unprotected hand if she wasn’t, to prove a point or something.

Idiot.

Harry flattens the letter on his knee and casts more detection charms. The letter glows blue and purple and white, different colors for the different spells. Only the fact that Daphne knows them all and knows that those colors mean the letter is free from spells allows her to sit there calmly.

Finally, Harry glances at her triumphantly and undoes the letter’s seal. There’s only a single piece of parchment inside, and although Daphne can’t do anything like read the letter through the back as Harry holds it up, she thinks there’s only a single line of writing.

Harry stares at the letter, and his brow wrinkles. He puts it down and looks at Daphne for a moment as though he’s pondering what she could add. Then his eyes widen, and he shoots to his feet.

“Harry?”

Harry shakes his head at her and runs towards the door of the common room. Daphne promptly follows him. She’s not about to let him run off on his own like an idiot. He’s done enough idiocy for today.

*

The pounding on his door makes Severus rise at once. He has been concentrating on the fourth-year essays that got neglected while he dealt with the consequences of Umbridge’s resignation from Hogwarts and Harry’s recovery, and it’s been soothing to make the essays bleed with corrections, scathing advice, and recommendations that they never attempt potions after their OWL.

The door almost flies open before he gets there, which makes Severus’s stride quicken. There’s only one person who would knock that urgently and whose presence his wards would not object to.

Harry is standing there, glaring at him. He has a piece of crumpled parchment in one fist, which attracts Severus’s attention only until Harry snaps, “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The thing that Dumbledore sent to me near the end of the fourth year. Where is it?”

Severus stiffens his spine. He did not anticipate this would happen today, but he is prepared for it. “Under protection, to make sure that it cannot influence or hurt anyone.”

“It’s mine, though. Isn’t it? He sent it to me.” Harry raises his fist and shakes the letter back and forth. “And he said that the stone has the power for me to defeat Voldemort.”

Severus folds his arms. “You believe the man I think you once called an old tosser?”

“What was it?”

Lion rears up and hisses at him from Harry’s shoulder. Severus raises one eyebrow and says nothing. He trusts Harry to keep the snake from biting him, even if Harry is irritated.

“He says that he wants to know, too.”

“Even if it is a stone with the power to help you defeat Voldemort, what would the cost be?”

“Am I able to care about that?”

Severus draws in his breath at the worn look in Harry’s eyes. He reaches out and puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Harry hesitates a little before he leans forwards and practically sags against Severus. Severus rubs the back of his neck gently and whispers, “It is not your sole responsibility to rid the world of Voldemort.”

“But I’m still the one who has the best chance.” Harry steps away and stares at Severus in a way that nearly looks like Legilimency. “Give me the stone.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Black said that he recognized the stone from things his family had said. It condenses someone’s magical power into a small object that can give the gift of it to someone else, but it also passes along their perspective. Unless you want to suddenly start thinking like Albus Dumbledore or be overwhelmed by his failings, I suggest that you not take up the stone.”

Harry clenches his fists. “The way you explain it makes sense. And the letter isn’t something I can trust, either, since Dumbledore is the one who wrote it.”

“But?” Severus asks, because he knows there’s one coming.

“You kept it from me. You lied to me.”

“You were free to ask about the package any time, since you know it came to you and was addressed to you,” Severus counters, trying to ignore the way that his heartbeat has picked up. “You did not do so.”

“I had no idea it contained something so valuable!”

“How can it be valuable when it might poison your mind or cost you your sanity?”

“What does it matter how sane I am or not when Voldemort is slaughtering whole villages of people?”

Severus stares at Harry. Harry stares back, evidently not seeing anything wrong with the statement he just made.

Severus spends some time working saliva back into his mouth and moderation into his brain. He won’t get anywhere if he yells at Harry or alienates him because he doesn’t seem to be taking the war seriously enough.

“I care more about your sanity than about Voldemort,” Severus says softly. “And as I have said just now, it is not your responsibility. The Ministry is making the situation worse by ignoring him. Dumbledore would lure you back to his side if he is still alive, keep you under his influence if he is not. You do not need to take up this stone or this burden simply because other people are proving disappointing.”

“You lied to me. I thought I could trust you not to lie to me. So I suppose I was wrong.”

Severus clenches his left hand into a fist and doesn’t let his face move much. “I am sorry, Harry. I thought you would insist on taking up the stone right away and absorbing any traps left in it for you if I told you about it.”

“Where is it?”

Severus controls the urge to look at a cupboard where the stone still sleeps, and only shakes his head.

“Do you want me to conjure serpents and send them all through your office and your rooms looking for it?”

“Would that work?” Severus asks, interested despite himself. He doesn’t know all the consequences or gifts of the training that Harry has engaged in with the Speakers.

“You’re ridiculous! Let me have it! It’s mine!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the dangers that I have already talked about, and because I have no idea why Dumbledore sent the letter reminding you about it now. It may be a trap in and of itself. Did you use detection charms on it?”

“Yes, I bloody well did! Come on, sir. Let me have the stone.”

“No,” Severus says, quietly, but with an undertone of finality that he knows Harry will understand. He’s heard it before when Severus won’t change his mind. “I am your guardian, or one of them, and I say no.”

Harry glares at him, breathing hard. For a second, the cabinets on the walls rattle as though Harry’s magic is going to lash out. Severus braces himself, knowing he won’t have the time to draw his wand and cast a Shield Charm, trusting to Harry’s fondness for him not to hurt him.

Instead, Harry whirls and stalks out of the office. The cabinets stop rattling. Severus slowly sits back down and shakes his head.

Harry will probably not want to be around him for a little while, or will be silent, or will be snappish. Severus does not look forward to that. But far more than he wants to avoid those consequences, he wants to keep that stone away from Harry.

Dumbledore sent it for a trick, a trap, a lure, or all three. For no good purpose. Severus means to keep it away from Harry at any cost.