The Curse of Charon

Chapter Six

"I love you, you know that, don't you?" asked the nervous woman, her breathing fast and shallow.

"Of course I do, Mother. I love you too. But why do I have to go?" The woman sniffed slightly and mopped at her face with a handkerchief.

"You just have to, Severus. Your father, your father, oh." Severus' mother began to sob so much she could no longer speak. Severus went into his room and collected a few of his belongings, then joined his mother in the hallway. She tried to roll her sleeve down quickly, but he still caught sight of the purplish-blue bruises on her arm, which stood out from the faded yellow marks and old scars that had already ruined her once-perfect skin.

"Why do you let him do this to you?" he asked angrily.

"I can't stop him," she replied, and hugged her son tightly. He gasped in pain; Severus himself had not escaped his father's temper. Or his father's blows.

"I shouldn't have stayed. I should have left long ago. He shouldn't have even had a chance to hurt you. I am so sorry, Sev. I never meant for him to hurt you. It's all my fault." Severus wanted to cry with his mother, but he reminded himself that big boys of eight years old don't cry, and tightened his lips. His mother slammed the door behind them and Severus walked away from his old life for the last time.

*

"I'm a bit worried about Harry," Ron said, as he and Hermione walked under the stars one evening, the invisibility cloak draped around their shoulders.

"Really?" she asked, gazing at Orion. "Why?"

"He and Neville aren't getting along too well," he replied, and put his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Harry and Neville?" she said in amazement. "They always got on so well with each other. Neville regarded Harry as a hero, a role model. What happened?"

"I have no idea. I only noticed it the other day. We were hanging around our dormitory and suddenly Neville came out with some remark about Harry's trousers. I think he called them 'homoerotic'." Hermione almost laughed out loud, but stopped when she saw how serious Ron's face was.

"He had a dig at Seamus and Dean as well."

"Seamus and Dean? Why? Were they doing anything to irritate him?"

"No," Ron replied. "That's what was strange about it. Nev was so aggressive. He didn't seem like himself at all. He told them to go to a gay bar." This time Hermione did laugh.

"It's not funny!" said Ron loudly. "I think Neville has a problem with them."

"Who could have a problem with Seamus and Dean? They're obviously meant to be together. It's not like it's a surprise, they've been out since our third year."

"I know. It's all really strange."

"I completely agree," said Hermione. "But can't we discuss it properly later. Out here, in all this moonlight, there's only one thing I want to do with you..."

*

A quick reparo had fixed the chandelier, and Draco had no interest in the vicious note he had received. Harry was at Quidditch practise and he realised that the only thing left to do was to face up to his final duty. He had to break up with Blaise, and explain why. Harry had insisted that he did this as soon as possible, mainly for Blaise's sake more than the sake of their relationship.

Draco knew she was back from the hospital wing, he had heard Crabbe discussing it with Michael O'Halley, the son of one of the Irish branch of the Death Eaters over breakfast. Crabbe and Goyle had become very friendly with Michael in recent months, and there had been considerable distance between them and Draco for some time. It was quite relieving to be able to go somewhere without a pair of goons following him, but he almost missed them. Almost.

He headed down the corridor towards the Slytherin common room, hoping to find Blaise there. He did, and as luck would have it the common room was empty.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Gone to piss the Gryffindor Quidditch team off, probably," she replied, looking up from the boom she was reading. It was one of the few she had accumulated in the hospital wing, red-bound with gold printed letters on the cover and spine.

"Can I talk to you for a bit?"

"Of course you can!" she replied, and moved over a bit. "Come and sit with me." He sat down on the old cracked leather sofa.

"You gave me a book that I don't think I'm supposed to have." She handed him the book he had given her, with the funny stain on the front, and the silver gothic script, words she didn't understand. Draco jumped when she handed it to him.

"Shit. Sorry I gave it to you. You really weren't meant to have it!" His face had fallen into new depths of the description 'pale'.

He ran his fingers over the letters. Magnanimatis Adnecto. How had he managed to give this to Blaise? Thankfully she had no idea what it was. He stowed it in his cloak pocket and turned to face her again.

"Blaise, there's something we need to discuss. I don't think our relationship is going anywhere." Blaise looked surprised, and mildly amused.

"I quite like us being friends like this. We're a lot closer than we used to be." It was Draco's turn to look surprised.

"I'm not sure our relationship is working out," he repeated, stammering slightly. This time Blaise laughed.

"You make it sound like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, or something!"

"We are," Draco said blankly, trying to work out what she was talking about.

Blaise looked worried.

"Seriously?" she asked, her voice lower than before, and her eyes scanning the empty room.

"Seriously. Although I'm not sure we should be any more, especially if you can't remember it."

"Shit," she replied. "Ever since I've been in the hospital I can't remember anything that happened after the summer term last year. When did we start going out?"

"Over the holidays. But the thing is, we weren't very good together. I don't think we can really call ourselves a couple any more." Blaise shook her head.

"I guess not."

Draco got off the sofa and walked out of the room, checking to make sure the Magnanimatis Adnecto was still in his pocket. It was. How had he managed to give it to her? How could he have been so stupid?

*

"That's all for now, team. Stay in that shape and we'll do fine against Ravenclaw on Saturday!" Katie Bell dismounted her broom and headed towards the Quidditch shed, her team following. Harry mopped the sweat from his forehead. It had been a hard training session but the practise would pay off during their matches.

After he had changed he headed back up to the school with the rest of the team, but an arm appeared from out of one of the bushes that flanked the path and pulled him inside. It was dark and dirty inside of the plant.

"I think we need to talk," said the voice of the person who had dragged him into the shrub.

"Of course. Why didn't you just come up to me after practise?"

"Because that wouldn't have seemed odd to the rest of the team."

"Good point. Can we get out of this bush yet?" They emerged from the plant.

"Oh, Draco, you have some leaves in your hair." Harry reached up to brush them off but Draco slapped his hand away.

"No one touches my hair, ok?" Harry wanted to laugh, but then he saw the look on Draco's face and had to suppress his giggles.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

"Blaise. She was acting really strangely this morning when I talked to her." Harry looked sternly at Draco.

"You did break up with her, didn't you?" he asked. Draco nodded.

"That was the problem, though. She didn't remember that we were ever together. She said she couldn't remember anything past last summer."

"I wish I could wipe some of my memories," Harry said a little wistfully. Draco hugged him.

"Do you think it was anything to do with what happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Harry asked after a little while. Draco looked away from him.

"Um, yeah, probably. Something like that." He sounded very distant.

"Are you ok?"

"Who me?" Draco replied, surprised out of his daydream. "Sure, I'm fine. Nothing wrong with me at all."

"Why do I not believe you?"

*

Remus Lupin paced his office once again. He had begun to wear away part of the old rug that lay on the floor.

Oh Sirius, he thought. What would you say if you saw me now? You were always so much better than me at this kind of thing. I'm no good at solving problems. I want to help people but I can't. Not for the first time. Remus had the desire to curl up on the floor and cry. A knock at the door prevented him from doing this.

"Come in," he said weakly, praying his voice would not falter and give away his feelings.

The door opened and Harry walked in. Despite all the similarities between him and his father, Remus thought that Harry had a very, well, Harry-ish way of moving. Whereas James would have strutted in, and stood cockily, confidence oozing from every self-inflated yet lovable pore, Harry slunk in and leant against the wall, looking as though he was trying to occupy as little space as possible. The only time Remus could remember seeing at someone so uncomfortable in their own skin was when he had looked in the mirror at himself as a sixteen year old boy. The difference in stance was oddly reassuring; else, Remus feared, he might have mistaken his student for his best friend.

"Hi Harry," he said, smiling slightly. "How can I help you?"

"I just came by to hand in my essay on the Unforgivables," he replied, and smiled back, looking every bit the unintentional hero.

"Well I expect you to get a very good mark, having had so much experience." In both giving and receiving them, he thought, remembering the night at the Ministry that last summer. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually, I want to talk to you about something."

"Well have a seat then, and I'll get you something to drink." He indicated to a pair of battered but comfortable armchairs. "Tea? Coffee? Something a little stronger?" Harry laughed.

"I don't think you're allowed to give me anything stronger than a Butterbeer. I'll have some tea, thanks." Harry sat down. Remus lowered himself into the chair opposite and conjured a teapot, two cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits onto the coffee table between the chairs.

"Chocolate digestive, Harry?" he offered. Harry shook his head.

"No thank you."

"Go on, have one. There's no one else to eat them." And you're looking far too thin, he added mentally. Harry looked from the plate of biscuits to the friendly smile on his teacher's face and took one.

"So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Blaise," replied Harry, wiping the crumbs from his mouth and taking a sip of tea. He was careful to watch his words; no one else knew about him and Draco. "Apparently she's been acting strangely since she got out of the hospital wing. Do you know anything about what was wrong with her?"

Remus was just about to speak when there came another knock at the door. Professor Snape came in without bidding and walked towards the two armchairs and coffee table. He laid down a smoking pewter goblet.

"It's ready, Lupin. It will be most effective if ingested immediately."

"Of course," Remus replied, looking up at Professor Snape, who was not without his trademark look of menacing. Harry saw a few purple-coloured marks on the potions professor's hands, some of which seemed to be oozing a pale pink fluid, and thought back to the disastrous accident a few lessons ago, on the day that Draco had gotten hammered.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I think you should leave. It's probably best you don't see this. My transformations are not pretty, and neither is the Wolfsbane. Thank you, Severus. Could you show Harry out please?"

"I'm sure he knows where the door is. Not even he is that stupid." With a snarky sneer and an overly-dramatic twirling of his cloak he turned and exited the room. Harry slunk after him, having pocketed a few of the biscuits. Remus grimaced, and lifted the steaming cup to his lips. Trying as much as he could not to taste the foul liquid, he swallowed the contents in one gulp.

"I wonder if I could convince him to put some mint in next time," he said to the empty room, and sat in wait for the transformation to begin.

*

Draco kept his head down as he strode purposefully towards the library, his mind still racing after his conversation with Harry. It seemed very strange, how he had had the two seemingly irrelevant pieces of information for all this time but it was only when he had spoken to Harry that he had put the two together.

It made so much more sense now. Blaise's memory loss, the Magnanimitas Adnecto. He needed to do some research, though.

The library was almost empty apart from a few students hurriedly scribbling late essays or homework, a pair of Hufflepuff girls giggling at a book of love spells, talking about someone called 'Justin' and several lone readers, their heads buried in thick, dusty old tomes. Draco didn't recognise any of the people. He headed to the darkest end of the library, where books that no one saw as dangerous enough for the restricted section were kept. Draco knew that, in the wrong hands, some of incantations could do far more damage than a polyjuice potion.

He found the book he wanted, a thick brown-leathered volume, the pages yellowing with age. Fortunately it had an index so he flicked through that and soon found the page he desired.

Breathing deeply, Draco read the tiny print. Most of it made sense, although parts lapsed into Russian and the last word was obscured by a coffee stain. Even still, it confirmed his worst fears.

Magnanimatis. Greatness of soul. Adnecto. Bound.

The book was certainly powerful. Blaise had only had it a couple of days and already it had begun to bind to her. That explained the memory loss.

"Damn it!" he said, louder than he had intended to, and several people looked up from their books and hissed 'Shhh,' at him.

He saw that one of the people who had looked up was Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor that seemed to live only to annoy Snape. Lonely and in need of a brain to pick, he gathered his thoughts and sat in the seat next to her.

"Hello, Granger," he offered, in a voice that suggested he expected to be bitten.

"Oh hello Malfoy," she replied, making it obvious that she intended to do not biting of any sort. "Can I help you?" Draco was astonished that this girl, this girl he had spent the better part of six years irritating, was willing to talk to him as though he were any other person.

"Not really. I just wanted to talk to someone, and you seemed the least threatening option." She gave him a strange look, and he mentally banged his head on the table.

"Threatening? Out of two fourth-year Hufflepuffs, a seventh-year Ravenclaw with an essay due tomorrow and three first-years in you own house, I was the least threatening?" Draco gulped and nodded.

"Doesn't say much about your perception of danger, does it?" she asked with a small smile that pissed Draco right off. He felt the warm familiarity of anger bubble up somewhere in his stomach, and tried to resist the urge to punch her.

"Are you always like this?" he said, with clenched teeth.

"Like what?"

"Oh I don't know. Exuding confidence and wit and brains, I suppose." He picked up a nearby quill and sucked the end thoughtfully.

"Probably," she replied, still smiling. "I seem to remember one of the teachers at my muggle school describing me as precocious." Draco smiled too, and the feeling of anger was gone, extinguished by the charming brunette.

"You have a way with men," he said, and grinned.

"So do you, or so I hear," she retorted, her eyes gleaming.

"Very funny, Granger. Now do you want to help me or not?"

"Aha! So you do want something."

"Yes. I want to be able to say that I made a friend out of a lovely Gryffindor. And believe me, lovely Gryffindors don't come along very often."

"Damn right," she agreed, and looked dreamily into space. Draco saw something in her face, something that he recognised very well. Something that he too had known. Impulsively, he asked the question he felt she might have been waiting for for some time.

"Granger, are you in love with Potter?" Immediately she snapped out of her daydream.

"What?" she asked, although he knew full well she had heard his question.

"Are you in love with Potter. I know you heard me, and don't try to avoid the question. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But if I'm right, you need someone to talk to." Hermione looked at Draco, looked with kindness at a face that she had only ever before viewed with hatred and despising, and saw no mocking in his pale eyes, only genuine concern.

"No, of course not! Whatever gave you that idea? Why would I be in love with my best friend?" From the expression on his face, she could tell he didn't believe her. "I'm not. No way. Well...maybe just a little bit. Ever since I found out I was a witch, when I first did some research and found his name and picture in books of magical history. I first became infatuated with the hero, and when I actually met him, fell in love with the person. The way his hair is so messy, how kind he is,"

"How cute and goofy he looks when he smiles, how he isn't really a hero, just a little boy feeling lost," Draco offered. Hermione nodded.

"Yes. You know?" she asked, semi-dreamily, then realised what had passed between them. "You know?" she repeated in amazement.

"Yes. I know. I know far too well." Hermione looked as though several things were suddenly making sense.

"Ron said that Neville was being funny towards Harry, that Harry was acting strangely, he was away a lot. He was with you?" Draco nodded.

"We went out for a bit in the summer," she said, "but he thought it was weird, us being such close friends and all. He said we should break it off, and I agreed. For his sake. I never wanted it to end. I'd follow him to the ends of the Earth, and beyond, if it would do us any good." Hermione looked slightly wistful. "At least I knew what a wonderful thing it was."

"He found me, I found him. We found each other, and it worked. Strange to say, but it worked. We spent so long hating each other we never dreamt there could be anything else." Draco found it was his turn to look wistful. "So much time wasted."

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" Hermione said slowly, seeing Draco again in a whole new light. He snapped out of his dreamy state.

"Do you know anything about Charon?" he asked.

"Which Charon?"

"Good answer," he replied, and smiled. Things happened in the strangest of places, he thought. Between the most unlikely people too.