Title: Nightmares of Reality
Author: Claire (.morbidity)
Rating: T
Genre: Family/Tragedy
Pairings: None (except canon side-pairings between parents like LE/JP) and possible LE/SS
Warnings: Possibly eventual murder, insanity, death, torture, in this chapter specifically there's a tiny bit of accidental self-harm, lies and manipulation and general dark side weirdness, and naturally spoilers
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. Especially the bits I've stolen from PS: the potions class especially Snape's speech.
Summary: Extended Summary: The Potters were living the dream: they had two powerful sons, one beautiful daughter and a public ready to bow to their every whim. Lily works, while James cares for their twin sons and daughter. Ethan, their son, killed Voldemort but he has grown up a sweet child, away from all the media. The life of the Potters is truly a dream come true. But Harry's dreams aren't the happy kind.
Notes: So, here's chapter four. Sorry about the delay: dilemma for myself as I discovered just how hard this story is to write without Lily there every step of the way… So I changed it. Added to that, this chapter was a killer to write for some reason.
On another note, I'm thinking of adding a pairing later that's only half-cannon: LE/SS. It would be much later on down the track (fifth/sixth year?), and it wouldn't be anything major between them – more of a fling – but first I'd like to see what the reception's like. And, as I said, it's ages away: nothing to worry about now, just some food for thought.
-NoR-
Chapter 4
He jumped.
He leapt.
He flew through the trees, revelling in the reassuring pounding of the coarse ground against his bare feet. Behind him, his cloak lapped at his heels, while his hands clenched, nails drawing blood. With each step, every part of him shook in pain and joy. To be alive…
Without any warning, he stopped and, overcome by a sudden inspiration, pressed his bloody hand to his mouth and felt the red liquid dribble down his chin then trickle at his throat, his tongue shivering in delight at the first food in ten long years…
The corners of his mouth turned up, revealing teeth, rotted and sharp, clenched tight as his nails dug further into his skin.
But now was not the time for games.
Lifting his hands to his face once again, he blew away the blood. Without the blood, it didn't look like he had ever cut himself in the first place. Not even a scar… Because now was not the time for fun. Now he must hunt – he must be nourished.
He needed food, like any hunter.
He must survive.
Silently, stationary, he waited for the flash of white; his prey.
Then, like a snake, he struck-
He had never felt so alive.
Not in ten long years…
-NoR-
When Harry woke to the sound of his dorm mates fumbling into their school robes, he felt like he'd been asleep for years. His eyes adjusted easily to the dim morning light – or the little of it that managed to enter the dungeons. Blinking sluggishly, he creaked his eyes open.
His heart was racing.
Getting up, he grabbed at his glasses and pushed them on, poking his eye in the process, and stumbled across the six-person dormitory to the bathroom. Draco wasn't there, and neither were Crabbe and Goyle, but Theodore gave him a nod as he passed him. Harry assumed that Draco and his entourage had already gone down to breakfast.
"You'd better hurry – breakfast ends in half an hour." The boy said, before sliding out the door leaving Harry alone with a someone Zabini, who was just doing up his tie. Zabini offered to wait for him, but Harry didn't want to impose and declined. Zabini shrugged. Harry grabbed a towel.
With each step he took, he felt sleep drift away and the blood pump through his veins double speed.
After a quick shower, he threw on his robes. He had been up late last night agonising over a blasted letter, not to mention cajoling (bribing) one of his dorm mates (Draco) to lend him an owl to send it with, and now was running late. Grabbing his book bag – and thanking Merlin he'd had the foresight to pack it the night before – he made a mad dash to the Great Hall – again grateful the prefects had left a trail of fiery arrows in the correct path.
Sprinting up the stone floors, Harry leapt between suits of armour, flying through fake pictures and jumping between students. His heels slapped against the ground and he felt so alive…
Harry jerked.
Where had that come from? He tried desperately to remember where he had … felt … the words before … thought … the words. Frowning, he thought back to that feeling of joy and life and everything in between…
But then Harry noticed that he'd stopped right outside the Great Hall. Checking his watch, Harry only had ten more minutes for breakfast. Everyone would be there. Everyone would watch him.
He could feel their stares creeping through the door, burning holes in it, melting it away to dust. He shivered. They would watch him. They'd stare.
Why had he felt the need to wake up late?
Ethan would be there. Would he ignore Harry? Or join in the staring?
Or would he confront him?
Harry didn't dare hope Ethan had anything good to say to him.
Harry knew he must have made it worse. He'd been sorted Slytherin! He was supposedly Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, brother of Ethan bloody Potter. He was one of the boys who survived the attack of the Dark Lord.
And he'd been sorted into Slytherin-
-mistrust, deceit, lies-
-He lies-
Harry didn't want to go into the Great Hall.
So he turned away.
And then, as luck would have it, the doors opened.
Harry heard it before he saw it. Gaggles of giggling teens, cackles of contrary children and chatter, chatter, chatter. They shouted, screamed, laughed and they descended on Harry's frozen form like an avalanche: overtaking him, trampling him, pinning him to the ground while he clutched himself, arms wrapped as tightly as possible around his chest and shoulders, knees braced to avoid being completely bowled over.
But at least they didn't notice him.
On and on the crowds came, pushing and shoving through the doors to the entrance hall and up marble staircases to the freedom of classes of ten to thirty people. Harry shook as he felt them lean against him, brush past him, grab blindly at him like the vultures in Diagon Alley.
Only thoughts of his new friends kept him from breaking down into tears.
Only thoughts of Ethan's would-be taunts kept him from fainting.
Eventually, the crowd of class-goers waned and Harry shook his way over to the table under the snake banner. No student was there that Harry recognised, and certainly no first years. But at the end of the table stood Professor Snape.
The Professor looked as sallow and unpleasant as ever: dark cloaked, sneering down a hooked nose and glaring at anyone within two feet of him (or in Harry's case: glaring at him whenever he was in the same room). Something was different about the man today, but Harry supposed it was just start-of-term nerves: even Snape had to get nervous sometimes. Harry had no idea how Lily had ever become friends with the ghastly man. Maybe the man had been nicer as a child? Or maybe Lily just had an odd taste in friends – which really wasn't surprising, considering her only friends (excluding James and his friends) were Snape and Mrs. Lovegood. But as the man stalked up to him, all Harry's attention was on one thought: who had learnt the morning glare from whom.
'The morning glare' had been dubbed by Ethan when they were eight, or maybe nine. They'd been in the kitchen, of course, but Lily was sleeping in the adjoining lounge – which wasn't so unusual: Lily would sometimes crash on the couch when she worked too late too many days in a row. Actually, now that he came to think of it, Lily had been pregnant with Ava at the time, which made it no surprise that when he and Ethan had decided to play Hitwizards (which mainly consisted of shouting off nonsensical words at each other), thus waking their mother up, she had been less than pleased. In fact, they'd been banned from speaking for a month! But the scariest part hadn't been the prospect of not consciously making sound for a month, rather the scariest part had been the way it was conveyed only through her glare.
Shuffling, subdued, into the kitchen, Dad had laughed at them, telling them that Lily was just in a bad mood – she didn't really mean it. And Ethan had said, something along the lines of 'so she just has to get her morning glare out of the way and she'll be happy again?' And Dad had laughed at them, for some reason finding it hilarious. They'd called all Lily's glares (not matter the time of the occurrence) that from then on.
But as his godfather began to speak to him, reality washed back to him. Everything. Family. Dreams. Slytherin. Ethan. Mudblood. Slytherin. Family…
He'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about it all.
"Late, Mr. Potter? I do hope this won't become a habit of yours." Harry could tell by Snape's tone that he was delighted to see Harry in the same way Harry would like to be stuck in a room for a day with Megan Jones, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom.
"No, sir. Sorry, sir." While Harry was interested in his new professor's scrutinising glower, he wasn't an idiot. Eleven years of dealing with his godfather (although he could only remember seeing the said man as many times as years) left him sure that lashing back wouldn't be a good idea – especially now that the man was allowed to give out the detentions (not that that had stopped him before – Harry could distinctly remember being forced to spend a day with him when Lily, James, Remi and Siri had gone out somewhere together, and after he and Ethan had caused some sort of harmless ruckus in his office the man had given them detention until their parents had returned).
So Harry didn't say anything.
"Here is your timetable, Mr. Potter. You have charms class first: don't be late…" The man seemed to pause, weighing up his options: should he speak, should he not… The consequences could be huge either way, yet at the same time there could be nothing to speak of in the way of consequences at all… A glance at the boy's face, however, had all the anxiety and caution he'd ever felt crawling into his chest.
Harry was painfully aware of Snape's looming form over him and wanted to bolt, but he knew the professor wasn't above giving a student a detention on the first day. So Harry shoved an apple in his mouth, biting hurriedly as he realised that he only had two minutes to get to class. Curling and flexing his toes, Harry tried to avoid tapping his feet in impatience. Clenching his hands as tight as he could, he remembered a sensation of nails digging into flesh… Narrowing his eyes, he tried to capture the memory… where was it?
"Mr Potter?" Professor Snape's voice was alarmed at Harry's face, contorted with concentration, pain and rage. Harry quickly opened his hands and let go of his expression, however he was not quick enough for his godfather not to see it. An expression, unreadable to Harry's untrained eyes, flashed across the man's face. But it was gone the second it came.
"Mr. Potter, I'd like to see you in my office on Friday evening after classes. Get one of the older students to show you the way there and to your first class. And here -" Harry stared, bewildered as Professor Snape whipped out his wand, conjuring a small piece of parchment, covered in writing. "It will explain to your professor why you are late."
Harry barely kept his jaw from dropping open. Snape – his godfather, Severus Snape – was acting positively civil, he'd even helped him so his new professor wouldn't get a bad impression of him…
But Harry wasn't stupid enough to ask, so he thanked the professor and went to ask someone still at the table (all from much older years – maybe you started getting free breaks in the upper years?) where the charms classroom was.
As Professor Snape strode up to the high table, he stood firm in his decision. It was made now – no going back.
After breakfast, his first task was to write to Lily.
-NoR-
As Harry staggered from his first Charms class, surrounded on all sides by Draco, Pansy and Daphne, he felt about ready to collapse. They pecked and preened at him like cats licking their kitten clean. Harry appreciated their efforts. They were so understanding and helpful… it was times like these that Harry loved having friends.
The class had begun with the professor squeaking, of all things, when he'd come to Harry's name. Harry, taking his cue from the Slytherins (who had, in Harry's head, kept their pet name, even if they were not the only Slytherins Harry knew anymore) had just about murdered the small professor with his glare – not that Professor Flitwick had seemed to notice. He'd just carried on, blithering about wand movements and incantations…
And all through the talk, Harry had felt the creeping stares and glares of the Hufflepuffs behind him. They crept up his back and onto his shoulders, whispering, but whispering so loud Harry's ears hurt.
'He's Harry Potter – the dark-haired one with glasses.'
'He's a Slytherin!'
'I've heard that he's going to be the next dark lord!'
'I've heard he is You-Know-Who'
But the voices Harry heard most were the ones of those not even in the room – in fact two of them weren't even in Scotland.
'How could he sort Slytherin? After everything we've done for him, after all we've raised him to be, fed him, clothed him, gave him somewhere to sleep… He turns into Snivellus!'
'That ignorant bezoar of a nundu! How dare he get sorted into a different house than Ethan? The only reason we sent him to Hogwarts was to look after Ethan and test our precious Ethan's food for poisons and do his homework for him! What's the point of having him at Hogwarts if he's not even doing anything useful…'
'Mum and Dad are going to be so angry when they hear how Harry called Justin the M-word… maybe now they'll take him out, or let me come home. Either way, as long as I don't have to be reminded every day that my brother is a stupid, rotting, Death Eater Slytherin!'
Harry hadn't paid attention to a word of the lecture. The voices in his ears had been much too loud and commanding of his attention. They all hated him, he knew it, and they were right to because somehow, in some way, he was…
No. Weird dreams didn't make him the Dark Lord. Harry refused to continue the train of thought.
Harry really wasn't surprised that Lily, James and Ethan hated him. He hadn't spoken to Ethan since the fight before sorting, and Harry hadn't received a letter from his parents, though he was sure Ethan had. Precious Ethan had asked for frequent owls, after all. And really, it made sense – Harry being the spare child no one wanted, Harry being Ethan's slave to do his homework, brush his teeth, take detentions for – after all to them, Harry was nothing but a Death Eater Slytherin…
As the Slytherins led Harry to their next class, he finally began to relax, his pulse slowing down again. He was quite proud of himself, too: he'd made it through an entire two floors and three corridors without letting the crowd break him.
And so he thanked them.
"I couldn't have done it without you." He said, putting as much feeling into it as possible.
"You're welcome, Harry." Pansy said, slinging her arm over his shoulder. Draco did the same on his other side.
"Yeah, Harry, that's what friends are for." He said with a smirk-like smile that was so typically Draco, that Harry had to grin back at him.
"Don't worry about it, Harry." Daphne said, wrapping her arm over Harry's shoulder from behind and poking her head into the gap between his head and Pansy's.
"We'll always be there to help our friends, Harry." Theodore said from beside Draco.
Harry felt overwhelmed. He'd never known having friends could be this wonderful. They were helping him so much – and all because they liked him as a person, not because of what some stupid paper said, or out of obligation like a family…
But Harry was determined to brush aside thoughts of family as he entered the transfiguration classroom.
-NoR-
Harry was completely fascinated by his classes. This was a novel experience for Harry; he'd never much liked books and learning. But here at Hogwarts, magic flowed through every corridor, between every crack and into the hearts of every student, teacher and pet. In every class students were taught to create art of the most spectacular kind: points were given for the shiniest needle, the brightest colour, the most complex star patterns, the most beautiful flowers. It was amazing to be immersed in the magic, using it to change, sculpt and create…
Of course, not all classes were this wonderful. In history of magic, the only forms of 'art' available to the students were daydreams, doodling and thinking up creative ways for Umbridge, the aggravating professor to die a slow, painful death. So far, the winner was Blaise Zabini by a long run, whose suggestions were not only downright creepy, but also so practical Draco was halfway convinced of doing one by the end of the first class, leaving it up to Harry to convince him that it, in fact, wasn't a good idea as they headed down to lunch. Ever since that class, Harry had been particularly careful not to offend Blaise, just in case.
He'd also taken care to keep Blaise from getting bored in history class, which was an excruciatingly difficult task. Professor Umbridge wasn't much of a teacher. On a good day she'd read the textbook to them, allowing them to do as they liked, talk as loud as they liked, as her mouth repeated the words she'd said too many times, and a glazed look covered her eyes. On very good days students could approach her and question her about their assignments, and she would give a structured, knowledgeable answer. On the bad days, however, the woman would add little phrases about a number of subjects – usually the Ministry, or 'Half-breeds'. She didn't take to either subject particularly favourably.
But it was the worst of her days that had the first year students scared. Tales from older siblings and housemates had them shaking in their boots: the bottle, the ranting, the screaming… Nobody had looked at Professor Umbridge in the same way. But Harry hadn't seen her at her worst yet, so he didn't particularly mind the class.
Defence Against the Dark Arts also didn't make Harry's list of favourite classes, although Harry wasn't sure whether it was the boring subject matter, or the headaches he got when in the classroom that cause him to hate it so much. The stuttering professor managed to turn what would have been an interesting class about vampires and zombies into an incoherent mess of syllables. Not to mention the ringing migraines Harry tended to walk away with…
By Friday, Harry was certain that Professor Quirrell's class was his absolute least favourite. And he couldn't help but think he'd heard the name 'Quirrell' before somewhere…
Friday morning began with potions class.
With the Gryffindors.
They sat in the classroom, waiting for the Professor, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike studiously ignoring each other. Harry was shifting nervously, although he tried to hide it. Ethan was just across the room and he still hadn't said anything. And Harry found the silence killing. He wished for Ethan to say something – anything! Both he and Ethan had always been ones to say things out of turn. They'd never before turned their backs on even insulting each other. They'd never ignored each other. But then again, Harry supposed this was just more proof that he was unwanted in their world of happiness. No letters, not even a glare from Ethan, and what had happened that night: It was proof.
But that didn't mean Ethan could just ignore him like that.
Harry was about to get up – say something, do something, do anything to get his attention – when the doors banged open, and in stalked the Professor.
"Brown, Lavender." The Professor began, without even glancing at the roll, rather staring at the group of Gryffindors in red, trying to discern which was Lavender. Finally, he seemed to get her and without waiting for an answer, he went on to the next name. "Bulstrode, Millicent."
The roll proceeded like this, until, naturally, Ethan's name was called.
-Even his own godfather treated Ethan like he was special-
"Potter, Ethan: our very own Boy Wonder."
-What was he? He'd been there that night, too! But no one – not even his friends – spared a second glance at him as they stared and sniggered at Ethan, the precious Boy Wonder flowing with rage at being called upon-
"And Harry Potter;" The Professor called after some time of allowing his situation to bubble and ferment, "Our Mystery Boy: What a collection."
Now it was Harry's turn to be stared at: Damn it, even his name came after Ethan's on the roll! But at least this time Harry wasn't the subject of too much sniggering. Indeed, the Gryffindors hated Snape for what he'd said to Ethan too much to laugh at anything he said, and the Slytherins turned their sympathetic looks on him, although Millicent Bulstrode, who Harry hadn't much spoken too, smirked a bit. The only noise in the classroom was Ethan's derisive snort. Snape took a turn to stare at Harry as well: dark corridors descended on him. Harry found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the deep, warping stare…
"Balendin, I have a very important task for you. You will assist me in it after dinner. Meet me in my room half an hour after I leave the table."
He hissed into the other's ear, while the rest watched on in envy. He knew they how they all clamoured for his favour, the chance to prove themselves for him, but this task required a certain characteristic…
"My task for you, Balendin, is to look into my eyes…"
The Professor suddenly jerked, sending Harry shakily back to the reality of the class. They still stared, but Harry found himself ignoring it in the face of the vision. It was the third time it had happened. The first time, in Diagon, he'd passed it off as a wandering fantasy, the second time a coincidental dream, but this time…
Harry was left his musings as Snape finished the roll, acting as if nothing had happened. But Harry knew it had. Had Snape seen it too? Had Snape caused it? Or had it been Harry's experience entirely? So many questions…
"You are hear to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," the Professor began. Against his will, for Harry wasn't sure he wanted anything to do with his godfather right now, Harry was intrigued. An art? Harry had always thought of potions as scientific more than anything: ingredient A plus ingredient B makes potion C. Yet Lily, an art-lover to the deepest core of her bones, loved potions in ways Harry had never understood. Although she pronounced herself not particularly wonderful at the subject, being in front of a cauldron would always put a smile on her face. Harry had seen potions as rigorous, methodical, predictable… boring. Yet Lily liked art: she liked to draw, paint, and create… He hadn't seen the attraction she held for something so stiff. But then, Harry hadn't been allowed to touch cauldrons; he'd been confined to books on the subject. Harry hadn't ever thought he'd appreciate artworks and creativity the way Lily and Ethan did until he came to Hogwarts where he found in magic what he had found nowhere else… Perhaps Harry wouldn't mind potions after all – so long as Snape kept his distance.
But a thought suddenly came to Harry's mind. Ethan also liked creation. He was Lily's little star at paintings and drawings and such… She like to spend every Sunday or so with him painting or drawing something. So it wouldn't be any surprise to Harry if Ethan were good at this subject. In fact, Harry could remember a number of times he and James had gone off flying that Harry would bet Ethan had used to learn potions. Lily would have wanted her little star to be good at one of her favourite subjects – just like James had wanted Ethan to learn extra spells. Well, just like with the extra spells, Harry would show Ethan. Even without previous instruction, Harry would be better than the precious Boy Wonder. Harry would teach Ethan for snorting at him.
Then Harry realised he had missed some of the speech.
"…Understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Harry was, himself, bewitched by the speech. To do all that… Books only gave so much information, and while Harry had seen cauldrons from afar, he had never been allowed near enough to them to actually get a feel for them (especially as Lily only tended to brew the more difficult potions; the ones more liable to explosion, while anything James, Remus or Sirius brewed was bound to go up in messy pink gloop). The closest he could remember had been that time he'd been given detention and he'd had to prepare a few ingredients for it – but then he hadn't noticed the cauldron so much as the horror of his situation. If Harry could manage to do all that, he would surely be better than Ethan – provided Ethan himself didn't get there, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Why didn't the books mention anything this entrancing?
"Potter!" Both Potters' heads shot up. "Wonder-Boy." Snape sneered, and Harry lowered his head, seething. Why did Snape, everyone, always insist on calling on Ethan first?
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"Huh?" Ethan looked stumped at the question that had seemingly come out of the blue. Asphodel and wormwood… Harry thought back to the days of Lily's potions cramming… Across the room, the Granger girl's hand shot into the air, apparently desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead. Come on, the Granger girl knew the answer and she hadn't had the 'benefit' of Lily's tutoring… It was something about death…
"Don't know, boy? Tut, tut. Fame clearly isn't everything. What about you, Mystery Boy?"
It was Harry's turn to flinch yet again as the stares swivelled to him. The Granger girl's hand seemed to grow a foot higher, as Harry tried to think, think…
"Living Death, sir, a sleeping potion." Harry burst out as the Professor opened his mouth to say something equally derisive. Now Snape's mouth curled instead at the thought of Harry being right. But Harry ignored him as he turned his head to smirk at the glowering Ethan. That was for the snort at being called Mystery Boy. And Ethan deserved it: Harry hadn't felt amusement when Ethan had been Snape's victim.
"The Draught of Living Death, Potter… both of you. And it is not just a sleeping potion: it is one of the most powerful of all. Let's try again, Wonder Boy, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Ethan relayed Harry's smirk back at him. They both knew this one and Harry hadn't been called on, so he couldn't answer it. A bezoar was a stone found in-"
"The stomach of a goat, sir."
Now, the battle was on. Neither side of the classroom was sure what to do: whether to laugh at the Potter from the other house for his misfortune, or stay strong and silent for their own Potter. Instead the houses glared at each other, daring the other to make a move. Only Granger remained out of the glaring contest as her hand waited, tense by her side, ready to shoot up at a moment's notice.
With a slight incline of his head, Snape continued his impromptu pop-quiz.
"Mystery Boy," Snape turned his sneer on him, but Harry felt ready for whatever Snape threw at him. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Now, that was unfair, to throw in a wolfsbane question. Harry knew full well that wolfsbane, while a useful substance, was mainly used in higher quality potions – a top example being the wolfsbane potion, which took the highest calibre of mastery to brew – and was definitely not in the first-year curriculum…
"I don't know, sir." Harry ground out, defeated. On the other side of the room, Granger was almost standing up, she was so eager to answer the question. If Harry didn't know the answer to that question, then Ethan wouldn't, so he had to wonder why Snape didn't just ask the girl and be done with it.
"Well, Wonder Boy? What is the difference?"
Now Ethan was being put on the spot again, but Harry couldn't feel the same excitement he'd felt two minutes ago. His godfather was being stupid, immature, horrible…
"I don't know either." Ethan managed to forget to add the 'sir'. "But I think Hermione does. Why don't you ask her?"
There was a tinkling laugh throughout the group of Gryffindors, however Snape, predictably, wasn't pleased at all. With a glare, they were silenced.
"For your information, Potters, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same, and are also called aconite." There was a pause as Granger sat down and Harry remembered the passage on aconite in Magical Herbs and Fungi…
"Well, why aren't you writing this down?... And a point from Gryffindor. For your cheek, Potter."
And then, Harry realised that even though Snape hated Ethan and he just the same, he was in Snape's favour, just for being a Slytherin.
Harry threw himself into the lesson. Although the 'simple' cure for boils was new and therefore difficult, it wasn't particularly frustrating. The worst part about it, Harry found, was the inane end result. Sure, a boil cure is nice, but it was so… mundane. Harry wanted the fame (though he had more than enough), the glory (though that word always made him think of 'gory' and Harry didn't particularly want blood) and the stopper on death (although his brother was apparently a living example). It sounded so amazing to be able to do all that with a little brew… As Harry stared at his swirling fumes that had developed after adding the crushed snake fangs. They were silvery and seemed to sparkle, making patterns in the shadows of the dungeon lights… Harry shook his head as Snape stalked over to him, telling him to stop daydreaming, which was the only thing he could criticize him for, because Harry was working with Draco who, according to the professor, could do no wrong in the potions classroom.
By the end of the lesson Finnegan's cauldron had been melted, Longbottom was in the hospital wing, the Slytherins had made a pact to never ever let Crabbe and Goyle work together during potions, and Gryffindor was down another point.
All in all, it was a good lesson.
For the rest of the day, Harry walked about in anxiety. His friends noticed, but didn't push it. Instead, when things started to get to him, one of them would come over and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling reassuringly. And it was reassuring: to know that they were there for you, they cared about how you felt, they wanted you happy… It was more than enough to cheer Harry up one last time before he went to see Snape.
"Don't worry Harry. I'm sure you'll be fine." Draco said to him. Harry wasn't sure how Draco knew anything about where he was going, but Draco always seemed to know things that by all rights he shouldn't. Like how he'd known that Harry's favourite colour was actually red, while Ethan's was blue, and how he'd known that Harry had been given a potions set for his birthday, as well as a broom from his godparents… But Harry figured that Draco was either a really creepy stalker, or just had a knack for finding out insignificant details like that.
Harry nodded in thanks, while absently heading to the dungeons.
"Mr. Potter, you are late."
Harry entered the office. It was much like he'd expected. Spartan. The bare essentials. A desk. A chair. Potions ingredients. An occupied chair-
"What?" Harry's eyes bulged out. He couldn't believe it.
What was Lily doing here?
"Hello, Harry. I know this is unusual, but it couldn't wait."
-NoR-
Lily sat, blankly, in her first friend's office. She had to remember not to think about Harry as her son now. For he was her… patient of sorts, she supposed was the word. Any other word (specimen, subject, experiment) sounded too much like the animals of her experiments, currently nothing but ash. If she thought of Harry as the Harry she knew from the weekends, she just might cry. If she thought of him as her Harry of the night-time the entire school would hear her howling.
Instead, she felt her Unspeakable personality creeping over.
"Mu- Li- Mother? What're you…" Lily watched her patient struggle with words, just as she had done a few moments before.
"Harry, there's something about you. I don't know if you know it yet, but I think I know it now. If you know… you've known for awhile, haven't you…"
Harry was frozen stiff in the middle of the office. He looked like a dear caught in headlights, but underneath she could see a glint of something dangerous, like a snake ready to lash out the moment it was poked too hard.
"Yes, you knew…"
Harry could tell what this was about. He knew it. Lily had figured out his secret…
"You knew too!" Before her, Harry screamed and she took a step back as the snake struck. "You knew, you always knew! You just didn't have any proof before now! So what? Now that I'm in Slytherin, it's proof that it's true! Now that I called Finch-Fletchley a Mudblood, it must be true! Don't try to tell me you didn't know… Didn't suspect… With all the dreams… Ethan didn't have dreams… You knew what I had to deal with! Don't lie to me… Not that you won't anyway…"
It was true. True, true, true… Lily hadn't known, but she'd thought. She'd guessed. She'd believed.
But she hadn't wanted to.
After getting the letter, the letter telling her about Slytherin, she'd disposed of the short parchment, before James could see. It had hurt both the contents and the destruction, but it was the proof she'd been waiting for, watching for… needing. Slytherin… It was his house. With the proof, she'd done the tests. Tests she should have done years ago, but hadn't had the courage, guts, will to do. She hadn't been surprised.
That night, the night of September first, she'd crashed at Sev's place. She'd told him everything, or a lot of it. Her suspicions, the dreams, the tests… They'd ended up drunk on his couches, and fallen asleep that way. There had been no way she could face James after learning, understanding, knowing about Harry…
Sev put a hand on her shoulder, as if he could sense her troubled thoughts, even though her mind was impenetrable, and her emotions even more guarded. Sev had always been able to do that.
"And you know too!" Harry gasped in shock as his godfather supported Lily. Turning his eyes in hurt, betrayal, to Lily he ground out, "You told him! You told him about my- how I am- how I have…you told him everything!"
"Lily," Professor Snape spoke up, though Harry was in too much shock to notice. "There was an incident in potions today. While using legilimency on him, we came to a memory of him employing the art, as a school child, on another Slytherin child by the name of Balendin, though I know there is no child here now by that name… The only wizard I know by that name would be Balendin Lestrange, who went to school her many years ago…"
Lily processed the information. There it was. Proof in the most final sense. If Harry had memories in his head that weren't his own…
"Harry, you understand that I will have to run some tests over you. You have access to knowledge about much of the Dark Lord: his ways, his knowledge, his followers and more. Severus was able to get some information in the form of legilimency, but maybe a pensieve would work better… we will have to see. If we can access some of that information, we may be able to hunt down his followers and maybe settle once and for all whether he is dead or merely in hiding…"
So this was it. Lily knew. Professor Snape knew. Hell, even Ron bloody Weasley had guessed. He'd thought he'd hidden it so well, that nobody would guess that his dreams were Voldemort's, that his memories weren't only his… Soon James would know. Ethan would know. They'd probably tell the newspapers and then Harry wouldn't be liked anymore his friends would hate him –or would they like him more, given their own dark roots- the school would ostracize him… Siri and Remi would hater him… He'd be an outcast in society.
Much like Lily.
"Don't worry, dear. We won't tell anyone." Lily got up off her seat and, shrugging Severus' hand off her shoulder, walked over to her son. Pulling him into her arms, he cried and cried. But that didn't matter. She was just glad he didn't think to ask her how she knew what he was thinking. Seeing Severus open a door in the back of his office, she led her Harry into Sev's spare room, and together they sat on the bed, just a son and his mother. As Harry cried, Lily hummed their lullaby, rocking them off to sleep…
-NoR-
"Hey Lils, how was work? You stayed pretty late." Lily stumbled into the kitchen with baggy eyes, into her husband's arms. He was smiling, so delighted to see her that she had to smile too.
"I fell asleep in the middle of an experiment. Sorry about that." She yawned, and was pleased when James handed her a coffee. He knew her so well.
"Hey, don't worry… You've been looking really tired lately. You probably needed the extra sleep." He was so trustingly, wonderfully, perfect… Lily knew she exploited it, but that didn't matter right now.
"Where's Ava?" She wondered aloud, trying not to think about the night before, Harry's screaming…
"Still asleep, the little darling. She takes after her mother!" James teased.
"Hmm…" Lily agreed, staring in vain at the window. Harry wouldn't have had time to write a letter since the night before, but maybe Ethan would write something. James, seeing what she was looking at, handed her an opened envelope.
"It came last night." He said, and then turned to tend to the pot on the stove. For all that James was bad at potions, it never ceased to amaze Lily that his cooking was superb.
"Did you know that Harry's in Slytherin?"
Lily felt her coffee turn cold. James' words were deceptively light, for underneath she could hear the frigidity of the question. Of course, since she hadn't been there to censor Ethan's letter he would have read Ethan's annoyance that they hadn't yet responded to his concerns of Harry being in Slytherin, saying the word Mudblood… She would have to tread carefully: she was on thin ice.
"Yes, I did." She said shortly. There was no point in hanging about. James knew she knew, now that he'd read Ethan's true letter…
And so I eat my words… Trusting husband to suspicious…
"And I suppose it's by some great fault on my part that my eyes have seemingly skipped over the parts of Ethan's letters that said such things?" He continued, his back still to her. Lily knew what this was. James was suspicious now, and now that he was suspicious there was no end to it. James had always known she was good at acting, but now that he knew she'd lied to him…
He'd never trust her again.
So really, it was her only choice. Lifting her wand, she began her work.
-NoR-
"Huh? Lily? What was I just saying?" James turned around to face his beautiful wife. Seeing her smiling face he felt all bad things in the world slide away from his mind.
"Drifted off, James? Should I be offended?" She asked mischievously. Ignoring his pout, she continued seriously. "You were just saying how we really should talk to Ethan about Harry being in Slytherin and I agree. It's about time we talked to him about it… I don't know why we've left it this long. Other than that, we should probably write to Harry… have I mentioned to you how proud I am for not getting upset about this? You've grown up a lot from the boy I once knew, teasing another boy about being in another house… Who knows, maybe next we'll see you and Sev getting along..."
"No way!" James shouted, but he was laughing as well. "There's no way I'll ever get along with Sn- Snape. Too many years of grudges rest on that… But yeah, after breakfast let's wake Ava and write some letters to the boys… We should probably also say something to Harry, though. I know he was just trying to keep his friends, but he really shouldn't have called someone… that… Maybe you could have Snape talk to him? Snape certainly knows enough about the consequences of that word."
Lily smiled. As much as both Severus and James tried to hide it, they really didn't hate each other as much as they used to.
"I think that would be a brilliant idea." She smiled, though upstairs she could hear the pounding little footsteps that meant Ava was awake and would soon be demanding breakfast. They could deal with letters and children and Mudbloods and houses later.
Right now, James was happy and smiling at her. He trusted her.
And that was all that mattered.
-NoR-
-NoR-
-NoR-
So, there's chapter four. I'm really not sure I like this chapter, but I'd love to hear what you think, so please review!
The next chapter will take at least another two weeks, but after that I think I'll be able to get a chapter a week out. We'll see.