Forever Entwined : Chapter 5
Harry set aside his painting, now with additional shading that made it appear as if his face was emerging from behind a cloud of shadow. At least, he thought, he had managed to fulfill his intent enough to satisfy himself.
After finishing his work, he wandered around the room, stopping at a bookcase near the professor’s desk. It was full of books on different art styles and techniques. One detailing the process of using your wand to manipulate watercolours caught his attention. When he returned to his desk with the book, Luna leaned over from behind her easel and informed him he could borrow anything he wanted. He only had to sign it out on the sheet of parchment hanging on the wall.
He decided to sign out the book and practice it next time.
At the end of class, Harry took his time to collect his items, and waved goodbye to a departing Luna. Softly closing the door of the now empty classroom, he was almost reluctant to leave. Enrolling in this class was one of his better decisions. He felt a sense of relaxation that was unfamiliar with any other class he'd taken during all his years at Hogwarts.
His return to the dorms was a quiet trip. He didn't encounter anyone as he drew closer to the Room of Requirement, although he guessed it was just a dorm until they left.
Snape was awake in his portrait. Harry doubted he would find him asleep too often. Maybe late at night, but he would not be the one to try to verify the hypothesis. He gave him the password, shifting his bag on his shoulder and reminding himself to order a painting robe through owl post as soon as he got in. He would have to use Pig. The realisation made him pause. It would be the first time he used an owl after the death of Hedwig. He had given little thought to obtaining a new owl. She had not been just a medium to deliver messages. She'd been his friend, and it felt wrong to replace her.
"Are you?" Snape asked sardonically, thankfully drawing him from his melancholy thoughts.
"Am I what?"
"A dunderhead?" Snape elaborated with fake innocence.
Harry just shrugged. "It's the password, sir."
He was still feeling the calming effects of his afternoon, and could not be bothered to be baited into an argument, especially since he had to decide what to do about his owl situation.
"Sir?" With a disbelieving eyebrow raised, Snape leaned forward as much as his painted image could. "It seems you've finally learned some manners, Potter," he said, almost bemused. "Shame it only took my death to draw respect from you."
Something about the way he said it made Harry think he’d overhead his comments the night before in the common room. He certainly had the access; the Fat Lady always seemed to know the gossip going on within the walls of Gryffindor Tower.
"In all the years we've known each other, you'd only shown me scorn. It wasn't until the last moments of your life you allowed me to see anything I could respect," Harry replied honestly. If he had heard him, it seemed pointless to pretend he had not changed his mind about the man.
"Did I?" His dark eyes narrowed, and his voice was smooth and even with a hint of warning.
"You carry his memories, don't you? From the end?" he added, uncomfortable discussing the circumstances of the man’s demise. He didn’t think he wanted to rehash those memories.
"No, Potter, I was commissioned when I took the position of headmaster, and I am unaware of what happened afterwards.” His lips were pursed. Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he got angry at what he didn't know; he probably felt Harry had the upper hand.
Harry took a quick look around, making sure the hallways were clear. He struggled to arrange his thoughts and make the decision to continue, but he spoke again after a moment.
"Dumbledore would never tell me why he trusted you so much, no matter how much I questioned your true loyalties." Snape sneered, but he continued undeterred. "He said you had proven yourself, and he could trust you above all others." Harry remembered his anger and irrational hurt at the headmaster’s words.
"I will have the same discretion," Harry told him, and for a small moment he almost felt like patting himself on the back. He thought it was surprisingly diplomatic of him, and subtle enough without stepping on the man’s toes or inciting his temper.
He began to rethink that assessment when Snape remained quiet with a piercing stare. He had an alarming thought that had him scrambling to recall how to shield himself with Occlumency. Could portraits even accomplish Legilimency? He almost shook his head at his own paranoia. Of course they couldn't. He averted his eyes anyway. He'd ask Hermione just to be sure.
"I actually went through with it. I showed you my memories," Snape said softly, as if speaking to himself. Harry still didn't look up at him. Instead, he concentrated on rubbing the residual black smudges of charcoal from the inside of his thumb and index finger.
"I tried to like you."
Harry abandoned his grimy hand and returned his gaze to Snape.
"Yeah, well, you kind of failed at that." Harry couldn't hold back the reflexive scoff or his reply, not when he was offered such an unexpected statement. Not after all the unwarranted hatred he'd directed at him.
"You reminded me too much of your father." Harry was relieved when he didn't insult James, although he knew the intent lay heavily in those simple words.
"You never allowed yourself to see beyond the ghost of him. You never gave me a fair chance." Harry could not deny the expression of guilt that crossed the man’s face did a lot to appease the frustration of years of unwarranted bullying.
Then he remembered what he'd seen in Snape's own mind during the one Occlumency session Harry had managed to turn the tables on the Legimens. He could remember seeing the petty behaviour of his father and Sirius, and his own struggle to understand this part of their past all coming together with the rush of memories of his friendship with Lily. He knew there was something he had to say.
"You did manage to keep your promise, though. You helped keep me alive," he conceded, relieved when the pinched expression eased. He wasn't about to apologise for speaking the truth, but he did owe him that much.
"So, thank you, I guess," Harry managed to say.
Snape nodded to acknowledge he'd heard the whispered show of gratitude.
"Can I go in now?" Harry asked, dragging the toe of his trainer along the stone floor. He'd done enough sharing for today.
"You may. What's the password?" It seemed the smug bastard had recuperated.
"I just--" Harry started, but then decided not to argue. "I am a dunderhead."
The door swung open, and as he stepped through heard a quiet laugh. The sound stopped him for a moment. It was so unfamiliar. Maybe as much as Snape’s death had served to provide a new understanding for Harry, it had been the only thing that gave Snape the peace to laugh. Nevertheless, Harry would have appreciated it if he wasn't the one providing the source of the man’s newfound humour.
As he'd expected, everyone had beaten him back and were congregated in the common room. The Gryffindors were on the couches, and the Slytherins were gathered by the desks, the wooden chairs transfigured into more comfortable seating. Malfoy was sitting in an arm chair he must have moved closer to the fireplace, still close to the Slytherins but not quite with them.
Harry tapped Neville on the shoulder, interrupting his conversation with Dean and Seamus. He gestured to the other side of the room and shrugged in question. "What happened?"
"Nothing really. Seamus and I got here first, and we took a couch, but after they saw us they all moved over there," Dean answered.
Harry supposed this was going to be a pattern--the house of the first to arrive would determine who got what side. He guessed it was a step up from fighting for control of the preferred resting spots.
"What's going on with them?" he asked when he noticed Ron and Hermione were sitting on opposite sides of the other couch, no one in between them. Hermione was a reading a large textbook, nothing out of place except so was Ron, and if that was not a sign something was wrong, he didn't know what was.
"Not sure. I think it had something to do with Lavender, though," Seamus answered, pointing to the recent addition. The blonde Gryffindor shared an armchair with Parvati, the other girl's arm around her shoulders and their heads close together in what appeared to be an intent conversation, but they didn't look toward Ron or Hermione, so he didn't think they were the topic of conversation.
He excused himself and made his way over to his best friends.
"What's going on?" Harry whispered, sitting next to Ron. He laughed, a little relieved, when he realised his friend was actually reading a back issue of Martin Miggs tucked into the middle of his textbook. Hermione turned her head to look at them.
"Hello." Hermione gave him a wave before returning to her reading, completely ignoring her boyfriend.
"Lavender came back," Ron whispered, closing the book.
"So?" Parvati had mentioned she would be joining them, even asked McGonagall if there would be a bed for her, so her sudden presence was not out of the blue.
"Well, she just said hello, and ‘Mione got mad." Ron didn't meet his eyes when he shared the information.
"She didn't ‘just say hello,’ Ron. She embraced you and gave you a kiss precariously close to your mouth," Hermione interjected, turning back to face them both. Harry instinctively moved until his back rested on the back of the couch, out of the line of fire.
"She was just being nice. We haven't seen each other properly since the end of sixth year," Ron defended himself. "Right, Harry?"
He just shook his head and held up his hands in surrender. Better to remain mum than get dragged into a spat.
"Hermione, it's silly for you to get mad because she hugged me. You know I only have feelings for you," Ron hissed, leaning forward, his face rapidly turning red.
Harry pressed himself back a little firmer. He was no more comfortable with Ron getting sentimental than he was with the fighting, especially if he was stuck in the middle.
Hermione seemed to appreciate it, though, and Ron's words drew a smile from her. She shifted closer to them.
"You’re right." She rolled her eyes at Ron's surprised expression. "No need to look so bewildered. I can admit when I'm wrong. The truth is, I'm actually not so upset over that, although I think the way she clung to you was a tad inappropriate," she stressed. "I'm just worried about the assignment, so I overreacted a bit. I'm sorry, Ron."
"It's okay." The redhead grinned, full of relief and affection for his girlfriend.
Harry saw the shift in their mood, and shot up from the seat, unwilling to be between them if they started making eyes at each other. Ron needed no further urging to move over to Hermione's side.
"You'll do great, ‘Mione. When have you ever got a bad mark on anything?" Harry nodded in support. The only class she ever struggled in was Divination, but he wasn't about to be the one to bring that up.
"I've never had to do a project with Goyle before either." She tapped her fingers on her boyfriend’s knee.
"Right. I had forgotten about that." Ron puffed up his cheeks and exhaled noisily, taking a look toward the other side of the room.
"You forgot we were partnered up with the Slytherins?" Harry could appreciate his friend’s incredulity. He too was having a hard time imagining Ron would simply forget that titbit of information.
"I tried to put it off my mind to keep the peace," Ron justified himself. "I'm not really looking forward to working with Zabini.” He paused, and turned to Harry with alarm. “You have to work with Malfoy, mate!"
"I know," Harry nodded. More than any worrying who his partner was, his full attention had been on what he would choose to be for the project.
"This has to be the stupidest thing they've ever asked us to do," Ron complained, crossing his arms and frowning a bit when Harry didn't show more of a reaction at having to work with his nemesis.
"I don't mind the assignment," Hermione clarified. "I actually think it's a great idea. It reminds me of a similar one I did in primary school. What did we want to be when we grew up. Did you do that at your school, Harry?"
"Yeah," he answered simply.
"What did you want to be?" Her curiosity was evident in the widening of her eyes and the expectant look on her face.
"A football player." He remembered how he had arrived at that profession too. He could almost hear his teacher laughing sweetly and informing him he was already part of a family and that she'd been looking for an answer like a doctor or an astronaut. He didn't explain how his own subpar role in his family made him yearn for a proper one. He’d rather she thought him a bit dim than pity him for his situation at home, so he'd apologised and allowed her to help him choose.
"Football? Isn't that what Dean's always going on about?" Ron asked.
Harry nodded. "I never really took it seriously, though. I didn't get too many chances to play." Hard to, when he was always picked last because of the control Dudley had on the playground and their classmates.
"I wanted to be a scientist or a solicitor, and for a time I thought I could do both." Hermione laughed at herself.
"If anyone could pull it off, it would be you," Harry told her, sure his friend could manage anything she set her mind to.
"So we're doing something Muggle children do when they are little? How does that make sense? It's like going backwards!" Ron complained, trying to see if he understood her correctly.
"Maybe Professor Miller is feeling a little sentimental because we are all moving on into the 'real world.' Ginny says her class is doing it too." Hermione offered up the explanation with a lift of her shoulder.
"Sentimental? Maybe with an emphasis on mental," Ron commented. "What am I even supposed to do?"
"Didn't you find anything in the book I got you?" she asked, reaching for the book, but Ron tried to hold onto it.
"Ron, what's wrong with you? Just let me see it."
Harry caught sight of the title--Look at Me!: A Book of Occupations--before she managed to get it from him.
"Really, Ron? A comic?" She pulled the comic from between the pages and handed it to her boyfriend.
"What? I'm researching," he replied, resting it in his lap.
"With Martin the Mad Muggle? Ron, I really hope you’re joking. Anything you could find in this is pure satire."
Her expression was a cross between fond exasperation and actual disappointment Ron could really believe Martin's behaviour was typical.
"No," he admitted. "I tried reading your book, but I can't understand any of those things." His face contorted in the way it did when he was frustrated or confused by something and blaming it on the material itself.
"Okay, I'll help you explore your options. You take something you’re good at and try to find the Muggle equivalent. For example, Charlie works with dragons. In the Muggle world, I could see him working with exotic animals like lions or tigers. Something like that."
"I guess I could pick a teeth torturer like your parents?" Ron said finally. Harry laughed at his friend’s comment, playing with the straps on his bag.
"They're called dentists, and they don't torture anyone. Besides, how does that have anything to do with your interests?"
"I don't know. I just thought it would be easier so I don't have to think about it too much. Wait. Does this mean I have to turn in a paper with Zabini?" Harry looked over in interest; he was curious about that too.
"I met with Professor Miller after class. She says we have to help each other with the research and add our feedback to the end of the report, but otherwise we are handing in two separate assignments."
Harry decided that didn’t sound too bad.
"So this means I'm going to have to sit down with Goyle tomorrow at the latest to arrange a time to meet, because I am not waiting until the last minute to start working on this," Hermione declared, setting aside the book on occupations.
"I'm not. I'm going to put it off as long as I can," Ron told her, rolling up the comic and patting it against his thigh in agitation.
Harry found he agreed with Hermione. There really was no reason to put it off. The faster it was done, the better. Besides, he would need as much time as possible to complete this. Maybe he could also pick a dentist….
"Ron, I really don't think you should do that."
He found himself walking slowly over to where Malfoy was sitting while Ron and Hermione started to squabble over their differences in schoolwork ethic. He could hear Ron call for him when he'd gone forward a couple steps, but he didn’t turn back.
Harry hesitated as he drew closer. Malfoy was concentrating on a Quidditch magazine, and made no effort to look up, even when Harry got close enough he could tap his foot with his own. So he did just that, nudging one of the shiny dress shoes with his own worn and slightly dirty trainer. He really ought to buy new ones, he mused, waiting for Draco to react.
The blond jumped a little, his fists clenching on the sides of the magazine, but they relaxed when his eyes focused on him. "Yes?" Draco said finally, exhaling softly.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," Harry mumbled. Just how focused could he have been on an almost five-year-old edition of Quidditch Weekly? He recognised the cover from when Ireland and Bulgaria faced off at the World Cup.
They stared blankly at each other for a moment. He should have thought this out before he approached him, but now he was here he had to proceed. Otherwise he'd look like an idiot. While Harry thought of how to begin, he noticed for the first time he had never quite seen eyes the colour of Malfoy’s. His own remained deep emerald. At least that's what he noticed whenever he looked at his reflection, but Draco's seemed to dance along the spectrum from grey to silver. It was kind of strange.
"May I help you?" The question drew Harry's gaze to the Slytherin's lips. He'd never seen lips quite that shade of pink without the use of cosmetics before either.
"Potter!"
He shook off the strange thoughts and answered with the first thing that sprung to his mind. "Do you think that they'll hold the World Cup this year since they couldn't last year?"
He was as surprised as Malfoy looked. The random question had apparently originated from the barmier corners of his mind.
"I have no idea, Potter. Is that what you came over here for?" Draco seemed to agree with Harry’s self-assessment by the way he raised his eyebrows and looked almost concerned.
"No, it's just that made me think of it." Harry gestured toward the magazine. Draco seemed to grow more confused with his response before his expression cleared when he turned to look at the cover and its large headline. There was a moment where Harry thought Draco was going to shoot off an insult about how unhinged he thought Harry was, but he simply bit his lip and said nothing.
"I actually came to say we should, you know, probably get together to do the project for Muggle Studies," Harry managed to propose when Draco didn’t say anything else.
"When?" the blond answered quietly without any of the struggle Harry imagined he might have put up in the past. It was a little disappointing.
"Wednesday night?" Harry suggested. They’d have time after his art class and before dinner.
"I'm available," Draco replied simply.
"Great. We could meet in the common room, and then maybe go to the library." Harry waited until he agreed before walking away, ignoring the looks from the nearby Slytherins who hadn’t bothered pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.
"What was that about?" Ron asked as soon as he rejoined them on the couch.
"Just asked him when we could work on Miller's assignment," Harry shrugged, hoping it wouldn’t become a huge deal.
"That's great, Harry, taking the initiative. I'll talk to Goyle after dinner. He may be more agreeable after he's eaten," Hermione encouraged him, poking Ron in the side. Harry was glad he had her to run some kind of interference for him.
"Ron, can I use Pig?" Harry asked, both to change the subject and because he remembered his need for a painting robe.
"Of course, mate. Anytime," Ron easily agreed, patting him on the shoulder.
"Thanks. I'm going to go to the Owlery. I'll meet you guys for dinner." He left before they could volunteer to join him.
It was painful not to see Hedwig resting among the perches, easily standing apart from her feathery colleagues. Harry moved to one of her favourite spots anyway, ignoring the large brown owl who had usurped her place. His eyes quickly spotted a lone white feather tucked in the corner of a beam. He reached for it, not bothering to avoid the sharp beak that went for his outreached hand, and managed to carefully grab the feather, twirling it between his fingers before tucking it into his bag. He'd wash it as soon as he was able, and would make a quill from it, one last memento of his friend.
He took a seat outside by the stone steps to avoid resting on owl droppings and animal carcasses. Harry filled out the order form Luna had given him for the robe before grabbing a sheet of parchment and propping his textbook across his knees to create a makeshift desk.
Dear Andromeda,
How are you? How is Teddy? Is he starting to eat solids yet? Kreacher is really going above and beyond the call of duty as far as my own nutrition goes. Did you say anything to him?
He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he signed it and rolled it up before calling for Pig, bracing himself for the landing, relieved when the wild bird managed to set down on his shoulder with some semblance of grace.
X x x X x x X
The project was all Harry heard about over dinner.
It started with Parvati explaining the assignment to Lavender, who Ron had made a point of sitting far away from, using both Parvati and Hermione as buffers. They soon got beyond the specifications of what was due to complaints about partners, length, the multitude of occupations and the overall uselessness of the assignment itself. Harry heard it all.
When he voiced his own hesitant uncertainties about the assignment, his friends all seemed to brush him off with the certainty his future was already decided. Seamus even threw in his two knuts worth with a cordial slap on Harry's back, almost causing him to spill his pumpkin juice all over the table.
"Well, Harry's lucky. He's going to marry Ginny and have at least thirteen babies. Discussing their names alone should give you at least one full parchment. Now you just have to figure out what job you would have." Everyone laughed good-naturedly, and Ginny blushed a little even as she punched Seamus on the shoulder.
Harry found it all maddening.
He knew it was not completely fair. They had their own concerns about writing on their own futures, but it was hard to shake off their comments. They had his life so clearly pictured in their minds while he was barely able to form a snapshot of what it would look like in two weeks.
He finished his dinner and just watched them, half-listening as Dean tried to convince Ginny to be a football player. His enthusiasm for the sport had not waned, and Harry, although he could join in with his own brief experience of playing on the schoolyard to help Ginny, choose not to join the conversation.
"Harry?"
He turned to look at the redhead, not sure when she had stopped speaking to Dean, but the other boy was already involved in a conversation with Neville on the other side of the table.
"Would you like to go for a walk around the lake Wednesday after class so we can enjoy some time together?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm and offering a hopeful smile.
"I can't. I'm going to start working on my project." His reply was automatic, and his gaze went from her lightly freckled hand to her lovely face, which fell in disappointment. "But we can go after dinner tomorrow," he suggested instead, his guilt easing when she smiled.
"Great." Her grin was sweet and much better than her previous countenance.
Harry concentrated on finishing his desert, waiting for just one person in his group of friends to leave so he could excuse himself. He was glad to follow Neville out, quickly joined by Ron and Hermione. When they returned to the common room, Pansy was already laying across the couch, so they moved toward the desks. Ron and Hermione asked about his art class, and he told them a little about it, briefly showing them the book he'd borrowed. They talked a little more, catching up with each other before retiring for the night.
He was already half-asleep, his curtains open a little, when Draco got into bed.
“Goodnight, Draco,” he said sleepily.
“’Night,” Draco whispered as he settled beneath the blankets.
X x x X x X x
CHAPTER 6