Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: I'm going to try my damnedest to have this fic finished by July 21 but I can't promise anything! My first attempt at trying to write canon!Draco-I dislike the twit but it does seem like, after HBP, JKR is trying to redeem him so… And I apparently enjoy poking holes at H/G too much to not do it again. Enjoy!
From My Soul
Part 13
The Trio filed out of the stone staircase in a subdued silence.
The past minutes in McGonagall's office had not been pleasant, to say the least, had been worst for Harry because he'd been forced, through Dumbledore's words, to relive that awful night in the caves and then on the tower.
And yet despite it all, Hermione was conscious of a warmth lingering in her heart, a sense of hope, of happiness even, which she would never have expected even an hour ago.
Dumbledore had begun, after the few beats of silence following Ron's question and the bark of startled laughter which it had elicited from Harry and, surprisingly, Professor McGonagall as well (although she had sobered and looked even grimmer than usual, after her lapse) with another sigh and an apology to Harry for making him having to again witness the death of someone he knew and, dared he say, cared about.
Harry had dropped his eyes and visibly flinched at the words.
"Harry, I am more sorry than I can say, to know you must have spent these past few months wondering if there were anything you could have done to save me," Dumbledore had said gently. "There wasn't. I already knew, then, that I was dying. That potion which I drank in the caves had begun its work."
And that was when it had happened. Harry had reached out blindly, instinctively, for some comfort and his hand had found Hermione's, had held on to it in a grip so tight as to be almost painful, for the rest of Dumbledore's words.
"The potion was one to dissolve a person's internal organs. I would have died a painful death within 24 hours of drinking it. You must not blame yourself, Harry. I knew what I was doing and I was perfectly prepared to take the risk. I told Professor Snape this, using my not-inconsiderable skill at Legilimency and I asked him, ordered him in fact, to spare me. I had not planned for that to happen but I immediately understood that fate had given us this opportunity to ensure that Snape remained a trusted Death Eater. Having been known to have killed me would earn him Voldemort's gratitude, in as much as Tom is capable of such a feeling. It would make him a much more useful spy for our cause. I must add that Severus was extremely reluctant to carry out my orders but I insisted." Dumbledore finally looked up at Harry. "My only regret, my dear boy, is that I had no opportunity to tell you as well so you would not grieve so. For all my good intentions, I once again ended up causing you much pain and for that, I am more sorry than I can say. However, you can be certain that Severus Snape is still as loyal a servant of the Order as he ever was."
Harry had been pale and Hermione, at least, had seen the tell-tale tears in his eyes, but he had swallowed hard and managed to speak in something approaching his usual tone. "I understand, Professor, but- but, well, will he still be willing to work for me? Snape doesn't like me very much and…" (at this point, Ron snorted softly at Harry's understatement) Harry had ignored him and continued, "and Fawkes came to me. I don't- I don't know if Snape would still be willing to spy on my behalf."
Dumbledore sighed. "I've been concerned with Severus's attitude towards you but, rest assured, Harry, he will do what he must, for the sake of the Order and for our cause."
"He didn't before, when he was supposed to teach Harry Occlumency," Ron muttered.
"Severus will do what he must, what he is told. If necessary, Professor McGonagall will make sure of it," the portrait reiterated firmly
They had all turned to look at Professor McGonagall and she had nodded, only once, but her expression was such that no one could doubt that she could, and would, make Snape listen.
"You may depend on it," was all that she said but it had conveyed enough authority as to make further words unnecessary. And Harry had reflected that if he were asked to put odds on either McGonagall or Snape in a battle of wills, he'd probably put his money on McGonagall; she didn't flaunt it but he suspected (and even knew it, to a certain extent, from how she'd dealt with Umbridge) that she had a core of steel, in a sense, that would make her a formidable opponent.
After that, they had only had time to hastily decide the date of the Order meeting (opting out of the meeting of the Inner Circle before-hand as it would be difficult and risky to have all of them meet) for the weekend after the next one, at Hogwarts in the Great Hall. McGonagall had opined (and Dumbledore had agreed) that for the time being, Harry, Ron and Hermione should continue to stay at Grimmauld Place which should be placed under the protection of a Secret Keeper again and only revealed to members of the Inner Circle.
"Harry," Dumbledore had added at the last moment before they left, "I must remind you to be very careful and take no unnecessary risks. You are the main weapon the Order possesses and the only hope for us all. Your life must be protected at all costs until the end. Do you understand, Harry?"
Harry had flushed and studied the floor between his feet at the reminder of his previous history of rule-breaking and running into danger which had been clear in Dumbledore's tone and expression, before he'd looked up and met the old Headmaster's eyes. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Go on, then. I am tired now," Dumbledore had dismissed them with a faint smile and a wave of one hand before the portrait had settled back to return to sleep.
They walked down the corridor in silence for a few moments before Ron finally said, "You know, I guess Old Umbridge was right about one thing at least. Dumbledore was planning a secret weapon to use-and that's you, Harry."
Hermione threw Ron an amused glance and a smile while Harry grimaced a little.
"If I'm a secret weapon, then I'm the worst-kept secret in the history of Hogwarts," he retorted mildly.
Ron grinned. "I think I'm going to start calling you Saint Weapon, how does that sound?"
"You know, sometimes I wonder why I don't hate you," Harry shot back with mock irritation.
Ron gave him a look of exaggerated shock. "Oh but you have a heart of love; you're not capable of hate, oh saintly one!"
"I'm thinking of making an exception for you," Harry snorted.
Ron pretended to bow. "I am so honored, oh saintly one!"
He grinned at Harry and Harry gave in to the smile tugging at his lips and laughed. Hermione smiled, although she shook her head in mock disapproval of Ron's silliness.
And suddenly Harry was filled with a wave of affection and gratitude for both of them. They were here, laughing and teasing him, reminding him that life wasn't all about death and danger, even the middle of a war, unmindful of the danger they were in or that they were giving up their 7th year at Hogwarts.
"I'm glad you both are here," he blurted out.
They both paused and looked at him.
"Where else would we be?" Ron asked, his tone lightly dismissive but it was belied by the expression that crossed his face momentarily as he met Harry's eyes.
"I just--" Harry faltered, floundering around mentally for what to say and finally settled for, "thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Hermione smiled softly at him, looking rather as if she wanted to hug him but had refrained. (He wished she hadn't, he found himself thinking.)
Ron, characteristically, shrugged off anything approaching sentimentality, with a light quip, "Oh, you'd go barking mad, I expect. You really are a lucky bloke to have us."
Harry laughed softly. "So I am," he murmured, knowing only Hermione heard him as evidenced by her quick glance and pleased flush.
They rounded a corner and Harry's momentary light-heartedness ended as abruptly as if it had been guillotined.
It was Ginny.
Looking just as startled to see them as they were to see her-although Harry thought afterwards, they shouldn't have been so surprised, given that they'd known Ginny was returning to Hogwarts. He should have almost expected it-but then he'd hardly spared a thought for Ginny in the past few weeks.
Ron was the first one to recover. "Hullo, Gin," he greeted her with enviable ease.
"Hi, Ginny," Hermione said, a little more quietly.
"Hello, Ginny," Harry finally forced out, amazed at how normal he sounded.
"What are you doing here?" Ginny blurted out.
"We came to meet with Professor McGonagall," Harry explained hurriedly. He wasn't sure why he didn't also mention talking to Dumbledore's portrait but somehow he didn't.
"Oh."
There was a beat of silence and then Ron asked, "How are Mum and Dad and everyone?"
"Fine. Mum's been worried about you-about all three of you, really. Bill and Phlegm are living in a flat in London but they come for dinner every weekend, Mum writes…"
"Her name's Fleur." The words startled Harry nearly as much as they surprised everyone else. He hadn't meant to say them; they'd simply slipped out of his mouth. When Ginny had referred to Fleur with that disagreeable nickname, despite the fact that Bill and Fleur had been married for two months now and despite the fact that Fleur had proven her mettle when Bill had been wounded so terribly at the battle at Hogwarts three months ago, he'd felt a sudden flare of irritation and wondered just why Ginny persisted in disliking Fleur so much. Hermione had been initially skeptical of Fleur as well but Hermione had long since realized her mistake and understood Fleur's worth. She'd even hugged Fleur at the wedding and wished her happy with palpable and touching sincerity. Ginny, on the other hand…
He sensed Hermione's and Ron's surprised glance at him and saw Ginny's expression flatten a little in shock.
"It- it's only a joke," Ginny faltered rather defensively.
"It isn't funny," he pointed out, but then softened at the sight of Ginny's stricken expression. He hadn't meant to hurt her. "Never mind, Ginny," he said, his tone gentler. "Tell your Mum and Dad that we're fine and safe and we'll see them soon."
She nodded. "Okay."
"We need to go. Bye, Ginny."
"Bye, Gin," Ron echoed, giving Ginny a quick, awkward sort of half-hug.
They had only walked on another few steps before they were stopped. "Harry!" Ginny's cry sounded overly loud in the quiet of the corridor.
Harry turned, stepping back a few steps and narrowing the distance between him and her.
She closed the distance between them in a few, half-running steps and threw her arms around him.
He stiffened, standing stock-still, one hand awkwardly patting her back but otherwise making no move to return her hug.
She looked up at him, trying to smile. "Don't be mad at me," she pleaded. "I miss you and I get so scared and worried sometimes about everything."
"I'm not mad," he assured her, uncomfortably wondering what Hermione thought of this and wishing he could move away from Ginny.
His eyes met hers and he realized her intention a split second before she raised herself up on her toes to kiss him and he only just had time to turn his head so her lips brushed his cheek rather than his mouth. "Don't, Ginny," he said, his tone a little more curt than he intended out of embarrassment (and some irritation) that she'd tried to kiss him while Hermione and Ron were watching.
She stepped back from him (finally), a wounded look in her eyes.
"I can't," he said, consciously softening his tone. He might not fancy her anymore but he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't add that he didn't want to kiss her or be kissed by her anymore, didn't want to be with her anymore and could only hope that she understood.
Although he wondered just how well she had understood his breaking-up with her in the first place, at Dumbledore's funeral, if she was so quick to ignore it the moment he actually talked to her again. He'd spent most of Bill and Fleur's wedding trying to pretend she wasn't there and other than their brief confrontation that morning of leaving the Burrow, this was the first time they'd talked, really, since the day of Dumbledore's funeral.
"Bye, Ginny," he said quietly and turned back to face Ron, who looked uncomfortable, and Hermione, who steadfastly avoided his gaze, he noticed with a brief pang.
And he realized that he really was over Ginny. Whatever he had once felt for Ginny was completely gone now; there was only a lingering affection from having known her for so long and from her being Ron's sister and a Weasley but there was no added feeling there, no more affection for her than he felt for Mrs. Weasley. He had thought he might love Ginny; she had seemed so perfect, so pretty… But whatever he'd felt for Ginny, he realized, hadn't been real. He remembered it as he might remember a dream; those weeks when he'd been with her seemed like a dream to him now, a dream of being carefree and happy-but it was a false dream. It had been an attempt at being a normal boy, with no thoughts of dangers or worries about Voldemort-but it wasn't real. It could never be real.
He glanced at Hermione again, thinking of her loyalty and her friendship, how she'd never been afraid to tell him when he was being reckless or foolish and how she was helping him now. She'd been with him for everything-saving Sirius in their 3rd year, with the Triwizard Tournament tasks, in the Ministry of Magic… Unlike Ginny, a small voice in his mind inserted. And it was true.
What he'd once felt for Ginny hadn't been real but whatever-it-was that he felt for Hermione, was…
He cared about her for her friendship and her devotion, for her cleverness and her courage-but he also cared about her when she was arguing with him, when she was being the voice of his conscience, irritating at times and persistent but also right… What he felt for Hermione had nothing-well, okay, not much-to do with how she looked when she smiled or how the shape of her lips could distract him; it was just her, all of her-and it was real in a way none of his fancies for any other girl had been.
Hermione could almost have found it funny, how quickly she had gone from feeling happy (happy to see Harry's smile, touched at his implicit thanks, and so hopeful and glad that he'd reached out for her, held on to her hand for comfort) to this. Seeing Ginny-and, more importantly, seeing how Ginny had looked at Harry and hugged him-had roused all her insecurities, all her doubts and questions rising up in her mind. Seeing Ginny had been a stark reminder of just what she had been to Harry, how much he'd fancied her. She still remembered all too well how Harry had looked at Ginny, how he'd watched her when he thought he was unobserved. And as had become usual when she was with Ginny, she suddenly felt very plain and very boring, very- unfeminine. Ginny was so vividly pretty and so confident in her prettiness now that she'd outgrown her shy phase; Ginny had no qualms about openly hugging Harry and showing her feelings. Seeing Ginny hug Harry was also unpleasantly familiar-she knew what Ginny and Harry looked like together; she'd watched them hug and kiss…
She had begun to hope, dream, that Harry might see her as more than just a friend. He'd been more than usually sweet, it seemed, more than usually affectionate-but after all, it might just be Harry… It might just be the circumstances of enforced and prolonged closeness; it might not mean much.
Hermione suppressed a sigh and glanced at Harry, who was gazing thoughtfully at the stone floor as they walked up towards one of the tower rooms where McGonagall had told them Malfoy was being kept since Hagrid had needed Fang to help in his duties.
McGonagall's interview with Malfoy was surprisingly short. She'd expected that McGonagall would interrogate Malfoy about what he might know about Voldemort's plans, after she got through demanding what the plan for the ambush on them had been. She'd expected that the interview would last some time while McGonagall utilized all her trademark skills guaranteed to reduce almost anyone, especially someone as cowardly as Malfoy really was, to a sniveling prisoner.
Instead, McGonagall exited the room within ten minutes of entering it, an odd expression on her face.
They all stood up, looking curiously at her, but it was Harry who asked what they'd all been wondering.
"What did he say, Professor?"
That odd expression was still in her eyes as she looked at them and her voice sounded unlike herself, sounded stiffly disbelieving. "He said-he said that he would like to defect."
Defect?
Hermione stared at McGonagall, for a moment convinced she must have imagined it-but no, she'd never have imagined McGonagall saying such a thing about Malfoy. Malfoy, of all people!
"Defect?" Ron blurted out. "You mean, he wants to-he wants to join our side?"
"Apparently," McGonagall answered succinctly. "I must go speak with Professor Dumbledore about this. It's unprecedented but I believe Mr. Malfoy is sincere."
"Can we talk to him?" Harry asked, his voice expressing quite clearly that he had less faith than McGonagall did in Malfoy's sincerity.
"You may, for a short while," McGonagall consented and then added, warningly, "I trust I need not remind you all that Mr. Malfoy is still a prisoner and is not to be attacked."
Her eye was focused pointedly at Ron and Harry, Ron turning red to his ears as he mumbled something that sounded affirmative (if grudging) while Harry flushed uncomfortably and studied his shoes, nodding.
Draco looked up as they entered.
Only Malfoy, Hermione thought sardonically, could manage to look supercilious and sneering while bound securely but not overly tightly, hands and feet, to a chair.
A smirk crossed his face. "Well, well," he drawled, "to what do I owe the honor of a visit from the Great Potter and his two minions?" Harry visibly stiffened but didn't say anything. Malfoy focused his eyes on Ron, who narrowed his eyes but, other than clenching his fists, showed surprising restraint, Hermione thought. "Not that it's a surprise to see you, Weasel; you never go anywhere without your Potty friend." And then Hermione, who flatly refused to show Malfoy any reaction whatsoever to his words. "Tell me something, Mudblood," he said in a coolly insolent tone, "are you shagging both of them or just one?"
That did it.
Ron leaped forward with a strangled, inarticulate cry-only to be held back by Hermione, grabbing one arm-and Harry, who grabbed the other.
Ron stopped short, turning to stare incredulously at Harry's hand gripping his arm to Harry's face, white with fury. "Harry-what-let me go!"
Ron's protest was automatic, instinctive, and he closed his mouth once the look on Harry's face registered.
There was a beat of tense silence-and then they all jumped at the sound of shattering glass as the window all-but-exploded.
Ron seemed to have been frozen and Harry looked nearly so, staring blindly at the broken glass on the floor.
Hermione was the first to regain a modicum of her composure. She could see a muscle ticking in Harry's jaw as it clenched and she blurted out the first thing that came to mind in an effort at calming Harry down. "He's not worth it, Harry!"
Malfoy made a sound of protest or disdain but subsided when Hermione pointed her wand at him. "You-shut up!" she ordered with so much cold anger that he actually did just that.
She released her grip on Ron, sensing that he'd calmed down, his own anger almost forgotten in light of Harry's loss of control over his magic, and took a gentle hold on Harry's arm instead. Her voice when she spoke was much softer, amazingly soft, given how forceful she had sounded a moment ago. "Harry, it's okay. It doesn't matter. He's not worth getting upset over or angry at. He's just a sniveling, cowardly ferret."
And somehow that word broke through whatever trance Harry had fallen into and he blinked, meeting Hermione's eyes.
Hermione released a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, relaxing imperceptibly. Harry, her Harry, the Harry she knew (and loved, a small voice in her mind inserted) so well, was back.
"He- he insulted you," Harry said rather lamely.
"I don't care what he thinks. We already knew he was a foul-mouthed, evil-minded git; there's nothing new about that."
The ghost of a smile touched his lips and lightened his eyes. "You're right."
Harry's gaze shifted to Malfoy, chilling until it should have turned anything to ice. Typically, Draco only sneered.
Quietly, unobtrusively, Hermione fixed the window with a wave of her wand at the broken glass before turning back to face the room.
"McGonagall said you want to defect," Harry finally said flatly.
Ron snorted. "Yeah, because attacking us is a really great way to show us you want to be on our side."
"Don't be stupid, Weasel, if you can help it," Malfoy clipped. "I did that because he ordered me to and it was necessary. But you'll notice none of you are dead."
"Are we supposed to thank you for that?" Harry demanded.
"It was only supposed to be a warning, anyway," Hermione interrupted.
Draco spared her a brief glance. "Very good, Granger. I see you figured that out." His tone was mocking. Hermione's hands clenched into fists, her grip tightening on her wand. (Really, she found herself thinking in some detached, sardonic corner of her mind, Malfoy would look worlds better with a nose-bleed and perhaps a black eye or two.) She hauled her mind back to the point, noticing peripherally that Harry's grip on his wand was so tight that his knuckles were white.
"Why do you want to defect?" Harry finally asked what they'd all been wondering, his tone not so much curious as it was resigned.
"Don't flatter yourself it's because I like any of you. But I hate them more. The Dark Lord, my father, all of them. And if being against them means joining you, then that's just the way it is."
Ron let out a huff, glaring at Malfoy. "We don't want you to like us, ferret-face."
"The feeling's entirely mutual, Weasel. You can't imagine I'd give myself up if I had any other choice, do you?" Malfoy drawled.
"Give yourself-" Ron began incredulously.
"Of course, give myself up." Draco snapped. "You think there's a chance in Hell that I'd be sitting in this chair right now when Crabbe and Goyle got away if I didn't intend for this to happen?"
"He has a point," Hermione admitted reluctantly.
Ron turned to stare at her as if she'd just admitted to thinking Voldemort wasn't really that bad and even Harry was staring at her as if she'd just grown a second head. She flushed. "Well, he does!" she said defensively.
There was a moment of silence and then Harry's expression softened ever so slightly. "How can you always be so fair-minded?" His tone was an odd mixture of admiration and irritation and affection.
Her eyes smiled at him before his gaze returned to Malfoy, the glacial expression back as he did so.
"Okay, then," Harry said dismissively. "You say you want to defect; Professor McGonagall seems to believe you though I can't imagine why. But if it turns out you're lying-if you ever do anything to betray us-- "
"It'll be the last thing I do, yeah, I get it," Malfoy interrupted.
Harry glared and looked, for a long moment, as if he seriously wanted to hex Malfoy, before he turned with a huff and walked out.
Hermione spared Malfoy one last cold glance before following Harry while Ron muttered somewhat under his breath but too loud for him not to have intended it to be heard, "Bloody git," before he too walked out, closing the door behind him none too gently.
Hermione stifled a smile. Ron, after all, would always be Ron.
And just because Malfoy had defected didn't mean they'd need to see him or talk to him at all, which was just fine with her.
~To be continued…