The Secret's In The Telling ENG DRARRY

Chapter 2: Oh, The Irony

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Minerva had often wondered why such disastrous events inevitably seemed to occur when Potter was involved. Oh admittedly, this particular disaster hadn't been his fault, or even directly related to him. In fact, this time, he'd actually managed to prevent it from becoming a much bigger, more tragic event, amazingly.

These were the thoughts going through her head as both she and Harry entered the Headmaster's office. Her hand resting gently on his shoulder, she could feel him shaking faintly every now and then. The boy wore an almost permanent expression of shock, had done ever since the... incident downstairs. He was still clutching his broom with white knuckled fingers, having had no chance to put the item down. His robes were soaked and shoes tracking mud everywhere, but now was hardly the time to scold.

"We'll wait here a few moments, Potter," she told him quietly. "Professor Dumbledore will be up in no time. You can tell him what you know."

He nodded mutely, glancing around. She knew he'd already been in here more times than most students – last year, he'd even destroyed a large portion of the room – but he never failed to appear curious when entering the Headmaster's office.

She noticed his eyes stray toward and then fix on the small cupboard which housed Dumbledore's pensieve. She frowned at that, but said nothing.

Sure enough, they'd been there no more than a few minutes when Dumbledore swept inside, looking tense and weary, more so than usual. He glanced between them, before moving to sit himself behind his desk.

"Harry," he greeted softly, his voice sounding tired. There was no twinkle in his eyes, and he made no move to offer either of them a lemon sherbet, which in itself was normally a sign for alarm.

"Professor," the boy returned warily, suddenly seeming conscious of his messy appearance. He shifted uncomfortably. "Err, sorry..."

Dumbledore waved a hand briskly, shaking his head. "No matter, my boy, no matter. If you could just tell me what happened, Harry..."

The black haired teen nodded once, lowering his eyes. "I was out by the lake, Professor. I know it was past curfew, but..." He trailed off with a shrug. Neither adult was going to reprimand him, knowing exactly why the boy had started wondering off on his own these days. "Anyway, I... I wanted to go see Remus. Just to talk. To be honest, I'd totally forgotten it was that time of the month. But when I got there..."

"Go on, Potter," Minerva urged.

"When I got there, his rooms were in a mess. The door was open, so I went inside. I saw... I saw the Wolfsbane potion spilt everywhere, and the door was ripped to pieces. I guess... I knew what had happened. Well – not really. I don't know why he didn't take his potion, Professor! It's not like Remus! Even since –"

"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him, his voice regaining its gentle tones for the moment. "We all know there must be some reasonable explanation for this accident. But if you could just tell me what you know."

"Sorry," he muttered. "Well, after I saw the room, I just started running. Professor McGonagall was the first person I found. I told her what had happened and she went to get you and Snape. But... when she'd gone, I heard them screaming. The... the Slytherins, I mean."

"So you went to help them?" Dumbledore inquired, looking at his student over the half-moon spectacles.

Harry gave a half shrug. "Well, yeah I guess. I couldn't just ignore it, y'know? I could hear them. So, when I got there, I saw Remus... He was about to attack Malfoy, who was just standing there like the big git he is–"

"Ahem!" Minerva coughed pointedly.

"Sorry," he muttered again, this time sounding much less apologetic. "Well anyway, I cast Petrificus Totalus. Remus kind of collapsed on top of Malfoy, who must have fainted or something. And... well, that was when you all arrived."