Betaed by Barbara
I have some problems at that: I have only two weeks remained to finish this story, but... it won't be enough. Which means that I will upload (probably) chapter 11-15 before the 4th of November, but chapters 16-20 will be on only after the 15th of November – because I will be terribly occupied.
I hate this situation, I hate that I can't finish this fic before November, however, I will try to do my best.
And yes, you are right, sometimes I just want to be over with the story. But this wish just renders my situation more difficult. The more I want to write to finish it, the less I can manage. I think you can understand me. Since March I wrote more than 300000 words – and not in my mother tongue, and now, I'm drained.
So, forgive me all the spelling and grammar errors this time.
And ENJOY my fic even if I can't enjoy it. :-P
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Chapter 10 – Memories***************************************************************************
Harry's arrival was the usual: he simply fall onto his face as he tried to spiral out of the fireplace. Somebody grabbed his arm and helped him up though.
"Albus told me that you would come," the calm, deep voice had a calming effect on Harry's quite shaky mood. As he raised his head he looked directly at the Head Healer's worrying face.
"I must talk to you," Harry blurted out through a dry throat. "I have to know... I... that..."
"I know, young man," the woman ushered him towards an armchair and leaned on the mantelpiece in her usual manner. "Albus told me about the wand. And if I remember well you know about these Memory Charms and the dangers of their use."
"Yes," Harry muttered, his heart racing in his chest. "But... I have to be sure. I..." he couldn't continue. His voice trailed off, like it would have been somewhere half-way in his mind. "Will he hate me forever?" he suddenly cried out.
The woman sighed and closed her eyes.
"Do you remember when we talked about Severus's condition, just before you first visited him?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Harry said again.
"Can you tell me the things you remember from that conversation?"
Harry struggled to concentrate hard to recall those words of two months ago.
"You told me that his emotions are strongly damaged because he removed the memories of his brother from his mind, and that he has almost completely lost track of his past motives. And confused," he added as an afterthought. "But that was two months ago!"
"Young man, the situation is not as simple as you imagine. Two months are not long enough to heal injuries – and certainly not to heal emotional injuries."
Harry stilled at those words. If anybody knew that emotional shocks were very hard to get through, he did. For him, it had taken more than a year to break free of the consequences of his captivity, and still, he wasn't completely healed: he still had nightmares and relapses, like that panic attack several days ago, he still had eating disorders and he was an emotional wreck: the amount of weeping he had done in the last few days was alarming.
So he nodded.
"On the other hand for Severus those days of your fourth year happened only two and a half months ago. His dislike towards Harry Potter is as alive as it was then. Your secretive behaviour towards him just worsened the situation. He dislikes you because you are Harry Potter, and..."
"But I'm not that Harry Potter he knew from my fourth year!" Harry interjected. "I'm his nephew and I tried to tell him as much as I could, sometimes against the Headmaster's wishes."
"Yes, but you didn't tell him the most important thing..."
"BECAUSE DUMBELDORE PROHIBITED ME FROM DOING SO!" tears began to prick Harry's eyelashes, but this time they were tears of anger, not of sorrow or depression. "Why couldn't he understand?"
"I don't think he ever tried to understand Harry Potter – and you are Harry Potter, rather than his nephew for him now. But there is something worse than that: he feels – and he is – very exposed, unlike many other Obliviated people. A general Obliviation spell affects only a small part of the human mind, some minor memories, subtle things, and the Obliviated person many times doesn't even realise that he was attacked. But in his case the Memory Charm was so thorough and wide that he could have realised it even if we hadn't told him about it. So he is well aware of his weakness: that he has a memory full of wide gaps and holes, and he can't fill these holes, he needs other people to tell him what happened, he needs people to trust, people who won't abuse his weakness. And I think Albus should have told him long ago many parts of the truth, but he didn't wanted to risk Severus's loyalty."
"How do you mean his loyalty?" Harry hissed.
"I think that was the main reason of Albus's secrecy. He wasn't sure about Severus's loyalty any more since it was based on the death of his brother. So he needed another bond to bind Severus to the Order and to keep him away from You-Know-Who, and that was you, his supposed son."
Harry lowered his head in anger.
"I see. He told me it was for my protection."
"Probably both," the healer hurried to agree. Harry lifted his face again.
"So this is the situation now. But is there any hope for Severus to regain his memories or a part of them? I read that there isn't, but I want to hear it from somebody who has many years experience on the field."
The woman smiled sadly.
"Perhaps I'm one of the most experienced healers, young man, but it still doesn't mean that I can tell you with absolute certainty statements concerning Severus's future mental condition."
"You're beating around the bush," Harry said darkly. "Tell me the truth, please. I want... I must know!"
The two people stared at each other for a long time. Finally, it was the healer who surrendered.
"Very well," she said heavily. "My answer is: no. There isn't much hope for him to recover."
"Why?"
The woman apparently braced herself for a long explanation.
"A correctly cast Memory Charm does not alter the mind's content, it only raises gates and walls around certain areas, memories, pictures. Our work here is to remove those walls and give the lost memories back to our patient. This is quite a long process and we followed that, because we thought that Severus cast the spell properly. As you saw: it was completely fruitless. Severus's condition didn't change either a little bit, because his Memory Charm was far from correct. It means that the spell, instead of rising walls and gates most probably erased those memories or damaged them permanently," the healer stepped up to her chair and sat down. "I had only five patients like Severus in my praxis. And none of them recovered." She stopped for a while. "Albus told me the way he treats you now. It's partially the reason of the incorrect spell. Not only his previous dislike."
"Which means what?"
"I don't know, young man," she whispered sounding a little defeated.
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After returning from his meeting with the Head Healer Harry completely refused to take part in anything his friends planned. He retired to his room and spent the majority of his days there looming and making pitiful attempts to study. But somehow his classes couldn't catch his interest any more. And it was not his teachers' fault, they tried hard.
The new defence teacher, professor Noir was very nice to him and very helpful, she offered some tutoring classes in duelling, which Harry had refused immediately, although he had known he needed practice. But he didn't care.
McGonagall, to Harry's relief, didn't change her demeanour towards Harry, she remained the strict, stern professor he had known previously, which made his situation more bearable, but... Harry could feel her sympathy sometimes as he caught a worried glance shot towards his direction, and he hated it. He didn't need anybody's worry or pity.
The Arithmancy professor overloaded him with exercises and homework, like professor Flitwick, even Binns seemed to realise something that happened to his favourite pupil, because he invited Harry into his personal quarters (why did a ghost need personal quarters, Harry wondered) and lent him some books, which were surprisingly quite interesting.
The sixth NEWT class Harry had decided to take was Herbology, and it was nothing different from the previous years' classes: even his classmates were the same. Apparently, Herbology was the class almost everybody received good enough marks in to continue their studies.
So Harry went from lesson to lesson and forced himself to study, to eat, to sleep, to keep walking and living, but his mind wasn't in it. He replayed his conversation with the old healer again and again, arguing with himself, desperately looking for some solution, but as time went by, after several weeks, he finally had to accept the fact that Severus would never be the same. And he had to move on. But this 'moving on' didn't mean that he would give up on Severus. Not at all. He had another idea in mind.
It occurred to him during a defence lesson, in the last week of September, when they finally finished revising the OWLs curriculum and the professor began to introduce them to the next years' NEWTs expectations. Harry was deadly bored. He had already read all the recommended books for this year, and so he didn't think he would hear anything important. He let his mind to drift, so it was quite a shock when he caught some words of his teacher's long speech.
"... and you have to understand that there are no perfect wards and shields. Every shield can be penetrated; every ward can be gotten through. Your task is to find out how. If an attempt is futile, you have to try another way. In this year we will learn about these alternate ways to get through shields and wards and personal security systems..." she went on, but Harry's thoughts were distracted again.
'... there are no perfect wards and shields...'
'Every shield can be penetrated; every ward can be gotten through.'
Harry felt his heart beat faster.
'Every shield can be penetrated; every ward can be gotten through.' The sentence repeated in his head over and over again.
What if the old healer was wrong? What if some parts of Severus's previous memories remained untouched, and he just had to find them? What if those memory-fields were not damaged totally, if these were only assumptions and guessing? What if there were only walls and wards around those memories, just a little bit stronger wards than the average Obliviation wards?
Harry became so excited that he could barely wait for the lesson to end. That day he had no other lessons, only lunch right after the lesson, but he didn't bother with stupidities like lunch now. Hearing the teacher's dismissing words he threw his books into his bag and sprinted towards the library.
'Every shield can be penetrated; every ward can be got through. Your task is to find out how.'
He would find the way through Severus's walls. It was his task, and he would not fail.
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Severus was still seething with anger as he entered the classroom with his sixth year Advanced Potions class in it. This morning he received the last issue of The Advanced Brewer, and almost fainted when caught the photo of that damned boy on the cover.
How?
Could Potter be everywhere? This was not the Witch Weekly, or the Daily Prophet, until this point this was a serious scientific journal, so there was no place for famous and big-headed gits like Potter in it, not to mention on the cover of it!
"What were you thinking..." he had muttered and jumped to his feet so that his chair turned upside down. Dumbledore had glanced at him curiously, but Severus just shrugged and left the Great Hall in a hurry. His appetite was destroyed anyway.
He wanted to write a letter to the editor protesting against the journal's apparent corruption by the fame of a totally undeserving boy, but he had known that he should read the article first, if he wanted to do it properly. So he had sat down in his favourite chair and opened the journal.
He had almost had a fit when he read the title: 'Quietus Harold Snape – a genius about to be wasted?' He had coughed and spat out the tea he had been drinking in shock.
For the first time since the truth had come out, this had been the first article, which really blamed him for his behaviour. The other articles had treated him as a heartless bastard, but that had been nothing surprising, and in a sense they had been completely relieved that an ex-Death Eater as him, had no influence on their precious Boy-Who-Lived.
But this article was completely different. Its writer – McRee of all people! – had attacked him seriously about his refusal of the boy. 'I had the honour to teach the boy for some weeks and I have to say that I have never had an apprentice as thoughtful, intelligent and creative as young Mr Snape, who now, after his uncle's decision is excluded from further training in the subtle art of potion making, and so he has no hope to have the proper qualifications to obtain the place among the Potions Masters he deserves.' Severus shrieked, but the article had other things to say: 'We all read the two Snapes' journal about their experimentations on the Wolfsbane Potion, and we all knew how large a role young Mr Snape played in creating the new concoction. It's simply intolerable that professor Snape, just because he learned that his nephew was none other than Harold Potter, refuses to teach him...' and so on, without an end. The most unnerving thing about the article was that that boy was really talented, Severus had to confess to himself. He remembered perfectly how they had worked together, the precise movements, the interest, the attention, and last, but not least, his dedication to studying, to understanding.
It had been... well... satisfying to work with him. He had been an excellent assistant.
But he was Potter nevertheless, and Severus hated him.
So, he was quite angry as he entered the classroom. Seeing Miss Granger and the Longbottom boy didn't help. Watching the class's struggling during the whole brewing process didn't help either. Mostly because Severus knew that the boy would brew the potion easily and perfectly – he had already seen him brewing this potion.
So by the end of the lesson, Severus became livid.
"Miss Granger. Stay behind," he snapped at the girl. She seemed appalled, but waited patiently until her mates filed out of the classroom.
"Yes, sir?" she approached the teacher's table in the back of the room.
"I want to talk to Potter, today, my office, eight p.m."
Suddenly, the girl's generally open expression became suspicious and tense.
"Why, sir?" she asked calmly.
"It's none of your business," Severus said coldly and stood up. "Now, go."
"No."
Severus froze in half-movement. He had never, NEVER heard of the Granger girl speaking impolitely to her teachers. He, slowly, turned to her.
"No?" he asked menacingly.
"No," she whispered, and Severus saw her struggling to maintain a brave appearance. And she repeated again, "No."
"No what?" he stood up finally and stepped closer to the scared girl.
"I will not tell him, sir," she gulped. "I don't want him to be hurt again. Just because you read that article..."
"How do you know that, girl?" Severus growled and he stood now face-to-face to the trembling student.
"Quiet received his own copy, and I saw... him on the cover," she swallowed hard, "and I read the article as well..." her voice faded and she turned her face away from Severus's threatening expression.
"I don't mind what do you think, Miss Granger, I still want to talk to Potter this evening."
"I don't know any Potter, sir," the girl said and stepped back. "I can't give your message."
"Ten points from Gryffindor for being cheeky, Miss Granger."
The girl looked at him, and most surprisingly he found only sadness in her eyes.
"Yes, sir," she said and left.
Just after she closed the door, Severus realised that he had to find somebody else to transmit his message.
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"Ares told me you wanted to talk to me, sir."
Severus looked up from the essays he was grading, then he cast another glance to his watch. It was eight o'clock, precisely.
"Close the door," he said, and put down his quill. He saw as the boy quickly shut the brown, wooden door, and turning, he stared at him expectantly.
Severus massaged his temples in distress, and he saw surprised that a slight smile appeared on the boy's face. It enraged him, not for the first time that day.
"Potter!"
The smile disappeared.
"My name is Snape, sir," the boy said cheekily. Severus clenched his hands into fists in rage.
"You read the article," Severus continued purposefully ignoring the boy's remark.
"Which article?" the brat blinked in confusion.
"In The Advanced Brewer," Severus hissed.
"No, sir," Potter shook his head. "I gave my copy to Hermione."
"Why?"
A shrug.
"She spotted something in it, and wanted to read it. She said she would give it back to me tomorrow."
The boy's calmness somehow annoyed Severus even more. Was he plotting something again?
"Don't think just because that article I will let you in my class."
"What?" Potter looked surprised. "I never asked you to take me back."
It was true, but it enraged Severus even more.
"But you want to come back," he hissed.
Potter shrugged again.
"No. Not really."
"No?" he said in mocking interest. "Am I not good enough for our local celebrity, Potter?"
The boy gulped and looked into his eyes.
"My name is Snape, sir," he said again.
"Answer my question!" Severus cried at the boy.
"Why?" he replied. "You won't take me back. I didn't ask you. I don't think my opinion is relevant in these circumstances."
He was right again. Severus hated him.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter."
The boy shuddered, and slowly he said-
"I. Am. Not. A. Potter. And you can't deduct points just because you don't like me. I did nothing to deserve punishment."
"Nothing?" Severus suddenly erupted. "And the lies? The half-truths? The abuse of my ignorance?"
Unexpectedly, the boy lowered his head.
"I wanted to tell you, from the very first day," he whispered. "But the Headmaster was afraid of your reaction."
"You wanted to tell me?" sarcasm dripped from the Potions Master's voice. "A lie, again."
"No," the boy shook his head vehemently. "I really did. The first time I could I told you that I was not your son. I wanted to tell you who I was, just... I was... I was just afraid of losing you..." the last words were very quiet.
"You managed," Severus replied coldly. The boy's face snapped up, and Severus saw the lines of tiredness on the young face. But not only tiredness. All of a sudden he caught himself, the sixteen-year-old himself in that face, and something else he couldn't place a finger on, something distant and bittersweet, something, which touched him deeply, so deeply that for a moment he couldn't even breathe.
They were standing facing each other now.
The boy was not a Potter. He was indeed a Snape, Severus confessed to himself. Or he had gone barking mad.
"Now, get out," he muttered before the confusion could break through his emotionless mask. "And don't think you will have any chance."
Again, that expression.
"Yes, sir," the boy nodded, and left.
But the confusion remained.
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"What are you doing here?" Ron asked surprised, when Harry emerged from between two rows of bookshelves.
"Reading," he answered sarcastically, and put the books he was carrying in his arms on the desk. "This is the library, Ron."
Ron eyed his books with a little astonishment.
"Why are you reading stuff like this?" he lifted the thick book, which lay on the top of the pile. "Sharing Memories – a practical guide," he read aloud. "Remembrances," was another title.
"Ron, please," Harry said softly. "It's none of your business."
Ron sat down and looked at him seriously.
"You do it for Snape, don't you?"
"Congratulations," Harry replied sarcastically. "One point to Gryffindor for being so intelligent."
"But... why?" his ex-friend asked.
Harry sighed, and didn't answer immediately. He and Ron still weren't friends, they were on neutral terms, they rarely said more than the usual greeting words to each other and Harry knew that it was mostly Ron's guilt, which made their relationship almost insupportable. Ron had been shocked when he found out half a year ago that he had almost killed someone. His shock had grown even larger when he had learned that that person was none other than Harry.
"You can guess," he blurted out sardonically.
"Oh..." Ron choked. "But... he rejected you..."
Of course, the details weren't common knowledge. Harry told them only to Hermione, but the others could barely follow the events of the past months. The end of the fourth year – Snape – his son – lighter mood – easier Potions classes – Malfoy – Quietus's disappearance – Voldemort (alias You-Know-Who) – Obliviate (this was a part many didn't know) – long staying in the hospital – tensions between Snape and his son – then a good relationship again – a sudden word in a Potion class – total rejection – insupportable Potions classes. Over again.
Harry sighed and finally decided not to react. But now, Ron was insistent.
"Look, Harry I came to talk to you."
"Indeed?" Harry raised an eyebrow not lifting his eyes from the book he opened a moment ago.
"In the end of the last year we talked and you... you said you wanted to be friends with me. And then... since then I have been thinking of you, and suddenly, it turned out that you are you and I..." he stopped, then yelled out. "Harry, I felt so terrible! After I attacked you in Hogsmeade, I wanted to disappear. I was ashamed of myself. I... you..." Ron lowered his voice again. "And when I learned the truth... Harry, I know that it was terrible what I did, but... it means that... can't we be friends again?"
This time, Harry felt distress and sincerity in his ex-friend's voice, so he placed the book on the table and slowly, he massaged his temples in thought. Suddenly, he realised that it was one of Severus's characteristic manners, and cracked a half-smile.
"I don't know, Ron," he answered sincerely. "It's not as easy as you think..."
"Why not?" Ron furrowed his brows. "What I did, I did for you!"
"And you did it to me as well, Ron!" Harry whispered back.
"You should have told me!" Ron hit the table with his fist. "I was your best friend. I thought you had died. It was terrible. Terrible," Ron shook his head. "You can't imagine. And then..."
Suddenly, Harry couldn't stand listening to Ron any more. He jumped to his feet, grabbed some of the books lying in front of him and stormed out of the library as fast as he could. But for a short moment, he stopped in the door.
"I know something about being miserable, Ron," he said and left.
Later, in his room, he continued his study on Pensieves. This was the idea, which had occurred to him when he had begun to think about Severus's condition after Dumbledore's dark revelation about his wand.
It wasn't possible for Severus to regain his lost memories, then he would give him his own memories, as much as he could. There were some problems though. First, he didn't have a Pensieve, second he didn't know the idea behind that. Not to mention that he didn't want to give over his memories. He wanted to share them, which meant that he had to study how to put a memory into a Pensieve and let it remain in his head in the same time.
Buying the Pensieve wasn't difficult. According to his present economical health he could buy hundreds of Pensieves, although they were rather expensive. Nevertheless, he had had a little shock when he finally ordered one: the company had sent the Pensieve for free, and when Harry questioned them, they pointed out that he was one of the owners of that company – because it was an affiliated company of Shell Magical International.
Harry touched the rim of the small, simple bowl, and smiled. It would give Severus something more precious than any money or riches. It would give him something back, something, which once belonged to him, but later had disappeared into nothingness.
But he wasn't ready yet. He wanted to try somehow the things he had read and learned. And his short row with Ron gave him a good idea.
First, he would test his 'Pensieve abilities' on Ron.
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Harry was so nervous that he almost had a fit. Erica had approached him again and he simply was unable to break free from her. He knew that he still was ugly and quite bad-tempered, but it hadn't stopped the girl from haunting him. Harry felt miserable again. He wanted to turn time back, to be Severus's son again – not only because of the man, but because when he had been Severus's son, the half-Muggle, ugly guy, nobody wanted to befriend him for his fame, health or noble origin. Even being Harry Potter had been better than this. As a Potter he had been a handsome boy, but now... And he wasn't blind. He could see perfectly that Erica didn't like him. She liked all those things, which Harry despised: the fame, the richness and the origin.
And now, she was chattering with him nevertheless, smiling and flirting slightly, playing with her hair, biting her lips in a way she believed being sensual, but all of this repulsed Harry, and he tried his best not to send her to hell directly.
"... so professor Snape gave us this task and I thought I would ask you, Harry, since you are..." she chattered happily, but to Harry's luck Seamus stepped up to them, and excused Harry.
When they had walked enough away that Erica was out of earshot, Harry released a deep sigh.
"Thanks, mate."
"She is terrible," Seamus shook his head. "But I think you should be more firm and send her away. Your apparent uncertainty gives her the idea that you may date her or something..."
"Oh, I know," Harry rolled his eyes. "But many times I simply have no time to open my mouth."
Seamus winked at him.
"You should try your fa- I mean professor Snape's style. You can do it, I saw last year. Well, perhaps your sneer is not that good, but good enough to scare her miles away from you."
Harry released a short, almost happy laugh.
"I tell you something," he whispered and leaned closer to Seamus, "there were times when I was practising his sneer in front of a mirror."
Seamus laughed and shook his head with amusement.
"You are so serious. I can't imagine you standing in front of a mirror, mimicking the 'death glare'!"
"Then try. I did it many times."
Seamus shook his head again.
"All right. But I didn't drag you away from that girl just to chat about your Snape-sneer, Qui-Harry. I just... so... you know this year I'm the Quidditch Captain and you... so you are the best seeker we ever had and, look, mate, we thought that you could return to flying."
Harry whirled to face him.
"Seamus!" he said seriously and grabbed his friend's shoulders. "No."
Seamus blinked in surprise and confusion.
"No what?"
"I won't take your place from you. You are the seeker of the team and..."
"Look, Harry. With George, Fred, Angelina and Katie gone, there are only Ron and I in the team and I'm not sure I want to be a seeker. I think I'd like to try to be a Chaser, and there are some open posts for two beaters and two other chasers as well," Seamus said emphatically. "We need you in the team."
"Look, Seamus, I don't know," Harry scratched his neck. "I have a lot of NEWTs classes and I want to concentrate on my studies rather than go to practices every day..."
Seamus's face fell.
"Yeah, I know that's not easy for you, but we need you, and you are bloody brilliant. And I think we can organise our practices so that you won't have to participate every occasion. Please, Harry!"
Harry just groaned in annoyance.
"I don't think I want to do it, Seamus."
"You love to fly, Harry. And now, you have the chance to fly again!" Seamus played his ace against Harry, using the only reason he knew Harry couldn't dismiss.
Harry's face contorted for a short moment, and he nodded slowly, tensely.
"All right, I'll try," he said defeated.
He really loved to fly.
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It took less than a week to prepare his 'test-Pensieve' for Ron, but Harry was totally clueless how to persuade his ex-friend to look into the bowl. Every time he approached Ron he always backed off, although he couldn't understand why. Didn't he want Ron to see, to understand what he had done?
Yes, he did, he answered himself, but there were some problems. Showing Ron those memories would be an act of trust, to accept the risk of being exposed to someone, who had tortured and humiliated him in the past, even if he hadn't known that it had been him. It was still hard to be confident with secrets like those hidden in the Pensieve, which was lying next to Harry's bed on the nightstand. Harry sighed in uncertainty.
Perhaps it was not the time to show Ron those memories. Not yet, at least. Perhaps he had to wait some more. Perhaps he should never show him anything. The Pensieve was perfectly prepared, Harry knew, he had checked it many times during its preparation. He had managed to share those memories, and to filter all the moments he wanted to keep secret from Ron. It hadn't been easy: many times he had noticed that a certain memory dragged many other attached memories with itself into the bowl, and Harry had to erase them again and again until only the intended piece remained behind.
It took more than a week to prepare. But now, he wasn't sure he wanted to share them. They contained too many things about Severus, their past relationship, and perhaps too many memories about his pains and fears...
Well, then. He wouldn't show it to Ron, he decided finally and put out almost every torch in the room and sank deep into his bed.
But his work wasn't totally useless: it had many unexpected conclusions concerning the human mind – and now, Harry could understand the Head Healer's explanation about Severus's memory loss better than ever. He didn't have singular memories in his head. His memories formed a complete net in his mind, and every memory was embedded in this net tightly. Not for the first time, Harry wondered how could Severus remain normal after such an enormous memory loss.
Severus...
Harry closed his eyes and began to plan out the net of memories he wanted to place in the Pensieve for Severus.
There would be memories of the last year, that was sure. Memories of common adventures and experiences, memories of playing chess and long conversations, memories of pain and comfort, like the memories of Nightmare Manor. Voldemort, Death Eaters, beatings, humiliation, starvation, the first tentative, uncertain truce, later peace, even later friendship, and the turning points, caused by the common pain, the tortures...
Slashes of razor, Tormenta, Cruciatus, kicks, hits, oh...
Harry suddenly felt as these memories revived in his mind: Death Eaters, black robes moving in the weak torchlight, a mad loud croak, Voldemort's. The Greatest Bastard was disappointed. Deeply, genuinely disappointed.
"Crucio!" the spell hit Harry hard, and he couldn't help but yell. "I won't tolerate any more mistakes, Wormtail. I was very, very patient with you, you know," he waved with his wand and the pain of the Cruciatus blew in Harry's chest again. "I tolerated the failure of Snape's escape," a new flick. "I tolerated the failure after their second escape." Now, Pettigrew was bellowing from the top of his lungs at the almost unbearable pain. "I tolerated the failure at Black Manor, and later on the Hogwarts express." New flick, new shriek. "But this news about Potter being alive – it was your fault, only your fault! You cast the Killing Curse on that boy! You should have told me that you owed your life to him!" suddenly, he lowered his hand, and Harry couldn't help but tremble. Somehow, he knew what would happen, but he didn't want to see, no, no, no!
"You ran away in fear, Wormtail, when you learned the news," the snakelike creature hissed in pure wrath. "Did you really think that I would not find you?" he leaned into the thin man's face. "Did you really think you could survive?"
"NO!" Harry shrieked. "No! Don't…!" But nobody heard him
"Avada Kedavra."
Voldemort's words were soft, but they hit Harry stronger than ever, and he felt as if something exploded in his chest, more painfully than a Cruciatus could ever be, and he shrieked and shrieked until the darkness came and cocooned his senses in the soft velvet of unconsciousness.
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"Parvati, go and fetch professor McGonagall," Hermione said in a trembling voice. "Ron, Seamus, Colin, Dean, Neville, help me to break down his door."
Another painful shriek echoed in the slowly filling common room. As the first painful cries sounded in the peaceful evening, Hermione knew that something terrible was going on. She was sitting in the common room, studying alone, when she heard the first cry, and she had immediately tried to break into Harry's room, but she had failed. Harry's door was closed firmly, and the combined use of some locking spells and the anti-girls wards left her impotent enough to look for other help. She broke into the sixth year boy's dormitory and woke up the angry group by grabbing Neville's arm.
"Harry's in pain. Help, please!" she sobbed out and Neville let her drag him into the common room. The others tottered after them.
But by that time almost everybody was awake.
"How do you want to break in? We have to wait for the professor!" Seamus protested.
"Try to cast a spell together," Neville said suddenly, but a loud NO! from the room froze them on the spot. It lasted for several seconds.
"Oh, my God," Dean whispered and Ron turned pale.
"Quiet!" Hermione shrieked and began to bang the door with her fists. "Quiet, wake up! Please, wake up! It's a dream, Quiet, Quiet..." the sob silenced her as she slowly slipped into her knees. "Quiet," now, she was crying in front of the closed door.
Ron crouched next to her and embraced her shoulders.
"Come, Hermione, let the others open the door. You're on their way." Hermione nodded, but she couldn't move. Ron carefully drew her aside.
The shriek suddenly stopped in the closed room, and terrible silence filled the common room, only Hermione's soft cry could be heard.
A loud boom shattered the dumb silence.
"Step aside!" McGonagall's stern voice sounded from the Fat Lady's portrait. The professor hurriedly strode across Harry's door and pointed her wand at it. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, master of this school, commands you to open up, now!" she yelled and hit the door with her wand.
The next moment they were in, Hermione right after her professor.
"Quiet!" she cried out when she spotted the thin, curled body next to the bed. "Quiet, are you all right?" she whispered as she knelt next to Harry.
"Be cautious, Miss Granger," McGonagall's words were scared. "We cannot know what happened to him."
Hermione nodded. "We have to bring him to the hospital wing."
With a small wave of her wand, McGonagall conjured a stretcher and moved Harry's limp body onto it.
"Miss Granger, you'll come with me. You, boys, back to your dormitory. Mr Snape will be all right tomorrow," she quickly dismissed the crowd in front of Harry's room. With soft whispering the students faced their staircases and soon disappeared out of Ron's sight.
He didn't go with them.
As his eyes caught sight of Harry's Pensieve he knew that he wouldn't go with them. He had to look into that Pensieve. Yes, he knew that it was not a noble thing, but he wanted to understand, to accept, to take part of his friend's life again at any prise. Quickly, he closed the door after everybody had left, and stepped closer to the bowl.
He had never touched a Pensieve before. The first had been Harry who had talked to him about Pensieves, when he looked into Dumbledore's in his fourth year.
He didn't have to do anything just look into the silvery mist of the bowl.
He took a deep breath and leaned over the bowl.
First, the silver mist didn't show any sign of life or movement, and Ron leaned closer. With a strong swirl, the next moment he found himself far away from Hogwarts' safety – in time, in place, in body and in soul.
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Ron was in a dark room, scarcely lit, and he spotted three persons sitting in front of a fireplace. When he stepped closer the sight almost blacked him.
Harry Potter, Severus Snape and Dumbledore were the figures, but Harry... Harry still looked like Harry instead of that... Quietus he had gotten to know last year, and Snape was so strange: his pale face was missing its usual coldness, his eyes were red and the traces of tears were clearly seen on his cheeks.
Ron heard Dumbledore speaking.
"Exactly. Fudge is under Lucius Malfoy's influence who wants to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"But... it would be a disaster!" cried the memory-Harry horrified.
Suddenly, Dumbledore lifted his eyes towards Ron's general direction. Ron almost jumped in shock.
"Yes, it would," nodded the memory-Dumbledore. "And on the other hand if I let them know that you are alive they would have questioned you in the Ministry and after Severus..."
"I've already told him about the Ministry's ways of investigations. And about my testimony to you too. So you can go on." Snape was so strange. So human...
"Well... let me put this way: I didn't want to hand you over them to investigate your case. And if they ever find out that you are still alive..." ... and Ron knew perfectly well how the Ministry's investigations were. By now, he knew that the event he was watching had happened sometime before the beginning of the fifth year, because Harry was still Harry, but after his captivity, because he and Snape... were sitting so friendly, next to each other, under the same blanket. And both of them had several bruises on their faces, necks, hands. The snakelike scars on Harry's neck were angry red. Ron shuddered.
"That means... means that I can't be myself any more..." Harry suddenly muttered. "Voldemort wants to kill me, the Ministry wants to torture me..." Ron shuddered again as he thought that he KNEW what would happen some months after. "I have to go in hiding or I have to disguise myself... Why should I survive at all? I just want a normal life without fear and menace, I don't want to hide, or something like that..."
Ron stepped closer to offer his help, or to say something to comfort Harry, but then the memory-Snape put his hand on Harry's shoulder.
"Harry, Harry, calm down. I'm sure the Headmaster is up to something. You listen to his idea and after we'll decide together what to do, all right? So, Albus?"
Ron turned towards the Headmaster, but by now, he knew precisely what the answer would be.
"I've already done some preparations, Severus. If you accept Harry into your family James' spell will be broken and he will look like he would have been without adoption."
"You mean that I'll look like my father?" the memory-Harry looked totally scared to this idea. Ron suddenly felt ashamed. The whole scene was so... strange. Whenever he thought of Harry's decision before, he had never thought of Harry's situation before. He had never thought that the changes had been shocking to his friend. In the meantime Dumbledore went on.
"…Only we know the truth. We, the three of us. Nobody else. And I don't want anybody else to learn it."
"But... but... what about Ron and Hermione...?" Harry seemed really stressed. "They are my friends. They have to know!"
Ron's jaw fell. Harry wanted them to know! Suddenly, he felt so stupid. He had been so selfish! Harry had been tortured and almost died and he, Ron had behaved like a five year old! And everything now was so obvious. It had been a secret, a very dangerous secret – and he really hadn't proven himself worthy to know such secrets.
"Harry, I know that what I'm talking about sounds ruthless, but you can't tell them. It would be all too dangerous for everybody." And yes, now finally Ron agreed with the Headmaster. And with every other word he said after that.
"... Such a knowledge would endanger them seriously... The mere fact that you are friends would be extremely suspicious. You know, Harry, it's not even impossible that they will be questioned about you and your death by the Ministry or by Voldemort just because they were your friends..."
"Oh, my God... I've never thought about it..." Harry whispered. "But it means that I have to begin everything over again."
"You can befriend them again," Snape said.
"Yes, as YOUR son Ron surely will be happy to be befriended by me..." snapped Harry. "He has too many prejudices to it. I'll lose him..."
Harry had known... Ron felt nauseous over his own stupidity in the fact. And Harry had seriously underestimated the situation. He hadn't only lost Ron, but worse, Ron had become his enemy.
Watching the next scenes it became totally clear. Their first meeting in Flourish and Blotts... The first Transfiguration class, when Harry tried to be friendly... Ron's repeated teasing – and there were a lot of them, Ron's falling from the broomstick – Harry's broomstick! Then later the whole story in Hogsmeade, his cruelty, Harry's exposed condition... Now, he could see Harry's panic rising, the hopelessness in his eyes, the fear, the tears of humility and he wanted to bellow at his memory-self, to stop him, to do something, but he couldn't do anything, anything at all, and suddenly, he found himself in a little torture chamber, face-to-face with Voldemort.
For a moment, Ron's heart stopped beating. He wanted to quit, to get out of this special piece of memory, but he couldn't. He was trapped in the memory. He desperately wanted to break free, he was looking for a door, a window to get out of the torture scene, but he couldn't find any. Harry's quiet moaning and the Dark Lord's cutting remarks echoed in his ears. Ron trembled and collapsed to the floor.
Somebody moved next to him, and he heard Voldemort's voice again.
"I am really happy you finally enjoy it." Snape stood at his side, but not the Snape he knew from Potions classes. There was a beaten, bloody, dirty, tortured man, weeping as he watched transfixed by something – and Ron followed his eyes and caught Harry's body, and he couldn't restrain himself any more.
"Harry, Harry," he sobbed and stepped to his friend as if he could help him, but he was impotent, totally useless, and the torture went on and on, and after an amount of time, which seemed like days to Ron, he collapsed onto the ground, and the next moment Snape was kneeling next to him, he lifted the torn body carefully in his arms, rested Harry's head on his shoulders, wrapped him with his own clothes and carried him to the cell. Ron followed them. The professor sat into a corner holding Harry in his arms, now crying shamelessly. Ron watched as the man enveloped them in a very dirty cloak, stroked the boy's hair absentmindedly and repeated endlessly-
"Everything will be all right, Harry, everything will be all right..." and Ron understood from the voice that Snape had been hopeless, that he had been dreading about Harry, but how could he, Ron, be so cruel? So childish?
"Harry?" Ron heard Snape's soft voice.
"It hurts," Harry was trembling, and even Ron trembled in sympathy. "Everything is burning... All my body... skin..."
Then Snape did something surprising: he began to rock Harry as a mother rocks her child.
"Sssssh. Try to get some rest."
"Professor, I think I will die... I am sorry..."
"Everything will be all right, Harry. Just get some rest. No, Harry. Everything will be all right. Believe me."
"I am sorry... I will leave you alone, and I am sorry for this..."
"No, Harry," and Snape now was really crying, and it made Ron's heart clench in pain, and he sat down next to them and cried, like Snape cried, soundlessly, deeply, grieving over his past mistakes, his sins, which totally separated him from Harry, perhaps for once and for all.
And another feeling emerged his chest: a tiny piece of hope. Hope, that Snape would see these memories and would understand and accept Harry again, because that man he was sitting next to, was a man worthy of love, of Harry's love, and Harry needed the comfort only he could offer him, because those days in Voldemort's hell had bound them together...
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Next: weekend.