Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. Not me. Her.
A/N: I'm slowing down just a little with writing chapters. The thing is, in two weeks school's out for the summer. That means I have terrible finals coming up and lots of projects due before then. And over the summer I won't be able to update often at all…sniff, sniff…so hang in there, please! By the time I get back from summer break, I'll have the entire thing finished and I'll update every day. I'll try to update like once a week or every two weeks, but that's the best I can promise.
By the way, Numbal, there is a nice long response to your comments at the end of this chapter. They're not meant to be harsh if they come across that way. I'm still plenty glad that you reviewed at all, and I do understand your concerns. Thanks.
00000000000000000 Chapter 10: The Other Letter 0000000000000000
Harry's hands shook as he set the sheets of paper down. "How many years did you know my mum?" he asked. Remus's brow wrinkled as he thought.
"I'd say for seven or eight years, Harry," he answered. "What is this all about, Harry?"
"Read it," Harry said, handing over the top sheet of paper. His voice was laced with bitterness. "This was supposed to come yesterday, on my birthday…but the Ministry, being what they are, must have sent it out late."
Remus took the papers and watched him slowly read them, going though the first paragraphs quickly.
"'Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,'" he read out loud, "'According to our policies, as your parents are deceased, these documents are to be sent to you. We have a policy that states that, whereupon the last or youngest living member of a family reaches the age of sixteen, they take charge of their family ancestry. Keeping accurate records is important to us, and we hope that you do indeed agree with the records that have been kept.
In case you do not know this already, the Office of Ancestry in the Ministry automatically records all marriages and children in a perfectly anonymous and confidential system. These records are not admissible as evidence in cases of extra-marital affairs nor any criminal cases. Their use is purely for determining inheritances in the absence of a will, and for record-keeping purposes.
The papers enclosed include a family tree, dating back six generations is most cases, and some notes that the file made concerning any remarriages, deaths, separations, or adoptions. Please refer any questions or comments to the Office of Ancestry, Ministry of Magic.'"
Harry saw Remus frown, obviously wondering what he'd gotten so upset about. He watched Remus move on to the second paper. The family tree. The one that had made him very, very worried in a short space of time.
Remus's eyebrows suddenly shot up, and Harry saw the man's eyes dart across the page several times. He looked very surprised. Harry decided that Remus definitely did not know about this. He hoped desperately that Dumbledore did not, either. If he did…then he could never trust the old man again. Harry watched Remus closely as he handed back the papers.
"So is there any reason, Remus, why my mother's father would have the last name of Riddle?" he asked.
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Tonks immediately dropped the dish she was carrying into the kitchen. It shattered on the floor, but no one noticed. Remus looked worried, and Harry was frowning. He went through the family tree Remus had returned to him again. Supposedly, his grandfather was someone called Jonathan Riddle, later renamed Jacob Evans. With a father named Thomas Riddle Senior. Just like Voldemort's father. And considering that Thomas Riddle's other son was named Thomas Riddle, Jr, it didn't look good.
"So is this real or is it all a fake?" he asked Remus, who didn't respond right away. "Remus?"
Tonks pulled the family tree out of his hand and seemed to skim it. Harry sighed, waiting for the inevitable moment…and she dropped the papers all over the ground, sputtering. "Is this some sort of joke?" she asked aloud. Harry sighed.
"That's what I'd like to know," he admitted. Remus eyed him.
"Let's read through the rest of it. I'd like to believe this is some sort of elaborate hoax, but I'm afraid it might be real. The Office of Ancestry is little known, really. It runs itself…I doubt anyone tampered with it… And your mother never did look like her sister…I just hadn't really thought that it could be because they were only half-sisters," Remus said.
Harry nodded, picking up all the papers. He was doing his best to stay calm, but it wasn't really working. The implications of what these papers were saying was too much. Why did everything have to happen to him?
Tonks wasn't helping either. She was gaping like a fish and pale as a ghost, standing there with her hands still out in front of her. "Sit down before you annoy Harry," Remus asked. Tonks obeyed without a word, while Harry passed her a few papers, gave a few to Remus, and kept the rest for himself.
He read through the pages he had quickly. First, he checked the family tree again. His grandmother on his mother's side, Rose Williams, had married someone named George Cullins first. And so his aunt—well, half-aunt—was born. George Cullins either died or left or something, because then Rose married Jacob Evans. Who had been Jonathan Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle's older half-brother. And then they had Lily. His mother.
Hopefully, the other pages would say something useful about this…
"Listen to this, Harry," Remus spoke up gravely. Harry stopped looking at the papers and turned to Remus, who was holding a sheet of paper with slightly trembling hands. "These are the notes that the file registered about Tom Riddle Sr."
Remus cleared his throat nervously, hands still shaking. Finally, the man had to set the paper down in order to read it clearly. "'Jonathan Phillius Riddle, given up for adoption at the age of one by Tom Riddle Senior. Left at orphanage, where name of Jacob Harrison Evans was officially given to him. Married Rose Williams, mother of one daughter at the time.'"
Harry sighed. "So it's really true," he said, voice flat. This could not be happening to him. "So what?" he said, a little bitter sounding. "Tom's my…half-grand-uncle? Does Dumbledore know about this? Perhaps I should just go join my fami—"
"We're your family, whoever your blood relations are," Remus said sharply. "And if Albus had any inkling of this, he would have said something. I've got to go show these to him now. This could change a lot of things, if they're true."
"Great," Harry said. He didn't care anymore. This was all too much like a dream. It couldn't possibly be true…but then again…no. He wasn't going to think about it. About his mother being Voldemort's niece…no! "Go ahead," he said vacantly. "I—I'm going to go lie down I think," he said.
"I'll wake Bill up, if I can find him," Remus said. "Tonks, could you please make sure—" Harry didn't hear any more of what he said. He'd already gotten up from the table, clutching just the envelope the letter had come in, and walked out of the room. He really needed to lie down.
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He sat on his bed—Sirius's bed—for hours. He did not want to get back up. He had wrapped the duvet around his shoulders tightly, feeling comforted by the warmth and the soft scent of that certain soap. He really wished he had some hot tea or cocoa to drink, but he was afraid to ask for anything out loud, unwilling to have Kreacher show up. He couldn't deal with that disgusting and disturbing creature right now.
In his hands he held the glass lily. He stared at the three-dimensional flower somehow suspended in the glass and sighed. It was a perfect white flower. Pure and innocent…
His mother had always been sort of an inspiration to him. His father as well, though since last year he just couldn't seem to feel as much respect for his father. Not after what he'd done…
But his mother. She had been perfect. Everyone said so. Kind, smart, loving, considerate, beautiful, sweet…she had been everything. She had probably even loved her sister—half-sister, Harry told himself bitterly—though it was obvious that Petunia had hated Lily. Considering the way his aunt had treated him, he doubted that Petunia had even been a bit saddened by Lily's death.
He didn't know how this would affect things, but he did know that it meant his mother was no longer unaffected. She had been dragged into his messed up life now, dragged through the dirt to come out a Riddle. A Riddle! Her uncle, the darkest wizard in centuries probably. And no one knew.
Someone should tell Voldemort to attack the Office of Ancestry, he thought angrily. That was one place that could be destroyed, and Harry would be the better off for it. If the stupid letter had not been delivered to him, then he would not have had to find out that he was actually related to the monster that he was supposed to kill. It didn't make any sense.
He didn't want to be a murderer, but he would've felt less bad about killing if it was just Tom Riddle he was killing, a monster that had murdered his parents. Probably Voldemort didn't know that Lily had been his niece. He'd just killed a witch that had opposed him.
And although Harry was pretty sure that he could find enough hate to kill Voldemort, he wasn't so sure he could kill his grand-uncle, no matter that his grandfather had only been half-related to Tom Riddle. His only living relative besides the Dudley and Petunia. And they were about as related as Voldemort was to him.
Thinking that scared him. It was easier to say Tom Riddle was his great-uncle than Voldemort. He hoped this never got out at school. Dumbledore would probably insist that it be kept absolutely secret, hopefully. He could just see the reaction if this ever got out.
He wondered what Voldemort would do if he found out. Come and try to recruit him? Or just try to kill him again? He knew Voldemort had hated his father for abandoning his mother—would he feel at all bad about betraying Harry, his family?
Harry snorted. Voldemort feeling guilty about something was about as likely as Draco Malfoy professing his undying love for Hermione. Some things just weren't possible. Voldemort would probably laugh at the irony of it all before blowing up a school full of little children or something. That was the way he seemed to work.
If this was all real, too, it would explain a few things, Harry realized. His dark hair could be partially from his mother's side of the family, not just from his father. His green eyes could be from the Riddle blood in him. If he remembered right, Tom Riddle, before he became Voldemort, had had light eyes. They could have been green. Like his. Like his mother's. He wondered if his grandfather had had green eyes.
He rubbed the smooth glass with his thumbs, trying to find some comfort in the warm glass. He had not noticed before, but there were a few curls of red, like tendrils of blood, around the lily. So it was not as perfect as he had thought…not as white and pure…
His mother was supposed to be the pure and perfect image. The one he could think of when he wondered if his parents were really so selfless and wonderful as most said they were. But, like the lily, she wasn't pure. She wasn't perfect. You just had to look a little closer, and there it was…the imperfections… Even Snape had had nothing bad to say about his mother.
Well, now he would. He'd have plenty bad to say about her. Lily Evans. With Uncle Voldemort. Uncle Dark Lord, Uncle Murdering Arsehole. The Girl-Who-Didn't-Know-Her-Uncle-Was-A-Murderer. Who was killed by her own uncle. No matter that neither knew that the other was related…Snape would use this for everything it was worth. He knew Dumbledore would tell Snape. He had to. He sure as hell wouldn't ask if that was all right with him. Snape the spy. Snape, whose first love was potions, and second was torturing Harry.
It was bloody unbelievable that this was happening to him. Couldn't he just live with the whole kill-or-be-killed thing? Did he really have to have all these other distractions? Couldn't he just have one day, one single damn day, where everything was just normal? The closest he'd gotten this summer was sitting in his room starving. That was slightly normal, although usually the sitting and starving took place in a cupboard…
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There was someone knocking on the door of his room. "Who is it?" he called angrily, rousing himself from his thoughts.
The door pushed open, and Tonks came into the room, looking concerned. For once, Harry realized, she looked herself—blonde hair, small stature, pretty but not startling face. "Harry?" she asked. He eyed her, not wanting to even attempt any sort of facial expression. "Look—do you want to talk about this at all?"
"No." The word was out of his mouth before he'd thought about it properly.
Tonks sighed, looking scared and worried and upset. Harry just wished she'd say something or go away. "I read the rest of those papers, Harry. I think it's genuine."
"I know," he said. Deep in his gut he'd felt that the papers were right. The solution they provided was perfect. Well, perfect in its own dark, twisted way. Perfect like the killing curse…
"Harry, it's not healthy to brood over something like this," she said gently. Harry frowned, feeling angry now.
"So what?" he asked. "Like anyone understands…"
"Well, Draco Malfoy's my cousin," Tonks said casually. "I'm pretty closely related to a lot of death eaters."
Harry laughed bitterly. "Tom Riddle's not on that list, though," he pointed out.
Tonks came closer, finally sitting down on the bed. She leaned against the post, just like Remus always did. "Well, no," she admitted slowly. "He's not. But that's the thing, Harry. Just because he's related to you somehow doesn't mean anything."
"Says you," he snapped. He was still angry. "Dumbledore said I was a Parsletongue because Tom transferred that to me. But I suppose now it's more likely that I was born with it. That I inherited it. You know, I bet if things had worked out differently I would have been the one opening the Chamber of Secrets second year."
"Harry, please," Tonks said gently. Harry jerked away from her when she tried to touch his leg. "Remus is sorting this out with Albus right now. It'll all work out just fine."
"How do you know that?" he demanded, angry. "Everything just gets more complicated every day. All I want is one damn thing to get a little better."
"It will, Harry," she told him. "This'll all get better in the end."
"And when's the end?" he demanded. "A year from now? Ten years from now? After my friends are dead? After I'm dead?"
Tonks pushed away from the post and scooted closer to him, and though he made a show of avoiding her attempts to put her arm around his shoulders, he was only resisting half-heartedly. Somehow, he missed the hugs and comfort he had gotten from Remus recently. He still tried to pull away, but just ended up sitting stiffly, arms crossed on his chest, with Tonks's arm around his shoulders.
She pulled a little, forcing him to lean against her, and then she rested her chin on his head as he let his head rest on her shoulder. "Harry, please don't talk like that," she said softly. "You're not going to die. Neither are your friends."
Harry felt like laughing or crying. A little bit either way and he'd do one of the two. Tonks didn't know the prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives… "I can't believe my mother was killed by her uncle…," he said.
Tonks squeezed him closer, and he felt himself comforted by the contact. He was starting to get used to this whole hugging thing, he realized distractedly. "Oh, Harry," Tonks said softly. "Please don't dwell on this right now," she asked him.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked. He was staring ahead, at the painting of the forest on the wall. A wolf was wandering through the trees right now, hunting. A rabbit darted out of the picture and showed up down the wall in a grassy field painting. "Does this mean that Tom Riddle's my closest living relative?" he asked suddenly. That was almost too much. Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, his closest living relative. He didn't know if half-aunts ranked closer than grand-uncles.
"I don't know," Tonks admitted. "Dumbledore could figure it out. He will figure it out."
She sounded so sure. It reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, and how she'd comforted him after the Third Task. He laughed suddenly, and Tonks stiffened. "Harry?" she asked, alarmed.
"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I—that night, when Voldemort came back, he tied me to his dad's gravestone," he explained. Although he had done the interview with Skeeter, he still didn't feel that comfortable talking about that night.
"I'm so sorry, Harry," Tonks said softly when he stopped.
"That wasn't why I laughed," he said abruptly, suddenly feeling irritated at her sympathy. "I was just laughing at the fact that I was tied to my great-granddad's gravestone." He sighed. He felt a little better. Not much better, but certainly better than before Tonks had come. "Thanks," he said.
"Sure, Harry," she said. "I'm just glad I could help you out." She hugged him tighter again, and he relaxed a little. Tonks might be clumsy and loud and annoying sometimes, but she really did have a good heart. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it didn't matter in the end who you were related to. She certainly would never join Voldemort.
A soft creak sound from the door pulled him out of his thoughts again. He turned red as he saw Remus standing in the door, golden eyes watching him. He expected Tonks to shoot off the bed, red and embarrassed, but she didn't. Her arm stayed where it was, and Harry craned his head to see that she was giving Remus a tight and tense smile.
"Well?" she asked. Harry pushed himself up a bit, feeling the worry come creeping back. Remus sighed.
"Albus is coming," he said. "He needed to collect a few things for confirmation of this…he wasn't planning on performing any tests of this nature any time in the near future."
Harry's heart twisted again. What would Dumbledore say? Would he still want him as a grandson after this? Dumbldore, who had opposed Voldemort since the beginning…want his enemy's grand-nephew as a grandson? It was not even imaginable. "Harry, it's going to be all right," Remus's voice broke into his worried thoughts. Harry blinked. He wished people would stop saying that.
He felt Tonks let him go, sliding off the bed to stand again. He didn't care. He wanted to be alone now. He just wanted to try to sort this out, to wrap his brain around it.
Tonks was talking softly to Remus, who kept shooting worried glances Harry's way. Harry frowned. They were talking about him. Again. Like when they'd thought he was brain damaged. He shifted. "I'm still here, you know," he said, annoyed. Remus reddened slightly and Tonk's jumped.
"Sorry, Harry," Remus apologized. "We're just worried about you. You never get a break."
"At least you agree with me," he muttered grumpily. "Look—could I just be alone for a while?" he asked. "I just want to think about this on my own."
"Sure, Harry," Remus agreed. "We'll be downstairs if you need us at all. And we haven't told Bill anything, Harry. That's your decision."
"Thanks," Harry said, grateful for that one thing. At least they would respect what little privacy he had left… He watched Remus and Tonks leave, then got out of the bed.
The photograph was still in the sock drawer. He pulled it out, his eyes on the photographic image of his mother instantly. She was smiling and pretty, red hair fluttering a little and green eyes sparkling. She was perfect. Happy and nice. How could she be related to such a monster? What would she say if she knew it?
"You were supposed to be perfect, mum," he said softly. Well…perhaps she still was. It wasn't her fault, certainly. But he doubted that everyone would understand that.
The photograph-Lily just smiled and waved at him before reaching over to muss up James Potter's hair.
He couldn't stand to look at those happy people any longer. He'd never been that happy…not even when they'd won the house cup, or the Quidditch cup, or anything. Maybe when he'd rescued Ginny…he'd been so relieved to see her wake up. That would have been the first death he'd remember witnessing, and he was glad it had not really happened until his fourth year. He would have been happier if he hadn't had to see anyone at all die, but he was not destined to be that lucky.
The photograph went back into the sock drawer. Eventually he hoped he'd be able to put it up somewhere without having to hide from it. But not now. Not after this.
He roamed around the edges of the room, fingering Sirius's old things. The comb on the dresser, the mirror tilted up like he'd been looking in it just minutes before, the one shirt still lying crumpled in the corner of the room. Kreacher of course could not be trusted to clean anything at all, and Harry supposed Remus hadn't wanted to touch anything.
He went back to the bed after a quick trip to the loo. He felt unhappy and abandoned. It was ridiculous, he knew. His friends would not abandon him over this. Because they wouldn't know, a traitorous little part of his brain told him. He pushed that thought away. Remus and Tonks knew and they didn't care. They still liked him.
"Bloody Tom Riddle," he said out loud. "Bloody stupid git." He flopped back onto the pillows. He'd spent most of the day already in this bed, but he didn't want to leave it. It was safe and familiar. It was like having Sirius. The Sirius he knew…not the one that tormented other boys for fun, that laughed along with a conceited, stuck-up James Potter. This was the Sirius that worried that Snape was hurting him. The one that stood up for him and listened to him.
Like Remus did now…he felt tears in his eyes now, and swiped them away. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He wasn't injured, he wasn't starved or in agony. There was no reason at all to cry. None. "Stupid, Potter," he said out loud. The words echoed in the room. "Bloody stupid. Crying and carrying on over something that can't be helped."
"That's a very wise observation," a gentle voice said from the doorway. Harry started, almost rolling off the bed in surprise. Dumbledore stepped into the room a moment later, and Harry breathed out.
Then, he did fall off the bed when Dumbledore's companion came into the room. He hit the floor hard on his hip, the duvet cascading down over him.
He heard Severus Snape snort as he tried to get back up. Finally, he made it back to his feet, face red as he shoved the duvet back onto the bed. "Professor Dumbledore," he said in greeting. He just gave Snape a glare, but when he saw the man's face he flinched. Snape was pale, and he almost looked…afraid. Harry did not want to see that look on anyone's face when they found out. Even if it was Snape.
"I'm glad that you understand that this cannot be helped," Dumbledore said softly. He smiled and flicked his wand, creating three overstuffed chairs. "Please sit, Harry. We need to discuss a few things."
"Why is he here?" Harry demanded, glaring at Snape. "I told him last time to stay the hell out of my house," he growled. Dumbledore looked slightly saddened.
Snape actually flinched away slightly. Dumbledore frowned a second, then smiled again.
"Professor Snape is here at my request, Harry. He is skilled with lineage potions, and I am not," Dumbledore explained. Harry frowned this time.
"I don't want him here," he said. "He's not welcome."
"Nevertheless, I am," Snape snapped, obviously recovering himself. Harry narrowed his eyes angrily.
"I told you to stay out of my house," he said angrily. "I've put up with you at school. I won't do it here!" Dumbledore sighed.
"Please, Harry," he said pleadingly.
"No!" he snapped, not caring that it was Dumbledore…and that he had just recently apologized for getting angry at the end of fifth year. That didn't matter. Snape was not supposed to be here. "He insults me, goes through my memories, and takes advantage of his position," he snarled. "He can do it at school all he wants, but he won't do it here!"
"Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Has Severus ever told anyone anything he's seen during Occlumency lessons?"
Harry snapped his mouth shut, thinking. "No," he finally admitted.
"And did you ever tell anyone what you saw in his pensieve?" Dumbledore continued.
"I told Remus…and…Sirius," he admitted. Snape shifted in his seat, and Harry sent him his strongest glare. He was sort of hoping that his hate would cause the pale man to burn in flames, but it didn't seem likely.
"Who were both there," Dumbledore said. "So you really haven't told anyone," he pointed out.
"Well, no," Harry said. "I said I wouldn't."
"You told your werewolf friend," Snape put in icily.
"Stop acting like a child, Severus," Dumbledore reprimanded sharply. Harry was actually surprised and more than a little gratified at the headmaster's tone. "And I except a little more understanding from you, Harry, please," he went on. Harry frowned. What was there to understand? Snape treated him like rubbish. That wasn't his fault.
"If he stops treating me like I'm dirt, I might," he growled. "He didn't do a damn thing when Voldemort tried to take me again."
"You know he couldn't, Harry," Dumbledore said placatingly. "It would have been too suspicious."
"Then he should have gotten the hell out of there!" Harry exploded. He glanced at Snape, who was staring back just as hatefully. "He's half the reason I got so upset!"
"I have already spoken with Severus," Dumbledore said.
Snape shifted uncomfortably. "I—I should not have said some of the things I said that night," he admitted. Harry knew he was just doing it because Dumbledore made him, but it wasn't like he could argue the point into the ground right now. He needed to build up a little strength and energy. Then he'd surprise Snape good.
He suddenly made it his summer goal to corner Snape somewhere and at least get one good punch in. James Potter the Prat didn't matter. If Snape had acted anything like he did now back then, he deserved it. No better than Draco, really… "Apology not accepted," he said out loud.
"Harry…" Dumbledore pleaded. Harry relented a little. He still wasn't happy with Snape even being in the house, but it looked like he was going to have to live with it. And the longer he argued about it, the longer Snape would be in his house.
"Fine." Harry settled back into the chair again but didn't stop glaring at Snape, who didn't look at him again.
Dumbledore regarded him a moment over his spectacles, and then drew the infamous papers from his robes. "You should have received these yesterday, Harry," he said. "Of course, the Ministry being what it is, even automatic services do not work as they should. Although usually papers such as these are of little importance."
"Are they accurate, sir?" Harry asked. He needed to get confirmation from Dumbledore, even he'd already convinced himself.
Dumbledore unfolded the papers, fingering the family tree. "They seem to be," he admitted. "But they could have been fooled…that is why I wish to use a lineage potion to find the truth. If I had ever imagined that something like this could have occurred, I would have done this…but I just assumed that Jacob Evans had parents with last name Evans. He was listed as a muggle in Lily's school records, so of course we didn't think anything of it."
"What does the potion do, sir?" Harry asked. He was too tired of all this to care about some stupid school file.
"This potion is usually used with small children if the paternity is in question. The potion is a little like Polyjuice, Harry, in that it makes your face shift to the ancestor in question's. Professor Snape assures me that he will be able to tweak it to show the face of your grand-uncle, since he is the relation in question," Dumbledore explained.
Harry nodded, though he definitely did not want to take any potions that Snape had made. And he also didn't want to do anything that would result in him looking like that young man that had been in the Chamber of Secrets. The young man with the hard eyes and the sneer…and the hate and power and anger… "Okay," he said weakly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape sneer and pull a medium-sized flask from his robes.
"I will need your blood, Potter," Snape said tersely. Harry frowned.
"No."
"Harry," Dumbledore said warningly. Harry sighed and stood up. Remember, he told himself, the faster this goes, the faster Snape's gone.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked. Snape stood up, and Dumbledore did as well, banishing the chairs with a flick. Snape glanced at him with glaring, hate-filled eyes.
"Hold out your arm," he said. Harry automatically held out his right arm. Snape shoved back his sleeve past his elbow, and Harry flinched slightly, remembering the last time he had given blood…from this very arm…blood of enemy…
Snape's pallid, thin fingers traced up the inside of his arm, feeling for the vein. Harry wanted to pull away from those icy fingers. Snape touching him, even just his arm like this, was disgusting and irritating. He didn't want to be within ten feet of the man.
The fingers rested a moment on the white scar drawn across his elbow before wrapping around his arm at the joint. Snape set the flask down on the dresser next to him, then produced a small, sharp knife from his pockets. Harry flinched just slightly at the sight, the feeling of deja-vu almost too much for him to take.
He realized Snape had felt him flinch and involuntarily blushed when the man glanced up at him before pressing the knife to the slightly-raised vein. Harry bit the inside of his cheek slightly and watched the blood well up behind the knife's blade as it sliced through the skin.
Snape dropped the knife on the dresser quickly before picking up the flask again. He took his hand off Harry's arm and the blood welled up stronger. A large bead of red formed on his arm, swelling…before Snape could catch it in the flask it rolled, drawing a red line down Harry's arm to his wrist. Then, the cold flask pressed against the cut and several dribbles of blood slid into the open mouth of the container.
Before any more blood could well out, Dumbldore had waved his wand, healing the small cut in an instant. Harry drew his arm back towards his body, left hand covering the scar on his elbow self-consciously. He hated that scar…whenever he saw it, it reminded him and he saw it all again. Not Voldemort's rise…but Cedric's death. Lying there, eyes staring up…
He shook himself out of those thoughts quickly, feeling a small shiver, and watched Snape slowly swirl the potion around a few times. Then he hesitated. "I will need something of Lily Evan's for this to work. Hair would be best, but even a belonging should work. One that can be destroyed."
Harry hesitated, and Dumbledore watched him. "Perhaps you have something of hers, Harry?" he asked. Harry sighed and went over to the bed, pulling the glass-encased lily out from under his pillows, where he'd put it when Tonks had shown up. It was the only thing he had, and it was closest. Meaning less of Snape being around if he got this done now. The lily was still slightly warm, and he held it tightly a moment. He did not want to give it up. Even for this…
"I don't want it destroyed," he said as he handed it over to Dumbledore. He did not look at Snape. He had a feeling he would want to snatch the glass trinket back from Dumbledore and throw it at Snape's head if he did. "I—Remus gave it to me," he confessed. "He said he gave it to my mum when they were in school."
His eyes didn't leave the glass object as Dumbledore examined it, turning it over in his wizened old hands a few times. Harry watched the old wizard stop turning the trinket and examine it more closely. "I do not think I will have to damage it more than minimally, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You may not have seen it, but there are a few of your mother's hairs infused into this. I should be able to extract one, but the glass might crack…"
Harry nodded. So the red streaks had been hairs. Not imperfections of the flower…he had been too depressed and dark-thoughted at the time to care what they were. They had looked like streams of blood to him… "Go ahead," he said. "It's all right if you can't keep it from getting damaged," he added.
Dumbldore nodded and pointed his wand at the glass lily held in his other hand. He said a few soft words, then pressed his wand to the glass. It seemed to slip into the glass like a knife into butter, and when Dumbledore pulled the wand tip away from the glass, a single hair clung to its end.
Just as Harry thought the glass would come out undamaged, there was a sickening crack. There was now a white fault line running through the glass. Dumbledore sighed and let Snape pluck the hair from the end of his wand before handing the trinket back to Harry, who examined the crack with small frown. "I am sorry about that, Harry," Dumbledore apologized. Harry smiled as best he could, knowing it would look false to Dumbledore.
"It's all right," he said. "It's still in one piece."
"I know you have precious little of your mother's—"
"Except her genes," Harry muttered. Dumbledore sighed, and didn't respond. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at the old wizard, knowing he would see sadness and perhaps a little worry in those sparkling eyes. Instead, he watched Snape slip the hair into the vial.
"I'm not sure how it will work," Snape admitted. "It should just run through the male side of the Evans family…or Riddle family, I suppose," he corrected himself. Harry heard the slight catch in the man's voice. He was afraid. Good.
Harry knew why. If this worked the way he thought it was going to, he was going to look like Voldemort for a few moments. But would it be the Voldemort of now, or the one of sixteen? Either would be a shock to Snape, he supposed…he was the only one that had seen Tom at sixteen in the recent past. Nothing would faze Dumbledore, he was sure, but Snape was another matter. Everything seemed to make him angry, enraged, or otherwise upset…
The potion fizzed in the flask, and Harry gulped. If this tasted anything like Polyjuice, it would be very hard to convince himself to drink it. Snape swirled it expertly a few times while Harry and Dumbledore watched, then turned towards them. "Here," he said. "You must drink most of it for it to last long enough to reach back to your grand-uncle," he said. Harry nodded and took the flask from Snape without a word.
It smelled odd, and he got the feeling that it would not taste good. At least he couldn't really see it, he reassured himself. He tilted it slightly, and then drew a breath before putting the flask to his lips and knocking it back. It couldn't be any worse than fire-whiskey, he told himself fatalistically.
He was perhaps wrong. This tasted. The fire-whiskey had burned. This…it was like old socks and bad eggs, like warm blood and rotten moss…he gagged, forced himself to keep swallowing…when his hands faltered, a cold pair gripped his painfully and forced the flask to remain at his mouth, the foul taste permeating his mouth…
He could tell when it hit his stomach…it cramped up immediately, and his knees buckled.
He fell into a chair that Dumbledore must have suddenly created. The flask was still pressing to his mouth, potion still pouring mercilessly into his mouth.
The metal rim clacked against his teeth as he gagged again, trying to pull away. "Potter," Snape growled. Harry tried to pull away even more. Snape…it was Snape forcing him to drink this, to keep on swallowing this foul mess rather than have it soak into his mouth…
Finally, he couldn't take it any more. He jerked away sharply. Mud-colored sludgy potion sloshed onto his clothes as he toppled out of the chair onto his knees, breathing hard. "Don't even think about throwing that up, Potter," Snape snarled. "You will ruin it all if you do…"
"Now, Severus, have a little faith," came Dumbledore's soft voice. "Harry, just listen to me," the man went on. "Breathe and just try to relax."
Harry pressed his hands against the floor, wiling himself to keep from throwing the potion back up. He did not want to make a mess in front of Snape. Snape. The sudden hate overrode the nausea. He felt a burning in his stomach, but he was not sure if it was the potion any more. Snape. Snape, who hated him, derided him, picked at him…
And then the nausea was completely gone, and he got his legs back under himself just as the potion took effect. It felt just like Polyjuice Potion. His skin was crawling…but just in his head and neck. It felt like ants were under his skin, crawling around and nibbling at his skin. It felt like needles rolling across his skin, itching… "It is working, I think," Snape said curtly. Harry blinked, wanting to rub his face but forcing himself not to touch his skin.
He kept his eyes on Dumbledore instead. Watching. This would be his indication of whether the potion did its job or not. The expression on Dumbldore's face would change…
There was a funny lurch in his throat, and suddenly all sensations ceased. "This would be Jacob Evans—Jonathan Riddle," Dumbledore said softly. Harry felt tempted to go to a mirror, but he didn't think he could stand. Dumbledore seemed to sense his wish and conjured a small hand mirror.
The man staring out of the mirror had dark hair and hazel-green eyes. His facial structure was fairly close to Harry's, though his nose was longer and his cheekbones narrower. "My grandfather," he said softly. It was odd to see foreign lips saying his words…
And then the face began to melt and shift and move. Not much changed, though…the hair darkened to completely black, grew a little longer. The eyes lightened. To green. A vivid but not sparkling green. More like the light of Avada Kedavra. Not the sparkling, happy green his own eyes usually were. These were hard, vicious eyes.
But they were the same shape as his own eyes. And then his face narrowed a little more, the mouth's lips narrowed as well, to a perpetual sneering expression. Harry blanched.
Tom Riddle was staring back at him. A twenty-something Tom Riddle. Dumbledore sighed. "Tom Riddle as he looked before he sunk too far into the Dark Arts to ever really be human again…" he explained. Harry touched the face with his free hand, feeling not just a little revulsion at his parent's murderer's face on his body.
He heard a small clatter. It was Snape, who had turned away sharply. His hands betrayed him, though. The clatter came from him trying to put the cap back on the flask, his fingers trembling too much to align the bottle and the cap correctly on the first attempt. Harry set the mirror down deliberately even as his face started to shift again. It stopped, and Dumbledore frowned lightly. "And Tom Riddle Senior," he said softly.
This face did not last long. It melted away with a tingling feeling seconds after it formed. The potion was stopping. It was running out of strength to work, to Harry's relief. He picked up the mirror when he thought he had his own face back, and checked carefully in the mirror. Everything was back to normal.
"I'm afraid the paperwork is true, then," Dumbledore said softly. "Tom Riddle is indeed your grand-uncle, Harry."
"I don't suppose his blood protection would be stronger than my half-aunt's, would it?" he asked bitterly.
"This is no joking matter, Potter!" Snape spat. Harry glared at him, while Dumbledore sat back down in a reappeared chair.
"What do you want me to do?" he demanded. "Discuss how I'm directly related to the Dark Lord? How he's the only real relative that I have?"
"You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Potter," Snape growled.
"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore cut in. "Harry, stop arguing."
"But—" Harry objected, but it died on his lips. He was lucky Dumbledore wasn't planning on locking him up or something. He was fairly sure Dumbledore didn't place much stake in blood relations for more than functional purposes.
"This is a serious matter, Harry, but not disastrous by any means," Dumbledore told him. "Of course, this must stay out of the hands of the public, Harry. If Voldemort found out about this, it could very well become too dangerous for you to stay anywhere that Voldemort might be able to find you. You would have to go under the Fidelus charm, I suppose…"
"Does his relation to me give him an advantage against me?" he asked. Dumbledore shook his head after a moment.
"Not overly so. You've already dueled against him, Harry, and you survived. You were just as related then as you are now. It should not make any noticeable difference," Dumbledore told him. He glanced at Snape a moment. "And I do not think that knowing that you are his grand-nephew would make him any less likely to kill you, Harry. He does not have mercy."
"I don't think he felt any guilt about killing his niece, either," Harry commented darkly. Dumbledore was quiet a moment.
"Harry, I must ask something of you," he said slowly. Harry looked up sharply. A feeling of doom seemed to grow inside of his stomach.
"No. No way," he said sharply. He shot Snape a death glare. "I'd rather Tom knew."
"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said patiently. "In order to keep this from Voldemort, you will need to master Occlumency. You are not as protected from his influence here, like you were at your half-Aunt's. He can reach you here."
"So he reaches me. So he finds out," Harry said stubbornly. There was no way he was going through that again. No way.
"He could find a way to use it against you with time, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Harry had already known he was going to lose this argument, but he didn't want to give it up without a fight.
"Can't you teach me?" he asked. "I'd rather Filch taught me!" He saw Snape glare at him again at this comment and wanted to smile.
"Professor Snape here is the best at it, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. Snape shifted in his seat a little.
"Perhaps the brat has a point—He and I do not—"
"I cannot be the one to do this, Severus," Dumbledore said, sounding a little like he'd had this argument one too many times. "I am asking you to be mature enough to understand my reasons and do this for me."
Snape scowled and looked away. Harry realized a little happily that he wasn't the only one that lost all their arguments to the Headmaster. "I'll do it. And I'll try," he promised. Be the adult, he told himself quietly. Be mature for once. Like Hermione would tell him.
"Fine," Snape grumbled. "Tonight, eight o' clock, I will return."
"Good," Harry said sharply. "Now get out of my house like I asked!"
"Of course, Potter," Snape hissed, eyes narrowing. The man picked up the bag he'd been carrying, dumped the empty flask into it, and swept from the room. Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if upset about something. After Snape was well and truly gone, Harry stood up, and the chairs disappeared.
"Harry, please do not let this upset you too much," Dumbledore said gently. Harry wanted to gape at the man.
"Not be upset by this?" he echoed. "But—"
"Harry, this cannot be helped. You must understand this. The best we can do is work this to our advantage and keep it from Voldemort at the same time. Just try to master Occlumency, Harry. This is very important," Dumbledore told him. Harry was a little thrown off by this. He'd been more angry about the impending Occlumency lesson than anything else. Voldemort being his grand-uncle seemed like cake compared to Snape. "Harry, I have already spoken rather harshly with Professor Snape," Dumbledore told him. "He will follow a lesson plan that I have approved, and if you wish someone can sit in on your lessons. It will not be a repeat of last year."
That seemed pretty fair concessions, Harry decided. "All right," he said. "Remus will be there, or Tonks," he said.
"I just ask that you apply yourself, Harry. I know you have nothing but hate for Professor Snape, but if you can master Occlumency, you will not need to see him outside of class time again. I promise that. As long as you promise to work hard." Harry found himself nodding, listening.
"I'll try,' he promised.
He thought Dumbledore would just leave, but the old man suddenly embraced him for a few brief moments. Harry was still in shock when Dumbledore stepped back, patting his shoulder once. "This changes nothing and everything, Harry. I do not care that you are related to Voldemort. I would think it would feel worse to you to be related to the Dursleys," he added with a small smile. Harry felt himself smiling. Perhaps the Dursleys were worse in their own way…
"Thanks, sir," he said after a moment, feeling as if something should be said. Dumbledore nodded and then swept out of the room. Harry went back to the bed, sitting down on the edge. He put his head in his hands and tried to think everything through.
He, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was the grand-nephew of the monster that he had to kill. He had to kill off a third of living family, if he counted both Petunia and Dudley as relations. He did have a few genes in common with them, though which ones he wasn't certain. Maybe the ones that let you breathe and eat or something… That's about all the Dursleys ever did.
There was a soft knock on the door. Harry looked up as Tonks poked her head in, looking frightened. "What?" he asked, worried.
"Snape," she said. "He gave me a Death Glare, I think," she said. "I'd better punch him harder next time," she added thoughtfully, the fearful expression gone. Harry couldn't help it. He started laughing.
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A/N: I want you to please not judge this chapter too harshly. I know it is slightly cliché and unrealistic to have Harry related to Voldemort or whatever, but I honestly don't think that Lily and Petunia are completely related. There are too many mentions of Petunia appearance, and they don't even begin to match Lily. Probably, it will be nothing, but if it is something it also probably will not be that Harry's related to Voldemort in some way. Boo hoo, I say. This is my damn story. So there!
Don't worry: Lily and James are most definitely Harry's parents in this. I wouldn't ever dream of questioning that, although I have read some very good stories that change Harry's father's identity.
Numba1: I know that you had a lot of—er—constructive criticism for my story. I'd just like to note that I'm doing the best I can to make a story that I like, more than anything. I'm sorry if you disagree with some of it, but I can promise you that Ginny won't be the love interest for Harry. I think she's over him, and I think that's taking the easy route out of things. I don't know anyone who's married their best friend's sibling. Also. Harry and Snape aren't exactly going to be on friendly terms for a looong time. I think eventually they have to reconcile, and I slightly disagree with your saying that Harry shouldn't be a little forgiving. Because when he looked in the pensieve, he did come out seeing Snape a little bit differently. And he doesn't have any love for Kreacher either. He's tolerating him until he can get rid of him. He doesn't care if that means Kreacher kills himself or what. He just wants him gone. Well, I'm really rambling now… Also, there will be retribution for the Dursleys. Harry's starting to get back up on his feet now after reaching a low. He really did take several steps backwards, but I think he was allowed them after his really bad end to fifth year. People reach low points, and fifteen year olds do it a lot. I know this. My sister was depressed or whatever, and after her 'low point,' she took awhile to start acting her age. She's almost seventeen now and she still acts like a fifteen year old. And before her 'depression,' she acted her age. So whatever. I'm still glad that you reviewed with your thoughts, and I'd once again like to remind you that this is in fact my story above all else. I just post it because I think there might be people out there like me who are trying to fill the void that exists between now and the sixth book. Thanks.
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I've been warned that doesn't take kindly to lengthy A/Ns or A/Ns at all. So I'm sorry but I won't be able to respond to questions as much anymore. This is probably the last time I will to such great lengths. Thank you for hanging with me. –Miss Laine