The Gift
Indarae
Parings: Light Luna/Harry nearing the end, but that's not my ship, at all.
Rating: Pg-13, as always, for disturbing imagery and war.
Distribution: Schnoogle, Twisting the Hellmouth, ff.net, or simply email to ask.
Summary: (Severitus' Challenge) The death of Albus Dumbledore leaves a mountain of questions for the Light. Along with Luna, Ginny, Ron, and the unlikely help of a Slytherin, Harry learns that answers often bring hearbreak as the final conflict approaches.
A/N: MMm. Weekend. I've done nothing today but sit on my arse and read fanfic of various genres. So here you go, my next piece of contribution to the growing field.
Chapter Two — Revelations in the Text
December 21, 1997
"I'll sent your presents by owl!" Hermione promised, nearly in tears as she stood with her trunk in front of the school. Seamus was playing the supportive boyfriend and ignoring Ron's dark looks as Hermione sniffled her good-byes. "And I'll keep researching! I know there's an answer hidden somewhere, and I promise I'll find it! I'll be back in January, even if I'm the only one!"
Hermione's group was the last to portkey out to King's Cross. The only students left were those who had no other place to go. "I'm sure we'll be spending some time in the library ourselves," Harry admitted. "Tonks always needs new reading material." They took shifts at Remus' side, now — McGonagall, Tonks, Harry, and even Snape. There were plenty of defensive spells to be learned, as well; spells that Tonks had promised to teach in lieu of other homework. Rumors had come from the remainders of Dumbledore's spy ring of an attack near Christmas — at New Years, when the wards around the castle had to be renewed for the year. A reorganization of the staff was already underway and a number of Dumbledore's friends among the Aurors had promised their time for the defense. The school governors hadn't given word yet, but McGonagall had been assumed as the next Headmistress, with Snape at her side. It's what Dumbledore would've wanted.
"We'll write, we promise," Ginny said, patting Hermione's shoulder. "You keep up your good work, and we'll do our best. I'm sure Professor McGonagall will keep us busy with the wards."
"The train's going to leave," Seamus broke in, tugging Hermione's arm. "Neville's saved us a space in a cabin. We'll see you all in January, without a doubt!"
Ron snorted as Hermione sobbed and let herself be led away. "I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't come back," he growled, but they were too far away to overhear.
"Your own fault you didn't ask her first," Ginny snapped. "If you'd listened to me in the first place, Ron, you wouldn't be moaning on about -"
Harry poked Ginny's shoulder, shaking his head. There wasn't time to argue. "McGonagall will be waiting to assign tasks. And won't Percy be here in an hour or so?"
"Yeah," Ron said vaguely, still staring after the group. "He's walking up from Hogsmeade, I think. I haven't seen him since last February, when he left for Egypt."
"C'mon," Harry muttered to Ginny, letting Ron stand alone with his thoughts, and Luna, who had remained silent during most of the exchange, buried in a book on vampires. She finally glanced over and noticed Ginny and Harry leaving, and hurried to join them. "Did Percy like being in Egypt? I mean — he didn't have much of a choice after that whole deal with Fudge, but -"
Ginny shrugged. "He'll be happy to be home, I think. He took being fired harder than Mum expected, but I don't think he regrets standing with the family. And Bill's a good teacher; I'll bet Percy's top-notch at curse breaking, now. He was always best at history sorts of things, in school."
"I was happy to see him apologize to your father," Luna murmured. "Your mum looked so sad when I met her. Is she better now?"
"Much," Ginny said. "And I think his being far away made things even easier to smooth over. He sent back his sweater that Christmas, you know." From the scowl on her face, it seemed as though that must've been more of a blow than standing with Fudge.
They wandered over to the Great Hall, where only a single table remained for the holidays. Seats had been set up across from the teachers at the Head Table, and the loss of Dumbledore and Hagrid left more than enough room. "Will Percy be going back to Egypt after we're done here?"
"He's staying on for something, according to Mum. She couldn't say more, in case the letter was intercepted," Ginny said. Her face darkened at the mention of the danger her family was in, and she changed the subject quickly. "Let's see, who's staying for the holiday? All twelve Slytherins, right...? And just the three of us for Gryffindors... Percy and Bill... Justin Finch-Fletchley and Philippa Parker for Hufflepuff... And just you, Luna, and Norah Roberts for Ravenclaw? Am I missing any?"
"Remus," Harry said. "He's not a student, but he's certainly not a teacher. I wonder if Professor McGonagall will reveal him to everyone. She's been very careful about who goes into the back of the Infirmary — think she's afraid of what the student would say if they knew a werewolf was there. When's the next full moon?"
"December the 29th," Luna said, offhand, shifting her book around. "He won't be a problem if he's asleep."
The twelve Slytherins caught Harry's attention, all clustered near the fireplace at the side of the hall, with Zabini in the middle, like a lord with his vassals... or a shepherd with his sheep. Or, just maybe, a father comforting frightened children. The Slytherins, generally a proud and raucous group, were nearly silent. "I'll be up to the table in a minute," he murmured to Luna and Ginny, "but I need to ask Zabini something."
Ginny glared — she hated to be left out of anything — but turned and headed off anyway, Luna trailing behind. Seeing the Slytherins all together had brought a question to Harry's mind and as he crossed to the group — twenty-four eyes glaring at him suspiciously — he couldn't help but ask. "Er... Zabini, a word?" he stuttered. The glares of eleven-year-olds really were disconcerting, especially as he'd so recently been one of them. Six and a half years... and so many regrets ago.
Zabini nodded shortly and turned to the eldest of the others, the fifth year, whom Harry only knew after being reinstated into Quidditch. "Seth, get everyone up to the table. I think McGonagall will be in soon. I think we'll have a lot of moving to do." Seth nodded and started giving out orders to the younger students while Zabini followed Harry aside. "Yeah, Potter? What is it?"
"... You're moving? Where?" Harry asked faintly. He was only half-aware of the answer, as Snape entered the room, catching his attention. The professor still limped painfully, which was especially noticeable more than two weeks after his return to the school, when even Tonks' curse-poisoning had been healed. Voldemort had done something permanently damaging — and when wizarding medicine was involved, permanent injuries were difficult to come by.
"- can't stay in the dungeons, of course," Zabini was saying. "The Common Room is... stained. Three first-years, all of the second-years except for the three we've still got, and every third-year died there. We're bunked in the Headmaster's rooms, since there's plenty of space, and no one's using them, but Professor McGonagall intends to house us elsewhere after the break. However, I doubt that's what you really want to ask... is it about Draco?"
Harry couldn't help gaping. "How did you know that?"
Zabini shrugged. "It's always about Draco. It always has been."
"Well, it's also about all of you," Harry stuttered. "Er... I was — we were wondering... what happened, down there? How did the twelve of you hide in time? You said Malf- Draco had something to do with it... I thought he supported his father, and as his father was a Death Eater..." Harry shrugged sheepishly.
"I wondered when you'd ask," Zabini quipped. "Well, we'd a plan ready for days. We knew he'd be attacking, we just didn't know the day. You see, Draco knew where Professor Snape was -"
"Then why didn't he tell anyone?" Harry snapped irritably. "Maybe it would've saved lives!"
Blaise crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the fireplace, glaring. "Potter, I don't have to tell you any of this. Now shut up and listen — Draco knew where Professor Snape was. He told Dumbledore, but the lack of dates and times made the knowledge practically useless... so we had a system worked out. Claire, one of the third-years, would set off an Alarm Hex if He showed up... we had protected hiding spots chosen... and then He came when we didn't expect it. She set off the hex, but most of the Slytherins were in the Common Room, doing homework. I was up in the dorm, getting a quill... I heard the hex and hurried up to the first-years and second-years — their dorms are above the sixth- and seventh-years — and got them into hiding. Seth and Matt were already there... and no one came to join us. We hid for hours. And when the coast was clear, I went out first..." He trailed off and glared down at the tile floor, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. "We couldn't have stopped it, but — God, they were all so young, and He just lined them up and went down the row and — there was blood -" Blaise choked and shook his head, falling silent.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. There were Malfoy's eyes again, clouded and accusing. It had been Harry's job to save them all, and he'd failed. Again. He sighed and got back to his question. "Why did Malfoy want to help Dumbledore, though? I still don't understand."
"Snape," Blaise said simply. "They took Snape. Mr. Malfoy hinted at what they were doing to him, in one of his letters to Draco after he escaped Azkaban, and Draco couldn't take it anymore. He said... he said Snape was more of a father to him than Mr. Malfoy could ever be. When He showed up, Draco planned to go and free Professor Snape. I guess Snape made it out anyway."
Harry leaned against the wall to steady himself against a wave of anger. "He didn't have to die then," he muttered, only half aware that he'd spoken audibly. "Montegue went for help — and I don't know why they murdered Pansy, but her blood was all over the hall — I -" Harry choked and winced, closing his eyes against an onslaught of desperate tears.
He was surprised by the gentle hand on his shoulder. "None of them had to die," Blaise murmured, "and none of the rest will, even if I have to stand up and fight, myself. I know you're a Gryffindor, and you probably can't stand even the thought of a Light Slytherin — but you're a Potter, too, and Potters used to be as Slytherin as my family. Will you help me? I know Weasley won't want a hand in it... and you have no idea how difficult it is, asking this of you... but I need help to keep them safe."
"You'll have my help," Harry said slowly, opening his eyes to meet Zabini's gaze. "It shouldn't matter what House I'm in — not anymore."
Zabini nodded slowly and stepped back, holding out his hand in friendship.
Harry stopped short, staring at the gesture. "Ma- Draco asked me to be friends, once. Before first year. We were on the train," Harry remembered. "He told me I should be careful who my friends were."
"Well, he was right, wasn't he?" Blaise whispered. He winced. "If you'd chosen the other way... maybe begged to be put in Slytherin with your new friend... then you'd be one of the dead, now, too."
His hand was still extended. With one more pause, Harry took it.
"Mr. Potter? Mr. Zabini?" McGonagall called from the High Table. Zabini started to jerk back, guiltily, but Harry clamped a hand on the Slytherin's shoulder. Let the others see — it was time to put the differences aside. "Please come up and take seats. We need to discuss the next few weeks, and hand out assignments and papers..."
There were plenty of chairs left, as Percy and Bill had yet to arrive, but Harry took the one Luna had saved, and Blaise surprised him by taking a chair at his left. Ron glared in betrayal from down the table, next to Justin Finch-Fletchley and an empty space for a brother, but Harry chose to ignore him. There would be plenty of time to argue later, when the Slytherins weren't around.
As soon as Blaise was settled, Professor McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "Alright, then — this isn't everyone, but we have plenty of work to finish as quickly as we can. First, an announcement: for the next few days, all of you will move into the Ravenclaw dormitories. Your things will be moved by the time we've finished here. Wards need to be reinforced around the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff dormitories; Slytherin has been abandoned for the year. Once the wards are secured, you will move to the Gryffindor dormitories to reinforce the Ravenclaw ones. The password for both rooms will be Phoenix for the time you abide there; it will be changed when the other students return and you go back to your House dormitories. Questions?"
One of the Slytherins — a first-year, from the soprano of his voice — spoke up immediately. "Where are we going to live? When the others get back, I mean? I don't want to go back to our rooms — but we can't live in the Headmaster's..."
"You won't be resorted, if that's what you're asking, Mr. Pennington," Snape answered. He was leaned back in his chair, his useless arm draped across his lap and the normally disagreeable expression gone from his face. "We are already aware of at least two students who will not be returning for the next term. You'll be taking the empty beds — no matter the House, and no matter the year. I believe the Headmaster made a miscalculation by basing our war efforts in the school — and after this holiday, the school will never be in the middle again. We'll be building a new Slytherin dormitory this summer. The old ones will be closed off... a memorial, of sorts." His expression flickered — was that sadness? — before settling on a neutral again.
McGonagall nodded resolutely. "No other questions...? Well, now for a few reading assignments, I'm afraid." She dug in her pocket and pulled out a stack of tiny books, aimed her wand, and muttered, "Engorgio. These are the Headmaster's journals. He kept decent records, starting about the time he left Hogwarts, in 1883." The journals, enlarged and stacked, reached higher than McGonagall's tartan hat. She reached to grab the top few books and flicked open a short piece of parchment. "I've tried to assign dates so that none of you will end up reading terrible things about your teachers... along those lines, I will be reading the journals from 1934 until 1948, as only I should know what he thought of me as a student and young teacher..." And, Harry mused, she'd very carefully selected the years that Tom Riddle had been a student, as well. Without any more elaboration, she started passing the journals to the students. All the first-years were only allowed a year, it seemed, but the journals from the beginning of Dumbledore's life were much thicker than those near the end. Not surprisingly, Harry found himself holding the years of 1976-1982: the last two years his parents attended the school up until their deaths. Oddly enough, it looked as though 1980 was a great deal more noteworthy than the infamous year of 1981.
Harry glanced up in time to watch Professor McGonagall pass a single tome over to Snape. "1899?" one of the first-years chirruped. "What happened in 1899, Professor Snape?"
"You'll learn about it in fifth year History of Magic, Miss Walters," he snapped.
"Yeah, but she won't remember it," Blaise muttered, and Harry shot him a half-grin. It was true — with Binns teaching, Harry couldn't remember the date either.
It was obvious from Snape's scowl that the snarky professor had heard them. "I'll refrain from insulting other teachers, but I assure you... he was more interesting before he died in 1979. Since you asked, Miss Walters, you'll all listen — 1899 was an incredibly vital year when speaking of the current crisis. In April of 1899, the last English Dark Lord preceding Lord Voldemort -" A number of students cringed. "- attacked Diagon Alley. I doubt any of you have sense enough to wonder why the buildings in the alley are so much newer than those in Knockturn Alley — and yes, Mr. Pennington, I'm quite aware of your jaunts down there this past summer — but in the spring of that year, the Dark Lord Hermes Potter led an army of one-hundred-and-fifty-three Dark Wizards -"
"Wait — did you say Hermes Potter?" Ron broke in.
Harry was suddenly aware of a table full of eyes on him. He turned to meet Ron's gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly. He hadn't known, of course... but there was the information that Remus and Dumbledore had worked so dilligently to keep him blind to. Binns' lectures had made it even easier... he'd slept through his own history...
"Yes, I said Hermes Potter," the Potions Master snapped. "And yes, he's this Potter's great-great-grandfather and, if I'm not mistaken, Professor Dumbledore's uncle by marriage. Here, I'll put it in phrases you can understand, Mr. Weasley: Potter attacked Diagon Alley. Several hundred witches and wizards fell. He was captured and died two years later, in Azkaban, though I daresay he was thoroughly mad before he got there. His son — present at the attack and certainly involved — later passed on his Dark knowledge to one Gustav Grindelwald. Ulysses Potter fell in 1919, to Dumbledore, then an Auror. Any questions as to why I will be reading of this attack?"
"What happened to my grandfather?" Harry blurted out, before clamping his mouth shut and sinking into his seat. The multitude of eyes returned, and he blushed furiously, utterly embarrassed by his ignorance about his own family.
Snape struggled to his feet, left arm still hanging uselessly. "This isn't a family history lesson, Potter!" he snarled. "We have work to do, we don't have time to waste on your pathetic -"
"Ulysses had two young sons," McGonagall broke in suddenly. "Henry and Edward. Professor Dumbledore raised them. And now we can work."
Snape growled — really growled, the two Slytherins nearest him scooted away — and slammed his fist against the table before dropping moodily into his seat. Harry spared a glance at Ginny, who was staring at him, slack-jawed, before turning to Blaise. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" he whispered.
It wasn't soft enough, though Harry should've realised that, he reflected, since everyone else was dead quiet. "I thought you knew," Professor McGonagall answered, sincerely. "I'd give Albus a talking to... but I'm sure he had a reason. He always did. I'm sure Severus didn't intend to put you in the spotlight like that, Mr. Potter -" Oh, on the contrary, Harry was sure Snape had intended it, but he surpressed the thought and focused on McGonagall's instructions instead. "You aren't your ancestors, nor am I mine. Now then, the teachers and myself will be resetting the wards, as I was saying. As far as the journals are concerned, please take notes on anything that seems important — we need to compile a full list of the topics addressed in each volume before moving on to the wealth of letters and legal documents filed away in his office. This is all very confidential — please do not share the personal information found in your volume unless it's a dire situation. Just note down what is said and turn the results in to me."
She kept talking about the glory of what was to come — the destruction of Voldemort and all such other plans — but Harry shuffled through the journals on his lap and opened 1976, trying to block out a vision of the reflection he saw in the mirror every morning riding into London with a hundred and fifty wizards, and destroying everything in sight.
28 July 1976
I have not been keeping my thoughts as I should... but it grows so hard to frame them. My son Henry is dead, and Julius with him. I went and identified the bodies... Henry looked as though he was only sleeping, though I suppose he's been reunited with Edward now. They should never have been parted so young... Julius bore the Mark, the one Henry warned me about. I cannot bring myself to care. My children are all dead, now, and Henry's son with him. I fear Junior has taken the road with Julius to the Dark, and Jim is a fifth-year now. With Grace gone, they're both alone. Though I wish nothing more than to grieve, little James needs me.
"Harry?" Ginny murmured, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. "We're moving into the Ravenclaw dormitory now... What is it? What have you found?"
"First entry's about my grandfather, and my uncle," Harry said, his voice cracking with emotion. "They died when Dad was a fifth-year. I never knew that."
Ginny winced. "Look, maybe you should ask to trade with -"
"No," Harry snapped. "This is the only chance I'll have to learn these things. They've kept enough from me as it is. I didn't know about Hermes or Ulysses or the April Massacre or Grindelwald, and I didn't know Dumbledore killed my great-grandfather, or that he raised my granddad. There's some reason he kept it all from me, and I'll find out if it's the last thing I do... and I think it's somewhere in these." He slapped the stack of notebooks lightly before sweeping the mass into his arms. "Your brothers will be here soon, and Ron's angry with me again. Please smack him into his senses."
"He's not the only one needing a smack," Ginny griped, but she stomped off anyway, grabbing Luna's arm to take the Ravenclaw girl with her. Harry winced — he'd be hearing about how he'd horribly snubbed her to no end in the coming weeks, but he was too distraught to watch his language, as he cursed under his breath.
"You honestly didn't know about 1899?" Blaise asked from his shoulder. "Lord — sorry about that. I thought everyone knew about the April Massacre... I had family there too, you know. On both sides. But that's what having a Slytherin family means... you never really know where your name will turn up."
Like on a gravestone next to the lake, where Snape did his penance. "Yeah," Harry muttered. "And you never know what'll come back to bite you in the arse. She's going to kill me."
Blaise grinned rather maliciously, reminding Harry exactly which House he'd come from. "Well, can't say you didn't deserve it... c'mon, Potter, dirty secrets about the staff are hidden in these journals, and I'm looking forward to the blackmailing chance of a lifetime..."
Harry gave a snort as he followed Blaise — and the eleven other Slytherins — from the room. What a digusting thing to say. But, then again, it was his own fault for befriending a snake.
18 December 1976
I spoke to Junior the other day. He's working with the Department of Mysteries, he claims — and, of course, I cannot find out if that claim is truth. I fear he's followed Julius' path into Darkness. Julius' entire family was slaughtered — I had only an idea of the extent the Death Eaters would go to, before the little child was found, torn to pieces. I cannot speak of the atrocities they've committed... and I fear greatly for Junior. He looked tired, and worn to pieces.
20 January 1977
My worst fears are realized. Henry, Jr. is dead. Jim is outside the door — I cannot write more, only this: Junior died in the act of passing information to the Unspeakables about Voldemort's plans. He gave his life, but he was not lost...
Harry scribbled away on a stack of parchment, trying to ignore Luna, who was curled up on the end of his bed. She was reading, too — 1984 — and didn't seem to be conscious of the fact her feet were resting on his leg, in a rather uncomfortable area. They were hardly in private, as Blaise, Ron, Justin, and Seth were all sprawled over their temporary beds, with Ginny on the end of Ron's, and taking notes as well, but Harry didn't mind, so long as no one made a point of it. He felt his face flush as a foot shifted. "Er — anything interesting?" he asked shortly, attempting to bring her actions to her attention.
"He's talking about Professor Snape joining the staff," Luna explained. "I'm up to September. I guess it was quite the scandal — just like Professor Lupin. Parents didn't want an accused Death Eater — even if he had been aquitted — teaching their children." To Harry's distress, her feet stayed right where they were.
"He was incredibly anxious about you getting here, Potter," Blaise said, waving 1991 around. "He keeps talking about Jim — is that your dad?"
"I've never heard anyone call him Jim before," Harry admitted. "I don't think he liked it very much."
"He was worried you'd be a Slytherin," Blaise grinned.
Harry forced out a laugh, hoping Luna wouldn't sense his unease... after all, he'd almost been one. "Yeah, me a Slytherin... what a joke... But, anyway, this whole bit's about my family. It's really interesting for me, but I doubt it's of any help to the Cause."
Justin threw his feet over the edge of his bed and sat up, stretching. "Yeah, at least yours is of interest. As far as I can tell, nothing really happened in 1964... or 1965... or 66. Well, I did learn that Dumbledore was a fan of the Beatles. Hey, did you know McCarthy was a Squib?"
Ron snorted. "Of course he was. I thought everyone knew that." He sat up as well, smoothing 1972 down on his lap. "Listen to this, Gin — Argus caught those Gryffindor seventh-years in the Astronomy Tower again: F. Longbottom and M. MacDermitt. If I don't do something with them, we'll end up with another pregnancy on our hands. I thought they all learned after Miss McDougal's unfortunate accident, back in 65.' Eww. Do you think those are Neville's parents?"
"Why don't we keep that bit a secret?" Ginny said, wincing. "I doubt he'd want to read that..." Suddenly she paused, reaching over to snag Ron's wrist in a blind panic. "Wait. Miss McDougal? Ron, that's Mum!"
His mouth dropped open. Very calmly, he set the diary on the Ravenclaw-blue blanket, pulled his wrist from his sister's grasp, and stood up. "Excuse me. I'm going to sick up." He turned and left the room at a dash.
Ginny snorted loudly. "Well, Bill had to be born somehow."
They fell silent again, and Luna finally moved her foot away as he went back to the painful emotions brought forth by every mention of his father. Even Ron's loud cursing from somewhere down the hall wasn't enough to disturb him.
25 January 1977
Jim and Sirius Black are living at Hogwarts permanently, now, as Mr. Black left his ancestral home over a year ago to live with James and Grace. Minerva worries about the arrangement. I do not — Jim and Mr. Black were already like brothers; now they truly are, though I believed my time as a father had long since gone by.
4 March 1977
The Australian girl has turned out to be a real Diviner! I wrote of her not long after her birth, I believe — it was 1957, November. I thought she might've been a fraud, as those born under Scorpio have less of an aura than those under Leo or even Saggitarius, but on a visit to Sydney, a friend took me to see her. She's quite taken with herself, I believe, making all sorts of false statements, but on the moment I entered the room, she went stiff and warned methat a child born at the end of July will be the one to kill Voldemort, and that Voldemort will mark him. I've the full prophecy recorded in several letters, but I believe I've deduced the right of it. Jim thinks I've gone batty, but even his father refused to trust divination. She's the real thing, however weak at it... perhaps I should offer her a job.
"Oh, this is funny — Trelawney was hired because she made a single prophecy that Dumbledore thought might be true," Harry reported, grinning, then stopped belatedly, realizing it was the very prophecy that had caused Sirius' death the year before. He glanced up and met Luna's gaze. She set aside her diary and patted his knee awkwardly.
Blaise nodded quickly. "Of course. Well, I didn't know it was Trelawney who predicted it, but the child's you, Potter. The papers kept quoting it when it was announced you'd be attending Hogwarts, and Uncle Janus said he'd memorized it simply because they'd printed it every day in November 1981. Everyone was making bets over what the mark was, until the Prophet released a picture of that scar of yours."
Harry shrugged, trying not to look too affected by the whole thing. "I didn't know I was a wizard until Hagrid brought me my letter..." He trailed off, trying to focus his thoughts away from the half-giant who lay buried next to his hut.
"Can I look for Binns' death?" Justin asked. "I want to see what Dumbledore had to say about the old coot going off to teach and leaving his body behind! It has to be better than scribbles of Beatles lyrics."
"Sure," Harry said, grabbing 1979 from the middle of the stack and tossing it across to Justin. "Just tell me if you find things about my parents' wedding; it should be in there."
Harry looked down to find 1980 fallen open across his lap, opened to a much-read page, having fallen from the stack. He had years to go... but when he saw the date, he figured he could save the others for later.
30 July 1980
I'm at a loss. The child still lives — but Severus cannot be allowed to raise him. He hasn't yet regained consciousness after the raid on the 27th, but I'm sure his first waking thoughts will be of Bethy. I dread telling him she's passed on... but the son is a danger to us all. If Severus takes him away from Scotland, as he's threatened, the whole of Britain will fall. And Lily is here, in labor — if her child is a girl, as I fear, it all will have gone wrong. I pray the child is a healthy boy, or we are all doomed.
31 July 1980
James, my child, forgive me for what I've done. The prophecy is true — and I am the cause of the deception. It is as I feared — the girl-child never drew breath -
"What's that?" Luna asked, sitting up to take a peek. Though she was glancing at it upside down, Harry had vivd memories of Luna's upside-down Quibblers.
Breath caught in his throat, Harry slammed the book shut. "Nothing. I wasn't even reading this one. Fell open. Shouldn't be reading ahead," he babbled, breathlessly.
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? Are you sure something isn't wrong? Here, let me -"
As she reached for the journal, Harry jumped back, clutching it to his chest reflexively. "It's nothing. Let it alone. McGonagall said we shouldn't share -"
"Well, you're the one who gave one of yours to Justin," Luna said airily, opening 1984 back up. "Honestly, Harry, if you don't want me to read about your birth, I won't — but it can hardly be as traumatising as your expression suggests."
Just how much had she seen, beyond the dates? "I'm hungry," Harry said abruptly. "I'm going down to the kitchens. Can I bring anything back?"
"Could you bring a pudding of some sort?" Seth the fifth-year Slytherin asked from behind his Ravenclaw-blue draperies. "Bread pudding would be nice... all heated up?"
With a grunt of acknowledgement, Harry fled.
~
"I'm afraid to read it, Remus," Harry whispered. Seth was probably waiting for his pudding, but Harry was too shell-shocked to eat.
Pale and silent as death, Remus didn't answer. Harry grabbed his father's friend's hand anyway and sat down on the edge of his bed. "I guess Dumbledore had a reason for keeping everything quiet — but I've learned so much in the last few days that I wish I hadn't. My uncles were Death Eaters. There's a Dark Lord in the family. And then all of this... why would he lie?"
The only sound in the room, once Harry finished speaking, was the even noise of Remus' labored breaths. It was a spell keeping Remus alive, Harry was fairly certain. Without another word, he curled up at Remus' side and opened the journal again. He didn't really need to read further — he knew what it would say — but with Remus at his side, no matter how unresponsive, he thought he could face even the most frightening of facts.
31 July 1980
James, my child, forgive me for what I've done. The prophecy is true — and I am the cause of the deception. It is as I feared — the girl-child never drew breath, and Jim couldn't even be there for the labor. Although this made it all easier. Only the midwife knows that the baby she delivered was a stillborn girl, while the child given to the mother was a healthy boy baby. If James ever finds out... but he won't. When the prophecy is complete, I'll burn these writings. James won't know, Lily won't know, and most importantly, Severus will think his son lies buried with Elizabeth. James and Elizabeth are family, but they would have to forgive me this, if they knew the stakes.
Elizabeth, my daughter, rest in peace, your son is cared for. James, my son, the boy has the features of a Potter. Keep him safe, and he will save us all, even when I know I'm destined to lose you. And if anyone reads this... if I am dead before the work is done, keep the boy safe. Lily would name him Henry, for my Henry, James' father. Keep Henry Potter — or whatever his name becomes — safe from all evils, no matter the harm to yourself. The prophecy says he will save us, and it has not been wrong yet.
Harry forced himself to read the entry again. But then he could read no further. He buried his face in Remus' shoulder — still warm, thank God, still alive — and wept.
A/N: Next time on "The Gift"....
Harry's tenuous hold on hope gave out. Snape didn't know. The horrid revelation lay in the simple, red book on his lap.
~
"Don't you EVER do that again!" she railed, voice reminding Harry of nothing so much as the Howler Ron had received after crashing the Weasleys' Anglia into the Whomping Willow. "We were sure you'd gone off to have a cry somewhere, and You-Know-Who had showed up and killed you!"
~
"Harry, he's your fecking father! He's gone your whole life thinking you're dead and buried! You can't keep something like this a secret!"
~...Coming Soon!