These Deep Solitudes

Chapter Six - Heart's Desire

"Evil is uncertain in the same degree as good, and for the reason that we ought not to hope too securely, we ought not to fear with too much dejection."

-- Samuel Johnson

Remus was grateful for the strong coffee served with his breakfast the next morning. It did make him feel more human, he thought wryly. Thank God he had the first lesson of the day free. That triggered a pang of guilt; he should apologize to Rain. He had spent much of the previous night reading all he could about the lamia; he had extinguished the candles only an hour before dawn, and this morning he had felt it would be easier to drag a Hungarian Horntail out of bed than it had himself.

Fighting back yawns, he stumbled off towards a lesson on kelpies. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were waiting for him. Orla Quirke and Dennis Creavey were sitting eagerly in the front row, chattering excitedly.

"I thought he was going to pop his cork when I dropped my newt's eye in before the slug scales," Dennis was saying as Remus took their graded quizzes out of his briefcase.

"He was crankier than usual," Orla agreed. "He looked like he didn't sleep last night or something. But, Dennis, if you'd paid attention in the lecture instead of drawing pictures of Padma Patil, you would have known--"

"All right, all right," Dennis said amiably. "So I messed it up. There was no need for thirty points off Gryffindor, was there?"

Remus bit back a grin as he called the class to order, but he made a mental note to find out why Snape was crankier than usual. He hated having anything to do with Snape, especially since the Slytherin's little slip of the tongue that had let Remus' secret out two years ago. Still, Snape had agreed to brew the Wolfsbane Potion again this year, so perhaps he was resigned to working together.

At the lunch break, Remus let the sixth year Hufflepuffs go without assigning homework and headed down to Snape's dungeon office. No one answered his knock, and there was no light visible under the door. After making sure the Potions classroom was empty, he headed back up to the Great Hall. Snape was probably at lunch.

But the Head Table was noticeably empty of both Snape and Rain. He sighed. Well, Snape apparently didn't want to be found, and since Remus was none too eager to find him in the first place, he was more than happy to leave off looking. Rain, however, was probably still captive in the hospital wing. It was time for that apology.

As he passed by the Gryffindor table he heard Ron say Rain's name. He slowed down to listen. "She even likes the Cannons!" the redhead finished, enthusiastically.

"I'm surprised you like someone who seems to get on so well with Snape," his sister replied. Remus wondered if she had recovered from her fear of exposure. He knew Rain had spoken with her.

"Ugh!" Ron said. "Well, I reckon even he has to be right sometimes."

Remus chuckled as he passed out of hearing. Rain had definitely made an impression on the youngest Weasley boy. Of course she was popular with the Ravenclaws. He wondered what the Slytherins thought of her.

Madam Pomfrey was rather stiff with him when she told him Rain had gone out for a while. "I didn't think it was a good idea, but most of the burns had healed. Her eyes worry him, of course, but he wanted to see how she reacted to sunlight."

"The headmaster came to get her, then?" Remus asked.

Pomfrey blinked, then lifted an eyebrow. "The headmaster? Oh, no, Professor. I spoke of Severus."

After a moment he closed his mouth. He felt rather like he had the night Padfoot and Moony had thought it would be fun to tease a hedgehog, and ended up with both prickles and flea bites. "Oh," he said after a long time. "I--Oh." He turned to go, then looked over his shoulder. "Er, thank you, Poppy."

She softened slightly. "You're welcome, dear. I believe they were going to the courtyard. You might look for them there."

True, he had been looking for them both, but not in a million years had he wanted to find them together. His feet took him to the courtyard without asking his permission. When he stepped out the door, however, they abruptly stopped moving. He felt a small body collide with his back, then a first year Hufflepuff went past him, squeaking, "'Scuse me, professor, sir!" He ignored the student and stared at the potions master and his patient.

Rain was sitting on a bench, her face tilted up towards the sky. Seated next to her, his shoulders almost touching hers, was Snape. He was looking up, too, his eyes apparently fixed on the astronomy tower. He was smiling.

Ouch. Remus backed up. He had never seen Snape smile--at least, never unless that smile meant bad news for some hapless Gryffindor. Certainly he had never seen anything approaching happiness on the sour Slytherin's face. Yet in an unguarded moment with Rain, Snape was smiling.

Remus deserved this. He knew he deserved it. But he had to swallow hard to dislodge the lump in his throat as he shuffled back towards his office. She still loved him, didn't she? Surely she did.

~*~

Severus did not make Rain feel comfortable, ever, but he certainly did make her very conscious of being alive. He had surprised her by showing up just as Madam Pomfrey was taking her lunch tray, and demanding Pomfrey let her out for a walk.

"A walk, Severus?" Rain had asked dryly.

He didn't hesitate. "The treatments worked admirably on most of the burns. Before administering the cure, I'd like to see how your skin responds to sunlight."

"Will it make a difference in how you brew the cure?" she asked curiously.

Silence. Then, "Perhaps."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Professor Snape," Pomfrey said, her voice sharp. "People with lamia ancestry--"

"Are sensitive to sunlight, yes," he hissed. "Katraina, however, has chosen mortality, and has been taking the Sangrapura Potion for several weeks now. The traces of lamia blood in her veins have been...resting."

"Ah, so that would be why Solarus Tormente didn't kill her," Pomfrey said.

"Among other reasons," Rain put in archly. "Thank you for the reminder." She put aside the bedclothes, hoping she was fully covered, and stood up. Severus's arm manifested itself under her outstretched hand, and she accepted his graceful lead down the ward and out the door.

"That was deft," she said, appreciating the escape.

"It was not entirely for my own pleasure," Severus said, and his voice seemed less tense than it had in the infirmary. Rain noted the 'entirely' but chose to say nothing, though she allowed herself a tiny smile.

He had led her past the Great Hall, where most of Hogwarts's residents were employed at lunch, and out into the courtyard. Guiding her to a bench, he helped her get settled before sitting down next to her. She wondered if it were her imagination that he sat down very near; with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, she ascertained that it was not. For the past fifteen minutes he had been giving her a snide running commentary of the comings and goings of the students and faculty through the courtyard. This had proven particularly amusing and appalling when a small group of Slytherins--led by Pansy Parkinson--had encountered Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the Weasley Twins.

"Ah, young Miss Parkinson seems to have forgotten how to sneer. No, wait, there it is again. Potter's got his fists clenched; reminds me of that pretentious git of a father he had. Odd, isn't it, how he didn't know old Prongs but still turned out so much like him. Such a shame. Oh, now Weasley's ears are as red as his hair. Dear, dear, look at Miss Weasley--she's so pale her freckles are jumping. Ah, Master Crabbe is cracking his knuckles while Miss Bulstrode flexes her biceps. I believe Miss Granger is going to jump on Miss Parkinson. Potter!" His voice cracked sharply through the air. "Save it for the Quidditch Pitch. The Gryffindors unfairly outnumber the Slytherins. Five points from Gryffindor."

He chuckled nastily. "Hadn't noticed me here. Foolish children."

"Severus!" she protested, trying not to laugh. "You're impossible!"

"Thank you," he said smoothly.

Snickering, Rain turned her face up to the sun. She loved being outside, loved the pressure and heat of sunlight on her skin, but her face tingled, and she could feel her skin pinking as they sat there. She didn't want to admit it, since Severus had seemed so relaxed since they sat down. Still... He had forbidden her to take another dose of the Sangrapura Potion before coming out, saying it might interact badly with the potion for her eyes--or vice versa. After the strict warnings he had given her about the potency of the Sangrapura, she wasn't at all eager to try mixing it with anything. No alcohol, he had said when he gave her the first dose. God alone knows what it would do to you, but I think it's safe to say it would probably involve a great deal of writhing in agony. Not to mention nausea and possibly death. Please don't drink while you're taking this, Katraina.

It had been the please that caught her attention; after all, Severus had never been known to say please to anyone. She had swallowed against a sudden fear, and forced herself to smile tightly at him. "I don't drink anymore, Severus. I say I'm an alcoholic because the rule is, 'Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic'. But I'm recovering. Dry. For twelve years now." He hadn't looked at all abashed; he had merely levelled an unblinking black stare at her. She had matched him, and they probably would still be standing there, glowering at one another, had Minerva not come into the room and scorned them for behaving immaturely.

Next to her, Severus suddenly tensed; she could feel the change in his demeanor, so close were they sitting. "What is it?" she asked.

He was silent. Her mind flashed through several scenarios, from a glumbumble on her shoulder all the way to hordes of Death Eaters marching up from Hogsmeade.

"Severus?"

He sighed next to her and she relaxed slightly. "The wer--Lupin was there. He left."

She bit her lip against a twinge of regret, then shook her head. "He can jolly well apologize to me in front of you, if he's sorry," she said aloud.

Severus shifted. "Apologize for what?"

"I hadn't told him about my--condition. He figured it out, of course, once he knew it was Solarus Tormente. He--ah, shouted."

"You...hadn't told him?" Severus repeated, astonishment evident in his acerbic voice.

"Well, it isn't as if I had had the time. I only saw him again the day I came back."

"Back from where?"

"Not from anywhere, Severus--to. Back to Hogwarts."

"You found out about the lamia years ago," he said slowly. "You said you'd been looking for a cure for years."

"Yes, and I wish I'd thought to ask you for help years ago. I knew you were potions master. I should have--"

"But Lupin--"

She twigged suddenly to what he was getting at. "Severus, before I came back to Hogwarts this August, Remus and I hadn't spoken for fourteen years. After Lily and James--he left. And I started drinking."

The silence next to her was so profound she could feel all the way through her. Well, it was nice to know she still had the knack for astonishing Severus. She swung her feet gently and enjoyed the pressure of the sun on her face. Oh, she was going to have such a sunburn if they didn't go back inside soon!

"Fourteen years," Severus said faintly.

Inside the school a bell sounded. He jumped and then swore. "I have fifth years. Come, I'll escort you back to the infirmary. I must get to the dungeon before Master MacMillan and Miss Abbott blow it up."

Good, he'd got his sarcasm back. Still, she wondered at the depth of his reaction to her statement. Dumbledore had hinted... But no, surely he wouldn't... She was given even more to think about when Severus deposited her at Madam Pomfrey's door, placing a light kiss on her hand.

~*~

When Remus had dismissed his final lesson, a school owl fluttered into his classroom. The note was terse, written in a spiky Edwardian script. The restoration potion will be ready just before sundown. Dumbledore thought you should know. I, the note did not say, could not have cared less--though the handwriting plainly stated it. Remus grimaced and dropped the note into his briefcase, then dusted his hand against his robes. He wouldn't put it past Snape to coat the paper with silver dust. He finished gathering his things and was about to leave when a tiny owl came zipping in, hooting excitedly. It zoomed energetically about his head until he absently cast a Petrificus at it.

Dear Church. You probably won't remember me, but we met once this summer, at the top of the moving staircase behind the gargoyle. I work for Gringotts, and have been recently working on an account for a couple living in Godric's Hollow. I'm sorry for being so circumspect, but one is never sure, these days, if an owl will arrive precisely where he is meant to. This one is a loan; your reply, if you have one, must be sent by another owl, who is friendly with this one. I have news for Flame. Please meet me for a full report. Horus.

Remus frowned thoughtfully at the parchment. It had obviously been penned by a Phoenician--Flame was one of Dumbledore's codenames, and Remus had been jokingly dubbed Church by Frank Clearwater, whose Muggle wife had an obsession with the Muggle Prime Minister Churchill; he needed to remember to loan a copy of The Defiant Muggle to Mrs Clearwater. But who was Horus?

He folded the parchment several times and thrust it into his pocket, then headed for his rooms to mull it over. Godric's Hollow was where Lily and James had lived--and died--of course, but he wasn't aware of another important couple living there. Or perhaps Horus meant it involved Lily and James's work, somehow. He--or she--worked for Gringotts. He cast his mind over several Phoenicians, coming up blank. Many of them were Aurors or ex-Aurors, with a solitary Unspeakable, but there were just as many who had more mundane lines of work. Though working for Gringotts didn't necessarily mean mundane...of course! That curse-breaker who wore a devil-may-care grin and that horrid dragonskin fedora. He grinned. Bill Weasley.

Arthur had said Bill was going under cover; Remus had nearly forgotten, what with the excitement of the start of term. He wondered what information Bill Weasley could have for Dumbledore, and why he would be sending it to Remus. Oh, bugger. He spun on his heel and hurried back to his office. That crazy ickle owl was still lying on his desk.

"Finite Incantatem!" Remus said, and the creature zoomed happily up to collide with his nose. Resisting the urge to eat the small creature--damn that waxing gibbous moon anyway--he plucked it out of the air and held it firmly as he headed towards the Great Hall. The exhausting little bird would belong to one of the Weasleys, which meant either another Weasley owl or Harry's would be the redelivery.

The buzz from the Slytherin table seemed more unruly than usual. Remus blinked several times and scanned the Great Hall. Ah, that would be why. Draco Malfoy was speaking earnestly with Hermione Granger. Oddly, although she looked distrustful, she did not seem angry. But no wonder the Slytherins were upset--and Snape wasn't around to be a quelling presence.

As Remus looked on, Hermione's expression went from distrust to concern to open horror. Finally she settled on fury. Remus had just started towards her when she cried, "You slimy git! You're worse than your father!"

"Just thought you ought to know, Mudblood," Malfoy drawled, his voice loud in the hush that had followed her outburst. "Your kind will be first. No need to insult my family, as it's purer than you could ever hope to be." He chuckled nastily. "Ooh, but maybe the Weasel will defend you."

Hermione and Remus apparently noticed Ron at the same time. Red-faced, he was storming over from the Gryffindor table. Hermione shot a last, furious glance at Malfoy, then turned her back on him and grabbed Ron's arm. "Ron, no!" she exclaimed. He looked down at her and she said a few words Remus couldn't hear. Ron nodded shortly and--reluctantly, Remus thought--followed her back to the Gryffindor table.

The students gradually settled back into silence, and Remus took his seat at the head table, near Professor Vector. She looked up to smile briefly at him, then cast a longing look back at her book.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said, and her smile gained some warmth. She returned to her reading. Left to entertain himself, Remus found himself thinking back on the Great Hall years ago, and a similar confrontation he had witnessed.

"Is this slimy git bothering you, Rainstorm?" Sirius's voice was loud and angry, and Remus turned from where he'd been about to check Peter's king.

The frozen tableau in front of him made him wish Sirius could learn to keep his mouth shut sometimes. Rain, her face three shades of scarlet, was staring at Sirius. At her side, Severus Snape had shrunk back from Sirius but still grasped Rain's upper arm in his skinny fingers. His eyes glittered and his mouth was twisted in a mocking smirk. Sirius's fists were clenched at his side, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Oh, don't do anything, Sirius," Remus breathed.

"It isn't as if he really cares," said Peter in a tone that was at once fond and knowing. "He won't look twice at her, but if Snape looks like he wants her, the fat lady has sung." Remus glanced at him, surprised by the echo of his own less-than-charitable thoughts. "I can see, Moony," Peter said. He looked rather sorry, too.

Remus nodded, but his reply was cut off by Rain's angry retort. "Why don't you mind your own bloody business, Black!" she said, scowling at him.

Remus snickered. Sirius wasn't used to hearing sass from Rain. Snape looked surprised, as well.

"He's a dodgy git, Rainstorm, and he doesn't have the class to talk to you. Ugh, can't you smell him?"

"Fine words, from someone who reeks of canines, Black," Snape hissed. "Someone ought to warn those pathetic fools who pass for your friends--if they spend too much time with you, people might think they're as stupid as you are." He sneered. "They already smell like shit."

Rain turned her furious glance on him and he subsided. Then she looked at Sirius for the finishing blow. "You want to keep a civil tongue, Black. You're obstreperous. Five points from Gryffindor. Now sod off and let me finish my conversation with Snape in peace."

"Perfessor Lupin?" He shook himself out of the past. Hagrid was holding out a dish. He took it, nodding his thanks. "Have yeh heard abou' Snape? He's been in a right bad mood today, but Harry and Ron said they saw 'im sitting in the courtyard wi' Rain!"

Remus lost his appetite. He wondered if there were any way to politely tell Hagrid to shove off, but instead he looked up and up to meet Hagrid's scrutiny with a bland expression. "Don't you remember, Hagrid? Rain and Severus were friends back in school."

Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh, never woulda believed it, but she always managed to bring out the best in ever'body. Just like her sister, that one. Even made old Snape act human sometimes."

"I suppose it's because Severus doesn't gladly suffer a fool, and Rain is probably the least foolish person he knows."

"I'd put it mostly to 'er persistence," Hagrid said. He seemed to be attempting to send Remus a psychic message. Resorting to the vague smile that had become his best defense, Remus said, "Well, Hagrid, I'm afraid I should be going. I have an appointment with the headmaster."

"Oh, go on, go on! Wouldn' want to keep the headmaster waiting! Great man, Dumbledore..."

Remus slipped off to the hospital wing before Hagrid could tell him again the story of Buckbeak's escape.

~*~

Draco Malfoy was feeling discontented. He sank lower in his tall wooden chair and put his elbows on the arms. The chair resembled a throne, which he felt was appropriate for the self-appointed Prince of Slytherin. None of the others challenged his ownership of that chair, not anymore. After a few well-placed surprise curses, he had in his third year eliminated all other claims to that throne. Even the sixth and seventh years kept clear of his wrath. Now, as a prefect, his claim could not be challenged.

Tonight this gave him no pleasure. He steepled his fingers in front of his face and glared broodingly through them at the flickering fire. He did not understand the source of this...restlessness.

Anger he recognized. Hatred, greed, cruelty, condescension--all these he knew and welcomed. But this--this uncertainty that burned his mind--this he did not know, and it frightened him.

Oh, yes, 'frightened'. He knew it, though he would rather have cut off his own hand than admit it. It was the first time he had ever admitted fear, even to himself. Fear was the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Fear was the mind-killer; it paralyzed your cunning and weakened resolve.

Until fifth year, his ambition, his resolve, had been bent on one thing: to be a Prince among Slytherins, a Malfoy's Malfoy, and in so doing to make his father proud. Now she seemed to think there were other ways. That he had a choice.

Snarling at no one, he stood up and swept his robes about him, an conscious imitation of the other hero in his life. Glowering at all and sundry, he swept--well, attempted to sweep--out of the Slytherin Dungeon and off down the dark halls. He had spoken to the Mudblood at supper. Voluntarily touched her--yech, his hand still felt it--and looked into the dirty brown eyes. "They'll act this year, Mudblood," he'd told her. He told himself he was threatening, not warning, her. Part of him believed it. "Don't ever relax. 'Constant vigilance' as our favourite Death Eater used to say. He did us all a favour." There, that sounded better.

And she had had the audacity to call him a slimy git.

He didn't fear any Weasley, didn't fear Potter, though he knew the stupid Gryffindor would like to think so. He stood his ground when the redheaded pillock approached. He could take care of himself. Crabbe and Goyle were mostly for show; it was nice never to have to get your hands dirty.

But the Mudblood had told the Weasel it wasn't worth the trouble. That he, Draco, was to be pitied. Pitied by a Mudblood! He swallowed his suddenly fury and blinked slowly at her. Never let your emotion control you, that was what his father had taught him. He who angers you conquers you, Lucius had said a hundred times.

Draco stumbled and then cursed at himself. Pay attention, you fool! Quit thinking about Mudbloods! They're not worthy of your notice! He looked around him. His feet had carried him, while his mind was occupied, to a well-lit corridor lined with suits of armour. As he set off down the hall, each suit raised its sword in a swift salute. Strange, he thought, why don't I remember seeing this place before?

And that horrible prat Potter! Might as well call him the Boy Who Slummed. Hanging out with Mudbloods and Weasleys. Part of Draco's deep-seated hatred of Potter was because the Hero of Gryffindor thought he could best the Prince of Slytherin. And a part of his hatred went back to a day four years ago, when Draco had offered an alliance and that alliance had been spurned.

Draco's memory twinged as though there were something he should remember. He dismissed it with a sniff. No one refused a Malfoy! In the wizarding world, to set yourself against a Malfoy was to commit political and social suicide. Oh, yes, Potter was going the way of his parents.

Draco climbed the narrow steps in front of him automatically, slinking around the inner column as they spiralled upwards. Spending forty-eight hours with Harry Potter was Draco's idea of the Ninth Level of Hell--and yet, somehow, it had happened. He scowled. He wished he could remember what had happened. There had been a woman there--Angelica? Andromeda?--and cats. He liked cats. There had been a small, slinky Siamese that took to him, sitting just out of arm's reach, staring up at him, tip of its tail twitching. And he--

The black wall slammed down again. That was all. That was the most he could remember. The stairway ended abruptly, and he looked around. He was on a small landing, with a wooden door directly facing him. Gingerly he lifted the latch on the door. It didn't open. Pulling out his wand, he whispered, "Alohamora!" and it swung gently inward.

Before him was an empty room--empty, save shadows, and a large mirror at the opposite end. He walked slowly towards it. There were carvings around the edge, words, but none he knew: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. He studied it for a few moments, then shrugged and looked in the mirror, expecting to see a tall, lithe blond teenager, with brooding silver eyes.

In a way, he did. He was standing there, but he wasn't smirking, and behind him, smiling down at him, were Professors Snape, Dumbledore, and Rain.

He leaped back, turning--but no one was there. He spun again and looked, and there they were. Snape was very, very pale, but he also looked very, very proud...of Draco? His eyes went back to the carvings, and by chance they fell on the last word first. "No," he muttered as their meaning sank in. "No."

I show not your face but your heart's desire.

~*~

In the infirmary, Dumbledore looked suddenly distant. "Well, well," he said softly, smiling into his beard. To Severus it seemed a very satisfied smile. "Will wonders never cease."

Severus and Remus exchanged identical looks of puzzlement as the headmaster straightened. "Ladies, gentlemen, you will please excuse me." And with that he crossed the room in three long strides and was gone, leaving Pomfrey, Lupin, and Severus to stare after him.

"Headmaster?" Rain said. "Severus, what happened?"

"He left," Severus replied, glancing at Lupin. What a strange sensation, to be the one to whom Rain turned for answers, even with the werewolf present. Snape bit his tongue. She hated that; she had chided him on more than one occasion, for using that word. Lupin's gold eyes seemed more sad than hostile as he gazed back at him. Could it be that he believed he had lost her?

Snape turned away, back towards the now-empty cauldron and the potion cooling in vials on the table. No. Even if she wanted to choose him, he could not allow it. He would drive her away before he let that happen. It was true that he hated Remus bitterly for loving her, but even the werewolf would do her less harm than Snape the turncoat.

"Should we wait for him to come back?" Lupin was asking.

Snape sneered at him, relieved to have a reason. "Brilliant idea, Lupin! Why don't you hold up the sunset, as the potion has to be administered in the light of the sun, when neither sun nor stars are in the sky?"

Lupin actually flinched from Snape's caustic reply. Severus bit back a triumphant smirk and waited for an angry retort.

"Very well, Severus," Lupin said mildly, spoiling the argument. "I had forgotten about that."

"Yet another reason why I am the potions master, and you are not!" Severus hissed. The sun was visible on the cusp of the horizon. He went to Rain and touched her hand. "Katraina," he said, in another tone entirely, "it is nearly time. Come to the window." She gripped his hand in strong fingers which, he noted, were trembling. "Don't be afraid," he whispered as she slid off the bed and he guided her to the window seat. "I took special care with this potion."

She smiled at him and he sighed. God, how he hated her for making him love her! "I know," she said. "You were here supervising it every free moment you had."

Severus glanced at Lupin. Yes, that was definitely jealousy that had flickered across the other man's face. Sending him a sarcastic smile, Severus unstoppered the bottle. "This will feel very cold," he cautioned Rain. "Take off the bandage."

As soon as she obeyed, he dashed the contents of the bottle in her face. When it hit her, she shivered and cried out, but he could see a blue glow as the potion spread across her skin, pooled in her eyes, and ran like tears down her cheeks. Her reddened skin softened and faded back to porcelain, pus-filled blistered dried up, and her eyes cleared.

He could see the moment she began to see again: a soft light came into her green eyes, and they fixed on his face. She smiled again, and lifted a hand to his cheek and held it there a long time.

"Severus," she said finally. "You are so different when you smile."

He wished instantly that she hadn't said it. The anger and resentment inspired by her tenderness flared up again. But he masked it, and boldly took her into his arms and pulled her to him. She put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled. "Thank you so much."

He did not look up, even when a soft snick from the door told him Lupin and Pomfrey had gone.

~*~

"Does the Mirror of Erised displease you, Mr Malfoy? I have never seen it do so to any living man."

The soft voice made him turn again, and he stared as the headmaster slowly appeared next to him. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate in Hogwarts," he said automatically, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"There are many ways of being invisible, Mr Malfoy, and you did not answer my question."

"Because it's none of your business what my heart's deepest desire is!" he snapped. Doddering old fool, who did he think he was?

To his surprise, Dumbledore grinned delightedly. "Ah, you worked that out, did you? Very well done, Draco. Harry needed a hint."

He couldn't suppress the flash of satisfaction that those words inspired. To hide it he sneered at the headmaster. "Yes, well, that's no surprise, is it? He probably would have been expelled his first year if it weren't for his Mudblood girlfriend."

Dumbledore's expression did not change, but Draco immediately regretted having called her that. "None of us can do without friends, Draco," Dumbledore said quietly. "Do you remember that, when twilight falls around you, morning's son. Choose your friends carefully." He smiled then, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

"A Malfoy has no friends," Draco snarled. "A Malfoy needs no friends."

"Ah," said the headmaster, and he turned as if to go.

"Snape!" Draco blurted suddenly, and stared at Dumbledore in astonishment, since he could not stare so at himself. "Snape and Rain and you!" Then he found himself abruptly terrified, and before Dumbledore could speak, he had bolted for the door.

He clattered down several turnings of the stairs, then chose at random an exit from them. This hall was lined with portraits of men and women dressed in robes of silvery grey and deep whispery green. These portraits did not move, but nonetheless their gaze weighed heavily on him so that he slowed to a walk. At first the faces looked kind and wise, but then they became solemn faces. When he had gone a little further, he found faces that seemed more familiar: the faces here looked very strong and proud and happy, but they looked cruel. A little further on they looked crueler. Further on again, they were still cruel but they were no longer happy. They were even despairing faces: as if the people they belonged to had done dreadful things and also suffered dreadful things.

The last figure of all was the most interesting--a woman even more richly dressed than the others, very tall, with a look of such fierceness and pride that it took his breath away. Draco paused, his heart thumping wildly, to stare at her. Suddenly her eyes moved and she stared straight into his eyes. He jumped backwards and then dashed the few remaining steps to the far end of the hall. Scrabbling at the door handle, he burst through it and found himself in the familiar safety of the library. He gave a small sob of relief and ignored the seventh year Ravenclaw who glared and shushed him. After a moment he straightened, dusted off his robes, and headed for the dungeon.

But even when he was ensconced once more in his Slytherin throne, the words haunted him.

Your heart's desire.