Never Let Go

The chair was the first thing to be thrown over, then there was the antique table that was sent hurling towards the ground, along with the books that it had held, and finally, there was an ottoman. It was a small thing, made of dark leather, but when it was kicked over, it was the one that made the most damage. It was sent flying towards the wall, where it left an imprint. By the time the ottoman made contact with the wall, her anger had subsided significantly, it hadn’t completely disappeared, but instead of making her want to break things, it only made her want to cry. And so, tears pricked at the corner of her stormy grey eyes, until finally breaking free and cascading down her cheeks.

“Emilia?” Dumbledore called to her, his voice soft and gentle, out of fear that talking to strongly would bring about another tantrum.

At the sound of his voice, her gaze slowly lifted, until it rested on his wrinkled face. His felt held a look of such genuine concern that she almost started crying again, but the worry in his brow kept her from doing so. The furrow of his brow strongly resembled that of her grandmother, and in that moment, that brow gave her the strength to speak, when all she wanted to do was cry.

“This is too much. Don’t you think this is too much?” she asked him. “I-I'm well, look at me. I'm not hero material. Heroes –”

“Never know their true worth.” Dumbledore interjected. “They’re modest. Think that they’re just one person, that there’s no way they could have any true impact.”

“But heroes are strong.”

“Not at first. No. I am afraid that most heroes, the ones that we read about in ancient texts and the ones whose stories we know so well from legends, had to work hard to become what they were always destined to be. There were some that aided them along the way. Perhaps they assisted in teaching them a particular skill, or they taught them how to survive in the wilderness, then again, there were a few whose sole purpose was to make that hero believe in themselves.”

“And you? You’ll help me believe?” she asked.

“Emilia, dear, I am quite certain that a part of you already does believe.” Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Have you never thought yourself destined for more? Have you never wondered why you’re more adept at Defense Against the Dark Arts than some of your classmates?”

“How do you know that?” she asked without thinking.

“Professor Snape has kept me informed of your progress. I must say I am quite impressed with your mastery of the subject, though I must say that there is still much work to be done. Well, not only in that subject, but in others. Now that you know the truth, we must prepare.”

“Wait.” Emilia wiped away the remnants of her fallen tears. “If things hadn’t happened, the way they happened. When would you I have found out about all this? Was I just gonna be left in the dark and wished luck?”

“No, of course not,” declared Dumbledore. “Just the other day, Severus and I were discussing what course of action we would take. We were going to call a meeting with your grandparents, to hear their input, to see if they would agree with informing you after the winter holidays.”

“You would have waited that long?”

“Didn’t think of it as waiting,” he commented. “Thought of it as giving you time to prove that you truly are the Golden Lion, and you have. You followed a known Death Eater into a room where you had never entered before. You did it to help Harry. You have begun to fulfill the – your prophecy. Now, that that is known, we must prepare.” Dumbledore stood up, and with a flick of his wand, his office was restored to its former glory. “Do sit.”

Emilia took a seat, next to her, Severus seated himself.

“Private lessons with Professor Snape must begin as soon as possible.” Dumbledore settled back into his chair. “Severus, what days do you think best?”

“For all the material that must be covered, it would be wise to have lessons Monday through Thursday.”

“Monday through Thursday?” her eyes went wide. “When am I supposed to study then? I can’t fall behind in classes or else Nan will kill me. And yes, I know how crazy that sounds, since Voldemort will probably want to kill me in the future to, but Nan’s terrifying.”

“I do not intend for the lessons to consume your every waking moment.” Severus snapped. “Lessons will be, on average, an hour to an hour and a half. Enough time to cover new material and revisit ones previously taught. That shall allow sufficient time for you to focus and studies, and for I to tend to my duties as a professor.”

“The materials covered shall range from Defense Against the Dark Arts to Transfiguration to Potions. Although these subjects are ones that you are familiar with, the actual material shall be far different from what you have yet come across. You will be taught, not what is dictated to be appropriate for your age, but what you will need to know to survive against Death Eaters, to not only walk away from a duel, but to leave that duel victorious. Also, there will be a few obscure branches of magic that you shall immerse yourself in.”

“Like which ones?” she asked, her natural curiosity taking over.

With a bow of his head, Dumbledore asked Severus to answer the question, which the latter gladly did.

“Occlumency and Legilimency,” answered Severus. “The former is the magical defense of the mind, the manner in which we keep external forces from penetrating that most valued source. The latter is the manner in which one magical penetrates the mind of another.”

“Like mind-reading?” she asked.

“No! Not like mind-reading.” Severus stared at her in contempt. It was the same bloody question that Harry had asked him. “The mind can not simply be read. One must navigate through the many layers, one must master the art of seeking out information, for the mind is not simply there at the ready, to be read like some book.”

“Alright, alright, calm down.” Paulina muttered. “I was just asking a question.”

Severus’ glare softened when he saw her glaring back at him. In that moment her gaze strongly reminded him of her late father. Severus never had issues with Dominic. He was the only Gryffindor, other than Lily, that he could stand. He was the only Gryffindor that kept contact with him, even after Lily had severed times with Severus. Dominic had been, despite his friends, a decent man. No. Severus would go a step further. Dominic had been a good man and that glare that Emilia was shooting him was the very glare that Dominic had shot his friends whenever they teased Severus in his presence. Of course, Dominic’s glares had always been accompanied by expletives, and his friends would always moan about how Dominic had a soft spot for greasy gits, but regardless of that, Dominic always said something. It was a Renner family trait. They were always fighting for the underdogs, which was why so many had perished during the first war.

“In the future, I would advise you to wait until I have finished speaking to make any inquiries.” Severus declared, wanting to seem strict despite the softening in his expression. “Aside from Occlumency and Legilimency, we shall also venture into other magic. Though, those shall be introduced when the time comes.”

“I have a question.” Emilia leant forwards in her chair. “When do, uh, when do the lessons start?”

Severus looked over to Dumbledore. They hadn’t spoken of when lessons would commence and as such, he believed it only right that the older wizard make that decision for them.

“The following Monday.” Dumbledore answered. “I believe it best to allow a brief period for you to come to terms with all the information that has been revealed. I can only imagine what thoughts must be coursing through your mind. As such, you will have time, time to cope, time to breathe, time, to relax.”

That sounded like a good idea. She needed time to wrap her mind around the fact that she was a Golden Lion, time to come to terms with the fact that it was she who would help – no, not help, ensure, she would ensure Harry’s victory and she just needed time to process that. But a part of her didn’t think that wasting a week was in her best interest, because she no longer knew how much time she had. Before, she’d always thought that there’d be a new day, even with the world the way it was, she believed that she would live to see another day, that she would live to be a very old lady with wrinkles all across her face, but now, as she sat there, with their eyes burning into her being, she wasn’t so sure of it. She wasn’t sure if she was going to live to see another day, another week, another month, another year, or even a few more hours. Everything had changed. Her understanding of life, of time, was no longer what it had once been.

And so, she thought it best to begin training as soon as she could. She needed to learn everything that Severus was going to teach her, she needed to master it, and although she was quite a talented witch, she knew that she was going to have trouble with the spells, that more than one potion would be ruined during the process. As the golden lion, she had to immerse herself in her studies, because at the moment, if she were to cross paths with Voldemort, he would kill her. He wouldn’t have any trouble finishing her off. She wasn’t sure if in the future she would have to do battle with him in order to give Harry more time or face Death Eaters, but she knew that she wasn’t ready, she knew that she had to be ready. Her mother’s death would not be in vain, nor would the deaths of her relatives. If she was going to be the golden lion, then she would be the absolute best lion that she could possibly be.

“Tuesday . . . can we start Tuesday?” she asked.

“Emilia, there is no need to rush.” Dumbledore reassured, despite the fact that there was indeed a need to rush. “I speak in earnest when I say that a week may be taken.”

“But it can’t.” She protested. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in a week. Things aren’t what I imagined they’d be, and if I'm going to be the golden lion, if I'm gonna help Harry then I have to start these lessons, because as it is, Voldemort wouldn’t have any trouble with killing me. Not to put myself down or anything, but I wouldn’t last against him, I know that. I want to change that. So could we please just start on Tuesday? I’d say Monday, but I, uh, I need time to freak out and ruin some more furniture.”

“Tuesday it is.” Severus spoke, not bothering to look over at Dumbledore. “Be at my office at seven.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she smiled in gratitude. “I should probably get going. Have some stuff I have to do. And I, uh, have to figure out what to do about Draco, and come up with lies to tell Harry. Ugh. I doubt he’s gonna keep letting me borrow his cloak if I'm not giving him any actually info.”

“His cloak will be unnecessary. I shall teach you a Disillusionment Charm. It accomplishes the same task as that cloak.” Severus stood from his seat. “Headmaster, I shall escort Miss Renner to the dungeons. Keep her from getting into trouble with prefects or Filch. Goodnight, Headmaster.”

“Goodnight Severus, Emilia.” Dumbledore smiled kindly at them and saw them out.

From his place at the top of the stairs, he watched as the pair walked on in silence. Had Emilia’s mind been more at ease, she would’ve asked Severus countless questions, asked him about the material that was to be learned, about what else he’d heard from Voldemort, pertaining to herself. But her mind was a wild mess, her thoughts were jumbled together and she was much too focused on figuring out what she was thinking, to introduce any new information to it. Severus, for his part, saw conversation as unnecessary, soon enough they would be spending hours together, she would surely be talking and asking questions, so for now, the silence was gladly welcomed.

Severus saw her to the entryway of Slytherin common room. He uttered the password to the wall and waited until the wall gave way to the passage that lead to the common room. A brief look was exchanged between the pair and he then walked away, leaving Emilia to walk on in to the room that was filled with greenish light. With it having been so late, she expected the common room to be empty, perhaps a student might have fallen asleep on the couch, but in all honesty, she didn’t expect anyone to be awake, but when she walked in, she spotted Draco sitting on a leather armchair, which was situated in front of the roaring fire. Her breathing hitched, she didn’t know whether to acknowledge his presence or to run towards the dorms. Her mind was made up for her, when he glanced her way, his tired face appearing more ragged by the light of the flames.

“You’ve been crying.”

“I haven’t.” Emilia quickly said.

“That wasn’t a question.” Draco declared, returning his gaze to the fire. “It’d take a fool to not notice.”

“Was hoping you were a fool,” she drew closer to come.

“Clearly, I'm not.” He let out a deep breath. “It gets easier, you know, being hated. Soon enough it won’t even bother you.”

Her heart clenched at his words. He thought she was crying because she was hated. He was trying to comfort her, not in an overly comforting way, but he was offering her reassurance. She had half a mind to run over to him, to throw her arms around his neck and just cry, but she controlled herself. She sniffled lightly and stepped even closer, only stopping when she was directly beside him.

“I'm not used to being hated.” Emilia confessed.

Draco let out a mirthless laugh. “I’ve been hated my entire life.”

“That’s not true.”

He raised his brow at her, questioningly.

“I don’t hate you.”

And in that moment, she wasn’t acting. She wasn’t trying to get closer to him. She genuinely didn’t hate him. After hearing his fears and seeing his sobbing wildly, she couldn’t hate him. She pitied him. She pitied him more than she had ever pitied anyone in her life. He didn’t want the life that was set out before him. At one point, he had. It had been all he’d ever dreamt about, but now that he was living it, now that he was in the thick of it, he’d realized that he’d been wrong all along. And she pitied him because despite his cold appearance, he was just a scared boy.

“You must be the only one then.” He said, not even bothering to look back.

Hesitantly, she placed her hand atop his, causing him to tear his gaze from the fire and direct it towards hers. His stormy grey eyes mirrored her own. He was terrified, he was angry with his lot, he was confused, and most of all, he felt inadequate. She felt all those things. She felt his pain. And for a moment they just stood there, not speaking, not moving . . . only staring; only seeing that there was one other person out there that was as lost as them.