AN: It's 9pm and I haven't even eaten dinner yet.... But I kind of promised
myself I would finish this chapter by tonight. That, and my Muses seem to
want revenge for my hanging them in a sack last night. They've barricaded
the door and won't let me out, no matter how hard I plead.
Chapter Seven: Books will tell you everything, if you let them.
Ron was looking towards Hagrid's hut as he and Harry headed down the sloping lawns.
'I wonder where Hagrid is at the moment?'
Harry flipped his towel over his shoulder and followed the direction of Ron's glance, 'Who knows? On the Continent trying to contact the giants on Dumbledore's behalf, probably. I haven't actually asked anyone.'
A great, booming bark of welcome rang out across the lawns as Fang spotted them and came bounding towards them.
'Well, whose looking after Fang then?' Ron wanted to know.
Harry shrugged. He didn't know. He turned his attention back to the cool waters of the lake. He and Ron were going for a swim. In the five days Ron had been at Hogwarts, it had become a morning ritual for the two boys. They had tried to convince Hermione to join them but she adamantly refused. Harry couldn't figure it out. Ron whispered in his ear that it might be 'that time of month'. After that Harry, decided he wouldn't bother Hermione to come swimming any more. He maintained he simply wasn't old enough to deal with female problems yet, if he ever would be.
So Ron and Harry had left Hermione sitting in the library and headed down to the lake for their swim.
'Fang! Gerrof!' the boarhound had reached the boys and had jumped up on Ron, trying to lick his face in greeting. Ron pushed the dog down and told him to heel. The dog complied meekly, abjectly glad to have company. He trailed after the Gryffindors as they approached the lakeshore.
'Do you suppose Madame Maxime went with him?' Ron continued on with the previous conversation as he stripped off his shirt.
'If she is, I hope Hagrid didn't take that hairy brown suit with him,' Harry dropped his towel and started to pull off his own shirt, his back to Ron.
Behind him, Ron guffawed, 'The one with that awful orange tie? Yeah, that'd really spoil his chances wi- Hey, Harry!' Ron interrupted himself.
Harry glanced over his bare shoulder at his friend. Ron was pointing at his back, 'I didn't know you had a wizard-mark, Harry!'
'Huh?' Harry had no idea what Ron was talking about. He didn't have a wizard-mark, did he?
'On your shoulder!' Ron was still pointing at it; 'You must have got it from your dad.'
Harry twisted his shoulder, trying to get a look at the mark on his shoulder. Eventually, through some rather unusual contortions, Harry was able to view the back of his shoulder and the wizard-mark that graced the skin there.
It reminded him of the one on the inside of Professor Snape's wrist, but only in that it seemed to feature a quill. Harry's wizard-mark appeared to be the quill lying across an upturned dagger. Harry was confused. Why had he never noticed this mark before?
He kept staring at it until his body began to protest the awkward position he was holding it in. He released his shoulder and swung his arm about his head to relieve the tension. He looked curiously at Ron.
'Do you have one?' he wanted to know.
Ron unaccountably blushed.
'Yeah,' he muttered.
'Where?'
Ron's cheeks flamed hotter and he muttered something under his breath.
'Huh?'
Ron refused to meet his friend's eyes as he answered.
'Its on my butt...'
Harry laughed. Ron spluttered and aimed a mock punch at him. Harry dodged it and ran for the lake, yelling over his shoulder, 'You should show 'Mione. She'd find wizard-marks fascinating!'
He was up to his waist in the water when Ron tackled him, sending them both under. They came up sputtering and laughing. Fang waded in after them and Ron and Harry found themselves trying to avoid being scratched by the boarhound's flailing paws.
Their hair was still wet from their swim when Harry and Ron sought out Hermione in her room. Predicably, she was reading. Several books at once, if they were to judge by all the open volumes laying on her bed.
Avoiding the books like the plague, Ron plonked himself down in an armchair on the other side of the room. Harry was braver and settled himself on the bed next to Hermione, pulling one of the books closer to him.
'Whatcha reading 'Mione?'
Hermione looked over at the book Harry flipping through.
'Oh that one's fascinating!' she gushed, 'Its one of the ones you left out Harry. It's called 'The Heredities of Wizards'. It's all about magical traits that pass down from parent to child in wizarding families.'
Harry nodded vaguely, flicking through the pages. He wasn't really listening to Hermione as she began to tell him all about the things she had learned from the various books spread about her.
A subheading caught Harry's eye and he paged back to it: "Wizard-marks"
"Wizard-marks (the text read) bear no relation to the birth defects muggles refer to as 'birthmarks'. A wizard-mark is actually a hereditary marking that travels down the most pure of wizarding bloodlines that develops as the child matures. In ancient times, a child was often disowned from the family if no wizard-mark was found by the time he came of age. In present times, however, the mark is little more than a curiosity without much credence placed in it. It is still an accurate indicator of ancestry, however.
A child's wizard-mark is never the exact replica of his parents. It combines elements of both parents' wizard-marks to form a new whole that is unique to the child..."
There was more in the same vein. Then, at the bottom of the page, was a list of elements common to the most famous bloodlines. Harry skimmed the list until his gaze snagged on one of the entries. He stilled.
Beside the name Snape, there was an exact replica of the quill that graced both Harry's shoulder and his Potions Master's wrist. Harry's eyes frantically searched the list for the name Potter. Beside it was a blank space. The green eyes were drawn against their will back to the quill beside Snape's name.
Harry was vaguely aware of Ron speaking to him, but he didn't respond. Harry's mind was racing as his eyes remained glued to the illustration. It was pulling together seemingly random snippets and playing the memories back in front of his disbelieving eyes.
~ Remus's voice commenting 'You have your father's hand.' ~
~ A pale, long-fingered hand, much like Harry's own pressing flat a photo. ~
~ The photo itself. The baby in Snape's arms staring up at Harry with his own green eyes. ~
~ Remus's voice again, speaking to Snape: 'You have to tell him sooner or later.... the boy has a right to know....' ~
~ Hermione's voice this time: 'I was right! .... Only a member of one's family can give the transfusion....' ~
~ The wizard-mark quill on the inside of Snape's wrist, on Harry's own shoulder. ~
Harry's mind delved deeper into his memory, and brought to the surface the night of his sorting:
~ The voice of the Sorting Hat, murmuring in his ear: 'You could be great you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. ~
'Oh gods,' Harry whispered to himself.
It dawned on Harry in that moment: James Potter wasn't his father. Severus Snape was.
AN: I *was* going to leave if here, but I'm not that mean.
The book tumbled from his lap as Harry leapt to his feet. Moments later, he was pounding down the hall, with no recollection of having left Hermione's room. It didn't matter any way. All that mattered to Harry at the moment was getting to the infirmary and confronting Snape with - he was sure of it - the truth.
Behind him, he could hear Ron and Hermione yelling his name, wanting to know what was wrong. He ignored them. They didn't matter at the moment. A moment later, two more sets of footfalls were racing towards the infirmary in Harry's wake.
Later, Harry had to admit it was pure luck he didn't run into anything on his mad dash. He couldn't see where he was going. He was enraged to the point of blindness. Snape had known all along that he was Harry's father. But he had treated him like he was less than nothing. Worse, he had let his *own* *son* be raised by those sorry excuses for muggles.
And Remus had known as well and never told Harry. And Dumbledore. Everybody, it seemed, except Harry. In some part of his mind, Harry wondered if this was the reason Sirius hated Snape so much.
Harry realised he had reached the infirmary. He slammed the door open and stormed over to the bed below the window. He gripped the end of it until his knuckles were white, taking several deep breaths and forcing himself to calm down. As suddenly as it had come, the rage left him and Harry was aware of an amazing clarity of mind floating above confusion and deep hurt.
Remus sat at Snape's bedside and both men were staring at him, surprised at his abrupt entrance. Harry took another deep breath. Remus's eyes flickered to the door, and Harry was aware of Ron and Hermione entering the room behind him. He couldn't care. He really was beyond caring who witnessed what happened next. All he wanted was an answer from Snape.
Relatively calm now, Harry ground out his question - more of a statement - from between gritted teeth:
'James Potter wasn't my father, was he? You are.'
TBC
AN: *cackles evilly* I'm even meaner.
This chapter was going to be longer, but my Muses and I like the suspense of making you wait for Sev's response.
*Vi sneaks out while her Muses aren't looking* I'm going to bed now. But please, if my Muses come looking, don't tell them where I am?
Feel free to tell them what you think of my story tho' *hint*hint*
Chapter Seven: Books will tell you everything, if you let them.
Ron was looking towards Hagrid's hut as he and Harry headed down the sloping lawns.
'I wonder where Hagrid is at the moment?'
Harry flipped his towel over his shoulder and followed the direction of Ron's glance, 'Who knows? On the Continent trying to contact the giants on Dumbledore's behalf, probably. I haven't actually asked anyone.'
A great, booming bark of welcome rang out across the lawns as Fang spotted them and came bounding towards them.
'Well, whose looking after Fang then?' Ron wanted to know.
Harry shrugged. He didn't know. He turned his attention back to the cool waters of the lake. He and Ron were going for a swim. In the five days Ron had been at Hogwarts, it had become a morning ritual for the two boys. They had tried to convince Hermione to join them but she adamantly refused. Harry couldn't figure it out. Ron whispered in his ear that it might be 'that time of month'. After that Harry, decided he wouldn't bother Hermione to come swimming any more. He maintained he simply wasn't old enough to deal with female problems yet, if he ever would be.
So Ron and Harry had left Hermione sitting in the library and headed down to the lake for their swim.
'Fang! Gerrof!' the boarhound had reached the boys and had jumped up on Ron, trying to lick his face in greeting. Ron pushed the dog down and told him to heel. The dog complied meekly, abjectly glad to have company. He trailed after the Gryffindors as they approached the lakeshore.
'Do you suppose Madame Maxime went with him?' Ron continued on with the previous conversation as he stripped off his shirt.
'If she is, I hope Hagrid didn't take that hairy brown suit with him,' Harry dropped his towel and started to pull off his own shirt, his back to Ron.
Behind him, Ron guffawed, 'The one with that awful orange tie? Yeah, that'd really spoil his chances wi- Hey, Harry!' Ron interrupted himself.
Harry glanced over his bare shoulder at his friend. Ron was pointing at his back, 'I didn't know you had a wizard-mark, Harry!'
'Huh?' Harry had no idea what Ron was talking about. He didn't have a wizard-mark, did he?
'On your shoulder!' Ron was still pointing at it; 'You must have got it from your dad.'
Harry twisted his shoulder, trying to get a look at the mark on his shoulder. Eventually, through some rather unusual contortions, Harry was able to view the back of his shoulder and the wizard-mark that graced the skin there.
It reminded him of the one on the inside of Professor Snape's wrist, but only in that it seemed to feature a quill. Harry's wizard-mark appeared to be the quill lying across an upturned dagger. Harry was confused. Why had he never noticed this mark before?
He kept staring at it until his body began to protest the awkward position he was holding it in. He released his shoulder and swung his arm about his head to relieve the tension. He looked curiously at Ron.
'Do you have one?' he wanted to know.
Ron unaccountably blushed.
'Yeah,' he muttered.
'Where?'
Ron's cheeks flamed hotter and he muttered something under his breath.
'Huh?'
Ron refused to meet his friend's eyes as he answered.
'Its on my butt...'
Harry laughed. Ron spluttered and aimed a mock punch at him. Harry dodged it and ran for the lake, yelling over his shoulder, 'You should show 'Mione. She'd find wizard-marks fascinating!'
He was up to his waist in the water when Ron tackled him, sending them both under. They came up sputtering and laughing. Fang waded in after them and Ron and Harry found themselves trying to avoid being scratched by the boarhound's flailing paws.
Their hair was still wet from their swim when Harry and Ron sought out Hermione in her room. Predicably, she was reading. Several books at once, if they were to judge by all the open volumes laying on her bed.
Avoiding the books like the plague, Ron plonked himself down in an armchair on the other side of the room. Harry was braver and settled himself on the bed next to Hermione, pulling one of the books closer to him.
'Whatcha reading 'Mione?'
Hermione looked over at the book Harry flipping through.
'Oh that one's fascinating!' she gushed, 'Its one of the ones you left out Harry. It's called 'The Heredities of Wizards'. It's all about magical traits that pass down from parent to child in wizarding families.'
Harry nodded vaguely, flicking through the pages. He wasn't really listening to Hermione as she began to tell him all about the things she had learned from the various books spread about her.
A subheading caught Harry's eye and he paged back to it: "Wizard-marks"
"Wizard-marks (the text read) bear no relation to the birth defects muggles refer to as 'birthmarks'. A wizard-mark is actually a hereditary marking that travels down the most pure of wizarding bloodlines that develops as the child matures. In ancient times, a child was often disowned from the family if no wizard-mark was found by the time he came of age. In present times, however, the mark is little more than a curiosity without much credence placed in it. It is still an accurate indicator of ancestry, however.
A child's wizard-mark is never the exact replica of his parents. It combines elements of both parents' wizard-marks to form a new whole that is unique to the child..."
There was more in the same vein. Then, at the bottom of the page, was a list of elements common to the most famous bloodlines. Harry skimmed the list until his gaze snagged on one of the entries. He stilled.
Beside the name Snape, there was an exact replica of the quill that graced both Harry's shoulder and his Potions Master's wrist. Harry's eyes frantically searched the list for the name Potter. Beside it was a blank space. The green eyes were drawn against their will back to the quill beside Snape's name.
Harry was vaguely aware of Ron speaking to him, but he didn't respond. Harry's mind was racing as his eyes remained glued to the illustration. It was pulling together seemingly random snippets and playing the memories back in front of his disbelieving eyes.
~ Remus's voice commenting 'You have your father's hand.' ~
~ A pale, long-fingered hand, much like Harry's own pressing flat a photo. ~
~ The photo itself. The baby in Snape's arms staring up at Harry with his own green eyes. ~
~ Remus's voice again, speaking to Snape: 'You have to tell him sooner or later.... the boy has a right to know....' ~
~ Hermione's voice this time: 'I was right! .... Only a member of one's family can give the transfusion....' ~
~ The wizard-mark quill on the inside of Snape's wrist, on Harry's own shoulder. ~
Harry's mind delved deeper into his memory, and brought to the surface the night of his sorting:
~ The voice of the Sorting Hat, murmuring in his ear: 'You could be great you know, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness. ~
'Oh gods,' Harry whispered to himself.
It dawned on Harry in that moment: James Potter wasn't his father. Severus Snape was.
AN: I *was* going to leave if here, but I'm not that mean.
The book tumbled from his lap as Harry leapt to his feet. Moments later, he was pounding down the hall, with no recollection of having left Hermione's room. It didn't matter any way. All that mattered to Harry at the moment was getting to the infirmary and confronting Snape with - he was sure of it - the truth.
Behind him, he could hear Ron and Hermione yelling his name, wanting to know what was wrong. He ignored them. They didn't matter at the moment. A moment later, two more sets of footfalls were racing towards the infirmary in Harry's wake.
Later, Harry had to admit it was pure luck he didn't run into anything on his mad dash. He couldn't see where he was going. He was enraged to the point of blindness. Snape had known all along that he was Harry's father. But he had treated him like he was less than nothing. Worse, he had let his *own* *son* be raised by those sorry excuses for muggles.
And Remus had known as well and never told Harry. And Dumbledore. Everybody, it seemed, except Harry. In some part of his mind, Harry wondered if this was the reason Sirius hated Snape so much.
Harry realised he had reached the infirmary. He slammed the door open and stormed over to the bed below the window. He gripped the end of it until his knuckles were white, taking several deep breaths and forcing himself to calm down. As suddenly as it had come, the rage left him and Harry was aware of an amazing clarity of mind floating above confusion and deep hurt.
Remus sat at Snape's bedside and both men were staring at him, surprised at his abrupt entrance. Harry took another deep breath. Remus's eyes flickered to the door, and Harry was aware of Ron and Hermione entering the room behind him. He couldn't care. He really was beyond caring who witnessed what happened next. All he wanted was an answer from Snape.
Relatively calm now, Harry ground out his question - more of a statement - from between gritted teeth:
'James Potter wasn't my father, was he? You are.'
TBC
AN: *cackles evilly* I'm even meaner.
This chapter was going to be longer, but my Muses and I like the suspense of making you wait for Sev's response.
*Vi sneaks out while her Muses aren't looking* I'm going to bed now. But please, if my Muses come looking, don't tell them where I am?
Feel free to tell them what you think of my story tho' *hint*hint*