The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower
~

Chapter Twenty-two: A Fall from Grace

~

Harry sat deep in thought, his eyes fixed on the silvery surface of the pensieve under its swirl of mist. He'd already added a good many thoughts over the weeks since he'd received it. Rotten birthdays and Christmases. Lousy summers. Aunt Marge. He took the night he accused Sara in his jealousy over Draco. The arguments they'd had over her secrets.

He wondered if it was right to choose how to remember Sara. Maybe it was wrong to recall only the good times and leave only a vague memory of mistakes they'd made. Painful as they were, they were real, as real as the happiness they'd shared. In the end, the fact that it eased his torment, lightened the shadow over his heart, made the decision easier. Harry sat back, his anxiety lessened.

Harry pushed back his chair and dressed for bed. Climbing in, he heard her song on the wind, soft, distant, and beautiful. She sang every night now and it stirred him as he lay his head on the pillow, gazing up at the stars, breathing the faint scent of her perfume, the words drifting bittersweet and haunting to his ears. He knew them by now and he sang along in silence, not wanting to disturb her sad, angelic melody. The emotion of her voice saturated his senses and he felt her suffering, her love for him, her faith. He sighed as the breeze that spanned the distance between them faded away.

Harry turned onto his side and looked at the empty half of the bed where he never slept. Her pillow, fluffed and untouched by his head, awaited her return. He thought of Sara, wondering what she would think if she could see the things he was accomplishing in his life. He told her everything in his journal and it helped him vent his frustration, his unhappiness, but it wasn't the same. He longed to send her a letter but didn't think he could deal when it came back unopened. Besides, he didn't want to put Sara in the position of having to turn away his letters. It would only upset her and he wanted her to get well so she could come home.

Going back to work with Seamus had been good for him. Seeing all his friends again, especially Ron, who wasn't due to start his classes at the Wizard Defense League for two more days, the same morning Harry would teach his first class of the year and Hermione would begin schooling at the ministry. She'd made the decision to become an Auror shortly after the ordeal at Draco's house and had even been promoted. This, Harry knew, was due to Dumbledore's constant arguing with the minister, claiming Hermione was brilliant and that her talent was wasted in a back room full of books. She became Assistant to the Head Auror and received a substantial raise, which Harry knew she and Ron needed.

Harry had been doing better than he knew, financially. After receiving a letter from Gringotts bank asking him to authorize a move to a larger, high security vault, he went down there to straighten out the misunderstanding. His parents' gold still sat untouched on the table, but all around it sat bags of money, almost up to his chest against the walls. He was dazzled, but soon came to his senses and asked to see a record of the transactions, thinking it must be Sara and, if so, the money would be returned. As it turned out, Seamus still sent his half of all profits, even though Harry hadn't put in a single day's work in months and Seamus had set the new operation up himself.

Harry went straight to Ireland via the Portkey later than evening. Somehow, he left agreeing to report to work and to keep the money.

The next morning, Harry called Brad Silverman, asking him to get a contractor to come to the cottage and the digging had now been underway for over three weeks. He stopped by every day, watching the hole in the ground progress and touched up this or that in the cave on occasion.

Sara still sent him things for the house and also more personal gifts, like fine robes from the different wizarding shops of Europe, tons of clothes, and little miscellaneous items she thought he'd like. Not a word, though. There was never a note and everything came by rented owl. Harry wondered where she was and if things were improving. Three months was a long time and he was growing impatient for her return.

More and more, Harry found his thoughts turning to Draco, especially now that the deadline for Voldemort's offer expired. Malfoy's fate weighed on him. He wouldn't admit it, but he actually missed Draco. He'd kept Harry so preoccupied that he often forgot to be miserable and Harry thought he might have done as much for Draco as well. They were both alone in the world, after all, their lives left in shambles.

Harry filled the void by keeping himself busy. He'd received help from Remus Lupin on his lesson plan and was all set for classes to start. He'd learned a tremendous amount of skill from Dumbledore over the summer, especially after Draco left and Harry was bored much of the time. They spent six or seven hours together during the day, venturing into the Forbidden Forest, out onto the lake, or even into the mountains for lessons. Working with Seamus, the digging of the cellar, planning his classes and shopping for his office rounded out his schedule and there remained little time for anything else.

Harry had begun stockpiling his one-case-a-week allotment of Finnigan's Swill in a room he'd created off the cave and kept only a few bottles around the tower. He'd even given some away to the teachers. He was too busy to bother with drinking anymore and, to tell the truth, he really didn't miss it. He'd even moved Snape's potion from the bedside table to a cabinet in the bathroom. He'd gone out in London a few times, most recently with 12 of his classmates, but found himself only having a one drink. His mind would wander to Sara, and often to Malfoy, and he didn't think he was much fun. He missed Sara more with each passing day and it felt wrong to have a good time. His heart just wasn't in it.

* * *

After a quick morning shower, Harry carried his most recent purchases down to his office and smiled as he looked around. There were lots of books, gadgets, charts, maps, and magical thingamajigs now. Sara sent him a talking mirror, a coat rack made of brass, ivory and jade for his cloak and a matching wastebasket. Madam Sprout gave him a giant snapdragon that was always trying to bite him. There were pictures everywhere. Most of them Quidditch shots and one of himself and Dumbledore with the Elders of the Order of Merlin, purchased from Colin Creevey, who would be returning as a seventh year student. On one side of the window was the animated Wronski Feint from Fred and George and Harry sighed as Malfoy plowed into the ground again and again.

From the box, he took a grade book, more quills and ink. Lots of paper. A few more reference books. A small picture of Sara to sit on the corner of his desk. A Star Trek mug from the mall and all the makings for tea. He caught his reflection in the mirror Sara sent him and recalled Dumbledore suggesting he visit the barber while in London. His hair was past his ears and starting to curl out a little. He was constantly brushing it out of his eyes, but it felt right for him not to look his best. He didn't feel his best.

Harry placed the Confidall in a little brass stand he'd made for it and set it next to Sara's picture.

The office was perfect, he decided, though it was lacking something that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on. The snapdragon sneezed and startled him and Harry laughed aloud. "I think you're allergic to me," he told it.

In response, it turned its large purple bloom to the window.

"Snubbed by a flower." Harry shook his head and got to his feet. Dumbledore would be finished with his breakfast soon and Harry hated to make the man wait.

On the way to the library, Harry wondered about Snape. He'd been gone for over a month now, to who-knows-where. Dumbledore said Snape had sent word that he would be back in time for classes. That meant he would probably be arriving today. Harry dreaded his return and the animosity that came with it. Deciding to hold his anger in check and not let Snape get to him, Harry pushed open the door and smiled at Dumbledore.

A tall, muscular man in his mid to late fourties stood beside the headmaster. His brown hair curled past his shoulders and a thin scar tore across his right cheek. He was broad chested, rugged, suntanned and wearing a light cloak. A sword of intimidating length sat on his hip.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "This is Roland. He will be your fencing instructor."

"Fencing?!" Harry grinned. "Excellent." He shook the man's hand and stood back, already liking Roland for his confident manner and pleasant smile. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

* * *

Roland was a little frightening. He was stealthy and lightning quick as they'd run through a little demonstration using epees - dull-tipped, basic swords Roland said were meant for learning. Harry tried to see what was coming and did well but Roland's skill had him cornered in moments. After that, it was just beginners stuff. Stances and arc. Balance.

Roland was from a small wizarding village in the Scottish Highlands. He was handsome, even with slash across his face and friendly in a gruff sort of way. He was patient, which Harry was thankful for, and good with words. His instruction was easy to follow.

Harry had never seen this room before. it was immense, empty except for a long table, shoved up against the wall, and two dusty old chairs. There were no windows and six pillars lined the center in pairs. On the table sat water and two glasses. The floor was marble, set in alternating squares of color that glowed in the light of the fires high above their heads. Harry loved the room, liked how vast and empty it was and decided to replicate it in the house. Just smaller and with windows.

Harry left Roland for lunch, ate as fast as he could without choking and then joined Dumbledore for another stroll into the forest.

* * *

The start of year feast was great. Harry felt important sitting at the Head Table, but hated the constant glances and the whispering. After it was over and he'd explained himself to at least thirty of the older Gryffindors, Harry was exhausted and dragged his feet back to Sara's tower for a hot shower and his most comfortable pajamas.

Already looking forward to his next fencing lesson with Roland, Harry climbed into bed, excited and more than a bit nervous about classes in the morning. He had all his clothes hung in Sara's dressing room - which still contained a lot of her things and now his as well - since he had to relinquish his room in Gryffindor Tower.

It saddened him that he would no longer know the password. That he couldn't lounge around the common room or study by the fire with Hermione and Ron. He missed his friends. Missed Neville and Seamus, though he saw them every night at what Seamus called "The Swill Factory." It wasn't the same.

At start of term, Harry couldn't wait to graduate so he could be on his own. At that time, he'd had no idea how lonely 'on your own' could be. He missed Sara. The very thought of her caused physical pain. An ache in his chest that could not be ignored. He wished she was here so he could tell her how nervous he was about teaching and she would tell him how he would do just fine. Somehow, when such words came from Sara, they had an impact that no one else could manage. He always found his doubts melting away in the warmth of her smile. Without her reassurance, without her arms around him, he was just cold and alone. And nervous.

It was with this thought that he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up, Potter."

Harry felt a slight tugging on his sleeve and became aware that someone was on the bed, looking down at him. His eyes flew open, his hand bringing the Egyptian dagger from its sheath and to a defensive position before he was truly awake. He blinked once and there was Malfoy, kneeling beside him. Harry lowered the weapon, ready with a clever line but his words faltered when he looked a little closer. Draco was sniffling a little. His eyes were red-rimmed, his pale skin blotchy. His eyes were dry, but Harry knew something terrible had happened. Harry sat up, trying to think of something to say.

"You were right, Potter," Draco said with a hushed, shaky voice. "I should have listened to you."

"I though you were leaving? What happened?" Harry ventured, apprehensive, dreading what Draco was going to say.

"Ha! That's a laugh," he said with no enthusiasm. "I didn't make it very far. I got to the train station but never made it aboard. I should have known better. I've never considered myself to be a stupid person, Potter, but I played right into their hands."

"They were expecting you to attempt an escape."

"Of course they were."

"What did they do? I mean, after they caught you?"

"Morsmordre." Draco's breath hitched as he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, etched black into the porcelain skin of his forearm, the skull standing out in stark contrast under the silver light of the moon. "If someday you have to kill me, Harry, I want you to know that I understand. In fact, I wouldn't mind if you did it right now. This is worse than death could ever be." He lowered his sleeve.

"I'm not going to kill you, Malfoy. Let's just get Dumbledore and figure out what to do. You don't have to live this life, you know. Snape has this very mark."

"There's nothing to be done. Don't bother getting anybody."

"That's your answer to this whole thing? Just go with it?"

"This was the life that was chosen for me, Potter. It's about time I accepted the fact. I would rather live the Slytherin way than in the shadow of fear. I could never hide in the safe haven of Hogwarts as Snape does. I'll never get away from Voldemort."

"Stay here with me then. I can protect you, Draco. I swear nothing will happen to you."

Draco held Harry's eyes for a long moment, knowing Harry meant what he said. He was torn, wanting salvation, knowing he couldn't accept it. Draco lowered his gaze.

"Malfoy, don't do this. Don't leave."

"You know I have to."

Harry hung his head, desperate for a way to convince him. He knew there was none. Harry knew Draco had come to say goodbye.

"Potter, I want you to keep this for me."

He handed Harry a clam shaped gold box, which Harry opened with care, only to find the same silvery liquid mist as was in his pensieve.

"It only holds one memory. One that I don't want tarnished by my life to come."

"What is it?"

"My most treasured moment. You can look if you want. Just don't let anything happen to it."

"Why not put it in your bank vault or lock it away in your mansion? There must be a thousand places you could hide this there."

"Something told me it was best left with you."

Harry closed the clam's lid and set it on the bedside table. "You're making a mistake, Malfoy. You said you should have listened to me. Well learn from the past and listen to me now. Stay here. As I said, I can protect you. No one needs to know what's on your arm."

"I've made my decision."

"If you ever want out, I'll help you. Remember that as long as you can."

"I'll remember."

"Just promise me one thing. Tell me you won't let them hurt Sara."

"I stand by what I said. I'll never hand her over. No matter what it costs me."

Harry tried to smile but couldn't. He felt like someone died. "I'll keep your memory safe. I only hope someday you'll want it back."

"Maybe when I'm as old as Dumbledore and McGonagall put together. No, older." Draco grinned.

Harry leapt out of bed, unable to accept this course of action and his voice thundered with anger. "What are you thinking? Malfoy! This isn't a game!"

Draco climbed to his feet.

Harry came around the bed to look him in the eye. "This is your life we're talking about! It isn't just a few days with your father's friends!"

"I know what it is! Do you really think I don't know exactly what this is about?" He touched his forearm. "I'm only too familiar, in case you forgot."

Harry grabbed Malfoy and dragged him toward the doors to Sara's rooms. "Come on. We're not having this conversation out here."

"Just let me go!"

"No," Harry said, pulling Draco into what was once the bedroom and slammed all four doors shut with a wave of his hand. "I can't just let you go! What am I supposed to say? Oh, Death Eater? Sounds good to me, have fun, send a postcard?"

"I'd have to send it from Hell. It'll be tough to get an owl."

Harry yelled his words, his hands clenched, frustrated and despairing over Draco's lack of reason. "Can you stop making jokes for one minute? This is serious!"

Draco raised his voice in response. "What do you want me to say, Potter? Do you really think this is what I wanted for myself? It's not. But there's no way out for me. I'm not Severus Snape, Harry. I'm the son of Lucius Malfoy! There's nowhere to hide!"

"This isn't final! I won't let it be!"

"And why do you care so much? You've always hated me anyway. I'm not so fond of you either."

"Then what are you doing here? Really, Malfoy, let's dispense with the childish notions. You're still a creep, but you're no Death Eater. You're not your father and you're no one's pawn. You've been your father's possession all your life and you're content to be Voldemort's as well? Isn't it time you claimed your independence?"

"Shut-up, Potter." Draco shifted his eyes to the floor and turned away. "You're worse than Sara, you know. It's rather nauseating, the way you can convince me. But the truth of it is, if I stay with you, I'll probably get you killed. If I leave, at least I have the hope that one day soon you'll do what Dumbledore is training you to do. I'll have to extend my quota for Harry Potter rescues, of course." He laughed and Harry found it disturbing. "Kill Voldemort and the mark will cease to exist."

"I'm good, but I'm not Superman! You can't be serious? You're putting your hope in the fact that little old me can conquer the Dark Lord just like that? I'd hate to disappoint you, but saving the world isn't currently on my list of abilities."

Draco smiled, his voice strained and quiet, broken. "Why don't you just start with England?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. Draco Malfoy, the boy with no feelings, was trying not to cry.

Draco's hand rubbed the site of the Dark Mark and he turned away.

"Say I do kill Voldemort. What would you do?"

"Escape. Wander the world. Get as far away from here as I can. If there's one thing Sara did that makes sense, it was run away. Don't hold it against her, Harry. Sometimes leaving is the only thing that makes sense."

Harry went to the table at the end of the sofa and poured them both a drink. He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder and handed him his when he turned.

Draco considered his glass, and then raised it with a shaky hand. "To us, Potter. To what we were, to what we will become." He touched his glass to Harry's without waiting for a response and took a considerable drink.

Harry stood, crestfallen, finally sipping his. As he considered Malfoy's words, he remembered the innocence of their school days, even missed the rivalry they'd shared for so many years. Harry set his glass aside. "You don't have to do this." He sighed. "Stay a few days at least."

"I wish I could."

"Stay one day. At least give me that much time to convince you not to ruin your life."

Draco finished off his drink and set the glass on the stand. "I have to go now." Before Harry could stop him, Draco was through the doors and on the roof, collecting his Lightning Mach 1 from beside the bed.

Harry hurried after him. "Why won't you listen! Just stop this right now! Get ahold of yourself, think about what you're doing!"

"Why? What's left for me anyway? I have no real friends. The only one I ever had is gone. Besides, she's in love with someone else." His eyes clouded with pain and sorrow at the thought of Sara. "Thanks for putting up with me this summer, Potter."

Harry tried again to smile but was too upset to manage it. Malfoy looked back at him, his eyes like a broken child. His confidence gone, his ever-present arrogance snuffed out. Harry wanted desperately to hug him, but found he couldn't.

Draco shook Harry's hand, said good-bye, and was gone into the night with a flash of his broom.

Harry hung his head as he put the little pensieve containing Malfoy's most beloved memory in a safe place and lay back down, though sleep would not find him for many dark and troubled hours.

* * *

Harry sat in his office, dejected, wondering if there was anything he could do. Malfoy's refusal of help brought him great anguish and he couldn't focus on the breakfast an elf had brought in or the class he was about to teach. His heart just wasn't in it.

He left the office, traversed the empty classroom, and made his way to the dungeon via Sara's secret passage. Harry found Snape in his office, perusing some notes for the day ahead and sipping a cup of tea. He was tan, his hair had sun streaks and his happy mood was apparent. Wondering where Snape had been all summer, Harry tapped on the doorframe.

"Yes, Potter? Need my expertise already?"

Harry stepped inside and fell into one of the chairs across the desk. "It's Malfoy."

"What about Draco? He's well I hope?"

"Not exactly."

One look in Harry's eyes and Snape's demeanor changed. His mouth fell open, his hands dropped to the desk and, slowly, he rose from his seat. "What happened?"

Harry conveyed the story, relieved to tell someone, slumped in his seat.

"It can't be." Snape fell back into his chair. "Draco no longer belongs among them."

"I agree." Harry sighed. "I swore to protect him. I begged him to stay at Hogwarts, but he refused. He said there was nowhere for him to hide."

"He wasn't lying, Potter. Voldemort would never allow Lucius' son to deny him."

"But you got away and lived to tell about it!"

"Draco is a different matter."

"I don't know what to do about it."

"There's only one thing you can do and it's beyond your capability. Mine as well. I shall have to inform the headmaster." Snape stared at the surface of his desk.

"I'll tell him. I spoke to Draco; I'll be better able to answer Dumbledore's questions." Harry stood. "I thought you should know. He was your student - and your friend, unless I'm mistaken."

"Thanks, Potter." Snape sighed. "And good luck today. If you run into trouble, I'm sure I could easily bail you out."

"Actually, there is something you can do for me. After last night, I don't feel like facing a class half full of Slytherins. In fact, I don't feel like doing much of anything at all, except going back to bed for a week or so. Got any Pepper-Up Potion?"

Grateful, Harry headed back to his classroom, his spirits temporarily lifted. He was glad Snape decided to take pity on him, even if the enthusiasm he felt was artificial. He'd taken only a small amount, so Snape even provided him with a bit in a phial for later, in case his disposition sank before the end of classes. Harry had a feeling he would need it.

* * *

Harry faced the first class of the day. Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Third years. They were all staring at him, waiting as he tried to think of something to say. He was nervous, and distracted by Malfoy's plight, even with the Pepper-Up Potion. He was unfocused and beginning to think he was looking quite foolish. "Ughh... hello. Good morning."

A lone girl from Ravenclaw answered, smiling with a dreamy expression. "Good morning, Professor." She sighed when Harry looked at her.

Harry smiled. "That's going to take some getting used to. Professor is a word I'm accustomed to saying, not hearing."

A few Ravenclaws laughed but the Slytherins were beginning to give him looks. He was determined to be a good teacher, but his nerves just would not subside.

Startling everyone, Hedwig flew in through the open window, bearing a note on lavender paper. Harry hadn't seen Hedwig for days. Now he knew why.

She dropped the letter, circled and came to rest on Harry's shoulder. He unfolded the paper, the amoridon Sara had given him radiating warmth against his skin.

Good luck today, Professor.

Stop worrying. You'll be fine. I promise.

Love Always,
Sara

Harry smiled, feeling reassured. Uncomfortable under the watchful gaze of so many students, Harry adjusted the tie Hermione gave him for his birthday, thinking it was a bit tight.

A Slytherin sneered. "Letter from your girlfriend?"

The others laughed.

Harry refrained from docking them 5 points. "As a matter of fact, yes."

The girl who'd bid him good morning narrowed her eyes at the purple paper.

Harry tucked it in the pocket of his favorite black robe; the very one he and Ron picked out on their weekend trip to Diagon Alley more than a year before. Feeling just a little more confident, Harry smiled at the class. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

By the time his last class rolled around, Harry was exhausted and beginning to feel strained under the influence of the potion. He hated Pepper-Up, thought it made him unnatural and couldn't wait until he could be his miserable self again.

The last two-hour class was seventh years, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Ginny was in this class, as well as Colin Creevey, who took Harry's picture from the doorway to the classroom. Ginny just smiled and took her seat. Harry held his breath, thinking she looked great, better than usual, and wondering if she would come up and talk to him. He was glad when she didn't. To this class alone, he insisted they call him Harry. They were mostly his friends, after all, many of whom visited the tower on any given Friday night last year. He wasn't comfortable and wished Sara would send another note. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Topenga.

After class, Harry retired to his office to get some things ready for the morning and to water the snapdragon. It had just bitten him for the third time when Ginny walked in. She giggled as Harry battled the flower - who had a mouthful of Harry's hair and wouldn't let go - cursing and threatening it with a new home in the dungeons. Wrapping his hands around its stem, he tried to strangle it. It slapped him with an oversized leaf and knocked him to the floor.

"Let me try." Ginny took the water can from Harry's hands. "Hello there, pretty flower." She stroked its petals and Harry swore it smiled at her. She dumped the water over the soil and told the snapdragon to be nice to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry smiled from the floor. "It likes girls?"

"It likes a soft touch, Harry. Try being a little nicer to it."

"Nicer? It hates me!"

Ginny laughed again. "Get up before you ruin your robe."

Harry climbed to his feet, looking embarrassed and disheveled. He took the Confidall from his pocket and placed it back in its little stand next to Sara's picture. He sat down behind his desk and smiled.

Ginny leaned against its side, her books in one arm.

"So," he asked her. "How was your summer?"

"Great! I spent most of it with Hermione and Ron. I tried to stay with Fred and George but they had their girlfriends over every night and they're annoying, I assure you. Poor Mum and Dad have no one left at home and they're going stir crazy." Ginny considered him for a moment and then giggled.

"What?"

"Your hair." She smiled, leaning in to smooth it for him, sticking up where the snapdragon had bitten it. Harry sneezed and Ginny brought her hand away, examining it in amusement. "It's full of pollen."

Harry laughed and caught her eyes, her face framed by pretty ginger hair. "I'm going to pick that flower one day. It's a menace, Ginny. I swear that plant has it out for me."

She smoothed his hair again, as it had stood back up, running her fingers through it. It stood back up again. "You're going to have to wash it out. It won't stay." She glanced at his eyes, bright green behind his glasses. He was looking back at her and there was something different in his countenance as her fingers brushed through his hair. Something she had only seen a few times before.

Suddenly, he looked away.

Ginny pulled back her hand and stood, feeling anxious. "It's good to see you, Harry. I have to go now. You did great today." She smiled at the paperweight she'd given him for his birthday, right out on the desk where he had only a few things.

"See you at dinner." He watched her hurry from the room and sighed. Harry had no idea what just happened. They were laughing and joking around and then she was touching his hair and he looked at her...

Harry slouched in his chair as his eyes landed on the picture of Sara he kept on his desk. "I hope you didn't see that," he whispered.

The snapdragon sneezed a cloud of pollen in his direction.

"Keep it up!" he told it. "You'll find yourself living in the closet before long." He stood as the snapdragon turned its back and took to looking out the window, if that was even possible. "I hope you're not too fond of the sun."

The flower ignored him.

* * *

Time was uneventful at Hogwarts. One day was no different from the next. Classes went well for Harry, except for the Slytherins, who were the only house to loose points by him. He felt accepted wholeheartedly as a teacher by the seventh-years - which was a load off his mind - but Malfoy and Sara kept him from finding happiness. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of one or the other.

As the nights grew colder, Harry piled blankets and warming charms on the bed but finally had to move it off the roof. Even the weather repellant bubble wasn't enough to keep him from freezing when he climbed out in the morning, especially when the snow began to fall.

The ceiling - or what would be the ground level's floor - received its finishing touches by the end of October, just in time for winter, which Harry had insisted on. It would do him no good to have a big hole in the ground, full of snow and ice. He wanted to get to work connecting the cellar to the cave and the other things he had planned, like hidden tunnels and secret rooms, the doors of which would be protected and seamless. With the size of the rock shelf the house was on, he could build an underground mansion if he wanted but Harry thought he'd start small. After all, how much space did two people need?

Harry pondered this as he prepared for his one-hour lesson with Roland, which he anticipated every night. He liked Roland, loved his stories of wandering the highlands with his sword, of creatures he had battled, and of an attack of three giants on his village when he was Harry's age. Learning came quick. Harry was able to hold him off for several minutes now before he lost his concentration and found himself staring at the dull point of Roland's epee. It was his time with Roland that he looked forward to, even more so than his half hour visits to the cottage and his two hours a night with Seamus at the Swill Factory. He barely had time to grade papers and found himself using Dobby for this quite often. Dobby was thrilled to be asked and Harry paid him three Sickles a week for his assistance.

Harry didn't hear from Sara again after the note she'd sent the first day of classes, though her unmarked packages still arrived at the tower every few days without fail.

He didn't hear from Malfoy until mid-November. It was meant to make him laugh, he was sure, but Harry found no humor in it, only despair. He couldn't do what Malfoy expected him to do.

It was a postcard, the photo on the front depicting flames and Malfoy himself looking smug and holding a giant red pitchfork. Greetings from Hell, it said. Harry turned it over and read the brief note.

Wanker,

Conditions are lousy, but I'm managing. Being evil isn't all it's cracked up to be and no one appreciates my sense of humor. The host is a little inhospitable but it's to be expected. If I had my daiquiri machine, it would be perfect.

Draco

"A postcard from Hell. Only you, Malfoy. Only you."

* * *

Harry didn't hear from Draco again after that and Sara's unmarked packages came fewer and farther between. Construction came to a halt for the winter and, before he knew it, the decorations at Hogwarts had changed over to Christmas. The Yule Ball was approaching and Harry was now in charge of the committee Sara had headed last year. He inherited the chore to keep his mind occupied, but it only made him think of her more.

He commissioned Ginny to assist in everything, as it really wasn't his forte, and she kept things running smoothly. They held the meetings in his classroom instead of the tower, but Sara's ghost was still there. He thought of her every time he gave his opinion on one of the house corners, when asked if he liked a certain song from Sara's music collection, whenever Ginny smiled at him from across the room.

It made him feel guilty that they had grown close again, the way they once were over long summers at the Burrow and Harry wondered if he should try to avoid Ginny a little. She wasn't doe-eyed with him the way she'd been before, she was a friend, and he welcomed a little female companionship. Besides, it was an innocent friendship. Harry had no reason to be ashamed of it.

After this, the last meeting of the decorating committee - and a little celebration as well - the students trickled out until only he and Ginny remained. As she cleared up and he stowed his few lists and ledgers, Harry broke the silence. "Thanks, Ginny. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Don't think about it, Harry. I had a great time and I think the party could be even better than last year."

"Anything would be better than last year." Harry regretted his words the moment they were out of his mouth.

Ginny looked at him, stung.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just, well, Sara spent the evening dancing with Malfoy and I woke up in the hospital with Dumbledore sitting there. It wasn't the best of times." Harry remembered gathering around the table with Sara and all their friends and, in a way, kissing Ginny. "But then again it was."

"I agree." She sighed and smiled a little. "What was your favorite part?"

Harry knew he should either lie or get out of answering but the look in her eyes prompted him to be harsh and truthful. "Watching Sara sing."

"I see." She gathered her things into her bag. "She was very good. Everyone said so."

Harry thought Ginny looked as though he'd slapped her in the face and realized he sort-of had. "I'm sorry. Nothing is coming out right."

She said nothing, just looked at him, her expression hurt, her bag clutched to her chest.

"Come on," Harry said with apology in his tired expression. "I'll walk you back to Gryffindor before I say something else."

Harry was quiet as he escorted Ginny and was too quick to leave her at the portrait. She was somber, upset by his words earlier and smiled only a little when he said he would look forward to seeing her at the ball, which was the following night. She looked almost expectant as he prepared to go on his way, which only sped his departure.

Back at the tower, Harry poured himself a glass of swill for the first time since summer, took a quick swallow, and set it aside. He wrote a letter to Hermione and then opened his journal.

Journal Entry, December 22nd

Dear Sara,

It's so depressing to be alone during the holidays. All I can think about is last year. Here I am, thinking of nothing but you and not really anticipating the Yule Ball tomorrow night. I don't know how I'll get through it, standing around by myself, watching other people dance, remembering your performance and missing all our friends. Maybe I'll get out one of your flasks. Then again, maybe not. It seems like such a cop-out.

I have to wonder what you're doing for Christmas? I have figured out that Mr. Sanders is with you and I can't tell you how happy I am that you aren't totally alone, though I have a feeling you're just as lonely as me. Surrounded by people, but solitary in our world of misery, a place no one else could ever know...

I can't go on like this. I know I said I would wait forever but I had no idea how hard it would be. I never thought you would be gone for six months. I am determined to be waiting for you when you finally decide to come home, but I feel myself wanting to give up, go looking for you, or send you a Howler. At least, if I do that, you won't be able to turn it away. Only I can't bring myself to be cruel to you.

I want you to finish what you're doing, whatever that is, but I wish you would send word once in awhile. A letter. A note even, just to tell me I'm still on your mind. A scrap of paper with one of your hearts on it would bring me a week's peace at least. I can't stand not hearing from you. The lack of communication is my biggest source of doubt. The warmth of your Amoridon is reassuring - but never enough.

I don't mean to be angry but sometimes I am. I'm angry that you left me, that you stopped going to the cottage. I'm angry every time one of your packages come in the mail with no letter. I tear it open not to see what's in it, but to see if you've written. I'm angry that you didn't tell me about Lucius, that you didn't trust me to protect you. Most of all, that you didn't take me with you. Of course, I know why you left, why you kept your secrets, why you distance yourself from me. I understand completely, but that doesn't mean I have to like it or even accept it.

Happy Christmas, Sara.
Love, Harry

For reasons unknown to him, Harry's eyes fell on the joyous Criterion picture. He took it down off the wall and put it in the closet. He thought he might understand why Draco turned all the pictures face down, at least a little. Being angry at one you loved so much hurt more than anything and the feeling of betrayal that came with it could drag all other emotions down until there was nothing left but the ire. Removing her image was the only statement that felt justified. Painful vindication for a broken heart.

* * *

Harry held his breath as he entered the Great Hall, already packed with students, the corners alive with magical scenes, soft music at conversation volume. The random, floating mistletoe Sara invented zipped above the sea of heads and the students glittered in their finery. The older boys wore ornamental vests with their capes tied the right way. The girls glistened in pretty satin or velvet dresses, shimmering capes tossed back over their shoulders, so reminiscent of Sara. The younger students came attired as he was, in formal dress robes. His were black with a fine gold design, worn over a tuxedo with a pair of Italy's finer shoes. Sara sent all of this just last week.

It was still early in the evening. The dancing had not yet commenced and most were eating or socializing with friends over a glass of eggnog. He saw no sign of Ginny, but was glad in a way. He wanted to speak to Roland, who was talking with Dumbledore near the bottom of the steps.

"Hello, Professor. Hi Roland," he said as he entered their midst. "I hope the party is to your liking, sir."

"Splendid job Harry! You and your team are commendable." Dumbledore smiled his appreciation.

"Ginny did most of the work."

"Talking about me, are you, Harry?"

Harry spun around and there she was, her striking red hair all done up, dusted with glitter and pretty pieces of colored glass cut to look like gems sparkled here and there. She was dressed in a slithery black dress with a matching cape with gold trim. "Wow!" Harry said, surprised. "You look great!"

"So do you." She smiled. "Who is your friend? Hello, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled over his glasses. "Good evening, Miss Weasley."

"This is Roland, my fencing instructor. Roland, this is Ginny Weasley."

Roland kissed her hand. "It's nice to meet you, dear. Harry's told me all about you and your brother, Ron."

"Ron and Harry have been best friends since their first day at Hogwarts." Ginny smiled. "He's a regular member of the family."

"I see." Roland smiled back. The lights went low and the music started, as if on cue. "Would you do me the honor, Miss Weasley?" He offered his arm. "I haven't danced with a redhead in years."

"Nor I with a swordsman." Ginny laughed and took his arm. "Well, actually, I've never danced with a swordsman." She glanced over her shoulder. "Don't go far, Harry!"

To Harry's dismay, Snape appeared at his elbow. "New girlfriend, Potter?"

"Old friend, actually."

"Must be difficult for a young man - such as yourself - to be all alone and have an attractive young friend like Miss Weasley. Especially when she's quite enamored of you."

"Severus..." Dumbledore warned.

Harry glared at Snape. "One could say the same about you if you want to go speculating. A friend is just that, Snape."

"Harry..."

"What - exactly - are you trying to say, Potter? Do I hear a lack of trust in you're voice? Or was that just... the wind?"

"I'm saying Ginny Weasley is a friend. At least she doesn't resemble an old ghost."

Snape narrowed his eyes and turned to face Harry. "If you have an accusation to make, then let's out with it. Otherwise, you'd do yourself a favor by mingling on the other side of the room."

Harry looked at him, calm, his hands clasped before him. "If you don't mind, the headmaster and I were having a discussion."

Dumbledore hummed along to the music, amused by the exchange but showed no partisanship. He just stood there and waited to see what happened next.

Harry and Snape locked eyes for a moment, exchanging hateful glances. Finally, Snape sneered and excused himself to the punchbowls.

* * *

With the lights low and the mood festive, Harry stood alone, leaning against a pillar in the dimness of the edge of the room, watching the celebration as if removed from it, a phantom of his seventeen year old self. Most of the night, he'd been living the year before, stuck in the rut of memory and wondering if things would have turned out differently had he never danced with Ginny at the last Yule Ball. Sara wouldn't have interrupted, Ginny wouldn't have run off, and he would have never gone to check on her, leaving Sara to occupy herself with Malfoy. It seemed everything that followed hinged on that one night.

Tonight, he danced with Ginny three times and thought anything more would be inappropriate. Ginny didn't stare at him with dreamy eyes the way she once had. She was rather demure, friendly, and confident to a point. Harry kept a modest distance and a proper dancing stance, quite unlike the way he danced with Sara. Close and with feeling, a rhythmic embrace with her head on his shoulder or resting against his cheek.

Harry watched the dancers, who moved apart and formed larger groups as an upbeat Christmas song came on. One by U2 which Harry didn't remember being on the carefully crafted play list. The lyrics grabbed his attention, eerily like his own thoughts and Harry listened closer, sinking down into the depths of depression.

They're singing Deck the Halls, but it's not like Christmas at all.
I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year.

Harry frowned, looking toward the stereo. There stood Snape, a CD case in his hand. Snape smirked and waved the thin plastic box at Harry. Was this revenge for their earlier conversation? Harry assumed so, but the song had already done its damage and he turned away, hurrying out of the hall. He went straight to the tower, as fast as he could without running. His broom still leaned against the wall at the base of the stairs and straight up he went.

Inside the tower, Harry found the nearest bottle of swill and his glass from last night, still on the desk.

"Inflamare." Harry fell onto the new couch before the fire, ignited without so much as a wave of his hand. He summoned the Muggle Music Player, looking through it for the Christmas square he'd purchased through owl order and instructed it to play the U2 song on repeat. He turned it up and set it on the coffee table.

Pretty lights on the tree, I'm watching them shine.

You should be here with me.

Baby, please come home.

If there was a way, I'd hold back these tears.

But it's Christmas day.

Baby, please come home.

Sara's absence weighed on Harry's mind more than it had all night while he listened to this song and he drank his glass empty just as it was restarting for a second time. Harry felt wetness on his face and realized he was crying again, something he had never really done before Sara left him, not even when Cedric died. He wiped at his eyes, but finally gave up.

A voice came from a few feet away, over his shoulder. "Harry?"

Harry stood, slammed the lid of the player and walked to the doors to the roof, wiping at his eyes again, his back to her. "I can't talk right now, Ginny."

He cringed when her hand touched his shoulder. He didn't want anyone to see him this way, least of all Ginny.

"Harry," she whispered. "It's okay to be upset. I would be, too."

She slipped around and hugged him. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pressed his head against her hair. "Sometimes I hate her for this misery," he whispered. "But it's only because I love her so much." Harry lingered with his arms around her, perhaps too long.

She pulled away and wiped the tears from his face, a sympathetic smile softening her features. She kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry things worked out the way they did, Harry. I can only imagine how painful tonight must have been for you."

Harry cast his eyes to the floor and stepped away, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

Ginny joined him. "Can I taste that? Finnigan's Swill?"

Harry sniffled and smiled a little. "Ron will kill me, but why not." He handed her the glass.

Ginny took a sip and her eyes went wide. "It burns!" she announced. "It's awful. Here, you can have it back."

Harry smiled as he retrieved the drink. He returned it to the table and then looked at her, awkward. "Thanks, Ginny."

"I'm glad I could be here for you. Anytime you need a friend, Harry."

"I'll remember that."

She stepped closer and spoke with a hesitant, soft tone. "Maybe it's time you put it behind you. You can't go on this way forever."

"I've been feeling that way as of late, but I made a promise. One I desperately need to keep."

"So keep it. But live for yourself in the meantime." Ginny sighed. "Harry, I'm so worried about you."

"I'll be fine. Really, I'm not like this all the time."

"I hope not. What about the holidays? I think staying here is a bad idea. Come home with me tomorrow. Come to the Burrow for Christmas."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you." She caught his eyes and smiled her sincerity.

Harry kissed her cheek and drew her into a hug. "You're the best. No matter what Ron says about you."

Ginny pulled back, her hands lingering on his arms, his on her waist. She'd meant to laugh but, looking at him now, something strange happened and she felt herself moving toward him. Her eyes fell closed as the kiss enveloped her. Harry's arms wrapped around her back, slipping against the satin of her dress.

Harry withdrew so completely, so sudden, he nearly pushed her away from him.

Ginny was dismayed at his pained and confused expression.

"I... I'm sorry. I can't do this." Harry rushed out of the room, leaving her standing there, caught in a ruptured moment.

* * *

Harry stood on the roof in his pajamas, listening to the sounds of the departing train, thinking last night was all his fault. Something in her eyes had ignited a long lost feeling inside him, an emotion that only seemed to show itself on the night of the Yule Ball. He couldn't face Ginny and, even worse, he didn't want to. He was troubled to find he never cared to see her again.

As the train moved into the distance, Harry found his seat in front of the player and flipped open the lid. His hand found his drink from last night and he took to sipping it, even though he'd missed breakfast.

They're singing Deck the Halls but it's not like Christmas at all.

I remember when you were here and all the fun we had last year.

Pretty lights on the tree, I'm watching them shine.

You should be here with me.

Baby, please come home.

The song had cycled through at least six times and he'd refilled his glass and emptied it again. In a moment's decision, Harry carried the bottle into the kitchen and dumped it down the drain. Already, he could feel the fuzzy gloom wrapping its soft talons around his heart and he couldn't allow himself this manner of surrender. He would have to deal with his sorrow the way he always had. With a clear head.

It would be easier without Snape around to play haunting music meant to shatter his fragile existence and just plain torment him. Snape had gone on a broom earlier in the morning, which left Harry relieved, yet curious. Where was Snape getting off to all the time? He'd never had a tan before, much less sun-bleached hair. In fact, Snape hardly left the school at all. He went home in the summer, Harry knew, but now he wasn't even informing anyone of his destination and it made him suspicious.

There was one other thing that held his curiosity for months and he retrieved it now, setting the little clam shaped box before him on the table. It felt wrong, though he had permission. Without further hesitation, Harry opened the lid and let himself fall into Draco's fondest memory.

Swirling, drifting snow and white, frozen ground surrounded him. Harry focused on a park bench where Sara leaned her head against Draco's shoulder. Malfoy himself looked at peace and happy for the moment, though there was an injured look in his eyes. Sara's speech was dreamlike in his ears as she declined the flask. I like you, Malfoy. There's something about you I find mysteriously attractive. And you're fine, like a diamond among ordinary glass... A smile touched her lips. I think you're beautiful.

Malfoy appeared overwhelmed with emotion, as no one else had ever seen him, and Harry understood the side of him that only Sara knew. There was nothing except love and desperation in Draco's eyes.

Then give me this one memory.

Harry watched the kiss for only a very brief time before movement caught his eye and he spotted a raven, just taking flight. "The blackbird!" he whispered.

The scene seemed to pull away and Harry was back in his chair with a new sense of Draco's real feelings, not the act he put on for the rest of the world. Jealousy crept into his heart and Harry shoved it back. The kiss he'd witnessed was not about betrayal or being unfaithful, it was about giving a moment of happiness to someone who would never know it otherwise. Probably for the rest of his life. Harry was not angry, he didn't like what he'd seen, but he understood it. He'd done the very same thing after all, for someone he cared for deeply, but would never love. At least not that way.

With a sigh, he returned to the bedroom and took the frame from the closet, stopping to run an amorous hand over the glass.

There would be joy in his life again, he knew, if only he could only hold onto the hope and the faith he had in Sara. Harry hung the picture and stepped back, his eyes lingering over it. He smiled with the memory.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: The song lyrics are borrowed from U2's "Baby Please Come Home"

- 328 -