This chapter is kind of short, but you're all damn lucky to get anything at all this week. I've been sick as a dog.
Book III:
Chapter 12: The Prince and the Scribes
Friday afternoon, Harry left for London. Hermione had dressed him semi-formal in an outfit he hadn't seen since his stay at the Dark Lord's lodge, and wrapped in his Baluvian cloak for his journey to Hogsmeade. The journey was something of a parade, with Horace McGunny, Colin Creevey, Professor Snape, and himself placed into a carriage and surrounded by a large contingent of Sentinels on the ground and on horse back guarding them. Even more Sentinels wandered the streets of Hogsmeade, while curious onlookers peered out their windows at the person responsible for so much security.
It was all eerily quiet to Harry, peering out over the snow covered country side and village with only the sound of the carriage wheels and horses to break the silence. McGunny, a formidable boy in Harry's estimation, had said nothing more than a few polite greetings, and Harry wasn't sure if it was his own sense of professional courtesy or Snape's presence that stayed his questions. Creevey, normally a flash happy fool, seemed to be waiting for McGunny's permission to do anything and Harry was glad for it. He didn't think he could stand his picture being taken just yet.
He needed the time to think. Snape knew what he would be allowed to talk about, and they had practiced signals to help them communicate what to do if the questions were to be avoided, ignored, lied in response to, or told plainly. That still left the things Harry didn't want to talk about, and wasn't obligated to indulge. He resolved not to discuss his friends. He didn't want attention drawn to them with potential assassins wandering about. He also couldn't discuss the basilisk debacle even if he wanted to. That left a lot of other things he wasn't sure he wanted known or not.
How much was he willing to talk about the Dark Lord? About his parent's death? His relationship with his godparents? His relatives? Who knew what everyone would start asking?
It all came down to what he was willing to let complete strangers and acquaintances know about him. Strangers and acquaintances who could be potential friends or enemies. It all made him hyper aware of his vulnerabilities.
They stopped the carriage at Madam Pudifoot's and from there took her floo to a security check point in the Iron House. Sneezing out floo powder and soot, Harry stumbled into a lobby of some sort, with high vaulted ceilings and columns engraved with iron gargoyles staring down at them accusingly.
"Step this way Mr. Potter," ordered a Sentinel, looking as intimidating as the gargoyles that surrounded them. She handed him some water to drink, while she ran her wand over him to check for unauthorized paraphernalia. The only questionable items she found were his watch and cloak, which she let him keep.
As they were being checked over, several other people arrived. Harry assumed they were the other reporters and photographers. This was confirmed when one of the wizards who just entered immediately tried to take a picture and was tackled to the ground by several Sentinels.
"Andy, you have to wait for security to clear you first!" the woman who preceded him admonished. She would have been quite pretty if her dress and make-up weren't so gaudy, and she didn't try to turn her every gesture and expression into some sort of sexual tease. At first, she looked totally ridiculous to Harry, but when she turned her attention to him he found himself terrified. He was very glad there were several Sentinels and a Snape between them.
"That would be Rita Skeeter," Snape informed him. "A remarkable specimen of newspaper media. Her natural habitat ranges from political scandals to the sexual misconduct of pop idols, where she grazes on the babble of men unprepared for her vulgar innuendo, only to regurgitate misquotations and fragmented statements later for the rest of her pack back at the Wizarding Weekly. She is the finest of her species."
Harry was not comforted. Snape smirked.
"Just pay attention to what she is saying, not how she says it. And if she leans forward, for Merlin's sake, don't look down."
What did he mean by... oh. Oh. Eww.
"Potter," McGunny greeted, "Mind if we get a picture?" He gestured towards Colin waiting anxiously behind him.
Harry's first instinct was to say no, but then remember this was what he had agreed to and nodded. He didn't smile though. In wizarding pictures, you could always tell when an emotion was fake, because after a while the people would fidget in the image and give themselves away. So he stood still and serious, and hoped he would look less nervous than fake smiling would reveal.
Colin barely got a shot off, before another reporter shoved him rudely aside to get one of his own. Harry's wand immediately snapped up, muttering a hex. The camera was encased in a sphere of darkness. The photographer panicked, and dropped it. There was a very tense silence.
"I didn't give you permission," Harry said stiffly, though in truth he was most irritated by the man's callous act towards his classmate. He might not have liked Colin, but he hated adults bullying children. He helped the younger Gryffindor to his feet, and checked to make sure both boy and camera were unharmed. The photographer, a burly young man, was flustered.
"Er... s-sorry... didn't mean to..."
"You took too many liberties. Now you know better. Now you all know better," Snape growled at the room.
Harry had expected to be scolded by his professor, but the man seemed to approve. He would have to ask him about that later. The Sentinels went back to checking the people and their equipment, and the reporters just watched young Harry, re-evaluating their approach. They weren't used to dealing with children, but had assumed automatically that he would be easily intimidated. That clearly wasn't the case. It also didn't escape their notice that Harry and Snape had both been allowed to keep their wands while the rest of them had not.
Everyone remembered to ask before taking his picture after that.
A woman, not a Sentinel though, appeared from a side door to escort them to a drawing room. The room itself reminded Harry of a cheap knock off Malfoy's drawing room with a large fire place, dark furniture, and a wet bar set just so. Harry was instructed to sit in the Master chair, a wing-backed monstrosity positioned dramatically by the fire, while the reporters took up the surrounding sofa's and love seats. A few Sentinels guarded the doors and directly behind the reporters, while Snape set himself directly across from Harry in a slightly smaller replica of his own chair. From his position, Harry could see all of Snape's little gestures and expressions that would guide him through the interview, while to everyone else he was completely hidden.
The hostess-like woman set out some tea and snacks, bid them all to keep their questions 'civilized', and left. There was a very tense silence. Harry looked around at their anxious, eager faces and wondered why no one had started. He paused at McGunny, who looked vaguely amused at the other reporters.
"May I ask you some questions, Mr. Potter?"
Harry smiled a bit. It seemed that of all the reporters there, the only one who knew how to start was the only one who knew how to be polite.
"Of course."
"Your name has appeared during several events of public interest, yet this is the first time you have agreed to a formal interview. Can you tell us why?"
There was a pause as Harry thought of his reply, then "I'm a private person. I don't like being gossiped about, but lately that's been impossible to avoid with all the time I've spent with Lord Voldemort-" there were a few little gasps "- and with people trying to kill me. There's a lot of ridiculous ideas floating around, and I thought it was time to set things right. I still don't like being gossiped about, but the truth is better than a fantasy. At least, I think so."
Another reporter spoke up.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, if I may," he asked, and continued when he received a nod, "There's been a great deal of speculation about your origins. We know you were picked up by WYRA just shortly before you came to Hogwarts, but can you recall anything about your parentage?"
Harry took a deep breath, looked to Snape for reassurance, and nodded.
"Yes, I-" he swallowed thickly, "I was born in England. My father was James Potter and my mother is Lily Evans. Both attended Hogwarts where I go to school now, and married after they graduated. I was born a few years later, but we fled to Germany before I turned one. We lived as muggles for all the time they raised me. I didn't even know wizards existed until..."
He had to pause, and poured himself some tea. No one dared rush him, though he could read a savage hunger for his every word. Only McGunny remained respectfully reserved, encouraging him to continue with the most minute of gestures.
"Until they died when I was eight. They were killed by a burglar while I was at school. I was sent to live with my mom's muggle sister and her family in Surrey, still thinking I was just..."
He almost shrugged, but caught himself.
"... unmagical. I didn't perform any magic until I was ten, and then WYRA came and got me. Actually, it was Pro-"
Snape made a gesture for him to stop his line of explanation, looking rather alarmed.
"...probably the best thing that ever happened to me," he finished.
"Are you telling us both your parents were British-born wizards?" a bespectled man asked.
"Yes. My father was a pureblood and my mother was a muggleborn. And you didn't ask permission first. If you do that again, I'll ignore your question."
Rita Skeeter, finally took her opportunity to attack.
"Harry, if I may call you Harry?"
He didn't even look at her to see if she was leaning forward. "No, you may not."
"Oh... might I ask what your relation to the Dark Lord might be? Familial perhaps?"
"No, we aren't related. At least not closely... I don't think. I suppose we both come from Salazar Slytherin descendants, because of the parseltongue and all. My great grandfather was a parselmouth, but I don't think my dad was. Probably skipped generations in the Potter line. You all knew I was a parselmouth, right?"
Everyone nodded.
"So, no we're not related. We just... do stuff together. I'm not sure how it got started really."
"How did you two first meet?" she continued.
That was one of those questions Snape had told him to avoid explaining and Harry was more than happy to. So he ignored her and turned to one of the reporters who hadn't spoken.
"Do you have a question?"
She seemed surprised, and struggled for a moment before spitting out, "What are your thoughts on foreign wizards attempting to kill you? How do you feel about it?"
He smiled at her. "Probably the same way I'd feel if British wizards were attempting to kill me. I really wish they wouldn't. It's hard to have fun from a hospital bed and I'm way behind on my schoolwork."
There were a few chuckles, and even Snape managed to smirk.
The next couple of questions were about the last three assassination attempts, which Harry could answer honestly and openly enough. Yes, he helped rescue teachers from the collapsing stands. No, he didn't rescue Malfoy, the Dark Lord, or help keep the stands aloft. Yes, it made him very angry that so many innocent people could have been hurt. No, he wouldn't be playing Quidditch that year. The poisoning was very unpleasant, but he was very happy to have a potion's master on hand who recognized and remedied the problem. It was in his pumpkin juice. No, he doubted a classmate did it. Yes, it tasted awful. Yes, werewolves rescued him from the third attempt...(and after a dirty look from Snape)... but his professors would have done so if they weren't there. Their names were Sirius Blackbone and Remus Slivermoon. No, he wasn't afraid of them. Yes, he trusted them (despite the dirty look Snape gave him).
"They're my godfathers," Harry volunteered. The only information he'd volunteered. "My father named Sirius as my godfather when I was born. I would be living with him right now except for the whole werewolf thing."
"How did they become werewolves?" McGunny asked, and despite not waiting his turn, Harry answered anyway.
"Remus was a werewolf since he was a little kid. My dad was a good friend when they went to Hogwarts together, even after he found out. Sirius was my dad's best mate, and they were aurors together during the war. After he got captured, Remus vouched for him and Greyback turned him into a werewolf."
"Your father actively fought against the Dark Lord?"
"Yeah... I mean, yes. Yes, both my parents did."
Skeeter raised her hand, and reluctantly Harry acknowledged her.
"How do you think your parents would feel about your relationship with the Dark Lord, especially after losing the war to him?"
Harry tensed. He did not like that question, having wondered himself many times over the year. Would they be proud? Horrified? Sad? He looked to Snape, but he merely lifted a brow. Well?
"... I don't know. I loved my parents very much, and I'll always respect that they fought for what they believed in, regardless of whether they turned out to be right or not, but I never knew them as well as I thought I did. I only knew them as my muggle parents, not the wizard and witch and warriors that they were. I can't say if they'd be happy or angry about the decisions I've made. They couldn't be here to help me make them, so I have to accept that I'll never know. All I can do is make decisions I can live with and be proud of, and hope they'll understand, where ever they are."
The reporters scurried to write down what he said (quik-quotes quills had been banned from the interview), except for McGunny who looked at Harry and gestured towards Colin waiting anxiously behind him. He nodded and Colin grabbed a quick picture of him, still caught up in the melancholy of his thoughts. It startled everyone else, a few even snapped their quills. The other photographers scrambled to get the same shot, but Harry was already distracted with fixing the damaged quills and the shot was lost.
"Do you have any plans after graduating?" McGunny asked.
"Nothing concrete. I have a lot of things I'd like to try, but they're not really plans. I'd like to travel some. Explore the Britain beyond Hogsmeade. Take art lessons. College, though I don't know what I'd study. I've got time to figure it out though."
"Do you think you'll go into politics or a Court related job?" someone else asked.
"I hope not. That all sounds really boring."
That earned him a few chuckles. From there, the topics were much lighter. How did he like school? What was his favorite subject? What activities did he participate in? What about his summers? What did he like best about the wizarding world? Simple and menial, there were very few questions he had to avoid (Where do you stay for the summer? Who is your best friend? Do you have a girlfriend?) and at long last an invisible clock chimed the end of the hour and the end of their questions.
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Snape managed to make it to his rooms a quarter to nine and was considering turning in early for the night, when the appearance of Larousse threw his plans to the wind. He suppose he should have expected her, but honestly he had been too relieved his responsibility for the night was over to think of other obligations. Harry had done far better than he had thought he would, and his early establishment of magical dominance was pleasantly unexpected and insured control over the reporters.
"How did it go?" she asked, as he drew near.
"It went well. The Dark Lord will be pleased, so long as Wizard Weekly remembers their place. I don't trust that Skeeter woman not to twist everything into something insipid and melodramatic. How was your evening?"
"... I've lost the werewolves."
He stiffened.
"I was keeping track of them until I had to supervise Sr. Dueling Club, and then they just disappeared. I keep getting this feeling that they've been stalking me though."
She did not seem overly concerned, and he thought her rather careless for that. The werewolves were not as logical or as afraid of the Dark Lord's wrath as a typical wizard, but relied heavily on their instinct.
And their instinct was to kill her, the wild cat to their wolf, their natural enemy.
The only thing staying their hand was probably Harry. If they learned of her intention to adopt him, then all bets were off. He would have to remind her.
"Do you wish to come in?"
"That wouldn't be appropriate," she said, although she looked tempted.
"We are well beyond the age were chaperone's are necessary, madam. We will behave ourselves, and there is no one here to imply otherwise."
He stepped into his private rooms and she followed. She had only been there once before, when Harry was injured under Infelix misera, and took a moment to gage her surroundings more closely while her host set about making them tea. There was a sitting room connected to a kitchenette and hallway that must have led to his bedroom, bathroom, and study. Everything was masculine and a bit messy. The walls were lined with shelves, crammed with tomes and scrolls and even then a few stray items had to be stacked on top or pilled beside or between the shelves, and a display case of silver and glass and more protections spells and wards than a Gringrotts' vault stood nearby. There was a large fire place, always lit even in summer to fight the dungeon's constant drafts, and above it a collection of swords she knew him to be proficient in. There was a sitting chair for reading and a couch for napping most likely, comfortably ragged and probably having seen very little company.
"Does it meet with my lady's approval?" he asked from the kitchenette.
"It's a bit gloomy without windows, but it suits you."
"I strike you as gloomy?"
"Of course not. You're much too aggressive a personality for that. It suits you despite being gloomy. Can you tell if the mongrels followed me down here?"
"Can't you?"
"I thought they might have, but the dungeons at night make me paranoid."
He was smirking as he brought over the tea, setting it on a small end table.
"They did not follow. They could not follow. I have the entire floor warded against them. You and your confidences are safe here, but I will escort you back to your rooms when we're done."
"That's very chivalrous of you, but I-"
"It's is the duty of a husband to look after his wife's well being. I may as well practice it now."
She smiled, and he felt strangely pleased with himself. Damn tea.
"Is there anything in particular you wished to discuss? Aside from Potter's romp down memory lane?"
"Yes. I think I figured out why you should adopt Harry."
"Oh? Does it involve free manual labor?"
"Severus, really. This is much better. I feel like a fool for not thinking of it sooner."
"Well, you managed it in the nick of time. You had less than three hours before you had to abandon this enterprise altogether. So what did you find?"
"The Potter Vault."
Snape stared at her for a moment, a bit surprised, then sighed.
"As much fun as it would be playing pirate with my old nemesis' wealth, I don't think the Dark Lord would approve of the misappropriation of young Potter's inheritance."
"Of course not, and I don't think you'd be dishonorable enough to do such a thing. I'm not talking about galleons and gemstones, I'm talking about knowledge."
"Knowledge?"
"Books, Severus. The Potters are a very, very old family. Their wealth is accumulated, not in money, but in books and scrolls and magical artifacts. I did some research, as much as I could on such short notice, and did you know they have the eighth largest collection of Book of Shadows in Britain? That's a lot of never before duplicated spells, Severus. Spells that haven't been seen in centuries. And best of all, you don't need to steal them. Only borrow them long enough to make copies. When Harry is legally an adult, he'll keep the originals and you'll keep the new ones."
Snape's interest was definitely peaked. He could easily confess to being an all out bibliophile, and a great deal of his wealth had gone towards the accumulation of rare and valuable books. He had kept all of his college text books, written three of his own, collected over two hundred in different languages while traveling abroad, and raided more antique stores and auctions than he could remember, but what he did not have were Book of Shadows. The Prince family books had been sold in his youth to pay for his education, and such books were near impossible to pry from their rightful owners. Most preferred them burned rather than have them passed to someone outside the family.
"And then, of course, there is the dowry."
"Dowry?"
"It should be quite substantial for Harry. You're entitled to a percentage as the head of the family, you know? And of course, there are those who will pay handsomely just be given permissions to try and court Harry when he comes of age."
"It would be the Dark Lord's-"
"He trusts your judgment. He'll let you manage the matter just as he let you manage Harry's press conference and formal outings. Just think of it this way Severus. You would have all the same responsibilities that you have now, only you'd receive much greater compensation."
Snape let out a rude snort.
"That isn't true and you know it. The title of 'Father' entails a whole world of new responsibilities that 'guardian' does not. For every failure, misdeed, embarrassment, and lapse in judgment Potter commits, I will be judged in turn."
"And every success, accomplishment, and honor will bring glory to you. You will finally be acknowledged as you deserved, but never were because of your father. You will be the head of a family of purebloods, as strong and influential as Lestrange or Broadwick or Prince. You will be the pater primo of the Snapes, the next great family of Purebloods."
"By following Potter?" he asked, bitterly.
"Or by leading him. It's up to you."
Snape remained quiet for a long time, mulling over everything she had said. Some of it sounded over idealistic, but workable. It all appealed to him on some level. It was true that no Pureblood could turn him away without turning away Potter as well, and that would be a slap in the face of the Dark Lord. Unforgivable. Life threatening. Infinitely satisfying to Snape.
Plus it would piss off Black and Lestrange something fierce.
He sighed.
"Very well. You've convinced me."
And she kissed him. She caught him by surprise, but... it was a pleasant sort of surprise. She was very soft and warm, and tasted of the tea they had been drinking. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he could feel them rise and fall with her quickening breath, and he was sorely tempted to stand and seize her and...
He pulled back, flush and flustered.
"Per..perhaps you needed that chaperon, after all," he managed.
She looked utterly unrepentant.
"Thank you, Severus. You've made me so happy."
"Don't thank me just yet. I said you convinced me. Now you have to convince the Dark Lord."
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Natalie walked into Tuesday dueling practices hoping to see Harry, but he was as elusive that day as he had been since Friday. Aside from a few glimpses during classes and in the halls, she hadn't seen him hardly at all, but then no one else had either. He was feeling extraordinarily shy since the interviews, and the unusually high influx of newspapers hadn't helped matters. Every where she went there were students and teachers reading or talking about him, and she would be quite annoyed if she weren't just as bad.
She had read the articles. At least a dozen of them anyway. Aside from the Hogwart's Herald, the only paper most anyone read was the Wizard Weekly, but alternative newspapers such as Newts & News, Pellington's Inquisition, and the Third Eye Tribune had been smuggled in with the morning mail, as well. Much of what was said was contradictory to the other papers.
Some portrayed Harry as a young tyrant, casting spells this way and that for the most minor of offenses, while others described him has mild-mannered and chivalrous, fixing broken cameras and helping some one up when they tripped. Still others suggested he was uncertain of himself and snippish, others that he was unusually self assured and humorous. She didn't really care about any of the paper's opinion's regarding his personality, as she knew him better than any of them could ever boast.
What she did care about was that his parents were really wizards, his body guards were really his godfathers, he didn't want to work for the Court, and that she hadn't known any of that before. Oh, she had suspected his past was traumatic, that he held secrets, and liked his privacy, but she felt she should have been privy to at least some of it. Hermione must have known. She probably knew all of it.
God, she hated that girl.
Since she was already there, Natalie decided to work off some of her frustration in a duel. She wasn't the best duelist in the club, but she did well enough that at least the girls were afraid of her. There was one other person in the supply closet changing into their combat robes, and she couldn't help but smirk a little when she saw who it was.
"Hello, Ginerva."
The younger girl spun around, startled, and her alarm didn't waver when she recognized her company.
"It's been a while. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," Natalie teased, step towards her and then past her to where her uniform was hanging. Ginny stiffened, but didn't reply, instead securing her leather armor. "I hope there aren't any hard feelings."
Ginny glanced at her, then back towards the exit, but didn't speed up her pace. Gryffindor pride cracked, but not broken. Natalie's smirked widened.
"We shouldn't let something as silly as a boy come between years of... history. We girls have to stick together, after all."
The younger girl finished strapping on the last of her armor, and walked out. Natalie knew it was petty and futile and stupid considering Harry had only been hers for the briefest of moments. At least he had been hers, and if it meant reminding one silly little girl she'd had even less in order for her to be content with that, then it was all fine and dandy.
One day Harry would be ready, and she would be there to snatch him up before anyone else. Or perhaps he would come to her.
He was unpredictable like that.
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Book of Shadows- a handwritten book of spells collected and sometimes created by an individual or family/coven.
Literally, it's Latin for 'first father', and I use it as a term indicating the first of a genetic line. Like Salazar Slytherin would be a pater primo because no one knows anything (we assume) about the Slytherin line before him.
