Golden Thread Of Trust

Golden Thread Of Trust

Chapter 1: Emptiness

Cool breeze and autumn leaves
Slow motion daylight
A lone pair of watchful eyes
Oversee the living...

Savage Garden - "You Can Still Be Free"

It was a late night in the beginning of October. The rain was pouring down over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as if it tried to wash the castle clean from all the evil it had seen lately. The school lay in darkness on its hill, and almost everyone was fast asleep. But in the Gryffindor tower, in the seventh-year boys’ dormitory, a young man was out of bed. He sat on the windowsill, his silhouette barely visible in the starless night.
Harry Potter was deep in thoughts. He thought about what was going to come, and that which had been. Last year, his worst enemy, Lord Voldemort, was defeated, and the chaos that broke out in the wizarding world after Voldemorts rise to power was beginning to subside. A lot of Death Eaters had been killed, and many captured. Wormtail was among those who were captured, and that meant that Harry’s godfather Sirius would probably be freed sooner or later.
Voldemort was gone forever. The threat that had been looming over Harry for six years was also gone. Harry was happy, of course, but he felt strangely empty. Since he found out that Voldemort had killed his parents and tried to kill Harry himself, Harry had wanted to see him dead. But now, afterwards, he derived no pleasure from the battles that were fought, or the terrible sights he had seen. He still had nightmares, although not as frequently as he used to. In fact, that was what woke him up tonight, and made him unable to fall asleep again.
Now he was brooding over the future. He still had one year left at Hogwarts, but he seemed unable to look any farther than that. He missed having a goal in his life, to strive for something important. In the future, he could only see schoolwork. He wished he had someone to talk to about his emptiness. He could imagine Hermione’s reply:
Well, at least you have the N.E.W.T.’s to look forward to."
Ron and Hermione were still his best friends, but since they had become a couple in sixth year Harry felt that he must give them some privacy and time to be alone together. He sighed softly when he thought of his own, non-existent, love life. After Cho turned him down, Harry had never been in love, not even interested in a girl. Well, what was he supposed to do about that? You couldn’t just fall in love because you wanted to, could you? He considered starting a fight with Malfoy, but decided against it. Ever since Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy was killed and Malfoy Manor laid in ruins, the boy had not seemed to be himself. He had enough to cope with as it was, and Harry didn’t want to add to that. Besides, when all of Voldemort’s supporters left Hogwarts to join his ranks before the final battle — Crabbe and Goyle left among others — Malfoy had stayed. Harry didn’t quite know what to make of that. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. It was time to go back to bed.

They had double Potions with the Slytherins first thing in the morning. Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the classroom in the dungeons early, but they weren’t the first. Most of the Slytherins were already there, but they were only six this year, since four of them left in the sixth year, and none of them returned, of course. Harry noticed that Malfoy just sat and stared into empty space. He seemed to be doing that a lot nowadays. Harry was reminded of the first day in school, on the Hogwarts Express.

Mrs Weasley had delayed them with her motherly concerns until the very last minute. All of the cabins were full, until they entered the last one. It had only one occupant, Draco Malfoy, who looked out of the window with a distant look on his face.
All the other cabins are full, may we sit here? Harry asked, expecting the usual insult in reply. But Malfoy just shrugged, said:
"Sure," and continued to stare out of the window.
The three friends found it a bit awkward to talk in their usual manner in Malfoy’s presence, but since he didn’t seem to even acknowledge their presence, they ignored him. But, inevitably, their conversation started to concern the last schoolyear’s events, a sensitive topic. And just as inevitably, Ron had to bring Malfoy into it as well.
"I guess some aren’t that proud if their ’pure blood’ anymore," he shot towards Malfoy.
"I suppose you just peed in your pants with delight when you found something you could throw in my face," the pale boy answered in an emotionless voice.
"Yes, actually I did," Ron answered lightly. "I just love to taunt evil wizards."
Malfoy’s grey eyes narrowed.
"I don’t like what you’re insinuating," he spat. "I was never a Death Eater!"
Ron snorted.
"See for yourselves, then," said Malfoy angrily and pulled up his left sleeve, only to reveal smooth white skin without a trace of the telling scar.
"No mark."
"Wouldn’t the Dark Mark have faded by now?" Harry asked calmly.
Malfoy just sighed, and retreated into himself again.

For some reason, unknown even to himself, Harry wanted to know the truth. He sat there in the classroom, thinking about it, as Professor Snape entered, his robes billowing around him.
He seemed to be in his usual bad mood. Becoming a war hero after spying on Voldemort had apparently not changed him at all. Not for the better, at least. Suddenly it dawned on Harry. Of course! He could ask Snape!
Immediately after the lesson he went up to the tall Potions Master.
"Professor, may I have a word with you?"
Snape must have noticed by the look on his face that it was something important, because he didn’t send him away.
"Yes, Potter? What do you have on your mind?" he asked, somewhat derisively.
"I... I just wanted to know... Did the Dark Mark fade after Voldemort’s death?"
Snape gave him an unreadable look, and pulled up his sleeve.
"Yes, it has faded now, and soon, I expect, it will be entirely gone."
On his arm you could see a faint, grey mark, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. That proved Malfoy innocent, then. Harry wondered why he cared.
"Thank you, Professor," he said, and exited the dungeons with a troubled look on his face.
The black-eyed teacher watched him leave, but only Snape himself knew what he was thinking in that moment.

At lunch the entire Gryffindor table was engaged in conversation. Everyone, except Colin Creevey, who was very busy eating, Neville and Ginny, who were busy gazing into each other’s eyes, and Harry, who sat silent and listened to the others. They were discussing Quidditch, and normally Harry would have participated, but he wasn’t in the mood today. He finished his food, and glanced over the Great Hall. About a quarter of the Slytherins were missing this year, and there were many empty seats. He noticed that Malfoy sat by himself, his head bent so that his fair hair hid his face. He seemed awfully lonely, Harry mused, obviously oblivious to the fact that he himself was just as lonely, even though he was surrounded by friends.

Harry went over it again and again in his head, endlessly repeating the conversation. After a couple of days he realised that he would have to do it, simply to find some peace of mind. And so, that Thursday after supper, when he saw Malfoy exit the Great Hall and head towards the lake, he followed.
"Malfoy!" he shouted. "Can I have a word with you?"
"What do you want, Potter?" the blond boy asked in a tired voice, when Harry caught up with him.
"Actually, I..." Harry lowered his eyes. "I wanted to apologise. Remember the incident on the train? I’m sorry about that, I should’ve taken your word for it." There, he had said it. He looked up at the other boy. The Slytherin’s mouth had dropped open and he just stared at Harry with a look of utter disbelief on his face. Quite satisfied, Harry turned and started walking back to the castle.
"Potter... Wait!" Malfoy stopped him with a curious look in his pale eyes. "I’m sorry, too. I know that I haven’t given you any reason to trust my word. Even my family name means bad faith. But I’m not proud of that name anymore. Just thought you should know." And with that he walked off, this time leaving Harry staring wide-eyed at his back.

In that precise moment, the Ancient One was thrown out of her slumber and knew that she had a task ahead of her.
’Who could it be this time, I wonder. Very strong compelling, indeed.’
She drifted slowly over to a pool that seemed to be filled with mist and clouds in different colours. She gazed into it, and her eyes widened slightly. This would require some thinking.

Draco Malfoy was filled with a lot of emotions, and he didn’t know how to interpret them. First of all relief. Perhaps it was because he finally apologised, wherever that stupid idea came from. Shouldn’t have given Potter any advantage, he would probably just use it against him... Maybe he was simply relieved cause Potter didn’t follow him here? And this strange, airy feeling, that felt almost like... hope? What the hell did he have to hope for? He was totally lost, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help feeling. Most of all, though, he felt sad. And he knew that the sadness was justified. There wasn’t a wizard or witch alive that didn’t hate him, no matter which side they were on. Both sides saw him as a traitor, a turncoat. And worst of all, he knew that he had been living a lie. He was brought up to be a Malfoy, no wonder he became one. Pure blood was important, money was important, and power was important. The weak and the Mudbloods were to be despised. Compassion and emotions were signs of weakness. This was what his parents had taught him, and he had believed them. Until now. It was some time last year that the realisation had come to him. His father was a slave under Voldemort’s will, completely governed by fear and desire for power, while Dumbledore, Potter and the others had something else... They knew that they were fighting for the right thing, and nothing could stop them, short of death. Who, then, was weak, and who was strong? It was a hard decision, but at the last moment he decided to stay on Dumbledore’s side. He knew that he definitely didn’t want to be Voldemort’s pawn, but on the other hand he didn’t know if he could be the other way either. His conditioning went too deep. Well, it turned out that he wasn’t even given a chance, and he often wished that he had joined Voldemort, fought and died. Then he wouldn’t have to put up with this hell. He slammed his fist, hard, into a rock.
’Damn my father!’ he thought furiously. His fist hit the rock again, and again.
"DAMN HIM!"
The echo of his desperate words faded, unheard, and the lake was still again.
His hand was bleeding, and it hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain inside him. He knew, all too well, that in the end it all came down to him. So he hated his father and mother for doing this to him, but most of all he hated himself.