I hope to finish up this one by chap. 30. By making it really effin' long.;) 'scuse the French.
Oh, and Bloodmoon aka Katie--nope, haven't forgotten your awesome
picture, but my scanner is kinda being borrowed by my dad at the moment.
:-\. I'll get it up ASAP, promise.
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The common room was empty at midnight. Moonlight streamed in from a window whose curtains had been pulled back. Hermione tilted her head quizzically at that window, pausing on the steps to the girl's dorm. Her gaze travelled across the darkened room until it landed on a lone figure in the shadows cast by a fire.
"Harry?" Hermione padded down the rest of the stairs and stopped just behind her friend. Here all was dark save for the glow of the fireplace. It struck Hermione odd that in the red of the flames Harry's eyes looked so very old. "What are you doing up so late?" No answer. "Are you quite all right? You haven't said a word since--"
As if she were not there, Harry reached into his robes and tossed a letter into the fire.
"What's that?" demanded Hermione, drawing her wand. Harry caught her wrist silently with a shake of his head. Hermione let her arm slowly drop. They watched as the parchment curled inwards on itself, the edges glowing ember-red before collapsing into ashes. At length Harry turned away.
"I had a stomach ache," he said dully in passing.
Hermione stared after him until his back melded into the darkness of the stairwell. The fire crackled mercilessly. She slowly crossed the room to the window through which the moon poured and, leaning against it, began to cry.
****
The day after the O.W.L.s was known as the Fifth Year Holiday. It was a day envied by any too young to enjoy it, a day referred to dryly by the senior students, and a day completely lost upon those in that lucky year. It would hardly have mattered whether or not the fifth years were allowed a holiday; they would have taken one anyway.
Even on this mild Wednesday morning, few did any more than loll in the grass by the lake. But a letter had come during breakfast from Hagrid, addressed to Ron. At Hermione's urging, he had accepted Hagrid's invitation to tea. Harry found himself forced to go as well, otherwise those questions that were in every glance Hermione threw him might just burst forth.
"M'awfully sorry, Ron." Hagrid's tentative voice broke the silence that had covered their gathering like a blanket. "If there's anythin' I can do--"
Ron shook his head forcefully. Harry stared down at his lap.
Hermione put a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder helplessly. "Ron," she said, a pleading note to her voice, "it's not your fault, really--"
"Look, just shut up!" yelled Ron, causing Hermione to jump as his stone-cold tea spilled over her hand.
There was a great clatter as Hagrid shot to his feet. "Now, there's no need for that...!"
"I'm fine! Why does everyone keep asking? I'M BLOODY FINE!"
"Ron, I just--"
"Now...now...c'mon Ron, sit yerself down, there's a good lad..."
Harry could hear Ron's heavy breathing as Hermione pulled him back down; could feel him trembling. But he never once looked up from his lap. Fang whimpered.
Much noise and grunts and awkward shuffling. "'ave some more tea. 'arry?" Hagrid peered down at Harry , concerned, as he carefully refilled his cup. "All right there?" Harry nodded wordlessly. With a heavy sigh Hagrid sat back down, scraping the chair over the rough wooden floor. "Well then...oh, now, Ron, don't cry, you'll set me to blubberin'...no, no, don't do that..." The half-giant's voice cracked and he sniffed loudly.
After a long silence conversation began again, with Hermione fretting over her O.W.L scores and Hagrid regaling them with his latest creature encounter in the Forbidden Forest. Harry did not look up until Hermione stood and thanked Hagrid with a tired but warm smile. Ron mumbled something as he turned to go. Hermione opened the door and turned at the threshold. "Harry?"
Harry shook his head. "I'll catch up."
Hermione frowned but nodded and let the door swing shut behind her. Harry let out a long breath and leaned forward onto the table, head in his hands. Hagrid glanced at him sidelong from where he was setting the cups and plates in the sink. "Somethin' wrong, Harry?"
Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them on his robes. "It's not fair," he said quietly. "It's not fair."
Hagrid's expression of a woeful puppy looked so comical behind his bushy, tangled beard that Harry might have laughed if he had seen it. "I know." He shook his head, scrubbing at a saucer. "I know. Well, buck up now," he added at length, "Bloody Dementors aren't goin' anywhere. Headmaster'll think o' somethin'. He always does."
"Hagrid." Even to his own ears, Harry sounded strange. Hagrid jerked and turned around, causing something to shatter in the process, looking startled. "Can you keep a secret?"
"O'course I can!" blustered the half-giant, pulling himself up to his full height. "What's this now? Er, isn't nothin' I'll have to report, is it?"
Harry smiled tiredly, knowing full well that Hagrid would most likely be obligated to tell. And if not, well, his friend never really could keep a secret. "I hope not. I think you know all about it already, actually."
Hagrid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what's that supposed t' mean?"
Harry closed his eyes and leaned forward into his hand. When the silence became painful he spoke. "I know everything," he whispered, then laughed without meaning to. It was a thin, strained laugh. "Everything about Snape. Everything about Professor Harrison. Everything!" Another laugh that rose to a high pitch. "I know what it all means, and I think I'm going to go insane."
Hagrid's face had gone from pale to white to ashen grey. He collapsed into a chair, causing the walls to tremor a bit. "Ye...ye don't mean it, 'arry. Ye can't mean it." He received no answer, not even a glance. "I...how...how did ye...do you 'ave any idea how much trouble...!"
Even to himself, Harry sounded limp. Now that he had finally told someone, overpowering relief was washing over him. "It's not fair."
"Now...now, Harry, you listen to me." He sounded so frightened that Harry felt sorry. "Don't you go tellin' Professor Snape. Do Ron and Hermione...?"
"No."
Hagrid passed a hand over his face, greatly agitated. "Merlin's beard. I don't believe this. The affair o' the American...it's dead secret, dead secret. Ye couldn't 'ave...I didn't want her comin' back in the first place, nothin' good ever came o' her, and now you know..."
"Affair of the American?" asked Harry, glancing up.
"That's...that's what the Ministry called it." Hagrid fidgeted in his seat and smiled weakly. "When she kept stealin' from 'ogsmeade, wore all that Muggle rubbish...started investigatin' her, they did, an' we 'ad a close call...now, how in the name of Merlin did you...?" He suddenly leaned forward. "Harry, swear t' me, swear t' me you'll never breathe a word." Silence. "Harry!"
"Don't worry, Hagrid." His voice was impossibly bitter. "I don't have a death wish."
****
"Good evening, Severus. Late, isn't it?"
Professor Snape glanced up sharply from his desk, covered in parchments. "Headmaster."
"May I enter?" Dumbledore's eyes crinkled gently.
"Please."
Dumbledore gently closed the door and sat at the end of one of the benches, watching as Snape graded the O.W.L.s with a vengeance. "Has the quill offended you recently, Severus?"
The feather in Snape's hand froze before he laid it down and looked up. "What can I help you with, Headmaster?"
"An honest account of your health, to begin with."
The Potions master returned to punishing his quill. "The withdrawal is becoming more bearable," he muttered. Scritch scratch.
"Ah. And Poppy's substitute?"
Scritch. "I need it less and less."
"Good." Dumbledore sighed. "I wish you had told me." He stared hard at Snape. "If Harry hadn't--"
The point of the quill broke. Scrick. "It wasn't Potter," said Snape finally.
"Ah, yes, my mistake," replied Dumbledore mildly. "The credit goes to Jenny. Severus?" he asked when the Potions master continued to stare oddly at him.
"It sounds...strange," said the younger wizard. "Her name. She doesn't...look like a Jenny. It's been bothering me all year, actually." He laughed strangely, then immediately sobered when he noticed that the Headmaster was staring at him twice as oddly. "Never mind," he muttered, embarrassed and fumbling for another quill. "It must be the withdrawal."
"Yes." Dumbledore was amazed that Snape had not immediately sensed his struggle for control. "Well, I will leave you to your grading." He rose but lingered for a moment, giving Snape the opportunity to indirectly ask for his company if he wished to. He did.
"You know why I took it."
The Headmaster blinked in surprise. "I would prefer to assume nothing, Severus," he said gently.
"It made me so numb," he went on, not hearing Dumbledore, his voice trailing low. "I couldn't feel anything. Could hardly remember." The silver feather of the quill teetered against a slack finger before falling out of his grasp entirely. "It was...wonderful."
Albus had sat down again and leaned his forehead into his hand. The dungeon room was silent. "Soulsbane is for the weak. Your soul is strong, Severus, and good, contrary to what you may believe. It would be a pity to lose it." He spoke heavily.
"Ah, but I am a weakling," said Snape coldly, only the tiniest catch of his voice betraying his pain. "I would not be in this wretched state otherwise, would I?" Dumbledore dared not raise his head lest the Potions master see his anguished expression. "I wouldn't have..." The Headmaster looked up sharply just as Snape's body gave a shudder. "Enough." The professor's clenched fists began to slowly relax. "My research into The Summoning has turned up nothing new. I may have to open Infinite Darkness--"
"No; it is too dangerous."
Snape arched an eyebrow, weak color quickly returning to his face. "Who better than a former Death Eater, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore shook his head, standing. "The likes of Infinite Darkness will be used as last resorts and only last resorts. We will find other channels."
Severus held Dumbledore's gaze for a moment. "Very well, Headmaster." He picked up his quill and resumed grading. Albus noticed that his hand was not entirely steady.
****
The atmosphere at Hogwarts gradually became more and more festive. Spring had been in the air for quite a while, and now summer was coming and with it the end of the year. Harry watched his classmates detachedly and with pangs of sadness, remembering when he had been one of them. Perhaps a tad older, slightly more aware, but still a child and subject to all the things that excited one. Now he found himself wondering why, every time the sun brightened, the heavy feeling in his chest grew darker. Every trip to Hogsmeade was tainted by cautious glances over his shoulder, every day he missed Sirius and Lupin more and more, every nightmare, once so easily forgotten, now remained crystal clear in his mind.
Ron had become quiet and withdrawn, almost brooding. Only Hermione seemed unchanged (she had been old beyond her years in the first place). His two best friends were some comfort. Together they would maintain a delicate façade of normality, one that served as their last anchor to sanity. There were terse moments, though: Ron would go into the Headmaster's office and come back out, forbidden to say a word for his and their safety.
Defense Against the Dark Arts became extremely uncomfortable. Harry avoided speaking to or even looking at Rysk as much as possible. There were times when, under her piercing eyes, he was certain that she could sense his confusion, his anger...his fear. Ron and Hermione were rather puzzled at his dark moods during Professor 'Harrison's' class, but Harry knew he couldn't explain to them. Could never explain to them, how their strange Muggle-like teacher had both destroyed and saved the fight against Voldemort. How every time he passed her, he shuddered, knowing what a crucial and terrifying wild card she was. Yet there were times when he found himself staring at her profile, searching in vain for the gentle hand that had held him that night in the Alps.
To make matters worse, he had felt Rysk's gaze on him more and more often as of late.
But as bad as Defense Against the Arts was, Potions was infinitely worse. Harry did not dare to meet Snape's eyes. More than once had nearly cried out of frustration and guilt. The desire to confess everything to the Potions master was overwhelming.
A tall woman stood before a gravestone. Pelting rain from the grey sky ran down her face and flowed over pale hair streaked with crimson. The rain became thicker and redder, streaming down her shoulders and arms to drip off her fingers as blood. Kneeling in front of her, facing the grave, was Snape, tears streaming down his face. The grass and dirt around him was dark with blood, but his hands and tears were clean. The world seemed to begin and end with these two figures; beyond them the air became hazy and unstable. Snape reached out and touched the tombstone, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Behind him, the woman lifted her arm and let the blood on her hands fall onto Snape's.
He screamed, as if burned. His tears become a deep, seductive lavender. Snape eagerly lapped at them and seemed to find relief, but then the next drop of blood would splash onto his skin and he would scream again, then lick even more desperately at his tears. Harry saw that with every bead of Soulsbane, a bit of Snape's life drained away. And the blood continued to fall from the woman's fingers onto his.
Drip.
Incessant.
Drip.
Merciless.
Drip.
Damning.
"STOP!" screamed Harry, trying to run forward. "STOP! IT WASN'T YOU!" He pointed desperately at Carmen Rysk. "IT WAS HER! SHE KILLED THEM! NOT YOU! SHE DID! NOT YOU! NOT YOU!" His throat felt rough and burned, as though his voice had become sandpaper. And Snape was dying and the blood kept dripping and the world was growing more and more hazy around the edges and Snape couldn't see Rysk and the blood was drip drip dripping and he was dying...
"Wasn't you...wasn't you...!"
Harry woke with a start. Professor Binns was floating half a meter above the floor, droning on and on in a voice so monotone that it drained all meaning from his words. Harry looked around. Half of the class was asleep; everyone else had long since settled their eyes onto the opposite wall and let them unfocus. Hopefully no one had noticed his twitching and muttering. Harry put a hand to his face. It came away wet.
****
The only time Harry could truly forget his troubles was during Quidditch practice. He threw himself into hunting the Snitch on his broom and even practiced alone whenever he could. Flying became an escape. No one on the Gryffindor team was objecting, though: the Quidditch Cup game against Slytherin was only a week away.
"God, Harry!" Harry fought for his balance and life as Angelina Johnson fairly knocked him off his broom, slapping him hard on the back in mid-air and yelling at the top of her lungs. "FRED!" she called down to the ground. "TIME!"
Harry saw Fred wave up to them. "THREE-TWENTY-SEVEN!" he replied, amplifying his voice.
Angelina whooped and raised Harry's hand into the air. The Golden Snitch fluttered helplessly against his fingers. Fifty feet above the ground beneath a perfect blue sky and having achieved his best time ever, Angelina's exhilaration was infectious. He whooped with her. "Slytherin doesn't stand a chance!" she declared. With a last grin at Harry she turned sharply and pushed her broom towards the ground. "All right, Keepers and Chasers, your drill!"
Harry fell asleep that night with a faint smile on his face.
But euphoria is short-lived. Harry had already endured a snapping from McGonagall, who was as edgy as any on the Gryffindor Quidditch team over the game on Friday. It was in Potions, though, that he nearly snapped. He was partnered with Draco Malfoy, but Malfoy had long ago ceased to be a problem, even though he seemed to be going farther out of his way to provoke Harry nowadays. Leaning over a cauldron of steaming antidote, Harry stopped his stirring and straightened to wipe his brow.
Snape was staring right at him.
Harry nearly fell over into his cauldron. He clutched at his stirring stick as the Potions master held his gaze.
"Potter." A sharp nudge in his ribs broke the spell. "Potter. Now look, you've made me touch you." Malfoy sneered, wiping a perfectly clean hand on his robes. "Pass me the fish scales and the flytrap root."
With unsteady fingers, eager for an excuse to look away from Snape, Harry grabbed the closest ingredient (the flytrap root) and reached over to hand it to Malfoy. His shaking hand betrayed him: the root fell with a plop into the potion, just barely escaping Malfoy's desperate grab. "You git!" he exclaimed, "The fish scales are supposed to go in--"
Malfoy's antidote made a strange crackling sound, much like cereal, then began to bubble over the edge and spill all over the dungeon room floor. Snape spun around, assessing the situation within seconds. "Malfoy!" he barked, waving away the mess with his wand.
Draco looked flabbergasted. "But...but, professor--"
"Did I not give very specific instructions as to the order of the ingredients? Did I not?" The Gryffindors sniggered as Malfoy continued to protest. "Are you a dim-wit first year, Mr. Malfoy? Perhaps you need to relearn how to--"
"Sir!"
Snape glanced over to Harry sharply.
"It was my fault," said Harry, aware of Malfoy's coldly incredulous stare. "I dropped an ingredient into his antidote. On accident." He winced inwardly, waiting for Malfoy to take advantage of the situation, but the other boy held his peace.
Snape seemed to hesitate. "Detention with Filch, Potter," he spat, every inch his nasty self, then turned to the rest of the class, all of whom were staring. "I believe several of you are off-task. Ten points from Gryffindor!"
"Fuck yourself," Harry heard a Gryffindor mutter very quietly from behind him. "We'll win it all back at the game."
****
"Captains, shake hands!"
Much to the Slytherin captain's dismay, Angelina Johnson had a very, very strong grip.
The whistle blew.
"And they're off!" crowed Lee Jordan, barely audible above the roar of the crowd.
It was a perfect day for the Quidditch championship game. Harry zipped over the stands on his Firebolt, searching for a glint of gold among the swooping and diving red and green robes. His stomach was in knots.
"And Captain Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle--dives under Adrian Pucey--I DON'T BELIEVE IT! A TOPSY-TURVY!"
Harry gaped for a moment, watching as Angelina twisted upside down twice on her broom--once to avoid Pucey and the second to dodge a Bludger. The Gryffindors were already on their feet and screaming.
"It's never happened before! Not in this school! You've set a record, Ange--"
"Jordan!" snapped McGonagall.
"Sorry, professor. Now she's passed clean to Katie Bell--looking a little dazed at herself, actually--Bell dodges a Bludger, she's going to--no! Keeper Bletchley saves it!"
A groan went up from the Gryffindors.
"Quaffle taken by Pucey--passes Johnson--stolen by Alicia Spinnet! She's flying like the devil--around Chaser Vently--feints to the left--Bletchley misses! GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"
Down in the stands, Hermione and Ron were on their feet and cheering with the rest of their house. Harry recognized them, in the front row as they always were, and couldn't help but smile. He made a circuit of the field, searching for the Golden Snitch, determined to give his friends a game to remember.
Directly opposite and slightly below him, Draco Malfoy was searching for the Snitch as well.
"Score is 10-0, Gryffindors leading--now Slytherin has possession, Vently has the Quaffle--a pass to Bryant--to Pucey--looks like they've got a strategy going on here--back to Bryant--he's charging right at the goal posts--OH!"
A Bludger had come flying out of no where and hit Slytherin Chaser Nathan Bryant directly in the stomach.
"That must have hurt!" yelled Jordan gleefully, failing miserably at sympathy. "Nice aim on Fred Weasley's part! Bryant's winded--smart enough to pass to Ventley--she's flying, Chaser Bell is trying to catch up...!"
Harry saw Ventley below him, pushing her broom toward the Gryffindor goal posts. Katie was behind her, trying to draw level. Harry pushed his Firebolt down into a mad dive right towards Ventley. The Slytherin Chaser never saw him until it was almost too late. With a scream she swerved to the side, nearly dropping the Quaffle. Harry pulled up just in time as Katie Bell whizzed past Ventley, grabbing the Quaffle as she went by.
Down in the stands, Hagrid had already dropped all pretense of neutrality and was clapping and hooting for Harry.
"BRILLIANT, HARRY POTTER, BRILLIANT!" screamed Jordan. The entire crowd was on their feet; the Slytherins booing and the Gryffindors screaming. "Potter was the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history for a reason! Look at that flying! Just look at that--"
"Jordan, your job is to cover the game!"
"Right, right, professor--Bell in posession--she's taking heavy Bludger fire; help her, George...! Clears the Bludgers--at the goal posts--SCORE!"
Katie punched the air, glancing up at Harry and shouting her thanks. Within another minute, though, Slytherin had scored.
"20-10 Gryffindor, Bell with the Quaffle--stolen by Bryant! Bryant zooming like a rocket, right past Spinnet--damn, that Bludger nearly got him--"
"JORDAN!"
"Won't happen again, promise--Angelina!"
Angelina Johnson had flown straight at Bryant and slammed into him, nearly knocking the Slytherin Chaser off his broom. A groan went up from the Gryffindor crowd as Hooch shot into the air. "Foul!" she snapped. "Penalty shot for Slytherin."
"All right, Slytherin has a penalty shot--no problem, no problem, that's Keeper Zachary Robinson in front of the posts, a good find by Johnson--Bryant takes the shot--Zach, what are you doing?!"
Zachary, a solid fourth year, had jerked and pulled up short, allowing the the Quaffle to blaze right past him. Cheers and jeers filled the air, but the Slytherins quickly quieted when everyone else caught sight of the flicker of gold that had zipped past Zachary's face.
"Harry!" shouted Fred, waving frantically, "Go, go, go!"
Harry was already halfway across the field, becoming a red blur to the spectators below. The wind screamed in his ears and his eyes watered as he bent low over his Firebolt. Everything ceased to exist except for the Golden Snitch, zipping this way and that. He was vaguely aware of George and Fred beating the Bludgers away from him. The Snitch took a sudden dive, and Harry followed it, nearly perpendicular to the ground.
"Oh, my God," whispered Hermione, her fingers digging into Ron's arm.
"Come on, Harry!" screamed Ron. "COME ON!"
"There it is, there it is, Potter's after it...! Oh God, it's going to slam into the ground, pull up Harry, PULL UP!"
Malfoy was after the Snitch as well, but he was too high above Harry. Harry reached out a hand...another second, and it would be his...
With a sharp twist of its wings the Golden Snitch changed direction, rocketing straight up into the sky. Terror ripped through Harry as he pulled back on the broom for his life. His feet skimmed the grass as he pulled up.
"It's heading up! It's heading straight for Malfoy!"
Malfoy grinned in triumph, pushing his broom on as the Snitch came shooting up to his altitude. Harry was straining his Firebolt for all it was worth, trying to cut up under his opponent and grab the prize. Less than two feet under Malfoy, he saw it would be too late: the other boy's fingers were already closing around the golden ball...
"Oh my BLOODY GOD!!"
A thunder of noise erupted from the stands, rending the air apart. Harry had jumped straight off his broom, knocked Malfoy's hand aside, and grabbed the Snitch. His Firebolt began falling out of the sky.
And Harry, a hundred feet in the air, began plummeting to the ground.
Unmatched fear flowed through Harry as he felt himself fall, the grass hurtling up to meet him. In his right hand the Snitch fluttered helplessly. He clutched it instinctively to his chest, praying that his death would be quick. In another moment, he would hit the ground...
Then, suddenly, he stopped. The fabric of his robes cut into his throat, making him gag. His head jerked; through blurry vision he saw his glasses fall the remaining two meters to the field and shatter.
"Hang on, Potter," gasped Malfoy, struggling to keep his grip on Harry and steady his broom at the same time. Slowly, slowly, they floated down to the ground. Malfoy released him and Harry collapsed, too grateful to be alive to move. There was no sound from any student or teacher; even Lee Jordan was silent. The only noise to be heard was the slight rustle of the breeze. At length Harry managed to steady his breathing and stagger to his feet. He raised the Snitch high into the air. The sun glinted off of it.
"HE'S ALIVE!" shrieked Lee Jordan with a catch to his voice. "He's alive!" Beside him, McGonagall had lost all composure and was waving her crooked hat in the air. Sitting next to her was Snape. He sat stock still, trembling, his face drained of all color. "HE'S ALIVE! AND GRYFFINDOR TAKES THE QUIDDITCH CUP, 170 TO 20!"
The stadium was a chaotic blur of noise and movement to Harry. He squinted, trying to make sense of things. A heavy object slammed into him. He realized a moment later that it was the rest of his team. Tears that weren't his own wet his face and neck. "Harry," he heard Angelina sob in a bizarre mix of happiness and horror, "never do that again, never never never...!"
A second later Hermione and Ron broke through the crowd surrounding him. Harry thought that Hermione had a bleeding cut on her cheek--apparently she had been reckless jumping down into the field--but then he was being lifted into the air on the shoulders of his teammates.
Just as the headiness of the moment was beginning to sink though, Harry saw Draco Malfoy walking silently off the field with his team. He blinked, slowly, then tried to get back down to the ground. "Wait!" he shouted after Malfoy, but he didn't hear him.
