263Chapter 9: Confessions
Chapter 9
Confessions
After opening their presents, Ron and Harry went down to the common room where Hermione was waiting with Crookshanks. Ron, who had Scabbers in his pocket, yelled at Hermione to keep the cat away from him. Crookshanks kept staring at Ron's pocket until they left, struggling against Hermione's hold as he tried to grab the old rat.
At lunch time the Golden Trio went down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. There were only three other students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year.
"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore said as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seems foolish to use the House tables. …Sit down, sit down!"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down side by side at the end of the table.
"Crackers!" Dumbledore said enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Harry, remembering the boggart, caught Ron's eye and they both grinned; Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once.
"Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.
As Harry was helping himself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.
"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore said, standing up.
"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," Professor Trelawney said in her mistiest, most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness. …"
"Certainly, certainly," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair—"
And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few second before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.
"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"
"We'll risk it, Sibyll," Professor McGonagall said impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."
Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.
"Tripe, Sibyll?"
Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin-Black?"
"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore said, indicating that everyone should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day. And he was going to visit his family as well."
"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" Professor McGonagall said, her eyebrows raised.
Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. "Certainly I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."
"That explains a great deal," Professor McGonagall said tartly. Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty.
"If you must know, Minerva. I have seen that poor Professor Lupin-Black will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gave for him—"
"Imagine that," McGonagall said dryly.
"I doubt," Dumbledore said in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's conversation, "that Professor Lupin-Black is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Snape said.
"Good," Dumbledore said. "Then he should be up and about in no time. …Derek, have you any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."
The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the platter of sausages with trembling hands.
Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their party hats, Harry and Ron got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly.
"My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"
"Dunno," Ron said, looking uneasily at Harry.
"I doubt it will make much difference," Professor McGonagall said coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall."
Even Ron laughed. Professor Trelawney looked highly affronted.
"Coming?" Harry said to Hermione.
"In a bit," Hermione muttered.
Harry and Ron nodded and left the entrance hall. "That was awkward," Ron yawned as they made their way into the entrance hall, which was completely devoid of mad axe-men. When they reached the portrait hole, they found the Fat Lady enjoying a Christmas party with her best friend Violet. "Password?" she said, her cheeks clearly flushed.
"Fortuna Major," Ron said.
"Yup!" Violet toasted as the painting swung open to admit them.
Harry went straight to the dormitory, collected his Firebolt, the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him, and the diary Draco gave him, and brought them downstairs.
"Meant to ask," Ron said. "Who sent you the book?" he asked, pointing to the black diary. Harry's cheeks flushed as he placed the Firebolt and kit gently on the coffee table in between the armchairs.
"Well… it's a long story," Harry said.
Ron looked at him curiously as they sat down in opposite armchairs, the diary and Firebolt between them. "Pretty sure we got time, mate," he said.
Harry nodded and looked at Ron. "Just don't interrupt alright?"
Ron gave a slightly sour look, "Please tell me you're not doing… that already!"
"That?" Harry asked, confused.
Ron gave him a look and said with relief, "Never mind. Go ahead."
"Alright… well, you know how I'm gay right?"
"Yeah," Ron said nodding.
"Well… I didn't exactly figure that out by myself…" Harry began. "It began in the start of the year. I started noticing different things… like Seamus' brogue, or how deep Wood's voice is… how nice they smell… and I was confused. Like, really confused, I had no idea what was going on. Then on the day Malfoy provoked Buckbeak, I visited him in the hospital wing. I didn't know why I decided to do that, but I did, and I've dressed his wounds just as dad taught me when I was young. I've told him about it, but Malfoy being Malfoy, he basically spat back at me. So I left and it's there I've met Blaise.
"Blaise Zabini… yes Ron, he is in Slytherin," Harry said when he noticed his friend's face. Ron's scowl softened and he remained quiet. "I was cautious like you, and stand offish, but he convinced me to talk to him. So I did. We've met in empty classrooms multiple times, and walked down empty corridors, and I started to really like him. Then, one day, Blaise convinced Malfoy to meet with me in an empty classroom. This was… I think around the first Hogsmeade weekend, no before. We talked about our families, and figured out how similar we both are actually are… even down to how we're both gay—"
"You mean Draco Malfoy likes blokes?" Ron interrupted, with a certain grin.
"Yeah," Harry said.
Ron couldn't help but give a short laugh, "Should have known! Considering his hair! Looks like he takes hours doing it."
Harry gave a laugh and smiled, "Actually, more like an hour… hour in a half on weekends." They both shared a small laugh and Ron apologized for interrupting. "Anyway," Harry continued. "We've started talking and became friends. … On the day before the first Hogsmeade meeting, Draco—I mean Malfoy, brought me from the group at the end of Defense and he promised to get me chocolate from Hogsmeade, which he did. That was right before you and Hermione gave me the lot you two brought. Blaise and I had a friendly bet on the first Quidditch match but… well, you know what happened.
"But anyways, Draco and I met more and more often and we've genuinely became friends. And we agreed that after the Gryffindor/ Slytherin Quidditch match, we'll take our friendship outside the classrooms. I've told him that I've felt like I'm… like I'm lying. To my dad, to everyone. Not only by not telling dad I'm gay, but by having two friendships in secret. So to help that… Draco gave me the diary as a Christmas present. And umm that's that." Harry finished. He looked up at Ron, waiting for his reaction or outburst.
Ron's face hid his emotions as he processed everything Harry told him. He stared at Harry for a long time, each second Harry was expecting a loud, curse filled outburst. Then, finally, Ron said "You're mates with Malfoy… Malfoy! The git who called Hermione a Mudblood. The git who got us in trouble in our first year when we helped Hagrid with Norbert! The git—the damn git who's constantly mocking us, treats us like crap and is the reason for Buckbeak getting in trouble. That git!?"
Harry blushed and looked down. "Look, yes he's a git, I understand that," he began. "But I'm working on that part. I'm angry about all of that too, and as soon as the holiday's up, you better believe I'll be yelling at him. Dad's working his best to stop the stupid trail, and I'm working on Malfoy. He's a prat but… but he's trying. He listened to me and got me this diary so that I can just write my thoughts whenever I feel like I'm lying."
"I don't know… Harry, if you were going to befriend a Slytherin like that, why could you stick to Zabini? He sounds like a much better person," Ron argued.
Harry, remembering all the questions Blaise asked about Ron, blushed and shook his head. "It's complicated… look, please don't be angry at me, alright?"
"I'm not angry at you Harry," Ron said. "I just don't trust Malfoy with you. He's a prat who doesn't care about anyone."
"He does care," Harry argued. "Look. Just trust me, okay? If it's true what you say, that he's a prat and will always be a git, then I'll stop talking to him and instead focus on Blaise or someone else, alright? It's just that… he makes me feel happy. He understands things that others can't."
Ron gave a defeated sigh, "Alright fine. But if I'm right, you'll let me deal with him the Muggle way, okay?"
"Of course Ron," Harry said. They both agreed, Ron smirking at the idea of hitting Malfoy as he turned his attention to the diary. "So… he gave you this?" he said as he flipped through the pages. "It's old, and nothing's written on it."
"I know, it's strange," Harry said. "Draco told me it's over fifty years old… guess who ever got it never wrote in it."
Ron nodded and gave it to Harry. Harry opened the cover and noticed something that he didn't notice the first time. "T.M. Riddle," he read. He shrugged and said, "Guess that was the first owner."
He placed the diary to the side and Ron and Harry turned their attention to Harry's new Firebolt. They sat admiring it from every angle until the portrait hole opened, and Hermione came in. "What is that?" she asked, pointing to the broom.
"The Firebolt," Ron said admiringly. "Someone got it for Harry."
"Who?" Hermione asked, a frown forming on her lips.
"We don't know," Ron said. "There's no card or anything."
Hermione's frown deepened. "Harry, you're not actually thinking of riding that broom are you?"
"Of course Hermione, why not?" Harry said. "It's a gift."
"But we don't know who sent it to you! For all we know, it could be jinxed or hexed to throw you off when fly it!" Hermione said.
"Hermione, who would do a stupid thing like that," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Just relax Hermione!"
Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry," she argued.
"Look, the broom's not dangerous Hermione," Harry said. He took hold of the broomstick and walked towards the window. "If you need to see me fly it, then alright."
Then, before Hermione or Ron could say anything, Harry got on the broomstick and flown out the open window. He could faintly hear Hermione's voice yelling "HARRY POTTER!" as he flew towards the night sky. The wind rushed against his face as he flew around the castle, a huge grin appearing on his face as flew higher and higher into the air. He felt a sense of freedom as he started to slow down to a stop, hovering around the top of the castle. The moon was full tonight and the sky was surprisingly cloudless, stars dotting the darkness. He decided to take a lap, flying around the castle proper before darting towards Hagrid's hut, and over the Forbidden Forest. After five minutes, he returned to Gryffindor Tower, landing expertly and perfectly in front of Ron and Hermione. Ron was cheering and clapping at Harry while Hermione had her arms crossed, looking livid.
"Harry Potter, what are you thinking?" Hermione demanded.
"I was showing you that the broom is not jinxed, hexed, or cursed in any way," Harry said, getting off the Firebolt.
"By just throwing yourself on your broom!?" Hermione said lividly. He threw her hands up and groaned, "I cannot deal with this. You are lucky that I didn't tell Professor McGonagall about it."
"Hermione, be reasonable! It's a Firebolt! You know how expensive they are? Who would by a Firebolt just to curse it?" Ron asked.
"I don't know, but it's possible!" Hermione said. "Harry's dad is one of the best Aurors out there, I'm sure he has enemies! And those enemies could just harm Harry to get to him!"
"Hermione, you're being insane," Ron said. "Enemies? What are you talking about?"
Harry frowned and said, "Look, Hermione. Even if dad has enemies like you said, wouldn't you think they would have tried years ago? Look, perhaps the sender just forgot to put the card, alright? I've flown it, and I'm still in one piece. It's fine."
Hermione looked at both of them and shook her head. "Boys," she said dismissively before turning towards the girls' dormitory.
Harry and Ron just shared a look before going into the boys' dormitory. Ron headed straight to bed, while Harry lingered. He looked at the diary and bit his lip. He might as well start writing in it. Quietly he took a quill and ink, and crept downstairs towards a small desk by the now closed window that he flew out of. He opened the diary to the first page and paused, not sure what exactly to write about.
He dipped his quill in scarlet ink, and let it hover over the top page as he thought about what topic he should write about. His arm hovered for so long that a drop of the ink fell from his quill and landed neatly on the page, splotching it. Harry stared at it, and, to his amazement, the ink seemed to sink into the page, as if the diary was draining it before disappearing completely. Harry quickly moved the quill aside and ran his finger across the page, surprised to feel that it was bone-dry. Excited, Harry took the quill and wrote "My name is Harry Potter."
The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.
Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry had never written.
"Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?"
These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back. "It was a gift from Draco Malfoy. He told me to write in it whenever I feel like I am lying."
Harry waited for the diary's reply.
"Interesting. Tell me, what do you mean by lying?"
"There are things that I lie about. Things about me," Harry wrote quickly. "I'm lying to my dad about my sexuality and who I'm friends with… I'm lying to my best friends about Draco and Blaise… and I'm lying to everyone because I can talk to snakes."
The ink sank into the page and Harry waited on bated breath for the reply. The words oozed slowly, as if Riddle was choosing his words carefully. "Snakes? You can talk to snakes? Very interesting. We can talk about your sexuality and friends in a moment. But first, I want to hear about your ability. To talk to snakes is very rare, Harry."
"It is?" Harry wrote. "I've never told anyone about it."
"Where are you Harry? If you do not mind telling me."
"Hogwarts," Harry wrote. "Gryffindor Tower."
"You are a Gryffindor… and yet you can speak to snakes. Interesting."
"Why is that interesting?"
"A Gryffindor having the talent to speak to snakes. It is a rare and powerful ability Harry. An ability that is saved only those of pure heritage. Tell me, have you heard of Parseltongue?"
"Parseltongue?" Harry whispered as he wrote down the question. "No, I have not."
He felt as if the diary was chuckling at him as words oozed into the page. "Then you have much to learn Harry. Parseltongue is the language of snakes. To be able to speak it, is a gift need sharing."
"I need to go," Harry wrote into the diary, closing it. He didn't know why, but he felt… something against the diary. It was a curious object and Harry did not know how to approach it. He picked up the book and made his way back to the dormitories. He quietly placed the diary into his bedside table drawer, and laid in bed, his thoughts spinning. Parselmouth, a diary that had a mind of it's own… or maybe somebody's mind… he needed to talk to Draco about this, he needed to figure just what the diary is.
New Years came and went shortly, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started.
"Had a good Christmas?" he said, and then, without an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said "I've been doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the dementors come to the next one… I mean… we can't afford you to—well—"
Wood broke off, looking awkward.
"I'm working on it," Harry said quickly. "Professor Lupin-Black said he'd train me to ward off the dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he'd have time after Christmas."
"Ah," Wood said, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case—I really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?"
"No," Harry said.
"What!" You'd better get a move on, you know—you can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!"
"He got a Firebolt for Christmas," Ron said.
"A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A—a real Firebolt?"
"Yeah," Harry said. "It's in my room." Oliver Wood demanded Harry to show it to him, and Harry ended up spending the rest of the night showing his new Firebolt to the entire Gryffindor House, much to the annoyance of Hermione, who was giving Harry sharp looks. It was clear that she still haven't forgiven Harry for the reckless stunt he pulled on Christmas day.
Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for their enjoyment, and they spent an unusually good lesson collected dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life she had ever seen.
It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry was keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to get started on his anti-dementor lessons as soon as possible.
"Ah yes," said Lupin-Black, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. "Let me see …how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough. …I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this. …We can't bring a real dementor into the castle to practice on. …"
"Still looks ill, doesn't he?" Ron said as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"
Harry shrugged and looked where he saw Draco walking down a corridor. "I'll meet up with you Ron," he said. "Need to get something from the dorms."
"Oh, alright…" Ron said unsurely as he watched Harry leave down a corridor.
Harry followed Draco until he was sure the blond was in earshot. "Draco!" he said. The Slytherin stopped and turned around to see Harry approaching him. "We need to talk," Harry said.
"Okay, what about?" Draco asked.
"Many things," Harry said, deciding to show his annoyance at Draco. The Ice Prince slowed slightly when he saw the frown on Harry's face. "You are going to tell your father to stop the charges against Buckbeak," Harry stated when Draco stopped fully.
"Buckbeak…" Draco said slowly, as if he had forgotten about the hippogriff.
"Yes, Buckbeak. The hippogriff that you provoked," Harry said. "The one that scratched your arm."
"Oh yes, I remember," Draco said. "The beast almost shredded my arm! Why do you care for it?"
"Because Hagrid is at his wit's end trying to save Buckbeak," Harry said. "They are going to kill the hippogriff, and it is your fault."
Draco looked at Harry and shook his head. "Why do you care Harry? It's just a creature."
Harry glared at Draco and spat out, "Ron was right. You are still a git." Harry turned to leave, but Draco chased after him. "Harry, wait." He demanded.
"Why should I?" Harry asked, still walking.
"We can talk about this!"
"Talk about what?" Harry asked, turned around to glare at Draco. "You're being a selfish git! You wouldn't even talk to your father to save an innocent creature!"
"That thing attacked me!"
"Because you provoked him!" Harry yelled. "Hell, you barely even tried to apologize for that, or even show regret!"
"I didn't know I have to," Draco said. "I thought that the hippogriff was behind us!"
"And what? So is calling Hermione a mudblood multiple times? Is that 'behind us' as well?" Harry asked.
"Well—"
"And the time you almost got Ron Hermione and I expelled because of Norbert? Is that behind us as well?"
"I get it, I'm a git—"
"No, you're not. You're a spoiled git who needs to start apologizing for his past actions or else…" Harry's voice trailed off.
"Or else what Potter?" Draco asked, his arms crossed as he looked down at Harry. Harry met his gaze and said, "Or else I'll just tell you to sod off and get with Blaise."
Draco's eyes zoned into Harry's. "You wouldn't," he said. Harry met the glare and said, "He's a better person Draco. If you want to continue whatever this is… then get your act together."
"My act together? I got you a dairy for you!" Draco said.
"Yeah, a fifty year old diary that has the memories of the previous owner!" Harry said.
"What?" Draco said, sounding shocked.
"Yeah, you forgot to add that part," Harry said. Draco looked as if he was stunned silent.
"I… I… I never knew that," Draco said. He looked up at Harry and said, "Honestly, I didn't. Memories of the previous owner? What does that mean?"
"I mean that when I write in it, the ink disappears and reappears in his words," Harry said. "Are you really telling me that you never knew about it?"
"Yes Harry, I didn't," Draco said. "I honestly thought that it was just an old empty diary."
Harry looked at Draco and said, "At least you're honest about that."
"Harry!" Draco said, feeling hurt. Harry shook his head, "No, don't 'Harry' me. I don't want to talk with you until you get your act together."
And with that, Harry turned and left Draco in the corridor. But instead of feeling angry or sad he felt empty.
At eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes when Professor Lupin-Black turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binn's desk.
"Another boggart," Lupin-Black said, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him."
"Okay," Harry said, trying to sound as though he wasn't apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin-Black had found such a good substitute for a real dementor.
"So…" Professor Lupin-Black had taken out his own wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, harry—well being Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm. Now, have your dad told you about the charm?"
"A little," Harry admitted. "He told me that there is a spell that keeps dementors away… and that it is powered by happy thoughts."
"That is correct Harry," Lupin-Black said. "The spell conjures a Patronus when done correctly, and the Patronus acts as a shield between you and the dementors. It is a powerful force created by happiness, hope, the desire to survive, all things that dementors feed upon. But I must warn you, Harry that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."
"What does a Patronus look like?" Harry asked curiously.
"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it," Lupin-Black said. "Your father's for insist, is a stag."
"And how do you conjure it?"
"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."
Harry cast his mind about for a happy memory, settling on the moment when he had first ridden a broomstick.
"Right," he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach.
"The incantation is this—" Lupin-Black cleared his throat. "Expecto Patronum!"
"Expecto patronum," Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto patronum."
Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"
"Oh—yeah—" Harry said, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. "Expecto patronum, expecto patronum—"
Lupin-Black grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled. A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him—
"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. A wisp of silvery gas appeared for a moment before disappearing. "Expecto patronum! Expecto—"
But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving. …Harry was falling again through the thick white fog, and his mother's voice was louder than ever, echoing in his head.
"Harry!"
Harry jerked back to life. He was laying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn't have to ask what happened.
"Sorry," he muttered, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses. Lupin-Black gave him a Chocolate Frog which he ate immediately. "I'm ready to try again," he said.
"Harry… are you sure you want to continue?"
"I do!" Harry said fiercely. "I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"
"All right then …" Lupin-Black said. "You might want to pick another memory to concentrate on. That one doesn't seem to have been strong enough. …"
Harry nodded and rattled his brain for another memory. He thought about his feelings when Gryffindor had won the House Championship last year, about his first time to Diagon Alley with his father and Hagrid… then, he finally decided on a memory.
"Ready?" Lupin-Black said, who was looking as though he were doing this against his better judgment. "Concentrating hard? All right—go!"
He pulled the lid of the case, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark—
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The screaming inside Harry's head had started again—except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio—softer and louder and softer again—and he could still see the dementor—it had halted—and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand, to hover between him and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, he was still on his feet—though for how much longer, he wasn't sure—
"Riddikulus!" Lupin-Black roared, springing forward.
There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking.
"Excellent!" Lupin-Black said, striding over to where Harry sat. "Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!"
"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"
"Not now," Lupin-Black said firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here—"
He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate. "Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?"
"Okay," Harry said. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor. A thought had just occurred to him. "Professor Lupin-Black? You know my dad, right? You told me that he was angry at you and your husband… but you never told me why," Harry said.
"True," Professor Lupin-Black said, nodding. "I've told you that it would be better if you ask your father."
"But he wouldn't tell me, even if I did," Harry said. "I just know it."
Lupin-Black sighed and sat down. "Alright… I see no reason to hide it. You see Harry, there are people who… they hate us for what we are. I thought your father was different, but after Lily died and Sirius and I gotten married… it seems as if we were wrong."
"You mean… my dad hates you because you like blokes?" Harry said slowly. Lupin-Black nodded and Harry said, "But he wouldn't be like that! He's too nice to be like that!"
"And yet… there's a reason why I'm just meeting you now Harry, instead of being in your life for a long time," Lupin-Black said. He shook his head and said, "You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late."
Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn't mentioned his father to Lupin-Black. He tried to convince himself that his father isn't that way. "He's wrong, there has to be a better reason that that," he told himself.
He stood up, crammed the last bit of chocolate into his mouth, and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. When he reached the dormitories, instead of going to sleep he instead felt a pull towards the drawer where Riddle's diary hid. He debated, then quickly opened the drawer and pulled out the diary, writing about everything that happened.
He watched as the ink disappeared into the page, and Riddle's words oozed back. "I see… I can understand how such a dilemma can impact a person such as you Harry. So young, and yet so many expectations and challenges. … If you want, I can help you, both with this Malfoy problem and your father's homophobia. All I need is your trust. With that, I have so much that I can teach you. You do not need to say anything now, but just think about it. And if Malfoy does in fact change his ways then, what I will teach you will still be benedictory. The body is a wondrous yet complex thing Harry, even if this Malfoy does not come back, and instead is replaced by Blaise, what I can teach you will still be valuable. I do not want your answer now. Sleep on it young Harry, sleep and when you are ready, you know where I will be."
A/N: Sorry for the delay! I've found love and then it ran away. And I am playing with a new idea that might come to fruition in a week or so. Can someone say Creature fic?
Sapphirewaterfall: Hello my dear! I really love your review! For it is long and in-depth two things I love in reviews, for they give me a lot to talk about. Thank you, this fic is one of the more… relaxing ones I think you can call it that, so I'm trying to keep the dialogue easy, yet interesting at the same time. And yes, the Drarry. I am so happy that you are loving the Drarry lol, I am loving jealous Draco as well, though now it's redeeming Draco we need to focus on! As for James, for some reason in fics where he's alive he's the straight bad guy, and I don't like that. I don't see him as the "evil" one of gay Harry stories, who is glory-seeking and using his son for the spot light. That just isn't James Potter to me, lol. He would have expectations like all parents, but I think he would become more serious and protective, yet letting his expectations going to the extremes. As for the history between James, Sirius, and Lupin… I still haven't revealed everything yet. Sure we've met the players, but there's a couple of facts still to reveal. And I hate homophobe Ron, he seems like the accepting type to me. I mean honestly he's brothers with Charlie for god's sake! And… as for Lucius, it's not that he's homophobic, but more that he has strict expectations for Draco. And no, no friendships between James and Lucius, that's not going to happen. Narcissa is alive and well, but not a key character. We might get a wind of her now and then. And of course there's going to be Harry-Fleamont scenes! Why wouldn't there be lol. Again, thank you so much for reviewing and I really hope to see you in the future!
Love-to-experience: Hello lover of my stories! Two days? Wow! I'm really impressed lol. And a vote for no threesome of Harry, Draco, and Blaise. Alright! And to answer your question without spoiling the story for anyone who hasn't read it… You're not supposed to know, and yes it's gone, and they're still kicking.
Littlesprout: Yup. Harry gets interesting gifts.
Love Faith Embers: Glad you love it!
Angel-TurtleKING: Your guess is correct. That silly Snuffles!
David-El: Bad things await our boys. But hopefully they will power through!
Kigen Dawn: Your welcome! It was the nicest birthday gift I could think of, and I knew you would like that part. And bring what in?
Flye Autumne: Okay… the diary does not belong to Tom Riddle.
Sasuhinas fan: How is it weird lol? And you better not!
MagnificentFern: Short answers to short reviews lol. And you want Harry and Draco in an open relationship? I don't know… they don't really seem the type! And just drown yourself in the perverted! Trust me, no matter how much you think you are, there are more perverted people out there. And it's nice dealing with a light hearted story for a change. After all, the last two had murder, murder, and more murder! Some frolicking is appreciated every now and then.
Kamui5: How would… never mind, no he won't. And Blaise is not and will not date George. Blaise is a top! And George is a bottom! But they are not compatible.
Super MKatR: Yes, many experiences in the future. But no muscled men for me so far.
Zatsune D. LawLuFan: Yes, now he knows…
Jokul Frosti: Well, I feel like I owe him one because of the LAST TWO! And Jerry Springer?
Hyper-Blossom Z: Well, Harry still has his broom. And why would they be looking for Peter? He's thought long dead!
Laura: Yes, it is. The real reason will be revealed soonish don't you worry!
Erebus15: Hello! I'm sorry for the delay!
Ern: Here you go!