Chapter 1: The Curses we bear

Notes:

I don't own these characters, but I really wish I did. This has not been Beta'd so please excuse the errors I make. Better yet, lemme know if you find errors (look at me, being a slave driver ;P).

I hope you enjoy!

(edited in 2018)

Chapter Text

For the fourth new moon in a row, Harriet Potter lay curled on the floor, shaking from the pain that would develop and recede just as rapidly. Her teeth were clenched from the effort of not crying out, despite it being completely unnecessary. She had warded and placed silencing charms around the room in which she now lay so that no one would hear or disturb her. Perhaps she clenched her teeth out of habit - the last two times this had happened, she had been at the Dursley's and crying out would have earned her another black eye – or worse.

The first time this had happened, she had been with Voldemort, and she simply refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

This would only last another half hour, she thought desperately, stealing a quick glance at her watch. She regretted her decision, as glancing down at her wand arm alerted her to another part of herself that was screaming – although rather silently - in agony.

She mentally reassured herself that the pain would be gone in a second; and indeed, the blistered, charred flesh of her arm – originally a burn of some sort – was healing rapidly, skin cells stacking in uneven layers to form an ugly, discoloured scar, but thankfully, a brief reprieve from the pain.

She was probably quite the sight, she thought bitterly to herself. A canvas of bruises and cuts and scrapes. A canvas that had areas of itself scraped mostly clean only to be painted over again in new and different shades of pain.

She hated the Dursleys with a cold fury for the years of abuse and neglect that they had subjected her to, but she hated Voldemort far, far more. She hated him for killing her parents, and for killing Cedric, and for killing all the other faceless individuals that had been sacrificed on the altar of a war she had not been alive to witness. She hated him for taking away her chances at a normal, happy life.

Right now, she hated him for the curse he had placed on her four months ago – the curse that was the reason she now lay in a pool of her own blood and vomit and had done, every new moon, for the past four months.

She shouldn't dwell on the curse – it only increased her hatred for the snake-like man. Hatred wasn't healthy, she told herself. Hatred turns inward and festers inside the soul – it drives you toward solitude and bitterness. It turns you into the type of person of whom Albus Dumbledore would not feel proud, the type of person that your parents would not be proud to call their daughter.

She had committed to making her parents proud after seeing their faces in that graveyard.

It was in the graveyard that they had told her they were proud of her, but for what, she didn't know. Where was her Gryffindor bravery now? It seemed to be a flighty trait, vacating her when she most needed it.

That infernal hat had been wrong. Bravery was only truly bravery if it remained while you were at your most terrified. She wasn't afraid of Voldemort so facing him wasn't truly brave. Stupid, perhaps, but certainly not brave. Now she was terrified. Not of the pain, as she had long ago forgotten her terror of pain. It frightened her, but not as much as being /found out/.

She hid, like a coward, because she did not want them to know how truly weak she was. She couldn't even fight off an oversized muggle. But mostly she feared that someone would discover how deeply deserved her punishments were. She was incapable of controlling herself to be good long enough to avoid being punished over the summers.

She would have to work so much harder to make her parents proud.

She stifled a gasp as her shoulder dislocated and used all of the strength of her uninjured arm to try to force the joint back into its socket. She definitely didn't want to have to deal with a shoulder that remained out of joint after the curse was no longer active. Besides, the rapid healing that the curse allowed would greatly reduce the pain once her shoulder was 'relocated', but that meant she had to do it now.

She fought against the dark spots that were appearing behind her eyes. She forced her eyelids to remain open. It wouldn't be the first time she had passed out from the pain. She couldn't afford to now. More bone breaks were coming and she couldn't afford to let them heal unset.

XXX

Severus Snape was agitated. Albus really did have the worst timing possible. He was in the middle of the most volatile stage of brewing Dreamless Sleep for Poppy when Albus fire-called him. He decided to walk to the headmaster's office, instead of going by floo to allow time for his anger to fester.

Maybe, if he was lucky, the foolhardy brats would give him a few reasons to vent his frustrations. Hopefully Gryffindors.

He strode up the corridor, robes billowing and seas of children parting, wide eyed and terrified at his glare. He smirked behind his curtain of hair – best not let them see him smile. It would ruin his carefully built reputation.

No one could say that the dungeon bat didn't have a flair for the theatrics. They wouldn't say he had the flair, either, but really, that was more out of fear of the man than a lack of honesty.

He restored his mask of impassivity as he neared the gargoyle and spoke the password – "Acid pops"— inwardly hoping that Dumbledore's teeth would rot from all the sugar he consumed as the stairs revolved slowly upwards.

"My dear man," Dumbledore beamed, "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you, but the situation is rather urgent. Lemon drop?"

Snape glared and Dumbledore set the box on his desk looking mildly amused.

"What is it, Albus? I have things to do and limited time in which to do them," Snape snarled.

There wasn't much sincerity behind the complaint. Albus was a friend, and besides, Snape was intrigued. Dumbledore's eyes lacked their usual twinkle. Something serious was happening.

"The Dursleys have disappeared." Dumbledore stated, looking sombre.

Severus' thoughts leapt immediately to the Death Eaters, but as if reading his mind, Dumbledore went on: "There are no signs of foul play, Severus. They appear to have left by choice."

Severus raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "'Why is their decision to vacation relevant?"

"Let me clarify; they've left the country. Permanently." Seeing that the Potions Master's eyebrow remained raised, Dumbledore continued. "Severus, the wards have fallen. Harriet Potter has lost her blood protection."

Snape began to pace; of course it was the Potter brat. She had a talent for finding herself in unfortunate situations. She was probably the reason for the Dursleys taking flight. She was an insufferable and arrogant piece of work – just like her father.

"She will just have to remain at Hogwarts. It really isn't all that complicated, Albus." Severus's pacing belied his words.

"You expect her to remain in the castle for the rest of her life? What of the prophecy? She can't face him without the blood protection." Dumbledore replied in consternation. "She needs it, Severus. I just don't know how to protect her." Dumbledore looked, for once, every bit as old and frail a he truly was.

"Give her a personal body guard. Merlin knows she already receives special treatment. Perhaps, while you're at it, you could train her in the dark arts and actually give her a fighting chance," Snape griped sarcastically. "Better yet, use the Fidelius Charm. That worked so well for her mother, didn't it?"

"Severus, ENOUGH!" Dumbledore boomed. "I have no intention of hiding her. The Fidelius Charm is unsuitable. She needs, for lack of a better phrase, portable protection." The twinkle was back but Snape was too busy pacing to notice.

"Blood protection and Bond protection. They're the most effective forms," Snape stated. It was obvious.

Dumbledore beamed and nodded "Precisely, my dear man. Blood protection isn't an option. The last remaining relatives she has have vacated the continent. We will try to locate the Dursleys before the summer in order to renew her blood protection but finding them is seeming increasingly impossible, and we cannot afford to leave her unprotected." Dumbledore spoke crisply.

"That leaves us, as you so wisely put it, Bond protection." Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape, "She would require a Bond with someone of proficient magical skill, both dark and light. As you mentioned earlier, she needs to be trained in dark magic to stand a chance at defeating Voldemort."

Snape stopped pacing, Dumbledore was twinkling at him out of the corner of his eye. His stomach dropped, he knew what the old man was implying. Were his debts not yet paid? Surely, he didn't have to force himself to endure more misery.

"No Albus," he croaked; "I've spent my life paying for my mistake, surely Lily would have..." Severus's voice died away, the air caught in his too-tight chest. Of course she wouldn't have forgiven him. His betrayal was unforgivable. "Please, Albus."

Obsidian eyes sought out blue pleadingly. Dumbledore, for a moment, seemed to shift uncomfortably in his seat, but then the moment passed and Dumbledore's eyes filled with conviction.

Snape knew he would lose. He always lost to Dumbledore.