Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Les Misérables belongs to Boublil and Schoenberg, et al. I've merely borrowed them to hear Sev sing. ;)

A/N: This was originally written for Wave VII of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http: in answer to the "No Man Is an Island" Challenge. Many thanks to my lovely beta, Ziasudra.

It had been exactly six months since the calamitous Battle of Hogwarts, six months since Death Eaters stormed the Great Hall during the start-of-term feast and Harry Potter sent their leader to hell with a flash of green. The battle was won, but the cost of victory was high, and the school had yet to recover.

In some ways, Harry was grateful for the apathy shown by the other students. In the deepest, most selfish region of his heart, he was relieved that all those involved had their own pain to concentrate on rather than focusing their attentions on the Boy-Who-Killed. He entered the Great Hall that evening to the quiet murmur of sound that had replaced the cacophony of the previous school year, slowly sliding into his place at the Gryffindor table. He glanced across at Hermione, her thick hair shielding her from his gaze. He sighed, then spoke. "I heard someone mentioning something about an announcement tonight...?"

Hermione swallowed, daintily wiped her mouth with her serviette, and replied. "Professor Dumbledore has an announcement to make after dinner regarding a project for the older students." Her gaze remained locked on her food, although she seemed to have no interest in actually eating anymore.

Harry felt his appetite vanish as he watched his former friend ignore him. Grabbing a roll so he could have something to hold, he said softly, "Thanks, Hermione."

She gave no sign that she had heard him, and Harry clenched his hands, the crisp bread turning to grey putty in his fist. A scream was threatening to escape his throat as hurt and anger quickly filled him more than food ever did, anymore.

There were still some who looked to him, the Boy-Who-Lived, to fix everything. He had never expected that from Hermione, and perhaps that was his first mistake. After everything she had read about him, everything she had endured on his behalf, he should have known. She blamed him, just as Ron had.

She blamed him for Ron, blamed him for overshadowing the poor boy until he ran from Hogwarts—from them—to Voldemort. She blamed him for his best friend's death, blamed Harry for standing there begging Ron, pleading with him to come back, to not do this, even as Ron hit him with round after round of Cruciatus. She blamed him for the Killing Curse that had erupted from Severus Snape's wand, hitting that tall, gangly back just instants before Ron's poison-tipped blade would have reached his own throat.

He blamed himself, too.

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As students scraped the remains of their pudding from their plates (and Harry finally relinquished the mushy remains of his roll), Dumbledore rose and waited patiently for their full attention. Silence swept across the Great Hall as he began to speak.

"My friends, I realize these past six months have been very difficult for us all. Before we continue, let us observe a moment of silence in honor of those we have lost." Students and teachers bent their heads in respectful silence, and several sniffles echoed through the hall.

Harry stared vacantly at the bowed heads; he could not think of those lost, not now, not without losing himself. His gaze was caught by the one other person who held his head high, and his eyes locked with those of Professor Severus Snape.

The two men studied each other intently. Harry was shocked by the weariness he saw within the Potions Master's gaze—there was a flicker of something he could not define. The Professor arched an eyebrow, asking something Harry could not answer, however much he might have wished he could. He breathed a sigh of relief when Dumbledore resumed his speech.

"Although we still feel sorrow, the time has come for us to move on. Our friends and family gave themselves so that we could live freely, and we must honor that sacrifice. In that vein, I am pleased to announce the beginning of a new undertaking, a project that I hope will bring comfort and closure for all of us. We will be using music to tell a story of times past, a story very similar to our own. At the end of the school year, Hogwarts will present the musical Les Misérables right here in this very hall."

Harry glanced up, intrigued. His Aunt Petunia loved musicals, and she often played recordings of them while cleaning. In the last few summers, he had often snuck downstairs when the others were out and listened to them, humming along. He especially liked Les Misérables.

Dumbledore's eyes began to glow with the mischievous glint that Harry had not realized he missed, as he continued. "For those of you unfamiliar with the musical..." He took a deep breath and began to sing in a surprisingly pleasant baritone. "In case you are simply a confused and worried child, let me explain the plot of the show to you so you can understand the way it's styled." He took a deep breath. "Jean ValjeanisaconvictwhoisbeingchasedbythepolicemanJavert,whodoesn'tknowthatheisnowamayorandhasadoptedCosettethedaughterofFantinewhodiesinActOne. And that's why Jean Valjean must run!"

He gave an expectant smile, and there was a long pause until Professor Flitwick gamely commented, "Ah, yes."

Dumbledore nodded. "ThenhebecomesinvolvedinaFrenchrevolution, butnotthebigfamousone,alittlelateroneyouthoughtdidn'tyoudidn'tknowanythingabout, where Jean Valjean watches everyone get caught, except for...?"

There was another silence, so long that Harry was considering answering when Professor Snape dryly offered, "Marius."

Dumbledore beamed. "Yes! Marius! WholovesCosetteinsteadofEponine, whojoinstherevolutionariesandrunsupthebarricade where she gets...?"

Hagrid was eager to join in. "Pregnant?"

Dumbledore had to cough before shaking his head. "...shot! AftershesingsalongballademuchlikeJeanValjeanwhodiespeacefullyknowinghehasdrivenJaverttojumpoffabridgeandsignificantlychangedFrancebybeinganall-aroundniceguy, and suddenly our story's done!" He smiled benignly at the stunned students. "How did you like that?"

Harry couldn't contain a snort of laughter, and Dumbledore gave him a wink while Snape sneered. Dumbledore continued, "Since time is short, I took the liberty of feeding everyone's name into the Sorting Hat, along with the possible roles." He pulled the battered hat from a pocket of his robe and laid it carefully on the table. "It has kindly agreed to supply us with the individuals best suited for each part. Keep in mind, we have potions to provide age or youth and can even help strengthen a singing voice, so there's no need to be concerned. For those of you who are not in the cast, there will be a variety of committees that will need your assistance." He opened his mouth to continue, only to close it again when the Sorting Hat rather impatiently cleared its throat. "Ah, I see that the hat is ready, so if I may have your attention..."

Everyone stared at the Hat, which fluffed itself importantly before the tear at the brim opened and it shouted, "The Director will be Professor Rolanda Hooch!"

Everyone applauded, as Professor Hooch gave what could only be described as an evil grin. Harry quickly lost interest, tuning out as the Sorting Hat announced name after name for every character in the musical, including some so minor he had never heard of before. He vaguely heard Professor Lupin given the role of Marius, and even he had to smile at the look on the Professor's face when the role of his lover, Cosette, was given to Professor Trelawney. He amused himself with casting the show in his head, trying to guess the hat's choices. It hurt to hear Hermione receive the role of Eponine Thenardier when he simply couldn't congratulate her. He was unsurprised to hear Ernie Macmillan cast as the Bishop of Digne, but downright shocked to learn that Professor McGonagall was best suited for the role of Fantine. Professor Dumbledore, of course, was the revolutionary leader Enjolras, although it was difficult to guess whether he was more excited by the role or by the opportunity to de-age himself back into his twenties. The two main male roles were a mystery to Harry, though; whom would the Sorting Hat choose to play the hunted, haunted Jean Valjean and his antagonist Inspector Javert, the dedicated policeman blinded by the law?

As if it heard his wonderings (and perhaps it did), the hat announced, "The role of Inspector Javert will be played by Professor Severus Snape!" The smattering of applause died quickly as said Professor turned a deadly glare on those clapping. Harry shrugged; speaking as the favorite prey of the Potions master, he felt supremely sympathetic towards the unfortunate soul who would be playing—

"Jean Valjean will be played by Harry Potter!"

Ah. Well, that was inevitable.

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"Albus, I don't care whose hare-brained scheme this is, I refuse to sacrifice my precious free time to perform in Hogwarts's therapy program for the tin-eared!" Severus exploded as he angrily paced the office, unsure what part of this farce upset him the most. Was it the humiliation, or the knowledge that he would have to work closely with... him? Glancing up to meet Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze, he thrust the question from his mind, realizing the stupidity of attempting soul-searching of any sort in the Headmaster's presence.

"Severus," Albus said placidly, "This project is not solely for the students' sakes." He peered over his glasses, meeting his friend's eyes. "We all need to heal." Seeing the other man about to protest, he added, "Perhaps this will allow friendships to mend."

Severus gaped. "What do you mean by—"

"Your personal progress with Mr. Potter during the war was amazing, Severus," Albus interrupted, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together across his lap. "Don't think I didn't notice all the extra meetings, meetings that had little to do with tutoring and everything to do with friendship. Then the war ended, and you both promptly ceased all communication—you don't even meet the boy's eyes anymore!"

Severus narrowed his eyes, his gaze a thin ebony beam. "There was little to say, sir," he muttered. "Potter obviously had no desire to talk to me once the urgency had faded."

If Albus had been a little younger, Severus had the feeling that the Headmaster would have rolled his eyes. "Or perhaps he left you alone because he believed you had no desire to see him." He held up a gnarled hand, forestalling the coming rebuttal. "Severus—just think about it," he said gently. "These rehearsals are for you, too."

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"I can't believe you get to be the giant hero-slash-studly-man while I am stuck playing a prepubescent boy obsessed with dogs."

Draco's complaints had long since lost any entertainment value. Harry sighed, curling further into his perch on the windowsill. "Valjean is really, really not a stud, Dray," he pointed out for what felt like the seventieth time. "He's an old, dying man by the end of the musical, and a convict at the beginning."

"Yeah, a convict! And who knows better than me what it's like to switch sides?" Draco grinned good-naturedly. "Face it, Potter, the Sorting Hat is obviously deranged."

"I knew that within a half-hour of my first arrival at Hogwarts," Harry muttered. Attempting a light-hearted smile, he commented, "You know you will be adorable as Gavroche. Girls will coo over you and give you hugs."

Draco's silver eyes glittered smugly. "Well, the Malfoy family is known for its angelic good-looks." Suddenly realizing what he had said, the blonde grimaced. When your parents die immediately after telling you of their plans to disown you, do you uphold your place as the last of your clan, or let the Malfoy name die with them?

Harry slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, offering wordless comfort that Draco soaked up like water in the desert. For all their jokes, both teens knew they'd be lost without each other.

When Lucius Malfoy had beaten his son within an inch of death for refusing Voldemort's Mark, he had come to Harry for help. When Ron left and most of Gryffindor blamed their star Seeker, it had been Draco that kept him sane. They had trained together, Draco teaching Harry everything his father had drilled into his head. When Harry had fainted after killing Voldemort, Draco had caught him and protected his unconscious form from desperate, vengeful Death Eaters. Over the past year, they had come to know each other better than themselves, had seen each other broken and helped piece each other together again. They were brothers in arms, bonded by blood in the truest sense of the word.

Draco forced a smile, ignoring his previous comment. "I suppose it would be downright tragic to age this face," he declared, nudging Harry. Slightly more serious, he asked, "Do you want to practice for tonight?"

"We're in a library," Harry protested, avoiding the question. Tonight, their first read-through. Although he knew the play, he couldn't stop the butterflies in his stomach that took flight whenever he thought of all those people, listening to him. He shook his head slightly. "I know it as well as I will, I think."

Draco studied him carefully. "You'll be fine. At least this will give you a chance to talk to—"

"Don't even start, Draco," Harry snapped. "He's made his opinion of me clear. At least his role will require very little acting; instead of 'Harry Potter... our new celebrity,' he can just insert '24601' and have the perfect attitude."

The blond snorted. "Well, you two fit your parts perfectly, that's for sure," he choked out through his laughter. "Although Valjean shows a bit more remorse for his rule-breaking."

"Law-breaking, Draco; it's a little different from breaking curfew," Harry corrected. "Now shut up or I'm going to convince Director Hooch that you should be a child for the next two months, to get in character." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's time to go, little man," he jibed, gathering his things.

Draco rolled his eyes and nodded, shoving his books haphazardly into his bag. "Let's make sure to get seats together," he suggested.

That earned Draco his first genuine smile from his dark-haired friend. "Thank you," Harry murmured.

With a shrug, Draco pushed him towards the door. "Someone has to look out for you, old man," he commented.

A/N: The lyrics Dumbledore sings at the beginning of the fic are from the "Forbidden Broadway" satire of the musical and are speed-sung to the tune of the verses of "Red and Black." That sneaky old goat knows everything! The responses of the other characters are also from the show, although they've spontaneously come up with them here. I transcribed these by ear, so all may not be exactly right. The rest of the lyrics are, obviously, from the actual musical. Piton

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