During November 2011, I was working on my NaNo novel and saw Deathly Hallows Part II. I was no longer thinking about my NaNo novel, and 53,000 words (which exceeds the 50k needed in November) just showed up in the midst of my story that was HP fan fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Severus Snape, DH survival, magical mpreg (not done through physical means/sex)
Obviously I needed to refer to Deathly Hallows for plot to start this tale. Chapter 32, The Elder Wand and Chapter 33, The Prince's Tale was used for the scene in the Shrieking Shack. So you'll recognize JKR's in here.
Most Loyal
Chapter 1
"Look … at ... me."
There was a blinding flash of light and a burst of song. The three of them blinked the afterimage away, and saw a phoenix sitting upon Snape's chest, its head bent low over the wounds on Snape's neck.
"Fawkes?" Harry asked. It looked remarkably like Prof. Dumbledore's familiar, but he disappeared after the funeral last year, when Dumbledore's body was entombed.
Snape muttered, "Supposed to stay hidden, you dunderheaded bird," as he revived, not knowing whether to be pleased or not. He was supposed to die. Probably painfully, and if his killers were not pressed for time, humiliatingly. This dunderheaded, misguided nuisance of a bird disobeyed his strictest order to now be the only thing that cared that Severus Snape lived, besides those that schemed his painful humiliation.
"But that's Fawkes," Ron stated.
"No shit," replied an improving Snape, annoyed by the inane comment. How many other phoenixes did they see at Hogwarts?
"But how?" Hermione queried, verbalizing the question the two boys could not.
"Yet another serious miscalculation on Dumbledore's part. Fawkes is now my familiar since he considered me to be the most loyal to his old master," Snape replied, pulling himself into a sitting position.
"You?" Harry practically spat.
"Yes, I know. Not very reassuring."
"Why you?" Harry could not believe it.
"You have my memories. There's a pensieve still in the headmaster's office. Fawkes can take us there quickly. We can also question the old fool's portrait since what he told me was not heartening."
"What did he tell you?"
Snape shrugged and said, "I'd rather you heard it from him. You do realize I thought I was dying, so not all of those memories are still relevant to the current situation, but you can still look at them all, Potter."
"That's mighty big of you," Harry answered.
Ignoring the boy's rudeness, Snape inquired, "Are we using the phoenix to get into the castle? I'm now wanted dead by both sides so I will not be able to escort you by foot."
Now that Snape was undoubtedly healed, Harry did not mind the sound of everyone wanting him dead. However, Snape had information, and he wondered how he tricked Fawkes into becoming loyal to him.
Suddenly a high, cold voice could be heard echoing off the walls and floor, "You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.
"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.
"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.
"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.
"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
"Don't listen to him," urged Ron.
"We should go back to the castle. There's one hour to prepare," Snape suggested.
"It'll be all right. Let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest we'll need to think of a new plan -" insisted Hermione.
"Fawkes," Snape called.
Harry grabbed his invisibility cloak. He may not trust Snape, but Fawkes would not hurt them. The idea of getting more information from Dumbledore's portrait was enticing. He was not sure what was in Snape's memories. If he believed he was dying, Snape would aid or hinder him? Was he so skilled at occlumency that he could tamper with his memories, like Slughorn had, in such a short amount of time? For all Harry knew, it could be the memory of every insult Snape had inflicted upon him since they met.
Once all four of them had a hand on Fawkes, there was a flash. It was unlike apparition. Harry's body felt like it was made of light, rather than squeezed through a tube.
He frowned; this was not the headmaster's office. They were in a circular bedroom with a large bed, and not much else besides an ornate ceiling exhibiting the stars above. There was nothing lit within the room, but a wide bank of windows were behind the low bed. Harry pointed his wand at Snape and asked, "Where are we?"
"My bedroom is above the office," Snape replied, taking out his own wand and walking to the door. "Homenum revelio. It's empty."
Snape descended first, and muttered, "Perhaps he'll return by the time you are done."
Dumbledore's frame was directly behind the headmaster's chair and was currently empty, along with all the others.
"The pensieve's where you remember it, and I've warded the door so no one can enter. I am going to change so I don't smell like werewolf bait."
"Change?" Ron asked in disbelief. Either Snape was helping them and should stay and help them, or he was up to something. Personally, he felt Snape was up to something.
"Go with him, Ron," Hermione instructed.
"What?"
"You're a boy, or I'd go."
Ron made a face and said, "Uh ..." Watching Snape undress?
"Fine," was all Snape said as he went back up the spiraling metal staircase.
"Harry, the memories. We need as much information as we can get," urged Hermione.
Harry hesitated. What if this was a trick? But there was Fawkes, and Snape was too close to death earlier for him to have planned it, wasn't he? Voldemort did want Snape dead. Harry felt that very clearly. That was the only certain thing at this point.
Ron followed Snape up the stairs. He better not turn on a light, or strut around in the buff letting his … his thing flap around. Years of Charlie, then Seamus, had not made Ron concede total nudity was a necessity. He did not live in a quidditch locker room. It might be all right for girls because they obviously had constrictive undergarments, and needed to let their skin breathe as part of a proper beauty regimen. He really should not be thinking of girls while spending time with Snape. This was sick, and he was going to tell Hermione about how dumb this was as soon as they were out of mortal peril. What if he was permanently blinded? He'd never play keeper again.
Snape moved across the room in the near darkness and opened the closet. Since he had no variety among his clothing, it was simple to pick out what he needed. Weasley had followed him across the room. What did the red-headed pillock want to see? There was no secret drawer of pink undergarments, or whatever else the moronic Gryffindors thought up about him.
"Are you going to follow me into the loo too?"
"Uh ..."
"I can leave my wand here. However, it's unlikely to appreciate you touching it."
Ron's lip curled. Percy's gittish wand was the same way, but Ron figured Snape's would be more painful. Harry and Hermione were counting on him, and Snape was not someone to trust. "Perhaps I could take a look?"
Snape rolled his eyes and flicked on the lavatory light, blinding Ron as the white light hit the shiny white tiles. Weasley made it so easy for others to tease him about his poor family. This was the appropriate time for a taunt about him being gobsmacked by the sight of indoor plumbing. Unlike Dumbledore, Snape's water closet had no rubber ducks, little boats, an odd fountain of a little boy taking a piss, a large magazine rack full of Quiddlers, Witch Weekly, or knitting periodicals next to the throne-like, padded and heated commode, an entire bank of taps on both the sink and tub, a bubbling device in the corner to give the room even more ambiance, or piped in chamber music.
Ron didn't know what he expected, but white on white, instead of cobwebs, chains and gargoyle-headed taps would be more like it. The only thing Snape-ish was a low long table with a couple cauldrons simmering.
"Acceptable?"
"Yeah," Ron said, still blinking away some remaining spots from his eyes. Git could have warned him.
"Is it allowable to close the door over, or do you want to watch?"
Horrified by the very thought, Ron snapped, "Just make it quick." To punctuate his reluctance to see anything, he turned with confidence to ensure that Snape's wand was still where he put it down on the bed. Good. Or was it? Was that really his wand, or a fake? Was he really still in the bathroom? Ron suddenly thought, fearful of being tricked, turning in place towards the door. The crack was dark because Snape turned the light back off, but water was running. Then the sound of water stopped, and there was some noise … what was it? It was soft. Ron tilted his head in frustration outside the door trying to place it. Harry and Hermione were counting on him. What if Snape was not even in there anymore, but downstairs finishing them off with his real wand, or a spare? Slicing off George's ear was the least of what that bastard was capable of.
Ron took a deep breath, steeled himself and shouldered the door open while turning the light back on. Snape was standing in the middle of the room, with his hands on the buttons of a white dress shirt that he was buttoning from the bottom to the top when he was interrupted.
Letting out the breath that he had been holding, Ron was relieved. Snape had trousers on, and even had on an undershirt. That was close. His hair was wet and his feet were bare, but the undoubtedly foul appendages were safely over there, rather than anywhere close to Ron's nose or eyes. Clothes and towels were on the floor, and the discarded white shirt and undershirt had a lot of red visible. Maybe Snape was right about attracting werewolves. However, that was no reason to believe a single thing he said. Sneaky lying Slytherin bastard could be playing some sick game of his own. Ron doubted he was on Voldemort's side at the moment. That almost death looked pretty convincing, and He Who Must Not Be Named would kill Snape if given another chance.
Severus barely paused to quirk an eyebrow at Weasley before resuming buttoning his shirt. After he tucked it in flat, he closed the front of his trousers and pulled the braces over his shoulders.
"If you'd like to raid my potions cabinet, go ahead, Weasley," he suggested, pointing at the large medicine cabinet. "Rather than standing around like a gormless pillock."
"Uh … could you please open it?" Ron requested. He wasn't going to fall for some booby trap or have something leap out at him. Even without a wand, Snape was still dangerous. After this whole thing was over, he'd be lucky if he only ended up in Azkaban.
"Surely. Are any of you injured?" he asked as he opened the doors.
"Maybe something for tiredness. We've had a long day … hey, you've got felix felicis."
"You are in luck. There are three. One for each of you."
"What about you?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"I've already given Potter the information I possess. This potion would be more useful than my physical assistance. Although I duel quite well, both sides want me dead so your own allies would slow you down with questions at the very least."
"You got Polyjuice too."
"I have a limited number of hair samples, besides the three of you. A second Potter seen obviously running for his own safety might be a good distraction for Potter to get to where he needs with fewer guards in the way, if they are chasing me."
"But our side won't know, and get distracted too."
"I agree."
"Whose hair do you have?"
"Unfortunately those willing to give me hair are mostly dead now. Though a brave Fletcher dueling instead of running could shock any opponent long enough for an advantage."
"Maybe. Do you have any of Dumbledore's hair?"
"Yes, but I have never impersonated him."
"I think that would be more shocking than Mundungus sticking around."
"Quite."
"Let me get ours together, and you can bring the polyjuice and whatever hair you have."
"I also have access to the headmaster's wardrobe. It's still here."
"Crikey. Fawkes and those robes. No one would give Harry a second glance."
"I'm not in agreement on this particular plan. Just offering the clothes. Perhaps Potter could become Dumbledore, and I transform into Potter? The Dark Lord knows his dueling style too well." Severus also knew that Dumbledore meant for Potter to die. That's why he wanted Potter to talk to the bloody portrait because he did not have the details of why it would be a necessity.