Chapter XII

The soft light filtered in through the crack in the window curtains. Harry took his trunk out of his pocket, returned it to normal size and sank down gratefully on the bed. The last two days had been a blur of places and faces. They had finally gotten word from Dumbledore on Thursday morning. And at twelve midnight, they had promptly left, only to arrive back here and find it bright and sunny at one o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. Losing a whole day almost instantaneously didn't help his body much. He buried himself into the blankets, curled up with the pillow and started to drift off blissfully.

"Harry! Where have you been all week?!" the words came right on the heels of the door bursting open.

Harry gave a muffled moan into the pillow; how on Earth did Hermione know he had just gotten back? He didn't move, his body demanding that he ignore Hermione and drift away into blessed sleep. But he managed to lift his head up and regard her wearily and with slight annoyance.

"Don't give me that look, Harry Potter," she warned. "You just up and vanished for a week! What if Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore knew." He said quietly. "He's the one who gave permission."

Hermione seemed a bit taken aback for a moment. "Well, you should have gone with a professor or-"

"Severus was there with us." He closed his eyes and let his head lie on the soft, soft pillow.

"Why did you just leave like that?"

"Family emergency." Harry murmured softly.

"Did Sora have an episode again?"

"No," Harry forced his somewhat foggy brain to work. "Her grandmother was killed. Sora wanted me to go with her for the funeral."

"Oh." Hermione said quietly. "How did she take it?"

"Surprisingly well," Harry yawned. "As did the plan."

"Plan? What plan?" Hermione asked.

Harry blinked, trying to gain back some semblance of coherent thought. But he'd been dead tired when they had arrived back here and all he wanted to do was sleep now. "You'll see." He pulled the pillow in closer. "Oh, I went down to Sabuto and got you a book." He made a futile gesture towards his trunk. "And something for Ron. I'm just going to sleep now, all right?"

And with that, he promptly drifted off.

The bell rang and Harry had never been more grateful to escape Transfiguration, his last class for the day. He had received yet another essay to write from McGonagall - at least three feet on the process of Transmuting and Untransmuting plus its dangers when applied to humans. Flitwick hadn't been so bad; a small essay on Glamourie charms and their more practical applications – he was all too familiar with practical applications of Glamourie charms. Hagrid assigned him the diagrams and report of Jarvey and Harry was sorry he'd missed those classes; he'd always wanted to see one up close. Defence Against the Dark Arts was rather easy; different jinxes and when they could be best used. Beecham had told him that he could come after dinner for the practicum. That would have to wait until some other day in the week, since Snape had told him detention was tonight. He didn't even want to start thinking about the assignment that Snape had assigned to them.

He wasn't too sure how to take that. It was November now and there was a definite chill in the school; the dungeons would be freezing tonight. He'd probably have to take his scarf with him to keep warm enough. He walked through the crowded hallways quickly, heading for outside. The air was crisp and cold, hitting him like a wall when he stepped out. Inhaling a deep breath, he picked up his steps and walked towards the empty Quidditch pitch.

He made his way up, sitting down when he reached the top most seats. He dumped his book bag on the plank and sat back, surveying the field. It would all be covered in snow soon enough and the glare would be killer. And it would also be bleak, like a destitute landscape. Much like his life.

"It's all cause of those stupid dreams," he muttered. "I'm just far too lonely."

He scowled up at the bright sky as if it were to blame. So he was lonely. But he wasn't exactly in a rush to do anything about it. After Cho and the fiasco on Friday that more than likely resulted in Ginny hating his guts for the rest of his natural life and every single female in the school knowing, he was pretty sure he was done with girls; permanently. Girls had to be the strangest creatures on the face of the Earth; they leaked like hosepipes over the smallest things, over things that had happened and couldn't be changed. And if they weren't leaking, they seemed to be flaming mad at you for something. Harry's only problem was that he almost never knew why girls got angry with him. Well, except for Friday night with Ginny, that was perfectly understandable.

"Potter minus company; this is a surprise."

Harry looked down to see Draco standing at the end of the bench. He grunted and moved over, making some space for him. Draco sat down, dumping his own bag as well. Harry didn't say anything, hearing his stomach growl slightly. He dug into his bag, pulling out the sugar quills he had yet to eat. After a moment, he pulled out another one and offered it to Draco. Draco looked at it with a momentary wariness before he took it, sticking the end in his mouth slowly. Harry leaned back and started eating his as well, gazing up at the sky.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked after a few minutes had passed.

"Pansy is looking for me. I think that is more than enough reason to come to an empty Quidditch pitch." Draco replied. "You?"

"Just wanted to be outside," Harry said with a shrug. "I can't really stand it in there with everyone looking at me."

Draco nodded. "Have you even heard the latest bit of rumour about you?"

"I can just imagine. I'm some prat for what I did to Ginny." He sighed in a weary voice.

"That and you're shagging Sora."

"What?!" Harry sat up outraged. "I don't bloody believe it. She's my cousin!"

"But they don't know that," Draco pointed out. "And if people do hear that, they aren't too willing to believe it. Apparently the week we took off to go to Japan gave them plenty of ideas."

"Good thing Rita can't write about that." Harry muttered darkly. "They slander and adore me."

"Took you awhile to realize some things, Potter." Draco murmured dryly before he went back to his sugar quill.

"How nice it is to be the whipping boy. Fudge screws up and they'll eventually turn to me." Harry left the quill dangling from his mouth. "Don't you ever wonder if it's worth it? Any of it?"

"Some times." Draco said after a few minutes. "Just sick and tired of some things."

Harry watched the clouds float by for a bit. "Well, Sora would be glad to see us playing nicely."

"Indeed," Draco mused, twirling his sugar quill in boredom. "Snape might have a conniption."

Harry snorted with amusement. "Malfoy, fraternizing with a Gryffindor. Ten points from Slytherin; unless you were horrid to them."

Draco gave a wry smirk. "This is the Potter the world isn't privileged to know? Quite different from the Golden Boy every one knows and loves."

"Realized some things. You might have picked up on my cynicism." Harry shrugged. "At this point, I'm willing to tell everyone to bugger off and let them do in Voldemort for themselves."

"Interesting idea," Draco said. "But I doubt that the old coot in the Headmaster's office would be pleased with you."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. "Just what does Malfeu mean? Not to insult you or anything. Just…curious."

"What does it matter to you?" Draco said defensively. "It's just some stupid words Weasel said because he can't speak properly when he's peeved."

"If they're just some stupid words, then why are you so mad?" Harry asked.

Draco didn't reply for a moment. "Do you know where the Malfoys come from, Potter?"

"You'll have to enlighten me on this subject, Malfoy."

"We originally come from French extraction. Only my ancestors had to flee France in the sixteenth century."

"Why?"

Draco gave him a semi-disgusted look. "How did you make it this far? Malfoy comes from the term 'mal foi'."

"Oh." Harry paused for a moment. "And what does that mean?"

"It means 'bad faith'." Draco paused. "Or are you that ignorant of history and you need that explained further?"

"No. I remember Binns talking about the French Wizard Purge of 1572. All Protestant wizards were exiled from France if they didn't covert to Catholicism. The Muggles know it as 'St. Bartholomew's Massacre'." He paused. "I don't know why I keep taking that stupid course."

Draco snorted. "We chose to keep our faith. And so we had to leave or face death in a wide variety of forms."

"At least you know of your family history," Harry said. "I know nothing of mine. I wouldn't be surprised if we actually were potters."

Draco didn't say anything and they sat there in silence, eating the rest of their sugar quills. When Harry looked at his watch, he rose, grabbing his bag. Draco looked at him questioningly.

"I have to go eat dinner. I have detention with Snape afterwards for being too…impertinent as he puts it."

"You did it." Draco shrugged, finishing off his sugar quill. "Got anymore?"

"Yeah." Harry dug into his bag and handed him three more. "Give one to Sora for me and tell her I say hi."

Draco nodded his head. "You know, Potter…I prefer this you. It's easier to stomach rather than the other bright, shiny saccharine version."

"Likewise," Harry said with a quick grin before he started down the steps.

The dungeons were frigid, as he had expected. He wrapped his scarf around his neck more tightly and slowly made his way down to the dungeons; Snape was probably in there by now. He peered around the corner, seeing the door handle. He gave a slight sigh as he grasped the knob and turned. It didn't move at all. He tried it again, but it was still locked. Snape wasn't here yet; he was early for detention.

"Might as well do some reading until he comes." He muttered as he walked back to the stars, pulled out a book and started reading.

He'd read up on the Potions first. Snape would want him to make a Bandolier Potion - a potion that was a slight variation on the Veritaserum Potion; where the Veritaserum made people tell the truth, Bandolier made people utter lies - only they were very convincing lies that were hard to dispute. And, as he read over the process, it was very difficult to make. Only a full two hours of carefully measured ingredients going into the cauldron, followed by a two week maturation period and then more ingredients, one final five day maturation period and then: Bandolier Potion. He felt something whither inside of him, just looking over the ingredients. This was definitely the hardest potion he would have to make. And he would have to do it with Snape watching him like a hawk the entire time. That did not bode well in his eyes.

"Waiting long, Potter?"

Harry turned around slowly as he stood up, closing his book. "Only a few minutes Sir. I figured you would have been here by now."

Snape didn't say anything as he swept by Harry and unlocked the door. Harry walked in after him, taking a seat at the front quietly. Off in the corner, he could spy a massive pile of dirty vials - probably from some first years - that were in desperate need of cleaning. They had dried patches of bright blue crust along the sides and at the bottoms. He looked at Snape to see a particularly happy gleam in his eye; it was a bit unnerving.

"The brush and bucket are there. No magic. I suggest you start cleaning, Potter."

Harry didn't say anything as he left his bag on a desk and walked over to the pile, taking a chair with him. He sat down, rolling up his sleeves. The vials sat on one side of the counter, while the bucket and brush sat in a small depression. The other side was perfectly clean and smooth. Harry took a handful and dumped them in the water, waiting a few minutes before he picked up the brush.

At least the water was warm; it helped to counter the chill that was working its way into his hand. Judging from how dirty some of these were and the sheer amount that he had, he'd be lucky to get out of here by ten. But it was certainly better than the detentions he had served with Umbridge and that wicked black quill of hers.

"Stupid bint." He muttered, watching the water.

"Something you care to share, Potter?"

Harry glanced back. "I said Umbridge was a stupid bint, Sir."

Snape simply gave an 'Hm' as he turned back to his work. Harry waited a few more minutes before he started pulling up the vials one by one and giving them a good scrubbing. The only sounds in the dungeon were the scraping of the brush against glass and the scratch of Snape's quill against parchment. After a while, Harry paused, removing his scarf. The dungeon was warming up considerably. He knew Snape was looking at him, but he didn't say anything as he put his scarf back in his bag and went back to his seat.

The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could get started on the makeup work from his other teachers. The minutes ticked on by, and Harry could have sworn it was getting warmer and warmer in the dungeons. He stopped every once in awhile to wipe his brow; the sweat was beading there and he didn't want it trickling down into his eyes. From behind him, he could hear Snape muttering in discontent to himself. After a while, Harry had to stop, drying his hands on his robes before he unbuttoned it and started working again. If this heat didn't let up soon, it was going to be sweltering in here.

"Um, Sir?" Harry asked as he started scrubbing away the inside of yet another vial.

"What is it Potter?" Snape asked snappishly.

"I was wondering why it's so warm down here. The dungeons are usually cool."

"There is a warming spell placed on the dungeon classrooms to keep the occupants warm. In this case, it seems to be not working properly."

"Shouldn't you call Professor Flitwick to take care of it?" he suggested as he picked up another vial.

"Just finish your work Potter." Snape growled.

Harry was glad that he hadn't turned around to talk to Snape. He continued scrubbing away, wiping his brow a bit more frequently now as the temperature rose steadily. Harry was sure it stopped at some point; now, he was halfway through the pile of vials and shifting every few seconds, wishing his robes didn't stick so much. He made a sound of disgust as he stopped abruptly and shrugged out of his robes, tossing them on his school bag before sitting down and resuming scrubbing.

If there was one thing he was thankful for, it was that he wasn't sitting here in Dudley's oversized hand-me-down clothes. The trip down to Diagon Alley in August had been spent well. He was now wearing a tailored black shirt - that had once been crisp - and was presently rolling up the cuffs. The pair of jeans he had bought was a dark blue that matched nicely with the black shoes that he wore. He was a disaster when it came to clothes shopping; all the more reason he was glad to have gone with Sora. She was a big help in showing him the best clothes that flattered him. She had pointed out that the black made their green eyes stand out much more. He glanced back at Snape to find him scowling at a paper in front of him a bit too intently. Harry grinned as he went back to scrubbing. Snape had never looked at a piece of paper that hard before; it was as if he were willing it to combust or something of that nature.

"Sir?" he asked as he continued to scrub.

"What?" Snape said a bit harshly. "Tired of scrubbing already?"

No, Sir. I was wondering, just what exactly does a vampire coming of age consist of?"

Snape didn't say anything for a moment. "That is not going to happen, Potter. Shut up and get back to work."

"I was just wondering. I'm not saying that it will…but I'm not going to say that it won't; you never know, Sir." He said, scrubbing away briskly.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and work?" Snape said venomously.

"I'm still working," Harry pointed out. "Is there a particular reason why you won't answer my question, Sir?"

"Damn Alexandre," Snape muttered darkly to himself. "Why don't you bother Beecham with questions like this?"

"I suppose I could do that Sir," Harry mused. "Save for the fact that I don't want to expose Sora's condition and have people giving her some bullshit."

"Language, Potter," Snape drawled in a dangerously low voice.

Harry shrugged. "Another detention, the Sir?"

"How dare you assume to know how I will punish you?" Snape's voice glowered at him.

"No detention then?" Harry asked as he looked inquiringly over his shoulder as he reached for another vial and started scrubbing.

Snape was glaring at him, his hair plastered to his head in thick pieces. His brows were furrowed and his eyes glittered dangerously as he watched Harry. Harry didn't do anything as he continued to look back at Snape. After a few minutes, when it became clear that he wasn't about to get an answer, he shrugged and went back to scrubbing once more.

"What exactly do you want to know?" Snape asked in a rancorous voice.

"Just a general outline of the condition, I suppose. I'm not too sure what a vampire coming of age consists of. Especially for people that have their vampiric blood awakened." Harry said; the pile was just below halfway now.

Snape didn't say anything as he scratched something out on a parchment quickly. "In Sora's case, her body will start to change and she will start to have urges."

"Such as?"

"She'll develop longer canines with sharper points, her skin will pale to a white you saw that day, her eyes will more than likely turn red and she'll have excellent night vision."

"And the urges? Drink blood, that sort of thing?" Harry asked as he glanced back at Snape.

Snape nodded his head curtly. "She'll have an increased appetite for blood and become more nocturnal. She might withdraw from us and become more secretive. She'll also start looking for a mate."

"A mate?!" Harry stopped scrubbing to gawk at Snape.

"Yes, I said a mate. Close your mouth before something decides to nest in that cavern." Snape said in an irritated voice. "What part of 'looking for a mate' didn't you understand?"

"I understood it perfectly, Sir," Harry said. "It's a once in a while thing, right?"

"Try a lifetime, Potter. Vampires mate for life."

"Just to be together? Not have children?"

"In Sora's case, she will be able to have children. She didn't die, Potter, in case you haven't noticed." Snape sounded like he was talking to a five year old. "Eternity is a long time to spend alone."

Harry turned around, rolling his eyes so Snape couldn't see. "Worst case scenario: all that stuff does happen? Would we simply make a potion to counteract the blood thirst? I seriously doubt there'd be anything done about the mate thing."

"Do you ever shut up, Potter?" Snape snapped. "Of course I would make the potion."

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, thinking. "What if she chooses a human mate? What sort of complications would that present?" Harry looked back at the man.

"The obvious one of him dying and her living; she will live significantly longer than most people," Snape curled his lip. "That's why most vampires take other vampires for their mates. Usually the mate is bitten during mating; if he’s human, he’ll more than likely not survive the sudden changes. It doesn’t occur over a nice period of weeks. It all happens in a few hours."

“I see,” Harry said. Let Snape think he was a fool now; that just might be dispelled later. He started scrubbing once more. "So if some one was…half human and half…vampire or Veela, what would the scenario be then? Couldn't something be done? Wouldn’t the traits of the other species, if they’re active, prevent that from happening?”

Snape was silent for a moment. "Who told you?"

"Huh?" Harry looked back at the man dumbfounded. "What are you talking about Sir?"

"Don't play foolish with me, Potter." Snape said. "Who told you Malfoy was half Veela?"

Harry felt his face pale slightly. "No one, Sir. I just said something from the top of my head. I didn't even know." He paused. Veelas mate for life, don’t they?"

"You will not repeat this to anyone." Snape said after a moment.

"Yes Sir." Harry said. "They do, don’t they?" he asked after a moment.

Snape rolled his eyes in disgust. "Yes, they do."

"All the more reason we should weed out people like Blaise, I suppose. All trying to move up the ladder a bit further; I wonder if any of them think before they do things like that."

A strained silence filled the room. Harry continued scrubbing, not looking back at Snape. Something he had said caused a definite change. He glanced back once to see Snape with a stony expression on his face. Harry wasn't the slightest bit inclined to ask any further questions. He finished off with the vials, and shook his hand dry. Snape gave him a curt nod and Harry gratefully grabbed his robes and bag, heading for the door. He certainly didn't need to be trapped in this slow bake oven with Snape any longer then needed now. He walked to the door, jerking on the handle unusually hard.

When it didn't budge, he frowned and pulled on it a bit harder; it was as if the door was jammed into place. He took out his wand, saying 'Alohomora' as if it were his salvation. But when he tried it again, nothing happened. He muttered a curse, wishing to God that the knife Sirius had given him hadn't been melted.

"For Merlin's sake," Snape said in utter disgust as he rose, drawing his own wand.

Harry stepped back and watched as Snape tried to open the door. Short of a Reducto spell - and Snape would probably not blast away his door to simply let Harry out - that door was not moving anywhere. Harry sighed and sat back down, earning a nasty look from Snape.

"Of all the places to be stuck."

The flames did look rather pretty when the jumped and danced about on the torch. Harry closed his eyes and looked back at the parchment he had taken out. Since he wasn't in much of a rush anymore, he had spent the time doing his homework quietly, much to Snape's chagrin. But it wasn't easy when Harry could feel Snape's eyes on him every few seconds. He wrote a quick summary for his Charms essay, waited for it to dry and rolled it up before pulling out another piece of parchment. He could finish off his Dark Arts report before the end of tonight hopefully.

"Is there something you want, Sir?" Harry asked, looking up before he started writing, his textbook sitting beside him.

"I want that wretched door to open," Snape snarled before looking back at his own book.

"That's not going to happen unless the temperature goes down in this room." Harry murmured, trying to restrain his mirth; Snape was somewhat amusing once you looked past the glowering, and the acerbic words and insults.

"Pray tell Potter. If a spell couldn't open it, what will?"

"When the air cools down in here," Harry said simply as he dipped his quill in ink and started writing. When he glanced up, Snape was giving him a bizarre look. Harry sighed, lifting his quill from the paper. "When something gets too hot, it expands, in this case the wood. The wood expanded so much from the heat that it's pretty much jammed in place. And since it is resulting from magical means, I'm not really that surprised that the door didn't open. This is all basic…never mind, Sir." Harry started writing in silence.

"Basic what?" Snape demanded.

"Basic science. But that's a Muggle thing, so, like I said, never mind, Sir." Harry said, not looking up from his work. He pulled at his shirt collar before undoing a few buttons. "I hope this gets fixed soon. I'm about ready to roast in here."

Nothing was said after that, the warm dungeon room filled by the sound of torches crackling slightly, pages being turned and Harry's quill scratching against the parchment. He felt his stomach rumble a few times but he ignored it, intent on finishing off his DADA work; that would only leave Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, his DADA practicum and Potions to worry about. He looked up at a slight scraping sound to see Snape disappearing into his office. Harry shrugged and went back to work.

"Fuck it," he swore angrily as his quill nib broke on him. He tidied up the messy splotch on his paper before he went digging around in his bag once more. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I don't even have an extra quill on me."

When he heard a throat being cleared, he looked up startled to see Snape standing in front of him, holding a plate and a cup. He placed them on the space beside Harry's parchment. On the plate were some chocolate chip cookies, and in the cup was some milk.

"Your growling stomach makes it difficult to read, Potter. I almost mistook it for a Kneazle growling." Snape said as he went to his desk and came back with a quill. "Shut it up so it doesn't distract me from my reading." He tossed the quill on the parchment before going to his desk and sitting down.

Harry, however, had barely heard anything said. Snape had chocolate chip cookies in his office? Snape, the greasy Potions professor, had chocolate chip cookies and milk stashed in his office.

"For Merlin's sake Potter, wipe that ridiculous expression off your face. Yes, they are cookies and I am not trying to poison you." Snape muttered as he picked up a cookie from his own plate on his desk. "Now go back to your work before you irritate me further."

Harry was inclined to agree with him at this point. He picked up a cookie and dunked it in the milk before taking a bite out of it. Before, all the chocolate chip cookies he had were snuck from the kitchen cupboard at the Dursleys. And he hadn't been able to find any in the massive kitchen of the de Vyns manor. These had to be the best cookies he had eaten in his life. He dunked it again and finished it off in a few bites before he licked his fingers clean from the bits of chocolate, crumbs and milk before he started on the next one.

He slowed down after the second cookie; he still had four more to go through. He savoured each bite, enjoying the roughness of the cookie as he chewed it, chocolate bursting across his taste buds while mingling with the milk. When he finished the last one, he took the goblet and drained it in one gulp. He hadn't even realized just how hungry he was. He stacked the cup on top of the plate and pushed it away. Then he picked up the quill and started writing once more. He still had a bit to go before he could finish it.

The silence came to dungeon once more as Harry wrote and Snape read. When he had finally scratched out the end of his DADA report, he was rubbing his eyes. He rolled up the parchment with a yawn and pulled out another one while wiping his brow. The heat wasn't letting up and a glance at his watch told him it was now eleven fifty. He raised an eyebrow, looking at the fresh parchment he had pulled out critically before he put it away once more and stood up.

Ambling over to the door, he gave it yet another tug; but it was still stuck as tight as ever. He sighed, which turned into another yawn, and made his way back to his seat. He caught the fleeting glance Snape had given him.

"I'm actually tired early for once." Harry explained, taking his seat once more and bundling up his robes to make an impromptu pillow. "I'm normally asleep by one in the morning."

"Thank you for that useless bit of information. I always wanted to know your sleeping habits Potter," Snape said derisively. "I was merely wondering why you'd attempt to open the door when you know that it can't be opened."

Harry shrugged. "I want to sleep now, which I typically do in my own bed far away from here. But since I can't, I figured I'd make do here as best I can. Unless you couldn't tell that I was making a pillow, Sir."

"Aiming for yet another detention, are we Potter?"

"If it's anything like this one, I'll get more work done in one night than in two, minus the scrubbing the vials." He paused. "Go on, give me another detention if you like, Sir."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence." Snape said. "Obviously, you think that you are still above the rules. I do not tolerate or condone insolence, Potter. I made a slight exception due to these….circumstances. But you seem quite intent on pushing your luck."

Harry shrugged. "No, I just realize how petty, futile and stupid some rules are." He stifled a yawn. "But I'll stop if it bothers you so much, Sir." He paused, staring at a flickering torch. "I really am sorry Sir."

"For what?" Snape's voice was thoroughly vexed as he looked up from his book yet again.

"For looking into the pensieve when I shouldn't have." Harry murmured, still staring at the torch. "I had no right to intrude like that, to invade your privacy, your pain. I…I guess, on some level, I was desperate to know who my parents are from someone who wasn't their friend, to see them in another light, that I wasn't exactly thinking straight." Harry lapsed into silence for a moment. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered to himself. "I shouldn't have brought it up again. Sorry Sir." He mumbled.

He quickly cast a Silencing charm around his head and turned away from Snape, pillowing his head on his bundled up robe and closing his eyes. It looked like he would have to spend the night in the dungeons. He really shouldn't have said that to Snape. He should have let the past and the deepened animosity stay as it was.

When Darkness Comes - Chapter Eleven || When Darkness Comes - Chapter Thirteen