lomonaaeren

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Title: Practicing Liars (30/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Summary: AU of HBP. Harry found out that he was Snape’s son two years ago, and he’s carefully concealed it. But now Snape is his Defense teacher, and Draco Malfoy is up to something, and Dumbledore is dying, and the final battle is coming up, and everything is getting very, very complicated.
Pairings: Background Ron/Hermione and Ron/Lavender. Harry and Draco have a ‘complicated friendship’ which will become a preslash relationship. For obvious reasons, Snape/Lily is mentioned.
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence (lots of violence), profanity, angst, character death (not Snape, Harry, or Draco), slash and het hints.
Author’s Notes: While I’m hoping to make this plot at least somewhat original, I know that I’m treading on well-covered ground. I don’t know yet how long the story will be, except that it will be novel-length. Practicing Liars is being written for my dear soft2smooth2000, who has helped me wonderfully with keeping track of and linking to my fics on LJ.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty—Making Sense

“Do we still have to stab it with the basilisk fang?”

Reluctantly, Draco stirred from staring at Harry and came back to the present. When he glanced over his shoulder at Weasley, he saw him holding the basilisk fang at a distance from his body, staring at it in revulsion. Draco sneered. He probably hopes that Harry’s sacrifice gets rid of any need to even touch the thing.

“Yes,” Granger said firmly. “Harry only really got rid of the traps around it and the wards that Voldemort set up to warn people away. Didn’t you, Harry?”

“Right.” Draco turned back in time to see Harry reluctantly looking at his friends, as if he would have preferred to go on gazing at Draco. That made Draco bite his lip to hide a smile. He’s learning. He feels what’s happening between us, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet. “The piece of Voldemort’s soul is still in there. I think a basilisk fang is the only way to get it out. Unless we want to try that spell Snape used on Nagini, and I don’t,” he added with a shudder.

“The Fiendfyre? No.” Draco shook his head, glad that they thought he was their resident Dark magic expert for once. “It gets out of control too easily. But I think you should do the honors, Weasley,” he added, and stepped smoothly aside so that Weasley had a clear path to the tiara.

It was grand entertainment to watch Weasley flush and approach the tiara with slow steps, fang held out in front of him as if he thought it would twist suddenly around in his hand and attack him. Then again, Draco decided, his giggles dying in his throat, the Dark Lord’s artifacts were extremely treacherous. Perhaps it was for the best that Weasley stayed so cautious.

In the end, Weasley seemed to decide the best way to get things over with was a charge. He raised the fang above his head, took a deep breath, and rushed forwards, yelling. Draco jumped out of the way—not that he was stupid enough to be in it, but he didn’t want to be so much as scratched by that fang—and Harry reached out as if he thought he needed to stop and catch Weasley somehow. Granger gasped.

But the fang safely stabbed down and into the middle of the tiara. Draco heard a high, thin squeal that sounded like a pig being cornered and slaughtered, and a dark mist rose from the tiara. For a moment, Draco thought it tried to form a gape-mouthed snake, lunging towards Weasley. He fell over, face white with panic, and the dark mist slid above his head. It faded as it flew, though, and Draco’s sense of circling shadows was gone altogether.

“Is that it?” Granger asked a few minutes later, when they’d been staring at the tiara as if they expected it to perform some sort of trick. Draco realized he was included in the staring, and shook his head, trying to stand upright and look calm so that they wouldn’t realize how scared he’d been.

Harry’s sharp glance said Draco hadn’t fooled him, but the point wasn’t to fool Harry.

“Yes, I think so. I can’t feel that evil anymore. And you were right; I couldn’t have destroyed the soul. I don’t think anything except basilisk venom or Fiendfyre could do that.” He rubbed his scar as if he expected to hurt, but dropped his hand when he realized Draco was watching him. “Well done, Ron!”

Weasley looked bashful, but nodded and then brandished the basilisk fang. “What are we going to do with this?” His flush was already turning into a stupid triumphant grin. Draco shook his head. He would have liked him better if he could have kept the former expression longer.

Then again, I don’t think he can help it, Draco thought as he followed the line of Weasley’s eyesight to Harry. Harry was looking at his friend with such pride that Weasley would have been dead if he didn’t respond. He makes us all think about ourselves in different ways, and feel that we can rise above ourselves and he’ll do nothing but approve. That we’ll do anything for that smile.

It was a profoundly dangerous gift, one that Draco knew his father would have liked to have had. He paused in silent tribute to Lucius Malfoy. He thought he’d tell his mother about it later; she’d like to hear such a thought.

But, on the other hand, Draco knew his father would have used the gift more often to punish his enemies and serve the Dark Lord than to do anything else. And to lower people rather than lift them up. On the whole, it was better that Harry had it.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Harry said. He waved his wand, and the tiara flew into the air, hovering in front of him. Draco held his breath apprehensively, but Harry made no move to touch it, much to his relief. He turned towards the door instead. “I think we should take the tiara to Dumbledore and let him confirm that the Horcrux inside it is destroyed. He’s destroyed more of them than anyone else.”

Draco caught his breath and stared at Harry’s friends, but neither of them reacted. They were smiling and bobbing their heads as though this was a fine plan.

Well, sometimes you just have to disobey that influence, even if you don’t want to. Draco increased his pace until he caught up with Harry and could seize his sleeve. Harry looked at him with a little frown, giving Draco an excellent opportunity to shove him with one hand. “Are you mad?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t know how much Harry might have told his friends about Dumbledore. Probably nothing, since he still hadn’t told them he was the last Horcrux. “You shouldn’t go and speak to the Headmaster again after what he did to you!”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Harry said quietly. “He gave me news, something I needed to know. It was my own fault I took it the way I did. I don’t think he meant me to lose hope and just lie down and cry.”

Draco shook his head, wondering how in the world he could show Harry that Dumbledore was wise enough to have foreseen exactly that result, and had perhaps even intended it. He could say that, of course, but Harry would deny it, and that would involve them in a useless argument that Draco didn’t want to have in front of Harry’s friends. They were already looking curiously at Draco, as if they wondered how anyone could deny that the tiara needed to go to Dumbledore immediately.

“Then let me take the tiara, at least,” Draco said. “Or one of them.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at Granger or Weasley right now; he couldn’t take his eyes off Harry. He had the strange conviction that Harry would run off if he looked away. “There’s no reason that you need to take it to Dumbledore personally. He doesn’t deserve that much time or attention from you.”

“And how would you explain it to Hermione or Ron, that I can’t take the tiara?” Harry shook his head. “No, I’m going to have to speak to Dumbledore sooner or later. We can’t just ignore each other when Voldemort comes to the school.” Draco flinched, and Harry reached out and touched his shoulder with a protective glance. “It’s all right, Draco,” he murmured. “I won’t let anything harm you.”

“I’m coming with you to his office,” Draco said, and gave Harry a stare that dared him to disagree.

Harry stared back. Then he said, “Only if you can control yourself. I won’t have you raging at Dumbledore.”

“And make them stay here,” Draco said, deciding to press his advantage as long as he had it. “I want you to be able to talk freely to the Headmaster about what he intended. You can’t if they’re with you.”

Harry frowned for the first time. “I already feel bad enough about keeping secrets from them. I’m not sure that I should—”

“Is this the way you want them to find out?” Draco breathed. Weasley was pressing closer now, his brow knitted in a scowl, and Draco wouldn’t even chance saying the words “last Horcrux” aloud. “We don’t have much choice here. Either we invite them along, which will be agreeing to tell them everything, or we delay the revelation a while and leave them out.”

“You’re pushy,” Harry said under his breath, but there was a shadow on his face that Draco recognized. He’d looked much the same way when he assumed that no one knew about Professor Snape being his father. He hesitated, then said aloud, “Ron, Hermione, there’s something I need to speak to Dumbledore about that’s mostly private. Do you mind if Draco and I go alone?”

“If it’s private, why is Malfoy invited along?” Weasley snapped at once. Draco thought he could grow to dislike him again.

“Because he found out about the secret accidentally,” Harry said. “I was in a frame of mind where I didn’t want to tell anyone.” A sidelong glance that made Draco have an intense need to study his shoes. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he continued, before Weasley or Granger could say something to that effect. “It’s that I want to control the way this secret spreads, and for right now, this is the best way to do it. Do you mind? Can I leave you here?”

Granger sighed in a way that seemed to suggest she, and not Harry, was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “All right,” she said, and reached out to put one of her hands on Harry’s arms and give him one of her heavy concerned looks. “As long as you know that you can always come and talk to us, no matter what’s happened or what you’ve done.”

That’s like her, to assume Harry’s secret is some crime he’s committed rather than something he’s suffered, Draco thought scornfully.

But Harry seemed to appreciate it, if the way he hugged her with one arm and smiled at her was any indication. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “Come on, Draco.” And he started walking down the corridor that would lead to the Headmaster’s office, leaving Draco to scramble after him.

The only thing that made Draco feel better about the confrontation they were on their way to was that Weasley’s permission hadn’t even been asked, Harry assuming he would abide by the decision Granger had made.

He’s firmly under her control, Draco thought, lifting his head as he trotted after Harry around corners and down stairs and up to the gargoyles. Not independent, like me.

*

Dumbledore bent over the tiara, which he had placed in the center of his desk, using a special eyeglass to examine it. Harry held his breath, but more and more minutes passed, and Dumbledore didn’t lurch away from the desk or gasp and drop dead. Indeed, after a moment he leaned back and nodded with satisfaction, his eyes twinkling in a way that Harry hadn’t seen in weeks. He had occasionally seen Dumbledore looking at him from across the Great Hall, but his eyes had always been somber, and he had averted them as soon as Harry had caught his gaze.

“Well done, my boy,” he said. “The tiara is useless to Voldemort now. The basilisk poison was fatal to the soul, and your spell was fatal to its protections.”

Harry found himself smiling back and sitting up straighter. It didn’t matter how hopeless he had been the last time he was in this office: Dumbledore’s praise always had the result of making him feel stronger and prouder than before.

Then Draco’s elbow dug into his side, and Harry remembered that it did matter, how hopeless he’d been before. He sighed. “Sir, what did you plan to do originally once the tiara had been found and destroyed? About the Horcrux in me, I mean?”

Dumbledore touched his glasses and remained silent for so long that Harry wondered if he was going to answer his question. Then he looked up, and his eyes were quiet and sad and stern.

“I was going to ensure that you died,” he said. “And that the piece of soul that Voldemort left in you died. As long as a scrap of him survived, we would never be able to kill him, and the world would never be safe. Leaving you alive was a risk that I could not take.”

Harry shut his eyes. He felt as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus, and he just had to sit still.

Dumbledore had said that he would ensure Harry died, not that he would kill him, but Harry could hear the echoes of those words anyway. He wondered for a moment how Dumbledore would have done it. A painless potion? A spell that drew all the darkness in him out of him, the way Harry had done with the tiara, and then a knife across the throat? A gentle explanation that he was going to join his parents and Sirius, and then a Killing Curse to the heart?

He wouldn’t have been cruel. I don’t think the way he cares about me would have let him be cruel.

But it was still a fuck of a revelation to bear.

Harry felt an arm curl around his shoulders, and realized how wise Draco had been to insist on coming, how right he was. He turned his head and nuzzled his face into Draco’s shoulder, sighing softly as he did so. Draco embraced him more firmly than ever and snarled at Dumbledore.

“You were just going to do that without ever trying to help him. You were going to sacrifice his life for the rest of the world. What kind of future is that for anyone? What kind of fate? Why couldn’t you choose yourself? Why not take the piece of soul out of Harry and put it in you? You’re old, you’ve lived a full life, you’re going to die soon anyway. Don’t tell me that you didn’t at least consider it. Or, wait, of course you didn’t consider it. Because as soon as you heard it was in Harry, you assumed that he would be happy to die for the wizarding world, didn’t you? And you’re always asking Harry to do things that you wouldn’t or can’t do yourself.”

Harry heard Dumbledore’s slow, pained breath. And that was what gave him the strength, or courage, or both, to interfere. Because, while he loved Draco for defending him, spreading around more pain and suffering wouldn’t do anything to solve the problem they were here to address. He touched Draco gently on the knee and shook his head.

Draco turned to him at once, breath hot on his ear. “What is it, Harry?” he whispered. “What do you need?”

“For you to stop saying things like that,” Harry answered, and opened his eyes. He stared at Dumbledore. “I know he loves me. He told me as much last year. He tried to keep the knowledge of the prophecy that says I’m supposed to defeat Voldemort from me for so long because he wanted me to have a normal childhood. He went too far in the other direction at first, because he should have been preparing me for the possibility I could die from the beginning, and he didn’t. He sacrificed other people to me. I suspect that it was partially guilt over that that made him go too far this time. Wasn’t it, sir? You wanted to make sure the world was safe, and you thought you had been trying to give me too much. So, this time, you decided it was better to give me too little.”

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes shining with tears. “Yes,” he whispered. “That is the truth, Harry, and you have seen to the heart of it more clearly than Severus ever did. I am sorry. But I began to think that it was better for you to die than for the world to be at risk. And if there was the slightest chance that the Horcrux might survive—and all the methods I found that seemed to promise its removal couldn’t guarantee that some of the taint wouldn’t remain—then it would be disastrous. Guilt and love drove me too far once; guilt and love have driven me too far again. Forgive me.”

“I—I think I can do that when I have some more time,” Harry said. His throat felt thick. He blinked and licked his lips. Then he coughed and said, “Just knowing you wanted to kill me is…overwhelming, sir.”

“I know it is,” Dumbledore said. “I know.” He wiped his eyes and lowered his hand to the desk, blinking rapidly. “I will wait for your forgiveness, Harry. And in the meantime, if you like, I will tell you the plan that I have to lure Voldemort into battle once you have removed the Horcrux from your soul.”

“Not right now,” Harry said. “I can’t stand to hear anymore right now.” He lurched upright.

Draco stood up with him. “I don’t understand,” he said, voice full of fury that Harry thought he didn’t know how to direct. “How can you even consider forgiving him, Harry? He wanted you to die for everyone else.”

“But everyone did that,” Harry said simply, “except maybe for Ron and Hermione and you, and a few of the other people who knew me personally.” As he spoke, a huge vision seemed to spread out in front of him, and he thought he could see the perspective Dumbledore had taken. “It’s not—Draco, I know you’re angry at him, but will you listen to me?”

Draco stopped yanking on his arm and looked at him sullenly.

“I do have a part of me that could die for everyone else, and be all right with it,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t want to, because I want to live. But you must have done things because you knew you had to do them, no matter how much you didn’t want to. This is one of them. As long as other people don’t suffer, I can bear it.” He looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked back at him with understanding in his eyes that Harry thought would forever shut Draco and Snape outside of it. There are just some things that some people understand. Maybe it’s because we’re Gryffindors and they’re Slytherins. I don’t think so, because House difference is so superficial and I have some Slytherin in me, but I don’t know any other way to explain it.

“It’s not fair, or just,” Draco argued, leaning against Harry and staring at him with, Harry knew, large, hot eyes that he couldn’t meet.

“The world is so much bigger than I am,” Harry said softly. “All those people living their lives, raising their children, doing their jobs, laughing with each other, getting wounded, dying in hospital, eating. It isn’t fair or just to ask them to die because one person won’t sacrifice himself, either, Draco. You’re thinking of a way the world can go on and so can I, but if there really was no other choice, I know which one I’d like to see end first.”

Draco stared at him. His face was very pale, and felt cold when Harry touched it. Harry wondered if he understood and just didn’t want to admit that in case that would encourage Harry to kill himself for the war.

“But someone else could die as easily as you could,” Draco said stubbornly at last. His eyes flicked to Dumbledore, and though he said nothing, Harry was sure of what he was thinking.

“Not in this case,” Harry said gently, “not when I have the Horcrux in me. The other person who died would still have to find a way to get rid of that.”

“You said you didn’t want to die.” Draco pushed him in the chest, making Harry stagger. He still felt weaker than usual from Dumbledore’s revelation.

Harry caught Draco’s wrists and shook his head at him. “I don’t. I can just see why I might have to if there wasn’t any other choice, that’s all. But there do seem to be other choices.”

“It’s horrible to think of that, though.” Draco’s eyes narrowed. “And if you think about something long enough, then you tend to do it. I’ve seen that happen before.”

Harry blinked in surprise, and Dumbledore chuckled from the other side of the desk. “I’m afraid he is right, Harry,” he said. “I am glad, at least, that you have a defender who is worthy of you.”

Draco shot the Headmaster a fierce glance. “You didn’t do enough to defend him,” he said. “So other people had to take up the burden.”

“I do acknowledge that,” Dumbledore said quietly, but this time he didn’t look down at his desk. Harry wondered if that was because he could bear Draco’s accusation better than Harry’s. “I am glad they exist.”

After more glaring, Draco couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with this, so he turned to Harry. “I think we should go concentrate on productive things,” he said. “Like telling Professor Snape the next Horcrux is destroyed so we can think about how to get that piece of soul out of you. I know you said you couldn’t understand the potions theory, but I can help you. Are you coming?”

“Just a minute,” Harry said. “I do want to talk to Dumbledore privately.”

“Not a chance,” Draco drawled, folding his arms.

Harry smiled at him, and touched his cheek the way Draco had touched his the other day. Draco’s eyelashes fluttered, and he looked confused. Harry swallowed. At the moment, he thought he might know the name for the emotion Draco had inspired in him, and he was a little less uncomfortable about accepting it.

A little less.

“Draco,” he said gently, “I promise that I’m not going to come out of here and go fling myself off the Astronomy Tower. But there are some things I need to say on my own. Please?” As Draco still hesitated, he added, “And you can go tell Professor Snape that I’m coming, and sweeten him up.”

Draco stared into his eyes for so long that Harry had to wonder why he was still staring. Surely he had seen every thought in Harry’s head by this time. And Harry knew that he didn’t possess one thought that was worthy of that kind of sustained scrutiny.

“Fine,” Draco said. “But you only have twenty minutes.” He marched out of Dumbledore’s office.

Harry turned to Dumbledore. The Headmaster, sure enough, glanced away from him when Harry’s eyes were the ones he had to face.

“I understand what you did,” Harry said. “I think I might be the only one in the school who would. But understanding isn’t the same as forgiveness.” He felt a deep, heavy, golden sadness moving through him as he spoke, the same sort of emotion he felt when he looked up at autumn leaves. “Don’t—don’t try to talk to me too soon again. And maybe I’m not going to forgive you before one of us dies.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I would have grieved,” he said. “If I had had to ensure your death, Harry, I would have grieved for the rest of my life.”

But you would still have done it, Harry thought, and he at once appreciated and hated that fact.

He didn’t think Ron or Hermione or Draco or Snape would have approved of that mixture of emotions. But his emotions were his, his to control and not talk about if he didn’t want to, and they always had to be, and he was going to feel them anyway.

“Good-bye, sir,” he said.

Dumbledore glanced up with a small smile. “Good-bye, Harry.”

Harry set off to the dungeons, bracing himself for the encounter with Snape as he hadn’t had to when it was only Dumbledore. He understood the Headmaster’s motivations at bottom, because they looked at the world in the same way.

He didn’t think he and Snape ever would.

But maybe we can become a little more alike. I’m going to try.

Chapter Thirty-One.