Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Where the Heart Moves the Stone	By : Hanakai Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1936 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Where the Heart Moves the Stone
~ Verse Nine of the J. Alfred Prufrock Arc ~
- Hanakai Mikakedaoshi
10.7.2003

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

~ Chapter Four I ~
The Dragon�s Clutch

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Remember the warnings;
Forget what you're told.
The heart of the temple
is hollow and cold.
The face of the prophet is tired and creased . . .
He raises his cup and falls to his knees.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Draco Malfoy sat alone in the center of the Slytherin common room, trying in vain to study his Potions text. Snape would have his head if he didn�t get his grades back up. Something had been bothering the man of late�it was as though he could no longer meet Draco�s eyes, but he suddenly seemed to be twice as strict about the Malfoy heir�s class work. And there was something else, too . . . Something that the platinum blond couldn�t quite put his finger on . . . Something hovering just on the tip of his awareness . . .

Something was very wrong with the Potions Master, and for the life of him, Draco could not figure out what it was. But that was small potatoes, really. What was really important was Potter. He had to talk to the other boy. And soon.

He could feel the eyes of his housemates on him, watching, judging, biding their time . . . Hyenas circling a carcass. Silver eyes snapped up and met the hungry jade gaze of Micah Jasperstone, a cocky, deceptively comely Seventh Year. If Draco had once ruled sixth years, then Micah lorded over the Seventh Years. The sandy-haired brunet bared his teeth in a smile at the Malfoy heir and turned sharply on his heel, stalking out of the room.

Hyenas come to feast on the dead.

Draco sneered. Let them come then�he was no easy meat. Not yet.

The door swung open and Blaise Zabini came trotting in. Zabini was quite possibly the only person in the world who could make the simple act of walking look indolent�not that anyone outside the House would notice; the dark-eyed Slytherin�s shell was only shed in the dungeons. Blaise crossed the common room and dropped carelessly into the seat next to Draco, blatantly ignoring the dark looks of the others. Pretty enough to be a girl, and bold enough to be a rather audacious boy, the only way most First Years knew their upperclassman�s sex was to watch the stairwells at curfew.

Despite having slept in the bed to Draco�s right for five years straight, the blond had never quite managed to figure out how Blaise snuck from the girl�s dorm to the boys, nor how the other boy had managed to even convince the girls to allow him to use their staircase every single night. Most of the new student didn�t figure out the trick until Christmas hols and everyone else was too amused by their faux pas to correct them. However he did it, Blaise seemed to enjoy causing confusion far more than was probably healthy.

Even the teachers had problems distinguish Blaise from the girls. For the first two weeks of their First Year, the Zabini heir had worn a skirt to every class but Potions simply because he could. Once Snape had gotten wind of it, though, he had quickly put a stop to the behavior. . . . Though, to his credit, the Potions Master made no secret of his amusement over incident.

Critical brown eyes took in Draco�s tense posture with obvious curiosity. Finally, the brunet settled back and stretched his long legs out in front of him. Blaise seemed to have skipped the prerequisite awkward phase that 99% of boys go through and had moved immediately to the �young adult stage,� much to his dorm mates� envy. He smirked at the other boy and ran a hand back through his long hair. �My, my, my . . . Aren�t we looking a bit piqued today . . . Lost your boys, have you?�

Draco looked up from his book and glared at his sometimes-ally, never-friend with intense eyes. The loss of Crabbe and Goyle�s friendship had been a painful blow, and an enforcement of his worst fears about them: they had just been using him. Like everyone else. For a moment the two teens stared at one another in silence. Then Draco closed his book and leaned back into the couch as well. People began to surreptitiously filter out of the common room�an unusual occurrence for four o�clock in the afternoon. Draco couldn�t help but wonder who had arranged this little t�te-�-t�te.

He cocked his head to the side slightly and watched Zabini for a moment. �Potter�s been released from the hospital wing.�

Blaise arched an eyebrow. �When? Yesterday? That certainly explains why he wasn�t been at breakfast for the past few days. Pomfrey should just give him his own bed already.�

�It would certainly save her time,� the blond agreed, turning to stare at the empty fireplace. �Seems he had a bad time of it in Divination a few days ago.�

Blaise sniffed dismissively. �Useless class, that.�

�Mmmm . . .�

For several moments the boys sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts as the last students filed in and out on their way to or from class. Finally Draco frowned at his companion and shifted uncomfortably. The common room was empty now and they were alone.

�What do you want, Blaise?�

A furtive glance at Draco�s face revealed no malice, only simple, tired curiosity. Blaise turned slightly, giving his housemate his full attention. He frowned slightly at the too-old expression in Draco�s eyes and felt a pang of pity for the Malfoy heir. They were all getting too old for their ages, it seemed. It must be the war.

Draco frowned slightly, an impatient expression, and the brunet made a fretful face. �You shouldn�t change horses in the middle of the stream, Malfoy. It�s bad policy. Especially when the stream is a river and the horses are a lot bigger than you are and are gunning for each other.�

The blond�s expression didn�t change. �I don�t know what you�re talking about, Blaise.�

Blaise scowled and barely resisted reaching out to shake the other boy. �Look, Malfoy, you�re an arrogant, egotistical prick, but I like you. Now, the others have noticed something�s up. You�re drifting off during Potions. You�re eyeing Potter and the Trio like you�ve never seen them before. Merlin, you�rokinoking at Potter like he�s the Holy Grail or something. Crabbe and Goyle are wandering around like lost sheep between classes because they can�t remember which lessons to go to and they look like they want to cry every time someone mentions your name. So either you�re thinking of a realignment, or you�re just suicidal.� He paused. �Or both.� Draco looked away, but Blaise continued, �You know I don�t run with that crowd, so if this is what the neutrals are saying, imagine what the others are talking about when you�re not around. This is going to get back to Him at some point in time, and then it�ll be buggering time.�

Draco sneered at him with open contempt. �And you care, why?�

�I don�t,� snapped the other boy. �I got drafted to talk with you, so here I am. Nobody likes instability within the House, Malfoy and you�re fixing to fuck us all up. We�ve maintained a balance here for over seven hundred years. We�ve survived Grindelwald and we�ll survive the Dark Lord. But if you bring politics into the common room, then we will lose what tenuous solidarity we have and the other Houses will eat us alive.�

�My heart weeps for your plight, Zabini.�

For a moment it looked as though Blaise would strike him, then the brunet turned away to glare at the empty fireplace. He snapped his wrist with a flourish of slight of hand and his wand appeared. �Incendio.�

The cold logs roared to life.

�You�re not making yourself any friends, Dragon.�

�Nor are you, Zabini. People who refuse to have enemies can never have friends.�

Blaise pushed himself off the couch, wand vanishing once more into his sleeve, and stalked over to the fireplace. �And what of Professor Snape?�

�What of him?� Draco�s eyes bored into Blaise�s back as the other boy leaned heavily against the mantle and stared at the flames. �Snape is nothing.�

�If you do this thing, then Professor Snape is your lifeline. He rules Slytherin House; you�re saved or damned by his word alone.�

�He�s only a��

�He is the Dark Lord�s pet Potions Master.�

Draco gave a derisive snort. �No, Zabini. Snape�s even worse than you. You neutrals,� he spat the word out with disgust. �You all say that you�re on no one�s side and then try to play politics without being involved. People who refuse to acknowledge that there�s even an argument forfeit any right to join the discussion. But our Snape�oh, he�s a piece of work. He says he�s on everyone�s side, but then only ends up betraying himself.�

Blaise turned, his eyes burning more intensely than the fire. �Knickers in a twist because he won�t take your side, Dragon?� He stalked back towards the couch, stopping a few feet from Draco to stare down at him with his arms crossed and his lips set in a tight, humorless line. �Turn your back on Slytherin, and we will turn our back on you. Within these walls, no one should ever be assured of who�s on whose side. Don�t break that code. The only thing that we know within Hogwarts is that we are Slytherin. It doesn�t matter what your name is or how much money you make or who your Daddy is. We are Slytherin. That�s all the other Houses will understand. That is our only identity. There is no room for a split, or a schism. We have no time for petty squabbling. Stop parading yourself about like a bloody peacock and think about your House for a moment. You�re going to ruin everything!�

�Why are you so afraid of shattering a tired stereotype?!�

�Why are you suddenly so determined to fly in the face of every secret House Code that Slytherin has known�that your family has known�for centuries?!�

The shorter boy sprang to his feet, angered. �I am NOT my bloody name! I am not my father! I am not some cookie cut of my blood. I am myself and I will make my own decisions!�

Blaise stared at him for a moment, stunned into silence. �What the hell happened to you this summer, Draco?�

Draco clenched his fists and looked away. �Go to hell, Blaise.�

Blaise stalked across the room determinedly in his swaying, indolent waltz. He paused next to Draco and dropped his head to whisper in the shorter teen�s ear. �You first, love.� Then he left, leaving a slight chill and the faint scent of opium behind him.

Draco glared at the fireplace, raging silently. His hands trembled. His Potions text was long since forgotten.

�I am no easy meat.�

The flames danced in response, reflected in his flat silver eyes.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

�And I get no choice in this?�

�You�ve made your choice. Now it�s my turn and I know what I want. Why are you fighting this so much?�

�Stop this now!�

�No. Not this time. You don�t get to tell me what to do this time. I�m not running away. Not anymore.�

�Don�t you understand anything? This has nothing to do with you or with me. This is WRONG, Potter. Wrong in every sense of the word.�

�I don�t believe that.�

�If doesn�t matter what you believe.�

Green eyes snapped open and Harry lurched awake from his light doze. He looked around the dorm for a moment, then lay on back down on his back and stared blankly up at the blurry blood red canopy of his bed. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .

His eyes drifted closed once more as he rolled the situation over in his mind again and again, finding every little error, every miscalculation. Every stupid thing that had made everything go so terribly wrong. Just what the hell had he been thinking? Bursting in like that? It wasn�t like Snape was just going to throw him across the table and ravage him . . . Well, he might have if the damn ferret hadn�t come waltzing in.

Why, oh why, hadn�t he thought to lock the door?

His cheek still stung where Snape had slapped him�a phantom sensation. It hadn�t been hard, but the gesture itself had hurt far more than the blow. The look�the anger�in Snape�s eyes had hurt more than he had believed possible.

Temper, temper, Harry. The boy took a deep breath. He would not lose his temper. Not over the ferret. Not even over Snape.

�This is not some game! This is my job! My life!! Are you trying to kill me as well?�

As well . . .

But what had he been thinking? And why did this hurt so much? It wasn�t like there was anything there but a kiss or two. Nothing more.

�Get out, Potter! Get out or I will throw you out and I will throw you so hard you�ll bounce twice!!�

�I�ll not be chased away just because you�ve gotten in over your head!�

�I cannot do this!!�

�You will!�

�Stupid child! Idiot boy, do you have any idea what you are getting into? Any idea at all? I am 37 years old. I am a Death Eater. I am your bloody Professor! And I will not be browbeaten by some silly, hormonal child!�

�Then throw me out. Throw me out. Or better yet, look me in the eye and tell me that this was all some kind of dream, or daymare, or fantasy, and I�ll leave and never come back. Tell me you don�t want me here.�

�. . . I don�t want you here, Mr. Potter.�

�My name is Harry. And you didn�t lme ime in the eye.�

Snape was right: this wasn�t a game. This was something important.

But this was also Snape he was dealing with. Death Eater. Tormenter of Gryffindors Everywhere. Hater of All Things Good and True. And especially of Harry Potter. It must have been a mistake�a dream. It must have been . . .

Everything.

�Obliviate!�

Greasy hair. Crooked, yellowed teeth. Big, hooked nose. Nasty temper. Stained hands. A traitor. A spy. An unapologetic ass. This was Snape.

And it hurt.

�I told you that I wasn�t leaving until you listened to me. And I�m not going to let you just throw me out. So listen: I . . . I want things. And I don�t always understand it, but I want them. And I do stupid thing and don�t think things through. And I�ve hurt you and I�m not really sure what I�m getting into . . . But I�ve thought about this�really thought about it�and I want this. I want you. And every single instinct I have inside me tells me that this is right and that this is the way things are supposed to be. I know I leap before I look. And I�m too curious. And I can�t let go of something once I have it. But this isn�t like that. This is something . . . different. And I want to see what it is. So stop arguing with me and stop condemning yourself over things that I�ve already decided on.�

This was Snape. Strong arms. Deep, dark voice. Unflappable courage. Undeniable honor. Unquestionable brilliance. Unforgiving arrogance. Severus Snivellus Snape. Whose kisses tasted sweet and tangy and whose greasy hair smelled of ginger and peppermint.

Snape, who had held him this summer. And who did not ask what happened at the Dursleys�. And who did not cry out when he pierced himself on ivory teacup shards, but sobbed and shrieked when Voldemort shattered his hand with a wisp of cotton. Snape, who would drape his cloak over his shoulders and who did not believe that Harry would have been like his mother.

Snape, who had lied to Harry and said that he was not going to die.

Harry rubbed his cheek absently. �It doesn�t matter what you believe.�

�Hey, mate! You awake?�

Harry�s eyes snapped open again at the sound of Ron�s voice just as his best friend�s blurry face appeared in front of him. Concerned blue eyes stared down at the brunet and Harry rolled over to get away from the uncomfortable familiarity of their proximity. Ron flopped down on the bed and Harry sat up. There was a series of crunching pops as the Potter heir cracked his neck loudly and reached out to fumble for his glasses from his nightstand.

The world slid into sharp focus as he settled them on the bridge of his nose and Harry blinked rapidly for an instant, suddenly aware of the pounding headache beating in his temples. Perhaps he was better off without the glasses. He was beginning to prefer things blurry.

The bed dipped up and down a bit as Ron tapped his feet on the floor. �You okay?� The sixth Weasley turned around to frown at his friend. �We�re worried about you. �Mione and me . . .�

Harry avoided his eyes, instead focusing on the ratty laces of his weather-beaten trainers. �I�m fine,� he said quietly, flexing his toes back to examine the tips of the shoes.

�No,� came the equally quiet response. �No, you�re not, mate.�

Harry looked away from his shoes, somewhat put off by Ron�s unusually pensive response, and blinked at the oddly serious expression on the redhead�s face. �Ron?�

They stared at one another for a moment and Harry was suddenly painfully aware of how very far apart they seemed to have grown. He was still closer to Ron and Hermione than he was�or ever had been�to anyone else in his life. But there was also this distance between them that he didn�t know how to close. For just an instant he wanted to blurt it all out. All of it.

I think I�m gay. Snape and I kissed and I want to do it again. I�m afraid that Voldemort is going to kill me. I�m afraid he�s going to get in my head and make me hurt you all. I�m terrified of losing control again. I hate that you and Hermione are keeping secrets from me. I hate that I can�t trust Dumbledore. I hate that Snape keeps tossing me aside. I hate that Remus can�t look me in the eye. I hate that I�m the biggest threat to the Order outside of Voldemort. I hate that I�m at the center of everything and no one can trust me. I hate that through all this, all I can think of is that greasy bastard. I hate that I�m alone. And I hate that I�m so scared.

�Why won�t you let us help you?� Ron asked quietly.

Harry looked back down at his trainers. �Ron . . .� But the words wouldn�t come.

A bird chirped outside and the silence lengthened uncomfortably.

Finally Ron stood with a frustrated sigh. �I�ll meet you on the pitch in twenty for practice, okay?�

He was almost out the door when Harry spoke again.

�It�s okay, you know. You and Hermione.�

Ron froze in the doorway and turned slowly to look at his friend. �What do you mean?�

Green eyes stared back at him. There was no longer the perpetual anger or repressed rage that was there, merely an old, old tiredness that seemed to permeate his thin frame. Ron stared at him for a moment, surprised to see traces of Remus in his friend. It was in the eyes.

Harry smiled, a smile, wistful expression. �You and Hermione. I know you�re together.� A dark eyebrow suddenly lifted and the smile became a bit more playful. �And it�s about damn time. And it�s okay. I don�t feel . . . left out.�

Ron narrowed his eyes for a moment and then suddenly smiled, a familiar bright red flush rising to stain his cheeks. �Were we that obvious?�

The brunet snickered lightly as the tension dissipated. This was far more comfortable ground for the two of them. �You know Lavender has a big mouth.�

Ron snorted in response.

�And anyway,� Harry continued, �it doesn�t help that you get this big dopey grin on your face every time she walks into the room.�

�Oi!� Ron grabbed a pillow off of Neville�s and threw it at his snickering friend. �I do not!�

Harry burst out laughing and rolled back onto his bed to avoid pillpillow. It bounced harmlessly off the wall and landed next to his head while Ron turned an even deeper shade of red.

�Quit laughing at me!�

The brunet gasped for air, still shaking with mirth as a rain of pillows flew his way. �Knock it off!� He fumbled around in his sheets until he found his wand and dodged a pillow to throw a Tickling Charm at his indignant housemate.

Ron immediately dropped to the ground, laughing hysterically and sputtering protests. �No . . . . . . . .!�

Harry smirked as he struggled past the pillows to get out of bed. �All�s fair in love and war.� Seeing his friend so happy�even if it was Charm induced happiness�somehow lifted his spirits immeasurably. �Finite Incantatem.�

Still chuckling, Ron pushed himself to his feet and tired in vain to catch his breath. �You don�t play fair.� His smile, however, was proof that he wasn�t angry. And the smile that still lit Harry�s face was reward enough for a fewentsents of tickling. It had been far too long since Harry had smiled like that.

Snickering, the Potter boy tossed the pillows back onto random beds.

�Leave it,� Ron advised, hovering by the door. �We�ll be late for practice. And you know we have that match against Slytherin next weekend. Even if Malfoy�s been quiet at meals, I still wouldn�t trust him in the air.�

Harry shrugged and tossed two pillows onto Neville�s bed. �It�s no big deal. Dobby has enough to do as it is. And I don�t trust Malfoy any farther than I can throw him.�

�Good.�

The brunet turned, surprised to hear his friend sound so pleased.

Ron flushed again and suddenly took a great interest in the carpet. ��Mione thinks he fancies you.�

Harry immediately looked appalled. �Ew! No . . .�

Ron looked up and grinned. �Good. You�re my friend and all, mate, but Malfoy�s a right prat.�

Harry smiled and turned to pull up his covers. �Get everyone to start warming up, okay? I�ll be down in a few.�

�You sure?�

�Yeah.�

Ron turned and then paused again. He didn�t turn around. �You know, Harry . . . If you do really need anything, you can tell us. You know that right?�

Harry didn�t turn either. �I know.� He carefully straightened the sheet. �I�ll be down okay?�

Ron left without another word and Harry pulled up his comforter. He knew he could go to Ron and Hermione if he needed them, but he also knew that they�d risk just about anything for him. He�d never forget what Hermione had looked like during the fight in the Department of Mysteries. The sight of his friends� faces in battle was not something he enjoyed. Ron and Hermione would probably follow him into hell�and Harry couldn�t allow that.

His father.

His mother.

Bertha Jenkins.

Cedric.

Sirius.

The body count was too high as it was. He would not add any more names to that list if he could help it. Besides, this was his fight, not theirs. The prophecy even said so. Unless Neville Longbottom stepped up to the plate, Harry was all they had. And Neville couldn�t even sit through a Potion�s class without having a near nervous breakdown, let alone go toe to toe with the Dark Lord. Harry sighed and straightened his covers.

The Hat was right. It was time he took control of his own life. He couldn�t keep depending on people to save him from himself. And if he ever wanted Snape to get his head out of his arse, he�d have to stop acting like the �Perfect Potter� brat the man had so often accused him of being.

It was time to take control.

Unfortunately, Harry didn�t have even the vaguest idea of where to begin.

The boy stood and stared at his perfectly made bed. If he had learned anything at the Dursleys�, it was how to clean. The clock chimed, reminding Harry of the hour, and he grabbed his bag and headed down towards the locker room. It was a ten-minute walk from Gryffindor Tower and he so lost in his thoughts that he barely even saw where he was going.

Which was probably why he didn�t even see Draco Malfoy until he walked into him.

�Hey!�

Harry yelped and stumbled backwards, a hand going up to steady his glasses even as he felt himself losing his balance. A strong hand snapped out, gripping his robes and jerking him back upright before he could fall. For a moment Harry locked eyes with Malfoy and froze. The boy really was beautiful.

But it wasn�t like with Snape.

Malfoy�s grip tightened and he yanked Harry just a bit closer. �I need to talk to you.�

The brunet snarled and jerked himself out of the taller boy�s grasp. �Sod off, ferret!� he hissed. It wasn�t parseltongue, but it sounded close enough to be unnerving.

Temper, temper!

Malfoy cast an almost frantic glance around the empty hallway and reached out to him again, as though trying to draw him back. Harry pulled away and was suddenly aware of the feel of his wand in his hand. When had he drawn his wand?

�Potter!� Again, Malfoy shot another of those strange, panicked glances around the hall. �Potter, listen. I can help you. I��

�I don�t want your help, ferret!� Why was he shaking? He forced himself to lower his wand. The amount of effort it took frightened him. �I don�t need it and I don�t want it.� If it wasn�t for Malfoy, Severus might not be so mad at him now. Severus might even be willing to look him in the eye. �You stay away from me, Malfoy.�

The blond took another step forward and Harry raised his wand again, glowering.

�Potter��

�Is there a problem here?�

Both boys jumped and turned slightly, startled to find Professor Sprout puffing her way up the hall towards them. The Head of Hufflepuff frowned at the two Sixth Years, her brown eyes hard over the rims of her tiny round spectacles. She stopped a few feet away from them and put her fists on her considerable hips, still frowning. Malfoy took a step away from Harry.

�Well,� she demanded curtly, looking from one boy to the other. �Is there a problem?�

Malfoy�s eyes never left Harry�s face. �No, ma�am. No problem.�

Sprout turned her gaze to Harry and received a slow shake of his head in reply.

�No problem,� he muttered, sliding his wand back into his palm so that it was hidden in his sleeve. �No problem at all.�

The rotund professor huffed, the action making her battered witch�s hat shift on her head. She eyed them both a moment longer, obviously not believing them, and then shook her head. �Well move along then. I�m sure you both have ps tos to be.�

Harry turned and hurried on his way, trying to ignore the feel of Malfoy�s eyes on his back. The day he needed help from a Malfoy was the day he made Dobby his personal bodyguard.

He didn�t need Malfoy.

He didn�t need anyone.

He stopped abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get a handle on his temper. He shoved his wand into a roockeocket and tried to still the shaking in his hands. He had almost lost it back there. He could still feel it in the pit of his belly . . . That solid ball of anger that he had worked so desperately to push down. It had erupted once. ouldouldn�t let that happen again. Not here. Not at Hogwarts. Not when it could be one of his friends who got hurt next time. Not when it could be Ron. Or Hermione. Or Severus.

Harry exhaled and opened his eyes, forcing himself to relax. This was ridiculous. All he was doing was thinking in circles. He resumed walking, forcing a bounce into his step that he didn�t really feel. He was going to be in control. He was going to fine. So to hell with this. To hell with this, to hell with Malfoy, and to hell with Severus Snape. He was going to play Quidditch.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Ignominy. Shame. Disgrace. A state of dishonor. Dishonour. Humiliation. Obloquy. Odium. Opprobrium. Reproach. Ignominy.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate myself.

My lips brush the of hof his robes and I feel sickened by my own false reverence. My Lord makes a pleased noise in his gullet and his thin, thin, thin lips are stretched in a macabre parody of a smile.

The Dark Lord is pleased.

I easily hide my shudder of revulsion and take my place in the circle next to Lucius. Poor Lucius�I�m beginning to see that Draco is right. The man truly has gone mad. But he hides it well. He is a Malfoy; they all hide it well.

Draco . . . I say I chose myself over him. My life over his. My position over his. I lie to myself. Have I always lied to myself this much? Albus, in his habitually not-quite-condescending manner, told me that I was a coward. That I could no longer hide behind his robes. That I was now responsible for my own actions�my own messes. Albus said that I have always been a coward. Albus is right.

�I kissed Harry Potter.�

And now is not the time for this.

I push the thoughts aside and seal them up behind cynicism and Occlumency. I have years of practice in doing so. Years of control.

Control is a choice. I choose to spy. I choose to torture, rape, and murder in the name of my Pride�my delusion. And then, once the reality of my own arrogance became apparent, I chose to bear the exact same yoke in the name of Good�of the Great Albus Dumbledore. I choose to curse my students and lay the tattered remnants of my dignity on an altar at the Great Albus Dumbledore�s feet. Kyrie eleison. My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?

Though, I suppose I forsook you first. That assertion is an issue of pride at this point in my life and little more. But I know why I�m here, why I do this. I may bow to Albus, but I�m not here for him. Or for myself. Perhaps I�m here for my mother, gentle soul that she was. A bit mad, though. One had to be a bit mad to be married to my father. And perhaps�just a little bit�I�m here for the boy as well. I�ve invested far too much time and energy to allow something as small as my Master destroy him. Either of my Masters.

Again, after supper, he took the cup, gave thanks, and gave it for all to drink, saying: �This cup is the new covenant in my blood, shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sin. Do this for the remembrance of me.�

Death Eater meetings make me wax religious. I�ve never known why.

The honors are given. We�ve all bowed to the Dark Lord. The boy wants to call him by name. The boy is a fool. There are forty of us on this night, all of our faces hidden by white masks except for Wormtail. Pettigrew, it seems, is not properly ashamed to be in the Dark Lord�s presence. Pettigrew is also a fool, if for different reasons.

I am the greatest fool of all.

Lord Voldemort shifts in his chair. Nagini is nowhere in sight. �Severussssss . . . what has the old fool been doing?�

I feel my spine straighten a bit. My voice is smooth. �He continues attempting to teach Potter Occlumency, but the boy has not yet mastered it. It seems that, even when not in my . . . care,� don�t have to feign my sneer at the word, �the brat has some sort of block.�

The Dark Lord nods as though this is nothing new.

�The Order of the Phoenix has reached an impasse with the Minister of Magic. It appears Fudge would like to have more control over the Order�s activities and is demanding a list of its members. He still fears that Dumbledore is attempting to overthrow him. Also, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was found unconscious in a broom cupboard in Hufflepuff Tower on Friday. No one�least of all she herself�has offered an explanation for this incident. The students seem to think that she is in league with you, my Lord . . .� The statement trails off into a question and I pause.

A spindly-fingered hand waves the implication away and gestures for me to continue.

I rake my mind for acceptable going-ons. Unfortunately, only the unacceptable ones come to the forefront. Draco will do anything to escape the Dark Mark. Potter wants to have relationship of some sort with me. Or at least sex. I am losing control of everything.

I wonder what the Dark Lord would say if I told him that.

�Crucio�, most likely.

Instead I say, �Potter has also taken to studying more often. He spends a good deal of time in the library. I�ve discovered that the Headmaster issued him a pass for the Restricted Section in secret. The boy goes there at night with his invisibility cloak. Dumbledore may be planning something, but I have not been able to ascertain what exactly. I have not yet been able to . . . redeem myself after the incident last term.�

Again the Dark Lord nods as though none of this came as a surprise. Flat red eyes turned from me to Lucius and I can�t help but relax a fraction.

�Lucius . . . .� Long, white fingers beckon the other man forward. �Come here, little Luciussss . . .�

For a moment, Lucius doesn�t move, only stares at the Dark Lord blankly. I cannot repress a shudder. Being called forward is either very good, or very bad. For Lucius, it is most likely the latter. What did Azkaban do to him?

Someone in the circle titters in amusement. It can only be Bellatrix. Only she would dare. I doubt she even comprehends the danger anymore, anyway. She�s mad, though I suppose we all are to some extent. Ignominy. The laughter seems to snap Lucius out of his trance and he moves forward�lurches, really�to kneel down before the Dark Lord again. I feel the ache of an old pain in my left hand and stalwartly ignore it. This is not yet my time for punishment, though that will no doubt come in time.

�Luciussssssss . . .�

And Lucius shudders.

�What news have you from your little Dragon?�

My heart stops. Draco? What on Earth would the Dark Lord be expecting to hear from Draco?

�None, my Lord.�

The long nails on the edge of those bone-like fingers tap a slow, irritated cadence on the wooden arms of his chair as our Master leans forward a bit and it is obvious that he is no longer pleased. �None . . .?� he hisses menacingly.

Lucius simply stares up at him from his kneeling position below the dais. �None.�

Red eyes narrow. �I am unable to comprehend your continual failuress, Luciussss. And I am most displeased with them. I have given you opportunity after opportunity to redeem yourself and yet you continue to disssappoint me. Not only have you failed to reassert yourself at the Ministry, you have managed to further stigmatize your name through your recent . . . reclusive behavior. Because of you, that bumbling idiot Fudge is at risk of being depossssed. Do you really believe that that muggle-protecting fool Dumbledore will allow anyone else as incompetent as Fudge in office right now? Our enemy is wily, little serpent, and you may well have given him the opening he needs. And now you come to me with yet another failure.�

He pauses, as though giving Lucius some leeway to make an appropriate excuse. But Lucius just remains silent. A part of me is pleased�Lucius�s failings will make my own seem less severe�but the part of me that once admired the arrogant Malfoy wishes that the man would speak up and defend himself.

The Dark Lord�s eyes flare menacingly. �It isss not wise to dissssapoint me, Luciussss . . .�

Lucius seems to shake himself again, as though finally realizing the danger he�s in. The poor fool.

He grovels before the makeshift throne and I feel my stomach turn at the sight. �My Lord, I am loyal��

�It is not your loyalty I question, servant. It is your competence.�

�I��

The wand in the Dark Lord�s left hand twitches slightly. �Crucio!�

Ahhh . . . And so it begins.

Lucius writhes on the floor for our master�s pleasure. He doesn�t scream until the second Curse. Does it feel the same to him, I wonder?

�Finite Incantatem.� For a moment it looks as though the Dark Lord will be merciful, but then it comes again. �Crucio!�

His body jerks and spasms gracelessly and I force myself to look on with clinical dispassion. There is nothing beautiful about this type of pain. It is dirty, effective, and all-consuming.

�Finite Incantatem.�

Gasping and choking now. Sobbing.

I feel no pity for him.

�Crucio!�

The fourth Curse falls and Lucius�s convulsions work the mask free. He�s bitten his tongue at some point in time and a bloody froth has gathered at the corners of his mouth.

And then it stops. I�m disappointed and apprehensive as Lucius regains the presence of mind to resume groveling. Four Crucius Curses. Perhaps six minutes or so passed during Lucius�s punishment. Four Curses�a bit extreme, even for the Dark Lord. Whatever Lucius is supposed to be doing is important. Or perhaps he merely thought he could drive Lucius out of whatever inner world the man seems to be retreating into. That used to be a muggle theory during the 19th century: that which would drive a sane man mad can also drive a mad man sane. Or so I�ve been told. Lucius�s groveling is noticeably half-hearted. He doesn�t look any saner to me
�E
�Enough!� Apparently the Dark Lord has also noticed this. He shifts unhappily on the dais and makes a dismissive gesture, clearly disgusted by Lucius�s presence. �At least I know there are others who can be depended upon!�

He turns towards a shadowed corner behind him and hisses in parseltongue. Wormtail squeaks as though bitten by something and scurries off towards the shadows behind the dais. A door opens and closes somewhere that I cannot see. Lucius has retrieved his mask in the meantime and taken his place at my side once more. He does not appear to be aware of the blood and saliva dribbling from his chin to his robes as he puts his mask back on. I can feel my lips thin.

The Dark Lord turns back around and I can feel his eyes boring into me. �Severussssssss . . . Come forth.� Lucius is forgotten.

I stride forward with a confidence I do not feel and drop into a graceful kneeling position. �Yes, my Lord.� It is always about humility. I have become extremely good at being humble when the situation demands it. I press my forehead against the cold grainy floor in prostration.

My God, My God . . .Quia tu es, Deus, fortitudo mea: quare me repulisti, et quare tristis incedo, dum affligit me inimicus?

�You too have failed me, have you not, my impetuous Severussss . . .?�

Dum affligit me inimicus . . .

Yes. �Yes, my Lord.�

Ostende nobis Domine, misericordiam tuam.

I can feel him smiling down at me. �Honesty is so refreshing, Severusssssss . . .�

I will never get used to this.

�CRUCIO!!�

I try to relax before the curse hits, but it�s no use. The world vanishes in pain and I can taste blood in my mouth. Burningachingfirepaintearingspiningdrowningdyingdyingdying��And then it ends.

My head is spinning and it feels as though all my muscles will burst through my skin with even the slightest movement. I pull out of a fetal position and return to kneeling.

�So very refreshing . . .�

There is bile in my throat.

�You will, of course, try harder, Severusss? If you cannot worm your way back into the old man�s good graces, I hardly see the need for you to remain at Hogwartsss . . . Particularly when your unique skillsss can be of so much more use to me here . . .�

I swallow the vomit attempting to crawl up my throat. �I will not fail you again, my Lord.�

�No. You will not.�

I close my eyes, blocking out the sight of own spit and sweat on the floor, commingled with Lucius�s blood. Et salutare tuum da nobis.

�Crucio!�

Don�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscrea
mdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscr
eamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�t
screamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdo
n�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscream
don�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscre
amdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�tscreamdon�ts
creamdon�tscreamdon�tscream�

�Finite Incantatem.�

It hurts. I hurt.

Just breathe.

I�m given a moment to collect myself and sent back to my place with a flick of his wrist.

�Thank you, my Lord. You are most merciful, my Lord.� The words come automatically.

I take my place next to Lucius and wonder when or if the point of this Summons will become apparent. It is unusual for me to be Summoned while school�s in session.

My body hurts and my hands tremble. I ignore it.

�Bring it forth,� the reptile hisses suddenly.

Lucius stirs beside me, his cold eyes shadowed by more than pain. Is this why I was called here? What is it? I want to ask him. I remain silent.

The hidden door behind the dais opens once more and Wormtail staggers forth, two large pieces of something wrapped in brown paper. He rounds the dais, puffing as though exhausted, and stoops over to carefully set the wrapped pieces on the ground. I can barely resist the urge to crane my neck forward for a better look. Lucius makes as though to take a step backwards and I reach out and seize his wrist, careful to shield the action from the other. Our Master�s eyes, however, are riveted to Wormtail�s mystery objects.

The little traitor is carefully peeling back the paper, his movements blocking my view. The Dark Lord is practically purring with pleasure as he watches the unveiling. Finally done unwrapping the pieces, Wormtail steps away and I find myself looking at what appears to be a large broken sheet of black glass. It may have once been circular in shape, but now it lay in jagged pieces, carefully arranged so that, if fused together, they would form a sheet of glass roughly a meter in diameter. It seems as though it was split cleanly in two from side to side, and then the remaining halves were shattered.

A small gasp leaves several members of the circle and a figure I recognize as Bellatrix steps forward. Her voice is only slightly muffled by her mask. �Master . . .?�

Lord Voldemort rises and descends to stand above the glass, Nagini slithering out of the shadows to join him. His triumphant smirk fills me with dread and all I can think of is how green the boy�s eyes are.

�Yesss,� he hisses in response to Bellatrix�s unasked question. �Those of you who helped in the search will be greatly rewarded. This,� he gestured, �is the key to victory.� He raises his eyes and his gaze sweeps over us all. �Kneel, Death Eaters.�

We kneel. And then the spell begins.

He�s chanting in parseltongue and I can feel his magic washing over me. It�s cold and dark and cruel. I lock my mind against his power even as I feel my own magic rising in response. So this is what he wanted . . . The magic of his forty strongest servants for a spell. My skin begins to tingle from the build up of unreleased magic.

The pieces of glass begin to tremble. Then they rise and start to glow. I close my eyes against the glare of their light.

�Shhhhhhleghthhhhhhhslllllluhaaaaaaarrrrrrrth . . .�

The light becomes a physical thing�an assault on my senses�and I feel as though I�m going to burst from the sheer amount of power inside me. It�s as though I�m dying of thirst and trying to drink the sun itself. I can�t stop it. The Mark on my arm burns and aches by turns. Everything is on fire. I am on fire.

Harry . . .

And then he draws it all in�the light, the heat, the magic, and the thirst�all of it is torn out of me through the livid, bloody brand on my arm. Some of the others are screaming. I bite my tongue instead.

By the time I�ve spat out the blood and forced my eyes open, it�s over. The Death Eaters have all fallen over. It seems as though I�ve gotten dirt in my eyes from lying on the floor. Lucius lay motionless at my side and many of the others are so still they seem dead. I feel dead. My entire body feels sunburnt from magical exposure and there�s a tremor running through me that I cannot control. Even my magic feels drained and worn. I barely have the strength the push myself up to a sitting position; Apparition is out of the question right now.

The Dark Lord is standing above the now whole circle of glass. It�s no longer black, though; now it looks strange, almost like luminescent water. The Dark Lord waves his hand and conjures a black clothe. It flutters down gracefully, covering the glass. My eyes rise to meet those of my Master and he smiles at me. It is a chilling, skull-like expression.

Domine, exuadi orationem meam.

�Tell me, Sssssseverussss . . . The boy . . . Has he a loyal Knight and true?�

I tell the truth. It feels strange on my tongue. �He has no one, my Lord.�

He has me.

Et clamor meus ad te veniat.

The Dark Lord laughs as the others begin to stir. He turns his back to us and returns to the dais. Nagini follow and coils up at his feet while he sits. �You are all dismissed,� the Master hisses in a whisper. He sounds oddly pensive.

I stagger upright, trying to ignore the pain in my body. Lucius also rises and follows me to the door. The others are not far behind. I wrench off my mask in irritation as we cross the threshold of the Manor. There is a loud pop behind me as someone Dissparates.

�Has he a loyal Knight and true?�

Something about the question eats at me.

Lucius falls into step beside me as I slip my mask into my robes. I look at him for a moment out of the corner of my eyes and some flash of altruism bids me to lean over. �You are going to get yourself killed, Mal An And me along with you and your idiotic theatrics.�

Lucius reaches up and removes his mask very slowly. He turns with the same slow profundity and offers me a wan, bitter smile that makes my skin crawl. �So? It would probably be better that way. You�d know better, Severus, if you had seen what I�ve seen.�

I take an involuntary step back and he turns away, tucking the porcelain mask into a sleeve in his robe. �Take care of my son for me, Severus.�

He Dispparates with a loud pop before I can reply. It�s just as well�I�ve already failed at that task anyway. I can only protect one person at a time and Draco has somehow fallen out of the running.

�Has he a loyal Knight and true?�

I Apparate to the edge of Hogsmead, Lucius�s words chasing one another about in my mind meaninglessly. If you repeat something long enough, it becomes meaningless, the words lose form and identity and the syllables bleed together in your mind. �Take care of Draco for me, Severus.�

Severus. Lucius only calls me by my first name when he wants something, but my instincts tell me that that isn�t the case here. Is he truly so far gone? The gates of Hogwarts appear in the distance. I adjust my path accordingly.

I am sorry, Lucius. For you. For Draco. For Narcissa. But sacrifices must be made and I long ago resolved to only make the ones I could live with. Draco wants me to be a buffer zone between himself and Dumbledore. He thinks to use me to save himself�and his family�without paying any of the consequences for the Malfoy�s ill-conceived alliance. I am paying for my own sins; I will not be burdened with the sins of another.

I deleted everything from Draco�s memory. His message. His warning. And Harry Potter sitting on my lap looking for all the world as though he belonged there. I will not allow some idealistic Gryffindor and an upstart Malfoy to upset my tightrope act. Even if that Gryffindor is Harry Potter and that Malfoy is one of my own. Control is a choice. I will be in control. I will not fail; I will not fall. Not to the Dark Lord, not to the Great Albus Dumbledore, not to a pint-sized dragon, and certainly not to small hands, green eyes, and an overly conspicuous scar. I will die first.

And I will not allow Harry Potter to occupy any more of my time than necessary.

. . . Or so I tell myself.

Do this for the remembrance of me.

I meet with the Headmaster. Make my report like a good little spy. Albus asks me about Potter. Says that he�s worried. Prods me to �get to know the boy.�

Shut up, Albus. Shut up. I can only protect one person at a time. Shut up.

Albus is a bastard, but I can only glare and ignore him. Why is he doing this to me? But I know better than to protest. I know this game too well. All the ducks in a row. Hammer down the nail that sticks up. The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

How dull.

I kissed Harry Potter. I want to say it. To scream it. To shove it down his throat until he chokes on it and can no longer feign ignorance. I pressed him against the wall, tore open his robes, and slid my hand down his pants. I tasted that mouth, pet that pretty sixteen year old skin.

I want Albus to stop pretending that it�s alright and that it�s normal. I want him to stop trying to use this to bind the boy to him. Or maybe to bind me to him. The old man�s not ignoring this out of the goodness of his heart. Or perhaps it�s just pity. Pity for that pretty little boy who�s going to die. Pity for me, who already has. But this is my life, not a study in pity.

So shut up, Albus.

I slapped Harry Potter, I want to say. He came to me, put his heart at my feet, sat in my lap and begged me with pretty demands, unaware of the erection beneath him. He ran his hands through my hair. And then Draco came in and caught us, caught me robbing the Gryffindor cradle, and I was ashamed so I Obliviated him. And I was ashamed and threw Harry off of me. And I was ashamed and slapped that sweet, protesting mouth. That hungry sixteen year old mouth that tastes like butterscotch.

�I would not ask this of you if I didn�t have to, Severus.�

Shut up, Albus. That�s what I want to say. Shut up and stop pretending that it�s alright that I desperately want to rape a child. Because he is a child and no child can consent to such a thing. Harry Potter cannot consent to such a thing. So shut up.

But I can�t say it.

The squeaky wheel gets the oil. Liars. The squeaky wheel gets replaced.

And so I remain silent.

Not a squeak.

And the Headmaster leans back and sits through my reports and stops promoting pedophilia. Thank you, Albus.

�Lucius wants me to look after Draco,� I murmur at the end. My voice is empty. Detached. �I Obliviated him last week. He knew I was a spy.� The lies flow so easily these days. Ignominy.

Albus watches me sternly over the rims of his ridiculously small glasses. As if he didn�t know before. �I trust you did no damage.�

�Draco is fine.� For now. �But I cannot protect him.�

�Send him to me.� He strokes Fawkes�s breast absently, his piercing blue eyes boring into me painfully. �The Order can look after him. Are you sure that you do not know what the glass could be for?�

I shrug tiredly. No. No. No. �I have no idea.� I�m so tired. �But he did say something odd . . .�

The hand stroking Fawkes abruptly stops.

I swallow heavily. �He said to me, �has Potter a loyal Knight and true?� Do you know what it means?�

The blue eyes look away and I have to hold back a sigh. But Albus looks troubled and that in turn troubles me. Irritating as it may be, I prefer that unnerving, omnipresent twinkle to its alternative.

�Sir?�

The old man just shakes his head unhappily. �I do not know, my boy . . . But I will look into it. Will you be on hand to do some research? I understand that you�ve been quite overwhelmed between teaching, Voldemort,��I hide a flinch��and my own demands on your time.�

�I will do what I can.� I always have. �Have you made any more progress in the Occlumency?�

�No . . .�

Fawkes makes a noise in the back of his throat. It sounds oddly indelicate for a phoenix in full plumage.

�Severus��

�No.� If I let him finish the question, then I probably will be forced to agree. �I will not resume the lessons.� Please Albus. Please. I don�t want to hurt him more than I must. I cannot be alone with him more than I must. And the memory of him lying helpless and semi-conscious on my office floor is more arousing than I ever let the reality seem.

But Albus�s eyes are hard. �Severus, he saw the meeting tonight. Yet again. Madame Pomfrey had to sedate him. This cannot continue. And whatever is blocking his Occlumency is also acting a sieve for his magic.�

�He saw the meeting tonight. Yet again.� I ignore the comment�deny it. Potter should never have to see me prostrate myself on the ground. Kiss another man�s robes. Beg for mercy. I feel ill.

�He�s already a wizard of respectable power.� The hissed words taste like ashes on my tongue, and the compliment, unintentional as it may be, is almost a physically painful admission.

�Respectable,� the Headmaster agrees, �but not formidable. You can feel his power in him, Severus, just as I can. That power must be trained before he loses his temper and lashes out at someone.�

Something in the way he says that�the firmness . . . the fear�makes me take notice. What happened this summer? The answer suddenly seems much more important.

�I cannot trust the boy.� And I can�t. I cannot trust him anymore than I trust myself. He�s too determined. Too curious. And too bold by half. As much as I envy and even crave those traits in him, they terrify a part of me. I can only protect one person at a time. And I can�t protect Potter from himself if I�m too busy trying to protect myself from him. �And he needs you, Albus, not me.�

The words seem to stun us both and I wonder how they even made their way to my mouth. But they�re true and Albus knows it. Harry�Potter needs a father. A mentor. A friend who is not a child. Because no other child has ever born the weight that Potter does. Except, perhaps, a poor pureblood boy of little import who came to Hogwarts a hundred and fifty years ago. Albus was bred for Grindelwald just as Potter has been bred for the Dark Lord, though Albus was never so intimately connected to his foe. I know this and he knows this. He can offer Potter a support that no one else can. Potter needs a man to respect and emulate.

I am not that man. Nor do I want to be. What I want is something wholly different, and probably even worse than demanding a child save the world.

Sad blue eyes look at me for a long moment and I find myself shifting in my chair uncomfortably.

The squeaky wheel gets replaced.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

And then Albus smiles and looks so proud of me that I have to close my eyes and turn away. Fawkes ruffles his feathers as Albus begins to twinkle at me. I scowl.

�You are a man of curious, but profound wisdom, my friend.�

No, Albus. I am a child molester.

Squeak. Squeak.

When I�m finally given leave to return to my quarters, it�s three am. �He saw the meeting tonight. Yet again.� The boy is asleep in my doorway. How he even found out where my quarters are is beyond me, but he found my workroom, didn�t he? Potter, it seems, is also a man of curious wisdom at times.

Tomorrow I will have to remember to move my workroom.

I step over him, take twenty points from Gryffindor, and, after closing the door on his comfortably rumpled body, summon a House Elf to wake him and shuffle him back to the Hospital Wing where he belongs. It�s cowardly and I know and I don�t care. I�ve found that�to an extent�I can live with being a coward. Besides, students should not fraternize with teachers. It is an unequal relationship. The Hogwarts rules even say so.

I�m too old for this.

Before I go to sleep, I give twenty points to Gryffindor. For tenacity.

. . .

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

One person at a time, Severus.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Translated from Latin:
Kyrie eleison. - Lord have mercy.

Quia tu es, Deus, fortitudo mea: quare me repulisti, et quare tristis incedo, dum affligit me inimicus? - For Thou, O God, art my strength, why hast Thou forsaken me? And why do I go about in sadness, while the enemy harasses me?

Ostende nobis Domine, misericordiam tuam. - Show us, Lord, Thy mercy.

Et salutare tuum da nobis. - And grant us Thy salvation.

Domine, exuadi orationem meam. - O Lord, hear my prayer.

Et clamor meus ad te veniat. - And let my cry come to Thee.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ & ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

5

6

7

You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Where the Heart Moves the Stone