A/N: Ahhh! Okay, waaay to long for an update, I think, but I was sick for over a week this time . . . *sigh* Hope you guys like the chapter! As long as I don't get sick again, there shouldn't be a long wait like this again. There's a long way to go in this story, and I don't want the writing of it to go on forever . . . hehe. Enjoy!
Chapter 28 – Revelations
Severus stood in the middle of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, unsure of where to look for Black next.
Still not convinced he actually needed to talk to Black.
Shaking his head, he cursed himself and turned toward the door to find Molly in the doorway.
"Severus! What brings you here?"
"There has been a . . . development," Severus said slowly. "Where is Black?"
"Haven't seen him recently. Probably with Buckbeak or in the library," Molly answered. "Or he snuck out as a dog. He was complaining about how he was stuck inside on such a beautiful April day. Honestly, I know he doesn't leave often, but he does get out," she said, shaking his head.
Severus left as Molly started working in the kitchen, deciding to try the library first, taking his time walking up the stairs, thinking about what to say to Black. He still wasn't sure when he pushed the door open to find Black bottling something from a cauldron, freezing when he looked up to find Severus in the doorway. They stood that way for a moment, perhaps something in Severus' demeanor suggesting he was there with a purpose.
"Is Tristan alright?" Black asked, slight panic in his voice.
"Tristan is as well as he was last you saw him," Snape said as neutral as he could. Because, really, he knew he needed Black. For this, at least.
"Good," Sirius said with a sigh. "I think I've found a solution to his leg, though. Not permanent, but a way to dull the pain . . . if you could look it over . . . what?" Black said after he looked at Severus. "I told you I was-"
"I'm not here to talk potions," Snape said sharply, unable to keep his voice steady. He realized he should have slept before submitting himself to this conversation, and he closed the door, warding it. Before he could decide otherwise, he pulled the locket from his robes and threw it at Black, who caught it rather easy.
"What's this?"
"Open it," he spat, and the man did. It was mere moments later that that man's eyes widened.
"Regulus," Sirius said, pain obvious in his voice. "He . . . Merlin, he . . ." Black sat abruptly in the chair behind him, nearly missing his mark.
"We need to find the locket," Severus said. "The original locket."
Black looked up from the note in his hand. "There was a locket here somewhere . . . we could never open it . . . I honestly don't know where it's gone to, though." He paused. "What's important enough about a locket that Regulus would risk his life for?" Black mumbled, shaking his head.
"I'm to take you to see Albus," Severus said shortly. "He is not well enough to make the trip here."
Black would have looked more worried had he been with Albus for the past day.
"Sorry, no admittance," Voldemort told him.
"You're not sorry," Harry said. "But you will be." The train sped by faster than he ever seen it go before. If it were slower, he knew he could grab and hold on to get away.
Or was it to move on? Harry could never remember.
Harry looked at Voldemort, who seemed to be growing larger, his face growing more demon-ish the longer he looked. Making his decision, Harry threw himself at the moving train and found himself in a graveyard of floating glass balls. He knew he was on the other side of the door, knew it was where he meant to go. The answers were in that graveyard.
He walked cautiously, jumping at the sporadic explosions of glass balls until finally there was just one glowing one in front of him. It was hovering above a gravestone, but no matter how hard Harry focused, he couldn't see the name on it.
Turning around at a noise behind him, Harry saw the earth start to shift until he could see the bodies buried there, coming up to the surface, pale and bleeding. Suddenly, they started to move awkwardly, and he heard bones cracking as they managing to stand.
And walk toward him. Taking a few steps back, Harry found himself falling backwards, landing hard on his back. Snape was suddenly crouched over him, Sirius and Lucius Malfoy standing next to him.
"No, not dead yet. No use. We'll have to just bury him and hope for the best. It's not normal to not die."
"We'll have to pretend he's dead," Sirius said, and Harry tried to stand, but Voldemort was holding him down, and Harry turned his head away from the dark lord, all the way to Snape, and he saw he was lying on a pile of bodies.
Not just any bodies, he realized, screaming. They were him, half decayed, struggling to stand, but there wasn't enough of him anywhere to manage.
"Well, bury him already," Malfoy said, and they all hovered out of the hole with a flick of their wands. Another swish, and dirt started pouring down on him like dry rain, but Harry still couldn't move to stand and get out of the hole before he was fully covered.
The dirt kept falling and falling . . .
Harry woke with a deep breath. He stilled himself, holding his breath to see if he woke his dorm mates. When it seemed everyone was still sleeping, Harry grabbed for his wand, casting lumos before picking up the notebook he'd be writing his dreams in and wrote down as much as he could remember. He didn't know what good it would do, but Sirius suggested it since he kept having such awful dreams.
With a look around the room, Harry made his decision. Putting on his slippers and dressing gown, Harry snuck as quietly as he could out of the dorm room, slipping through the common room and out towards Snape's rooms without waking anyone, wishing more than anything he had his invisibility cloak. It wasn't far to go, so he hoping luck was on his side and he wouldn't run into Filch.
And hopefully Snape wouldn't give him a detention for being out way past curfew. It was a little after midnight, and hopefully Snape would still be up.
The lights were still lit when Harry arrived, but Harry didn't see Snape. Harry sighed as he sat on the sofa. Since he'd been better, Snape opted to put the doors back on, which was great for the bathroom, but Snape made it very clear that if his bedroom door was closed, Harry was not to enter, which Harry thought was highly hypocritical, as Snape would let himself into Harry's room if the door was closed. Sure, he'd knock first, but he never gave Harry an option to refuse him entry. Not that Snape's door was was usually an issue; Snape never seemed to close it.
Except now, when he finally got the courage to tell Snape about his dreams and the strange conversation with his parents. A voice in the back of Harry's head told him he should have told Snape five months ago when it happened, and he did try. He never could, though.
And, now he wanted to try again, but Snape had to have his stupid door closed. Putting the notebook down next to him, Harry crossed his arms and leaned back, deciding to wait. He'd probably lose his nerve by then, but since Harry was so late, Snape would probably press him.
Harry's eyes weren't closed long enough to fall back to sleep when he heard Snape's door open and heard the most unexpected sound.
"I really must get up early tomorrow," Ms. Kavin said. "Tea tomorrow?"
Snape didn't answer the question, but Harry's back was to him; he might have nodded. "Do you need me to escort you to your rooms?"
"No, I'll make it. I really have gotten better at not getting lost . . ."
"It helps that you've been making an effort to leave the area near the library," Snape said dryly.
"Yeah," she said with a laugh, and Harry slid further down into the couch when he realized the sounds coming from behind him were the two adults kissing, finding himself really glad at how high the sofa's back was; he wasn't tall enough for his head to show, especially if he was slouched. He felt himself get really, really warm when he realized why Snape didn't want Harry going into his room when the door was closed. Harry's embarrassment didn't wane one bit as Snape let Ms. Kavin out, closing the door behind him. All Snape had to do was turn around, and he'd see Harry . . .
Harry was sure his face was bright red. Just imagining Snape with anyone in that way . . .
"What are you doing here?" Snape asked harshly and Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye, unable to answer. After a moment, Snape sighed and sat down next to him. "Did something happen?" he asked, his tone soften slightly.
Harry shook his head, but answered, "Another nightmare."
"Sit up," Snape said as he looked Harry over. "A vision?"
"No . . . I . . ." Harry fingered the notebook Snape had nearly sat on. Snape picked it up and flipped through it. Harry was annoyed the man didn't ask to look at it beforehand, but Harry didn't stop him. Snape flipped through the pages slower and slower, and Harry knew he was reading bits of the dreams.
"Are you having nightmares every night?" Snape asked, flipping to the beginning of the notebook. Harry knew it was dated sometime in January. Sirius had suggested the notebook after Harry had mentioned he was so tired during class because he wasn't sleeping well because of bad dreams. A week into classes.
"I don't sleep well," Harry mumbled, and Snape looked at him darkly.
"I hadn't been aware you had been keeping your nightmares from me," Snape said slowly, something strange in his voice.
"I . . . I haven't been trying to keep them from you," Harry said. "I just . . . don't want to talk about them."
I don't want to tell you I have Voldemort in me, Harry thought to himself, and he knew he couldn't tell Snape more than the dreams. Snape would think that Voldemort was influencing his wish to learn the Dark Arts and would probably guess that he still was studying them and would look through his school notes and would find everything . . .
Snape had gone back to reading some of the dreams, and Harry closed his eyes and found himself thinking about Snape and Ms. Kavin again.
Ugh.
Harry felt Snape move in front of him and Harry opened his eyes again. Snape was kneeling in front of him, looking worried. Snape didn't often have the expression on his face, and it always made Harry uncomfortable. Like someone shouldn't be feeling that way about him.
"Tristan, you know I won't leave you again?" Snape asked, and Harry stared back at him. Did he? He wasn't dying anymore, and Snape probably didn't have much of a reason to stay, did he? Snape sighed and took Harry's hands, unfolding his arms against his will. Harry let him, though.
"Why not?" Harry asked, regretting the question immediately. He didn't want to give Snape a reminder that he could leave and Harry wouldn't die.
Because . . . well, Harry couldn't die, anyway, could he? Harry had wanted to die, to go with his parents and be free of the pain and problems, but he couldn't even get that.
Snape didn't answer at first, just stared back at him, before the man squeezed his hands.
"I won't leave you again," Snape said forcibly before standing and sitting back down next to Harry, the journal in hand again. Flipping through a few pages, Snape didn't look back at Harry right away.
"Tristan, are you . . ." Snape trailed off. "Have you . . ." Harry looked at Snape, refusing to look at him directly. Snape wasn't at a loss for words very often, and Harry was sure he wasn't going to like the question Snape was about to ask. "Do you think about dying?" Snape paused, but Harry found he couldn't answer. He tried to say yes, but his mouth wouldn't open. "Have you given thought to . . . killing yourself?"
"What?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper, wishing he hadn't brought his dream notebook. How did Snape get that from his dreams? But Harry knew. If someone wasn't trying to kill him in his dreams, he was trying to kill himself. It failed every time. "I . . . I haven't tried to . . ." Harry managed to get out. "I swear."
"I'm not accusing you, Tristan," Snape said quietly. "It's not lost on me how stressful it would be, being in pain every day, being restricted to such few foods . . . being so segregated from your old friends and . . ." Snape continued slowly, stopping. "Your godfather has a pain brew for you to try," Snape continued, his voice a bit stronger. "He has a few theories as to why your leg continues to hurt. It might not work, but the brew itself is competent. I have . . ." Snape looked toward the table, where a bag was hanging off one of the chairs. "I'll be busy most of tomorrow; the Headmaster has ask for help with something, and Saturday is the best day for it, but I'll ask Black to stop by with the potion. I trust you'll stay here until he comes?"
Harry stared at Snape, wondering if heard correctly. "You're letting Sirius come without you here?" Harry dared to ask.
"Now that I no longer have to worry about you dropping dead, I suppose it's about time to leave you alone with him," Snape said sharply, which didn't make much sense in a way of an explanation, but Harry wasn't going to point that out and have Snape change his mind.
"I'll stay here," Harry answered quickly, the prospect of Sirius coming overcoming the horrible feeling of the dream. Snape was observing him carefully.
"Or, perhaps I could bring you to headquarters for the holiday," Snape said slowly, and Harry's prospect for the week was looking even better. "Molly will stop by once in awhile, but Black is usually alone, and I could leave you with him while I finish up my work . . ."
"Really?" Harry asked hesitantly, trying to not let too much hope seep into his voice. "It wouldn't look strange that Sirius is watching me?"
"We've been working on a project together, this week," Snape answered. "It would not look out of place."
Harry smiled at Snape and he found himself hugging the . . . his father before he realized he was doing it.
"Please," Harry said, and Snape nodded.
"I will speak with Black tomorrow morning," Snape said, and Harry felt he couldn't wait. "Tristan?" Snape asked, his voice sounding worried again. "You know you can talk with me any time?" Snape brushed Harry's hair out of his face. "I worry about you." Harry looked questioningly at his professor, who was seeming incredibly uncomfortable. "You've gone through so much pain, I know it can't be easy. Please . . . let me know if you need anything? Or if you feel you want to . . . hurt yourself."
Harry shook his head. "I won't hurt myself," he said honestly. It wouldn't do him much good. Snape's hand rested on his shoulder, and Harry decided they needed to change the subject. "Are you and Ms. Kavin . . . dating?" he asked, and Snape's expression changed to scolding.
"Yes," he said after a few moments. "But that is not something to gossip with your friends about," he said sternly. "You are to keep it to yourself." Harry nodded, leaning against Snape, suddenly feeling as tired as he should be. He hoped Snape wouldn't send him back to his dorm, but Snape didn't say anything as he felt himself start to drift off.
Severus found himself in the kitchen of Grimmauld place for the fourth time that week, this time joined by a peculiar feeling that insanity might have finally caught up with Black.
Black growled as he threw a flour container to the floor with a loud crash, then noticed Severus standing in the doorway.
"The locket isn't anywhere," he barked before taking a deep breath and casting a few charms to clean the kitchen. Severus stood, torn between the need to find that locket and wanting to talk to Black about Tristan.
Tristan won out.
"Can we talk?" Severus managed to ask, his voice sounding harsher than he intended. Black looked at him with annoyed expectation. "Somewhere where we won't be overheard?" he emphasized, and Black nodded. When they moved to one of the bedrooms, Severus warded the door before turning to face Black. It was several minutes of them staring at each other before Severus convinced himself to start the conversation. Black beat him to it, though.
"Is Harry okay?" he asked.
"Tristan could be better," Severus snapped.
"Damn it, Snape!" Black yelled. "We're behind warded doors! You do realize this is Harry we're talking about, right? What are you going to do when it's safe for him to be Harry again, when everyone can know the truth about what happened? Are you just going to dump him, like you don't care? Because you can't tell me you don't. He's the one damn thing we can every agree on!"
"I know that," Severus hissed, not wanting to think about any of that. "And I do want to get back before Tristan wakes up."
"Is he alright?" Black asked forcefully, and Severus took a moment to calm himself. He didn't want to think about how far he was willing to go to make sure Tristan was alright. Especially since it meant going as far as choosing to spend time with Black.
"I don't know," Severus finally answered. "Nothing has changed, but . . . has he told you about his nightmares recently?"
Black shook his head. "He told me he was having them, but wouldn't talk about them. I told him to write them down, at least . . ."
"He has been," Severus told him. "And I saw the notebook for the first time last night . . . he's been spending his nights in the dorms, so I wasn't even aware he was having them, still. They're . . . all he dreams about is death and betrayal."
"You read it?" the man asked, half accusative, half worried.
"He brought it to me," he snapped. "After he went to sleep, I read them in more detail. They usually involve one of us trying to kill him or him trying to kill himself and failing. I asked him if he did want to kill himself. I wasn't sure what to make of them."
"What did he say?" Black asked, sounding as if he were having trouble finding his voice.
"He said he hasn't tried, that he wouldn't try to hurt himself, but -"
"Well, that's good, right? They're just dreams . . . he's nearly died so many times, it's no wonder he's dreaming of dying."
"He's dreaming of not dying, which I find peculiar," Severus pointed out. "Buried alive, decaying . . . but that's another point. I've had suicidal students in past years . . . they don't admit to it, never. That's what I came here to talk to you about. It's Easter break this week; I wish to bring him here. I know he would like to spend more time with you. If you could assess how he's faring. I do believe him when he says he won't hurt himself, but I've spend so much time with him, I might be missing something."
"You want me to make sure my godson isn't suicidal?" Black asked accusingly. "Why would he be, even? You haven't been harassing him?"
"No," Severus spat. "I haven't. But in case you haven't noticed, he has a lot of reason to be . . . depressed, on top of being in pain all the time."
"Did you give him the potion, yet? Has it worked?"
"I haven't," Severus said, stopping Black from yelling at him. "He fell asleep before I could give it to him last night." Which was mostly true. Black didn't need to know he was going to use it as an excuse to allow Black to visit Tristan before settling on the week-long visit. A voice in the back of Severus' head told him he didn't need a scheme to allow Tristan to visit his godfather.
He promptly told the voice to shut it.
"When are you going to bring him?"
"This afternoon," Severus told him. "Just . . . try to remember what you can about that locket."
"What are we going to do with the fake one?"
Severus gave the man a look. "Throw it out, for all I care," he said. "Albus said it was nothing important."
"So, Harry," Sirius said.
"Tristan," Harry answered, but he wasn't sure why his voice sounded so forceful. "Don't call me Harry."
"Tristan," Sirius said slowly. "Is Snape forcing you to . . . forget about your past?"
"What?" Harry asked, confused.
"Because he shouldn't be doing that," his godfather said, angry. "I knew it. I knew he-"
"Sirius!" Harry nearly shouted. "No, it's just easier to be called Tristan. I don't know how long Harry Potter has to stay dead and . . ." Harry shook his head. He almost said he wasn't sure if he did want to go back to being Harry Potter. Sure, he'd like to tell his Gryffindor friends as soon as he could that he was alive, but . . .
Harry stopped himself from thinking along that line. As soon as it was possible, Snape would probably not want anything to do with him anyway.
"Oh," Sirius said. "If you're sure . . ."
"I am. I've been Tristan for nearly two years now. It is who I am, even if I wasn't always." Harry shrugged. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be," Sirius mumbled. "I still don't like that git having control over your life, even if he . . . He treats you alright?"
"Yeah, now," Harry said, annoyed. "Probably because Dumbledore makes him, though . . ." Harry trailed off when Sirius gave him a strange look. "What?"
"Nothing," Sirius said. "Let's not talk about Snape. We have a week, although I won't be able to spend all of it together. Trying to find a locket that was around here at one point. Haven't seen anything like that, have you?" Harry pointed to the one sitting on the table in front of them, giving his godfather a look that probably said he thought he was being stupid, but Sirius shook his head. He picked it up and threw it in the bin near the table. "That was . . . Regulus', my brother," Sirius said, clearing up Harry's confusion. "I don't know what the one I'm looking for looks like, but if you see one, will you give it to me?"
"What's it for?" Harry asked.
"Just something the Headmaster is looking for," he said, and Harry looked at Sirius suspiciously.
"I'll let you know if I see one," Harry said slowly. After I figure out what it does. Because it must do something, right?
Harry stopped that line of thought. Of course he would give it to Sirius if he found it. He was curious about what kind of magic it had if the headmaster was interested in it, though. Could it be something that would help against Voldemort?
"Good. Now, dinner . . . Snape said he was going to be gone until tomorrow morning, so it's just us. Remus will be back in a couple of days, although I'm not exactly sure what he's doing . . ."
"Does he know?
"Does he know what he's doing?" Sirius chuckled. "I hope he does, although knowing Remus . . . oh, you mean does he know about you. Yeah . . ."
"Oh," Harry said. For some reason, having one more person know made him feel better. "Good. I wish I could let the Weasleys know, too, but I know that's not a good idea . . ."
"No," Sirius said, but he sounded less than sure. "The Headmaster said it wasn't." Harry had a feeling that the Headmaster saying that was why Sirius agreed. "Anyway, I think sandwiches?"
"Sure," Harry said more brightly than he felt. Sirius stood and standing making the sandwiches, and Harry twirled his wand on the table. He was actually hoping for time alone in the house, which seemed likely since Snape and Sirius were working on some Order thing together. Sirius had said that he'd be able to work on his magic there, even though he wasn't at Hogwarts. He had a few spells he wanted to play around with, but he didn't feel comfortable with these specific ones where Snape would be able to find out. If both Snape and Sirius left, there wouldn't be an problem . . .
"So, Tristan," Sirius started again. "I was wondering how your nightmares have been. Has the notebook been helping?"
Harry stopped spinning his wand, eyes narrowing suspiciously at his godfather.
"I'm still having them," Harry answered, schooling his face before Sirius could turn around.
"Maybe it would help if you talked about them, Tristan?" Sirius asked, but the hesitation in his voice suggested that he already knew some of what they entailed. He lived with Snape for nearly two years, he knew when someone was trying to get information from him, especially as obvious as Sirius was making it. Snape was far better at it.
"What did Dad tell you?" Harry asked sharply, and Sirius turned to look at him, a plate of sandwiches in hand, and sighed. Harry hoped Sirius knew about the bread that Harry was supposed to eat. He still couldn't handle the regular kind.
"He's worried about you, as am I," Sirius said, putting the plate down in between them before sitting. "He didn't go into detail, but he did mention you dream about death a lot. Nearly every night."
"I don't want to talk about it," Harry mumbled. "I really don't," he said defensively.
"Have you thought about . . . hurting yourself?"
"I'm not going to hurt myself," he said weakly. "I don't know why you and Dad think that. Just because I'm afraid I . . ." he trailed off.
"Of course," Sirius said, a look of sympathy on his face. "Of course you're afraid you're going to die. I knew it was something like that," he said, that last bit sounding like he was throwing something in Snape's face. Harry sighed. That wansn't it, but it wouldn't hurt to let Sirius think that, right?
It was better than telling him the truth. He would tell them after he figured out why he wouldn't die and maybe after he got rid of Voldemort . . . because that's what he had to do, wasn't it? Harry thought, feeling himself paling.
He couldn't die until Voldemort was dead, maybe? Maybe . . . Harry thought back to the Third Task, the graveyard, the last time he saw him as Harry. Voldemort had to have done something that night. But why would Voldemort not want him to die? It didn't make any sense, and thinking about it was making Harry's head hurt.
"I'm here if you need to talk, Harry. Tristan. About anything, okay?"
Harry nodded, wondering what Sirius would think, knowing he had evil inside of him.
"Filthy, filthy. Mingling with filth," Harry heard Kreacher mumble from the corner of the kitchen. Harry knew he should tell the house elf to get out, because Sirius didn't like him hovering in the kitchen for too long, but Harry sort of felt bad for him. Yeah, he was always insulting everyone who visited the house, but he had to admit, Sirius wasn't too nice to him. Not that Kreacher was nice to Sirius, but . . . still. "Regulus and Mistress would never have stood up for this, no never. Never, never, never."
Regulus? Harry thought. Sirius' brother . . . Harry thought back to Christmas, when Sirius was throwing out a lot of the things around headquarters, and Kreacher stealing some of it, only to have Sirius find it and steal it back, and Harry felt even worse. Kreacher was a horrible sort of house elf, but he also knew what it was like to not having much of someone you cared about.
Harry's thoughts went to that locket that Sirius threw out a couple of days ago, an idea forming. If Sirius didn't want the locket, what harm would it be to give it to Kreacher? Taking a peak it in the rubbish bin, Harry was glad to find it was still there, albeit underneath a couple days worth of food scraps. Washing it off in the sink, Harry walked cautiously over to the elf. He never bothered talking to him before – Kreacher never seemed to have anything back to say about him, but Harry always kept out of his way.
"Kreacher?" Harry asked, and continued before Kreacher could answer and insult him. "I found this locket that used to belong to Regulus, and I was wondering if you wanted it?"
Kreacher looked at him with big hopeful eyes. A look he never thought he'd see on this particular house else.
"For Kreacher?" he asked, holding his hand out toward the locket.
"Yeah, it's yours if you want it," Harry said with a shrug, handing it over.
"Kreacher remembers this locket," he said, sounding cheerful. "I was being helpful to Master Regulus."
"That's good," Harry said, glad that he was able to make him happy, at least for now. "I would probably not let Sirius see it, though. He doesn't want it anymore, but . . . well . . ."
Kreacher looked at him with a creepy smile. "Kreacher thanks Master Tristan!" he said with a squeak before disappearing with a pop, causing Harry to jump.
"You're welcome," Harry said to an empty room.
It was nearly the end of the school year.
Harry stood outside the Headmaster's bedroom, not sure if he wanted to go in. Snape took his hand off his shoulder, and Harry wanted to yell at him to put it back.
The Headmaster was not about to die!
He couldn't.
Harry was sure if he wasn't so numb, he'd be crying.
"Tristan, he might not be able to hold on for much longer," Snape said. "You must talk to him while it it still a possibility."
Harry nodded, stepping into the room, the door closing behind him. Snape had said Dumbledore wanted to talk to him alone.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice so weak, Harry barely heard it. Cautiously, he stepped toward the Headmaster.
"Headmaster," Harry said, feeling his eyes burning.
"Harry, come sit."
Harry did.
"Don't worry about me, Harry. It's merely a new adventure for me."
"But you're dying," Harry said, his voice cracking.
"Yes, but I've known for awhile, now."
"You're hand . . ." Harry pointed out, and Dumbledore nodded.
"Harry, I need you to stay near Severus," Dumbledore said. Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Dumbledore cut him off. "It is very important that you stay near him, that you listen to him. He will protect you. He is your family now, and you are his. He cares about you, you realize?"
Harry wasn't so sure, but he nodded.
"Sirius and Remus . . . they will help, but Severus will protect you as his son, I promise you this."
Dumbledore went quiet, his eyes closing.
"Headmaster?" Harry asked, his voice panicking.
"I'm here, Harry. I don't have much time. I can feel it . . . But never mind me. We haven't had much time to talk, you and I. Have you been faring well lately?"
"Yes," Harry said. He didn't want to worry the Headmaster as he was dying. "I've been great."
Dumbledore chuckled. A weak, sad chuckle.
"I hope you're more honest with your father," he said.
"Yes," Harry said, somewhat honest.
Not honest enough.
"I'm scared," Harry said. "What if I can't kill Voldemort?" he whispered.
"What makes you feel you need to?" Dumbledore asked, shifting so he could look better into Harry's eyes. Harry felt a tug in his mind. Dumbledore was trying to use legilimancy on him.
"I . . ."
Harry froze.
"Harry, you can tell me."
"I think Voldemort's inside of me," he whispered, and Harry felt tears roll down his cheeks, unsure if they were for himself or Dumbledore . . . probably both, but probably more than that, if he were honest. "I think he's making it so I can't die."
Dumbledore's hand took his, but the grip was weak, and was loosening as he sat there.
"Harry," Dumbledore said so softly, Harry almost didn't hear, but even so, he could hear the panic in the old man's voice. "Harry, you must tell your father. You must . . . promise me, Harry."
Harry couldn't answer. Dumbledore's hand fell from his, the panic in the man's eyes a second before . . . gone.
"No," Harry said, gripping the Headmaster's arm. "No, you can't leave," he cried. He barely noticed as Snape entered and lead him out of the room.
He was in his room, tucked tightly into his bed before he could process any of the thoughts going through his head. Too many thoughts . . . but there was one thing he knew.
If Voldemort inside of him scared Dumbledore, it was something he needed to keep silent. There was no way he could tell Snape or Sirius or anyone.
Ever.
