Threadbare

Twelve: Unfolded

Harry.

It is the twelfth of January, beginning of the second school week of the new year. You have just finished your evening shower and, tired though you are because of today's successful training session with Snape, you find yourself walking down the corridor to Remus's rooms. The romantic encounter a few weeks ago is long past, of course, and its vestiges have all but vanished. You and he have a tacit understanding: you are attracted to each other but remain friends for more reasons than the evident. There is the occasional tingling touch here and there, but the situation is more comfortable than it would be with anyone else it might be applied to. Draco included.

You and Remus comprehend each other. This is perhaps one of the reasons it is better to stay friends.

His rooms don't take too long to reach. You draw your shoulders up and smirk at the mahogany door you have come to know so well. You raise a fist to knock; but at that moment the door opens abruptly, surprising you out of your wits, and who should walk out but Severus Snape.

He looks as shocked to see you as you are to see him. You nod your head in courtesy. He lifts his, as if wondering what in the wizarding world you are doing outside Remus's door. He goes past with the usual swish of his cloak and a whiff of potions and anxiety. You watch him go for a moment. Soon you remember what you came here to do and turn back to Remus's door, behind which he is already standing to receive you.

Instead of the customary smile, he greets you with a worried frown, and it makes you worried as well. Snape. Remus frowning. This evening is full of bad signs, and already you dread what is coming.

"Sit down," he says distractedly, gesturing with his hand toward the sofa. "I would like to... Harry, there's something... All right."

He sits on the armchair across you. The fire crackles at your left, but it gives no real warmth. Your blood is cold because he has never sat anywhere but beside you on the couch. He nods slightly to himself, and you have the idea he has a checklist in his mind: make Harry sit down, sit in front of him, tell him bad news—

Except what bad news can there be? It can't be about Voldemort: Dumbledore would be the one to inform you of anything. It can't be about your grades: you've been doing so well so far, and you nearly got into the top ten last term, everything's brilliant. You somehow have a suspicion that it's something he and Snape discussed just a minute ago. But Snape probably had nothing important to speak of besides the disappointing results of your self-defense-murder training, which would be completely untrue. You're on the way to being a professional, if you do say so yourself.

Remus clears his throat. "Professor Snape told me something very... disturbing."

You lift your eyebrows, amused despite the gravity in his tone. Snape is always disturbing, anyway, even when he doesn't speak. (Or maybe especially when he doesn't speak.)

"Harry," Remus continues, "Do you remember what happened on the twenty-fifth of October last year?"

In the same moment, you know that you're in trouble. Initially you think, please let it be something else. But then you think, How did Snape know? Suddenly mismatched questions swirl uncontrollably, melting in your chest with the heat of knowing that anyone but Draco and his father in on the secret cannot be good. You try to hold your breath lest you end up hyperventilating. You keep your expression neutral and reply, "I don't remember anything notable."

A twinge of guilt stings you inside because this is Remus, one of the people you trust most. You have always disliked lying, even if it was necessary.

"Are you sure?" Remus's eyes are narrowed, gentle but suspicious, and mostly worried.

"Pretty much."

He fixes you with a smoldering glare and says, gravity hoarse in his voice, "Don't lie to me, Harry. Please."

You look back at him, just keep looking until you have to hunch your shoulders and transfer your stare to your knees. You berate yourself for being weak. But a part of you says that you're better off telling the truth. Getting it over with.

So you take a deep breath.

"What did Snape tell you?"

"That you—that Draco's father—I didn't want to believe him. But he was so serious, and in the end—Harry, I want to hear it from you. Please tell me he's lying."

It feels like a burden and a catharsis all at once when you reply.

"He wasn't."

The words swing precariously for an uncomfortable moment. You never wanted Remus to know, and you never planned for him to find out. You share your misfortunes with so much of the wizarding world already; there is no point in sharing this one. But when he blinks in sadness and disbelief you feel almost as if a gray curtain has lifted and given you perfect vision; between you and Remus everything has turned clear, true; there are no lies or hidden truths or the weight of colossal secrets.

You tell him everything. It is uncomfortable at first, but behind the melancholy in his eyes there is concern and the eagerness to understand. You think that maybe deep inside he loves you.

In the end you tell him everything until there are furious tears forming in his eyes and he holds them back because he has to be strong for you. You almost tell him you can be strong for yourself, but you don't, because it feels good, once in a while, to have someone holding on in your stead.

Like Draco used to do.

~~~

Draco.

In Pansy's sultry brown eyes and lips so close you can no longer see them, you recognize that you have really, really had enough.

You haven't even been talking to her, for Merlin's sake, much less flirting. Why in the unfortunate world does she insist on being intimate with you?

This, you think, is why girls are not your type.

Now if only Pansy knew that.

You push her away, gently because you still care about your reputation, and tell her to please sod off.

"What do you mean, sod off?" she asks, clueless as a lamb.

"Pansy Parkinson, I never thought I would have to say this, because frankly I'm quite good at making implications, but I don't like you. Do you understand that? Now please, let's just be friends."

She frowns. She doesn't do it in an instant, no, but her supposedly sexy smile dissipates in well over ten seconds and a sad push of the lips follows it. Her eyes begin to glaze with the blow of rejection; in a minute they are so shiny you think she might start to cry. She is still on all fours half on top of you and it's funny, if only just a bit. Slowly, she transfers her weight from her arms to her knees, sits on her calves on the sofa, each movement accompanied by a creak of leather. Then she unfolds her legs and places her feet flat on the floor. She stands; the couch creaks with the removal of weight; she smoothes down her blouse and skirt, pulls on her robes, and says, suddenly visited by coherence, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

You cannot help smirking. "I tried."

"Well, at least... now I know."

"But we will be still friends, right?"

"Right," she replies dismissively. You can't blame her; she's in a daze. You resist the urge to giggle.

"You didn't really like me, did you?" you suggest to lighten the mood. "Maybe you were just lonely."

"I don't know," she says. "I thought you liked me, actually, and you just had a funny way of showing it. Because you've never mentioned anyone else, and how am I to know...? I don't even know what kind of people you like, really. I'm sorry if I..." she gestures helplessly with her hands, smiling in embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it." You smile back: a real smile.

She nods, walking out of the common room. It is only when the stone slab slides closed that you realize the strangeness of the conversation.

She doesn't know what kind of people you like, she said.

You smile to yourself.

I like Harry.

Suddenly—

Perhaps it is because of Pansy's utter humiliation, or her utter naiveté; perhaps because of what she said, or what you now remember; perhaps because his touch that grievous October day still tingles on the back of your hand, that day when the fire was as warm as his soul and both your hearts were as cold as fear—

Suddenly everything falls into place.

~~~

Harry.

After your story Remus appears as if he has aged ten years; his eyes are numb with anger, his voice choked with sadness. By now he knows—he should know—that there is nothing that can be done. The past is passed; the wound may not have healed fully, but it's on its way; every memory remembered stings but only makes you stronger. You chest aches with bitterness but soon it will disappear, and you will feel all the better because of it.

You choose not to dwell on the incident any further. Instead you ask him, "How did Snape know?"

Remus tells you. Once again you are surprised and amazed by the way Snape is concerned about you despite his initial abhorrence. Snape is not a caring person—you know that much; but he is one with a debt to pay and is honorable enough to do so. He is also strangely observant. You cannot be sure if this is a good thing.

You ask Remus why Snape chose to spill the secret now, months after it happened.

"He was worried about Draco, so he guessed I might be worried about you. To tell you the truth, I wasn't, but now..."

"What's wrong with Draco? Is he all right?"

After you say it you are struck by your immediate concern.

"Grades." He shrugs. "I think he told me what happened only because yours are getting higher and Draco's much lower; knowing Snape, he probably thinks it's unfair, and cares about not much else." By the light in his eyes you can tell he's trying to make you feel better. But you don't.

"Draco's grades are getting lower...?" you murmur almost to yourself, imagining the way it could possibly have happened. Draco's performance has never deteriorated; as far as you know, he has only been improving since first year. Could he possibly—does he keep hoping—does he still think...

"Harry, there's something I need to know."

You snap out of your confused reverie.

"Did Draco's father tell you why he did it?"

Remus is afraid of mentioning what ‘it' was. Perhaps you could call it ‘You-Know-What.'

You repeat what you said a while ago, which maybe he missed: "He didn't like me and Draco together."

He shakes his head. "No, besides that."

You narrow your eyes, trying to remember. The details are a bit hazy.

And then you shrug. "That's it. I don't recall him mentioning anything else. I mean, what else could it be? That he liked me?" You chuckle, surprising yourself with how easily the laugh comes.

But Remus is thoughtful, and his face seems to have paled.

"What is it?"

"Never mind it. Never mind." His eyes are distracted, as if he has something to hide.

He asks you if you want to talk. You tell him, as politely as possible, that you've talked enough and that you would just like to get some sleep. He understands immediately and dismisses you.

"See you on Wednesday," you tell him before you go out to the hall.

You slowly walk down the corridor, thinking about what's changed now that he knows. Everything? Or nothing?

You don't get to think too long, though.

Draco Malfoy appears from behind the corner and strolls straight toward you.

~

TBC.