The time early on in the hospital wing when Draco had stopped by, when Harry had thrown things at him.... Too bad you missed me, Draco had said, and then all at once had groaned Oh, shite. Look, I didn't mean to say that... At the time the words hadn't made sense, but since dreaming Samhain, Harry could see the connection. He'd said those same words to Voldemort: too bad you missed me, when they'd been sparring over the curse that had killed Harry's parents. Draco had obviously realized that he'd repeated Harry's words, and he'd been dismayed...
Yes, that made sense, as did other things that had baffled him at the time they'd happened. When Harry had first moved into the dungeons, he'd overheard Snape asking Draco, Did you tell him? And what had Draco replied? I can't think he'd appreciate it very much. To my way of thinking, you're reminder enough...
From just a few days after Samhain, Draco had been doing his best to help Harry. From returning his wand... to trying to avoid references to Samhain... to reading a book written by Muggles, for Muggles. That last was probably the most impressive, considering Draco's long-established views on all things pure-blood.
Draco's sudden conversion to the Light made a bit more sense now, but Harry thought he must still be missing something. Granted, seeing torture carried out was a far cry from just hearing about it second-hand.... so maybe Voldemort's utter ruthlessness had sickened Draco? Maybe he hadn't liked learning that his own father had such a vicious streak? But that didn't really make the pieces come together, not for Harry. After all, he knew from bitter experience that Draco Malfoy had a vicious streak of his own.
Maybe it had more to do with the way Draco would go on about Voldemort being stupid enough to let Harry get away, over and over? That certainly made sense. Draco wanted to be on the winning side; maybe he'd concluded that Voldemort was just too inefficient to ultimately triumph.
Harry frowned, because the idea that that might be Draco's motive for everything tended to rather taint the friendship they'd developed. How far could he trust the boy if it all boiled down to the simple fact that he thought Harry was a better bet than Voldemort? If that was the case, then how could Harry know that Draco wouldn't change sides again, the moment some other dark wizard looked like a better bet, still?
Harry sighed, and then went motionless, wondering if he'd alerted the Slytherin boy to the fact that he was awake. When he cracked his eyes to check, though, he realized he was alone in the room.
Sitting up, Harry took a few moments to decide how best to handle the entire situation. Definitely, he had to talk to Draco about Samhain. If anything was certain, however, it was that Harry didn't want to hash all this out in front of Snape.
Thinking of Snape, though, brought a whole other question to Harry's mind. Why hadn't the man told Harry the truth ages and ages ago? There are some things I want Draco to tell you for himself, the Potions Master had once said. Harry supposed he could understand that... but when it had become clear that Draco just wouldn't own up to his presence on Samhain, why hadn't Snape spoken up then?
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Draco and Snape were already eating breakfast by the time Harry had washed up and gotten dressed. The smooth scent of warm, buttered oatmeal wafted from the table, reminding Harry of his time here after Samhain. The memory had a calming effect on Harry.
Draco, in contrast, was anything but calm. He was scowling into his oatmeal, his forehead wrinkled, his normally shining hair lank and dull as he sat there slouched. At the Gryffindor boy's entrance, he glanced up, a quick panic darting into his eyes, but this was almost immediately masked by the familiar superior, bored look he adopted just before he looked back down at his meal.
Snape trained his gaze on Harry, the intensity in his dark eyes reminding the boy a bit of Legilimency, though he didn't feel any tell-tale pressure on his thoughts.
"Morning," Harry casually greeted them both, pulling out his chair and dropping into it. He wasn't quite sure what else to say. He didn't like the feeling that the two Slytherins had been sharing a secret about Samhain the whole time they'd been rooming together down in the dungeons. It would serve Snape right, Harry decided, to have a taste of his own potion. Yeah, let him wonder what's really going on with me, Harry thought to himself. Do him some good to see what it feels like to be kept in the dark.
"Seems like a nice day out." Harry smiled at them both, trotting out the words as though he hadn't a care in the world.
He saw Snape and Draco exchanging a puzzled glance. Harry wondered what they had expected from him. Tears? Shouts of recrimination? It was rather amusing, he decided, to watch the Potions Master taken out of stride for once.
With that thought in mind, Harry applied himself to eating his oatmeal.
For a moment, Snape didn't seem to know how to react, but he didn't remain flummoxed for long. "How did you sleep?" he inquired after Harry had taken about six bites.
"Oh, all right," Harry returned, deadpan. He made a little show of stretching a bit, and glanced at Draco, who was barely breathing by then. Since it wasn't his goal to torment the Slytherin boy, Harry lifted his lips in a bit of a smile. "I've got a crick in my back, though. Think you could transfigure the mattress to be a little harder? Like the one you did for me before. That one was perfect."
Draco slowly nodded, but his silver eyes remained wary. Harry mentally shrugged, figuring there was only so much he could do to put the other boy at ease.
"Did you dream of Samhain, Harry?" Snape took a more direct tack.
Harry thought briefly of lying, then decided it would be pretty stupid, considering that Snape would know everything before the day was out. So perhaps casual unconcern was the correct tack to take. "Among other things," he answered, reaching for his juice. Orange juice. That was nice. Actually, it made him feel a bit less like watching Snape twist in the wind.
Just a bit, though.
"And?" Snape prompted, his voice beginning to sound impatient.
"And what?"
"Harry," Snape chided, tired of the game.
Harry decided it would be hard to manage the conversation unless he threw Snape something to keep that keen mind occupied. "I did find out one really interesting thing," the boy admitted, belatedly realizing that words like that were almost guaranteed to panic Draco. "About the potion," he rushed to add. "It didn't exactly work right."
Reaching out, Harry took another swig of orange juice. A long swig. After that, he carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin, though normally he wasn't so fastidious about his table manners. He was just stalling for time as he figured out how much he wanted to admit.
"I surmise the difficulty wasn't with the Loosestrife," Snape fished.
Harry gave a slight smile. "No, that worked perfectly well. I feel really relaxed. Have you ever thought of marketing some of your inventions, Professor?"
He should have known that Snape was hardly a man to let flattery distract him from his objective. "In what respect did the potion fail, Harry?" he asked, his voice a tad acerbic.
"Oh, I wouldn't say it failed," Harry explained. "Could you pass the salt?"
Snape did, shoving it into Harry's hand with a little more force than was warranted. Deciding that he'd made the man wait long enough, the boy went on, "I was dreaming Samhain for a bit, but then it seemed like I somehow broke free from the truthtelling part of the potion. Things began to happen that I know perfectly well never occurred in real life." Harry couldn't help but notice that at that little tidbit, a sly smile curled Draco's lips. Ignoring that for the present, Harry detailed, "For example, the whole dream sort of froze solid... I walked over to Voldemort and shoved him straight onto his back."