the chosen one.

Draco hadn’t been robbed of all his innocence yet. The child was still alive in him somewhere, because when the figure tumbled to the ground he grinned. With this vandal just where he wanted them, Draco no longer needed to be stealthy. He rose to his full height and stepped closer, some of his swagger slipping into his legs. “It’s after curfew, you know,” he called to them. “That’s going to be detention for you. But first, I’m curious… why would a student be lurking here of all places.”

It had to be a good reason–unless they were too clueless to know disturbing the grave of a respected wizard almost always came with consequences. What was this fool thinking? That they’d defile the stone and nothing would happen? There were charms and enchantments to prevent against this sort of thing.

While the figure was still on the ground, Draco had the urge to give them a good kick. The opportunity had practically presented itself, and it would certainly relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. It wasn’t like he’d get in trouble for it either. But… something stole the smile right from his lips. Another flicker of recognition. A creeping feeling of deja vu. He’d been here before; could practically hear the crunch of foot meeting nose resounding in the back of his head. It was a distant memory now; probably just his mind playing tricks.

Draco’s senses prickled, blood running cold. Darkness shrouded the figure, concealing its identity. But Draco needed to know. Now.

Light burst from his wand, blindingly bright in his panic. He took a step back. Hatred trickled over him, then it was rain. What was he doing here, and why the fuck wasn’t he doing his invisibility thing? Black hair, even messier than Draco remembered, like he’d taken a pair of scissors to it himself; the glint of those frames…

Potter.

“Crucio.” Draco lashed his wand, incantation tearing from his lips. Last year, he’d meant it. Furious Potter had snuck up on him, furious he’d been seen crying. Now, fury gave way to shock and fear, because if Potter was here, it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord was called, then he was sure to follow. Perhaps Draco should make the call himself. In a flash, he saw Father trapped at the manor, wandless. Not waiting to see if his curse made it’s mark, he thrust up his sleeve, holding his wand an inch above his tattooed skin. One wrong move and Draco would close that inch and invite fire upon his skin and Hogwarts alike.

Harry was about to push to his feet, brush himself off, and get back to what he’d come here for, when he stiffened. There was a voice not too far away from him – a very familiar, arrogant, sneering voice. If he’d come all this way – escaped Death Eaters and snakes coming out of little old ladies and a desperate father and even Voldemort himself – just to be thwarted by Draco Malfoy, of all people, Harry would never forgive himself. This was not his end.

He could see Draco’s figure through the moonlight, but it was too dark and he was too far away to make out any real details. But it was clear that he was coming towards Harry, the thrilling swagger in his feet. Of course Malfoy would be excited about catching someone out after curfew. Excited about the prospect of detention. If Padma and Seamus and the rest of the D.A. were dolling out punishments, then Malfoy surely was. Sick wizard probably enjoyed it.

It wasn’t obvious if Draco had recognized Harry yet or not. He assumed not – because he suspected Draco’s voice would be angrier, maybe even slightly terrified of what this meant, if he knew that Harry Potter had entered the school. Or maybe Malfoy had already called his master and Voldemort was on his way. But by the time Malfoy made it to where Harry was, his face had fallen into something hard, incredulous.

Harry tried to scramble to his feet, but was hit with Draco’s spell before he could even get untangled from the root. He fell backward, aching in pain, unbearable. Worse than bones breaking. Worse than growing him back. And it was almost like the dementors – his mother’s distance scream echoing through his ears. Or maybe that was just his own scream. It was only a few moments before he forced himself to think logically. He couldn’t scream – not here, in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds. With all the effort he could manage, he bit his lip hard to stop from shouting. It felt like hours before the spell lifted and the pain subsided.

@carriesdeath

Draco sprinted across the grounds. Cold air seared his lungs with each rapid breath. The grassy route was longer, but more even underfoot, enabling Draco to move quietly towards his target. No one had a reason for being out here this late–absolutely no one–so whatever they were up to spelled trouble. And the fact that they were lurking around Dumbledore’s tomb… It had to be one of his own. A Slytherin looking to piss on the grave, and thus the name, of Albus Dumbledore, as if the wizard hadn’t done that adequately enough himself. Draco had only known one person who dared desecrate a grave; now they were barely human, inhabiting a body built from the flesh and bone of corpses and odious rats like Wormtail. Wasn’t it enough that Dumbledore had been killed in his own school? Let the dead rest, for Merlin’s sake. 

Draco slowed as he drew closer, crouching in the underbrush that lined the border of the Forbidden Forest. It was pure chance that he had looked out the window towards the shore of the Black Lake at just the right moment, seeing darkness shift around their body. Perhaps it was folly to come alone. Draco did most things alone these days. He had learned what he’d always suspected; friends wouldn’t save you. Not from humiliation, shame–not even death. 

Waiting for his lungs to steady their breathing, he squinted. What were they doing here? The moon wasn’t full, and yet the white tomb shone like it was bathed in moonlight. And people accused him of vanity. Draco inhaled through the nose–he hadn’t been this close to the tomb since… well, never. Snape had cast the final blow, but that was merely a technicality. It didn’t make Draco feel spared. He had disarmed the headmaster. Not Snape. Him. He had given Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts. And what for? Only to prove he was weak. Then Snape had gone ahead and killed Dumbledore anyway.

Draco pulled up the hood of his cloak so his hair wouldn’t betray him. Wand poised, he slowly stood up, stepping out from the underbrush. The figure moved… and there was something familiar about them, but that was the nature of school–you recognised people without even knowing their names. Focus. It was difficult with the White Tomb staring him down; knowing Dumbledore was inside, likely a rotten corpse by now. Nausea washed over Draco as if he could already smell him, but he swallowed the feeling, the figure moving again. Now wasn’t the time for disgust. It wasn’t the time for weakness. 

Draco lifted his wand. The swish and flick was second nature, a child’s spell. A felled branch lifted a foot from the ground at the figure’s ankles. If they wanted to be so dishonourable as to disturb the dead, let them fall flat on their face in the process. 

He took one look at Hermione – or where he _thought_ Hermione might be, given she was under the cloak – took a deep breath and moved away from her. He didn’t like being apart from her and would’ve preferred them always sticking together, but the plan required them to be apart. That was just the way it had to be. The only sort of Greater Good he could get behind, really.

His eyes narrowed beneath the spectacles, wand in his hand, preparing himself. Seamus and Padma – they could yell at him all they wanted, but it wouldn’t deter Harry. And maybe it was because of how much confrontation he’d gotten from everyone since coming back to Hogwarts that pushed him towards this plan with… well without a plan at all. But he wasn’t about to admit that and he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Hermione what he was about to do. They didn’t need a plan. Plans had gotten them no where in this fight.

They’d found the first Horcrux with a plan that had gone wrong from the moment they stepped foot in the Ministry. And getting the sword had been nothing but chance and a little bit of mysterious help from someone. They couldn’t fight this war on logic alone. It was action they needed. Which is what made him grip his wand tighter, running through the grounds, sticking to the shadows. Dumbledore’s grave was near the lake and, when he reached it, Harry stopped short.

The tomb was nearly as he remembered it from the funeral. Beautifully encased and white-glistening. His breathing was heavy, but not really from the running. This was Dumbledore. He might have been angry with his old headmaster, but that didn’t mean he stopped caring. Inside was his body, rotted away. Harry licked his lips, swallowed hard, and raised his wand. He could do this. It had to be done. It was just a body. He’d get the Elder Wand and then put Dumbledore back to rest. He didn’t know much about magical graves, but he and Hermione had done a bit of research the night before, so he had a spell to start with. He took a step forward, _ready._

Hermione wasn’t about to blame Harry for this. She couldn’t. He shouldn’t have left, that much was true, but it was her idea to set off after him. She and Ron could have waited a tick, put together a more concrete plan; she could have allowed her blood pressure to return to normal before springing into action, but she hadn’t, and as far as she was concerned, it was that and only that that had cost them their best friend. She shook her head at Harry’s mumbled confession, but any words of comfort she might have uttered died in her throat. His tone changed from defeated to panicked, and it took Hermione a moment to realize the source.

“Oh, I, um…splinched myself,” she sniffed, holding her bloodied palm up to the mirror before using her sleeve to dab at the stains on her face. The explanation, however, didn’t seem to change Harry’s mind; she could no longer get a clear view of him through the mirror as it moved to and fro in his hand, and at that moment, Aberforth emerged again. But, he didn’t make it halfway across the room before something moved near the fireplace, capturing both his and Hermione’s attention. The girl in the oil painting seemed to come suddenly to life; she looked over one shoulder as though her name had been called, and when she turned back her piercing blue eyes moved right to Hermione, the ghost of a smile playing across her lips. Hermione couldn’t tear her gaze away, and Harry’s question went unanswered. The portrait suddenly swung away from the wall, a cavernous opening yawning behind it. One glance at Aberforth told her that this wasn’t a normal occurrence; his own eyes were wide behind his spectacles, but after a beat he seemed to pull himself together, closing the distance between himself and Hermione and shoving a bandage into her grasp.

“Got this too,” he mumbled, brandishing a bottle of Dittany and nodding at her injured hand. She held it out and bit down on the inside of her cheek as he dropped a bit of the potion onto the cut, but she was too overcome with gratitude to whinge about the pain. Aberforth looked again at the opening behind his painting, and he dragged a chair in front of it, nodding at Hermione again. “Best be going through, then,” he said, noting her apprehension and adding, “She wouldn’t lead you wrong.”  

The sudden quiet in his voice was a shock against her own hot words, nearly shrieked as they had been; what he said, somehow, wasn’t. He was telling her things she hadn’t known, true, but they’d all suspected something like that. Hadn’t the Daily Prophet spent almost a year gushing about “the Chosen One” before the upheaval at the Ministry had forced them to change their tune? Having Harry confirm it so openly, so honestly, would have been startling under other circumstances, but amidst their barbs and bluster it seemed like so much drivel.

“Of course,” Padma spat at him, tears burning hotly in her eyes, “you’re just so special. Everything you do is so much more important than anything the rest of us ever could – we know! You matter, we don’t. Fine. But we’re all still here, even if we’re just ordinary people.” The words came out as a snarl. “And just because we aren’t important doesn’t mean we’re irrelevant. So pardon us if we do what we can to try and survive while you’re busy being special.”

He didn’t answer her, not really. Wouldn’t face the choice she’d given him, wouldn’t accept the fact that sometimes you couldn’t save anyone; you could just make the bad thing less. Of course he wouldn’t. Harry had no idea what it was like to fight a battle already lost; had no idea what it was like to be powerless. He probably thought she just wasn’t trying hard enough – that if he’d been in her place, he’d find a better way. Fight the Carrows directly and damn the consequences – even if those consequences were other people’s lives. He was such a…a…Gryffindor.

Padma couldn’t bear any more of this; she was already crying, but if she tried to keep arguing with the great Harry Potter – kept trying to make him understand that even things that didn’t “matter” still mattered – she was going to break down in incoherent sobs in the middle of the Room of Requirement. She’d done too much crying in this room already this year, and the idea of doing more now at the hands of someone who was supposed to be on their side, someone who was supposed to be saving them, was more than she could face. He was more than she could face.

“You know, sometimes you don’t get to choose what choices to make!” she shouted and spun on her heel. The tears were coming in earnest now and she flung an arm over her face, letting them soak into the warm black sleeve of her robes as she had so many times before. “Sometimes keeping your hands clean just gets other people hurt more,” she sobbed, the fabric muffling her words. “If you’d been here instead of off on your special job you’d know what that’s like, but go ahead…tell me I’m a monster because I’m not special enough to save anyone. I’m not special enough to stop them. All I can do is help, but I guess that’s not good enough for the Chosen One.” The words tasted like poison. She fled from them, fled from him.

Ernie felt awkward, and the other boy’s attitude was wearing on him. Potter didn’t know what it was like living under the Carrows, and Ernie didn’t really understand why he was so against helping them. Ernie rolled his eyes at Harry’s sarcastic tone, and didn’t respond to the comment about people not listening. In Ernie’s mind, he shouldn’t have started the DA, and led it, if he only really wanted to abandon it later.

Ernie slightly doubted the veracity of him wanting to help, as he seemed to be disinterested in even seeing anyone else; but whatever. Ernie had bigger concerns, like keeping the Hufflepuff students as protected as he could. He also was a bit miffed by the way Potter was talking to him. “Alright then,” Ernie said flatly, not really knowing what else to say to him–it clearly seemed like he didn’t want to talk to Ernie in the first place, and the conversation seemed to be going nowhere “You don’t have to worry about me getting in your way, and I doubt the other Hufflepuffs will either. I’ll brief those in the DA from my House to keep out of your way,” He said simply and went to sit on a chair, pulled his Transfiguration textbook from his bag “Well, I’ve got to do some studying to do, if you don’t mind?” He said tersely before beginning to read.

Ernie was annoyed with him, that much was obvious. But Harry couldn’t seem to care enough about it to really make a scene. Ernie had asked what was going to happen - why Harry was back - and Harry had told him. He wasn’t here for Dumbledore’s Army or anyone in it. While Harry wouldn’t hesitate to save any of them in a crisis, they seemed to be doing fine with the rebellion on their own. He was glad that some of them were fighting back.

[ Harry Potter | Situation, Action, Outcome ]

A reading for @carriesdeath. Card interpretations are from the Golden Thread Tarot app.

[ Situation | Knight of Swords ] Action, Speed, Ambition. The power of an idea to overwhelm is represented by the Knight of Swords. Filled with the vision of an idea, he is propelled forward with unbridled ambition. Though is energy is great, there is also a warning associated with being unconscious about consequences and obstacles.  

[ Action | King of Pentacles ] Abundance, Power, Security. The fruits of worldly ambition have brought financial success, a sense of abundance, stability and security. The King of Pentacles is a fatherly figure that provides all of those things, and is also someone that is happy to share what he has accumulated.  

[ Outcome | Queen of Wands, reversed ] Selfishness, Jealously, Demanding. You are either surrounded by or embodying an aspect that represents all of the negatives of a determined, bold character. What internal insecurities are making you act jealous, angry, or resentful?

Somewhere halfway through Harry’s rant Padma had started shaking her head back in forth in mute, damp-eyed denial of what he was saying. She wasn’t sure exactly when; she only noticed the motion when her hands curled in around her ribs as though skinny brown arms in floppy black robes could somehow shield her from the pain and accusations that Harry was flinging at her. Tears leaked down her cheeks and her lip trembled until she had to bite it to hold it still.

When he finished, she said simply, “No.” Her voice was flat and her expression was hollow but she said it again, loudly: “No, Harry. No, it’s not about that. It’s not about showing anybody anything. It’s about saving lives. It’s about protecting people. We have – we have people counting on us, here. Children counting on us. We have responsibilities.” Her eyes blazed suddenly, bright and hot through the tears. “Do you have any idea what that’s like? Having people rely on you? Having people who need you, whom you can’t just run out on? Can’t just leave to their own devices while you go off on some lone heroic adventure? Maybe what you’re doing is important,” she said, the words short and clipped, “but it’s not doing anything to keep the kids here safe, is it? It’s just you, as usual, you and your special buddies, running around all by yourselves while the rest of us try and pick up the pieces.”

She had to take a deep breath before she could continue, forcibly smothering the urge to sob. “So I guess I don’t really care what you’re doing, or who you think is a good enough person to be worthy of trusting or not.” That was a lie, but for once it wasn’t hard to dodge the truth. “I’ve got people I have to take care of, while you’re off doing whatever special little job Dumbledore left you to do. He didn’t leave any instructions for us, we’re just doing the best we can – and the best we can doesn’t involve keeping our hands clean and holding the moral high ground. We don’t have that luxury in here.” Padma’s hands slipped from her elbows and curled into fists at her side; she didn’t notice, didn’t feel the nails bite into her palms as she kept talking; couldn’t see the expression on Harry’s face as she glared at him through her tears. “We get to make choices like, ‘if the Carrows are going to torture all the first years in this room anyway, is it better or worse if I volunteer to do it instead? It’ll be terrible for me and they’ll still get hurt, but it won’t hurt them as much as it would if the Carrows did it themselves.’ Those are the choices we get to make.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust – such a petty expression when weighed against the topic under discussion, but she couldn’t help it; the revulsion was automatic, instinctual. “We get to decide whether we can muster up enough anger at what we’re being forced to do that we can hurt the people we’re trying to protect, or if we can’t and instead we’re going to step aside and let them get hurt worse so we don’t have to do anything unpleasant.”

Another deep breath, this one less wet and wobbly and more trembling with anger. Her tears were drying on her stiff, salt-crusted cheeks. “Say somebody was going to torture Ron, and there was no way you could stop that happening. All you could do was choose who would hold the wand – you, or somebody who really hated him. What would you do? If you had to choose who was going to torture you, wouldn’t you rather have it be a friend than an enemy? Someone who wouldn’t mean it, who wouldn’t make it hurt as bad? Who wouldn’t dream of going too far by mistake – or for their own amusement? Those are the choices we get to make here, without you. You want to judge me for them? Try spending a day in my shoes first, Chosen One.” She spat the epithet at him like a curse.

“And you want to judge me because I don’t look bruised?” Bitter, broken laughed escaped Padma’s lips, startling her – but she kept talking, pushing the words out through the humorless cackle. “It’s called magic, Harry Potter! Ever heard of it? Bruise balm and Dittany and Episkey spells – we’ve all gotten pretty good at using those this past year. Some of us have even moved on to mending broken bones! After all, we can’t always go see Madam Pomfrey when we get hurt – sometimes, the Carrows won’t let us! So we have to take care of ourselves and of each other. That’s what we’re trying to do, all of us here – whether we’re acting as prefects, amateur healers, reluctant torturers, or battered distractions. We’re trying to take care of people. Protect them from horrible, horrible things that we can’t do anything to stop – but we do our best to make things better, because what else would you have us do? Leave?” The unspoken addition to her words – like you did – hung heavy in the air when she finished, like an echo in a tomb.

She seemed to shrink in on herself and it only made what little respect Harry still had for her shatter. If she couldn’t even face him when he was yelling at her, then she’d never be able to stand up to the Carrows. He glared at her, unwavering, not caring about her shaking words or her tears.

A bitter laugh at her question about responsibilities. If only she knew! She did know, really! Weren’t they all screaming about how he was here to start a revolution when he got back? Wasn’t his face up on those wanted posters for a reason? He was the wizard responsible for everyone. And if she truly meant that she was trying to protect people – well he couldn’t believe that meant cursing them. There was no way she’d ever convince him of that, no matter what excuse she gave.

If they hadn’t been fighting for so long, his anger built up and already exploding out of him, Harry might be able to see her point. It was the younger students getting hurt by the members of the D.A. or the Carrows. He knew which one would be worse. But, even so, if he were here, he knew what his choice would be. Never would he raise his wand on someone like that. Even when he’d nearly killed Draco – it hadn’t been intentional. Harry had only raised his wand because Draco had raised his first. And he regretted it now. Wouldn’t cast that spell any other time in his life, if he could help it. He still didn’t know who the Half Blood Prince was, but following the orders of the book had nearly killed a person and Harry hadn’t gone back for it. Padma was following orders from something worse than a potion’s book – and it was hurting children. Over and over again. Maybe they were supposed to be kids themselves, but Harry hadn’t felt like that in a long time. They were fighting a war. They shouldn’t be just letting it happen.

If it were Ron, Harry would… what would he do? Not let it happen. Turn the wand on himself. Turn the wand on the person giving the instructions. Harry didn’t know what he’d do, but he certainly wouldn’t curse his best friend. He had an inkling Ron would tell him do – beg for his own pain because it meant Harry wouldn’t get hurt himself. But that only showed him that both he and Ron were more prepared to fight back than Padma would ever be. The epithet was an insult and he only narrowed his eyes more, gripping the stolen wand tightly. She had no idea.

Harry opened his mouth to retort in that moment, but she kept going and the idea of magic having cursed her cuts and bruises stopped him short for a moment. How had he not thought about that? Having grown up with the Dursleys, hiding the bruises anytime Dudley and his friends decided to beat him up on the playground – it had ingrained something in Harry that he couldn’t get rid of. Hadn’t he seen just several months before how Dittany had sewed his friend’s arm back together? He felt stupid, tricked somehow. As though Padma had won this part of the battle. And his glare dropped for a moment to blink dumbly back at her. It didn’t last long, though, her implication of leaving causing all the rage to rush right back.

And – finally – it was his turn. He wouldn’t interrupted her long ago, but he was almost masochistly wanting her to throw everything she had at him. So he could defend himself. The rest of the D.A. would surely hear about his and Harry wasn’t afraid. If this was what they did when they claimed they were protecting the school, he’d have no problem telling them all off.

“You don’t know a thing.” It was stated as a fact, low and angry. Not shouting, though he could feel it ready to burst, the bubbling in the back of his throat. They’d gone from calm to yelling so fast and now his words, though soft-spoken, felt more dangerous than his yelling ones had. “Dumbledore did tell me what do – but not how to do it. We’ve spent the past year fighting this war for people like you and you think I don’t understand what it’s like to have to make difficult choices? If you think I’d ever leave to save myself, you don’t know me at all. If you think I left because I wanted to…” He trailed off, unable to find the words to make her see. “I don’t care what excuse you throw at me anymore. I’ve made my choice – you’ve made yours.”

Those words felt like something at the very deepest part of his soul. Wasn’t that really what life was all about? “I can’t stop fighting – no one else can finish this!” He started to raise his voice again, his words coming out rapidly, without him able to stop it at all. “You think I don’t know responsibility? It’s got to be him or him! I’m responsible for your life – and your sister’s life – and everyone else’s life at this school. If I can’t stop him, then we all die!” It was terrifying. He might fail. He couldn’t fail. He could see all the people who he hadn’t been able to save. Sirius fell through the veil.

She knew it. Harry was so desperate for leads that he’d clung to every word coming out of Xenophilius Lovegood’s mouth, but the clashing ideologies made Hermione less certain. If the horcruxes were what they were searching for - what Dumbledore insisted were the keys to Voldemort’s demise - why would he point them to the Deathly Hallows as well? The story was a myth, as far as she could tell, but all the urging and arguing in the world couldn’t change Harry’s mind.

Clearly.

But, Hermione didn’t have a chance to display her exasperation; Harry hit her with the juggernaut before she could roll her eyes, and she blinked quickly, a few tears racing down her cheeks as she did so. “I don’t know,” she squeaked. “Snatchers were waiting for us when we took down the protective enchantments. I-I don’t know how, Harry - maybe we stayed in one p-place too long - but…”

Aberforth emerged at that moment, but one look at Hermione’s crumpled and tear-stained face sent him back; he didn’t seem the comforting type, but Hermione barely noticed his return anyway. She didn’t know how well Harry could hear her, but her attempts to bite back her own sobs were proving fruitless. “I d-disapparated, and…I don’t know, one of the Snatchers m-must have had hold of him because he…he let go…” She said all of this very fast, her words jumbling and tripping over one another. She wiped desperately at her face, leaving bloodstains in the wake of her oozing hand.

“I might have - I should have - tried to go back, but…they’ve got a Caterwauling Charm s-set up in Hogsmeade, and b-before I could do much of anything, Aberforth…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I-It’s my fault, Harry…”

Her response hit him like a ton his bricks, his heart sinking into his stomach. He wasn’t surprised – shouldn’t have been. But hearing it was different than knowing. He could tell from the moment she appeared in the mirror that she was alone, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. But Hermione wouldn’t lie to him and the tears that sprang to her eyes, the stumbling of her words, and the way she blamed herself – well, it all made Harry want to cry right along with her.

He blinked rapidly several times and shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Hermione. It’s mine.” He let the shard drop onto his lap, still clutched into his hand, and took a deep breath before going on. “I never should’ve – “ But he cut himself off because he noticed red smearing her face, streaks of blood where there hadn’t been before. “Hermione!” His voice was shocked, worried, and his eye shifted around the edges of the mirror as though he could find an attacker. “What happened to you? You’re bleeding!”

He stood when he said it, looking around the Room of Requirement as if it could suddenly give him all the answers. “That’s it, I’m finding you a way in.” He cleared his throat. “Room?” he said awkwardly. “Can you – I need a way for my friend to enter into Hogwarts. Here. She needs to come here!” He added the last part quickly, feeling stupid, sure nothing would happen. But, surprisingly, a door materialized in the center of the far way.

The second time around Padma was too horrified to recoil; instead she stared at Harry, her eyes going wide and her mouth hanging slightly open. She had expected him to be angry, yes, had expected him to dislike the idea – even to dislike it vehemently; she had heard several stories from her sister and Lavender about Harry losing his temper against Professor Umbridge – but she had still expected him to understand even if he didn’t like it. She certainly hadn’t expected him to be this furious. She might have lied if she had, left it to someone like Ginny or Seamus or Neville to explain how the D.A. operated – but she hadn’t thought it would be this hard. Harry had a temper, but he wasn’t stupid – ordinarily…

“Wh-what are you…?” Her voice trembled and she hated herself for it; swallowed hard, tried to steady herself, and failed. “That’s not what we’re doing at all! We are trying to keep people safe as best we can, and it’s been horrible, don’t you dare act like – like we’ve just been sitting around in comfort! Yes, we have been using the Unforigivables, because we haven’t been given a choice! Everyone from third year up has – and the younger kids are the ones we’ve been made to use them on! Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Her voice broke, but she kept talking through it; kept talking through the tears stinging her eyes. “We’ve been tortured, and been forced to torture, and there’s nothing we can do about it! If we refuse, we get d-dragged off to the Carrows’ offices for a private session – and as often as not, get Imperiused so we have to do it anyway but trapped inside our own heads watching!

“Have you ever been Imperiused, Harry? Have you ever used the Cruciatus Curse on someone? I have!” Her voice was turning into a shriek and she couldn’t stop herself; wasn’t sure she wanted to stop herself. She’d been quiet and sensible for so long that the chance to yell at someone was almost a relief, even as it made her guts twist and clench and her hands tremble. “I had to Crucio second years, Harry! Second years in my own house! When I got back to the common room that night and Sue Li and I went over to make sure they were okay, they cried when they saw us – cried! I’m their prefect, I’m supposed to help them, and the best I could do was to raise my wand myself because I know it hurts more when the Carrows make someone do it!”

She shook her head, as furious as she was heartbroken. “You have no idea what it’s been like, being here this year,” she told him brokenly. “D-don’t you judge me, don’t you dare – don’t you dare – tell me who I sound like!” Somehow she was on her feet too, inches from his face. She dashed a hand across her face to wipe away the tears that must be spilling from her eyes and was surprised to find her cheeks were dry; maybe she had none left. Glaring wetly at Harry, she continued, “I sound like somebody’s who had to do awful things not because the alternative is worse but because there isn’t an alternative! I’m not hexing other students because it makes my life easier, I’m doing it because there’s no way for any of us not to! Go on and ask Ginny or Neville or Seamus if you don’t believe me!” Maybe he’d understand if one of his friends, one of his fellow Gryffindors – so notoriously self-righteous, her sister’s house – said it to him. “They’ve done it too, it’s not just me! Third year and up, Harry – everybody third year and up has had to try the spells at least once, and those of us in our N.E.W.T. years have to do it regularly!”

Padma’s hands were balled into fists so tight that her nails cut sharply into her palms, but she hardly noticed. “The only choice I have is whether to fight back or not, and that actually is a choice! Parvati and I aren’t here for our own sake, you know; we don’t have to be! We chose to stick with the D.A. because it’s the right thing to do – but when you’re living in the enemy’s camp under the enemy’s rules you don’t have the luxury of clinging to high-minded ideals! You have to do the best you can with what you’ve got, and considering that what I’ve got involved trying to lead the Carrows away from your entrance yesterday even though if I got caught trying to trick them I’d be Crucio’ed for it, I think you could be a little more appreciative!”

The tears finally spilled, catching Padma by surprise; she’d gotten so upset she’d forgotten about them. “What have you been doing that’s so important then, huh? Because me, I volunteer to monitor detentions because it keeps the Carrows from just torturing everybody every time. I patrol the halls because if I catch someone, I can let them ‘off with a warning’ instead of reporting them for punishment. I help the Carrows because it’s the only way I can help anyone else! You think we’d make any kind of a difference if we resigned to make some stupid idealistic point?” She shook her head again, her braid slapping hollowly at her shoulder blades. “They’d just appoint someone else – someone they control, someone they trust – to take our places, and then what would we do, huh? Tell me, ‘Chosen One’ – what would we do then?”

He could recognize the way she looked at him. People had given him that very look throughout his entire fifth year here at school. She couldn’t believe he was saying this to her – was frightened of him. But Harry had decided long ago that he wouldn’t back down from the truth. That he’d do whatever it took to try and save as many people as he could. That meant fighting. He knew that his task was a quiet sort of battle they wouldn’t understand. But he’d never be able to get behind their claim of doing something good while also raising their wands to provide a detention they should’ve been revolting back against in the first place. If Harry were at this school, he would’ve refused. Over and over again. He would’ve died first.

His grip around the wand tightened even more when she mentioned the Unforgiveables and he had to force himself to keep it by his side. He wouldn’t hex her. It wouldn’t change anything – or help anything. “Then get Imperiused! At least it’s not you doing it with your own free will then!”

She was yelling back now, on her feet, tears in her eyes, and Harry felt little sympathy for her. Yes, he knew what it felt like experiencing all of them. In fact, he’s the only person alive to have ever felt all three of those curses. He knew it very well. And Padma’s words only sounded like empty excuses in his ears. He didn’t care what she had to say because, to me, there would be no justification great enough. “Yeah, I have Padma! All of them – I know what it’s like!” He glared at her, hard and furious. There was nothing akin to kindness or sorrow in his voice. “I tried to cast it – the cruciatus. On Bellatrix Lestrange last year. After Dumbledore. And I couldn’t then. I couldn’t mean it. And I wouldn’t be able to mean it on second years, either.”

More excuses. Like Dumbledore. Like too many other people that Harry knew. “Of course they were afraid of you, Padma! You’d just put them through unbearable pain! Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Harry rarely cursed at others. Always to himself when something went wrong or when he’d accidentally hurt himself. But he couldn’t control his words anymore. The rage having taken him to a place where he was hardly aware of what he said until it actually came out of his mouth. “Crucio hurts no matter who the castor is. If it worked on them, it meant that some part of you was willing to put your own neck before theirs!”

His heart sunk when she brought his friends into this. When she brought Ginny up. He didn’t know if he could believe that, but his brain was working too fast to stop and think about it. Because it didn’t really matter. All he knew is that the entire school was letting this happen. The people in this room – who had decided to start up his old group for revenge – were letting it happen. For the Greater Good, For the Greater Good, For the Greater Good… it never stopped. “Funny, considering they’ve all got bruises on their faces. Yours looks pretty clean to me.”

“There is always a choice, Padma. You can fight against them or with them, that’s the choice. And right now you’re just pretending like you’re doing the right thing when you just told me that you’ve use unforgiveables on second years, all because someone told you too!” Didn’t she see the hypocrisy.  In this end, he too, could choose to back down from his destiny. If he did that, everyone he loved would die and Voldemort would win. His choice would never be any other than facing down Voldemort, than trying to beat him. Even if it killed Harry in the end. So he couldn’t believe her. His choice – it was barely a choice. Hers… well, she’d made it very clear what she decided to do.

He laughed, a bitter thing with no trace of humor. “You really think I’m going to thank you for something like that now? I would’ve, had you been what I thought you were.” Everyone – everyone would surprise him. No one was really who they said they were. Her brimming tears leaked over her face. In the past, Harry would panic when he saw a girl crying. Everything had changed. He stood firm, glaring, chin raised. “I’m on orders from Dumbledore – I’m doing something to take You-Know-Who down for good. I can’t tell you what I’ve been doing or what I’m here for. And, even if I could, I wouldn’t. I can’t trust you.”

Ernie was surprised at the sudden change of tone, wondering why Harry had seemed to change moods so quickly. “I assumed that’s why you came back. I mean, it was you who started the DA after all, and I was pretty sure that you had come back to see it through,” Ernie kept his careful tone “And you’re in our base of operations, so again, I attempted to draw conclusions from the evidence before me,” He hadn’t meant to say anything that would set the other boy off, but then again, Ernie wasn’t always the best at speaking “But, a word of advice, if I may? I’d probably let everyone else know when you can. Perhaps in a somewhat more relaxed tone.” Ernie suggested.

Perhaps it was somewhat of a one sided friendship, and using the term friendship was something of a misnomer on Ernie’s part, but he thought that Harry would be somewhat interested in talking to him. That was probably just a figment of Ernie’s imagination.

“If you have a job to do, I’m sure no one in the DA would knowingly try and get in your way, including myself; but a lot of us have been worried about you, and probably just want to make sure that you’re okay, and know that we’re here for you if you need us.” Ernie said sincerely. He was pretty sure that Harry didn’t really care for him, but Ernie wasn’t known to lie to anyone, no matter how much he wanted to be liked by them “I hadn’t meant to be rude,”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Ernie. Obviously, the other boy hadn’t been paying attention. Since the beginning, Harry hadn’t claimed he was back for anything but his own job that he had to do. He’d even told people the very same. It was the pressure of the Wizarding World, really. They all wanted him to save them. An expectation that, now he was back, he had a plan. But Harry hadn’t had a plan since Dumbledore fell from that tower and left him with a million unanswered questions.

“I didn’t ask for your advice, thanks.” It was sarcastic, bitter. “That’s all I’ve been telling people. It’s not my fault they haven’t been listening.” Get into Hogwarts, get the wand, find the Horcrux, get out. Harry had to finish out this war, in the end.