Coming back at you guys again with another looong overdue chapter. I seriously can't believe I let some much time pass between the last update and this one. What's worse is the fact it wasn't even a month hiatus. It was a good 2-month hiatus. I swear though it was NOT INTENTIONAL. The cause is last semester of school+ A LOT of final assignments + a lot of final papers= a busy, sleep-deprived writer who still has a mountain of work to go through. Wish me luck.
However since it's Easter Break, I decided to push myself to post. You guys were due for a new chapter and SHOUTOUT. First off, Stages has reached over 1000 reviews *breaks out the party blowers, dancing happily around* You. GUYS. ROCK. Every single of you. Thank you so much for all the love you've been bestowing to my story. Special shoutout to Sapphirewaterfall for posting the 1000th review. Can't tell you how much that means to me. Also shoutout to my new good friend, SensibilyTainted for her sweet reviews.
Sensibly also is an incredible writer who has the most amazing drarry stories, especially Growing Pains and Freedom Found in Chains. Cannot recommend those stories enough. You guys will thank yourselves after reading it, especially Growing Pains.
So unfortunately, April is gonna be a busy month for me so it will be awhile before more updates come about. However I can say updates and new drarry stories will be coming out this summer, so be on the lookout. In the meantime enjoy the chapter.
Last but certainly not least, HAPPY EASTER.
Chapter 43: Breaking Point, Binding Bond
Harry had no idea how long he'd been in the shower. Could have been a few minutes, maybe even close to an hour-or more. What he did know was that it was longer than just awhile.
Long enough for the piping hot water he turned on full blast to cool to lukewarm.
Long enough for him to lose track of the number of lines on the tilted walls he counted as he scrubbed his skin raw.
Long enough to lost feeling in both legs that were folded underneath him.
But if there was one thing he did know, it was the reason why he was in the shower in the first place.
Another nightmare.
In the dream, it was like he was in the basilisk lair, the same place where he barely managed to escape with Ginny-and his neck. Only this time the place was covered with mirrors, full-length crystal mirrors that surrounded him like a glass cage, where his reflection stared back at him with frantic eyes at almost every angle. With Tom Riddle standing across from him.
"We're not so different," Riddle said, his voice smooth as silk. The dark color of his robes making his pale skin that much whiter. His raven hair messy; frame lean and tall, still towering over Harry by a few inches. "you and I."
Their features were altered in each of the mirrors, curving it into angles, shrinking them down, blending them together, making them look deformed. In every one of them, the pleasant smile on Riddle's face was sharp in dark glee. However none compared to the actual smile the real Riddle gave him.
Anger swelled inside Harry at the sight of that smile, the same one used when he tortured him. Harry wished he had his wand-or a hammer. Anything that could smash that smile. "I'm nothing like you!"
Riddle's lips sloped into a frown, almost as though Harry disappointed him. Until his lips quickly shaped back into its amused smile. "There are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed." His smile sharpened like a knife. "Two half-blood orphans abandoned by our parents!"
Red bleed into his vision. "The difference between us is that yours chose to. My didn't."
"The core of our wands made from the same phoenix's feather." Riddle's skin began to wither as if it were a fruit rotting from the inside out, paling to skeleton-white with the veins of his face prominently blue.
Harry remembered how Ollivander examined him skeptically as he explained the significance of the phoenix feather; the odd irony that the magical core used in his wand was the same one that gave him his scar.
Slashes began to sprout along Riddle's face, his skin peeling away, unraveling like ribbons."Fluid in the language of Parseltongue. An undeniable attraction to the lure of darkness."
"Shut. Up!" Harry's magic began to hum, pulsing in his veins. It buzzed around him, hummed in his tight fists like static, growing in power.
"Leaders to a group of simple-minded wizards who yet to realize the possibilities of how this world can be reshaped."
If his magic was a song, it would be the solo of a soprano opera singer reaching the high climax of the song, the intensity growing, and the humming loudening.
"Outcasts," Riddle purred. "Even in our world. Strangers among our wizarding brothers. Freaks in human skin."
"SHUT. UP!" Harry screamed, his magic reaching its peak-
The mirrors exploded as if boulders of rock were thrown against them, shattering their reflections, creating a shower of raining glass Harry barely dodged. A slash across his neck; sharp fragments planted into his legs, bringing him down to the ground. Pieces piercing his palms, his arms, unleashing ribbons of crimson.
After what seemed like an eternity, just when Harry was sure he was going to be shredded into pieces, the glass stopped. He took in a breath, then another, listening. Silence hung heavily over the room like a curtain. Harry slowly lowered his arm he used as a shield to protect his face from the glass shower and looked around.
The mirrors were completely destroyed, the shard pieces shattered all over the floor. Riddle was gone, his fleshly remains left behind in his place.
What the-Harry's thoughts came to a halt as he yanked onto his feet by sharp tug of his hair.
Lord Voldemort in his skeleton-frame, crimson-eyed form smiled down at him as he pulled Harry's back to his chest, his hands wrapped around Harry's head and neck in a tight embrace.
"We also have another thing in common, Potter."
The corners of the dark room were knocked down, one by one, like walls to reveal the cemetery, the same cemetery Harry and Cedric were taken to. Bodies littered the ground like discarded leaves. So many bodies.
Harry's screams, gasps, cries were tangled together into a thick ball wedged in his throat.
Dad, Mum, along with Cedric. Sirius and Remus. Severus. Narcissa. Blaise, Pansy, Theo. Ron and Hermione. And Draco. All of them dead.
"No…" Harry croaked, his eyes jumping over from Mum sprawled in a sea of blood, Sirius whose mouth was open wide as if he were screaming, Severus with his neck was marred with scars, and Draco whose hollow eyes were locked on Harry. "No…"
Voldemort's hold tightened to the point of suffocation. Pure delight rang in his voice. "We destroy everything we touch."
The dream didn't only knock Harry back into heart-pounding, blood-rushing reality, but made him screamed so loudly that his vocal chords ached.
If that wasn't enough, Ron and Hermione were the ones who had to pull him back.
"Harry! Harry!" He could make out Hermione's panicked cries as he struggled to break through the surface. "Harry, can you hear?"
"Come on, mate!" Ron pleaded.
Harry finally broke, sucking in gulps of air like he'd been held underwater for ages. He barely managed to dodge questions before he escaped to the bathroom, practically ripping off his sweaty pajamas as if they were covered in gasoline and getting into the shower, setting the water to scolding hot.
And here he was minutes later, huddled in the shower, like a scared little kid.
Harry ran his stiff-frozen hands over his face and sighed.
It's been weeks since that horrible night. Between then and now, hardly anyone was talking about Voldemort's reappearance, convinced it was the delusional thoughts of a deranged boy, despite the fact the number of missing people-wizards, witches, even Muggles-were slowly but steadily rising. Dumbledore kept urging the Order and Harry to be patient, but has been tight-lipped and distant regarding his own plans. Not a word or sighting of Voldemort, and yet the man was still here, lurking in the back of Harry's wand, haunting him along with Cedric's ghost that continued to stare at Harry with those hollow eyes.
Why did I die, those eyes asked. Why did I have to die for you?
Sometimes future victims, Hermione and Ron, Sirius or Draco, would stand beside him, giving Harry that same look. Sometimes even his own parents.
Shivering, Harry held himself tighter.
He told Mrs. Weasley and Sirius that he was ready. That he could handle anything. But he at the moment he didn't think that he could. He didn't feel ready. He didn't feel brave.
He felt like the thing he always hated being: a scared, helpless child.
~…~
Tension ran high over the Grimmauld Place over the next couple of days. Tension between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley, who acted civil towards each other for the most part but still held the other at arm's length (particularly Sirius), still remembering what was said from that horrible dinner. Tension between Sirius and Remus, who was caught in the middle of their fight and his own fight with Sirius over what was the best for Harry. Tension between Ron, his brothers, and Molly, who refused to let them join the order, Sirius Black's opinion be damned. Even tension between Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Maybe tension was the wrong word to use. Anxious seemed better; it was the perfect word to describe their behavior. They were anxious around him, acting like Harry was a skittish cat that needed to be handled properly but were unsure of the right route to take. Both of them tried stifling their excitement when their Gryffindor Prefect pins came in via and Harry's didn't, despite Hermione's firm belief they would all be one fifth year. The way they watched him as he declined another game of Quidditch, preferring just to be inside alone. The unsettling, unworried look in their eyes whenever they had to wake him up from his nightmares.
Harry knew it was only a matter of time before one of them broke the stifling silence to pepper him with questions.
Less than two weeks into the new school year, after Mrs. Weasley and Remus took them out for all-day school shopping trip, the silence was finally broken. Hermione and Ron were his shadows as he escaped into his room after dinner. The second the door was closed, the long awaited question was fired at him.
"What happened at the graveyard?"
Harry blinked once, twice, before he turned over to Ron standing by the door, Hermione off by the center of the room with her arms folded across her chest. Harry's eyes flickered between her and Ron.
"I already told what happened." Harry answered back calmly.
"No," Ron said with a frown. "You didn't. Not everything."
"Yes, I did-"
"Everytime you gave your story, you hesitated when you told them what you saw." Hermione beat him to it before he could protest. "I was there, Harry. Plus, I know you. I saw the way your eyes looked away from Dumbledore when he asked you who else was at the graveyeard. You had to think over what to say to him. And whatever you had to hold in is eating you up. It's not healthy."
Harry looked away from them, curling his hands into tight fists.
"Whatever it is, Harry," Hermione said, her voice gentle. "You can tell us. We're in this together."
Ron appeared by his other side. "Whatever it is, mate, you can tell us."
Harry glanced back and forth between them, his mind swirling. They've been through a lot together, the four of them. Along with Draco, Ron and Hermione have been there through it all, every mishap, every danger from Quirrell, the basilisk, Petttigrew. Despite the number of times their lives were put in danger, they still stood by him. He trusted them both and yet…
Harry bit his lip. Ron's family harnessed a deep-rooted hatred for the Malfoys that spanned back to decades. Hermione made it clear from day one that she wasn't a fan of Draco. This sort of information was so big, the secret so heavy, Harry was dying to let it out to someone, yet at the same time too crucial that it could be damaging if let out. And as much as he trusted them, he wasn't sure if this was a secret they could keep in. Unless…
A spell Harry picked up from one of the books in the Black library stirred in his mind. "If…I tell you, I need you two to keep an open mind on what I'm gonna say."
"Of course," Hermione nodded.
"And I'll need you to make a vow to me."
"Of course, mate," Ron clasped Harry's shoulder. 'We promise we'll-"
"No," Harry corrected, shaking his head. "I need you to make…the Unbreakable Vow."
Ron's hand slipped off Harry's shoulder, dangling from his arm like a stray noodle. His agape mouth was as wide as Hermione's stunned eyes.
"That's-that's-" Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "That's a powerful spell."
"A powerful, unbreakable sort of spell." Ron said.
"I got that from the name, thanks." Harry snapped.
"Harry, a spell like that is-is extreme," Hermione protested. "Surely, it's-"
"Exactly the right type of spell for the secret I'm about to say," Annoyance pricked his chest when he noticed the skeptical look Ron shared with Hermione, who replied with a shrug. "What I have to say is that important. I wouldn't ask you guys to do this if it wasn't."
Or if he wasn't so scared of the possible truth.
Ron and Hermione looked at him, then at each other, having a long discussion through their eyes. Hermione, after what felt like hours, ended the conversation by stepping forward and sticking her hand out to Harry. Ron followed in suit.
Heart pounding, Harry reached out for their hands, wrists grasping onto each other. Using his other hand, he summoned his wand and used it to tap their entangled hands.
"Do you, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger, swear to me, Harry James Potter, to listen to what I have to say and that whatever I said here never leaves this room. Is never told to anyone else. Not to parents," Harry looked over at Ron. "Or Dumbledore." He directed his glance towards Hermione.
Ron swallowed and recited back. "I, Ronald Weasley, swear to you, Harry James Potter, whatever you have to tell me will never leave this room, and that I won't say anything to anyone."
Hermione took in a deep breath; eyes closed, and opened them. She replied, "I, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to you, Harry James Potter, that whatever you tell me will never leave this room. And that it will never be told to anyone."
A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire, pulsing like a heartbeat, seeping into their skin.
When it was done, Ron took back his hand and stared at it in shock, as if it turned to metal.
"So, that's it?" he asked.
"That's it," Hermione answered, her voice hollow. She was almost as shaken by the spell as Harry was. 'The vow was made and sealed."
Ron looked at Harry. "We did our part. Now it's your turn."
Harry took a seat down by the edge of his bed. Ron joined him there while Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor. Harry released a slow, deep breath that came from the depths of his core.
"After…Cedric…" He could hardly say the boy's name without guilt strangling him. "After he was killed and Pettigrew managed to resuscitate Voldemort, one of the first things he did was call his followers. They came the second the mark changed to red. All of them cloaked, masked, and scared. Except for one." Harry swallowed to ease the tightness of his throat. "He was still and quiet. He was only one who didn't laugh while Voldemort was torturing me…"
Hermione nodded slowly, inclining him to go on.
"Voldemort gave him a warning. He said 'You are hanging by a very thin thread. Ensure that it doesn't snap.' The man bowed his head and then-" Harry swallowed again. "But when he did that, some of his hair that must have been tied back slipped out. Pale white blonde hair."
He heard a sharp intake of breath. He couldn't tell if it was Ron or Hermione. His eyes were focused on the ground.
"And when he stood back up, I saw-I think I may have seen gray eyes-"
"Malfoy?!" Ron bellowed, shocked.
Harry was never more thankful he added a silencing charm to the room, along with a locking spell to the door, before they began the vow. "Not him," Harry corrected. Ron and Hermione gawked at him with wide eyes like he punched them right in the gut. "His father, Lucius."
The gasp that pierced through the air definitely came from Hermione. Ron was up on his feet in an instant, backing away from Harry as if he was diseased, shock and anger swirling in his eyes.
"I knew it!" Ron hissed. "I knew it! My dad was right. Goddamn two-faced snakes is what that family is."
"What the hell happened to keeping an open mind when I told you?" Harry snapped.
"It left the building the second you said you saw the head of that blonde-haired, snot-nosed Prickdome at the graveyard. The Malfoys are the type to get mixed up in a crime and make sure their fingerprints are hidden-"
"That's a whole lot of rud-"
"The hell it isn't-"
"That's why you made us did the vow," Hermione said, her voice cutting through Ron's ranting. Her voice cracked in devastating realization. "This is a secret too big to keep and you didn't trust us to do that."
"No way. Harry, she's kidding, right? Why, that's…that's…" Ron turned over to Harry, waiting for him to dismiss Hermione's words, for him to say that of course, that wasn't it at all. Harry took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze to the ground, remaining silent.
"Are you…are you…ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" Ron demanded. "Are you bloody fucking kidding right now, Harry? My parents, Remus, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore have been killing themselves for the Order, the Ministry, and you! But you're deciding to keep valuable, valuable information that could help them because you apparently feel you owe it to some prick who taught you how to make a tie and act like a spoiled twat!"
Rage, shimmering like a current stirring in the calm waters, growing bigger and stronger, boiled over Harry. Through clenched teeth, Harry forced out, "It's not that simple-"
"Oh really?" Ron commented, tone dry as sandpaper. "Let's review. From the start, Dumbledore has been off about them, worried about you being so close to Malfoy. You said so yourself he warned you to keep your distance."
"You'll forgive me if I'm not counting Dumbledore's opinion as the sacred word at the moment."
Ron continued on, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Sirius clearly can't stand his cousin, lady to that very same family. Not that I blame him. Can't trust anyone someone willing to lay down with the enemy for a couple of jewels."
"She isn't a part of any of this, Ron-"
He just went on. "The whole family, father and son especially, made it no secret that they think anyone who ain't a pureblood isn't worth shite."
"That-" was the one argument Harry couldn't exactly against.
"And for the love of Merlin, Harry, he's a goddamn Slytherin!" Ron exclaimed, as if that final fact should be obvious and solid enough to seal the case."Backstabbing cunningness is in their blood!"
The urge to punch Ron, to throw his whole weight into the hit that he'd be knocked down to the ground was so sudden and great that Harry balled his fists into tight fists and held them to his sides. "Pettigrew was a supposedly brave, fearless Gryffindor," Harry spat out. "who sold out his friends without a second thought. Quirrell was a wise, brilliant Ravenclaw who easily fell into Voldemort's clutches." Each word he said, Harry took a step closer to Ron, causing him to take two steps back. "Lockhart was a brainless idiot even Hufflepuffs were ashamed to call their own."
Ron took one step back and his back slammed against the wall.
Looking him right in the eye, Harry said, "Your sorting, your house has nothing to do with the way you act, the things you do, or the choices you made-not the ones that really count. You're a coward, that's on you. You're an idiot, that's on you. You're a traitor, that's-"
Harry choked back on the rest of that sentence, the words burning his throat like acid.
Ron was shaking, as if his body was alive with emotions struggling to burst out. Harry nearly flinched as Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You may be right about that," She made her voice as gentle as it could be. "But you can't ignore the other facts. The Malfoys are greatly tied to the Dark Arts. They, Draco's father in particular, believe in Voldemort's ideals. Belief is only a step away from supporting. You said so yourself you saw him with your own eyes-"
Harry shrugged off her hand more harshly than he intended. "I said I think I saw him. I never said I actually did."
"Look, I get it. I understand. They were close to your parents and kind to you, so you feel indebted to them-"
"No, you don't!" Harry had to move away from them before his head exploded. "Neither of you do." He turned back to them. "They weren't just kind to me. They didn't just help me. They raised me. Severus and Narcissa and, yes, even Lucius. They looked out for me. Protected me. They're just as much as my family as you guys are. And…and…"
A memory tugged from the corner of his mind. Days after his parents' funeral, Harry broke down in the staircase as he reached the last step, the grief crushing and agonizing. It was Lucius who found him, clenching onto the railing, ugly gasping sobs tearing through his body like knives. He didn't hug Harry or even touch him. He stood by and waited patiently until the sobs lessened to tears to hand Harry a handkerchief, so he could wipe his face. Then took Harry to the zoo, distracting him with a long afternoon of animals and toys.
He remembered how closely Lucius watched him at the end of the day as Harry ate his ice-cream.
"You have to be one of the strongest people I know, Harry Potter."
"Potter-Malfoy." The correction earned him a slight smile from Lucius. Harry frowned down at his waffle cone, the vanilla-chocolate swirl melting in his hand. "And I don't feel strong. Or brave."
Lucius crossed his legs, leaning against the bench. "On the contrary," he said. "Continuing on with life, going about your normal routine after suffering such a tragic loss. Taking it in by measures, moving in our pace in our own ways." He turned to Harry and his smile grew a bit more. "Speaks volumes of the strength you have."
"And," Harry croaked once he found his voice again. "If I say anything and it turns out I'm wrong, I'll ruin everything."
"But what if you were right," Ron insisted. "What if Lucius really was there? What if he really is part of it?"
Harry didn't know how to respond, so he turned away.
"What about Draco?" Hermione asked, the question a quiet and swift whip against Harry's skin.
Harry whirled over to her. She met his gaze calmly.
"You can't tell us the thought hasn't occurred to you before, Harry." Ron said.
"Draco would never!" Harry exclaimed. "Ever! You don't know him the way I do. Neither one of you!"
Ron moved forward, his mouth shaped into an O to protest. Hermione held up her hand, silencing him.
"You're right," Hermione said, her words soft but firm. "We don't know the Malfoys the way you do. We don't know Draco the way you do. But I know these facts. When I was researching the first Wizarding War, there were speculations over who was served the opposing side. Many that were suspected were purebloods, with the Malfoys being at the very top of the list."
Harry's blood went cold. Hermione went on.
"Dumbledore made mistakes, a lot of mistakes, but there is a reason why he was anxious about you being around the Malfoys."
Hermione took another step closer.
"I may not know Draco as well as you do," she admitted. "In fact I think it's safe to say that no knows him the way you do. And he you." She took another step. "But I do know this. He cares for you as much as he cares for his father. So you need to ask yourself this and really think on it. If it turns out Lucius really is on Voldemort's side, and he's given the choice between you and his father, which side do you think Draco will choose?"
The words were like salt-laced whips lashing thick stripes against his open, bleeding wounds. Like hands that grabbed his heart that was quivering, his stomach that was plunging, and twisted the two into a pretzel, rapidly moving in a sickening loop.
A question that always existed in the back of his mind, hovering around the edges. A question that sliced through his insides like a slow, painful Crucio.
One he refused to think about.
One he had no answer to.
Later on that night, long after everyone was asleep, Harry attempted to write his first letter in months. Yet despite weeks of filling up the pages of his journals of scattered thoughts and fears, it was a struggle to make the quill move across the blank parchment when his mind couldn't form the words to move.
He dipped his quill into the ink jar the first time in a row within the past hour he sat down and the only thing he managed to do was get smears of ink onto it.
Harry chewed on the feather to help him think about then wrote down the first thing that came to mind.
Draco.
Just seeing that name caused all the feelings Harry tried to keep locked away to hit him all at once. Guilt from causing that deep pain that slashed onto his best friend's face when he turned away from him. Fear and panic over seeing that blonde hair and gray eyes after coming across a familiar sight earlier. And longing, stems from the fierce protectiveness to keep him away from the truth, from the bone-aching need to have him right by his side, from the bottomless vast of love that pieced him like a knife.
I…
Draco's flushed face when they broke their kiss. The curiosity and excitement gleaming in his eyes when Harry said he had something important to tell him after the third task.
I…
"If it turns out Lucius really is on Voldemort's side, and he's given the choice between you and his father, which side do you think Draco will choose?"
Harry bit his bottom lip so hard, he nearly drew blood. It was only way he could fight against the lump burning in his throat, the tears flooding his eyes.
I miss you.
More than he knew.
Harry tied the note against Hedwig's ankle.
"Deliver this to Draco," Harry instructed. "And only to Draco. If anyone-" A curtain of platinum-blonde hair fell as the servant bent forward. Piercing gray eyes shining from his mask. "If anyone else tries to take it, destroy it. Eat it yourself if you have to."
Hedwig hooted and took off, disappearing into the night.
A week later, Harry found himself in a similar position: huddled on the shower floor, searing hot water pouring over him, holding onto himself tightly after escaping from another horrible nightmare.
This time, he wasn't in the graveyard. He was in a dark, cold cellar, watching a boy around his age, shackled by hands and ankles on a wooden table and the Dark Lord slowly approaching him. Listening to the faux-sweet words dripping from the Dark Lord's lips as he told the boy that he should honor for being chosen. Then watching Voldemort shot a Cutting hex on him, starting with his face, slashing his shoulders and arms, marking his gut and hips.
What was horrible was that he wasn't just watching Voldemort. He was Voldemort. It was like those faux-sweet words were coming from Harry's own mouth. It was like it was his ears that rang from pleasure by the sounds of the boy's agonizing screams that sounded like music to him. It was like it was his hand, his wand casting the Cutting hex over and over again, tearing through layers of skin, ripping apart organs.
And he couldn't do anything to stop it. He was just as helpless as the poor boy, forced to watch him scream and plead for mercy, forced to look into those tear-filled blue green eyes and watch the life slowly die from them when the pain became too much for him, when the last drop of blood spilled.
An ice-cold shudder went through Harry's body; the memories of the day all too raw.
Things were happening. Harry couldn't explain it, but he knew deep in his heart, in his gut that something was happening. Something big, something terrible. And the star players were him and Voldemort.
Voldemort who was getting stronger everyday while Harry was here, huddled in the shower, hiding.
A current began rocking in his still ocean, breaking away from the center. A ripple growing in strength and size, hardening to stone.
It took Harry awhile to recognize it as anger.
He wasn't going to be hiding away when Voldemort returned. He refused to be helpless like last time.
He was going to fight. He needed to fight.
And he knew just the person to see who could help him.
It was almost like Severus knew that he was coming, perched right on his favorite chair, pulling his eyes away from the book he was reading to arch a dark eyebrow at Harry as he stumbled from the floor. Harry had to grip onto the couch's armrest to keep his face from smacking onto the ground.
"Um..." He spotted smears of Floor onto his clothes. He tried dusting it off.
The arched brow lifted a bit higher.
Harry dusted the floo powder off his clothes and then straightened up. "I…"
He didn't really have a plan. Harry just pulled himself off the shower floor, threw on his clothes, and escaped Grimmauld Place through the floo. Only now that he was here, Harry didn't quite know what to do. Or say.
The last time he saw Severus, Harry was choked up with emotions. Shock that turned his blood into ice, anger that turned his stomach, and pain that gripped his chest. Seeing Severus now, those feelings came rushing back, rocking against the still steam.
"I…" Harry tried again and fell into silence once more when he couldn't think of anything.
Severus bookmarked his book and sat it down on the table, getting up from his chair to move into the kitchen. At a loss over what to do, Harry took a seat on the couch.
Harry glanced around the place. The Snape manor exterior wasn't that much different from Severus' office at Hogwarts: done in dark neutral colors, rows upon rows of tall shelves stuffed with books. The only difference between the two settings was the few pictures Severus allowed to be hung on the walls. It didn't exactly give a warm, bright atmosphere like most places, but Harry remembered having fun here. Feeling safe in a different sort of way.
His train of thought ran off its course when he heard footsteps. His eyes widened at the sight of sandwiches taking over the silver tray Severus brought. From the distance, Harry could make out the marshmallow fluff.
"Eat." Severus said.
And so Harry did. He picked one up and took slow bites, helping himself to another, then another, and another. While he ate, Severus poured them tea, pushing Harry's cup towards him while he finished his own in one gulp.
Not once, between the sandwich-eating and tea-pouring, did Severus ask him how he was doing, even though this was the first time in months they were seeing each other face to face. It could have been because the look on Harry's face said it all. It said plenty to Remus and Sirius when he came to after the third task. It said enough that Ron, Hermione, and rest of the Weasleys had a hard time meeting his gaze in the beginning.
But Severus was never one for subtly. Hr hardly ever needed a confirmation to things. He usually found things out before other person and waited for them to catch on themselves.
A part of Harry wondered how much talent played into Voldermort's favor.
"Did she know?" A private thought floating through his head voiced out before he could catch himself.
Severus blinked, and then blinked again but more slowly, his eyes sliding down to his tea.
Minutes dragged on between them like years. Severus's lines were pulled into a thin line. Harry waited, playing with the crust of his sandwiches.
"Yes."
Harry's eyes snapped back to him. Severus stared back at him evenly, his face expressionless.
"Mom knew?" Harry asked.
Severus didn't flinch as he replied, "She did."
Mum knew? She knew? The words turned his world on a baffling axis. Did she stumble across the truth like Harry did? Did Severus tell her the truth himself? More importantly, how long had she known? Did she know from the beginning? Did she figure it out after they came back together?
If it was the first one, it explained why the friendship fell apart. But if it was the latter…and Mum still choose Severus to look over Harry…
"You aren't ready to know the truth, not yet," Severus said. "But that wasn't what you came for me, is it?"
Harry wasn't even surprised that Severus knew. He dropped the remains of his sandwich, wiped the crumbs off his fingers with his sweatpants, and took in a deep breath.
"I-I need to-" Harry winced at the uncertainty creaked in his voice. Is this what he had become? "I need to know more."
Severus's brows rose in question.
"About Voldemort," he clarified. "How I can beat him."
Severus stared at him for a good long minute. He broke the gaze connection by blinking once and rising from his chair, inclining Harry to follow with a nod as he walked out of the room.
Harry quickly hopped his seat and followed. Severus strode up the staircase, down the hall, into a room that was practically bare. It looked almost like an attic, narrow in size with the roof too close to their heads, creaky floors that groaned with every step, and wooden walls that felt like crumpling paper as Harry ran his hand through it.
"What is this place?"
"The front door to my safe."
His what? Harry turned around to see Severus kneeling down before one of the square floor titles. He murmured a spell against his wand like he was sharing a secret, and tapped the tip against the floor. Silver light dripped from the wand like paint onto the floorboard, melting away the exterior to reveal another staircase leading downward. This time stoned.
"What?" Severus was already walking inside, leaving Harry no choice but to follow.
Downstairs was another library, smaller with every inch of the walls taken up by shelves stuffed with books.
"Do you know one of my favorite quotes?" Severus asked, walking down one shelve, running his hand through the thick spines.
Harry thought on it, considering the countless number of books the man devoured, and shook his head.
"Strengthen the body, sharpen the mind," Severus recited, his back to Harry. "The mind needs just as much training as the body, even more. A fact very few are aware, including me and the Dark Lord." Severus turned back to him, his eyes dark and sharp. "Dumbledore has requited me to help you train, so that you are prepared."
Prepared? Dread squeezed the muscles of Harry's stomach. "For war?"
Severus's eyes narrowed. "Did you expect anything else?"
Voldemort was back at full power, stronger than before. His army was growing while Dumbledore's was dwindling. The panic circling the wizarding world, the number of missing people was escalating. "No."
A glow of what looked to be pride lit in Severus's eyes. "Then you already completed step one, which puts you ahead of others. Step two is going require absolute concentration."
Severus pulled out a book from the third top shelve slapped in the middle that was almost twice the size of the Monsters book Hagrid had them get third year. The cover was made from a tough, grayish-blue material, the pages yellowed from age, and the binding so frail Harry was almost afraid to touch it.
Handling it with care, Harry flipped it over to the first page where he watched a woman in the center. Streaks burst from her head, growing into thick walls that developed into more and more until she was standing in her own personal maze.
"Occlumency." Harry recited.
"Step two. Between now and September, I suggest you become acquainted with the text. Read it, devour it like it was your lifeline, memorize every sequence and pattern until you can recite it in your sleep," Severus said. "And then once you are done, once you have every technique down, you will come back to me to begin step three."
Harry nodded, closing the book. He made his way over to the staircase, but stopped short at the firm, gentle touch of Severus's hand on his shoulder.
Severus's stone-black eyes softened just a bit as they looked down at him. "I'm sorry. For what you had to go through."
Harry had a feeling the apologize went further beyond what happened during the third task.
His head was still spinning from what he saw, what he heard within the last few weeks. His gut was too twisted up to pick a side. His chest ached from the number of secrets he'd been hit with. He was still drifting in the despairing sea.
However, in that moment, his uncle's steady hand was the raft keeping him steady.
It was odd how one could be lost, stuck in a rotating cycle of bland gray, and all it took was a simple project to slowly crawl out of the cycle, throwing all their energy into the project.
The Occlumency book Severus gave him became that project. Like his journals, it kept him distracted, occupied. It kept him steady like a raft. It gave something to do. A purpose that made him feel like he was actually doing something.
The book did explain why almost all the books Severus gave him before had to do with the mind and the method of Legilimancy. It was a branch connected to Occlumency. But where Legilimancy was used to toy and alter memories, Occlumency was used to protect those memories, using the mind as its' shield. Which led Harry to look back at the all the other books from Severus, and seek out more books on Occlumency, switching back and forth between them, jotting down notes on the pages and in spare notebooks like he was preparing for a test.
It humanized him a bit, making him to come out of his cocoon and rejoin the human world. It helped him feel more awake, more focused. Less numb. In between reading and practicing the techniques on mind-blocking, he was getting to know his sort-of, not-quite cousin, Tonks, who was definitely clumsy and a bit too energetic, but had a certain charm that made her instantly likable. Even if she broke three whole sets of china that made her become Kreacher's public enemy number one. Even if she did nearly burn down the kitchen trying to help Mrs. Wesaely make dinner. Mrs. Weasley started to fidget less around him. Although she was still angry Sirius unofficially invited him to the order, she hadn't said a word about it since, choosing to fret over the upcoming school year. Remus was happy to lend him a hand with his research, asking zero questions, pulling out books on his own personal library.
The book didn't change Ron and Hermione's shock over the secret-or their worry, questioning if he was right to keep Lucius's possible appearance a secret.
And it most certainly didn't keep the dreams away. The ghosts continued to haunt him. Voldermort, Tom Riddle, sometimes a hybrid of both taunted him. And every single one of those dreams were filled with torment. Sometimes it was a Death-Eater who suffered a slight mishap and nearly became the snake's chew toy. Sometimes it was a Muggle at the wrong time, wrong place, running the other direction one second, then collapsing in a dead heap by a flash of electric green. Most times though it was a just a stranger.
A wizard, a witch. Man, woman, or child. All of them laid out a rusted, bloody table, or huddled in a dark cell, looking up at Voldemort-at Harry-with tears streaming down their bruised faces, pleading for mercy. All of them slowly, brutally tortured. Sometimes, like the Death-eaters, they were given to the snake, but as food. Sometimes they had bones broken by hand as well as hex. Sometimes they had parts cut, hands and ankles and neck and stomach, left to bleed out. Sometimes, it was taken further, with their organs bleeding from the inside out, gushing from their eyes, their noses, their ears. And every single time Harry was forced to look into those eyes, filled with so much pain and fear, and watched the life slowly die out.
Nothing could make those dreams go away. He wasn't sure anything could.
The last night of August, Harry found Sirius at the very last place he expected him to be. The family room.
It was the barest of all rooms in the entire house, with only a small set of furniture and a tapestry plastered on the walls. Every time he stepped into the room, Harry was always hit by a grave sense of melancholy that loomed over it.
The tapestry that took up all four walls, expanding from corner to corner. Immensely old and faded in color, it looked as though doxies had gnawed on it in some places; nevertheless, the golden thread which it was embroidered in the material still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read:
THE NOBLE AND MOST ANICENT HOUSE OF BLACK
"TOUJOURS PUR"
Sitting across from the tapestry was Sirius, nursing a half-empty tumbler of bourbon with the bottle resting by his feet, halfway done. His glassy eyes were fixed on the burnt spot where his named used to be.
"Dear sweet mother," Harry nearly jumped at the sound of Sirius's voice, growing used to the silence. "Blasted me off after I ran away from home. Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."
It was a story Harry heard before and yet…"Where did you go?"
"Your dad's place," said Sirius. "I was always welcomed with the Potters. They had more decency in one hand than my entire family put together."
Sirius tilted back his head and finished the rest of his drink in one swig, grimacing as he swallowed down. Anger in those glassy eyes as he studied the tapestry, toying with the cup as if he were deciding whether or not he wanted to throw the glass against it.
"I hated the whole lot of them: my parents with their pureblood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royalty…my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them…" A small, bitter smile curved Sirius's mouth. "There he is."
Sirius jabbed a finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name REGULUS BLACK. A date of death (some eight years ago prior) followed the date of birth.
"Younger than me," Sirius said. "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."
Harry stared down at the name, bits and pieces of the conversation moving around his brain like cogs. Sirius had opened up a bit more on his brother, and the role he played that Halloween night. "You hardly talk about him."
Sirius bit the inside of his cheek and poured himself another drink. "There's a before and after answer to your question. The before: for years, I thought he was an idiot. A stupid, great big idiot that joined the Death Eaters."
Harry's brows nearly touched his hairline. "Were-were your parents Death Eaters as well?"
"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea. They were all for the purification of the Wizarding Race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having purebloods in charge. They weren't alone either. They were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things…They got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I bet my parents thought Regulus was a little hero for joining up."
Harry studied the picture above the name. Regulus looked a lot like Sirius with a narrower face, making his cheekbones appear sharper, his black hair cut low and a flat, hollowed look in his eyes that made it hard to look directly into them. "You said there's a before and after to the story. What's the after?"
Sirius poured himself another glass that he gulped down in one swig.
"When you pledge your loyalty to Voldemort, it's a life-sentence," Sirius swirled the remnants of bourbon around in the glass. "The only way out is either dying for Voldermort's cause or getting killed by him for treachery. Regulus, from what I heard, was nowhere clear to his inner circle, but he found out something. Something big, something dangerous that earned him a kill-on-sight sentence from Voldermort." Sirius bit down on his bottom lip. "Any person with common sense would have disappeared. I did. But my stupid, soft, idiotic little brother…did what he had to do and used his remaining time of life to pass on a message to me. 'The Dark Lord gained a new pet. A rat.'"
Sirius poured another drink but didn't chug it down. He stared at his brother's portrait with a unfathomable, raw emotion in his eyes that looked like regret.
"He sounds like a hero, Paddy," Harry said. "You should feel proud."
Sirius shrugged with one shoulder. "Shame he didn't live long enough for me to tell him."
Pulling himself up on unsteady feet, Sirius walked over to the tapestry.
"Shame Tonks isn't here. Or her mother." He pointed to another small round burn mark between two names, Bellatrix and Narcissa. "Her two sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pureblood marriages while Andromeda married a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks, so-"
Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly. Harry, however, didn't laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda's burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy, and a single vertical gold link from their names led to the name Draco.
"Why do you hate Aunt Cissa so much?" Harry asked.
He almost expected Sirius to say that it was complicated, that he didn't hare her. Not really. Or for him to try to change the subject altogether. But Sirius was just like Severus when it came to heavy topics. He never hid from heavy. He faced it directly.
"Would you believe me if I told you that there was a time we were actually close? Me, Regulus, Andy, and Cissy?" The look on Harry's face must have been daunting, because the bitterness spoiled Sirius's smile. "Bellatrix, being the oldest and a piece of work even back then, thought it was beneath her to hang out with the kiddies. Though she always had a soft spot for Cissa. It didn't matter. The four of us formed our own group. We had fun, a lot of fun actually."
"Then what happened?"
"What happens to all kids. They grow up and get pulled in different directions. Me and Andy one way, Regulus and Narcissa another. Regulas didn't really surprise me since he was always after our parents' approval. But Narcissa…" Sirius closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. "The one time we needed her the most, when Andy needed her the most, she just walked away. And didn't look back. Then along the way, she did a lot of things. Made horrible, horrible choices that I can't forgive. And I sure as hell ain't forgetting."
The woman Sirius was describing hardly resembled the woman that raised Harry. Remembering how close she was to Mum, knowing how much family meant to her, he couldn't picture Narcissa turning her back on someone who trusted her.
Unsure what to say, Harry glanced over at the name on Andromeda's left. Bellatrix Black, which was connected by a double link to Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Lestrange…" Harry said out loud. The name had stirred something in his memory. He knew it from somewhere, but for a moment he couldn't think where, though, it gave him an odd, creeping sensation in the pit of his stomach.
"They're in Azkaban," said Sirius shortly.
Harry looked at him curiously.
"Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch Junior," said Sirius in the same brusque voice. "Rodolphus's brother, Rabaston, was with them too."
Now Harry remembered. The woman he saw inside Dumbledore's Pensieve, dark-haired with heavily-lidded eyes that stood at her trial and proclaimed her continuing allegiance to Lord Voldemort. Her pride that she tried to find him after his downfall and her conviction she would one day be rewarded for her loyalty.
The two stood in front of the tapestry, studying the names and faces of those that remained and that have been erased.
"Are you sure you want to go back?" Sirius asked minutes later, breaking the silence. "Dumbledore and his orders be damned. You don't have to if you don't want to. I can always get you a tutor."
Another argument that have been brewing in Grimmauld Place for most of the summer: Harry's return to Hogwarts. Dumbledore thought it was important for him to continue his schooling. Remus and Mrs. Weasley said it showed great courage if he went back. Ron all but hinted he'd punch Harry square in the face if he didn't come back with him. Sirius, on the other hand, was against, orders and show-face be damned.
"I have to. And I want to. Hogwarts is my home-well, my home away from home. I miss my friends. But…" Harry swallowed as memories of the mirror and the graveyard dream resurfaced.
"But…" Sirius parroted.
"There's something between me and Voldermort. I can't prove it. I can't explain it. But it's there. This thing, this connection…what if the reason for it is because I'm-I'm…" The similarities Tom Riddle listed out between himself and Harry, too jarring to ignore. "I'm somehow becoming more like him? I don't feel anything. It's like-like I'm in this void where everything is numb, and when I break out, all I feel is anger. All the time. Like I just wanna scream until my lungs give out. Or hex everything in sight."
Sirius watched him closely.
"What if, after everything I've been through, something's wrong inside me? What if I'm becoming bad?"
Sirius closed the distance between them and placed both hands on Harry's shoulders, his grip firm. He looked straight into Harry's eyes as he said, "I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person who had bad things happen to you, understand?"
Harry nodded slowly.
"Besides," A smile came through Sirius's lips. "The world isn't spilt into good people and Death Eaters. We'll all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."
Harry tentatively returned his smile. "In case it hasn't been said enough," he said. "You're a great godfather."
The smile fell from his lips as his eyes shimmered. Before Harry had to chance to look into more closely, he pulled into a tight hug that he easily returned.
Harry closed his eyes and for once fell easily into the brief darkness, comforted by the familiar scent of Sirius's aftershave. Moments later, Sirius pulled him back but still kept him close.
"When this is all over, we're gonna be a proper family again," Secrecy touched Sirius's smile at the quirk of his brow. "Maybe even a bit bigger."
A bit big-Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean…you guys are-"
Sirius's smile grew. "I think having a little kiddo with my good looks and a dazzling personality would be a brilliant addition to the family. Or two…maybe even three."
"A brilliant migraine is more like it," Remus corrected as he walked into the room. His mouth set in a frown but his eyes glowing playfully. Looking at Harry, he clarified, "Nothing has been officially decided yet. We're still giving it some thought. However," His eyes crossed over to a smirking Sirius. "If your goal is to aim for more than one, you're on your own."
Sirius tapped his finger against his chin, considering the idea. "Well, that'd be interesting."
Huffing, Remus shoved him away, deepening Sirius's smirking to snickering. A small smile cracked Harry's face.
Tonks's head popped into the doorway, beaming when she saw them. "Oh good, you're up!" The head retreated, and the whole body of her reappeared with a tray of mugs, chocolate-scented steam billowing from the rim. "I made some hot chocolate. Your taste buds are going to be singing when you taste Dad's secret recipe-oh shite!"
Several things happened at once. Tonk's foot got caught by the couch's leg. The mugs did somersaults as they went flying through the air. The side right of the family tapestry, covering Sirius's immediate family, and most of Sirius himself were painted chocolate brown.
Tonk's hands flew to her mouth. Remus's eyes nearly bugged out from his head. Sirius squirted out some of the hot chocolate that got into his mouth.
Harry's eyes hopped from one messy sight to the other, feeling coughing stirring in his system, rattling in his stomach, traveling up his throat. When he opened his mouth, though, laughter poured out. Laughter so loud, so strong Harry nearly fell to his feet.
Still he couldn't stop. He laughed so hard, tears were pouring down his face, blinding his vision. He laughed so hard, his stomach ached. And still he laughed.
Sirius quickly joined in when he realized how ridiculous he looked. Remus soon gave in, laughing along with them. Tonks joined in, the feeling too contagious to ignore. Filling the somber room, tainted with dark family history and secrets, with laughter.
