Trust
Disclaimer: I do not own either the story of HP 1 – 7 or its characters.
Summary: Whom can AR Potter turn to when she can't even trust her closest companions? Will she find the strength to continue living when she is left broken? Fem HP
Warnings: AU, OC-ness, Fem HP violence, mature content, mention of rape (or explicit, I'm not sure yet)
Pairings: I'm not saying. For you to find out, you will need to read it.
Compliancy: HP 1 – 5 (except the death of SB at the end of OotP – I need him for this story to work out); starts at the beginning of the 7th year
AN: Dear readers, don't worry about me not finishing my other story, "True Identity", for I'm not about to leave it hanging before it got really started ;) but this plot hangs in my head and just doesn't budge. To clear my mind a little, I decided to put it on paper also and I will update both of my stories as my muse and time allows. Please don't be disappointed if you have to wait for several weeks.
Concerning this story: the point of view will definitely change and I will only write "sb's POV" if you so desire it. Otherwise I will leave it as it is.
As always, reviews are welcomed and very much appreciated.
1. Chapter - Defeated
"Trust instinct to the end, even though you can give no reason."
(R. W. Emerson)
It is September the 1st and I am already looking forward to July. I don't mean to say that I particularly enjoy the two summer months without the wretched imbeciles but it is quiet. Let me re-word it, it is quiet when I am not summoned by either of my masters.
I am not really sure which I hate more, the twinkling old man or the sadistic snake-face. They do both make my life a living hell and there is nothing more to it. One might be the 'Dark Lord' and the other 'Light' however from my perspective there is no difference between them. They are both in a place of power. They are both manipulative and most importantly, they are both equally insane. Maybe not in the exact same way – you don't go to the Dark Lord expecting lemon drops, now do you? – but insane all the same.
Enough about that. As I said, it is the night of the welcoming feast at Hogwarts, my dungeons are to be invaded by dunderheads just in few short hours and disturb not only my peace but also my perfectly clean classroom.
There is only one thought which makes me feel better. It is the last year of Potter's career at this phenomenal institution. In just about ten months we will, hopefully, see the back of her.
People usually think that I hate her. I don't. I do not especially like her but hate is just a too strong emotion to describe my feelings towards her. Some accuse me of seeing her idiotic father instead of her. I admit this statement might be partially true but even I am not so blind as to mistake her for her sire. For one Alessandra Rosaline Potter is a female. Apart from that she isn't a bully like her dearest father. May he rest in peace.
But I digress, the last remaining Potter has brought me more gray hair over the years than the whole school body AND my masters combined. I knew it wasn't a good idea to promise my one and only friend to protect her daughter no matter what, however, even I didn't suspect what I would have to protect her from. Dragons, possessed men, crazy bludgeons, cursed brooms, just to name a few.
I just hope that this year turns out to be the one I could sit back in my armchair by a fireplace with a good bock about potions or shut myself in my lab. Wouldn't it be nice if Dumbles and Voldy suddenly decided they love each other madly and Potter would grow a brain and study for once instead of hunting the halls in the dead of night?
...
I know but a man can dream...
All the teachers except for Minerva and Hagrid are assembled in the Great Hall and waiting for the students. Many are smiling, excited about seeing their favourites and meeting the new potentials. Some are nervous, especially the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The old coot introduced her to us at a meeting the week previous but I didn't deem it necessary to remember her name. She looks like a mouse. In the very least it is highly unlikely that she would reveal a dark wizard sticking from the back of her skull, though I fear employing her is a complete waste of money. The students won't learn anything. But that is, sadly, nothing new.
As for me, I really hope the miscreants get in here soon and Dumbles doesn't force all of us to listen to his annual ramblings. Sometimes I suspect he really enjoys listening to himself.
But I digress again. I am looking forward to returning to my rooms and pooring myself a nice glass of Fire-whiskey. In my mind I see the golden liquid flowing into my glass, swirling around it. The smell of smoke reaches my nostrils and I breathe in the unmistakable flavour of the sweet liquor. As I am about to empty the glass into my waiting mouth the main door into the Great Hall opens wide and a stream of loud, obnoxious teenagers streams in.
I sigh internally in disappointment and school my features into my trademark sneer. The hooligans make their way to their respective table while swapping stories about their summer in loud voices. I smirk at the thought of the first class I have prepared for the idiots and my smirk widens when I notice a second year Hufflepuff shudder in fear and turn away quickly. Sometimes it is so easy intimidating children.
In my career as a professor there hasn't been a student who wouldn't wisen up by the end of second or third year, at the latest, and turn amicable in my presence. Except Potter, of course. I dare say that her temper hasn't improved in her six years in my classroom. I confess that I don't make it easy for her to keep quiet in my presence but it is so much fun riling her up. Plus I always need people cleaning cauldrons and my classroom and, admittedly, she is one of the best at the job. In addition it makes it easier for me to continually dislike her.
There has always been fire inside her, in her green eyes. Especially when I made her lose control and so it is a shock seeing her with her head down, shoulders slumped.
She has always been thin but this year her clothes hang on her even more than usual. Her face is deathly pale and her long unkempt hair falling into her face, hiding it.
I search the crowd for the rest of the Golden Trio and sure, there, just few steps in front of her, I see the red head of the Weasley boy and the brown main of the know-it-all. They are talking with each other and now and then shooting worried glances at their friend, though she either doesn't notice or ignores them.
Potter follows them to their seats at the Gryffindor table and I am once again surprised when she flinches violently as Finnegan comes up to her and throws his arms around her in greeting. Over-friendly Gryffindors.
While neither he nor any of the other lions notices, I do as does Dumbledore. I wonder what this is about. The old coot does look like he knows what that is about and from the wrinkles on his forehead I can tell he is slightly concerned. This only makes me wonder harder.
What is going on here?
Potter looks like she spent a summer in hell not at her relatives or with her dogfather and his pet wolf. From our Occlumency lessons I know that her home-life isn't as perfect as I have always assumed but she had spent more than a half of the holidays at headquarters with the mutt and so I would have expected her to be well-fed and happy, not... defeated looking, for there is no other word for it. Even after whole two months at her relative's house she has never come to Hogwarts so scrawny or depressed.
What the hell happened?
I watch her from the corner of my eye as the headmaster welcomes the students and the first years march in to be sorted. I listen with half an ear for the names of the students who will join my house and screen them for possible abuse victims. There are none this year. Or none that I can spot right away. This makes my heart a little lighter but I still know there are many snakes who need to be taken care of.
As this goes through my mind I notice that Potter doesn't pay attention to the sorting. Instead she is looking down at the table as if wondering why she can't be an inanimate object as well.
When the food appears and all the dunderheads resume their conversations from before she serves herself some potatoes and vegetables and pokes in her plate with only few bits of dry potato finding their way into her mouth.
When the Finnegan boy says something which makes the people in hearing range laugh, she turns green and quickly puts her bony hand in front of her mouth. For a minute I worry the meagre meal she has just consumed would make a re-appearance at the Gryffindor table but she manages.
I confess to be... concerned. I know it is highly awkward and you wouldn't be able to force it out of me even with Veritaserum as no Snape is concerned for Potter but I have to be honest with myself if I can't be with anyone else. I could close my eyes to what I see and just say that she pretends it all. That she is just trying to get more attention as if not enough people were pining after her but I don't and so I recognise the genuine signs of depression and I ask myself again: What the HELL happened to her?
As a spy who is trusted by both sides I know perfectly well that the Dark Lord hasn't put any of his schemes to eliminate his enemy into action and Dumbledore wouldn't hurt his little weapon, now would he? So the reason for the state of her mind is a complete mystery to me.
But as I see it if Potter doesn't get better, there might be no more weapon for the 'Light side' or enemy to defeat for the 'Dark' one.
As if she has sensed my eyes on her, she raises her head and stares at me and I can't help it. I am so shocked at what I see that a part of my shock shows on my normally blank face.
There are dark, nigh black circles under her eyes from many sleepless nights and they stand out more on her thin, white face. However what makes my heart nearly stop are her eyes.
Yes defeated is the right word to describe her. There is no more fire in her eyes. They are dull. Lifeless. If I didn't know better, I would assume she was a victim of a Dementor's kiss.
After a few seconds of staring unblinkingly into my eyes she returns her gaze to her uneaten plate and I can't help but wonder how no one has noticed the drastic change in her. Why is nobody doing something to help her? Are the idiots really just sitting back and waiting for her to save their ungrateful asses once more?
Suddenly I know. This is no mere depression over some silly little thing. No. She doesn't fight anymore. She has given up and with a surprising clarity I know that this year will be the hardest yet. For it is easy to save somebody from monsters and insane Lords but how do you save somebody from themselves?