Arch of Death - Chapter Four
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Just because I'm anal like this, I do have to point out that it is specifically stated that Harry is the only MEMBER of the Order who has seem Pettigrew alive. Fudge trusts Dumbledore and the Order now; he wouldn't trust a pair of teenagers, no matter how close to the Order they are. Just to clear up any confusion :o) Thanks again for all of your reviews.
aC
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Later that evening, Harry found himself quite alone in the middle of the Black house, wandering the corridors and feeling as if the weight of the world had been placed upon his shoulders. He noticed the lack of Sirius' looming presence, and this perhaps hurt more than all of the rest combined.
He continued his wanderings until his own feet led him into the abandoned kitchen. Seemingly in disuse, the ancient room creaked and groaned uncomfortably loud, and each new sound made Harry jump. Slowly, he sat down in the seat Sirius had so often occupied at the long and rough wooden table, imagining for a moment what it would be like to have his godfather back.
Bliss, he supposed; Sirius Black had been his only family, a family even the eternal warmth and generosity of the Weasleys couldn't recreate.
Harry stared straight ahead for quite some time, neither knowing nor caring about the time past. It was until he caught the slightest hint of movement in the dark shadows near a long-forgotten corner that he finally came crashing back down to reality.
His head turned toward the nook and his eyes searched intently for another sign that he wasn't alone. In the end, he was forced to squint and to tilt his head ever-so-slightly to the left, the end result being he could just barely make out a dark and looming figure, not at all unlike the figure Harry now imagined Sirius to be.
"Hello?" he asked in a voice far too timid for his liking. He made a motion to stand up, but his actions proved unnecessary, for a moment later, Professor Severus Snape stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the dozen or so candles glittering above.
"Stop staring, Potter," snapped the potions professor. "It makes you look even more like a slobbering idiot."
Harry's cheeks burned at the man's insult, but the blush seemed more like an involuntary reaction rather than one due out of any sort of embarrassment or mind of what his professor thought of him. For a moment, Harry thought of fleeing, but he found himself too tired to even consider the matter any further, let alone take any sort of action whatsoever.
When Harry didn't respond, Snape took a step closer, his usually-cruel demeanor softening somewhat, much to Harry's shock and surprise.
"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Potter," said Snape in a low tone. "You'll soon find that all of your fantasies of playing hero will become just that, and when you do step forward to battle the Dark Lord, I am sure that you will find your trousers uncomfortably wet in no time."
This time, a surge of anger flowed through Harry, and he had no qualms with shooting the worst glare he could muster at the oily man. "Just like you then, Professor?"
Snape's black eyes narrowed; obviously he hadn't been expecting a retort.
"What I do to help the Order and what you will do to help—or perhaps to hinder—the Order are of two completely different matters, Potter, none of which concern you." The coldness of his glare told Harry he wanted nothing more than to shut off that particular avenue of conversation. Harry, however, persisted.
"So when you bend down and kiss Voldemort's slimy robes, you're helping the Order?" Harry tilted his head slightly, as if appraising the man standing before him. "Funny, that is—your definition of helping. I would have expected better from you, Professor."
Instead of becoming enraged, as Harry much expected him to do, Snape stared at him for a moment, before finally taking a seat in one of the ancient wooden chairs a mere foot from where Harry was placed. "I would have thought you to be more perceptive, Potter, especially considering your recent foul-up that resulted in the loss of that petty little wanker you call a godfather."
Harry clenched his fists tightly, wanting nothing more than to punch Snape. The use of the word 'wanker' by the always-articulate Snape didn't go unnoticed, however, and instead of satisfying his urge to hurt his potions professor in the worst way possible, he simply raised his eyebrows, a look a grim humor settling upon him.
"Well, who has the last laugh this time, Professor? Last time I checked, he's still alive, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it."
Snape grunted, surprising Harry even further. "Yes, well, I knew that long before you did, Potter, so don't you think you'll pulling one on me. You aren't the little wonder boy Albus is making you out to be—we both know that. All you are is a simple accident, a random act of chance that Voldemort chose to be his oh-so-worthy opponent." With this, Snape sneered, his eyes becoming narrow slits. "So much like your father, Potter—he would be proud."
Harry felt an odd shiver run down his spine at Snape's cold voice, one that was filled with an unfathomable amount of hatred. Finally, he dared to look the man in the eye, surprised at the weariness Snape was no longer trying to hide.
"I'm not my father," he said tersely.
Snape eyed him for a moment. "Do you really think so, Potter? Do you really think that you could flee from genetics, flee from the path that has been laid out for you since the moment of your conception?"
"I haven't told a soul what I saw," said Harry quietly, knowing his words needed no more explanation than that. "Ron, Hermione—no one knows. I wouldn't have told them, even if you hadn't asked me not to."
For the briefest of instants, Harry thought he saw something akin to amazement upon Snape's sallow features, but he blinked and what remained was the same old Severus Snape he had been growing accustomed to for nearly five years now.
"Trying to protect your father's image, are you?" sneered Snape, albeit half-heartedly. "Wouldn't want word getting out that James Potter was no better than the Slytherin he tortured, would you?"
"You weren't the only one of his victims," said Harry softly, not quite believing he was speaking of deceased father in such a manner as this. "There were others, you know."
"Yes, Potter," snapped Snape. "That I'm well aware of. James even tortured your mother a bit—nothing as serious or as—"
"Traumatizing?" supplied Harry, after a moment of silence as Snape groped for the correct word to use.
"Or as traumatizing," continued Snape, his voice slower and more wary than before, "as he waged against myself and my fellow Slytherins, but he seemed to feel it was his duty to make everyone's life a living hell."
He looked expectantly over toward Harry, as if he was sure the boy was going to retaliate with words of defense.
"I know," said Harry quietly. "There was no excuse for his actions. I—" He paused, looking over at the man he loathed and abhorred for so many years. There was something different about him tonight, however, something Harry couldn't quite place a finger on. Snape seemed to have lessened the degree of hatred he felt toward Harry, or perhaps it was the mood Harry himself was in. Either way, he was surprised to find he felt no need to get up and walk out of the room as the two continued their banter; in fact, if the circumstances and topic had been any different, he thought he might quite like to argue with Snape without the threat of losing House Points. Even Harry was shrewd enough to realize the man sitting before him was a genius; in how many ways, however, he wasn't yet certain.
Snape sat patiently, waiting for Harry to continue with what he had been saying. Harry took a deep breath and looked the potions professor straight in the eye, refusing to hold back any longer.
"I'm not going to apologize for him, Professor," he began firmly, watching as Snape's expression turned from one of dislike to one of mild surprise and interest. "Even though I look like him, I'm afraid my father and I are two completely different people. It's time you learn to accept that, Professor, because no matter how much you hate me, I'm not going to be leaving any time soon. You'd better get used to me, and fast."
Snape's eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. He stared at Harry for quite some time, an uncomfortable silence filling the air between them until Harry finally squirmed, making his wooden chair squeak loudly.
"I know you are not your father, Potter," said Snape slowly. "Your actions have more than proven that to me."
"I know my father was a git," said Harry tightly, "but there's nothing I can do about that. You can't go round blaming me for what he did twenty years ago."
Snape was silent for a moment, almost as if he were collecting his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, albeit in a cracked and hoarse voice that reminded Harry of nothing he had ever heard before.
"Do you remember your Sorting, Potter?"
Harry blinked, then nodded. It hadn't been the question he was expecting.
"That night, the Headmaster held a meeting," continued Snape, his hands folded together in an oddly tight grip. "Among other things, he instructed the staff to treat you no higher or lower than the rest of the student body. He told us to treat you as we would have had you not been the Boy Who Lived. That it how I treated you for five years, Potter," said Snape, lowering his gaze to the table. "Now, I fear, it is time for me to change that. You are a part of the Order now, and while I loathe the thought of you being in any way my equal, I accept that it is something I cannot change, and I will treat you the way you deserve to be treated."
Harry nodded, feeling a sudden pang of a strange sympathy well up inside him.
"And I you, Professor."
Before Snape had a chance to reply, within the silence of the kitchens a low moaning echoed. Harry immediately looked up toward the ceiling, where he was sure the sound had come, while Snape grabbed his wand and immediately stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a highly annoying sound.
Harry strained to listen. He wasn't able to understand exactly what the sound was, but Snape seemed to comprehend the noise almost immediately. Snape sank down into his chair once again, his pale face relaxing slightly.
"It's only Lupin."
Harry blinked. "What do you mean, 'it's only Lupin'?"
Snape gave him an appraising look before pocketing his long dark wand. "Lupin has suffered greatly throughout these past few weeks, Potter. He and Black were extremely close—closer than I think even Dumbledore was aware. I would have thought that with all of that compassion buzzing around inside of you, you would have figured that out by now."
Harry shifted in his seat once more, allowing what Snape had said to sink into his mind.
"What, you mean they were best friends?" he asked.
Snape was unable to suppress a smirk. "In a manner of speaking, Potter—yes."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, trying very hard to figure out exactly what it was Professor Snape was trying to say. "You mean they—err, they're closer than brothers?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Potter, if they were brothers, I'm absolutely certain they would both have been under arrest a very long time ago."
Even with all of Snape's sharp hints, Harry was still unable to figure out exactly what his potions professor was trying to say.
He liked it that way, he supposed; he wasn't prepared to have another issue shake up his already unsteady world.
- - -
Just because I'm anal like this, I do have to point out that it is specifically stated that Harry is the only MEMBER of the Order who has seem Pettigrew alive. Fudge trusts Dumbledore and the Order now; he wouldn't trust a pair of teenagers, no matter how close to the Order they are. Just to clear up any confusion :o) Thanks again for all of your reviews.
aC
- - -
Later that evening, Harry found himself quite alone in the middle of the Black house, wandering the corridors and feeling as if the weight of the world had been placed upon his shoulders. He noticed the lack of Sirius' looming presence, and this perhaps hurt more than all of the rest combined.
He continued his wanderings until his own feet led him into the abandoned kitchen. Seemingly in disuse, the ancient room creaked and groaned uncomfortably loud, and each new sound made Harry jump. Slowly, he sat down in the seat Sirius had so often occupied at the long and rough wooden table, imagining for a moment what it would be like to have his godfather back.
Bliss, he supposed; Sirius Black had been his only family, a family even the eternal warmth and generosity of the Weasleys couldn't recreate.
Harry stared straight ahead for quite some time, neither knowing nor caring about the time past. It was until he caught the slightest hint of movement in the dark shadows near a long-forgotten corner that he finally came crashing back down to reality.
His head turned toward the nook and his eyes searched intently for another sign that he wasn't alone. In the end, he was forced to squint and to tilt his head ever-so-slightly to the left, the end result being he could just barely make out a dark and looming figure, not at all unlike the figure Harry now imagined Sirius to be.
"Hello?" he asked in a voice far too timid for his liking. He made a motion to stand up, but his actions proved unnecessary, for a moment later, Professor Severus Snape stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the dozen or so candles glittering above.
"Stop staring, Potter," snapped the potions professor. "It makes you look even more like a slobbering idiot."
Harry's cheeks burned at the man's insult, but the blush seemed more like an involuntary reaction rather than one due out of any sort of embarrassment or mind of what his professor thought of him. For a moment, Harry thought of fleeing, but he found himself too tired to even consider the matter any further, let alone take any sort of action whatsoever.
When Harry didn't respond, Snape took a step closer, his usually-cruel demeanor softening somewhat, much to Harry's shock and surprise.
"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Potter," said Snape in a low tone. "You'll soon find that all of your fantasies of playing hero will become just that, and when you do step forward to battle the Dark Lord, I am sure that you will find your trousers uncomfortably wet in no time."
This time, a surge of anger flowed through Harry, and he had no qualms with shooting the worst glare he could muster at the oily man. "Just like you then, Professor?"
Snape's black eyes narrowed; obviously he hadn't been expecting a retort.
"What I do to help the Order and what you will do to help—or perhaps to hinder—the Order are of two completely different matters, Potter, none of which concern you." The coldness of his glare told Harry he wanted nothing more than to shut off that particular avenue of conversation. Harry, however, persisted.
"So when you bend down and kiss Voldemort's slimy robes, you're helping the Order?" Harry tilted his head slightly, as if appraising the man standing before him. "Funny, that is—your definition of helping. I would have expected better from you, Professor."
Instead of becoming enraged, as Harry much expected him to do, Snape stared at him for a moment, before finally taking a seat in one of the ancient wooden chairs a mere foot from where Harry was placed. "I would have thought you to be more perceptive, Potter, especially considering your recent foul-up that resulted in the loss of that petty little wanker you call a godfather."
Harry clenched his fists tightly, wanting nothing more than to punch Snape. The use of the word 'wanker' by the always-articulate Snape didn't go unnoticed, however, and instead of satisfying his urge to hurt his potions professor in the worst way possible, he simply raised his eyebrows, a look a grim humor settling upon him.
"Well, who has the last laugh this time, Professor? Last time I checked, he's still alive, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it."
Snape grunted, surprising Harry even further. "Yes, well, I knew that long before you did, Potter, so don't you think you'll pulling one on me. You aren't the little wonder boy Albus is making you out to be—we both know that. All you are is a simple accident, a random act of chance that Voldemort chose to be his oh-so-worthy opponent." With this, Snape sneered, his eyes becoming narrow slits. "So much like your father, Potter—he would be proud."
Harry felt an odd shiver run down his spine at Snape's cold voice, one that was filled with an unfathomable amount of hatred. Finally, he dared to look the man in the eye, surprised at the weariness Snape was no longer trying to hide.
"I'm not my father," he said tersely.
Snape eyed him for a moment. "Do you really think so, Potter? Do you really think that you could flee from genetics, flee from the path that has been laid out for you since the moment of your conception?"
"I haven't told a soul what I saw," said Harry quietly, knowing his words needed no more explanation than that. "Ron, Hermione—no one knows. I wouldn't have told them, even if you hadn't asked me not to."
For the briefest of instants, Harry thought he saw something akin to amazement upon Snape's sallow features, but he blinked and what remained was the same old Severus Snape he had been growing accustomed to for nearly five years now.
"Trying to protect your father's image, are you?" sneered Snape, albeit half-heartedly. "Wouldn't want word getting out that James Potter was no better than the Slytherin he tortured, would you?"
"You weren't the only one of his victims," said Harry softly, not quite believing he was speaking of deceased father in such a manner as this. "There were others, you know."
"Yes, Potter," snapped Snape. "That I'm well aware of. James even tortured your mother a bit—nothing as serious or as—"
"Traumatizing?" supplied Harry, after a moment of silence as Snape groped for the correct word to use.
"Or as traumatizing," continued Snape, his voice slower and more wary than before, "as he waged against myself and my fellow Slytherins, but he seemed to feel it was his duty to make everyone's life a living hell."
He looked expectantly over toward Harry, as if he was sure the boy was going to retaliate with words of defense.
"I know," said Harry quietly. "There was no excuse for his actions. I—" He paused, looking over at the man he loathed and abhorred for so many years. There was something different about him tonight, however, something Harry couldn't quite place a finger on. Snape seemed to have lessened the degree of hatred he felt toward Harry, or perhaps it was the mood Harry himself was in. Either way, he was surprised to find he felt no need to get up and walk out of the room as the two continued their banter; in fact, if the circumstances and topic had been any different, he thought he might quite like to argue with Snape without the threat of losing House Points. Even Harry was shrewd enough to realize the man sitting before him was a genius; in how many ways, however, he wasn't yet certain.
Snape sat patiently, waiting for Harry to continue with what he had been saying. Harry took a deep breath and looked the potions professor straight in the eye, refusing to hold back any longer.
"I'm not going to apologize for him, Professor," he began firmly, watching as Snape's expression turned from one of dislike to one of mild surprise and interest. "Even though I look like him, I'm afraid my father and I are two completely different people. It's time you learn to accept that, Professor, because no matter how much you hate me, I'm not going to be leaving any time soon. You'd better get used to me, and fast."
Snape's eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. He stared at Harry for quite some time, an uncomfortable silence filling the air between them until Harry finally squirmed, making his wooden chair squeak loudly.
"I know you are not your father, Potter," said Snape slowly. "Your actions have more than proven that to me."
"I know my father was a git," said Harry tightly, "but there's nothing I can do about that. You can't go round blaming me for what he did twenty years ago."
Snape was silent for a moment, almost as if he were collecting his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, albeit in a cracked and hoarse voice that reminded Harry of nothing he had ever heard before.
"Do you remember your Sorting, Potter?"
Harry blinked, then nodded. It hadn't been the question he was expecting.
"That night, the Headmaster held a meeting," continued Snape, his hands folded together in an oddly tight grip. "Among other things, he instructed the staff to treat you no higher or lower than the rest of the student body. He told us to treat you as we would have had you not been the Boy Who Lived. That it how I treated you for five years, Potter," said Snape, lowering his gaze to the table. "Now, I fear, it is time for me to change that. You are a part of the Order now, and while I loathe the thought of you being in any way my equal, I accept that it is something I cannot change, and I will treat you the way you deserve to be treated."
Harry nodded, feeling a sudden pang of a strange sympathy well up inside him.
"And I you, Professor."
Before Snape had a chance to reply, within the silence of the kitchens a low moaning echoed. Harry immediately looked up toward the ceiling, where he was sure the sound had come, while Snape grabbed his wand and immediately stood up, his chair scraping against the stone floor with a highly annoying sound.
Harry strained to listen. He wasn't able to understand exactly what the sound was, but Snape seemed to comprehend the noise almost immediately. Snape sank down into his chair once again, his pale face relaxing slightly.
"It's only Lupin."
Harry blinked. "What do you mean, 'it's only Lupin'?"
Snape gave him an appraising look before pocketing his long dark wand. "Lupin has suffered greatly throughout these past few weeks, Potter. He and Black were extremely close—closer than I think even Dumbledore was aware. I would have thought that with all of that compassion buzzing around inside of you, you would have figured that out by now."
Harry shifted in his seat once more, allowing what Snape had said to sink into his mind.
"What, you mean they were best friends?" he asked.
Snape was unable to suppress a smirk. "In a manner of speaking, Potter—yes."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, trying very hard to figure out exactly what it was Professor Snape was trying to say. "You mean they—err, they're closer than brothers?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Potter, if they were brothers, I'm absolutely certain they would both have been under arrest a very long time ago."
Even with all of Snape's sharp hints, Harry was still unable to figure out exactly what his potions professor was trying to say.
He liked it that way, he supposed; he wasn't prepared to have another issue shake up his already unsteady world.