Harry woke to the now-familiar sensation of a dreamless sleep potion wearing off.
He'd had enough of them in the past several months after all, to be intimately familiar with what it was like to wake up after a full night of good rest, compared to what happened when he was waking up on his own. Even if he didn't normally remember his dreams if they weren't particularly vivid (if they weren't a nightmare) now that he was used to dreamless sleep he could tell he always dreamed. Unless he had a potion, and then the process of waking up was slightly different, there was just something slightly unique about how he surfaced into the waking world. Not bad, but different.
Which is how he knew that everything behind his eyelids wasn't a nightmare. No matter how every fiber of his body was insisting it had to have been his imagination.
He stared up at the dark drapes around the extremely comfortable bed he was in, the black-on-black lace and luxurious feel to literally everything he was touching gave away where he was, as if he didn't already fully assume he was in Malfoy Manor.
He sat up, and could confirm it officially from the large, fancily decorated room. It was clearly a guest room, even with the artwork on the walls, the fancy pottery and the magical items on display atop the many beautiful furnishings. Harry wondered, idly, if Draco had ever even been in this room or if the Manor was so large and had so many other more interesting places to be, if he'd ever even bothered with what was clearly his mother's work at being a perfect hostess.
He took stock and noted he was still in his night clothes. He had been, before being woken back in the cottage…
No, he couldn't think of that right now.
A glance at the clock on one of the fancy night tables showed it was just after seven, and the trial started at nine. There wasn't much time at all and he couldn't—
He stood, noting his invisibility cloak hanging nicely from the wardrobe and his bag just beside it. He didn't know all the details of how he'd gotten here, who'd done all this in particular, nor did he care as he dug through his bag for a change of clothes. He had plenty after all, things he'd never even unpacked at Hogwarts which would come in handy now.
Clothes picked, he found the attached bathroom with everything one could possibly want—toothbrushes, like seven types of hair brushes which he was sure were enchanted somehow, shampoos and more. He didn't get comfortable, but got clean and dressed with clinical efficiency, braiding his hair back tightly since today would be a day he needed all his wits about him. No baubles or extras today, he looked in the mirror only enough to ensure he was presentable and his hair done well before he left—cloak and bag back on, in proper wizard robes for once given the world he was about to enter. They weren't just a blank version of his school uniform either, they were deep navy with silver stitching and this was probably the first time he was actually dressed as a proper wizard of his own volition.
Back in the room, barely twenty minutes had passed but someone must've known he was moving because the little sitting area centered around a coffee table now had a tray of fresh tea and breakfast options on it.
So Lady Malfoy could take the hint that he didn't want to be forced to eat with them right now.
He sat.
Looking at the options, all of it seemed unappealing. He knew he couldn't do this on an empty stomach though and sighed, leaning forward to pick up the cup of tea at least…
As he lifted it he got a strong sniff of lavender though and almost hurled the cup at the window across from him, over the too-fancy sitting area in the pristine, stupidly lavish room filled with useless things that he couldn't understand why anyone would want in their house. As it was, the cup hit the floor and the tea soaked into the expensive area carpet immediately, but he could give a shit.
"Earl grey lavender. It's one of my favorites, if you wanted to try."
"Shit." Harry leaned forward, cupping his face in his hands and trying to hold it together, but he knew he couldn't do this. I mean he could—he would—but this was… this was not good.
The appearing tea tray reminded him that he wasn't as alone as he seemed to be.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to let it all out with his exhale but it didn't work at all.
"…Turel?"
A gentle pop signaled she'd heard and appeared before him, but he didn't lift his head.
"Good mornings Sirs! How can Turel help?"
"Sorry… the tea," He managed to look up and winced as she already had the fallen teacup in her little hands. Big, alien eyes twinkled over a toothy grin though.
"It's no worries at alls! I fix it quicks," She snapped her fingers before Harry could react and the dark spot on the rug disappeared just like that. "Would Mr. Potters sir like more tea or somethings else?"
"…tea is okay. Just not lavender." He got out stiffly. "And a calming draft… as many as I'm allowed to take with me."
"Yes sirs! Just a moments," Turel chirped, not seeming to mind the request at all nor even blink her bug eyes at the potions or what they might be for, she just disappeared with a soft little pop before Harry's very eyes. He swallowed dryly.
He didn't know how long she'd be gone but was on edge knowing she'd be back any moment, so he stood and paced the room, which actually required more walking than you'd think to traverse the entire space. He paused in front of an extremely expensive vase and considered shoving it off it's ledge to watch it hit the ground, but forced himself to turn around and mind his business.
The clock ticked over to 7:30 am on the dot and he flexed his jaw.
He couldn't do this.
He had to do this, and he would, but he also knew he couldn't.
He was going to scream. Or rip his hair out. Or both maybe? It didn't matter, he needed to do something or he was going to go insane.
No, actually, he'd passed whatever lines he'd drawn for his sanity in the dust behind him miles ago—there wasn't even a trace of the human he once thought he was in the rearview mirror as he spun out, full speed at the cliff ledge ahead of him. And just like last time he was in Malfoy Manor, his vivid imagination was wrapping himself in the sensation of falling off the edge, not giving a shit about the fall and giving a half-hearted wish that he wasn't conscious enough to care about the impact at the bottom.
Only this time it wasn't Lady Malfoy who'd pushed him here, though he still felt as strong a desire as ever to start smashing the expensive, delicate decorations she'd put everywhere.
He paced, getting back to the sitting area and pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes and flexing his jaw.
He'd never regretted making his mindscape a graveyard more, because he knew that's where he needed to go in order to get his head back on straight but the second he saw a gravestone with Remus Lupin on it he was going to—
A pop sounded behind him and he whipped around, Turel just taking a neat step back to be out of his direct space but giving a big smile as she lifted a box up to him. It was bigger than her entire body, so it seemed very odd to see her lift it above her head like that to be grabbing level for him.
"The Lady says you can take it all if yous likes! Turel will fetch more later," She assured him and Harry took the box, putting it on the coffee table and immediately popping one to down it. That it had become such a familiar taste and sensation probably wasn't a great sign but whatever.
As he sat back down onto the couch again the little elf placed a new cup of freshly steaming tea onto the tray before him, one that he was sure had just appeared out of thin air. Which obviously it hadn't given what he knew of conjuration and Transfiguration but it did make him wonder about house elf magic and if it was different enough that they didn't have to play by those rules or something, or she'd just summoned it from where it was waiting already-made in the kitchen. Probably the latter now that he thought about it. Or maybe house elf magic was insane and reality-breaking and no one in the wizarding world bothered to care about it or even mention it ever like they seemed to do with everything else mind-breakingly crazy.
"Anything else sirs?" Turel edged away politely, but glanced at the untouched tray as if worried he wasn't going to eat it.
He probably wasn't, but that wasn't on her.
"No." He dismissed her and she took the hint to disappear into thin air.
"…"
He leaned forward to grab another calming potion, downing it and then leaning his head on the couch back stiffly to close his eyes.
000
He stood at the gate of his graveyard but couldn't make himself walk forward.
Except he knew he had to.
It was… like physical pain to force himself to take one step, then another, and then because this was his mind he was suddenly too close to his destination and wanted to run away with everything he had. He stopped in the middle of a grave line with the willow at the center of the mindscape ominously looming ahead, the sight of it catching in his throat and making his hands shake.
He couldn't do it.
He turned on his heel as if to run, but the sight of the gate now far behind him and the blank darkness he knew lived outside of it froze him to his spot, rooted in something like terror but far closer to nausea.
"I can't do this," he coughed, glancing around at the graves around him as if someone would be able to tell him what he should be doing right now because he had no fucking clue. This far out from the center the graves had names of people he didn't know very well—a second year Ravenclaw in the football club, the librarian in the muggle library he'd ready his Hogwarts letter in, the Contrair alley coffee shop owner where he'd eaten his breakfast the last weeks of summer. None of them would be able to help him, and he didn't know them well enough to even guess at what they'd say to him now. All he could scrounge up from his imagination was that they'd probably be just as at a loss, since they didn't really know him all that well either.
What would an adult say to some random child coming up to them and begging for guidance on something like this? There was no way he'd be able to tell a muggle librarian about who Sirius Black was, nor about werewolves or dark lords or deals with literal devils wearing snake skin.
He could imagine that middle-aged woman's face if he were to try and talk to her now—something like shock and discomfort and confused pity. Like she was completely out of her depth at what this strange child was crying to her about now, and at a loss of both how to help, but also knowing this was so not her problem to deal with while she was at work.
Harry stiffened, suddenly realizing he knew exactly what she'd most likely say in that situation.
"Where are your parents, kid?"
He was running before it really sunk in what he was doing, but something inside of him blossomed to life like a firework bursting out from whatever box he'd tried so hard to keep it locked in. It wasn't strictly a good feeling, it was that ugly, petty, awful bitterness he'd felt looking into that damn mirror last year. It was the injustice of hearing Moony cry out in pain, but sicker and darker and deeper in his soul than the pain he felt tearing at his throat until there were tears ripping down his cheeks.
It just wasn't fair.
But here in his mind, when he would be talking to graves anyway, he knew exactly who to run to.
Because no matter how clever he pretended to be, he was twelve and scared and angry in a way he didn't really understand, so he was going to run away from everything as fast as he could, and he was going to tattle on Moony with the one person he knew would judge the werewolf just as much as he was right now.
He pointedly did not look at any other graves as he ran right to the one closest to the center willow, knees hitting the dirt between pewter vases filled with flowers. Gone were the daisies, and all the lilies had turned a deep, pulsating red.
"Mom," He gasped, and then he was crying.
Sobbing, more like.
He leaned onto the stone, hands clutching the top to prevent himself from sliding down it but forehead pressed to the cold stone, and he cried like he'd never cried before—except in Moony's arms when he was being left behind again.
Like he was just a kid who wanted his mom, and since there was no one watching that's exactly what he was.
"It's not fair!" He got out, though it was strangled and wet. "Did you see what they did to him!? Dad was an auror—you married one of them!? How could you stomach it? Even if he wasn't one of them he—they--!"
He screwed his eyes closed tightly, hands digging into the stone, but they made no progress into the unyielding surface.
"Remus was your friend, wasn't he? He said you two were friends long before you ever gave Dad the time of day," He tried to make sense of it, clawing at anything he could relate it to.
He imagined it was like him and Susan—they studied together and were maybe closer than some others but their friend groups only casually crossed. Gryffindor boys and Hufflepuff girls of the same year didn't really have a ton of overlap besides in football club, but they were friends. Based on the stories Moony had told him, he imagined for much of their time at Hogwarts, that's who Lily Evans and Remus Lupin had been to each other… and then only when Lily had started dating a boy Remus called family did they maybe become closer than that.
The feeling of sickening heat that flared from his chest lashed out along with his limbs, and he spun to kick senselessly at the grave beside his mother's, a burst of rage and wet despair making it so he didn't even feel his foot hit the stone.
"And YOU! You better not have been like that! Like them!? Remus was your friend first—he called you his brother! And Moony doesn't do things like that, he's afraid of even taking up space but he said you were his brother… which means at one point you convinced him it was true and you better have meant it or I'll never forgive you!" He shouted at his father's blank headstone, but predictably there was no response.
He slunk back against Lily's grave, weariness robbing him of his strength just as fast as it'd come.
"Mom… Dad." He could barely get the pleading words out through the tears, but he begged the universe to please… just let them hear him. "I…I didn't kn-now Moony… I didn't know him but I wanted to. I took forever to write him that first letter and I wanted to be so mad at him but in the end I couldn't. He left me with the Dursleys for so long and I wanted to be so angry about that—I didn't think there was anything I would ever be able to forgive for that but—"
He cut himself off, curling down into his knees and feeling his mother's grave press coldly into his back. He had no idea if it was a comfort or not or he was just imagining things even more than he already was here.
"I didn't know him but now I do… and now I'm going to this stupid trial and maybe I'll meet Sirius but I—I want Moony."
It felt bitter and childish to admit, but it was the truth.
"I didn't mean for all this to—I mean I don't know if I would've traded Moony for someone I don't know if I'd known this was going to happen even if he was your friend too… you loved them both didn't you? You wouldn't have chosen, right? ….Did I choose wrong? Was this a mistake to even try…?"
"I want Moony."
He cried sobbing it louder so he was sure every grave in earshot heard him now. Bitter and hopeless and childlike.
"And god… was it because he doesn't think he's worth it or—or does he just love Sirius more than me? Or both? Or nothing!? I knew from how he talked about him that he cared about Sirius so much… just—WHY would he let that happen!? We could've run away or done something but he didn't want to! He wanted that!? No he didn't— he just wanted to not cause trouble or what the fuck ever he was on about, but he just… I…" He sobbed, letting the tears flow as he lost what he was trying to say for a bit.
He didn't know how long he sat there, but it was enough for a wave of tears to come and go, and though they didn't stop he managed to catch his breath at least a little. There were still things clawing at the inside of his chest he needed to get out, and he wanted his mother to hear him say them—at least here, where no one else would.
"Mom…" He begged of the stone behind him, voice smaller than ever as he curled up around his knees tightly. "They were your friends right? Sirius will help me, right? I… want Moony back but I don't know what to do. What would you do? What would Dad do? Moony can't stand up for himself and I don't know Sirius but they were your friends right… what am I supposed to do?"
He scrubbed his sleeve over his face, wincing through the blurry tears at the willow out ahead of him and trying to place words to what he was asking for help for here, but he felt… lost.
"You know I…I compared Remus to the white king, from Alice in Wonderland. Did you ever read that story? You were a muggleborn so you probably did… then again I'm pretty much a muggleborn and I didn't so whatever." He sniffed, biting at his lip. "It's the weakest piece but the most important one, because without him the game is over… isn't it? Whatever we're playing now it's not chess anymore, it's just chaos. People are making up their own rules and doing whatever they want and I can't win a game if there are no pieces. Though I'm stupid if I thought this was a game in the first place—there are no rules and there aren't any winners. What did I even think winning was? Getting away from the Dursleys? I'm still winning but if this is it maybe I should've stayed at Privet Drive and never gone to Hogwarts at all. I never should've written to Moony, I never should've…I should've…"
He trailed off, biting his lip hard enough he tasted blood.
"Mom… Remus left me. And yeah I'm tattling because what the hell!?" He attempted to shout it out to the expanse of grass between here and the willow, but it came out strangled, and broken. He could only pretend to be angry at him, though he, and probably both his parents, knew it was a lie.
…he curled up tighter, pressing his eyes into his knees to try and staunch the flow of saltwater.
He tried to imagine Lily Potter's response to this. She died so young, but even then she'd had at least a year as a mother and Harry wondered if it even took that long. He didn't know what mothers were supposed to say, but he wanted to be able to imagine it.
He imagined the strong-willed girl Remus had told him about, scolding the werewolf for not taking his own life seriously. For being weak-kneed and giving in. For making her son cry and being foolish enough not to leave him at the Malfoys instead of risking him witnessing that.
But he also imagined that muggleborn witch, the favorite golden-child of a youngest daughter his aunt always sneered about—the one Harry imagined really was a 'good girl' since Petunia only ever pretended to be nice, maybe copying an example of genuine niceness she once had. The young witch who, despite marrying rich, saved her own salary to start a scholarship fund instead of attacking the doctrine that made the tuition disparity in the first place. The one who'd hated the Marauders for most of her school days because they were pranksters and class clowns and saw them as bullies.
She was a rule follower at heart, even if that heart had been in the right place. She probably wouldn't have encouraged them to flee from aurors… even if she'd witnessed the brutality herself she would've done what Harry had done and tried to shield them, but she wouldn't have imagined they were there breaking the law—and that they'd face no repercussions for it if they were.
He imagined that Gryffindor head girl, the same one who trusted her and her family's life to Dumbledore's Fidelus charm and paid the price for it. But in life she would've completely believed this was all only temporary, that Dumbledore would fix it and Remus would be out of Azkaban after the trial just like that, it was only while he served as a distraction to Fudge and all that…
The only moms Harry knew were people like Petunia Dursley, or Narcissa Malfoy. Both of them would burn the world for their kids, and absolutely would never give a fuck about anyone else. If Lily Potter were like them then she wouldn't care what happened to Remus, just so long as he was safe but…
But Harry didn't know if he wanted to imagine his own mom like them, he wanted to believe she was someone who once told Remus that he was her friend no matter if he was a werewolf or not, and that she'd have really meant it. That she wasn't just a mother but also her own person, someone who treasured her friends like he treasured his.
If she were here he imagined that she'd be crying too, maybe out of frustration and anger instead of helplessness like him. Maybe she'd be gearing up to go get Moony back, even if she didn't know how or why this had happened… but he also wanted to believe she wouldn't blame him either. Maybe she'd yell at Remus when she got her hands on him again for being so stupid but… maybe she'd also just hold them both close so as not to lose them ever again.
Gryffindor head girl.
The Evans' family's golden child.
The popular girl who got the popular guy and then married essentially a cop.
Harry pressed his face into his hands until he saw stars, trying to stop the tears and the frustration that threatened to eat him alive. He wished he knew more about her because that couldn't be all there was to her but he just—he would never get the chance to know more. He'd never actually know what she'd say in response to this and that cut way, way too deep when he was already bleeding out and had long since run out of hands to staunch the blood flow.
A part of him wanted to scream at his father's grave beside him again but he couldn't even stomach looking at it.
He knew that it was misplaced anger, misplaced disgust and ire, but he couldn't shake it.
"What did I do wrong?" He asked aloud, maybe to his parents, maybe to the willow, maybe just the universe at large.
"I just wanted… I wanted what they had! Everyone else has—!" He bit his lip again, trying reel it in and not sound so childish before immediately abandoning it, knowing it didn't matter here. "Everyone else has a family, and… all I have are graves. I don't know what you'd say if you were here, I can only imagine it, but even then I might be wrong. It's not fair… it's not fair— I did everything I could! What did I do wrong!? What do I—how do I fix this?"
He complained to the world around him but received no answer.
Except… his eyes landed on the sky above him, and his wet squint turned into a full glare that made him cry harder, a new wave of despair crashing down on him.
Here in the graveyard, it was just as early an hour of the morning as it was in the waking world, and even here he could see the moon hanging innocently in the sky, though it was faint against the pale blue and quickly setting as the sun got stronger to the east.
It was nearly full.
If the full moon wasn't tomorrow it would be in the next couple days, and this might've been his subconscious so he didn't know the exact days off the top of his head, but the phases of the moon were never really that far from his mind these days. For obvious reasons.
In a kind world Sirius would be deemed guilty before lunch today, and Remus out before dinner. That was the optimistic world he suspected Lily Potter had believed she lived in, right until the end.
"This isn't a kind world though." He announced with a somber finality, a sadness and bitterness bearing down on him as he felt like he was breaking this news to his mother himself.
… it wasn't her fault that she'd believed it though. Maybe… maybe it was a good thing she'd died still believing that white knights won and evil dragons lost just because that's how things should work. What a world that would be, to live and die fully believing in things like that.
He was petty enough to be bitter about it, but he also couldn't really fault Lily Potter for it either. He was just jealous to the pits of his mangled soul that he couldn't live in that world with her.
He wiped his sleeve over his face once more, heedless of the saltwater and the snot, and found he had lost the comfort he'd initially gotten of tattling to his Mom. She'd be on his side he was sure, but he also knew she wouldn't understand. Not really.
Not like Moony could.
He'd recovered just enough though to realize what he needed and get moving, crawling two graves over and ignoring the two in the middle very purposely to reach his target.
And just like he'd feared, seeing Remus Lupin etched in the pale grey stone fully strangled his heart where it tried to keep beating in his chest, though it really felt like it was losing that battle. He screwed his eyes shut and turned away from it, leaning his back against it to seek comfort here instead. It worked to a point, despite the fact it also hurt so fucking much.
There was a truth to the situation that he knew his mother would never understand. A simple truth that Harry himself knew would kill the little bit of light he still had inside of him, once and for all.
But it was a truth that was unavoidable, and pretending it wasn't real wouldn't help him move forward at all.
It was just, he'd seen the way those aurors looked at Remus. Spoke to him, treated him… there was no way they'd make the release process quick even if it all worked out in the trial.
He took a shaky breath, ignoring the wavering voice as the tears threatened to rip him under again.
"…you told me to tell Padfoot 'hi', and it's because you knew you wouldn't be able to, isn't that right? Even you don't think they're going to let you out. Even if Madam Bones is not half as crooked as Fudge, even if Sirius can get on his feet and tries to get you out himself, it won't be in the next couple days, will it? And a full moon in a place like that… Daphne told me all about it. You already hate yourself, don't you? You hate the wolf and it hates you."
His voice was wet but deadened as he laid out the accusations to the werewolf. Here in his mind Remus couldn't hear him or respond, but somehow he knew there wherever the wolf was right now, they were both firmly on the same page here.
Moony had known.
Harry hadn't wanted to believe it, but through a huge effort and trying to survive how his heart was breaking, he came to know it too.
Azkaban was a place where guilt and hatred drove you insane… and Remus, though he didn't deserve it, had more guilt and hatred for himself than anyone. Harry didn't know the specifics, but he was absolutely terrified that a transformation, where Moony would be forced to temporarily lose his mind, on top of every other despair Azkaban buried someone with…
Harry didn't know if he'd come back from that.
And he suspected that Moony himself didn't know either, when he'd agreed to go.
Harry stared up at the fading moon above him for a long while.
"…you have to live, Moony. You have to." He curled his hands into fists. "Even if not all of you makes it back, please… yes I wanted to be free of the Dursleys but the rest of it was for you. I wanted to tell you that someday. Someday when I was Minister or at least in a better position, I would tell you everything and werewolf laws would be better and the world wouldn't be so prejudiced… I was going to do so many things, even if I don't know how yet I was going to try. But what…what do I do it you don't come back?"He might not have known what his mother would say, but against his will he could absolutely imagine what Remus would say.
"Don't risk the trial on my behalf. Please pup, just stay safe and look after Sirius."
That feeling Harry had once had, that warmth knowing that someone had wanted him when no one else did… that same sensation now choked him as it got caught in his throat. Because Remus didn't care about himself, he only cared about getting Sirius free… and him.
His bite his lip again almost viciously, tears now hotter with frustration.
"I should never have told you about the Dursleys." He decided blankly, his entire frame getting colder in the frosty early spring of the graveyard. He hadn't felt the cold before, but he did now. "You somehow knew it already but I should've shut the fuck up. I shouldn't have told you anything… and you wouldn't have tried to help me. This wouldn't have happened if I could've just shut my mouth for once."
Because he could not fault Remus for caring about him. For wanting to get him away from the relatives he hated so much, since Harry himself had confessed how much he desperately wanted to be free of them. But it was entirely on him, that he'd known and started to truly believe that Remus cared about him and still been so stupidly honest. Even if Moony had somehow already known something was up, he should've gone to his grave insisting he was fine and it wasn't that big of a deal, until after the trial at least. Or maybe just ever, so that the annoyingly kind werewolf wouldn't have gotten involved and…
"I'm sorry," he choked, turning and leaning his side onto Remus' grave with new tears, a new guilt that was so unbelievably hot in his chest piercing him clean through. He leaned his temple against where Remus' name was written and sunk in on himself miserably. "That's what everyone says, isn't it…? All your old friends just don't want you around, or involved, or to do anything because they think you're an inconvenience, don't they? That's why you apologize for everything and—and— and I don't mean to be one of them but why did you have to get involved!? I didn't want you to get hurt!"
It wasn't Remus' fault.
Like he couldn't really get mad at him for the eleven years he'd been gone, Harry couldn't really blame him for this either. Because he'd known Moony cared about him—he'd leaned on that reassurance heavily since the moment they'd met, used him for it even!— and so it was only so obvious that the werewolf would want to help. Harry himself had told him repeatedly to stop apologizing for just existing but the very moment Remus tried to be involved and do something for himself, Harry got mad at him?
He wasn't that much of a hypocrite.
Remus was always just trying to his damn best, it just… it wasn't good enough, for anyone. Ever, apparently.
And that fucking sucked but it inevitably sucked the most for Moony himself so Harry couldn't hold it against him, even if it felt like he was ripping his own heart in half trying to reach that forgiveness.
No, it wasn't Moony's fault: it was his own.
He hadn't regretted talking back to Quirrell and Voldemort last year, not even then despite knowing sometimes his mouth was too sarcastic for his own good and that he was a breath from death because of it. He deeply, deeply regretted confiding in Remus though, because he should've known the man would never be able to keep his promise of not doing anything.
Never again.
Absolutely never again was someone going suffer because Harry couldn't hold his fucking tongue.
He sat up some and jabbed a finger into Remus' grave, glaring at name etched in front of him.
"You're going to live. I'm not asking, I'm telling you right now that you're going to live. I've already sold my soul to the Greengrass family, but there are worse people out there that probably want a piece too. The Zabini's for one, even if I have to end up marrying that psycho as payment or something." He threatened, glancing to the side as he thought it over some. The scales in his head that Susan told him didn't make things right were shifting now, tipping sharply in new directions he'd never considered viable options before. The weight of his consequences and his future were different now, and so the scales seemed to spin and realign sharply.
Suddenly a lot of things didn't seem to matter anymore.
He cut them loose without hesitation, since they were dead weight now and he couldn't afford to be held back anymore.
"Mrs. Malfoy too… she wants me and Sirius on her side so surely she'll be able to help in exchange for me playing nice. I can do that." He glanced over at his parents graved, eyes tracing over Sirius Black's, unsure what to feel about it anymore.
But it didn't matter, he'd decide later.
Reaching the final conclusion that it was his fault, the helplessness and frustration now neatly sorted into his tears over their graves, the world finally cleared some—enough that he could formulate a plan at least. And that's all that had ever saved him before: his plans.
It got him into this mess in the first place, but in for a penny in for a pound and all that… it was too late to do anything else and doing nothing would never be an option.
He got to his knees, tears getting colder on his cheeks and the heaviness in his heart not letting up for a second, but he at least got with it enough to bear it. Almost two years ago now, the stone exterior of his soul that had shielded the tiniest of flames inside of him had cracked open when he set foot into Diagon Alley that first time. His world and his very being had been flood with color unlike anything he'd ever known and he'd never looked back. He'd trusted the promise of good things and the chaotic color of a magical world to be warm and safe and different than the cold, bitter winds of the world he'd once known.
It had taken far longer than he thought, but now he knew that opening his soul had been a mistake. It was all trick, a lie and fuck had he bought into it but…
Things were not different.
And he wasn't sure what was left of that tiny flame of himself, whether it was still the flicker of a candle, nothing but an ember that was barely hanging on—or if it was an inferno now, made of all the most terrible things he hadn't been able to stomach seeing of himself when he'd looked into the mirror of Erised, and fueled by a brand new sort of rage and hatred.
All he knew was that the fire was sealed off again, the stone thicker than ever and the buffeting winds of the world weren't going to get close again.
Everything his mother might've said to him now was lost behind a barrier of stone and death, so it was impossible to know what she'd say or feel about all of this. He'd take after her example.
"You're NOT going to die until I can fix this, got it Moony? It's just one moon, it can't kill you. So live until I can get you out, and then I can think about how badly I messed this up." He announced, getting to his feet and shooting the grave before him a mixed look—trying to be threatening but knowing it likely came off pathetic from how red and wet his face probably still was.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to get himself together.
Taking one last look at the peaceful graveyard around him, he noticed it was much quieter than he remembered it being.