Nied is Not Enough

Chapter Eight

Harry stood behind Dumbledore as the stone staircase spiraled upward. Harry's head was pounding when they entered the office. Fawkes sat on his perch as vibrant as the sun. The office didn't look much different than it did when Harry was a student. It had a few more trinkets here and there, but otherwise was the same.

"Where is he?" Harry finally muttered.

"Ah, well, it is not my business to tell you. He will be back, however. Just give him a few days, Harry." Dumbledore produced a teapot and two cups. He handed Harry a steaming cup and a few biscuits. Harry took them begrudgingly. "Now, I believe there was something you wanted to ask me," the Headmaster sat back against his high back chair.

Harry shuffled around in his seat for a few moments and finally let loose. "You knew didn't you? You knew that Draco helped me kill Voldemort. Why didn't you tell me? Who else knows other than you and Snape?"

"Severus was bound by his mark not to tell. I knew because I was there afterwards, Harry. I cannot give you the details of what transpired that night. That is between you and Draco." He took a sip of tea and dribbled it down his long white beard.

Harry's insides churned. How could no one tell him?

"Draco asked me specifically not to say anything to anyone. He was in danger of his life, you know. We transported him to St. Mungo's where he was given a potion to generate new eyes. They couldn't match the color if you haven't noticed. The procedure was still fairly new at the time."

Harry stared out of the window at the dark sky. He thought of the young man lying on the grass behind Voldemort's remains. "Why, Professor? Why did he do it?"

"Again, Harry, I am not at liberty to discuss anyone's motives. You need to find that out from Mr. Malfoy. Now if you have any questions I can answer, let me know, but right now, I need to sleep. Those children are exhausting."

Harry nodded and stood to leave.

"Oh, Harry, I believe this is yours." He held out the heartstone to Harry who took it from the Headmaster's hand and left the office.

Harry took the long way back to the Dungeons, down corridors he knew no one ever used. He felt a great emptiness welling inside him as he thought of the past twenty years of his life. He had pushed the memory of the last few moments of the war so far down that he couldn't have possibly remembered the young Death Eater throwing his arms around Voldemort while he was casting the killing curse. Draco saved my life. He thought about all the horrible words passed between the two of them during school, how Draco's demeanor changed completely after the death of his parents.

He thought about how he, himself changed after the death of Voldemort; his inability to trust people, the way he secluded himself from anything beautiful in the world. He was pretty much okay during school. He felt like Hogwarts was his home; the magical world offered so much to him. He was recognized everywhere he went as the Boy Who Lived, the one who stopped Voldemort in the beginning. He loved being with his friends before that, why not now? What was it that changed his outlook on life to seclude himself this way?

Harry thought back to the days following the war. He spent most of the remainder of his seventh year in the hospital wing under the care of Madam Pomfrey. Ron and Hermione tried to visit but he wouldn't accept their offers. The press wouldn't leave him alone and hounded the school daily. They all wanted to know how he had killed Voldemort, what happened in the final moments of the war, what he was going to do with his life now that his nemesis was dead. At that point, he figured there was no purpose in his life. Voldemort was gone. It was then he officially decided to train as an auror; maybe he could continue searching out the remaining Death Eaters and bring them to justice. With that choice, he closed himself off to the rest of the world. He could run and hide as often as he wanted; that is what aurors do: they disguise themselves, stay hidden, and don't allow anyone to know them. He would be free of the fame he knew as a teenager.

He would never have to see the Dursley's again. He could leave that life behind and the life he knew at Hogwarts. He could forget all the pain he had gone through, the loss of his godfather, everything.

Harry stopped at the end of a corridor which had a huge round window. The moon peeked between the clouds and filled the hallway with blue light. He took the heartstone from his pocket and held it in the moonlight. It spun quickly above his palm. The outside was smooth, but inside was cut with hundreds of facets. He concentrated on sending all of his energy through his hand. The heartstone slowed and then stopped. It caught the beams of blue light from the window and broke them into thousands of different colors which lit the hallway around him. He looked around at the small colored points of light on the walls, floor and ceiling. Looking more closely at them, he realized each one was a memory. On each point of light, a short, almost movie-like bit of his life was playing. He looked around at all the things he had gone through, all the friends he had made and lost, the days he spent playing Quidditch, the horrors he had witnessed, the loss of Sirius Black, his parents, his innocence. He saw beautiful sunsets and rolling waves from the ocean. He watched Hagrid waving from the station at Hogsmeade and a small dragon setting the half-giant's beard on fire. He watched his cousin Dudley fall into a snake cage at the zoo, Voldemort's face in the back of Professor Quirell's head; his life was playing before him and he hardly recognized it.

"This is me," he barely whispered as he looked around at everything before him. The clouds moved back across the moon and the colors disappeared from the hallway. Harry watched the stone begin spinning again. From the point facing his palm, a white light began pulsing. It moved further up until the entire stone was radiating pure white light. Harry felt something wet on his cheek. With his free hand, he wiped away the tears he didn't even realize he was allowing to fall. This is me.

He grasped the stone in his hand, tensed his entire body, leaned his head back and let loose the most primal, earthy yell he could. The sound filled the hallway, echoing from every corner. The sound was so intense the window began shaking behind him then burst into shards, tearing through his jacket and into the back side of his body. Tears still streaming down his face, he continued yelling until he had no voice. He slumped onto the floor sobbing and fell unconscious.

*****

Harry fluttered his eyelids for a moment, and then realized his glasses were not on. His face was smashed up against something rather soft. He felt something wet against his cheek. He pushed up from wherever he was laying and felt several small pains run through his back and the backs of his legs. He let out a groan and continued pushing himself up. With blurry vision, Harry figured out that he was in the hospital wing. He heard shoes clicking across the floor and a shape moving toward him.

"Here are your glasses, Harry," Madam Pomfrey handed them to Harry.

He painfully swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to make himself more comfortable. He reached with his right hand to his right shoulder and felt a few small cuts. As he rubbed his hand over a few, he sucked in his breath through his teeth.

"Yes, those will smart for awhile, I'm afraid. Charmed glass does a number on one's skin. Might be a few days before they're healed." She scuttled around the bed to the table next to it and set down a jug of pumpkin juice.

Harry wanted to stretch his arms and legs, but thought better of it.

"It'd be best if you just kept laying face down, Harry. I've sent for the Headmaster and he should be here in a few moments." She whisked out the door.

Harry carefully stood and walked to the full length mirror across the room. His back and legs stung with every movement. He reached the mirror, turned around and looked over his shoulder. Small cuts covered his back and legs. Each one was slightly blue around the edges. Damn that window.

"Ah, Harry, I see you're up and about." Dumbledore stood in the entry to the room. "You, erm, might want to put something on." The Headmaster glanced down at Harry who was standing naked before him. Harry moved slowly back to his bed and draped the sheet around him, careful not to drag it along his wounds.

"What day is it?" Harry asked groggily. The Headmaster conjured up a chair and sat next to Harry's bed.

"Tuesday. It seems that the window you somehow managed to shatter cut you so many times, well, let's just say there was quite a loss of blood before we found you, Harry." Dumbledore was mindlessly stroking his long silvery beard. "Your screaming woke the school."

Harry thought back to Saturday night and everything that happened. He let his head fall into his hands and he began quietly sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he muttered.

"There there, my dear boy," the Headmaster put his hand on Harry's bowed head, making sure not to touch any of the cuts. Harry continued sobbing into his hands as the Headmaster continued. "I didn't quite expect you to be able to use the heartstone to its full extent so quickly. I guess I should have known better. Hmmm?"

Harry smiled a small smile at this and sat up almost straight. He wiped away some of the tears with the sheet he was covering himself with. Dumbledore handed him a box of tissues.

"I know quite what it's like to be where you are right now, Harry. Often, we give up really living in order to keep from feeling. That way, we're safe. Am I right?"

Harry nodded his head. His eyes were an amazingly clear green from crying. His hair was quite tousled from being unconscious for two and a half days. Harry did not cry often. He felt like a child.

"You have a lot to deal with now. I believe you know who you can trust to speak to about these things. I'm sure he'd like to get some things off his chest as well." Dumbledore looked over his glasses at Harry, eyes twinkling at Harry like they used to. He patted Harry on the knee and stood to leave. He crossed the floor of the room, and then turned again to his old student. "Welcome back, Harry."

Harry sat on the edge of his bed and wept for another few minutes. He took a couple of deep breaths, wiped his face and painfully got dressed. A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey swept back into the room.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she asked with surprise. Harry had gathered his jacket in one hand and his wand in the other.

Without turning around, Harry said. "I think I'd like to return to my rooms until these cuts heal. I know perfectly well how to manage them, if you don't mind." Harry lied a bit at the last part, but sitting in the hospital wing for a few days wasn't something he looked forward to.

Madam Pomfrey "humphed" and said, "I certainly hope you know what you're doing, Mr. Potter." Harry thought he heard her mumbling, "Kids these days..." as she again swept from the room.

Thankfully, the trip back to the Dungeons was an uneventful one, seeing as how the students were at lunch. Harry had absolutely no idea what Dumbledore told the rest of the school about Saturday night. Hopefully, he came up with one reason or another that two of the professors disappeared from classes for a few days. When is Draco coming back? Harry thought about the man at the masque the other night: how stunning he looked in the dark red vest, how his white-blond hair and milky skin looked against the red and black.

Harry couldn't have been happier when he reached his rooms. The fire was blazing, candles lit the room warmly and he was surrounded by his things. He slowly removed his shirt and pants and tossed them across the end of his bed. He hadn't really regenerated enough blood for the strength and energy he needed to walk from the hospital wing to his rooms. He exhaustedly collapsed onto his bed.

He lay on the ground next to the sizzling remains of Voldemort. After the spell fog cleared, the Dark Lord's skull shone white in the moonlight. Harry reached out and pulled it to him. He cast the shrinking spell and grasped the skull in his hand. The Deatheater lay on the other side of Voldemort's remains. Harry pulled himself along the ground with his elbows to the fallen man. The blonde's face was turned away from Harry. The dark robe he wore was burned away at the chest, revealing a fresh wound in the shape of a skewed cross. The man's chest barely rose and fell, at least he was still alive. With what strength he had left, Harry placed his free hand on the young man's chest over the fresh wound. He felt the gaps under his palm slowly close as his strength faded to nothing and he collapsed with his head on the man's chest.

Harry felt a cool tingling on his wounds. He opened his eyes half way and saw an unfamiliar dark cloak hanging over the chair in his room. His eyes closed again and half-opened them. He was swimming in and out of sleep and he kept seeing legs walking back and forth in front of him. The bed dipped where the other person sat and Harry again felt the tingling on his wounds. The other person laid their palm on Harry's lower back. He immediately knew it was Draco.

Harry made some guttural sound as he tried to move his head away from the pillow. Draco pulled his hand away at the sound. Harry rolled onto his side to face the blond who now had both hands wrapped around a small blue salve container.

Harry rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. He put them on to look at Draco. His heart had sped up when he realized who was touching him. The residual signature had already been discovered, however, when Harry shook Draco's hand during the Halloween masque. Harry was feeling slightly awkward, laying there in just his boxers, so he pulled his sheet over his legs.

"Hey." Harry looked at Draco and then at the floor.

"Hey." Draco fidgeted with the salve container between his hands.

Harry had no idea what to do. He was embarrassed at what had transpired at the Leaky Cauldron, for his behavior so far this year and for the display he put on at the masque and afterwards. Harry was definitely not used to feeling much of anything, let alone embarrassment and confusion.

The two men sat in silence and Harry studied the blond's features. Draco was dressed in a crisp white shirt. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons and rolled up his sleeves. His back was slightly rounded and the side of his face that Harry could see looked tired.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, but began with, "What's that you put on me?"

"Oh, erm," he held it up toward Harry. "It's, uh, just a little something I came up with a few years ago. It's a, uh, charmed calendula salve. Is it helping at all?" He looked sideways at the man on the bed.

Harry arched his back. The cuts pulled a little, but there was no pain. "Yeah, actually it is." Harry sat up and leaned against his headboard.

"It'll keep you from scarring." Draco glanced at the lightening bolt on Harry's forehead.

Harry unconsciously touched the scar and bit his lip in thought for a moment. He spoke again. "Erm, Draco, I uh..."

Draco sat up straight and faced Harry. The way the dark haired man said his given name was like music.

"I'm not very good at this." Harry glanced around the room hoping for something that would make this easier. "I wanted to, erm, say thank you for what you did. You know, for uh, well, with Voldemort. I don't think I could've done it without you." Harry looked at Draco when he said this.

Draco cocked his head to the side and uncomfortably smirked. "Of course you couldn't have, Potter."

"I, erm, suppose I should thank you for saving my life," Harry stuttered.

Draco stood and set the salve container on the bedside table. "It wasn't for you, Potter. That just happened to be a side effect." He raised one eyebrow and stared at Harry for a moment, smirked, and then turned, took his cloak and began walking toward the door. "You know where to find me if the salve stops working." He left Harry alone in his rooms.

Harry watched the blond walk away. He pulled his knees to his chest, angered at his last statement. Just a side effect. Ha! Arrogant, insufferable... Harry flung his sheet off and stood next to the bed. He took the salve into his hand and smiled. Self-important prat.