Shadow Walks
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
--Green Day, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"
Chapter Three:
Come out upon my seas, curse missed opportunities. Am I part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?
-- Coldplay, "Clocks"
Harry Potter strode down the corridors of the Ministry at a rapid clip, his navy Auror robes billowing impressively behind him. It was about an hour early for his lunch break, but Luna had sent him an urgent memo that had fluttered vehemently in his face until he had been forced to acknowledge it.
What he had read had made him slump in his chair until his forehead rested on the surface of the desk, swearing under his breath and crumpling the memo viciously in his fist. It had squawked in protest.
Ron had been removed from the team. Luna had taken a nearly incoherent Floo call from him, and then had scrawled the memo, obviously in great haste, beseeching Harry to go check on him. She said that they were in the middle of something important and highly classified, and her supervisor was already unhappy with the amount of time she'd taken off because of Ron.
She had sounded so upset that Harry had decided to run down to the Department of Mysteries to check on her before Apparating back to their flat to deal with Ron. He began to round the corner that would lead him to the door that had so often haunted his dreams during his fifth year, and crashed into someone else. He struggled to keep his footing, reaching out for support from the jutting corner, but he didn't have to look up to identify the person with whom he'd collided.
"Typical. Potter is a menace both in and out of his department," came a sneering tone that he had become all too familiar with many years before. "I guess like gravitates toward like - that would explain your continued association with that disgrace, Weasley."
"Malfoy…" Harry growled. "Get out of my way." He bit off each word, enunciating it clearly.
"What? Not even an apology for nearly flattening me? Weasley wouldn't apologize to me either, and you should've seen what he did to my robes." And your teeth, Harry thought sourly, able to detect the faint pink glow of residual healing charms around Malfoy's mouth. "Luckily, I happen to be a contributor to the British Quidditch Association, and … well, let us just say that his manager understands the lay of the land."
"You got him sacked." Harry's voice was low and accusing.
"The fool got himself sacked," Malfoy said venomously. "A retarded Muggle child would know better than to cross me. Of course I wouldn't put it - "
"What did you say to him?"
"I was merely sympathizing with his … er … current state of affairs," Malfoy finished airily, as if he'd not been interrupted at all.
"I'm sure you were," Harry said, implying exactly the opposite. "He said you laughed at him."
"I tried to stop myself, but there's so much material," Malfoy responded with a jeer, obviously enjoying the brief hint of rage that flared up in Harry's eyes. He was fighting desperately to maintain control. "The pathetic sod was slobbering in his cups, moaning over the loss of the Mudblood. Such a great tragedy, that."
"You have no idea…" Harry struggled to get the words out, nearly trembling in anger and anguish. "And do not call her that," he ordered, moving so quickly to pin Malfoy against the wall that he saw a flicker of uncertainty and discomfiture pass quickly across the veneer of sophistication that the Slytherin usually wore. It was gone so rapidly that Harry almost thought he'd imagined it.
"You always get terribly hot under the collar whenever anyone brings her up, Potter. And then there's poor, perpetually pissed Weasley… You know, everyone always wondered about the true nature of the relationship between you three," Malfoy said casually, seemingly unfazed that the most famous wizard in the world had a firm grip on his collar. "She must have been good, although you wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at her. Did she service both of you, or was it just - "
He thought of the fluttery, barely-there touch of her lips on his cheek, the luminous sheen to her eyes before they went out to war, the promise of later, a tantalizing hint of something that he had believed to be impossible… and the soul-crushing agony when he realized, standing above a patch of seared grass, that it would never happen, that he had lost his chance, and that it was forever. White-hot fury built behind Harry's eyes until his peripheral vision was blotted out. He could see nothing but Malfoy's arrogant, leering face, the haughty smile that was all too aware of the buttons he was successfully pushing. He could hear nothing but the taunting, too-smooth voice, speaking as if he and Harry were old friends, the words twisting, distorting, splintering apart to pound in his head. His fist clenched more tightly into the fabric of Malfoy's garment; he could hear the faint whispering cracks as the seams begin to give way.
"Auror Potter!" The voice pierced his consciousness like a blade, and the world rushed back to him with all the suddenness of a gale-force wind. He once more became aware of the bustle of movement and voices in the hallway just beyond, the feel of the nap of Malfoy's cloak beneath the skin of his fingers and palms, the sight of the slightly dilapidated paneling just behind Malfoy's head. He felt the muscles in his arm quiver slightly as they relaxed, and he turned to see a petite woman with hair so dark red that it was nearly maroon. She too was wearing navy Auror robes, although they had not been fastened over torn jeans and a Muggle t-shirt bearing some obscure band logo.
"Auror Tonks," he said stiffly and formally, smiling with clenched teeth. She grabbed his elbow, and pulled him further down the corridor toward the Department of Mysteries doorway.
"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed between gritted teeth of her own. He heard Malfoy's faint and conscending chuckle quite clearly; it made his spine go rigid. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples.
"Nice chatting with you, Harry," Malfoy said, his voice dripping with false politeness. "`S a shame about what happened, really. Five years ago, right? Knocked everything out of balance, didn't it? Universe will never be the same, life as you know it has no meaning, et cetera, et cetera." Here he heaved a dramatic sigh. "It really is unutterably sad to have been so dependent on one person, though. I always knew you and Weasley were pathetic, but now," he shrugged, "it's been proven. Just remember…that is what you did to her, and turn about is fair play."
Harry began to bristle again, but Tonks' firm hands on his shoulders held him back.
"Mr. Malfoy, could you please go on about your business?" Her tone was civil enough, but there was a hint of warning in it.
"Absolutely, Auror Tonks," Malfoy said, half-bowing. "I'm sure you are a credit to your department, unlike some." The subsequent glance at Harry was withering. "You really should discuss jettisoning your dead weight. It will only drag the department down…and no one wants that."
"Your concern is heartwarming." Tonks sounded sarcastic, and Malfoy's eyes narrowed.
"Need I remind you - " he began.
"You needn't," she interrupted, smiling rather coldly. Malfoy decided to change tack.
"Do they haunt you, Potter?" he asked, his face a mask of innocence.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry replied roughly and impatiently.
"Her eyes? Do they haunt you? Lost, bewildered, confused … forever separate… does it prevent you from sleeping? Does every breath cause you pain?" There was a new note in his voice, and even Tonks had turned around from facing Harry to gape at the blond Slytherin. Harry's voice was a hoarse roar in his own ears, and he knocked Tonks aside, causing her to pinwheel across the corridor. He had nearly reached Malfoy, when she urgently whispered,
"Harry, please!" and caused him to stop, hanging on to his self-control by his fingernails. Malicious triumph glittered in Malfoy's pale eyes, and Harry stared at him, trying to discern what had brought such an outpouring of invective, and what exactly Malfoy had meant by it all. Tonks pushed herself away from the wall, and straightened her robes with an air of authority, once again moving between Harry and Malfoy.
"Kindly remove yourself from this corridor before I release Mr. Potter and remember that I'm required somewhere else," she said, with a polite smile.
Malfoy squared his shoulders and straightened his heavy, obviously expensive cloak, and left, with the distinct air that he was leaving because it pleased him to do so, not because he'd been threatened. When he had vanished from view and from earshot, Harry sighed in annoyance, and began to sidle away from Tonks toward the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.
"Not so fast, Harry," Tonks said, in a more casual tone. He turned back toward her, irritation plain in his expression and stance, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, Tonks."
"I don't really care, Harry," she returned. "You can't just go about telling everyone to sod off. How is it that you have still not learned about tact and diplomacy and being politic? Do you care at all about what you're doing to your career?"
"I never figured you for a sycophant, Tonks," Harry said bitingly, and Tonks flushed to her hairline.
"I've others to worry about besides myself," she said shortly, and Harry felt ashamed of himself. She was trying to toe the party line without compromising who she was and what she believed in, but she knew the pressure that could be brought to bear on Remus, if the powers that be were so inclined.
"Well, I haven't," he said, and the bitterness and loss that he strove to keep isolated in some dark, abandoned corner of his mind were evident in his voice. A flash of sympathy crossed Tonks' face.
"You still have the respect and admiration and gratitude of a large portion of the wizarding populace, Harry. Don't throw that aside as if it's nothing. You've still got influence, but they want to silence you, they want to discredit you. If you take on Malfoy, you're only giving them what they want. Don't do it."
"Malfoy should be in Azkaban," he muttered angrily.
"But he's not, Harry. He's not, and - and Hermione is dead. At some point, you're going to have to come to terms with that." She looked at him with apology in her eyes, her brows creased sorrowfully. He returned her gaze with detachment, a kind of horrified disbelief that she'd said that flitting over his face.
"I - I can't - " He broke off abruptly, and turned back toward the main corridor, abandoning his plan to go see Luna. "I've got to check on Ron."
"Harry, wait - " Tonks pleaded, reaching for his sleeve. He jerked his arm up erratically, evading her grasp, and veering around the corner without another look or word.
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Ron looked up from his hunched position on the sofa when Harry Apparated into their flat with a loud crack. He could Apparate nearly silently, Ron knew, and the sound was definitely indicative of the lack of control he had over his emotions at the moment. Because of me, the redhead thought drearily.
Harry saw him, and stood stiffly in front of him, while they regarded each other somewhat awkwardly.
"'Lo, Ron," Harry finally said.
"Harry," Ron said with a nod. More silence. The fire crackled merrily in the grate, a Heat Deflecting charm preventing the room from becoming too warm, but Harry could see that Ron had closed the Floo connection, probably having been bothered one too many times by reporters.
"Listen, Ron…" Harry said, beginning slowly, "I'm sorry about what happened. If you want me to - " Ron shook his head, his entire posture fraught with melancholy.
"No, Harry… no, you've got enough to deal with as it is. I've - I've brought this on myself. Mum's been saying it for two years."
"You're a good Keeper, Ron," Harry said truthfully. "Too good to end up this way. Malfoy -"
"He did it on purpose, because he knew how I'd react. I should've known better. You know how he is. He wants a reaction - all the better if it's from one of us." Ron was perched on the edge of the sofa, almost crouched over his knees, his fingertips pressing into his temples. Harry felt a bit of a headache coming on, himself.
"What did he say to you?" he finally asked, opting for the direct approach. Ron sighed gustily.
"It's a bit foggy, you know," he hedged. Harry knelt down in front of him, so he could look his best mate in the face.
"Try," he said urgently. Malfoy's cryptic taunts to him in the Ministry were whirling around in his head. Knocked everything off balance, didn't it? Universe will never be the same.
"I was pretty pissed already. Malfoy came up, bought me another round, started bringing up the usual suspects, you know… how only a Weasley could be given fame and fortune and piss it away like I was." He shrugged despondently. "Couldn't argue with him much there."
"You said he laughed at you," Harry pressed. Do they haunt you, Potter? Her eyes…lost, bewildered, confused…
"He was - he was saying things about - about H - Hermione," Ron said, speaking the name carefully, as if it were something that might break, and watching Harry guardedly.
"What about her? What, Ron? This could be important." Ron looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.
"It was just Malfoy being an arse, Harry," he said. Harry stood back up, motionless, arms akimbo. He appeared to be thinking furiously.
"What if it wasn't, Ron?" he asked intently. Lost, bewildered, confused… Malfoy had said, knowing, knowing that it would get a reaction from Harry. "But not dead," he muttered half to himself. Ron looked at him without comprehension. "He - Malfoy - I saw him at work just a while ago. He mouthed off…wanted me to try something… I nearly did. I guess getting the both of us sacked in one morning would make it a red-letter day in Malfoy's world. And he looked at me, and he said - he said - " He stopped helplessly. How could he explain this to Ron when it didn't even make any sense to him?
"He said that it was all my fault," Ron interjected tonelessly, eyes far away as he relived the previous night. "That she was gone and it was my fault." He met Harry's eyes and nodded assuredly. "That's what he said." The next part was so low that Harry almost didn't hear it at all. "And he's right."
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A/N: Wow! I have just been overwhelmed and humbled by the response this story has gotten. I'm so glad it's hooked your attention, and I hope it lives up to your expectations! Keep the reviews coming…they (and all of you) are absolutely awesome.
I've been plugging steadily away on "Resistance", and hope to have an update before the weekend's over!
lorien
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