The later years of Hogwarts. Also: Not quite a near-death experience, but close enough.
James had, shortly before I followed after Remus, received a letter from Pandora of her decision to make a dangerous trip and that she wanted him and me at Dumbledore's office shortly after twilight so she could speak with us. He went looking for me, but as he could not find me anywhere he enlisted Lily's help. Lily crossed paths with Sirius and made inquiries. Sirius went to James, who told him they would have to let Remus fend for himself for once, and by the by, did Sirius know where Sev was?
Was it the mention of Pandora coming or James saying they would not be seeing Remus that night? Whatever the reason, Sirius panicked and confessed to James. James immediately left the castle to the Whomping Willow, knowing full well that Pandora would be arriving in minutes. The full moon rose quite quickly during those early autumn days and James, knowing this, was far more keen of the consequences than Sirius seemed to be.
Remus, as a werewolf, heard James moments before I. He backed away from me with a whine, and then howled as a panel behind slid open and a hand jerked me out of the tunnel by my collar. Remus sprang forward and snarled at me. His teeth bit into my trouser leg and tore the material away along with a good chunk of my calf. The opening slammed shut behind us, leaving the werewolf barricaded safely away. Momentarily choked by the strangling hold on my collar, I did nothing as James hauled me against his body and transfigured. I found myself astride a stag as it sprang forward. A dozen swift strides later, and I fell from its back just short of the Whomping Willow's reach.
Riding a horse I have never done at all. Francis did, as I remember Pandora telling me how his parents visited ranching cousins in Australia. I fell off James' back (or Prongs' back; I always did wonder how he got that ridiculous nickname), hit the ground and rolled twice before sitting upright and glaring at the stag. In a blink of an eye, James, sheepish and worried, stood before me. Sirius and Peter came running out of the bushes and skidded to a halt behind James. All three of them looked at me, guilty as sin, awaiting my judgement. Anger swelled as I began to make connections with everything that I learned. When Remus as a werewolf howled, the anger broke through its dam.
I exploded. In my entire life before this point, I have never lost control of my temper on such a large scale of magnitude. I called James, Sirius, and Peter every single name I could think of — and allow me to say I have an extended vocabulary for insults — and made threats left and right. I swore how I would tell Pandora and Dumbledore and McGonagall all that happened. Expelled? I would certainly see to it that it would happen! James was an unregistered, illegally practicing animagus, which I would delight in telling the entire world! And Remus' condition was going to be all over the school before tomorrow arrived! I wanted to hurt them as I had been hurt, no quarters given.
Amidst these threats, James gestured Sirius and Peter away, explaining softly that he would handle the matter. They gave him worried glances, as if scared I would forget about letting Pandora punish James but instead kill him myself, then left. I did not like the idea that these two — the very two responsible for the whole matter — would go away and leave James alone to face my wrath.
I was enraged that James — noble, gentle, brash, and stupidly carefree James — would take full responsibility for Sirius' transgressions. Yes, it was my fault for being curious, but if we were brothers, could I not then be trusted? True, I should have asked him in the beginning instead of Peter, but I cannot trust. It hurt to realize how far apart we were. I knew we would never be as close as he was with Sirius and Remus, or even that fat slob Peter, but… why? Whose fault was it? Was it my fault for my deeply ingrained distrust, or was it his fault for not trying hard enough?
Then I remembered, from that first time I met your father, the motion of his hand. The hand that touched me, that immediately wiped against his shirt.
That was why we could never be close.
It did not matter if our mother was Pandora. It did not matter if we were brothers. It did not matter how much James tried to be a part of my life. We would never be close, were never meant to be as close. A relationship between us would never succeed without trust, which I was too scared to give and he did not care to grant.
I must concede that James is not completely responsible – aside from Remus, he is the most innocent of all. Sirius knew full well how dangerous it would be for me to follow a person who would soon turn into a werewolf, one that was expecting company to chase. This was thoughtlessly careless and it was the same carelessness in thought and word James often showed everyone he did not go out of his way to be kind towards. In what way did James and Sirius influence one another? Through their own interaction with each other, their deeds reflected their friendship.
No, James did not come and rescue me when he got cold feet about his prank. He came to rescue me when Sirius got cold feet. I meant to hurt you at that time when you said you knew your father saved my life, and the truth of your godfather would not hurt so much as a cutting lie of your father. I apologize, late as it is, for smearing the view you might have of your father, but I will not apologize for the pain I knowingly inflicted on you.
But the pain never goes away, Harry. As I remember the pain of betrayal, of selfishness, of knowing that your father didn't value me enough as a brother to trust me, it feels as fresh now as it did then. I want to fling away the memories, to gnaw myself free of them as a trapped animal gnaws itself free of from its steel-toothed trap. It's most agonizing as it is to relive these moments without the added burden of revealing such vulnerability to someone who is little more than a stranger. I will not even give you the credit of trying to imagine what it is that I feel.
"Why?" I raged against your father, pushing against his shoulders and bunching my fists because I wanted to strike him. "Why wasn't this entire mess simply cleaned up with Sirius telling me about Remus? Why did he send me after a boy who was going to turn into a hungry monster?"
"He didn't mean to," James replied, trying to placate me with a quiet voice and pleading eyes. "He only meant for you to see what we did." I would not be calmed.
"Why did he tell me to follow after Remus? How was that not meaning for me to get eaten?"
"He only meant it as a prank."
"A prank that would have had me dead and Remus a murderer!"
A flash of pain crossed his face at the mention of Remus. So, was it knowing Remus would be a murderer rather than knowing his own brother would be killed that caused James to react? Both, perhaps, but was he having trouble handling the one who stood before him without my having him remember the other? I lost more control. "Have you no faith or trust for me?"
I never should have spoken those words. He looked away, refusing to meet my gaze, and I knew then that was the reason I was never entrusted. So many things made sense then; why James tried to remain so connected to me. It was because he was making a sparse attempt at cultivating trust, even if it was just to ease a bout of guilt from knowing he was closer to his friends than his brother. I, who would never purposefully betray him, could not be trusted.
I may not be able trust anyone, but I could be trusted.
But no one understood such a difference.
"So be it," I said finally, reaching a state of rage that was so far past anger that it was an icy, cold calm. James looked surprised at the sudden change of my voice. I straightened to my full height, towering over him by a full head. "So be it." I turned away from him and began the walk back to Hogwarts Castle. Two steps and I realized a burning pain seared through my leg just as it buckled and nearly folded in half beneath my body. The pain travelled through my entire body like a bolt of lightening. My vision flooded red as I threw my hands out against a tree trunk to steady my balance. I heard James hiss behind me. His shrill words were filled with a panic I was only just then beginning to appreciate.
"You — you were bitten?!"
I forced my own panic away, scraping my fingers against the tree trunk as I pushed myself upright. "Leave off," I snarled as James reached out to steady my limping. I jerked my hand free of his grasp and he froze when he caught sight of my expression. "Haven't you done enough harm?" I asked. My voice broke in the middle of my sentence and I knew I was close to tears of pain — both emotional and physical.
"Damn it! Sev, why do you have to be so stubborn?"
"And why can't you grow up?" James looked startled at my shouting, almost as if I had struck him. "When are you going to realize that pranks and mischief are foolish, childish habits that only hurt people? For years I was the butt and the punch line of Sirius' jokes, and when it goes too far — what could have killed me is going to turn me into a monster — all you can say is 'he didn't mean to.' Not meaning to does not excuse the fact that it happened! From the start — in Diagon Alley, in those days when I had no name, no family, no home, no hope, and rarely any food — you never gave me a single bloody chance… James, you are my brother. When did you treat me like a brother as much as you treated the others?"
I was crying then, and I wiped at the tears but they wouldn't stop. "You helped me, you cared for me, and you shared, but you never trusted. Now go – go tell Grandmother what has happened. Be a man and stand up for once." I turned my back to him, shuttered my mind against the shattered expression upon his own face, and set forth. I heard a whoosh and James, in his animagus form, dashed past me to Hogwarts.
My vision blurred from pain after a dozen steps and I forced my full concentration upon putting one foot before the other in the general direction of Hogwarts. A few dozen more, and I stumbled drunkenly forward, leaning against trees for long intervals to gain back flagging strength. After what was actually a short time, I saw James, human once again, running towards me. Close at his heels, one hand pressed against the top of her head to keep her straw hat in place, was Pandora, and right behind her Pomfrey and Dumbledore.
James halted some paces before me but Pandora continued running headlong and she nearly crashed into me. She wrenched my face as she took it between both hands. She was terrified, even more so than when she and Voldemort had butted heads above the lake. "How long does it take for a bite to take effect?" Pandora asked the others. She knew though; her expertise lay in the Dark Arts and werewolves was a subject with much research.
"About a quarter of an hour," said Dumbledore. Both women turned a baleful eye at the full moon and Pandora cursed colourfully.
"Any cure?"
"None that I am aware of."
"Any way to halt the werewolf's magic when bitten?"
"None that I am aware of."
Pandora wrapped both arms around me, hugging me close to her breast and swaying. "I'm taking him to someone who may help," she whispered before Apparating away. Double-Apparating is dangerous and draining upon both persons. How much did it strain Pandora to make up for both of us so I would not lose all of my strength or be splinched? Had I any doubt before then that Pandora did not love me as truly as she loved her real flesh and blood, it was erased that night.
We Apparated to the front door of a dark manor — not dark as in appearance, but in feeling — and without hesitation, Pandora half-dragged, half-carried me across the threshold. I numbly noticed the masked figure that started toward us, wand rising in menacing threat. Pandora shoved past the figure. "I must see Riddle!" she snapped at the Death Eater. It hesitated for a moment and Pandora's voice rose in a shout. "RIDDLE! COME FORTH!"
She pulled me through a hall and I saw, at the very end, a familiar figure striding quickly towards us. Voldemort was dressed completely in black. His cloak fluttered behind him eerily like a pair of demon's wings; I must admit I admired the effect it had, even through the cloud of pain. Voldemort smiled with a touch of uncertainly when Pandora came within reach. She clutched me close, fighting back tears and trembles. Some distant part in my mind registered that Pandora had brought me directly to Voldemort — within his realm, his lair, even — just to help me. That she should know where he was to be found is not something I dare to contemplate.
"I need a favour."
Voldemort smiled. It was hideous. "Obviously," he said in a purring voice. His eyes flickered over to me, glanced up and down my form, and finally rested upon my leg.
"My grandson was bitten by a werewolf by accident moments ago. You know more about the Dark Arts than I do — is there a cure for it or a way to halt it before the magic of the full moon forces the magic of the werewolf's bite to manifest in response?"
Voldemort shrugged and spread his hands wide. "It will have to be burned away and very soon at that."
"How?"
"Through power." His eyes evaluated her, piercing and wicked, soulless and stunning. "Pure, undiluted, flowing power, and a great deal at that. Liquid magic strong enough to destroy the moon magic before it infuses with his nature."
Pandora was silent for a moment. One of her arms hugged me. "How much power?" she whispered.
"Much more than what you are capable of calling upon, even if you had not double-Apparated and took the full strain of it. Much more than you could gain at the cost of your own very soul were you to sell it."
"Can you do it?"
Voldemort smiled viciously. "I can, but it will cost a slight effort for me, and you know how I dislike doing anything that will give me little in return." He paused a moment, and then reached out to trace the line of her jaw. "What would you offer as payment?"
Precious seconds ticked away. An itch ran along the surface of my skin and the bones in my body began to ache, throbbing in time with the wound in my leg. Pandora turned her face from him and whimpered softly, before opening her eyes and staring straight at him. "It would appear I can gain the power with the price of my soul," she said as irony twisted her voice. "Anything within reason."
"Your reason or mine?"
"So long as it harms no one but myself, I'll... I'll give you whatever you desire. My soul, even."
A throaty laugh. "Such an interesting choice of words. What I desire from you couldn't give me, even for James' life. What I desire from you would change what you are, and then the desire would be naught and your value gone forever. So, suffice to say, I shall satisfy myself with your bed."
Eww.
I am quite sure I could write something infinitely cleverer and caustic regarding the very idea that Voldemort lusted after my grandmother, but to do so feels disrespectful towards Pandora. At that moment, pain-wracked and emotionally exhausted, I could only think of a single word, and even now it remains appropriate.
Eww.
I would much rather become a werewolf than let that monster become intimately involved with Pandora! Aside from the very thought of him or her having sex… eww. I opened my mouth to protest, but all that emerged was a groan of pain, which Pandora smothered with the back of her hand.
"Done. But I chose the time. When I am ready, I shall come to you."
"Then it is agreed." Voldemort motioned her away. "Now step back." She did, releasing me. Without her strength, I fell to my knees and stared dimly at Voldemort's tarnished silver belt buckle. Two hands, cold and twisted, pressed against either side of my face, and that power Voldemort is so well known for leapt from him to me.
It was not a transfer of his power to me, but a flood of it that crashed into me and was drawn back in a continuous loop. It was a rape of my essence, nature, spirit, and mind. I have never before or ever will again feel so utterly defiled as I did in that moment, or even as blessed and fortunate, for the power also made me feel beautiful and glorious. The power ripped through me, from one corner of my mind to the very end of my soul, flooding everything that I was. It was foreign, overwhelming and formidable beyond any imagination capable of comprehending, and it filled me to the brim. It ruthlessly attacked the poisoning moon magic and consumed it, burning it to nothing. Voldemort's power was both sheer agony, and orgasmic pleasure. There is no possible way to fully describe the exquisiteness, the beauty, the magnitude, the pain, and the violation of that power.
In that moment, I understood something about Voldemort and what it was that he so ruthlessly sought. I could not describe it at the time, but only knew it by instinct. It was as if I had been shown a picture but I could not know the name of the object or the names of the colours and shapes with which was used to draw. Then his magic was cleaved away from me and I lost the vague understanding I had. I was left with only the impression that I knew something important.
But everything his power had inflicted upon me was so abruptly torn away that blood streamed from my eyes and ears. I grasped at his waist, hands flailing uselessly for a handhold of some sort, for just the littlest of support, and then I blacked out.
I dreamt of a little boy crying in the corner of a cold building. He was tired and sore, lonely, and abused. He hated with an intensity that I never attained for all the time I spent in the slums. But above that was fright: fright of another violent rape from older children and fright of rape from the adults in charge.
I knew that pain. I knew that fear. In that, the child and myself were more intimate and far closer than James and I.
Yet there was more. There was fright of being beaten and blamed for the perverted desire others held, and fear of what he did when he lost control. Even at that small age, this child possessed an enormous power. It appealed to others as it called out to them and aroused them in unknown ways; so great was this power that it even called out to Muggles! This child vowed he would make such persons — such imperfect persons with horrid, glaring flaws — suffer as he had suffered and know fear as he had known it.
What was the meaning of this dream? Did what my knowing about Voldemort reveal itself into something I could interpret? Why did Voldemort ask Pandora, in payment, for her bed?
I had said before that Voldemort burned Dinsmore to the ground in rage and sorrow. Why rage and why sorrow, you might wonder? Because that child, a part of Voldemort he was never able to get rid of or distance himself from, needed to understand this pleasure that others stole so ruthlessly and so cruelly from him, leaving him only pain and disgust. He desired it through the only woman he perceived to ever come close to his equal in power and cunning; a woman whose magic called out to arouse him as his own power did to others.
Sorrow: he did not know love; couldn't understand it as anything but a weakness to be manipulated. But to Pandora he gave leeway no other soul was granted, for in Pandora he found something he desired and respected enough to bargain and even ask, but never steal. He saved my life twice and gave sanctuary to James, never fought Pandora face to face, would stop his terror when she went to him, told his Death Eaters to leave her be, and granted her the knowledge of where to find him.
When she betrayed him that night, he knew regret. He knew pain and disgust once more.
Rage: For he had been manipulated, his weakness used against him, by someone for whom he had genuine respect. Pandora gave up everything she had and more to destroy Voldemort and suffer his wrath. There are those who say she did so to create peace for the wizarding world, but I know she did it for James, Lily, and you, Harry; especially you, the most innocent of us all.
I awoke later in the Hogwarts infirmary. White curtains were drawn around my bed like shields against the world. I slowly sat upright and felt for my leg. There was scar tissue where the flesh had been torn away, but it no longer ached. I reached over and drew back the white curtains to see Poppy speaking softly to Frank.
Why could Neville Longbottom not have taken after his father? Frank was so sincere in helping others, in trying to be friends with me no matter how distant I tried to make myself. Frank had a strength that would not bend to anyone — not me, not his mother — and yet he struggled to please and help everyone.
Frank glanced over, brightened immediately upon seeing that I was awake, and hurried over to my side. Without saying anything, he thrust a letter to me, which I stared at for a long time without a response. It was Pandora's seal, and that was merely that. I did not want to contemplate further.
Frank looked expectedly at me. My hands shook only slightly as I tore the seal and unfolded the paper. It was brief, simple, and painfully empty.
Severus, I have gone seeking important information on the depths of Voldemort's power as well as the Dark Arts he used to change himself. Through this I may hope to find a way to stop him. I do not know how long I shall be gone; perhaps some years. I have arranged appropriate funds for both you and James. I know that what happened recently has hurt you deeply, and asking you to forgive James would be useless. Please though, even just for my sake, behave cordially towards him. Actions that reflect your resentment and pain, meant to hurt him as much as you have been hurt, will only drive the proverbial wedge further. No matter what has happened you are still brothers, and you both need one another.
I am sorry for abandoning you in these most desperate times. Neither of you can tolerate abandonment, so that is why you must cling to one another. Do not perpetuate this, but hold fast and steady, for in each other you will find the support you crave.
Love you dearly
Pandora
That was it. No mention of whether Sirius was punished, or what Pandora had done to rectify the matter of my nearly being killed, or James performing illegal magic. Not, of course, that I expected anything done from the woman whose knowledge of Dark Arts was not exactly limited by legalities. I did not know how to react, but there was a sense of lingering betrayal. I quietly folded the letter when I finished reading it, laid back onto my bed, and fell back to sleep.
After that, I began to methodically cut any bonds still existing between James and myself. After what happened, I believed I would never be able to trust as I once could have. For that it would do no good to remain close. I stopped all tutoring sessions, avoided James whenever he tried approaching me, or looked over his head or beyond his form when I could not avoid him. Lily asked me what happened, but I kept my silence. I ignored the others, though Frank, ever stubborn, still remained latched to me. I knew he would not be able to maintain the closeness after he graduated, so I tolerated it.
Remus tried to make peace, but he I avoided as well. Sirius I had little trouble with, as we seemed to agree the best thing to do, given the circumstances, was to pretend the other no longer existed.
The year, seemingly so much longer than any of the others, ended with only a few letters from Pandora. McGonagall accompanied us home. She stayed a few weeks at Dinsmore to show us how to financially run the property. James and I were cordial to one another whenever we were forced to speak, but once McGonagall left, weeks passed when we did not see one another. I did not seek out the family portraits, and when Severus and Oliver inquired after my absence, I coldly informed them that if they cared to know what happened, they could ask their beloved flesh and blood.
It hurt to cut those ties but I could no longer afford closeness. This is why, as a gutter rat, such bonds are not encouraged. Giving trust could kill a person, and so I suffered the consequences. If I cut the binds I had with James, I had to cut the binds with everything else. James came, part and parcel, with Pandora and the whole of Dinsmore. To leave one, I would have to leave all.
The sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts passed fairly quickly once I was used, once more, to being alone. To me, those years were blurs of lonely nights, boring classes, and time spent in avoiding the other Slytherins. Without the protection of the Gryffindors, their allies within Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and Frank, it was open season for adopted gutter rats like myself. Even given the situation of my being a Slytherin, it was still not enough to protect me from ambushes, open mockery, and established superiority/pecking orders.
At the end of the seventh year, James and Sirius were accepted into the league of the Aurors, and were trained by Frank. They were joined with half a dozen other neighbourhood children Pandora had trained Defence Against Dark Arts to at an early age. I was content to stay home at Dinsmore for a while, awaiting Pandora's return. After all, someone had to manage the estates and the Snape investments of wealth while James was off to fight Voldemort, whose reign of terror had grown dramatically since Pandora's departure.
In my spare time, I took over Pandora's old job of introducing the idea of magic-born children to Muggle parents. With my dark appearance and aura of suspicion, my serious and honest behaviour, people were torn between believing me and not believing me. However, I am proud to say that, even given the circumstances, I was quite convincing. I learnt the best way to make a person listen is to command their absolute attention, be it through fear or admiration.
I much prefer fear. Admiration itself tends to lend itself… trust.
Other than that, I possessed far too much spare time, and so most of it was spent at Dinsmore, wrapped in some of my own research and studies. I liked anything I could experiment with, really. Transfiguration, charms, potions. Mostly potions.
I could tell Francis dearly wished to join in on my experiments and exchange theories and ideas, but I refused to speak with him. I imagine the family was hurt that I would no longer have it be apart of my life, but such was my decision and at least the family respected it.
Due to my solitary nature, few people came to visit. There was the random visit from Frank, who stubbornly came bearing sugary snacks and tales of his Auror adventures. He was the only one outside of family who refused to give up on me. James came by also, once or twice a week, usually with Lily or Sirius reluctantly following after. As I looked back on those days, I would have to say Lily and James getting married came as no surprise; we were making bets in fourth year on their wedding date
It was quite a surprise to me that Lucius, of all people, would come calling on one bright May morning that found me tending Pandora's tiny herb garden. He came down the dirt path, his hat pulled down low over one eye and a cane swinging freely from one hand.
"Good day, cousin!" he called to me, standing to one side of the garden. I glared belligerently at him. I had never known him to be polite to me before and that he should call me cousin — something he had always refused to do before — had my street senses screaming danger. Beware, Harry, of any silver-tongued enemy who comes bearing gifts. These gifts tend to be booby-trapped for those too gullible or stupid to realize how untrustworthy the idea is and for what reason as well.
When I said nothing, Lucius scowled at me. "Have you no words for your cousin?" he asked.
"Pardon me my rudeness: get the hell off my property."
Lucius' expression darkened. "I bring some information for you and your brother about Aunt Pandora and I am told to get the hell of your property?" His eyebrows twitched. "If it's your property, does this mean Aunt Pandora is dead? Odd, I had always expected James to inherit." I went back to tilling the soil, doing my best to ignore his senselessness. "After all, you may have the Snape name, but you're still a dirty whoremonger's bastard that Aunt Pandora took in." There was a moment of silence. "Unless," he added brightly, "you were not taken in out of a moment of charity, but because Aunt Pandora has an exotic appetite for a young boy's flesh."
That earned him a clod of dirt to his pristine hair – I wish it were a boulder for such an insult against Pandora.
Lucius rocked from the blow, but surprisingly enough did not respond. Instead, he planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the property. "Not a bad place here," he said. "A tad small, but nothing shameful about it. I understand the cottage is magically enhanced to be larger inside than outside."
I snorted. That was not true; two floors of the cottage were apart of the underground complex that ran for many kilometres beneath the ground, across the land. Besides, he used to visit it during the holidays before Romono had become overly upset with James' and Sirius' pranks. "Of course," he added as an afterthought, "if Aunt Pandora did like young boys, I think she could find much better than vermin-laden disease-stricken bastard like you."
Two can play at that game. "You seem to be quite the expert on liking young boys," I said casually. "Could it be that you are an expert on the subject?" Lucius scowled at me and I contrived to look innocent (not that this ever worked before in my life). "I wouldn't be surprised; it must be hard being a testosterone-pumped male unable to find a woman sufficiently lacking in eyesight and intelligence to spread her knees to you."
If there is anything admirable about Lucius, it is that he gained a marginal control over his temper. His eyes narrowed dangerously, then he smirked. He slipped his hand into one trouser pocket and withdrew a letter. He waved this triumphantly in the air. "After that," he said in a superior tone, "I don't think I should give you this." He tilted it enough for me to see Pandora's seal. "You may find it interesting."
I straightened upward and squinted at the letter. Lucius smiled wickedly at me and tucked it back into his pocket. "If you want it, you have to apologize for what you just said." He sniffed, wounded. "After all, that hurt."
"Alas," I said, "the truth always hurts, so I cannot apologize for that. However, I express my condolences towards any harm I may have inflicted upon your inflated ego. Not that it needed a few pricks just so your hat could fit comfortably, but that is utterly beside the point."
"Utterly," he agreed sourly. After a long moment, he removed the letter from his pocket and gingerly held it out to me. Starved for any word of Pandora — she had not written since Christmas — I snatched the letter from his hands and tore off the seal. I should have wondered why Pandora had sent a letter to Lucius instead of myself, though I squashed my suspicion with thinking that she had contacted Romono. Even then, I should have wondered why the seal was not broken.
Beware of enemies bearing gifts. The charm placed in the wax of the seal was strong enough to knock a horse cold off its shoes. I may not have been a horse, but it worked all the better for it.
