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You Can\'t Always Get What You Want	By : tambrathegreat Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > General Views: 3319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no profit from this endeavor. No copyright infringement is intended.

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7 February, 1998, 06:27

“This had better be good, Malfoy.” The Weaslette said as she entered the room. Her hair was dripping wet, as if she had just emerged from the bath and her cheeks were dewy and pink. Draco flicked his wand and shut the door to the unused classroom, warding it the way Father had shown him.

He smirked and withdrew a small basket from the seat beside him. He patted the chair and said with a knowing quirk of his brow, “Sit and eat. I know you’re hungry. I heard about the half-rations you and your ickle boyfriend, Longbottom, were put on for your last little show of defiance. Really you should learn to temper your outbursts. You’re already too... visible, especially for a Gryffindor.”

The Weaslette scoffed and toed the edge of a flagstone that had worked loose over the centuries still making no move toward him. He withdrew a croissant and began smearing thick clotted cream over the surface. It flaked as he bit into it and he was aware that her eyes followed the crumbs as he unhurriedly brushed them away. “Eat, Weasley. It’s not poisoned simply because I touched it.”

“Tell that to my brother, Malfoy. He knows all about how much you like to use poisons to get your way,” the girl spat, but moved closer as Draco pushed the basket further from him.

“Ouch,” he said in the mildest tone he could manage as he rubbed his chest theatrically. He regretted that incident more than he cared to admit to the boy’s sister at the moment. Weasley had deserved some payback for being such a prat, but killing him seemed a bit extreme even to Draco.

The Weaslette stepped closer, darting to the table to grab a sticky bun and a croissant, and then retreating again. She secreted them in her school robes as she said, “Well, I’m waiting.”

Draco suddenly felt ill seeing the girl’s obvious distrust. Not that he, over the years, had given her reason to want to be chums with him, but he was just tired of it all. This was his last year in school and it should have been spent worrying about his studies, chasing pretty girls, and Quidditch. He hadn’t asked for any of this nightmare any more than she had. Besides all that, the Weaslette was very attractive, and Draco knew he would never have a chance with her, not with all there was between their families.

Snape’s words of only a few days before came back to him.

“I know you observed me the other evening, Draco.” Snape’s ascetic face, so marred by the stresses of the last years fell into sharp definition between his sheets of lank, inky hair. For the first time in ages, Snape’s expression was open, not the stoic, shuttered one he presented to the world. “Tell me, why have you not taken this very juicy bit of information to the Dark Lord? It would certainly cement your family’s place in the Dark Lord’s favour.”

Draco had shoved his hands under his thighs, clamping his fingers painfully against the rough horsehair cloth, abrading them mindlessly as his mind raced through the ramifications of the conversation. He needed time to think. If Snape was truly working for the Dark Lord, and leading Potter and the Mudblood on a merry chase before he betrayed them, Draco could destroy his entire family by divulging his intent. Yet, if Snape were truly working against the Dark Lord, Draco’s position was similarly untenable. He felt a weak trickle of sweat roll down his back as he considered his options.

Snape poured a small amount of tea in two cups and brought a vial from his robe pocket. He raised it to the light, letting Draco see the clear liquid within. He then dropped three drops in each cup. “I will level the playing field between us, Draco. We can either both drink and speak the truth for a few moments, or I can Obliviate your memories of that little scene and let you forever remain in your father’s shadow. It’s your choice.”

Draco took the cup and gulped the tepid liquid, waiting for the effects of the Veritaserum to take control of his mind. Snape sipped from his cup, a small secretive smile playing about his mouth. When Snape finished, he up-ended his cup on a waiting saucer, saying, “I see you’ve already decided. From here on, Draco, you are to follow my instructions. There is no room for error or waffling. Our lives and the lives of everyone we know depend upon your actions.”

“Yes, Sir.” Draco fought to swallow against the icy fear that seemed to clutch his throat. “Ask me what you want, Sir. I think I feel the effects of the potion now.”

Snape chuckled, a rich, dark sound that seemed out of place in the light that bathed them from the high, arched window. He stood and crossed to his desk scattering papers as he searched for something. He returned with a strangely familiar Galleon marked not with dates but with times and places. On the other side was a small ‘D.A.’ cut into the surface of the metal. His gaze darted up to Snape’s as the Headmaster said, “I have no questions, Draco, and that was not Veritaserum, only water given as a little test for you. Remember that there are eyes everywhere in this castle, and the portraits have taken a particular interest in your activities around the Room of Necessity. Keep that coin on your person. When I have need of you, it will heat and then tell you where to meet me and at what time.”

Draco leaned back in his chair. “Why?”

“Speak clearly, Draco.” Snape said in an almost avuncular tone. “Why what?”

“After last year, why do you trust me?” Draco asked, almost fearing the answer. “Why would you believe that I’ve changed?”

Snape pulled out a flask took out the stopper and swiped the surface with his thumb before pouring a measure in both cups. “I think you know, Draco. Why was it that you took over the interrogation duties assigned to young Goyle after refusing to do your Aunt’s bidding the first time?”

“I—I couldn’t let Greg-- or Lovegood-- get hurt.” Draco answered after a brief moment of panic at the thought of admitting non-compliance to the Dark Lord’s mistress. Her word, while not law, was close to it when the Dark Lord was out of the country doing Merlin knew what. He slammed the firewhisky down in a single gulp, aware that Snape’s knowing eyes were turned toward him. Aware also that he had just embarked on something that could go arse over teakettle with one little slip. “And it was just... wrong, sir, what she wanted me to do to her. Mother would have never been able to look at me the same way if I hadn’t at least put up a small amount of resistance.”

“Well, now, I suppose she will be able to look at you with some pride when this is all over.” Snape’s features seemed to be carved of stone, but something in his eyes glinted that looked closely akin to pride. “You will also be a hero in certain circles. I’m sure that will yield greater benefits than more onerous service ever could.”

Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand as someone rapped sharply on the door to the Headmaster’s office.

“I need you to clear out the Room of Necessity for a few hours tomorrow night,” Draco said wincing at his own bluntness. “I can’t tell you why.”

“The room of... Oh, yeah, sure whatever you want.” Weasley snorted, “Go on, Malfoy, you’re having me on. You expect me to trust you with that Mark on your arm?”

“With or without the Mark... I need the room cleared for at least an hour if not longer,” Draco drawled in an unconscious imitation of Snape, letting his fair eyebrows inch up his face as he added, “Or is that too much work for a Gryffindor to accomplish?”

“If you can’t tell me why, then why should I do it?” Weasley inched forward, chin jutting.

Draco stood, closing the distance between them as a noise sounded at the door. “I just need you to do it, Weaslette, by nine o’clock. There’s a secret passage that will take you and the others to the Hog’s Head. I’ll show you the way and you can check it out for yourself this afternoon.”

The door inched open and Draco dropped the wards as he simultaneously drew Weasley to him with one arm. She fought like a wildcat as he pulled her to him and kissed her. Alecto Carrow entered the room and shouted, “No wards! You know the rules... Oh, Draco.” She affected a simper as soon as she saw him grope further down Weasley’s back as the redhead bucked against him. “I see you’re taking my brother’s population talk to heart. Try not to hurt her too much. She still has to attend classes even if she is a blood-traitor. Dark Lord’s orders.”

The door shut and Draco let go of Weasley who was dangerously close to unmanning him with her knee. She tottered at the quick release before gaining her balance. She scrubbed at her face with the back of her arm and spat, “Fuck you!”

“There will be none of that with you, Weasley. Unlike some, I have standards.” Draco replied with an evenness he did not feel. Who knew that the Weaslette could kiss like that? It almost made him envy Potter. Almost.

7 February, 1998 24:30

Harry followed behind Snape under his invisibility cloak as they picked their way through the darkened hallways. Aside from the shush-shush of blood in Harry’s ears, there was a silence that he had never experienced in those hallways on his many night-time forays. Harry tried to copy the way Snape moved in the resonating stone hallways, and was glad he had his trainers on instead of the hard-soled walking boots he had bought for their endless camping quest. Snape glided through the darkness as if he were made of the inky night and silence that surrounded him. Harry paused as Snape stepped around a corner. They were almost to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and soon would be in the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve basilisk fangs so that they could destroy the diadem when they found it.

Harry had been the one to think of it, and was glad since Hermione had hugged him when he suggested it. If he clung overly long, moved his cheek closer to her mouth, or dipped his nose to sniff her hair, she didn’t acknowledge it, but she had pulled away from him, cheeks flushed and pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Snape had not said anything, but Harry knew he noticed. How could Snape not with all the stammering that Harry did afterwards? The whole situation with Snape being present might have been embarrassing if Harry hadn’t been so exultant over the actual hug and almost kiss.

Snape motioned Harry forward. They had worked it out where Snape would go in first and Harry would follow right on the older man’s heels so that there would not be any strange door-openings and closings that could not easily be explained away if there were prying eyes about.

Harry stepped through the door and waited for Snape to do a sweep of the toilet stalls before he drew the invisibility cloak down to his shoulders. Once done, Snape turned suddenly, his robes only a little billowy. He asked, “Well?”

“Oh, erm... it’s this middle one right here with the snake on it.” Harry indicated a tap and then began speaking to it, peripherally aware that another being had joined them.

“Ooh, Harry Potter,” Moaning Myrtle’s squeaky voice sounded right beside his ear. “So brave, so noble... so bad that you haven’t come to see me since you’ve been back, you scoundrel. You must not love me anymore”

“Myrtle now’s not the time.” Harry answered and resumed his recitation of the Parseltongue that was needed to open the portal. Since the destruction of the last two Horcruxes, the language of snakes had come haltingly to him, as if he were losing his connection to Voldemort in spots.

Myrtle flitted through him, an oily, cold feeling that left him speechless for a moment. “And ickle Sevvie. It’s been years since I saw you in here. Not since those Gryffindors who hated you so chased you in here with a bloody nose. As I remember, you were also covered in slime, blood, and were snivelling. Poor boy, you should have seen him, nose bloody, red-rimmed eyes, and all because of one of your relatives, Harry. It’s no wonder he hates you... especially since Evans that he was so taken with...”

“Not now, Myrtle, or I’ll send the Grey Lady to you for company.” Snape said in a strangled tone as Myrtle began to wail and flitted to one of the stalls, the noise continuing in the pipes below as she resumed her customary spot. Harry dared a look at Snape’s face. His expression was stiff and neutral, the one he had when he was about to lose control of his temper or when he was terrified. It was hard to tell with Snape. Harry returned to his task, but darted a glance at the Potions master again as he spoke. There was a sheen to his eyes, and his mouth was moving as if he wanted to speak but the words were being held inside him by force of will. Harry stopped again, sudden worry shooting through him, the same type of worry he had felt when he discovered he was speaking a different language unknowingly. “You did remember that I spoke Parseltongue, right?”

“Just get on with it, Potter,” the Headmaster snapped before he compressed his lips in a thin line of disapproval. Harry wondered what he had done this time. After a moment, Snape said, “I have unpleasant associations with that language.“

The pediment started to swing out; drowning out the ghost’s muffled wails with the grinding of stone against stone. Harry blew his fringe out of his eyes and looked into the hole. A faint whiff of decay wafted up from it, making Harry dread the prospect before them. “Erm, Sir? You might want to cast a bubblehead charm on yourself. I don’t think... you see, I killed the basilisk, and I don’t think that Professor Dumbledore thought about anyone going down there again to do anything about it... so it’s probably pretty foul...”

“You’re babbling, Potter.” Snape smirked as he drew closer to the edge.

“There are no stairs,” Harry volunteered after a few beats of silence, “We’ll have to jump.”

Snape sniffed and said, “After you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry jumped first, landing lightly as he could on a pile of mouldering animal bones. They poked the soles of his feet before crumbling to dust. Harry goggled as Snape seemed to float down, the current of the air and crackle of magic surrounding him sending his hair up in little wisps around his head. He had only seen one other wizard fly like that. “Vol-- he taught you to fly like that, didn’t he?”

Snape, not looking at Harry, said, “Quite the converse, I assure you, Potter. Locomordres is a spell of my own devising, created when I was much younger and more ambitious. It involves the use of Dark magics which I assure you I am fully capable of using on impertinent young men.”

“Wow,” was all Harry could manage before Snape cast a bubblehead charm on himself.

“I believe we are here to gather the means to destroy a Horcrux and most definitely not to hear my history, Potter.” Snape motioned Harry ahead with an impatient wave of his hand. “Lead the way.”

Harry cast his own charm before venturing down the corridor that had housed the basilisk. Even with the charm, he felt as if he could still smell the decaying flesh. He took shallow breaths through his mouth only to hear Snape admonish, “Don’t be daft, Potter, with such shallow breathing you’ll hyperventilate.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Professor.” Harry said with a cheeky grin. Harry thought he could hear Snape’s eyes roll in the silence.

“Do shut up, Potter.”

&*&*&

Severus rolled his eyes, recognising the boy’s cheek for what it was. It was whistling in the dark, as Lily used to call it, bravado in the face of fear, and pure Lily. How could he, the master spy, the one who observed all, have missed how much of the woman he had supposedly loved that was in the boy? Had he been so blinded by his bitterness, his disappointment, and his anger at his own failure, that he could not see what had been before him the entire time?

The resounding answer was yes, even though he would never let Albus’ infernal twinkling portrait know that fact.

How Severus would hate to see that gleeful twinkle break through the portrait’s surface over such a trivial matter, especially since the twinkle could have been in person had Severus realised the fact sooner, had he seen the boy for who he really was while Albus was still alive and uncursed. Some days he missed Albus’ physical presence. He could have used the older man these past few months, but then, had Albus been alive, Severus would have never had need of the support Albus represented. Severus would still be teaching dunderheads and Albus would still be headmaster.

Potter’s tread slowed as they approached the horror that used to be the basilisk. If Severus had not had so much experience with death, he might have found the sight of so much decay as disgusting as Potter-- who was even then emptying the contents of his stomach on the cobbles-- obviously did. He felt almost moved to comfort the boy, but did not know how to do it after all his years in emotional exile. He merely moved his wand to his hand and began the arduous task of removing the fangs from the skull.

It should have bothered Severus that the boy was slacking off on the gathering of the materials needed to defeat the Dark Lord, but in a way it heartened him as no words of praise or empty gratitude could. Potter was still just a boy, no matter what he had seen or what he had yet to do. Severus was glad to let the boy be squeamish, as long as he recovered well enough to help him carry the stinking mass of basilisk teeth out of Slytherin’s lair.

Severus gave his best approximation of the man that he was before he entered this odd state of peace with Potter as he said, “When you’re quite finished, Potter, I could use some help pulling these teeth.”

A soft popping sound and a squelching noise emanating from the rotten basilisk caused Potter to once again heave, bringing nothing up but bile. Severus’ lips twitched as he continued his task.

8 February, 1998, 01:22

She was used to being the brains. She knew what her role in the strange friendship was to both boys throughout the years. Yes, she fancied Ron, and she supposed he fancied her back at some point, but really, Hermione’s role had always been part mother, part sister, and part walking library.

To both Ron and Harry.

There was the heart of the problem. Ron was gone, Harry present, and Hermione was an inconstant bitch in heat... worse than Lavender Brown ever thought of being.

She paused in her pacing of the room to listen for the tell-tale sound of the wards being brought down. Silence greeted her and she once again prowled the breadth of the room.

Had she wanted Harry to kiss her just that afternoon? Had she completely given up on ever being with Ron, the one she pined for over their years of friendship? It seemed that, yes, she had.

Was it a bad thing?

She just didn’t know. She had never seen Harry in that way, not ever. She had bullied him at times into doing the right thing, into studying, into protecting himself. Their relationship had been more of older sister and younger brother than any type of romantic involvement, yet...

Seeing him over the months mature, harden into the man she knew he might be had been... well... quite a turn on. Was she one of those girls? The wilting flower that had to be saved? A damsel in distress? Her mother was a brassiere burning feminist who had gone to Columbia University in the States in the seventies. Her mother had taught her better than to expect Harry or any man to step in and save her.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the room. Perhaps what she wanted was to be indispensable to Harry and somehow that desire had become entangled with her id. Perhaps, psychologically she was searching for a hero that she could save. Maybe she was unconsciously playing into a Jungian goddess archetype or a twisted Florence Nightingale syndrome.

It was all such utter rot, and she knew it. She wrenched the hair tie out of her hair, wincing as it tangled in a knot at the base of her neck. As she worked it out and then put the mass of frizz up in a messy bun anchored by the treacherous, hair-eating tie, she knew that whatever was between Harry and her was more than mere sexual attraction, more like love. There was no element of hero-worship or the Florence Nightingale syndrome that she could see, and Hermione was certainly no goddess.

Then she was awash with a flood of guilt as her thoughts brushed on Ginny. For years, Ginny had pined for Harry and Hermione had encouraged her friend’s infatuation, yet Hermione had betrayed her friend’s trust once and was contemplating doing so again.

Part of her wished that she would have followed through with her original plan and Obliviated Harry. She wished she could forget it all herself, but it was so much water under the bridge since she hadn’t. She would just hope for the best outcome for them all.

She resolved to let things happen as they would. If Harry wanted to come into their borrowed rooms tonight and ravish her upon entry, she would let him, and damn the consequences.

The distinctive hiss of wards releasing caused her to turn towards the door. She readied herself, unconsciously opening her arms to give Harry a proper lover’s greeting.

The door opened and an indescribable stench entered followed by a vomit covered Harry and a very amused-looking Snape. “Miss Granger, would you please draw a bath for Potter? Apparently bubblehead charms don’t go well with dyspepsia. They tend to keep things in as well as they keep them out.”
Romance apparently, wasn’t all it was said to be in the cold light of reality. Her knight was covered in sick and her goddess wanted no part of it. She fled the room, glad to be out from under Snape’s sardonic glare and that horrible stench.
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You Can\'t Always Get What You Want