Chapter One Dumbledore's Portrait
The wind blew down the street churning up papers and leaves and other debris. It swirled with a life of its own, sometimes gently and sometimes with gusts that spun up into tornadic spirals that came and went quickly. Harry walked the dark, grungy street with his wand in his hand, hidden under his robe.
The street was deserted or at least appeared to be deserted. Residents of Knockturn Alley were not making an appearance although there were surreptitious movements from dusty, dark windows, not all of them spiders spinning their webs. The Daily Prophet had been unclear about the details surrounding Dumbledore's death but the news of his death had spread quickly. No one wanted a finger pointed in their direction; from anyone including the Ministry of Magic. No one wanted to see the insides of Azkaban. It was generally known that Harry Potter had been present and unlike previous incidents, the Prophet had no news about him. He wanted to keep it that way.
Harry knew who the monster was that he stalked even if the Daily Prophet would not print his name..
He left his "family" without a backward glance. He didn't care about the Dursleys; his heart was a block of wood in his chest when it came to them. They hadn't treated him any better this time then all of the other homecomings.
In fact, Dumbledore had told them at the beginning of last term that Harry was rich and now Harry often caught his Uncle glancing at him, greediness lighting up his eyes. Harry knew it was only a short time before he would approach him about his inheritance.
To avoid this Harry spent the required time in his room on the second floor of his aunt and uncle's house and packed his few belongings into small cases and labeled each. Some would go to one place and some to another. He was preparing for battle and he wasn't sure that the things he placed into boxes would ever be unwrapped again.
The last thing that he packed was his Hogwarts trunk. He stared at the contents before shutting the lid. He let his eyes wander over each item. They brought back memories; some cruel and some pleasant. There were the mismatched socks that Dobby had given him for Christmas, a daily planner from Hermione that he had never used and other miscellaneous gifts and items. He gloomily stared at them and then shut the lid. The tag on the outside of the trunk was addressed to Godric's Hollow; the address was his parents old home, a place he had never seen. He hoped it would end up at their old home but thought it would more than likely find a dusty corner at some post office, a repository for owl droppings.
Then after all of his preparations, he stepped out the front door, his broom in his hand and his wand in his pocket and he left. He let the planets and stars guide him and was pleased with himself. He felt he had at least learned something during his term at Hogwarts.
He was sure that he remained protected by the charm Dumbledore had placed on the Dursleys household- the one that was about to expire-and he could have stayed. He also knew that the minute he stepped out the door, someone was following him, perhaps several witches or wizards. That was alright with him. He wanted them to. He'd spent almost three months making his plans and he wanted them to unravel slowly.
This time he didn't stick out his wand hand and call for the Knight bus, nor did he ride his broom, use the floo network or ride a hippogriff. This time he walked. He knew that there was one area in which he was a semi-expert and that was being a muggle. He wanted to use it to his advantage. He moved quickly and with determination.
It took him most of the night to find his way to the Leaky Cauldron, make his way through the entrance into Diagon Alley, and then step into Knockturn Alley. Harry had not used magic, but along the way he had donned wizard's clothes and was now hooded; his face concealed. He'd taken many twists and turns in hopes of shaking the people that tailed him. When he stepped into the dark street hours later he was reasonably sure that he was alone.
Harry was not new to Knockturn Alley having been there once by accident and once with Ron and Hermione when they followed Draco. This time he intended to be much more discreet and hoped that his 'tail', the wizards or witches that followed him which was more than likely Tonks or someone from the Order, had lost him. He knew without question that Remus Lupin had taken over Dumbledore's place in the Order of the Phoenix and that it was he that was having him watched. Harry appreciated the gesture. He knew that his parent's old friend cared about him and wanted to protect him. But Harry also knew Remus would not understand what he needed to do, and if he did, he wouldn't allow it.
First, there were the Horcruxes. Harry had made up his mind that no one knew of them except himself, Ron and Hermione and Albus Dumbledore and perhaps the person who left the note, signed only with initials, that was left in the locket. And, he was probably long dead.
He needed to hunt the objects down that held the remaining Horcruxes and find a means to destroy them. He felt sure that Ron and Hermione would not tell anyone about them and they could back him up if it came down to it. Or if he died before destroying them all, he knew that they could pass the information on and it could become another person's quest.
He also wanted something else, something he had not been able to retrieve from Hogwarts before he left. What with dealing with Dumbledore's funeral, cutting himself off from Ginny and saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione-only he knew that it was for the last time- he had completely forgotten it. It was the Half-Blood Prince's potions book. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to call it Snape's book. He had found the Sectumsempra charm in it and wanted to see if there were other spells, enchantments and charms in the book that would prove useful. After all Snape had been involved in the Dark Arts even back then when he was a student. He had jotted his ideas and thoughts in the margins of the book and not one of the directions had failed Harry in his potions class. Harry thought that the book might be invaluable.
Along with that Harry knew that if he couldn't get the book then he needed to track Horace Slughorn to ground. When Slughorn had found out that Snape was Dumbledore's murderer he had been shocked. Snape had been a student of his, as had Harry's mother. If anyone knew about charms, potions and spells it would be Slughorn. He knew about the Horcruxes didn't he? Harry thought. He had told Tom Riddle about them.
And then there was the sword, Godric Gryffindor's sword. If Dumbledore was right, it held a Horcrux. He wasn't sure how to tell the difference but he wanted to make sure it was safe.
He was on his way to Borgin and Burkes, hoping that the Vanishing cabinet Draco Malfoy used to allow Death Eaters into Hogwarts had not been destroyed. If it remained intact and the one at Hogwarts remained intact then he could journey there and fetch the book and the sword and return.
He knew how to Apparate and could have done so, arriving outside of Hogwarts boundaries and going through one of the hidden tunnels that connects the little village of Hogsmeade and the school, but he didn't want to risk detection by the Ministry. He didn't know if they could follow him or not and didn't want to chance it. He would save that for when he really needed it.
The third thing that had occupied his mind over the summer, of course, was Snape. Harry's mind usually shied away from the name or the thought of him. He'd put up with the man's abuse for years. Every time he allowed himself to think of him, he was flooded with painful, angry memories. These memories usually centered around the last ten minutes following Dumbledore's fall from the astronomy tower, Harry's chase through the castle and grounds, and his futile attempt to kill Snape. Then, finally there was the potion master's escape. Even as he walked down the dark foreboding street he felt his anger return. How he wanted to find the man!
However, no matter how much he hated him, Snape had given him something in the end that was priceless. It had taken getting a beating before it sank in that he must learn non-verbal spells. The spells he has cast at Snape were useless because the man knew ahead of time what he was doing.
Harry would not be caught again. He would practice until he could do a spell without thinking about it, until every breath he took was a spell. For this he had received permission from Professor McGonagall who had put in a requisition with the Ministry of Magic for Harry to practice spell-work during the summer. Her reasoning for this- the one he gave her in his letter to her- was so that he could protect himself. For who- if anyone- needed more protection?
The new Minister, Scrimgeour, agreed under several conditions all of which were spelled out in McGonagall's return letter. Harry could accept most of them, except for keeping the Ministry informed of his whereabouts at all times. This one Harry had ignored. Why should he bother when he spent every waking minute at the Dursleys. By now the Minister would know exactly where he spent his time away from school.
Still the time to practice allotted over the summer had been enough. In the privacy of his room he had practiced and practiced. Except for some of the louder spells and the more damaging ones he had not disturbed the Dursleys. It hardly bothered him anymore when his Uncle came puffing up the stairs to stand on the landing and bellow at him. He had the inheritance after all and the mans' anger was tempered by his greed. His threats rarely got beyond the shouting stage.
Harry's final mission was to kill Voldemort. This thought rarely entered his mind. He couldn't quite see himself doing that. He might have had a glimmer of hope if Dumbledore had survived. Harry could have relied on the headmaster to give him advice, reassurance, perhaps even a method. As it stood, Harry couldn't see himself even making the attempt. How can I kill Voldemort when I can't even kill Snape, he thought.
There were nights when he replayed Dumbledore's words in his mind when he couldn't sleep. He understood that his love of his parents and his desire for revenge was what had always fueled his actions. Lately, it was more about to rid himself of the being that seemed like an evil twin. He was tired of him; he was tired of it all. If he lived that was good, if he died- he died trying- and it would be the end of it.
He also now understood that many believed his 'connection' with the Dark Lord would be a siren of sorts, one that would inexorably draw him to the dark side where he would doom himself either by being killed or joining Voldemort. Scrimgeour had intimated such a thing and insisted that McGonagall supervise his summer practice sessions so that he could be reassured that Harry wasn't practicing the Dark Arts. She agreed and then promptly never showed up. Harry was grateful for that. He didn't quite know what he would have told his aunt and uncle if the witch had shown up on their doorstep to 'give him magical lessons'!
Harry knew that Dumbledore believed in him, believed that his 'goodness', his soul, remained pure. He wasn't sure how that could help him kill Voldemort, however he knew that he had destroyed the diary which held the Horcrux and it hadn't killed him or harmed him. On the other hand, Dumbledore had destroyed the ring and it had wrecked havoc on his hand and arm. So there was something to that.
He also hoped that the locket that had cost them so dearly and turned out to be fake might lead him to the real one. One which he hoped had also been destroyed. He still wanted the objects in his possession. It would be reassuring to have them all in one place and know that they no longer held pieces of Voldemort's soul. He would feel more secure in facing the Dark Lord then. Or at least that was what he told himself time and again throughout the summer.
Harry stood across from Borgin and Burkes and watched the street. There was some traffic in the early morning but not much. It seemed like the residents and shopkeepers on the street were more accustomed to opening their shops at later hours. He continued to wear the robe with his head covered even though the heat of the day was penetrating the gloomy niche where he stood and even the shaded corners of the street.
After an hour of standing in the shadows the traffic picked up and there were customers that began to enter the store. Harry was grateful for that. He waited until the coast was clear and substituted the wizard's robe for his invisibility cloak. He quickly crossed the street and waited until a man opened the door and then stepped in behind him, shadowing his footsteps.
The shop was as he remembered it. This time he was careful to step away from the dusty shelves and moved quickly through the curtain to the backroom. He was no longer curious about the shops contents. Among other things in the room behind the curtain, which included a private storehouse, there was a living area. It was clear that the shopkeeper actually lived on the premises. He had also kept some of the richer finds and objects to himself. Harry couldn't be sure that they weren't lethal and so touched nothing. After all, Draco had gotten the necklace that almost killed Katie Bell here in this shop.
He wandered back into the dim light of the back storeroom being careful to step along a narrow path through the dim light until he found bits of furniture. He knew the cabinet almost immediately because it sat apart from the rest and was clean and free from dust. Harry figured that the storekeeper would want to protect an object that belonged to the Dark Lord. It would not be for sale or mistaken by anyone for junk.
Harry listened as the wizard, probably Borgin, handled his customer. He didn't want the man unexpectedly stumbling in on him.. Meanwhile, he studied his surroundings, pulled the invisibility cloak off and tucked it into his satchel and then opened the door to the cabinet. It wasn't large enough to walk into or so small that he had to crawl. With a little consideration he ducked his head and entered.
He could hear Borgin speaking and then his voice faded and the inside of the cabinet became quiet and suffocating. Harry pressed his hand against the door and felt resistance. For a moment his heart sped up and he could feel sweat drip down his cheeks. And then, the door opened and he was once again in the Room of Requirement. It looked like a small avalanche of books had fallen in front of the cabinet door and was the cause of his temporary entrapment.
He hurriedly scooped them up and threw them away from the door and began to wind his way through the towering rubble until he found the path that looked most familiar. He studied the area, first looking at the bust with the wig and tiara before touching the cabinet it rested on. There didn't appear to be any changes although he had been in a hurry to hide the potions book and could have missed something.
Once again he stopped to listen, there was nothing but eerie silence. He retrieved the book slipped it into his pocket and then headed for the door. He thought the second object, the sword, might be harder to manage. Although it was still summer and the castle should be mostly empty, he knew that there were people on the grounds who lived at Hogwarts full time, Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris was one of them.
Harry stepped into the corridor and began walking slowly along the deserted hallways. He made his way to the staircase that climbed to Dumbledore's office and started up. The password to enter had not changed from the night he had left Professor Trelawney in the hallway and had gone to Dumbledore's office to confront him about Snape. Instead of doing that he had swallowed his rage and had gone with Dumbledore to the cave. And after that...well... there had been no thought of retrieving the sword. Now, Harry let the stairs carry him up to the anterior room of the office. He opened the large oak doors and walked in.
The first thing he noticed was Dumbledore's portrait. It startled him. There were still things in the magical world that could do that and this was one of them. He didn't understand the concept of the dead having a portrait that could come alive and interact with the living. Obviously, there was something about the portraits that was unlike the real person. This Harry had learned from the first day he stepped into the school. Pictures that hung around the castle were a lot like the ghosts that haunted the halls. There was no substance to them, only an echo of the living person. This Dumbledore in the painting could not help him and could not be a friend to him any longer. The very idea left Harry feeling the hollowness from the grief that remained alive inside of him. In fact, as he thought about it, the portrait of the sleeping headmaster broke into a snore abruptly shattering the silence of the room.
Harry then heard the rustling of other headmasters whose portraits lined the walls over his head. He glanced at them and then walked over to the wall where the sword hung. The light of day was just now entering the room from the high windows, casting a pale yellow light on the interior.
Harry lifted the sword from its hooks and studied it. He then looked up at one of the portraits. "Has he been awake at all?" he asked.
Phineas Nigellus Black, the great-great grandfather of Sirius Black, was sitting in his portrait smoking a pipe. "No, young man. He may stay that way for a very long time if he chooses. He's had a very hard life and he deserves a rest."
Harry stared at him. He knew what the headmaster thought of this Black. Harry had been subjected to his comments many times in the past. Phineas always thought he was presumptuous and arrogant and chastised Dumbledore for his leniency. However, this time there was a slight change in the expression in his face. The eyes were still calculating and severe, but he looked more relaxed, almost thoughtful.
Harry took a chance. "You and the others have been hanging on these walls for years, probably since Dumbledore became headmaster. You've overheard his conversations, even the one's we had about the Horcruxes."
Black nodded and puffed more quickly on his pipe.
"Professor Dumbledore trusted Severus Snape. Do you know why?" Harry asked. He was surprised at his own question. It was the first thing that popped into his mind.
"My dear boy! What is said in this room is confidential," Black barked. "I could hardly relate to you- a student- what took place between Dumbledore and a teacher."
Harry glared at the portrait. "Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore. I would think that you could set aside the confidentiality."
A voice spoke and the other portraits quieted immediately. This time it was a portrait behind him and over the door. There were empty spaces on each side of it and it was clear that the pictures had recently been removed. The remaining portrait in the middle was that of a woman. She was dressed in a long dress of burgundy velvet and a collar that spoke of a time many years past. Although she wore no makeup, she had a beautiful creamy complexion and luscious full lips. In her own day she would have been a beauty. "Phineas will never tell you," she said, her voice was hoarse and sounded dull; like an echo of a voice.
"Margaret! You've never spoken before!" Another portrait of a man had come to life and addressed her. Harry watched the two of them share glances. "Whatever has prompted you?" he asked breathlessly.
The woman called Margaret continued to look down on Harry. "Albus and I were to be married. I died soon after our engagement. I was poisoned by a very evil wizard. Albus remained faithful to me and never married." She glanced up and over to the portrait directly across from her. She smiled at Dumbledore and then looked back down at Harry.
"He never gave up. He hunted my murderer down and killed him. In my eyes he was a hero. He saved many lives but he could not save me and that is what haunted him."
Harry was surprised at the revelation. He knew next to nothing about Dumbledore's life and to hear this confession so soon after his death deepened his own sadness and grief. He wondered when he made his plans if walking into the dead man's office would be too hard, if it would feel like the moment of Dumbledore's actual death. And he realized that it didn't feel the same. The pain was there but duller and he was thankful for that.
The woman continued to talk and her voice became stronger. "He told me once that he always felt braver because he knew that I loved him, that he could tolerate living because he knew one day we would be together again- to the end of all time."
"And are you?" Harry whispered.
She nodded and this time she smiled. Harry was stunned by it. There was a warmth that seemed to fill the room just as the buttercup yellow sunshine was now filling it.
"Do you know the answer to my question?" he asked.
She nodded and began the story. "Severus Snape's father was a muggle. He brutalized his wife and son because they possessed magical abilities. The husband could not control her and it was his desire to do so. Eileen Snape killed herself because she was unable to tolerate her life. S died and left her teenage son alone with his cruel father. Severus learned to hate muggles and turned to the dark arts to rebuild a self-esteem that was shattered from childhood.
His only respite from his father's tyranny was Hogwarts. He could not use magic during the summer to protect himself from his father because he risked being expelled." Harry nodded with understanding How could he forget his trial before the whole Wizengamot.
"Severus tolerated his life. His mother was a brilliant witch and many of her skills were passed to her son. When he was at his most vulnerable, he found a comrade in Tom Riddle Jr. who was older then he and who shared the same kind of life in some respects as Severus had. Tom knew how to manipulate Severus, how to use his abilities. They were introduced by Horace Slughorn who's life was centered on finding talented wizards and mentoring them."
The woman's frowned and shook her head slightly. It looked like she had remained still so long the movement was almost robotic. "Severus was a young boy who had never learned social skills and had never learned how to make friends. He focused on his studies. The only person that showed any warmth towards him was my Albus."
There it was again, that beautiful smile. Harry knew that if he had lived during her life-time and had been her age that he would have fallen immediately in love with her. He found himself smiling, too, although it had been three months since he last smiled.
"But it was almost too late," she continued. "He was already studying the Dark Arts. At first he told Albus that he just wanted to be the best wizard that ever made potions, that learning the skills would make him better at concocting antidotes. Albus knew that Severus was being manipulated by Riddle, who he completely distrusted, but Albus hesitated to discourage Severus' work. All along he tried to understand and love him for himself. Such a man! Albus Dumbledore found it so easy to love those that had never been loved and he never gave up on them."
"Is that it?" Harry asked. "He trusted him because he loved him and thought Snape reciprocated?"
She shook her head and the dark waves of hair falling to her shoulders shimmered in the light. There was a pause and then she looked down on him with such care in her eyes that he felt his heart melt. "Severus fell in love. You must understand that this was a young man who had known only hardness and cruelty and he was damaged, perhaps beyond healing. He saw only weakness in his mother and could not respect her. She had killed herself leaving him alone to face the world. It is no surprise that he didn't trust females. And then he found this woman; his love was so immediate and strong that he was overwhelmed by it. It consumed him and he could think of nothing else."
"What happened?' Harry gasped. He was now leaning on Dumbledore's desk having completely forgotten where he was and that he carried a sword in his hands.
"She was muggle-born," Margaret said. "Think what that must have been like for him. He hated muggles, his father was one. Look at what it must have cost him to fall in love with one!"
Harry frowned thoughtfully as he considered the situation. "Wow. He must've really fallen for her. I know he hates muggle-born. My own mother was muggle-born and he called her a filthy mudblood."
Margaret nodded slowly and continued, "Sadly, the woman he loved did not love him in return. She was gentle with him when he expressed his love to her but his heart was broken; he was broken. The only thing that sustained him was his work and ... Albus."
"That tells me only about how Dumbledore felt about Snape," Harry said slowly and then shrugged. "That still doesn't tell me why Dumbledore trusted him." He felt no differently about the man knowing this about him. He could not bring himself to feel empathy.
"Her rejection did not stop him from loving her," Margaret said sadly.
"Yeah, I can understand that," Harry said, thinking of Ginny. He couldn't be with her out of fear for the danger it would put her in but he still cared deeply and felt he always would even if she decided to leave him.
Margaret's eyes suddenly filled with tears and she looked away from him but continued to speak, "He followed Albus one evening. He was no longer a student at Hogwarts. He was employed by Tom Riddle who had begun to call himself Lord Voldemort. His task was to learn what there was to know about Albus and what he was doing and deliver that information to his employer. It is safe to say that the relationship with Voldemort had become more then employer/employee. Severus turned to the only person who he thought valued his skills. He bound himself to Riddle like a servant to a master and he did so by taking the black mark."
"I thought he and Dumbledore...were close," Harry said, feeling confused and yet feeling a tightness in his chest. "He hired him as a teacher. Did he know that Snape was working for Riddle?"
"Albus hired him as a potion's teacher," she replied. "Not as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That would be too dangerous. It was a way for Albus to remain in contact with him...to try and protect him... or to influence him you might say."
"But all the time he was betraying Dumbledore to Voldemort!" Harry gasped. "That's hardly grounds for trusting the man."
She continued. "Severus went to the Hogshead Inn and overheard a conversation between Sybil Trelawney and Albus," Margaret said.
"The Prophecy!" Harry said, jerking himself upright.
She nodded again. "It was only after learning that the prophecy pertained to your mother that he knew what he had done."
"My mother? What has my mother got to do with it?" Harry asked, now feeling irritated. The portrait didn't make sense. He knew all about that evening, about Snape passing the information on that would eventually lead to his parents death.
Margaret stared at him with her soft brown eyes. The tears spilled over and ran down her soft downy cheeks, dropped to the crevice between her breasts, leaving a moist trail there.
"He...he loved...my mother?" Harry gasped with sudden realization.
She nodded and dropped her eyes again to the floor. "He loved her and didn't realize that he had betrayed her. He may have hated your father but he would never have jeopardized Lily. In the end, he could not prevent her death. His grief and remorse were genuine Harry. He came to Albus in this very room and begged him to kill him or to let them take him to Azkaban. Of course Albus could not do that; he loved Severus."
She once again glanced over at the sleeping portrait. "In penance for his betrayal he made a pledge to Albus that he would change sides and work diligently to stop Voldemort even if it meant his life. He made an Unbreakable Vow that night promising to take care of the only person left behind when his true love died- that person was you. He has remained at Hogwarts ever since."
Harry was gripping the sword so tightly that his hands had grown numb. He promised to protect me? He was seized by strong feelings of loathing and anger once again. The man had made a promise. Harry thought. Instead of allowing someone else to torment him he had done it himself. How he must have hated the task he was forced to carry out.- protecting another man's son!