Conquering the Darkness

Chapter 11

-The Earring-

It was a calm Sunday afternoon in London. White, gray-washed clouds gently floated by overhead accompanied by a soft breeze that rustled the trees outside in the Muggle world. Harry, having recently acquired a cup of tea from the fifth story tearoom, seated himself down in the familiar chair situated besides Lupin's stainless steel bed.

The thin and sallow man blinked as a grin slowly sprouted precariously on his features, struggling to remain afloat amongst the pain.

"You're looking better," Harry lied with, what he hoped was, a reassuring smile. He placed the steaming cup down upon the side table, and leaned against the bed, feeling out for the man's cold hand to hold it loosely.

It had been like this for two days now: this constant struggle to remain cheerful; this battle to prove to him - to prove to anyone - that he believed that Lupin could overcome this spell. But, deep in his heart of hearts, he didn't know what to believe--he didn't know what he should believe. Lupin was sick, ill, dying--all of these things. There wasn't a clue what was the matter with him, and, in Harry's tortured dreams, all he saw was the crowds of black as he was tortured at watching another burial.

"Really, Harry, you are the worst liar I've ever met. And considering I knew James and Sirius that is saying quite a bit." The werewolf chuckled softly to himself, a tired, strained sort of laugh.

Harry winced slightly. Every time he heard Sirius' name, he still felt cold as if a Dementor had walked into the enclosed room. However, he did not give anything away; he tried to hide it as best he could, for Lupin's sake just as much as his own.

Picking his tea up in his free hand, the worried teenager sipped the liquid softly and closed his eyes. He had been in Lupin's room until three in the morning - much to the nurse's dismay - until he was practically carted back to his room at The Leaky Cauldron. The nights sleep had been unsurprisingly unrestful - waking up between dreams of dark funerals; or images of Draco dripping in blood. Those dreams possessed Harry's body and caused him to wake, covered in layers of cold sweat, entangled in his bed sheets.

"You don't have to be here, you know," Lupin began again, his tired golden eyes closed now, only his lips moving.

Harry did not reply; his thoughts were distant - a cold marble floor, a stainless steel bed highlighted by rays of silver moonlight streaming in from large open windows, and the rustle of quiet fabric from...

Closing his eyes, Harry sighed more loudly than he wished to. He didn't know why he felt so anxious--everything would be fine. If not now, then later, if not then, well, someday. He wouldn't let his world go tumbling down, even if in the end he was only grasping at straws in a fading darkness. He wouldn't allow himself to loose control. He couldn't.

He was nearly jolted out of his reverie by the strained voice of Remus who had begun to babble mindlessly. It had been like this off and on for the past few days. Sometimes Lupin seemed almost jovial, spurning out-dated jokes at Harry who laughed politely. Other times the man seemed dead already, his chest hardly rising at all--so slightly that often Harry had to check his pulse to ensure that nothing unforeseen had happened. And often times, as it was now, he was being referred to as his father.

"You...," Remus began shakily, reaching for Harry's hand and holding it as tightly as his strength would allow him, "You look so much like him I can't tell if I have died yet."

Harry squeezed his hand. He couldn't speak. He could find no words.

"Yes...you have Lily's eyes, and if you only had that damn earring of his then I would...," Remus began to go into a hysterical coughing fit, and offering him a handkerchief Harry closed his eyes and wondered if this scene would die before his eyes and he would be somewhere safe--somewhere protected, anywhere but here.

"Don't worry about anything," Harry found himself repeating for about the hundredth time in three days. There was nothing to say but that and, "You'll be fine."

****

It was late in the day and Harry had managed to return to the Leaky Cauldron at last.

His green eyes cast a worried glance to his worn oak-table by the window and he silently sighed when he saw the neatly folded letter, innocently highlighted in the last rays of sunlight. The letter he had written to Draco in a fit of worry and anxiety--he had been so overcome that he hadn't realized that this attempts were fruitless.

He's blind...remember? And, not only that, how can I send it to him...Pompfrey will recognize Hedwig, and everything will be ruined.

Twilight would soon be upon Diagon Alley, and with the falling of the sun the rising of the gas lamps would begin.

For those who did not know, Diagon Alley came alive at night. Although, perhaps, only for Harry Potter.

There was something about that warm and almost silvery glow of the oil lamps, as they highlighted the slick cobblestones streets, fresh with a soft drizzle. There was something very nostalgic about it all--this place held memories dear to his heart.

The first time he had come here, oh, so many years ago, all this had been new, different, scary, exciting--every sensation at once. And still, every time he tapped that brick, he could feel himself returning to that innocent world--before he knew about the Dark Arts, the Death Eaters, the innocent deaths, Voldemort: before reality had slapped him in the face.

But that bruise had healed now, and he, Harry Potter, had become more wary of life in general--but when it came to places such as this, when it came to Diagon Alley there was nothing that could taint that warm, comforting feel of a forgotten town lying on the edge of civilization, casting its back on the modern ways.

Pulling on his sweater he had received from Mrs. Weasley last Christmas he straightened out the lumpy material, noticing that it had become rather tight across his chest and a bit too short on his waist. It seemed as though he had another growth spurt...not that he really minded or anything, he would just have to go get all his clothes altered next time he was in Hogsmeade, seeing as he hadn't brought his entire wardrobe.

There was no one on the steps leading down to the Leaky Cauldron, and making his way towards the back, where the ever familiar trashcans docilely lay, he counted off the bricks.

The next moment, there was that ever-familiar grind, the smell of cinnamon, wet pavement, and he was in Diagon Alley, where, just as he walked in, the lamplights magically were beginning to light themselves, one after another after another--like fireflies dancing in the dark. A dance of death on a cold day such as today...

Many of the shops were beginning to close up, or at least bring some of their tables and items inside now that dusk was falling. Still, several still had their lights on, brightened even more as the frost about the edges of the window turned into twinkling crystals that reflected onto the shiny cobblestones. It was a deadly cold night, but still, no snow. The sky was clear and lavender, and not a cloud was even hinted on its canvas.

Harry dug his hands even deeper into his pocket and tried not to frown. Frowning would get him nowhere, except closer to getting wrinkles--something he didn't particularly want anytime soon.

Old witches from Liverpool were making their way inside some shops, probably in search of a little nip of something that would warm their spirits. And, for the first time in a long time, Harry wished that he could legally drink something besides Butterbeer. It would have been nice to get drunk, he supposed wistfully, his glasses becoming fogged by his breath.

To get drunk was to forget reality--to forget death, and cruelty, and all the things that just seemed to make his life a living hell. Okay, maybe that was taking it a bit far. After all, he still had Ron and Hermione...and then of course, there was Draco.

But he didn't want to think about Draco right now. Every time he thought of Draco he felt hot and nervous--although thankfully, these emotions seemed to completely vanish when the two had any physical contact with one another. Yet, for example, the past few nights in which they had been walking together, it wasn't until back in the safety of his room that he felt his cheeks grow hot, and his body confined, sore, and distraught with a sudden wave of uneasiness...especially when he thought of Draco's partly opened mouth surrounded by thin pink lips and...

This was precisely the reason he wasn't thinking of him! Exactly the reason! Those lips...and the hair...and the pale skin (even if it was flecked with scars) and...oh, well, here he had gone, even deeper into the rabbit hole. How wonderful. How utterly wonderful.

Draco, at this moment in time was off-limits, and in a way Harry was very glad that he had been called off--only, of course, he wished it had been for other reasons than Remus getting seriously injured. Harry was not as dense as to realize these feelings weren't happening to him--he had known it for some time, but it wasn't until two nights ago that he had admitted, even to himself (which had been the hardest part) about how he felt about the boy.

Perhaps it wasn't love, or even fondness. It was attraction, pure and simple. And, Harry didn't feel like calling his sexuality into question along with everything else. Already this year, and last, things had been turned upside down for him and he didn't really want to have his emotion's regarding Draco to be any difference.

As much as Harry enjoyed the Slytherin's friendship, as much as he would miss it when it was gone, it was better for things to be this way. Temporary. Why? Well, because once Draco got his eyesight back (which, Harry hoped, was soon so then he wouldn't fall even further into this obsession) things would return to normal.

He and Draco would be enemies--even if he knew the truth about the boy, his father, his past, and whatever secrets the boy felt like sharing.

And, oh, Harry knew, he would share his secrets as well. But secrets were exactly that: secrets. The silver-haired boy couldn't logically go around and say, "Yes, this mystery-man who talked to be told him that he..." That he...whatever.

His steps quickened. Good lord, this was all so confusing. Being attracted to a man was the last thing he needed--being attracted to Draco was the last thing he wanted. The boy had been his enemy from day one, and although he admitted that he had gotten himself stuck in his rut, and would continue for sometime...he couldn't let it continue...

Even if it stabbed him on the insides.

Scars healed, didn't they?

In time. Yes.

The only thing that his life required of him now was to continue on, one foot after another until this "conflict" was resolved. And he certainly wasn't talking about his emotions towards Draco. In the long run, it didn't particularly matter who he liked, or even loved for that matter--it was the question of who won. Voldemort was and should have been his first priority--yet throughout the past few weeks all he saw was Draco...Draco...Draco...

Even his name had become calming to Harry. And this disturbed him.

Since when had he come to depend on someone he hardly knew so much? Since when did this relationship take center stage in his life--since when did it block out the sun? What of Ron? Hermione? The Order? He had hardly spoken to his two best friends in weeks, it seemed, and he knew that they were concerned and suspicious. He didn't blame them of course--he would be suspicious of himself. He already was.

What were his motives in all this? What did he wish to gain? A friend? Trust? Something...more?

Shivering to himself, more at his own disgust, rather than the cold temperatures Harry tramped down Diagon Alley, wondering if he should buy a bunch of Butterbeers and see how many it took to get tipsy...if that was possible.

It should be... he thought darkly to himself, glad he had taken his robe as well as the overly tight sweater.

As he continued to make his way down the alley, his eyes caught sight of something glimmering in the display lamps. Usually, Harry wouldn't have been one to look into a jewelry store--especially if Ron and Hermione were about. But, being that it was nighttime, and the store was open, and he was alone, he was rather tempted.

And, as he stood there, looking at the assorted display of glimmering metals and jewels, the words previously spoken to him came gently washing over his memory.

Yes...you have Lily's eyes, and if you only had that damn earring of his then I would...

A grin sprouted to his face against his will. What would Hermione say if he returned to Hogwarts with a pierced ear? What would Draco? Well, then again, the boy wouldn't know unless he planned on touching his ear or anything like that, which, Harry was pretty sure he wasn't, unless...

Harry slapped his head against his forehead and cursed himself for actually blushing at the thought of Draco touching his ear with his delicate fingers, his hands running down his jaw line, down onto his chest and down and...

"Okay, enough of those thoughts," Harry coughed to himself, walking firmly into the store which marked his entrance by the tinkling of a bell that played a few dinks of Beethoven's 9^th symphony.

The store was dim and rather musty and smelled strongly of rosemary and black tea. It wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable smell, just rather strong at that. For a moment his eyes watered, but eventually, he became used to the distinctive odor and began to stride around the shop, wondering if the owner could pierce his ear...relatively painlessly.

He wasn't afraid of pain, or anything like that, he just liked to avoid it as much as possible. Hence forth, the reason being he was trying to avoid thinking of Draco, alone in that hospital bed, wearing a very thin pair of pajamas, practically transparent...

"Can I help you?" a voice called back from the shop.

Very, very very thankful that those thoughts had ended there, Harry nodded and called out, "Do you sell earrings?"

Well, actually, he thought on retrospect, he should have asked if she pierced ears as well. Was there a spell to pierce ears, he wondered dimly, making his way into the inner recesses of the shop? Or was it more of a 'just stab something through there and hope for the best' kind of policy.

Hoping for the first rather than the latter, Harry gulped and plastered his bangs to his head, wishing that somehow, magically, his scar would disappear through his overgrown hair.

The lady who emerged from out of the shadows had a distinct liking to Professor Trelawney, and Harry wouldn't have been surprised if they were relatives. They both had those strange beady type eyes and large glasses that magnified them...

"Earrings, you say?" The woman repeated, adjusting her frames slightly as she hobbled her way forward, leaning on an old worn cane that looked more like a piece of wood she had picked off on the street in some back alley somewhere.

"Uhm, yes," he mumbled, feeling suddenly very nervous, and he wondered if those eyes could see straight into his soul. It wouldn't surprise him. It seemed that anything was possible even in this magical world, even...well, that wasn't anything to be thinking about now anyways.

The woman, who had for some time now, been peering about under her desk in the far back corner, brought out a dusty black velvet container on which there were a variety of delicate looking objects in varying metals. They were all stunning in their own ways, yes, and Harry peered closer to inspect each one. It was his first earring, after all...and...it just seemed important that he chose the right one, something different, unusual, understated, but...original...

The old woman's eyes flicked to his transparent scar, just barely visible through his tangle of black bangs, but she said nothing about it, "Looking for anything in particular?"

Fingering his left earlobe nervously, Harry admitted abashedly, "Well, my ears aren't really pierced. Do you pierce them?"

The elderly one sprouted a grin, revealing abnormally white teeth, and admitted, "I pierce anything you want me to."

Harry gulped. He got that double entendre, even if he would be the last one to admit it. Being known as innocent had its advantages after all.

"Oh. Okay...," Harry whispered, nervously, wondering if all this was a good idea in the first place...

Peering back over the display, a loop earring caught his eye for what appeared to be writing engraved on its edges. Yet, after picking it up, he found that it was not inscriptions at all, but the way the ring was formed. The ring itself was silver and created in the shape of a snake that tapered down to a delicate point. The snake was hardly obvious, only on closer inspection (and very close inspection at that) was the form readily visible.

Harry smirked. This seemed almost too perfect.

Turning to the lady who had been archly watching his ring choice, he flashed a grin (fondly thinking of the next hour and the bottles of Butterbeer he would order to drown out Remus, and Draco, and the fact that he had practically branded himself property, if only temporary, of a Slytherin) and exclaimed, "Alright, I'll take this one."

The crotchety figure hoisted herself up from her stool and walked over to a cabinet where she extracted a clear vile of something. "Here, drink this." She instructed.

Harry sincerely hoped it wasn't some kind of poison and she wasn't a Death Eater, and questioned nervously, "Uh, not that I don't trust you, but what is this?"

"Oh, that? Well, it's just a numbing potion that targets your ears." She explained, bustling about in the cabinet, and finally appearing once again with a very sharp and very pointed object clasped into her hand.

Oh...that...looks very painful. Maybe I can still get away...and...

But it was too late. The old lady has grasped his hand in a very strong grip and taken his left ear in her hand and was peering at him anxiously, waiting for him to down the potion. And, down the potion he did--although with some trepidation, wishing that Ron or Hermione were there so that just incase he blacked out they could save him by performing handy-dandy spells on the old bat.

Before he could even contemplate anything, he realized, quite suddenly, that the old woman was taking the earring from his hand the next thing he knew the lady was replying, "Alright, just make sure you wipe it down with some rubbing alcohol every day for a week and you should be fine. Just don't take out that earring for a very long while, or else the hole will close."

Harry blinked. Was it over already? Grasping a nearby mirror, he peered in it anxiously. There, dangling in his very red and very inflamed ear was the loop that not a few moments ago had been complacently resting in his hand. This whole decision of mutilating his body had come about very suddenly, now that he thought about it. It wasn't as though he minded having an earring. In fact, he thought it was rather...neat. It seemed something so unlike him, so audacious...so, un-Harry.

And he didn't know why, but he was happy. Happy for the first time in days, happy to be free of all emotions towards anything, towards anyone. There was no one but him and this damn dusty shop--an old and haggard woman and the black velvet.

"It looks good," Harry commented after a very long time of studying the way the sleek stylish band caught the lamplight.

The old woman nodded and moved towards the cabinet again, extracting a little bottle labeled "rubbing alcohol". But, instead of bringing it towards the cash register, she hesitated and questioned, "Is there anything else you would like to look at?"

Blinking in surprise, not realizing that he had the time and energy to do so, he nodded nervously and fingered his numb ear, not really feeling anything but nothingness. It was a very interesting sensation, walking around as though one's head was a balloon floating high above him. Perhaps from up high, his troubles didn't seem so big. Perhaps, when looking in the great scope of things--these emotions that he felt, this sorrow, and this repression, perhaps it was nothing to fall into pits of despair about.

No, fancying Draco wasn't the end of the world or anything...

His smile, which had temporarily been clouded by his thoughts, returned again, and nodding enthusiastically, Harry replied, "Yes, actually, I think I'll look for a bit longer."

The old bat seemed to have expected such an answer and withdrew towards the back room where he could hear her dinking around with china and the stone. She must have been putting the kettle on...

Harry settled his way into the familiar steps about the room as he 'browsed'. Something, he noted, he hadn't done in quite a while. It always, at least for quite some time now, had been 'go in, go out, and get whatever you needed'. There was no time for much of anything nowadays. It was always hurried, there was never time to relax, never time to stand alone amongst the world and just breathe it in. No music, no words, nothing.

The emerald eyed boy had stopped without even realizing he had, and blinking in surprise and indignation, Harry noticed that he had been peering quite intentionally into a glass-covered shelf on which were displayed a particular arrangement of fine jewelry. There were large purple crystals, their color fading into the clearest of whites, platinum chains, silver trinkets, sapphire lockets...

...But...there was one piece, and once piece alone that had caught his eye.

I really have been spending too much time with Draco, Harry though sadly, inspecting the ring even more closely, All I want to buy now are snakes...

It was a ring that Harry had noticed--and, if it had not been for the strange combination of colors, the boy truthfully would never have noticed it. Still, even now, the ring was become more perfect to pass up. He had never seen one of its design, so intricately and expertly carved--but not overly done to give it a mass appeal. The ring itself was simple, just as his earning, and was of a snake curving about to form the band. However, unlike his earring, the snake's mouth was open, swallowing (or attempting to) a large garnet shaped like an egg. The green emerald eyes glistened in the candle, matching the expression in Harry's own, nearly exact shade.

A smirk sprouted to his lips. Yes, he thought ruefully, he would buy this ring...after all, Christmas was soon approaching....

A few moments later, Harry left the shop, a small parcel bouncing along in the cloak. As he made his way back to The Leaky Cauldron, Harry idly wondered how many bottles of Butterbeer he could drink in a night...the idea seemed promising...