The Master Plan

Chapter 25: Just One Damn Thing After Another

Finally, Harry's agitation subsided enough for him to realize that he was clinging to Ron like some sort of damp milkmaid, and he drew back in dread. "Oh. God, I'm sorry," he managed to rasp out. He paused. "I've actually lost count how many times I've said that recently." He managed a twisted, self-mocking smile, attempting to lift the gloom a little. It didn't work in the slightest, and he snuffled a bit and rubbed his nose.

"Yuck, Harry," Ron said, and Harry experienced a unique moment of terror, in which he imagined Ron demanding to know how Harry could hug another guy that way, and call him a freak. Instead, his friend merely continued, "You'll want to blow your nose; you wouldn't believe the amount of bogies you've developed in the last few minutes. Hermione, give him a handkerchief or something. Girls always have those, don't they?"

And Harry wiped his nose, alternating between leftover sobs and frenetic, choked laughter. Hermione leaned in to say something to Harry, but looked at Ron, and thought better of it. She bit her lip for a long moment, before suddenly announcing, "Oh, did I mention what Malfoy said to me in Arithmancy yesterday?" Both Ron and Harry looked puzzled by this change of topic, and shook their heads. "He called me a slag," she told them matter-of-factly, and both boys' jaws dropped.

"He WHAT?" Ron roared, enraged. "Right, I'll just go and bloody well sort him out, then, shall I?" He was so red and so thoroughly wrathful that he hardly looked like the same person. "WHERE IS HE?"

Hermione pointed to where Malfoy was leaning over Pansy Parkinson, turning on the charm. "I'd see to it before Crabbe and Goyle showed up for their morning feeding trough," she added quietly. Ron steamed off, and a vigorous altercation ensued.

Hermione turned back to Harry. "Right. Now. What happened?"

Harry had to shake his head before being able to ignore the yells and bloodshed, and bring himself back to the substantive problem at hand. "Oh. He had it. Oh, Hermione, he read it," he told her despondently. "And he doesn't--doesn't--feel that way. As well. That's pretty much all," he moaned, before breaking off into a sob that turned into a pitiful keening. Hermione put her arms around him, and he leaned on her shoulder for a moment before making a desperate attempt to pull himself together. Dimly, he heard a teacher separating and scolding Ron and Malfoy, and knew he'd better calm down. "Don't tell. Ron. Yet. About any of this, all right?" he begged her, and she agreed straight away. He gave her a sideways look and asked why she'd said that about Malfoy.

"Well, I had to," she told him serenely. "You needed to get it out, and Ron wasn't ready for it. I had to get rid of him for a moment. Besides," she confessed, watching the two sweating, angry boys still gesticulating heatedly at each other, "it was kind of fun, in a 'Have a bite of the apple, go on eat the apple, I've eaten the apple and nothing's happened to me, has it?' sort of way." Harry gave her a half smile, and she scrunched up her nose, looking contrite as Ron rejoined them, nose bleeding and knuckles bruised. "What'd you get?" she asked him.

"Oh, nothing. More detention. 'Spect they'll have to think something else up, once they realize I'm booked quite solid when it comes to detentions, eh? Anyway...Harry. You all right, then? What did Snape do, exactly? Did he know a spell to get the notebook back?" He looked frightened when Harry's face crumpled again.

He patted Harry's shoulder and Hermione assured him that Snape would cool off eventually. "Oh, he's quite cool enough," Harry reported resentfully. "I shouldn't worry about that. No, Ron. No, don't bother the twins. The whole thing is over and done, all right? It wasn't any big deal, anyway. Snape had the journal the whole time." He ignored Ron's burst of relief, which quickly morphed back into concern when he realized this was not the end of the story. "I'm sure you wouldn't understand. I'm not going to go into details, but he didn't perform any big, grisly act of retribution that would cause you to take up arms. Mostly, he just banished me from his presence outside of class, and told me I was a disappointment. You know; the standard adult load of bollocks."

"I don't get how that made so go so skrikey and distraught!" Ron replied, looking bewildered.

"It was. More than that," Harry got out, not meeting Hermione's eye. "I just don't want to talk about it, all right? I really just don't want to talk about any of it. Er. You're not mad at me, are you?" he went on, his voice faltering a little.

"What? Why?" Ron responded, genuinely surprised. "Oh! That. That's just. I was--sort of--startled, I guess. But. Well. You know me, cool as a cucumber. Nothing fazes me," he bragged, waving a hand breezily. "You don't, er, need to see Madam Pomfrey, or something, do you?" he continued warily. He looked like he didn't know whether to believe Harry or not when Harry shook his head.

"Well," Hermione interjected, "class doesn't start for another twenty minutes. I think I'll go put those library books back. Won't need them now, will we?" Harry shook his head, wondering why this didn't make him even a little happier.

Harry was mourning the loss of his relationship with Snape, as well as the loss of his dear, departed journal. He couldn't put his terrible sadness into words, and he felt like it was eating him up inside. He'd lost the man of his dreams, the one way he could express how he felt about it, and even the memories the journal had held, except, of course, for that one lousy page. Come to think of it, Harry wasn't certain where that page was. He'd found it under the bed, and kept it while he hunted though everyone else's belongings...where did he have it last? Ah, well. It wasn't as though it was important, anyhow. It would turn up.

It was less than twenty-four hours before the next big disaster struck. The three of them trouped in to detention to find not only an extremely cold Severus Snape, but also one smug, if still slightly swollen, Draco Malfoy sneering at them. Ron came to a halt, causing Harry to run into him. "What the bloody hell is HE doing here?" Ron snarled, hackles already good and raised. Harry looked at the professor.

Severus never looked him in the eye. "Since these detentions seem to be having no bearing whatsoever on your behaviour," he told Ron silkily, "I will give you the choice of being put off the Quidditch team for the rest of the year," he smirked when Ron gave a bleat of indignation, "or you can do Mister Malfoy's lines for him, as well as your own."

"Why can't he do his own lines, then?" Ron hollered.

"Because he is taking advanced courses, and needs this time to study," Snape replied smoothly, as Malfoy chuckled and looked even more self-satisfied, "and because humiliation may be a better deterrent to your recent...degeneration into fisticuffs."

They did lines in silence all night. It was only the second time they'd had to actually do them all, but Harry was almost grateful. At least he wasn't having to look Snape in the face during any of it. He didn't know how he'd ever manage to do that again, considering how he knew Snape felt about him. He tried not to think about it, and suffered in silence all evening.

When it was finally time to go, Snape said, "Mister Potter, a moment of your time, if you would. I'm sure you'd only waste it on your own, at any rate." Harry's heart soared, hoping Snape would say something, anything, that made Harry feel less...empty. Less like a pitcher with a crack in the side, useless because everything important had been drained. "Malfoy, get going. If I catch you hanging about the halls I'll dock you points, I mean it. I haven't the patience tonight." Malfoy scowled and slunk out the door. Harry looked up at Snape hopefully, but the man never looked at him. He drew a box out from under his desk and handed it to Harry. "Get rid of this," he commanded. And that was all. Harry looked into the box, and sighed sadly when he saw Junior. Harry had never been so depressed. Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. It looked like he'd lost any chance he'd ever have with Severus Snape. Snape didn't want him. And Harry knew that when Severus Snape had his mind made up about something, neither Heaven nor Hell nor Dumbledore nor Dark Lord could change it. It was over. When it was clear Snape wasn't going to say anything more, Harry kept his head high as he brushed past the man on the way out. He hoped he seemed calm and cool, but on the inside, he was seething.

When he rounded the corner, he almost ran smack into Malfoy, who was leaning insolently against the wall. He didn't say anything as Harry jerked to a halt and glared at him, he merely let his smirk widen and become a leer. Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably. It had been bad enough dealing with Malfoy before, when it was only the boy's natural personality that got under Harry's skin; it was ten times worse watching him kiss up to Snape, and worse still to see Snape act as though he was taken in by it, as though Draco was a favorite.

"Despicable little ferret," he greeted the boy coldly.

"Pathetic closet-case," Malfoy replied tranquilly. Harry paused, tried not to let any emotion show. This was the same sort of insult Malfoy always offered, nothing more. He swallowed, ignoring the race of his pulse. "I believe I've got something of yours," Draco continued, holding up a slip of paper between two pale fingers. "Seems it's just a snippet of the real deal, but I think it's quite juicy, all the same. And I'd be willing to bet that the rest of Hogwarts agrees with me."

What the hell? Harry stared at the paper uncomprehendingly. Suddenly it dawned on him--the missing page from his journal! "How the hell did you get that?" he growled, bunching his hands into fists.

"Oh, a little bookworm gave it to me," Draco said nonchalantly. He brought it closer to Harry's face, so Harry could see his own handwriting on the paper. He got a glimpse of '...all Slytherins look good in black, but it looks especially good on him. God, I wish I could kiss him. His dark features...' "Retidus Domo," Draco muttered, and the paper squeezed itself up, turned itself inside out, and vanished. "Don't worry, love, I've put it somewhere safe." His smile gleamed carnivorously.

Harry clenched his jaw. "Bring it back."

"Ah, ah, ah, you'll get it when I'm good and ready to give it to you." His eyes narrowed wickedly, and Harry did not miss the double entendre. He took a step back, glaring.

"What do you want?" he asked, already knowing that it wouldn't be good. Malfoy leaned over and whispered in his ear, and Harry roughly shoved him away. "I wouldn't do--that! To you! God, you make me sick!" It wasn't so much the act, as the way Malfoy was going about getting it, making it into something degrading and depraved. "Just. Stay. Stay the fuck away from me, you pervert!" Harry pulled away, and began running back to Gryffindor Tower, but Malfoy's voice followed him.

"It won't do you any good to run, Potter!" Harry stopped and looked back, furious, resentful and ill. "If you don't comply with my request, I'll be giving this to the Daily Prophet, and the whole Wizarding world will know what you are. They have spells that can prove it's your handwriting. And how many will fight on Dumbledore's side then, hmm? Let me tell you something about self-respecting people; they'd rather be led by a tyrant than a freak." Harry's mouth opened in horror. This could sway enough wizards to Voldemort's side to give him success. The key factor in Voldemort's eventual victory could be Harry's weakness. Draco lifted his chin triumphantly at the look of realization on Harry's face. "I'll give you time to think it over, how's that?" Draco offered. "I'm a reasonable gentleman. I want your answer by, shall we say, Wednesday at this time?" He turned and began to move lithely toward the Slytherin rooms. "But if I don't have it by then," he warned over his shoulder, "everyone will know all about your little deviation." He laughed quietly to himself as he walked away.

Harry went up to the Astronomy Tower, thinking to find Ron and Hermione, but it was empty. He contemplated throwing himself off, but that was the coward's way--the Slytherin's way. He sat for a long time, but the anger kept building and building inside of him. There was just...too much...emotion to be contained by one slim youth. All the despair and hurt and, above all, the irrepressible fury kept mounting, until it reached a crescendo. He knew it was wrong, but the energy had to go somewhere--it HAD to, or he would erupt. He aimed his wand into the night and said the first spell that came to mind, and then another, and then another, until he was babbling an incoherent stream of magic, all of it purposeless, all of it forbidden, all of it absolutely intoxicating.

Sparks were flying from the tower, and flames blazing from the end of his wand, and mysterious shapes shot out, swirling around him and disintegrating, and a screechy kind of music dominated it all. He was screaming now, fully past caring about the consequences, ready to shake the world and glory in his own seismic power. He realized there was shouting behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Snape and Dumbledore, both looking frightened. Reluctantly, he let the show grind to a halt.

Severus took two long strides toward him, looking as angry as Harry had ever seen, but Dumbledore put a hand up to stop him. "Now, Severus, I know you care...ah. You have the boy's best interests at heart," he said with the usual imperturbable twinkle, "but I think Mister Potter and I need a word alone. And really, this was not so unexpected. It is hard to be in the throes of adolescence, and refrain from doing things which we regret later in life." He gave the Potions Master a look over his half-moon glasses, causing Severus to look disgruntled. Still, the man retreated to the doorway, leaving headmaster and pupil alone.

"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, when they were alone. "I couldn't help it. I had to. Something. I don't know. I'm sorry.

"Harry..." Dumbledore began, looking sympathetic. "I must ask you to control yourself in the future. These...outbursts...are drawing the darkness to you. They remind Voldemort of the power he craves, and of what you are."

"And what am I?" Harry responded, quite sincerely.

"A very confused youth," Dumbledore said instantly. "But also a great threat to him. Harry. When you lose control this way, it gives Voldemort an opening. It is giving in to the one thing he has with which to tempt you: power. You must not flaunt this power; it is too dangerous. It is a channel through which he will undoubtedly try to reach you, and could easily overpower you. That is the enigma of power, Harry. It is so easily misunderstood; even Voldemort, for all his experience with the substance, knows really very little of it, or how it is gained. He never understood that it is through sacrifice that we obtain true power, or that few things, such as unconditional love, and faith, and honesty, are worth such a sacrifice. And that the only way to wield such power is not through domination at all, but through sharing, acceptance, and giving."

Dumbledore sounded so much like a crappy greeting card that Harry snorted. "I'm not feeling all that crazy about love and giving, right now, Professor," Harry told him in a tart voice.

Dumbledore merely smiled. "Well, I suppose that is to be expected. Teenaged boys are notoriously selfish, after all." This caused Harry to gape. Dumbledore patted his knee, and then muttered, "You are completely normal Harry. And try to remember, it is very hard to overcome our teenage years. They form such a part of who we are, and, for some of us, will not let us be whom we would become. Just keep in mind that those people who do which is best for us, regardless of what it does to them, are the ones that truly love us."

Harry thought he was going to cry. Dumbledore knew everything. But was this a reference to Severus, or just a completely unrelated nugget of joy? "Professor...I'm gay," he confessed shakily. He had to tell Dumbledore the truth. If this affected the fight against Voldemort, Dumbledore would have to be prepared.

"Oh? And moreover?"

Harry stared. What the hell did that mean? "Erm. If people found out, they'd hate me. They wouldn't want. They wouldn't." He looked away. "They wouldn't take your side against Voldemort."

"Ah. If people found out, they'd merely know you. A little better than they would have, perhaps. And some will be upset, and others, who had thought you simply too good and pure to relate to, will realize that you, too, are human. And like you all the better for it. And, in the end, it will not matter very much, I think. And it will matter not so much whom your heart chooses to love, but that it has love enough to do so. That will be what gives you strength. Now. I feel rather like a cup of tea, after that most astonishing display of power. I quite liked the shower of green and violet spangles you managed near the end. Care to join me? No? Well...remember, truth can never hurt as much as a lie, because it will come out eventually, and it stings oh, so much worse after being repressed." He gave Harry a sharp look before leaving, and Harry sat for a long time, trying to sort out a confused conversation, and the even more confusing thoughts it had led to.

Harry tried to get Hermione alone the next morning, but Ron was having none of it. "No. I'm sick of this. And the last time the two of you got left alone together, she came up with the brilliant idea of putting our most secret secrets right down on paper for any fool to find. You aren't allowed to sneak off and decide things without me; no good comes of it. You aren't safe to be left alone together. So. No more conspiracies kept from Ron, eh? What's the new crisis? Spill it, Harry. Go on. I demand that you tell me."

Harry stared at him, torn between exasperation and exhaustion. Wasn't he allowed to have one normal, calm, happy day, where insane, life-altering situations weren't dumped in his lap? "Draco Malfoy is trying to blackmail me into giving him a blowjob." Harry threw out caustically.

Ron looked as though he were going to pass out, or vomit, or perhaps both, maybe at the same time. "You didn't have to tell me that!" he said in a stricken voice.

"You just DEMANDED TO BE TOLD," Harry snarled at him. "You insisted!"

"Yes, but you didn't have to actually TELL me," Ron replied. "I think I've gone deaf from the vile words alone!"

"Surprising, how well you hear for a deaf man," Hermione interjected dryly.

"Yes, well. It may be a sort of slow-acting deafness," Ron defended himself. "Which probably only comes on as the words rot in there. Maybe I could clean them out or something."

"By all means, go and do it," Harry replied. "If you didn't like that, you surely won't like what's coming up."

Ron whined, "Will I have to hear it from someone else, then?"

"Only if I don't give Malfoy a blowjob."

"Can I sit down and put my arms round my knees and rock back and forth for a bit? No, God. God. Just go on. What's coming up, then? Worse than this?"

"Harry..." Hermione warned, putting a hand on his arm as though it could restrain him from speaking.

"Fine. Let's not. Let's just not talk about it any more right now, all right? I need to think." Hermione nodded vehemently, and Ron capitulated as well. He wasn't certain what Harry's news was, but he'd had more than enough already.