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**
"True courage is knowing how to sacrifice what you love for what truly matters."
Harry stirred his porridge with an almost obsessive precision, turning what was already an unappetizing mush into an even more indistinct mass. His spoon moved in a mechanical rhythm, as though this repetitive action could somehow whisk away his worries.
Perched on his unruly mop of hair, Hedwig clung to him like a Hinkypunk gripping its swampy rock. The moment Harry realized he was back in his sixth year at Hogwarts, the first thing he had done was rush to the Owlery, still in his slippers and bathrobe, braving the freezing wind to find his faithful owl. Since then, he hadn't dared part from her, spoiling her, even offering spoonfuls of his porridge.
“Harry, are you alright?” asked Hermione, her gaze filled with concern.
“He had another nightmare,” grumbled Ron, still irked that Harry had left him in the lurch this morning.
“Is it your scar? Does it hurt?” Hermione pressed, brushing aside Ron's little personal drama.
“No, just a bad dream…” Harry muttered, unable to reveal the truth to his two best friends.
Instead, he clenched his jaw, watching Severus Snape settle at the teachers' table. This was all the Potions Master's fault! Once again, Harry had found that damned elixir bottle in the pocket of his pajamas. It was clear now: this cursed potion would follow him every time he made a leap through time.
If only he could corner that greasy-haired narcissist and wring the truth out of him! What kind of madman would create a potion that sent its victims spiraling ever deeper into the past? Everything Harry had done to save Draco now had to be redone, and worse, he had to face Voldemort again! The absurdity of this potion was beyond comprehension. Harry vowed to find a moment later in the day to confront the Potions Master.
“Seems like Harry isn’t the only one in a foul mood today,” Seamus observed with a wry smile.
Following the Gryffindor's gaze, Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice at the sight of Draco taking his place at the Slytherin table, looking pale, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry had almost forgotten that, at this point in time, Draco had just been recruited by Voldemort. His initiation as a Death Eater required him to find a way to create a passage for Voldemort's followers to infiltrate Hogwarts.
Just the thought of it made Harry nauseous, reliving the horrific moment he had nearly killed Draco with the Sectumsempra spell.
“What day is it today?” Harry asked with sudden urgency.
“The sixth of May,” answered Ron, his mouth full. “Why?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the Transfiguration exam!” Hermione exclaimed, almost hysterical.
Harry winced. Time travel was already exhausting, but having to relive exam season was borderline torture.
Misinterpreting his reaction, Hermione launched into a half-hour-long review session on the transfiguration of wool into leather before they headed to class. However, Harry’s mind was elsewhere, casting furtive glances towards Draco.
It was only a matter of days before the Slytherin would hide away in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, overwhelmed by the pressure weighing down on him. What could Harry do to prevent this dead end? He certainly wouldn’t help repair the Vanishing Cabinet, but maybe he could persuade Draco to switch sides and join Dumbledore’s cause.
Draco’s voice echoed in his mind:
“If I were you, I’d have made them pay. Not just them, but all the Muggles too. I’d have joined the Dark Lord rather than become Dumbledore’s puppet.”
Harry pressed his lips together, fighting the wave of resentment boiling up inside him against the Headmaster. This was no time to entertain extreme thoughts about switching allegiances.
Since he was indeed back in the past, he had a chance to make a few adjustments. After all, the Battle of Hogwarts had claimed precious lives—Tonks, Lupin, Dumbledore, Snape… Armed with his knowledge of the future, he had the power to save Teddy’s parents, among others.
Yet deep down, Harry knew that if he truly wanted to change the course of events, he had to start with Draco. It required a thorough understanding of Snape’s potion. He needed to grasp the full intricacies of the concoction. Slughorn had mentioned seven sips; Harry had taken two so far. Would the potion keep sending him further back into the past with each gulp?
After the Transfiguration exam, Harry made his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts class. At this point in time, Snape wasn’t his teacher; the Potions Master had refused to accept him in his class, deeming Harry’s grades insufficient for his high standards.
As Harry was about to enter the classroom, he collided head-on with another student. A whirlwind of papers flew up into the air, and he found himself on the floor, his glasses missing, completely disoriented.
“Watch where you’re going, Potter!” Draco snarled, furious.
“Seems like having a mole's head doesn’t help him see any better,” Pansy sneered, crushing what looked like Harry’s glasses under her foot. “Oops,” she added, her tone devoid of any real remorse.
Harry sighed inwardly. Dealing with Draco’s harassment and his gang was the last thing he needed this morning.
Noticing a white form at his feet, he realized it was the Slytherin’s notes. He picked them up carefully.
“It must be because your beauty dazzled me that I couldn’t avoid you in time,” he quipped with a smirk, handing the papers back to his nemesis.
To his immense satisfaction, he heard Draco gasp in surprise. Harry would have paid a fortune to see the expression on the blond’s face, but alas, without his glasses, he was practically blind.
“See you in Potions class?” he added casually. “Pansy, always a pleasure,” he greeted her with his best smile, the one he had perfected with Arlo Bloom to charm the camera.
Then he stepped into the classroom, leaving behind a group of Slytherins in divine silence.
Feeling his way, Harry approached Snape’s desk. After the war, the healers at St. Mungo’s had given him a definitive diagnosis: his vision was severely impaired. In short, he was visually impaired—a condition that could only be a lingering effect of the fatal curse Voldemort had cast on him as a baby.
“I sincerely hope…” Snape’s voice dripped with profound boredom, “…that you are not here to beg for a place in this class.”
Ignoring the acrimony, Harry placed a vial on the professor’s desk. “I came to get some answers about this potion.”
“Professor Slughorn has mentioned that you possess a certain aptitude for potions, though I find it hard to believe,” Snape scoffed, dipping his quill into the inkwell with a distracted air. “In my opinion, it’s Miss Granger who’s carrying you through. Why don’t you ask your brilliant friend to do your homework for you?”
Harry’s throat tightened with the sting of injustice. He had defeated Voldemort, saved Draco at his trial, and was prepared to do it all over again as many times as necessary. Why, just once, couldn’t this man show him a hint of respect instead of constant disdain?
Clenching his fists, Harry made a risky but necessary decision. He could no longer bear the cold hostility between them. Snape, with his pale complexion, greasy hair, and perpetual gloom, lived solely to keep him alive. Harry could see that clearly now.
“You asked me three questions in our very first Potions class, sir. I know the answers now.”
“It’s about time, Potter,” Snape retorted with a cold, mocking laugh. “They’re at the level of a first-year student.”
Unfazed by Snape’s biting attitude, Harry pressed on. “When you add powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, it means your regrets will follow me to the grave.”
Snape flinched, suddenly stopping his writing to fix Harry with a piercing stare. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but for the first time, it seemed as though the Potions Master was unsettled by him. Perhaps, confronted by eyes now unclouded by thick glasses, he finally saw Harry clearly.
“What are you talking about, Potter?” Snape growled, his voice teetering between anger and confusion, revealing a rare crack in his usual unflappable facade.
“Asphodel, belonging to the lily family, like lilies themselves, is a symbol of regret, especially connected to mourning,” Harry explained, his words weighed with solemn gravity. “In ancient Greek funeral rites, this plant marked the graves, signifying a link with the lost souls. Wormwood, on the other hand, symbolizes bitterness, often associated with grief and inevitable parting.”
Snape rose to his feet, rage etched into his features. “What are you getting at, Potter?” His voice, now a low, menacing rumble, betrayed an impatience tinged with a hint of fear.
“I’m trying to make you understand, sir, that if you truly loved my mother, you would never have allowed me to be exposed to so many dangers all these years,” Harry retorted, his voice rising, a mix of defiance and accusation resonating through each word.
“So Dumbledore let it slip, did he?” Snape laughed, a harsh, almost deranged sound, his eyes flashing with fury. “Wasn’t it enough that I’ve protected you from your own idiocy since the day you set foot in Hogwarts?”
“And before Hogwarts?!” Harry’s words spilled out like shards of glass. “What about before I ever walked through these doors?”
“Before?” Snape spat the word with scorn. “You’re complaining about injustice? Poor little Potter wasn’t coddled enough by his adoptive family, is that it?”
“You knew my mother well enough to know she had only one living relative left when she was murdered!” Harry exclaimed, his voice trembling with frustration. “How do you think Petunia reacted when she found an abandoned baby on her doorstep?”
“Petunia?” The name struck Snape like a dagger, his face blanching at the revelation.
“Why do you think Hagrid struggled so much to bring me my letter, sir? Why was the address on the envelope for a cupboard under the stairs? You, of all people, should understand what it’s like to be raised by people who despise you!”
Without warning, Snape grabbed Harry by the collar and slammed him violently against the wall, pressing his wand into the fragile skin of Harry’s throat. “How dare you?”
“I know everything, Severus. I’m aware of the resentment you harbor towards me, born from the cruelty my father inflicted on you. I also know you loved my mother, and I genuinely regret that you could never free yourself from that past. But you played a part in this tragedy—it’s because you sold that cursed prophecy to Voldemort that she died!”
“Where did you learn all of this?” the man shouted, his wand digging painfully into Harry’s neck.
“The potion I placed on your desk allows for time travel,” Harry growled. “I defeated the Dark Lord in the time I come from. The war ends in May 1998. But you, Severus, you don’t survive it. However, you leave me this potion, with only one instruction: ‘Drink me.’”
“What sort of vile joke is this, Potter?”
“It’s my whole life destroyed in two sips of this damned potion!” Harry exclaimed, his voice trembling with fury. “Out of respect for my mother and the promise you made to protect me, I beg you to tell me the purpose of this potion—it will help me not only in my task to defeat Voldemort but also to save Draco!”
“Draco?” Snape repeated, his features tightening with surprise. “What does the boy have to do with any of this?”
“I believe that’s why you left me this potion—to stop Draco from going down a dark path.”
Finally, Snape loosened his grip on Harry’s shirt. Freed, Harry crumpled to the floor, exhausted by the emotional avalanche he had just endured. After a moment, Snape turned his attention to the mysterious vial on his desk.
“And you say I created this potion, Potter?” His voice held a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
Harry nodded but remained silent.
“How can you claim to have come from the future and to have defeated the Dark Lord when your success was supposed to result in your death?” Snape’s question, laden with suspicion, hit Harry with a painful intensity.
“I died…” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. “Only, I had the choice to come back if I wished.”
“Impossible. Death offers no such choice to anyone.”
“For a brief moment, I became the master of all three Hallows, which might have allowed me to survive—once again.”
Snape fell silent, his expression contemplative, as though he was weighing every word Harry spoke in his troubled mind.
“And Draco? What becomes of him?”
“He’s imprisoned in Azkaban. I freed him after going back two years in time with a first sip of this potion, but when I tried to return to my time, the second sip sent me two years further into the past.”
“You should have thought twice before drinking a potion whose effects you didn’t understand!” Snape scolded harshly. “You’re as foolish as your father…”
Snape’s words echoed painfully in Harry’s mind, intensifying the ache that had been festering in his heart for so long. Weary and out of patience, Harry murmured, his voice heavy with fatigue and resignation, “If only you knew how many times I prayed for a distant relative to finally take me away from the Dursleys. I was tired of being cold, of being hurt, of being hungry… But I had to wait eleven long years before any of you bothered to lift a finger to help me.”
These words, whispered almost imperceptibly, carried the weight of years of solitude and struggle. Harry had never shared these feelings with anyone before, but they had grown within him over the years. “Why is it so logical to everyone, even you, Snape, that I should be willing to give up my life? Why does it seem so natural that I should save the school, fight Voldemort every year, when I’ve been fighting just to survive my entire life?”
Confronted with this emotional outburst, a sudden resolve ignited in Harry. He stood up quickly, ready to leave the classroom.
“Potter!” Snape called out, grabbing him by the arm.
“I am not them… You know,” Harry whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “I may be James’s son, but there was a moment, however brief, when you could have chosen to consider me as yours.”
Those words seemed to electrify Snape, who released him, visibly shaken.
**
Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never skipped a class unless absolutely necessary. But after his intense confrontation with Snape, attending History of Magic felt inconceivable. He would rather be swallowed up by the Giant Squid in the Black Lake than endure over two hours of that soporific lecture.
Instead, he made his way to the lakeshore. Hagrid had once shown him how skipping stones could help soothe his nerves, and it felt needed now. One by one, he picked up the pebbles and hurled them forcefully across the water, each throw accompanied by a liberating shout.
“And to think I organized that poor man’s funeral!” he yelled, tossing a stone that sank into the water without even skipping once.
“That so-called protector only ever defended his own pride!” he added, the splash confirming that the stone wasn’t fit for skimming.
“And Dumbledore, that manipulative old fossil, who couldn’t even protect his own sister, let alone an entire school!”
Emotions overwhelmed Harry, and tears began to well up in his eyes. “I hate you all, every last one of you! You were the adults! You were the ones who were supposed to protect me!” Desperate, he let the stone fall from his hand and collapsed, sobbing.
His body shook so violently with sobs that it felt as though he couldn’t catch his breath. He tried wiping away the tears, but each attempt was futile against the fresh wave of grief that overtook him. Time seemed suspended as he lay there, oblivious to the dancing reflections of sunlight on the lake or the majesty of the Scottish mountains encircling the castle. Not that he could enjoy the view without his glasses anyway.
In an almost automatic gesture, Harry picked up a reed stem. His mind drifted back to an involuntary childhood memory, when at five years old, Dudley had chased him through the alleys, forcing him to stumble clumsily among the branches and bushes. Back then, his fear of being hunted down by his cousin had triggered his magic.
Holding the reed between his fingers, he concentrated deeply, whispering with all the strength of his desire: “I want to see, I want to see.”
At his words, the reed trembled, capturing the essence of his wish. Slowly, it began to transform, shifting in his fingers as if guided by a will of its own. Before his tear-blurred eyes, a pair of glasses took shape, born purely from Harry’s will, without the aid of a wand. The tears suspended in the air seemed to respond to an invisible call, coalescing to fill the frames and form smooth, crystal-clear lenses.
As he placed the glasses on his nose, Harry felt an immediate clarity and a deep sense of comfort.
It was then that a deep, grave voice startled him.
“Potter?”
Turning abruptly, he saw Snape, his face lined with concern, standing in the cold wind.
“You missed all your classes this afternoon, Potter. Everyone is looking for you, and your friends are worried.”
Harry did not reply, deliberately avoiding the Potions Master’s penetrating gaze.
With a sigh, Snape sat down beside him. He broke off another reed and, with sheer willpower, bent it until it formed a thin propeller. With the first gust of wind, the propeller took flight, whirling through the chilly air.
“Your mother was far more skilled at this art than I am,” Snape admitted, his voice tinged with sadness. “But I see her son has inherited that talent.”
Harry felt his throat tighten. “What was she like?” he asked softly.
“Beautiful enough to die for…” Snape confessed, his face lost in the contemplation of an invisible memory. “And far wiser and kinder than I ever was, I’m afraid.”
Silence stretched between them as the sun began to sink lower. Finally, Snape spoke again, his tone weary.
“It’s cold, Potter,” he murmured. “I have a time-travel potion to analyze in my lab. Would you like to come?”
Harry finally met the man’s gaze, eyes wide.
“The great Severus Snape is really inviting me for a cup of tea in his potions lab?”
“Don’t push your luck, Po… I mean, Harry. I won’t make the offer twice.”
And so, master and student, each wrapped in the melancholy of twilight, made their way back towards the castle.
The following days were a true test for Harry, who kept watch, waiting for the moment Draco would isolate himself in the bathroom to cry. But the blond Slytherin was rarely alone in the hallways, always surrounded by his entourage, and Harry didn’t want to draw attention or stir up trouble.
“This is becoming an obsession at this point…” Hermione sighed, casting a sharp look at Harry, who was once again tracking Malfoy with his gaze. “You still believe he’s become a Death Eater, don’t you?”
Harry was about to defend himself, but he froze suddenly. Never, in his previous time travel, had he confided in Ron or Hermione about Draco. Yet he had discovered unexpected affinities with his former nemesis, shared passions that he didn’t necessarily share with his lifelong friends. A wave of guilt washed over him for not opening up to them. But what would they think of a friendship between him and Draco? Would they accept this new aspect of his life? Worse still, would they be understanding if they found out that he had… feelings for him? Because yes, he had to admit it—he felt something for Draco. And if this revelation drove them away from him? Could he risk losing his two best friends for a love he wasn’t even sure was reciprocated, especially in this altered timeline? His head spun under the weight of unanswered questions.
Taking a deep breath, he decided to break the silence. “And what if that’s not why I’m watching him?” he said, his voice measured.
Hermione looked up from her book, scrutinizing him closely. “And what would it be, then?” she asked with a hint of suspicion. “You think he’s turned into a werewolf or a vampire now?”
Harry knew he could never broach this topic with Ron, but with Hermione… He hoped her mind was open enough to understand what he was about to share.
“What if…” he stammered, uncertain, “what if I just found him… attractive? What would you think about that?”
Hermione’s brows furrowed, then her eyes widened, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue. “Harry… Are you saying that… you’re attracted to boys?” she whispered gently.
“I don’t think I’m attracted to other boys,” Harry mused, his heart pounding, lowering his gaze to his book to hide his embarrassment. “It’s just him… He draws me in like a magnet.”
“If it were someone like Dean or Seamus, I wouldn’t see an issue,” Hermione admitted, frowning slightly. “But Draco? He’s arrogant, condescending, and he’s made our lives hell since our first year. What could you possibly see in him?”
“He isn’t who you think he is,” Harry retorted, drawing a disapproving look from the librarian for speaking too loudly.
“Oh really?” Hermione challenged with an ironic tone. “He’s hiding it well, then!”
“If I could prove to you that he isn’t beyond saving, that when you really get to know him, he’s different, would you give him a chance?” Harry asked, his voice filled with palpable hope.
Hermione regarded him for a long time, weighing her words. “Harry, I trust you, you know that. If you believe there’s good in him, then I’m willing to believe you. But be careful. Draco isn’t known for his loyalty to anyone but himself.”
A small smile appeared on Harry’s lips. “Thank you, Hermione. That means a lot to me.”
She nodded, then returned to her book, though her gaze remained thoughtful.
**
Harry was worried. Even Snape couldn’t uncover the effects of the potion he himself had created. All he could say was the same as Slughorn: the potion was meant to be consumed in seven sips. He didn’t even know how the brew could actually enable time travel. He was starting to suspect that Harry might, in fact, be experiencing visions rather than true temporal incursions, which made no sense at all.
The best they could do, the Potions Master had concluded, was to use the potion only as a last resort if things went wrong and their plan to destroy Voldemort failed in this timeline. Seven chances to set things right and save lives—that was far more generous than the options offered by Hermione’s Time-Turner.
Sighing with frustration at so many unanswered questions, Harry slumped into the red velvet armchair in the Gryffindor common room.
“What’s up, mate?” Ron grumbled, leaning over a Potions assignment from Slughorn. “You’ve seemed distant ever since that nightmare…”
“I’m fine, Ron, don’t worry,” Harry replied, his gaze lost in the distance.
However, his friend chose that moment for a confrontation.
“First, you disappear for an entire afternoon, and now Ginny says she saw you hanging around Snape’s office… Are you back to your Occlumency lessons?”
“No… It’s… something else,” Harry muttered, his heart pounding at the thought of Ron’s reaction if he knew the truth.
“Private lessons you don’t want to tell me about?” the redhead speculated, his features creased with a disapproving frown. “Why are you being so secretive? What are you hiding from me, for Merlin’s sake?” he exclaimed, impatience raising his voice an octave.
With a resigned sigh, Harry concluded that half the truth was still better than a complete lie.
“Snape knew my mother,” he finally revealed, watching his best friend’s face for a reaction.
“What?” Ron shouted.
Harry then launched into the story of the shared childhood between his mother and the Potions Master, how they had been friends until Snape chose the path of the Death Eaters.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re hanging around his office late at night,” Ron insisted. “Don’t tell me Snape has suddenly become friendly enough to invite you in for tea to reminisce about the good old days with your mum before becoming one of Voldemort’s top lieutenants.”
Faced with Harry’s heavy silence, Ron declared:
“You can’t be serious…”
An hour later, Harry was wandering through the dark corridors of the castle, a migraine and hunger threatening to overwhelm him. Convincing Ron of Snape’s loyalty had proven as difficult as persuading the Slytherins that blood purity didn’t lead to alarming genetic conditions. He couldn’t even consider telling him about his attraction to Draco Malfoy; it would have been too much information for one evening.
Reaching the still-life painting that concealed the entrance to the kitchens, Harry stretched out his hand towards the canvas and tickled the pear. With a budding smile, he turned the handle, and the door swung open to the cheerful hustle of house-elves bustling around the stoves.
Entering the kitchens, the warm, comforting scent of freshly baked bread and pies filled the air, slightly lifting the cloud of his worries.
No sooner had Harry taken a few steps inside than he spotted Dobby, busy near a huge cauldron.
“Dobby!” he called, a wave of nostalgia washing over him.
The elf turned towards him, his large eyes sparkling with joy. “Oh, Harry Potter, sir! What a joy to see you!” he cried, before noticing the tears glistening in the young wizard’s eyes.
A trembling smile spread across Harry’s face as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Dobby. It’s just… I’ve missed you so much, my friend.”
The elf blinked in surprise, then his own tears began to flow. “Harry Potter, sir, shedding tears of joy for Dobby? What an honor it is for Dobby to have such a friend!” He sniffled loudly, blowing his nose into a kitchen towel that was lying nearby.
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a clumsy clinking sound at the kitchen entrance. Winky, her eyes red and her expression miserable, stumbled towards them, clutching an almost empty bottle. Harry resolved to make her the same job offer he’d made before, in this new reality.
“Winky, Dobby, how would you both like to become the head housekeeper and butler—or rather, chief elves—of the Potter household?” Harry proposed with a warm smile.
The other house-elves, who were busy stirring bubbling cauldrons and polishing stacks of gleaming plates, paused. They turned towards him, their wide, round eyes filled with shock.
Harry felt a wave of satisfaction as he left the kitchens, making his way down the long, dimly lit corridor. His mind wandered through the future possibilities for his elf friends, imagining the changes they could make together. So absorbed in his thoughts, he paid little attention to his own slightly too confident, almost buoyant stride.
At the turn of a corridor, his reverie was abruptly interrupted by an unexpected collision. He bumped straight into a figure, sending a flurry of rolls and cookies, which he had taken from the kitchens, scattering across the marble floor.
Someone had quite literally fallen into Harry, and recognizing the voice of the unfortunate soul, he realized that luck was indeed on his side tonight.
“Bloody hell, Potter! You really should get your eyes checked!” Draco snapped, his voice laced with irritation as he quickly stood up, brushing off his robes in annoyance.
Harry looked up at the Slytherin, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips.
“Hello, Dray,” he greeted lightly, momentarily forgetting he wasn’t speaking to his Draco. “You here for a midnight snack too?”
Draco stared at him as though he had just sprouted a second head.
“You might want to lay off the sugar, Potter. It’s starting to get worrying,” he retorted, his voice uncertain, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.
Seizing the chance to toy with the blond’s nerves, Harry replied in a sweet, teasing voice, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “Perhaps you’d have a rarer treat to recommend?”
To his great satisfaction, he watched as Draco’s face took on an adorable shade of pink, like a ripe peach. The Slytherin opened his mouth, searching for a biting comeback, but no words seemed to come.
Before he could recover, Harry picked up a cookie from the floor and gently placed it in Draco’s hand. “Here, until you’re feeling generous,” he said with a playful wink.
Without waiting for a response, he continued on his way, leaving the blond completely flustered in the middle of the corridor.
As he turned the corner of the next hallway, he couldn’t resist glancing back one last time. He caught sight of Draco, still standing there, an indiscernible expression on his face. A soft chuckle escaped Harry. Maybe things were finally starting to change between them…
**
A note adorned with Dumbledore’s swirling signature slipped discreetly under Harry’s dormitory door, intensifying the turmoil already churning within the young wizard’s heart. In the past, Dumbledore had expressed disappointment in Harry, reprimanding him severely for his failure to extract crucial secrets from Slughorn. But times had changed. Now, allied with Snape, they finally had an opportunity to thwart the dark designs of the Headmaster—not to pave the way for Voldemort, but to deploy a strategy aimed at saving countless lives from Dumbledore’s oppressive shadow.
Standing before the stone gargoyle, Harry whispered the password, “pumpkin pasty,” which stepped aside with a grinding noise, granting him passage.
Dumbledore was engrossed in his notes, his quill floating gracefully over the parchment. “Ah, Harry, come in!” he exclaimed, noticing the young wizard hesitating at the threshold. The Gryffindor stepped forward slowly, brushing the feathers of Fawkes, who had disappeared with Dumbledore at the end of the school year. The phoenix’s gaze, filled with ancient wisdom, seemed to grasp the gravity of the moment, exuding a sovereign calm.
Harry silently placed the note on the Headmaster’s vast desk. “What is this, Harry?” Dumbledore inquired, his curiosity piqued. “It doesn’t seem to be a memory…”
“It’s much more than that,” Harry murmured, his heart pounding. “I had a vision last night.”
Dumbledore’s interest sharpened, his eyes gleaming with renewed light. “A vision?” he repeated, his tone vibrating with intrigue.
“I think I know where Voldemort has hidden the weapon you mentioned, sir—or rather, the weapons. In my vision, he was terrified at the thought of his hiding places being discovered, and he was revisiting each of the sites where he had placed them.”
A few hours after this discussion, Harry felt invigorated, filled with a renewed optimism he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He had watched as Dumbledore and Snape rushed off to begin their hunt for the Horcruxes, determined to end the growing threat of Voldemort. It was the plan they had crafted together; he and Severus had spent hours scrutinizing every detail, anticipating every obstacle, refining every strategy.
That evening, Harry spotted Draco hastily leaving the Great Hall before dinner had ended. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Feigning sudden fatigue to Ron and Hermione, he hurried after the blond, following him through the deserted corridors.
He saw Draco slip into the abandoned bathroom on the second floor. Taking a deep breath, Harry carefully pushed open the door. Draco’s muffled sobs echoed against the cold tiles. Moaning Myrtle hovered near him, trying to offer comfort.
“I don’t know what to do anymore…” Draco sobbed. “I’m trapped, caught…”
Harry knew Draco had been playing a part all these years, presenting himself as harsher and more detestable than he truly was. But seeing him lower his defenses and confide his fears to a Muggle-born ghost was surprising, to say the least.
“They expect so much from me. My father, the others… I don’t know if I can do what they’re asking,” Draco continued, his voice broken.
Myrtle floated closer, her ghostly face illuminated by a sad smile. “You don’t have to follow the path they’ve set for you, you know. There’s always a choice, Draco. Always.”
“A choice?” Draco scoffed bitterly. “What choice? If I don’t do what they demand, my family will pay the price!”
From his hiding place behind a stone column, Harry couldn’t help but reflect on their shared predicament. Neither he nor Draco had truly had a choice in this story that was far bigger than them. Both had been shaped by overwhelming expectations, molded to play predefined roles. He was supposed to be the hero, the Savior of the Wizarding World; Draco, the villain, the perfect Malfoy heir.
At the time, when he had confronted Draco in this very moment, he was still conditioned to hate the blond without ever trying to understand what drove him to act the way he did. But now, the rules of the game had changed; the stakes were different. Certainties had crumbled, replaced by confusion and doubt.
Harry was now painfully aware that he was merely a pawn in a war that far exceeded him. As Snape had so bluntly put it, “You kept him alive so that he could die at the right moment.” Those words echoed in Harry’s mind like a painful reminder of the extent of the manipulation he had suffered.
Clenching his teeth, Harry made a decision then and there—to give Draco the chance to live in a world where he had the freedom to be himself, without the crushing weight of family pressure or the grip of a tyrannical lord dictating his life.
He finally decided to knock on the door.
“Who’s there?” Draco shouted, his voice a mix of anger and fear. He must have been terrified that someone had caught him in a moment of vulnerability.
“It’s Harry,” he replied softly, still hidden behind the door.
As the silence stretched on, he added, “Harry Potter.”
“Thank you, you idiot!” Draco snapped. “I figured it out; there aren’t many people at Hogwarts with such an atrociously Muggle-sounding name!”
With even more vehemence, Draco shouted, “If you don’t get out of here in the next few minutes, I swear I’ll kill you myself, no matter that the Dark Lord wants you dead by his own hand!”
Harry’s heart was pounding wildly. He knew the Slytherin would find it hard to trust him. The fact that this Draco still despised him hurt more than he cared to admit.
Slowly, he bent down and rolled his wand toward the blond.
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the intermittent drip of a leaky faucet. Draco let out a bitter laugh, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
“So, that’s it, Potter? You’re tired of being the loyal dog of that mad old Headmaster, and you’ve decided to surrender?” he spat sarcastically.
“Think of it more as an offer of truce,” Harry said as he stood, revealing his determined expression to his nemesis.
He stepped forward slowly, each footfall echoing on the damp tiles, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.
“Don’t come any closer, Potter, or I swear I’ll cast a spell you won’t recover from.”
Draco held Harry’s wand in his other hand, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were white. Despite his defensive stance, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
Ignoring the palpable tension, Harry averted his gaze and approached the cracked, old sink. He turned on the faucet, letting the icy water cascade over his hands before splashing it onto his face, as if to wash away the fatigue and doubts that plagued him. He lifted his head, water dripping from his dark hair, and stared at his reflection in the broken mirror.
“What game are you playing, Potter?” Draco shouted, anger contorting his features. “Are you mocking me?”
Harry turned to face him, his eyes glinting with resolve. “I’m not playing, Draco. I’m here to help you.”
Without warning, the Slytherin punched him square in the face.
Pain exploded in Harry’s nose, a sharp jolt that sent him reeling. Stars danced before his eyes as he hit the floor hard, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. Warm liquid trickled down his lips, splattering onto the tiles in crimson droplets.
“Why do you think I need your help, Potter?” Draco snarled, breathing heavily, his fists clenched.
Ignoring the pain, Harry grabbed Draco’s ankle, pulling him off balance. Draco stumbled and fell. Taking advantage of the moment, Harry lunged at him, the two boys tumbling and rolling across the slippery floor.
“You don’t understand!” Harry shouted, dodging a punch from Draco. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped!”
“Shut up!” Draco retorted, his face twisted in fury. He broke free from Harry’s grip and landed another blow, this time to Harry’s stomach. The air left Harry’s lungs in a pained, muffled gasp.
Their fight continued, brutal and chaotic, insults flying between punches. Neither of them used magic; it was a purely physical battle, primal, an outlet for years of pent-up frustration and rage.
Breathing heavily, Harry managed to pin Draco beneath him, his hands gripping the blond’s wrists tightly. Their faces were inches apart, their labored breaths mingling. Clothes torn, faces bruised, they glared at each other with fierce intensity.
“I want to help you because I know what it’s like to carry this kind of burden,” Harry declared, his voice hoarse, vibrating with sincerity. “We’re not so different, you and I.”
Draco let out a growl, trying to wriggle free, his muscles tensed under Harry’s grip. “Oh, is that so?” he spat with biting disdain. “The great Harry Potter, come to save poor Draco Malfoy? Who do you think you are?”
Harry didn’t back down, his piercing gaze locked onto Draco’s. “I’m not trying to be anyone,” he replied calmly. “But I refuse to watch you destroy your life because of the expectations of others.”
Draco’s eyes flared with a rage tinged with something almost wild. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “Mister Perfect, always there to play the hero. But I don’t need your pity, Potter, or your help! I can handle myself just fine!”
“Is that what scares you, Dray?” Harry taunted, a smile that was more a challenge than an expression of compassion tugging at his lips. “Having to lower yourself to thank me? What if I were the one who needed you? Have you ever thought about that?” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost a murmur, as he leaned closer, his lips brushing Draco’s ear. “What if I were willing to get on my knees, just to have you by my side?”
Draco froze, his breath caught, Harry’s words resonating against his skin like a searing caress. His eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief dancing in them before it transformed into fury. “You’re completely insane, Potter…” he rasped, his voice rough.
Harry didn’t respond immediately, maintaining the intense, almost primal eye contact. “I’m not asking you to pick a side,” he finally said, his warm breath ghosting against Draco’s neck. “I’m asking you to create our own. You and me, Dray. Against the entire world.”
Draco’s eyes widened further, his face turning even paler, as if he had just realized that something far deeper was unfolding. “I don’t need anyone…” he murmured, but his voice had lost its edge, betraying a hint of hesitation.
Harry didn’t waste a second. In a swift move, he pressed his body against Draco’s, pinning him to the cold, tiled floor. The impact drew a muffled groan from Draco, his head falling back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat.
“Show me that I’m wrong,” Harry whispered, his lips barely brushing the blond’s skin, just a light touch, but enough to send a shiver down Draco’s spine. “Tell me you’re not tired of playing this role that’s been forced on you since birth. Tell me you don’t dream of being loved for who you truly are, all of who you are.”
A tremble ran through Draco, his fists clenching in the fabric of Harry’s shirt. “You… You don’t understand anything, you don’t even know me!” he stammered, his voice broken, almost pleading.
“Then open up to me, Draco. All I want is to know you,” Harry murmured, his breath warm against the blond’s ear. “Let me see you. Not the mask, but the real you.”
Draco’s grey eyes searched desperately for an escape in Harry’s gaze, but they found only that relentless insistence.
“My family…” the Slytherin whispered, his voice cracking.
“We’ll keep them safe, far from this senseless war,” Harry promised, his eyes locked onto Draco’s, searching for a flicker of trust.
The blond’s grey eyes scrutinized the Gryffindor’s, as though trying to detect the truth in his words, but nothing seemed enough to convince him. Then, Harry crossed a line he had never dared to before. He kissed him—a desperate kiss, unlike the one they had shared during the trial, a kiss he hadn’t had the courage to return by the river. Draco’s chest, cold and soaked, shivered under Harry’s fingers.
Stopping holding back the desire that had been inhabiting him for too long already, Harry slowly undid each button, obtaining a languid tremor from the blond. Draco did not struggle, quite the contrary. He welcomed his mouth with the most beautiful moan Harry had ever heard. It was the first time he had practiced such an exercise, and it felt strange to give in to his urges with his young 16-year-old body. However, when he released Draco's erection from the grip of his pants, he knew he had made the right choice.
"Look Dray, how much I want you, how much I need you," he declared before starting to lick his glans up to the golden fleece at the base of his sex.
He played with the tip of his lip with the precum, and Draco trembled with pleasure each time he passed his tongue and his greedy mouth on his length.
Then he took this beautiful cock in his mouth, but it was still not enough. He went to search with his tongue towards the blond's opening, passing an eager tongue his smooth hole.
Draco squirmed and moaned with pleasure under him, which encouraged him to continue his release.
Finally, he slipped a finger in, then two while returning to take care of the blond's erection. He wanted Draco to feel his presence everywhere on his skin and in him. For him to understand that by his side, he could always be taken care of, never lack love or attention. After a few final back and forths, Draco finally screamed his name in a moan of pure pleasure.
"Harry" he cried before pouring himself into his mouth.
Harry drank it and swallowed his reward with relish, then came to kiss the blond full on the lips, just so Draco would know how much he had enjoyed it. The Slytherin was shaking with sweat, his gaze unfocused, looking as if he had trouble believing what had just happened.
Harry buried his face against the cold chest of the Slytherin, his warm breath ghosting over Draco’s skin, listening to the frantic beating of his heart. They remained like that, in silence, huddled together on the damp floor, while the echo of dripping water resonated throughout the room. After a few moments, Draco, still breathless, broke the silence in a weak voice:
“And here I thought I only obsessed you because you believed I was a Death Eater,” the blond murmured, still out of breath.
“Who could resist your arrogant charm?”
“And how exactly does Saint Potter plan to keep the Dark Lord from taking revenge on me and my family for fraternizing with the enemy?”
With a teasing smile, Harry whispered a few words in Parseltongue, sending a shiver down his nemesis’s spine.
It was then that the Chamber of Secrets opened behind them with a heavy creak.
Harry stood up and extended a hand to help Draco to his feet, his gaze shining with a dangerous determination.
“By beating him at his own game, of course,” he declared, his voice almost dark.
Hand in hand, they ventured together into the ancient lair of Salazar Slytherin, leaving behind a Moaning Myrtle so delighted by what she had just witnessed that, after years of wandering, she vanished with a small pop, finally finding peace and departing this world for the afterlife.
**
“Why do you Gryffindors always have to do everything so theatrically?” Draco called out, perched nonchalantly on the head of the fully mummified basilisk.
“Why do I get the feeling that impressing you is going to be an impossible task?” Harry retorted, carefully prying one of the fangs from the beast’s carcass.
“A rooster, Potter!” the blond exclaimed, jumping down from his perch to join him. “All you had to do was summon the crowing of a rooster to kill this serpent! But no, you had to play the tragic hero, stabbing it with Godric’s sword. You got injured and were saved at the very last second by a phoenix, narrowly avoiding a slow and painful death!”
Harry rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. “I’m starting to regret telling you that story.”
“I’m starting to regret having a soft spot for an idiot like you,” Draco replied with a mocking smirk.
Without warning, Harry moved closer, gliding with the fluidity of a serpent, pressing against Draco’s chest. He felt the blond stiffen, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
“How long have you had a thing for me, Malfoy?” he murmured, his warm breath tickling Draco’s ear.
The Slytherin looked away, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he nervously bit the inside of his lip. “Why do you think Pansy goes out of her way to humiliate you every chance she gets?”
“You mean… by openly ridiculing me every time she can?”
“Exactly. She thinks it’s better to hate someone than to ignore them completely. It’s clumsy, but she’s trying to help me, in her own way.”
Harry raised his hands in a gesture of pause, shaking his head. “Wait, wait… Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that Pansy’s been bullying me since fourth year just to get me to notice you? So she’s known all this time that…”
Draco raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from amusement to feigned nonchalance. “What’s so shocking, Potter? That I confide in my friends? Rest assured, only Pansy and Blaise know that I find your… posterior particularly pleasing to look at.”
Harry’s eyes widened, his ears turning red despite himself. “But… aren’t they upset that you have feelings for a Gryffindor? Let alone the enemy of the Dark Lord and… a man?”
Draco chuckled, the corner of his lips curling into a disdainful smile. “You really do talk like a Muggle, Potter. Wizards care little about gender. What matters to us Slytherins is power. And you, Potter, are powerful. Even in the Great Hall, I can feel your magic vibrating from the Gryffindor table. Who wouldn’t want to align themselves with a magical force like yours?”
Harry rolled his eyes, a bitter smile on his lips. “It’s not as if I’ve ever had a line of suitors…”
“I’ve never tolerated competition,” Draco replied simply.
This declaration made Harry stop in his tracks. With a sudden gesture, he grabbed the blond’s chin, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. The surprise in Draco’s silver-grey eyes was delightful.
“Don’t tell me you threatened people just because you didn’t want them courting me!”
The blond raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.
Harry burst into laughter, shaking his head before gently pulling Draco by the neck into a kiss, their lips meeting in a kiss as passionate as their verbal sparring.
“Territorial, are you?” Harry whispered against his lips.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Potter,” Draco replied, before shoving him against the cold wall of the chamber, his smile widening as their lips met once again.
Their moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor, forcing them apart reluctantly.
“Do you have the basilisk fang, Potter?” Snape asked, his eyes wide, not so much because of their closeness, but rather at the sight of the mummified corpse of the giant serpent lying before them in the chamber.
“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied, clutching the basilisk fang tightly in his fingers. The dim light of the secret chamber cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, heightening the gravity of their task. In Snape’s gaze, Harry perceived a mix of regret and pride.
“Good. We must act quickly. I’ve sent Dumbledore to destroy the ring with Godric’s sword to buy us time.” He placed three objects before them: Salazar Slytherin’s locket, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. The relics seemed to almost pulse with a contained malevolence under the faint light.
“All that remains is Nagini and…” His voice trailed off, his gaze heavy on Harry, leaving unspoken the unresolved question of the final Horcrux—Harry himself.
“Let’s start with the locket,” Snape finally declared.
Harry stepped forward, the fang in hand, feeling an instinctive revulsion toward Slytherin’s locket. With a gesture that was both resolute and nervous, he drove the fang into the metal. The locket emitted a piercing scream, as if the soul within it was suffering from the violent release. The walls of the chamber quivered in response, echoing the agony of Voldemort’s soul.
Each destruction of a Horcrux inflicted a pain on Harry that was more unbearable than the last, his face growing progressively paler, his entire body wracked with agonizing tremors. Beside him, Draco, confused and concerned, watched Harry with growing alarm.
“Why does it hurt you so much?” Draco whispered, his voice laced with deep concern.
Harry, too overwhelmed by pain to answer, merely grimaced. He had never before faced the Horcruxes in such rapid succession, and he hadn’t anticipated that his body would react so violently to their destruction.
“Rest for a moment, Harry,” Snape said in an unusually soft voice, the severity of the situation softening his typically sharp tone.
Draco helped Harry lean against the cold wall of the chamber, supporting him with a tenderness tinged with sudden frustration.
“Idiot!” Draco blurted out suddenly, his eyes flashing with bitter realization. “I’m certain now that you’re hiding something from me! Severus, what’s really going on?”
Before Snape could respond, Harry, in a faint, ethereal voice, whispered, “Could you sing something for me, Dray?” As if already drifting away from the weight of his pain, Harry began to lose consciousness.
In a swift movement, Draco held him tightly, calling out urgently for help. “Severus, hurry!” he shouted, as Harry collapsed in his arms, his breaths growing fainter, a sign of the inner struggle he was fighting.
As darkness closed in around him, the last tether Harry had to reality was the soft melody murmured by Draco, a weak but comforting song that echoed throughout the Chamber of Secrets.
**
Harry slowly emerged from sleep, lulled by the melodic voice of Draco as the gentle chords of a guitar filled the room with a soothing atmosphere.
When I was a babe I fell down in the holler
When I was a boy I fell into your arms
We fell on hard times and we lost our bright color
You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms
I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey
You stole and you gambled, and I said you should
We sang for our suppers, we drank up our money
Then one day you left, saying I was no good
“That’s a funny way of telling me you have a thing for me, pretty blond,” Harry managed to say with difficulty, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“Harry!” Draco exclaimed, surprised, hastily setting the guitar aside. He moved closer to help Harry sit up gently. “You’re finally awake!”
“What happened?” the Gryffindor asked, slightly disoriented, his eyes still clouded with sleep. He tried to push himself up on the bed, but a dull ache shot through his body, forcing him to lie back down.
The blond looked away for a moment, a shadow passing over his usually sharp eyes. He seemed to hesitate, searching for the right words.
“Severus explained to me why destroying the Horcruxes hurts you so much,” Draco finally murmured, wincing, his voice betraying an emotion he struggled to hide. “You think you’re going to convince me to leave the Dark Lord’s side, but that I’ll still let you play the hero without doing anything?”
“Dray…” Harry sighed wearily. He wanted to say more, but the murderous look Draco gave him made him fall silent. The Slytherin’s grey eyes flashed with a mix of anger and fear.
“A part of Voldemort lives inside me, Draco,” he said at last, his voice barely a whisper. “I have to die if we want his reign to truly end.”
Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. “And I refuse to stand by while you let him kill you!” he shouted, his voice trembling with emotion.
The two young men locked eyes, each trying to read the other’s thoughts.
A wave of guilt suddenly washed over Harry. “I don’t see any other solution,” he murmured. “It’s the only way to destroy the last fragment of his soul.”
Draco shook his head vehemently, a strand of blond hair falling across his forehead. “There has to be another way. We’ll find it together. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself.”
“If you think I’m going to let you face this alone, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Their gazes met once more, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Finally, Draco broke the silence, his expression softening. A faint smile touched his lips. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he offered, his voice calmer, almost tender.
Harry returned the smile, grateful.
“With pleasure,” he replied softly.
Draco stood and walked over to a small table where an elegant tea set was waiting. He poured the steaming liquid into two fine porcelain cups, his movements precise and measured. Meanwhile, Harry watched the blond’s silhouette, noticing the tension that lingered in his shoulders despite his outward calm.
When he returned, Draco handed a cup to Harry, their fingers briefly brushing. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said.
Harry brought the cup to his lips, savoring the comforting warmth that spread through him.
Draco sat beside him, sipping his own tea in silence. After a few moments, Harry felt an unusual drowsiness wash over him. His eyelids grew heavy, and his vision blurred slightly.
“I feel… tired,” he said, his voice trailing off.
Draco set down his cup and looked at him with an expression that was a mix of tenderness and determination. “Rest, Harry. You need it.”
“What… did you do?” Harry murmured, realizing something was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Draco replied softly. “But it was the only way. By the time you wake up, Nagini and Voldemort will be dead.”
Harry’s eyes widened, but he no longer had the strength to protest. “No… Draco, it’s too dangerous…” he mumbled, before sleep overtook him.
Draco gently laid him back against the pillows, tucking the blankets around him. “I can’t let you sacrifice yourself,” he whispered, a determined glint in his eyes. “It’s my turn to protect the ones I love.”
**
Harry awoke once again with a terrible headache. A kind hand brought a glass of cool water to his lips, easing the pounding pain in his head. At his bedside, he was surprised to find Dobby and Winky watching him with palpable concern. His joy at seeing them was quickly overshadowed by the urgent worry for Draco and Severus.
“Where are they?” he managed to ask, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“Master Harry Potter must rest,” Dobby exclaimed, his voice quivering with care.
“How long have I been out?” Harry insisted, anxiety lacing his words.
“Oh, only a few hours, Master Harry Potter,” Dobby replied, trying to reassure him. “The former little bad master and the greasy-haired professor have gone to battle to protect Master Harry Potter from the Dark Lord’s clutches.”
“Winky made cookies to celebrate their upcoming victory!” cried the little elf, holding up a tray full of biscuits. But Winky’s enthusiasm was short-lived, as Harry, in a frantic rush, attempted to stand up, only to collapse heavily next to the sofa, his legs refusing to support him.
“I have to go to them!” Harry exclaimed, his heart racing with worry. “I didn’t orchestrate this Horcrux hunt for them to risk their lives trying to kill Nagini.”
“Master Harry Potter is going nowhere!” Winky shouted, overturning the tray over Harry’s head, scattering cookies all around him. “Winky will not let her master put himself in danger now that she can finally look after him!”
“You don’t understand!” Harry cried, panic in his voice. “I can’t lose them! Is Dumbledore with them?”
The faces of the two elves darkened, their eyes dropping to the floor, shadowed with sudden sadness.
“The Headmaster is dead, sir…” Dobby murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow.
“Dead? But how…” Harry gasped, horrified and stunned.
“The Dark Lord felt the destruction of his Horcruxes, sir,” Dobby explained, his voice trembling. “He immediately suspected that the Headmaster knew his secret. Without waiting for the former little bad master to open a way into Hogwarts, he launched a direct attack on the castle. The Headmaster intervened, sacrificing himself to protect the school. The former little bad master and the greasy-haired wizard took advantage of this diversion to infiltrate the Dark Lord’s ranks. They entrusted us, the elves, with the critical mission of keeping Harry Potter safe from harm.”
Harry clapped his hands over his ears, refusing to believe the betrayal by Snape and Draco. Why hadn’t they waited? Why had they rushed headlong into battle? It was his role to charge in recklessly, the impetuous Gryffindor, not that of the Slytherins known for their cunning and caution. What if Voldemort found them? What if Draco or Severus was hurt, or worse? The thought of losing either of them was devastating.
Around him, the furniture began to tremble, a sign of his escalating, uncontrolled magic.
“Master Harry Potter must calm his magic!” Dobby cried out, alarmed.
Harry felt himself losing control, and moments later, an overwhelming force seized him. He was Apparating away from Hogwarts—a feat even the most powerful wizards were not supposed to be able to accomplish. He sensed the castle’s defenses cracking around him, and soon, he landed in a room he recognized all too well: the dining hall of Malfoy Manor.
The chandeliers quivered, and a piercing scream rang out at his arrival. Harry found himself standing on a massive oak table, towering over Bellatrix Lestrange, who was staring up at him in shock from the floor. In a corner, Nagini lay coiled under a protective magical dome. There was no sign of Draco or Snape, but it was clear that Voldemort had entrusted Bellatrix with guarding his precious snake.
Bellatrix, recovering her wits, pointed her wand at Harry. He realized with horror that he was unarmed—his wand lost in the chaotic haste of his accidental Apparition. Yet before she could cast a spell, an invisible force slammed her backward with brutal force.
Dobby and Winky suddenly appeared at his side, looking more formidable than ever, their eyes shining with a protective fury.
“How dare you attack your masters?” Bellatrix screamed, struggling to stand.
“Dobby has no master! Dobby is a free elf, and now the head elf of the great House of Potter!” Dobby declared with unyielding pride.
As the situation teetered on the brink of a direct confrontation, Harry, improvising with his hands, cast a spell that sent Bellatrix crashing into a sideboard, shattering glass and twisting metal.
He then rushed toward Nagini, but an invisible barrier stopped him cold. Sensing the immediate danger, Dobby tugged on his sleeve, his eyes filled with tears.
“Dobby begs Harry Potter to return with him to Hogwarts!”
“I can’t abandon Draco and Snape, Dobby,” Harry said, bending down to the elf’s level. “I… I love Draco. I love him, and I can’t bear the thought of him being in danger here.”
Dobby’s eyes lit up with a newfound resolve.
“Anything that makes Harry Potter happy also makes Dobby happy.”
Grateful, Harry turned back to Nagini, scrutinizing the contours of the force field, searching for any weakness. Suddenly, something stopped him cold: the creature’s gaze locked onto his. For a brief moment, he thought he saw an expression... almost human, strangely similar to the look Sirius had when he took his animagus form as a dog. Yet, during their last confrontation, all he had seen in those reptilian eyes was coldness and cruelty. Without understanding why, a wave of empathy washed over him. Harry decided to try a different approach.
“Nagini…” he whispered, his voice soft. “Why devote yourself to him? What does he offer you, aside from a life of solitude and suffering?”
The serpent froze, its reptilian eyes fixed on Harry with a renewed interest. Perhaps, in this suspended moment, she sensed the possibility of escape from her enslaved condition. Harry continued speaking in Parseltongue, his voice filled with genuine emotion, trying to awaken a consciousness long suppressed within the serpentine entity.
“Think of the freedom that could be yours, Nagini. He has reduced you to the state of a beast, an instrument of death. Is that your entire essence? He has inserted fragments of his own corruption into us. He has tainted our souls. Let me help you break these chains, and together, we can reclaim our true nature, free from his grasp…”
Bellatrix, struggling to stand, interrupted with a venomous laugh. “Don’t listen to him, you foolish serpent. He’s just a lost boy who knows nothing of the plans of the greatest wizards!”
But before she could cast another spell, Winky waved her hand, a small gesture that sent the witch crashing against the wall, knocking her out momentarily.
“Do not worry about her, Harry Potter,” murmured Winky, her voice contrasting with her tiny size. “Dobby and Winky will protect.”
Encouraged, Harry focused once more on Nagini. The serpent appeared hesitant, her long body swaying between staying under the magical dome and venturing outside. It was a huge risk to speak to a creature so closely linked to the Dark Lord, but Harry felt as though something was hidden beneath the surface. Nagini was a living being, just like him.
At that moment, a low rumble shook the foundations of the manor. The door to the dining hall exploded under the impact of a powerful spell. Draco and Snape burst in, visibly disheveled and out of breath. Draco, his eyes wide at the sight of Harry, rushed toward him.
“Harry! How did you...?”
“Later,” Harry cut him off, pointing to Nagini, who was still hesitating.
As the tension escalated in the now-ruined dining hall, Snape swiftly moved toward Harry, scanning the scene with a steely intensity.
“We don’t have much time,” he murmured, his gaze falling on Nagini, who wavered between fear and curiosity. “Voldemort can sense when Nagini is in danger. He will be here soon.”
Harry nodded, fully aware of the imminent threat. “We need to convince her to join us now.”
“Can we really trust her?” Draco whispered, his voice tinged with palpable worry.
“We have to try,” Harry replied firmly. “This is our chance to end it all.”
Harry turned back to Nagini, his words flowing in Parseltongue with a captivating fluidity. “Nagini, you don’t have to be someone’s weapon. Join us, and you’ll be free to choose your own path, far from the shadows of fear and manipulation.”
Nagini’s eyes shimmered with a new light, as though she were truly considering his offer. Slowly, she moved forward, crossing the invisible barrier that separated her from Harry and the others. A tense silence settled over the room as she slithered toward them, leaving behind the protection of the magical dome.
Just then, a piercing scream shattered the atmosphere.
Astoria Greengrass emerged from the shadows, flanked by Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Their presence only heightened the already electric tension, their eyes filled with silent accusation as they glared at Snape and Draco.
“Traitors!” Astoria spat, her wand already in hand, ready to cast her spell. “You’ve betrayed the Dark Lord!”
Chaos erupted instantly. Draco and Harry lunged toward Nagini, shielding her with their bodies, while Dobby and Winky rushed forward to defend them. “We need to leave now!” Snape shouted, cutting a path through the turmoil. Together, they sprinted through the manor, dodging debris and hostile spells.
Behind them, a hail of curses rained down, forcing Harry, Snape, and Draco to take quick cover. A flurry of spells burst into the air, the bright flashes of incantations crisscrossing in a chaotic visual and auditory cacophony. Snape retaliated with a series of precise counter-spells, while Draco, in an agitated gesture, unleashed a devastating Expulso that shattered a nearby vase, distracting Nott.
At that moment, Narcissa Malfoy made her entrance, a figure of calm and resolve. With a skill that spoke of her experience, she cast a protective shield over Snape and Draco, and with surgical precision, she fired a Petrificus Totalus, immobilizing Theodore Nott.
The tumult of the battle faded suddenly, giving way to a sinister voice that pierced through everyone’s minds like a shard of ice.
“I see tonight has brought forth more traitors than I could have ever imagined…”
The air became heavy, almost suffocating. Menacing shadows swiftly gathered, forming a stifling circle around them. Like specters, the Death Eaters had completely surrounded them.
Harry, his senses on high alert, noticed an imposing figure behind Draco. His heart skipped a beat, a deadly venomous fear coursing through him. “One more step, and I will deprive this boy of his sanity,” Voldemort threatened, his wand pressed against the blond’s temple.
“Draco, I always knew you were weak and cowardly, but to be this foolish... Why choose the losing side? Explain yourself, boy.”
“Your so-called quest for blood purity is nothing but a grand farce,” Draco spat, his voice vibrating with defiance.
“A farce... What an interesting choice of words,” Voldemort murmured, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Without hesitation, he cast the Cruciatus Curse. Draco writhed in agony before collapsing to the ground, a muffled cry escaping his lips.
“Look, look at the fate of wizards who betray the trust of those striving for a better world. Do you really believe these Mudbloods are your allies, Draco? Where are they now to protect you?” Voldemort taunted with disdain.
Driven by a fierce desperation, Harry stepped forward, despite being defenseless and without a wand. But Snape stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Voldemort, now turning his attention to the Potions Master, let his mocking smile widen.
“And you, Severus,” he hissed. “Have you also become a traitor to your own blood?”
Snape, unfazed even under Voldemort’s sharp gaze, stood tall, his voice resonating with a chilling calmness.
“You’ve always mistaken loyalty for servitude…” He stepped forward, addressing the gathered Death Eaters.
“Listen carefully,” he began, his voice carrying authority amidst the palpable tension. “We deceive ourselves if we believe our Dark Lord acts for the survival of our bloodlines. He seeks only his own glory.”
The Death Eaters exchanged uncertain glances, but one among them, Blaise Zabini, responded:
“The Dark Lord has shown us the path to superiority! Without him, we’d be at the mercy of Muggles, who gain ground every day.”
“And what kind of superiority does he offer? A world crushed under the weight of fear and darkness, where both wizards and Muggles suffer under his tyrannical rule. Is this truly the legacy we wish to leave behind? Terror is not a foundation upon which to build a lasting future.”
At these words, a Death Eater stepped forward, his voice filled with unwavering loyalty. “Fear is a tool. The Dark Lord knows how to wield it to protect us from external threats. Our bloodlines will only endure through strength.”
Voldemort, his face lit with a triumphant smile, interjected:
“Listen to the voice of reason!”
Suddenly, a sinister figure with eyes like those of a serpent emerged from the shadows. In a moment of terrifying revelation, Harry realized it was the human form of Nagini, a dagger in her hand.
“Liar,” she hissed in Parseltongue. “You’re nothing but a liar, Tom,” the woman screamed as she drove the dagger into the flesh of the Dark Lord.
Chaos erupted into a cacophony of screams and hastily cast spells. Draco, just freed from the curse, tried to stand but was immediately knocked down by Pettigrew.
Before anyone could intervene, Narcissa stepped forward in a fury.
“Don’t you dare touch my son, you wretch!” she shouted, casting a powerful Expelliarmus at the man.
Then, a flash of green magic struck her from behind.
“Mother!” Draco screamed.
Horrified, Harry rushed to his lover’s side. The battle reached its peak when, suddenly, Dobby and Winky appeared. Without hesitation, Dobby extended his hand toward Harry, Snape, and Draco.
“We are leaving now,” he announced firmly, as Winky initiated the Apparition spell. In an instant, they were enveloped in a whirlwind of light and vanished, reappearing on the frozen shores of the Black Lake.
The night shrouded the water in a dark veil, its cool air a stark contrast to the heat of the battle they had just left behind. Catching his breath, Harry scanned the silent surroundings, hoping for a sign of safety.
But his hope was short-lived. Draco, his face pale and his expression faltering, suddenly stumbled, revealing a dark, sinister mark on his neck.
“No!” Harry caught him just in time, preventing his body from hitting the icy ground of the shore.
How had it come to this? Everything had seemed so well-planned. Was it truly his fault alone?
Draco, now lying in Harry’s lap, was bleeding profusely. Beside them, Snape’s expression was grave as he desperately attempted to stem the bleeding with increasingly frantic spells, but to no avail. The ineffectiveness of his incantations only heightened the tense atmosphere.
Tears streamed down Harry’s cheeks as he was wracked with sobs, overwhelmed by a sharp pain and visceral fear. “I’m sorry, so sorry…” he kept repeating, his voice breaking with emotion, each word falling into the cold air like a confession of defeat.
The harsh reality of the situation hit him with brutal force. Everything had unraveled so quickly, slipping out of control. He felt helpless, useless—a crushing sense of weakness overwhelmed him. How had he allowed things to deteriorate this far? Narcissa, in a desperate act of bravery, had lost her life before his eyes, and now it was Draco on the brink of death, a direct consequence of the reckless choices and mistakes Harry bitterly blamed himself for.
Guilt gnawed at him, every thought consumed by what he could have done differently, what he should have seen coming. In this moment of pure anguish, he realized the heavy cost of his actions, or his inactions, weighing down on the shoulders of those he loved.
Seeing the fear glimmer in Draco’s eyes, Harry knew he had to find his courage. Instinctively, he knew what he had to do to soothe these final moments.
He leaned closer to Draco, his voice trembling as he sang the lullaby they both cherished:
Deep in the meadow, under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow.
Lay down your head, and close your eyes.
And when they open, the sun will rise.
Here it’s safe, and here it’s warm.
Here the daisies guard you from every harm.
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true.
Here is the place where I love you.
Harry sang, each word filled with love and despair, his voice far less clear and confident than Draco’s usual crystalline tones. Yet he watched as Draco’s face slowly relaxed, a semblance of peace settling on his features. With a trembling hand, Harry gently closed his lover’s eyes, whose life had slipped away.
Beside him, Winky wept. Dobby, with a voice laden with sorrow, whispered, “We are so sorry for your loss, sir…”
Snape stood there, the gravity of the situation evident on his face.
“You must leave, Harry…” he murmured.
Harry, his arms wrapped tightly around Draco, his entire body racked with deep sobs, clung to him, unable to imagine a future without his soulmate’s presence. Snape, seeing the hesitation and the anguish overwhelming the young wizard, insisted with an urgency that pierced the air.
“Harry,” his voice grew firmer, as if to anchor the young man in the cruel reality of their world, “this is your only chance to bring him back. I’ve analyzed the potion, Harry. Five sips left, and I promise you, all the pain will disappear.”
Harry lifted his head, his tear-streaked eyes gazing at Draco’s pale face, desperately searching for any sign of life where there was none. He tightened his embrace for a moment, as if to draw strength one last time from the one he loved so dearly.
“Why five more?” he managed to ask, his voice strained.
“I can’t tell you, Harry. You have to discover the reason for yourself.”
Finally, with a heavy heart and a shiver of resolution running down his spine, Harry gently laid Draco on the cold ground. Standing up, he wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve, his face hardened with determination. He took the vial Snape handed him, observing the golden liquid that shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
“For Draco,” he whispered, for all of this, from the beginning, had been for Draco, hadn’t it?