Sep 12 2008
In Their Eyes Shall Shine
Title: In Their Eyes Shall Shine
Author: dorrie6
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry, Draco, Neville
Warnings:
Disclaimer: The characters and universe presented in this story belong to JK Rowling.
Notes: Originally posted 12/14/04 miggy’s H/D Mp3 ficathon challenge. Inspired by “Bright Eyes” from the Watership Down soundtrack, as requested by miggy. Sung by Art Garfunkel. Written by Mike Batt. Lyrics.
*****
In Their Eyes Shall Shine
Hogwarts, A History (Revised, 2004), Volume II
Chapter 5: The Second Rise of VoldemortOn Christmas Eve, 1997, simultaneous attacks were made on the neighborhoods of Muggleborn wizards in several locations across England. In each case, the wizard was bound–his family and neighbors slaughtered before his eyes–then left to pick up the pieces. Some of the survivors fled the scene, finally surfacing in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, exhausted and raving. Others were apprehended by Muggle authorities and never heard of again. When Muggleborn students returned to Hogwarts that winter, many asked to remain there indefinitely.
On January third, the Ministry of Magic issued an statement declaring its intention not to act, as long as wizards were not being killed. “Muggles are not our business,” the statement read. It went on further to explain that any witch or wizard foolish enough to get involved was not the Ministry’s problem. On January fourth, the re-formed Order of the Phoenix began sending teams of their own. By the time the Ministry was forced to get involved, hundreds of wizards had already died in battle.
It was during Harry Potter’s seventh year at Hogwarts that the war with Voldemort truly began in earnest. Harry had never been one for heavy reading, but what struck him most strongly about the war was how accurate the poets were. The war was a shadow that seeped slowly over the land, bringing sickening death to everything it touched. It was the helplessness in Arthur Weasley’s eyes as he stood at the center of a fallen Muggle village, all smoke and blackened grass. It was Luna Lovegood staring blankly at the letter reporting her father’s death. It was Hermione scanning the Muggle obituaries at breakfast, her finger racing down the page, pausing almost imperceptibly at various points before she folded it up and stowed it away. Harry’s old nightmares had abandoned him now, replaced by these new, more frightening images.
Soon, these visions began to follow him even in daylight, at breakfast or during lessons, carrying him off at will.
“What’s this?”
Harry blinked, eyes protesting against the white glare of sun on snow. Draco Malfoy was leaning against the castle’s stone wall, flanked by one of his usual cronies.
“Harry Potter alone on Valentine’s Day? Can it be true?”
Harry felt for his wand. “Come to profess your love, Malfoy?”
Malfoy scowled. “Don’t be disgusting.” He turned as though to leave, and then stopped abruptly. “Crabbe, give me a moment alone with our hero,” he said, his gaze fixed on Harry.
Crabbe stared.
“Crabbe, a moment.” Malfoy repeated. Crabbe disappeared.
“So it’s love after all, then?” Harry raised his eyebrow.
Malfoy’s lip curled. “I just thought you’d prefer a smaller audience when I tell you how you’re going to die.”
Harry smiled. “I hope you’ll be creative. Professor Trelawney’s covered all the usual, you know.”
“You think this is funny, don’t you, Potter?” Malfoy’s composure vanished as he moved closer with quick, uneven strides. “Believe me, you won’t. Not when I’m done with you.”
Malfoy continued, Harry barely registering his words. Instead, he was imprinted with the image of Malfoy’s eyes, fever-bright, shining with hatred, his pointed face flushed pink in the cold wind. Malfoy’s breath escaped in angry puffs, mixing with Harry’s before evaporating into nothing.
February 14th, 1998 saw the largest mass exodus Hogwarts has seen in its long history, even to this day. In that one night, the upper years of Slytherin House were all but emptied (along with fractions of other Houses) as students fled the school in order to pledge their lives to Lord Voldemort. Their numbers included Slytherin Prefects, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Muggleborn student Dennis Creevy disappeared the same night. His body was discovered on his parents’ doorstep several days later, and their home and surrounding neighborhood destroyed the same evening. (Photographs courtesy of
The Daily Prophet.)
The meeting with Dumbledore had not gone at all as he’d expected. When Harry had stormed in, demanding to be allowed to fight, he’d expected refusal in fatherly tones. Grave consideration took him entirely by surprise, as did Dumbledore’s eventual acceptance. Harry returned to his common room that night filled with vigor and a sense of purpose he hadn’t had in months. Others followed suit, and soon the bulk of Gryffindor Tower’s older students were headed off to war. As February wore on, new students joined the war effort every day.
Harry’s new nightmares pursued him into battle. He existed in a dream, firing hexes and blocking spells as though he were leading practice with the DA. Dumbledore praised him for his level head, while Snape coughed loudly a few feet away. Harry heard none of it, his ears filled with Padma Patil’s anguished scream just before she fell.
In March, the Order of the Phoenix began receiving information from the inside. The Order set up small task forces to attempt to thwart the Muggle massacres before they began. At Potter’s insistence, he was assigned a group of his own, consisting of several members of the student organization, Dumbledore’s Army. Their fourth mission out, they arrived at the targeted village to find that the Death Eaters had already hit. Most of the homes were destroyed. Any bodies that remained were burned beyond recognition.
Hermione touched his hand. “Harry.”
Harry’s throat was dry. “Who lived here?” Nobody answered. “Hermione?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone we knew.”
“No, it was.” Everyone turned to Seamus. “I mean, we did.” He swallowed. “Justin Finch-Fletchley. He lived here. His mother invited me to tea once.”
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a shout from the far side of the street.
“Harry!” Neville was waving them over. They hurried to him, finally gathering around a heap of black robes.
Seamus stepped toward it. “What is it?”
“They’ve never left any behind before, have they?” Neville asked. “Of their own, I mean.”
Ron squinted at it. “I think it’s still alive.”
Harry waved the others back and squatted next to it, pulling at the robes, trying to find the body underneath. Finally locating the hood, Harry pulled it back. Pale gray eyes stared back at him. They widened as the person choked out something unintelligible, and then fell shut.
“Be careful, Harry,” Hermione warned. “Harry?”
He looked up at her, stomach churning. “It’s Malfoy.”
“What?” Ron lurched forward.
“He saw me.” Harry frowned. “He tried to say something, I think. Then, well, he passed out or something.”
Ron huffed. “Oh, right. Setting a trap, more likely.”
Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. There was something wrong.” He frowned again. “His eyes were just… gray.”
“They were always gray,” Hermione answered. “And of course something is wrong. He’s unconscious, Harry.”
He felt himself getting impatient. “No. I mean, I know. Just.” He took a breath. “They were different today. Something was–” He paused. “He really hated me. More than anything, maybe. But not today.”
“Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.” Hermione’s voice was unusually soft.
“Hermione?” Ron nudged her.
“Something I read once. I don’t even know why I remember it.” Hermione blinked. “Silly poetry.” She stepped away from the group. “Anyway, it looks like our information was useless. We’re far too late to help anyone here. We should return quickly.”
Harry hesitated. “What about Malfoy? Shouldn’t we do… something?”
Hermione frowned. “Like what, Harry?”
“Take him with us or something. Prisoner of War, that sort of thing.” His stomach churned again.
“Prisoner of War?” Ron chortled. “We’re not Her Majesty’s Royal whatever-you-call-it.”
Hermione elbowed him, turning to Harry. “It isn’t safe, Harry. We can’t apparate with a body in tow. We’d have to walk or fly the whole way. There could be Death Eaters anywhere. We should leave him here. Someone will come for him, and if he wakes up–”
Harry crossed his arms. “Who will come for him?”
“Harry–” Hermione reached for his arm.
“No. Hermione.” He shook her off. “Who will come? His mother is dead. His father–” He stopped. “Well, he left him here, didn’t he? Voldemort’s people have been gone for hours. Why would they come back now?”
Hermione protested, “Harry, we can’t just–”
“If we leave him here, he’ll die.”
“Maybe he should die.” Everyone stared at Seamus. “Nobody wants to say it, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? If he could, he’d have killed all of us by now. Who knows how many of these people he killed? Why should we put ourselves in danger to save him?”
“Seamus has a point, Harry.” Hermione nodded.
Harry gaped. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Hermione.”
“Why?” Ron challenged. “Everyone’s thinking it.”
Hermione continued, “Harry, he’s right. This could have easily been my street, my family.” She caught his arm again. “And what if it was? Would you be talking about saving him then?”
“It’s not–” Harry twisted away. “Look, it’s not about saving Malfoy!” He tried to lower his voice. “I mean, well, it is, but not because he’s Malfoy.” Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry walked to her, taking her hand. “Hermione.” His voice was quiet now. “I’m just tired of watching people die. It’s all I’ve been doing my whole life.” He looked back at Malfoy. “We don’t know why they left him here. He’s obviously injured. If we take him back, then he’s in Dumbledore’s hands, and someone else can decide what to do with him. I just–” He turned back to her. “I can’t decide that he should die. Not when he’s helpless like this. I can’t.” He let Hermione’s hand fall, facing the others. “Listen, I can take him back on my own. The rest of you can go on ahead, tell Dumbledore what’s going on. I’ll meet you.”
Hermione frowned. “Harry, are you sure that would be–”
“Are you out of your mind?” Neville was almost laughing. “If you think that we’d let you risk your life for Malfoy, you’ve got another think coming.”
Harry stepped forward. “Now, look here–”
“No, I will not.” Neville was serious now. “You’re the one hope we’ve got of winning this thing in the end. You know this. We all do. You’re not going to risk losing the whole bloody war just to be Draco Malfoy’s personal hero!”
“I’m not–” Harry started.
“Malfoy isn’t our mission, Harry,” Neville went on. “He made his choice, and this is where it brought him. These people,” He swept his arm over the charred road, “were our mission, and we failed them.” His eyes blazed. “We need to remember why we’re here.”
Harry’s face was bright red. “I remember just fine-”
“Stop it, both of you!” Hermione shouted. “This isn’t solving anything!” She stepped into the middle. “Look. Harry doesn’t want to be the one to decide Malfoy’s fate. So, he doesn’t have to be. Why don’t we just find Dumbledore, and bring him back here? Then he can decide what to do with Malfoy, and we can end this nonsense.”
“Hermione,” Harry began.
Hermione raised her finger at him. “It may even be Malfoy’s best chance at survival. Dumbledore could make a portkey, maybe send him to a medical facility.” Her eyes were pleading. “It would only take a moment.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Fine.”
“I’ll stay with Harry,” Neville said.
“You don’t have to–”
Neville turned to him. “It’s not negotiable.” Harry glowered.
“We’ll be back soon.” Hermione straightened her robes and checked her wand. “Harry, you know it’s the best thing. Neville?”
“Right,” Neville answered, his voice tight.
“Let’s go then, Ron, Seamus,” Hermione said just as she vanished.
Harry and Neville stood, glaring at each other across Malfoy’s body.
“Harry, look. The war is messing with all of us. I know that.” Neville’s voice was even. “But we’re your team. You brought us out here. We need your leadership.”
Harry laughed. “Yes, I can see just how prepared you are to follow my lead.”
“You weren’t being a leader.” Neville smiled. “You were being an idiot.”
“Thanks a lot.” Harry turned, walking away.
“I shouldn’t be the one reminding you about the mission, Harry.” Harry stopped. Neville caught up with him. “Hermione shouldn’t. You have to make the hard decisions.” His eyes were kind. “You have to be the one who keeps the rest of us focused–who doesn’t let the fight get personal.”
Harry snorted. “Believe me, there’s nothing personal about my feelings for Malfoy.”
Neville chuckled. “Try that on someone who hasn’t been watching you both for seven years.” He ignored Harry’s wide eyes and turned toward the ruined homes. “Look, I’m going to do a quick sweep, make sure Jus–to make sure there’s no one still hanging around. It isn’t likely, I know, but-” Neville shrugged and headed into the village.
Harry walked back to the crumpled Malfoy. He looked fragile and childlike, in a way Harry hadn’t seen him since first year, and he was shaking as he breathed. Cruciatus, Harry thought most likely. He wondered what Malfoy had done to anger someone, or if he’d simply been in the way. “I think I despise you more than ever for this, Malfoy, do you know that?”
Malfoy was silent.
“Don’t you see what you’ve done? This fight, Malfoy. You are what makes this possible. You are what makes sense. You hating me.” His voice was getting louder, and Harry didn’t care.
“I have to fight this war. I have to win it. I can’t be soft.” He was pacing now. “I can’t be… moping around, worrying about the health of the enemy! Do you not see that?”
He fell to the ground, shaking Malfoy’s limp shoulders. “How dare you? How dare you make me care whether you live or die? Why can’t you just hate me?” He shook him harder. “Hate me, you bastard!”
He sank, drained. “Wake up and hate me.”
Something moved under his hands. Harry stopped, brushing his hand across Malfoy’s forehead. “Malfoy?”
Eyelids fluttered, and suddenly Harry was faced with the same gray he’d seen earlier. This time, Malfoy spoke. “Potter,” He gasped, as the shaking intensified. “P–” His right hand clutched Harry’s robes. He raised his head with great effort, nearly touching their foreheads together. Harry could feel Malfoy’s breath, warm on his chin.
“Potter,” he gasped again, his voice just above a whisper. “Help me.” His hand lost its grip, and he fell back to the ground.
“Malfoy.” Harry grabbed at his hand, trying to pull him back. “I will.” Malfoy’s eyes were empty, his face growing rapidly pale. Harry tapped at his cheek. “I’ll help you. I promise.” Harry’s heart was racing. Malfoy stopped moving. “Malfoy!”
Neville’s footsteps approached from the distance. He sped up as he neared Harry, stopping just next to him. His shoes were dusty. Harry looked up at him, squinting into the overcast glare of March.
Neville tilted his head. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon. You know how loopy Dumbledore can be sometimes.” Harry looked back at Malfoy. “Harry?”
Harry stood up, slowly. “It doesn’t matter.” Neville stared for a moment and then shifted his gaze to Malfoy’s body.
“Oh.” His voice was quiet. “There’s nothing you could have done. If you’d taken him, he’d have died on the way. You realize that.” His hand was on Harry’s arm. “Harry.”
“Help me.” Harry turned his head to face him. “That’s what he said, Neville. He said, ‘Help me.’” His voice grew more agitated. “I should have…”
“Should have what?” Neville squeezed his arm.
Harry moved away. “I don’t mean today. I mean… before.” Harry sat on the ground again. “He came to me the day he left, did you know that?” Neville shook his head. “It was nothing new, just the same as always. ‘I’ll get you,’ that sort of thing. I didn’t even listen, really. But now I wonder. What if he wanted me to do something?” He pushed his hair back roughly. “Change something. I don’t know.”
Neville sat down beside him. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
Harry faced him. “How many Hogwarts students left school to join Voldemort?”
“Twenty-five, maybe? Thirty?”
“Mostly Slytherin, right? And a few others?”
Neville nodded.
“Did we ever give a thought to any of them?”
Neville leaned back on his hands. “What do you think we should have done?”
“I don’t know,” Harry chewed at his lip. “Had a conversation?”
Neville chuckled. “They weren’t exactly the friendly sort.”
“I know. It’s not–” Harry frowned, looking at his shoes. “I should have… tried.” He fidgeted with a corner of his sleeve. “Today, he looked–he just looked scared. He was just a scared kid. Maybe if I had ever–” His eyes moved to Malfoy. “Maybe he wouldn’t have been here. Maybe he wouldn’t have–” He stopped.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Neville asked, softly.
“I think…” Harry took a breath. “We should go back to Hogwarts. The Order can summon us if they need us, but we should stay there for the rest of the term if we can. I think maybe there is more we can do there right now than anyplace else.”
Neville smiled. “Is that an order?”
“Don’t be–” Harry raised his eyebrow. “Is this where you tell me I’m an idiot again?”
“No.” Neville paused. “You know, Harry, maybe you saved him after all. I don’t mean saved. But… maybe it helped in the end. For him to think you had. Maybe it wasn’t so bad then.”
“Maybe.”
“I think that’s what keeps us all here, sometimes.” Neville furrowed his brow. “You haven’t saved us, not yet. But we believe you will.
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” Neville pushed himself to his feet. “Come, there’s Dumbledore.”
Harry stayed still. He reached over and pushed Malfoy’s hair from his eyes. “Not in the hands of boys…” He stood quickly. “Coming.”
On March 12th, 1998, in an unexpected move by the Order of the Phoenix, members of Harry Potter’s task force returned to Hogwarts, purportedly to finish their final term of school. As was later revealed in the now-famous Weasley Letters (see Chapter 7: Wartime Correspondence), the true purpose of this move was as an attempt to influence the allegiances of the children of known Death Eaters still remaining at the school. In the end, it is estimated that as many as forty children eventually joined forces with Harry Potter and Dumbledore’s Army, against the wishes of their parents. Recent scholars agree that this seemingly small shift in numbers and alliances played a significant role in the eventual defeat of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
*The poem quoted by Hermione is “Anthem for a Doomed Youth” by Wilfred Owen.