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: Gah. One hundred days until graduation — what a scary thought. And that's all I have to say.

Chapter Three — Dancing Around the Truth

December 22, 1997

"Potter?" Someone shook his shoulder, and he woke, blinking through eyelids dried with tears. It took a long moment for him to realize where he was — in the Infirmary, napping at Remus' side — and another for the knowledge of the past day to come crashing down on him.

He squeezed his eyes closed for a long moment, willing the tears away. Snape — Severus Snape, greasy git and spy extraordinaire — was his father. It was a nightmare come true. Harry drew a long, slow breath before opening his eyes.

The nightmare grew worse. Crouched beside the bed was Snape himself, Dumbledore's 1980 diary cluched in his good hand. "P-professor," Harry stuttered, sitting up as quickly as he could. "I was just — I mean, the diary — I read some things about -" He choked on panic and stopped himself, forcing deep breaths.

What was Snape going to say? The professor's eyes were full of dread... He'd read the entry, hadn't he, and knew the truth: his son was a Gryffindor, and Snape would still hate him, and now Harry couldn't sit and imagine what it would be like to live with Lily and James Potter because they weren't actually his parents... Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to stop hyperventilating, but nothing seemed to help. He didn't think he could take any more rejection. "I'm sorry," he hissed, wondering what Snape — no, his FATHER — would say if he burst into tears and ranted over the unfairness of God and the cosmos. "I'm sorry — I should've — but I didn't know, there wasn't anything I could do -"

"No. I'm the one who should be sorry," Snape muttered.

Harry broke off, looking up in shock. It wasn't too late, then? The golden image of a family was back — even if it was a rather greasier family than Harry had imagined, but with Remus hovering on the cusp of life and death, he needed every image of comfort he could conjure up. "Why are you sorry?" Harry asked softly, cursing the waver in his voice.

With a low sigh, Snape cast the book onto Harry's lap and — with a great deal of difficulty — moved from the floor to a seat on the bed next to Remus'. "I should've told you sooner. I shouldn't have kept information about your family from you. And I shouldn't have blamed you for living. I just... I couldn't..." Snape sighed again, rubbing his face with his usable hand.

Harry's tenuous hold on hope gave out. Snape didn't know. The horrid revelation lay in the simple, red book on his lap. "It wasn't your fault," Harry said awkwardly, hoping he was commenting on the correct situation.

"I'm assuming from your... aggitation that you've read as far as your birth. I'd hoped to catch you first... I was going to marry your father's cousin, Po- Harry. We couldn't while the war was on. She was a Slytherin, but fought visibly for the Light. It would've compromised my position... but then we were careless; she refused to tell anyone that I'd fathered the child she was carrying, so when she went into labour, I wasn't there. I was greviously injured in a raid, and when I woke... she was dead, and my son was dead. And you'd been born... alive." Snape trailed into a whisper, looking down at his lap, his greasy strands of hair obscuring his expression.

"She was a Slytherin?" Harry asked lamely. No wonder the Sorting Hat had wanted him there — BOTH of his parents were Slytherins. The Hat must've been having a difficult day indeed, if it gave in to Harry's wishes for Gryffindor.

Harry could see Snape's glare even through the curtain of hair. His father snorted loudly. "Yes, Potter, your family is notoriously Slytherin. Didn't you understand that from the lecture at dinner?" And then Snape stopped speaking abruptly, rubbing at his face again. "I'm sorry. I need to stop doing that... but no matter how many times I remind myself that you weren't at fault for the deaths of my family, I can't help blaming you — and your father, and your mother — for the fact that you lived. And every time someone says your name, it hurts — and every time they say you're the Boy Who Lived, I'm reminded that my boy died... I'm sorry, Potter, but I can't change it. I just — I just thought you should know." Snape stood abruptly, hurrying toward the exit as quickly as his injuries would allow. But then, moments from the door, he turned back to Harry. "I want to read that diary, when you're through. I have to know what happened to Beth. Will you bring it to me, then... please...?"

The query was so heartfelt that Harry could do nothing but agree. However, as soon as Snape was gone, he realized just what he'd agreed to. In a matter of days, Snape would expect the diary in his hands... he'd find out the truth, and know that Harry had hidden it in this conversation...he'd be forced to resurrect old hatreds... he could never like Harry, he'd said as much, just now...

Snape could never know. No matter the lengths he had to go to... Snape would never know.

As Harry cried, the diary sat on his lap, silver date glinting in the light from outside, as if mocking his discoveries. Remus didn't respond to the fresh onslaught of tears, nor did he respond to the wetness soaking into his shoulder, or the warm body curled up and soon asleep from exhaustion at his side.

~

When he woke again, sun was shining in from the high, arched windows along the back ward of the Infirmary. Harry scooted to a sitting position and glanced around in confusion — he was no longer sleeping at his godfather's side. Someone had come and moved him into the next bed over... The journal was carefully placed on the table beside his bed, and his glasses, which he reached for immediately, had been laid atop the book. Remus' sheets had been changed, too, from white to a soft blue set that Harry hadn't seen before.

The master of the change, Nymphadora Tonks, was slumped in a wicker chair between the bed, snoring softly, with a volume of charms still open where it had fallen on her lap. Remus, of course, hadn't moved. For a panicked moment, Harry couldn't hear the rough sound of his surrogate uncle's breathing — he lauched himself across the aisle and felt for a pulse, but everything was fine. He hadn't passed away during the night.

Tonks' soft snores were gone, however, and Harry felt a pang of guilt at waking the woman — though the bloody gashes were healed, she was injured still and needed all the rest she could get. "Is something wrong?" Tonks demanded.

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, nothing's changed. I just thought I couldn't hear him breathing... but no, I just wasn't listening. He's okay." He smoothed down Remus' mussy black hair. "As okay as he's been, I mean."

He turned to meet Tonks' gaze, as the Auror set a hand on his shoulder. "Harry... late last night, I ended up with two very worried Gryffindors, a Ravenclaw and an annoyed Slytherin on my doorstep. They said you read something in one of Dumbledore's journals and went tearing from the Ravenclaw dorms as though Voldemort himself were on your tail. Well, it wasn't difficult to find you — I would've brought your friends, but Mr. Zabini doesn't know about Remus, of course — but I was wondering what happened..." Tonks trailed off, a compassionate expression on her face.

Rather than blurting out the truth, though Harry wanted help more than anything in the world, he shrugged. "I was just reading a lot about my parents. It was painful." At least that much was true. He supposed he should read the rest of the journals to learn what he could about Snape's dark years, and Elizabeth's parents, and any other bit of information that he could handle.

Tonks nodded sympathetically, oblivious to the real story. "Minerva thought you'd want to read about James and Lily... it's alright if you take it slowly, though. If it were my parents, I don't think I could bring myself to touch them."

Harry nodded solemnly, glad for the change of topic. "All of this is hard, you know? He left us without a lot of help for what we have to do... and I don't think I can beat Voldemort, not now..."

"Well, at least he's bought us some time. It'll be months before he's regained the strength he spent fighting Dumbledore and the followers he lost through murder and the battle. He certainly didn't have as many followers as in his heyday — He's only made attacks on Dumbledore's followers and on you, not on the Ministry itself, yet. He doesn't have the kind of power he used to, I think." Tonks shrugged. "It's a guess, at least. Lord only knows what sorts of plans he has up his sleeves. We have a bit more time, though. We need to find every answer we can."

"What if the answer's not in the things Dumbledore left behind?" Harry sighed and shook his head, trying to put a cap on his bleak views before they brought him into more of a depression.

"They will be," Tonks said firmly. Harry wasn't quite sure how she could be so sure of her answer. It seemed to him that the Dark had a very real chance of triumphing, should Voldemort attack tomorrow. They didn't have a plan. "Now, then," the Auror said, giving a strained smile. "You have some very worried friends waiting for you. I'll stay with Remus, right now."

Harry thanked her before snatching up the hated journal and sneaking past Madame Pomfrey's office into the corridors. It was still early, and still empty, as Harry counted portraits and tried to remember whether the princess or the lady-in-waiting opened the Ravenclaw Common Room — but then he noticed the stack of books in the lady's frame, and a bird flitting across the window.

Two redheads, a blonde, and a mousy brunette awaited him in the Common Room. Ron and Blaise were slumbering happily — and a bit loudly, though it was probably Blaise, since Harry had roomed with Ron for six whole years, and his friend had never snored before. Luna was curled up in a chair, blonde hair golden in the light of the fireplace. Ginny, however, was awake and reading. As the sound of the potrait's hinges creaking filled the room, she set the book aside and stormed across the room, poking a finger against Harry's chest as she reached him. "Outside. NOW," she hissed, and Harry didn't dare to do anything but follow.

"'M sorry," he mumbled as the portrait closed — but Ginny certainly wouldn't let him by with that.

"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!"

"I did not go off to have a cry," Harry broke in, glaring. Well, it was the truth, but his pride couldn't take a blow like that. Men didn't go off to have a cry.

Ginny glared and pinned Harry up against the wall, her hand splayed across his chest to hold him there. "Don't interrupt, Potter. This isn't a joke. I don't care what you found in that damned book; it doesn't give you the right to put yourself in danger! The castle grows more vulnerable until New Years, when the new Headmistress strengthens the charms for the first time! Weren't you listening at dinner?"

No, of course not. He'd been reading the first of the journals... though, when Ginny was in a rampage, he daren't admit to that. "I wasn't alone," he protested, "I went to visit Remus -"

"Oh, and he'll be able to protect you?" Ginny snapped. Harry's shoulders slumped and he winced as her words hit. It was true... Remus couldn't save him. Remus couldn't even respond to his pain. Remus was barely more alive than Sirius.

Seeing his distress, Ginny took a step back, covering her mouth briefly. "Oh, Harry... I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way... I just meant, you shouldn't go wandering around without me or Luna or Ron, or even the Slytherin. Ron's still jealous, but Blaise looked genuinely worried. We were afraid we'd walk out here this morning, and you'd be... just like Malfoy..."

Harry gulped and squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the vivid image of Malfoy's glazed eyes and the pool of blood covering the floor, and the gaping wound slit ear to ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you," Harry whispered. "I just had to get away — I read some things..." Things he didn't intend to tell anyone, not even his friends.

Ginny didn't seem to mind. With a moan of apology, she threw her arms around him. "Harry, don't you ever worry me like that again. Like I said, I don't care what you read in there, it's all ancient history. I don't care what Hermes Potter did, and I don't care that Dumbledore raised your dad, and I certainly don't care what happened in 1980 that's hurt you so, except that it hurt you. I care about YOU, Harry, not your family."

Though she couldn't have known, it was just what he needed to hear. He gave an embarrassed blush and unhooked her arms. "You know, you should be glad Dean's not here over break. He'd have a fit, with you hugging me all the time."

Ginny gave a smirk. "Well, you need them more, and the girl who's wanting to give them to you is too nervous to say a word."

Before Harry could demand more information, Ginny opened the potrait and frog-marched him through.

~

Ron spent the rest of the morning glaring suspiciously at Harry and his sister, even though he and Ginny were back in the Common Room before Ron woke. However, during Ron's rant about irresponsibilty (which he should've been listening to, himself), Ginny had been standing over her brother's shoulder with Luna and making funny faces at Harry, who had to try very hard not to fall out of his seat laughing. The talk had ended with all five of them adjourning to breakfast and returning to the Upperclass Boy's Dorm in the Ravenclaw Tower to continue with their research. Luna managed to end up with her feet in his lap again, and only that — and Ron's demanding glares — kept him from losing his composure in the face of everything the books revealed.

17 February, 1978

I believe a whole group of the Slytherin youths to have joined Riddle. Igor Karkaroff is their leader, though Severus Snape and Iscariot Lestrange are probably the brains of the outfit. I cannot help but wonder if there was something I could do to stop it... They've not been branded with Riddle's Mark — I'd be able to feel it — but the whole lot disappeared from the school for several hours last night. A Muggleborn in Hogsmeade was murdered. There's no evidence to turn them in... and dear little Elizabeth is still mooning after Wilkes. Or was it Rosier this week? I don't know how to separate her from them all, but she must not follow the path of Julius and Junior. I'll speak with her mother... but she's a fifth-year, now, nearly a sixth-year. She'll make her own decisions, I'm afraid.

22 May, 1978

Jim has announced his engagement to charming little Lily Evans, the Head Girl! They're to be married as soon as the term ends — Henry and Grace would be so proud of the both of them. Jim's friend Sirius will be the best man, I believe, and Remus Lupin will stand on Jim's side — Lily's been so gracious as to ask Elizabeth to stand with her, as she's Jim's only blood relative left alive. And I've been asked to preside over the occasion. What joy!

Joy tarnished only by another rash of attacks. The Slytherins I worried about are indeed on Riddle's side — and it's not Rosier or Wilkes I should be afraid of, where Bethy is concerned. Her attentions are firmly attatched to the Snape boy. When he leaves Hogwarts this year, I do hope she'll forget her fixation.

And then Harry read about the wedding, and a rash of attacks involving chemical explosives and other things a Potions Master like Snape would know plenty about. By the time he finished 1978, he had plenty to think about... though an answer to the question of Voldemort's destruction wasn't forthcoming. "Justin, have you been keeping notes on 1979?" Harry asked hesitantly. 1979 would've included a lot of things... like his father's conversion to the Light, and the information that his mother was pregnant, and... and the father of the baby... Harry froze, waiting for Justin's answer.

He didn't see Justin's response, but the cold undertone in the Hufflepuff's voice was enough. "Harry, can we go talk somewhere? There's some things about... about your family in here..."

Harry looked up, scanning those present. Ron and Ginny looked confused, Blaise rather unsurprised, Luna was barely paying attention, and Seth was asleep and snoring. They were all trustworthy, he hoped, because with much more information, they'd all make the connection. "I know what it is, Justin," Harry mumbled. "Er... the whole lot of you should probably hear it. It's sort of what freaked me out yesterday." Well, the sort of' was the truth; he'd get by with avoiding the full truth again. "You see, Snape and my dad's cousin were... involved. I didn't know that until one of the other diaries flipped open, and I read the page — her name was Beth, and she ended up pregnant, and she died just a few days before I was born. So did the baby. So, Snape knows that I know, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him that YOU know, because he'd probably be pretty angry with me for letting it out."

Ron, Ginny, and Blaise had identical gaping expressions on their faces, but Justin's eyes had narrowed a bit. "That's not all Dumbledore said in here. He said he'd done a divining, and you were going to be a girl — and he brought up that prophecy you and Blaise were talking about. And he also said your parents went in for an ultrasound — at least, I think that's what he meant. He couldn't remember the name... but it said you were a girl, too. And with the prophecy, he did the sums and figured you were going to die, and Snape's son was going to live."

"Well, you know how imprecise Divination is," Harry mumbled, trying not to choke. "Guess I'm glad he was wrong... you'd be talking to Henrietta Potter, then, wouldn't you?"

There was a long pause before Blaise burst out laughing, quickly followed by Ron's familiar chuckle and Ginny's giggles. Luna, however, had the same measured expression as Justin on her face. He gave her a strained smile before reaching for the 1980 book and rolling to keep her from reading. He was doomed.

19 June, 1980

Another school year is soon to end, but I'm afraid my Potions Mistress' assistant had to sneak out earlier than expected. The action has begun, though I shan't write about it in any detail in a document that may be discovered. Suffice to say, I could be committed to Azkaban for what I've forced him into. It's all our lives in the balance. Bethy's due date isn't for another month and a half, but I'm greatly afraid he won't return before then. I'll have to rely on third-hand reports for news.

Lily and Jim went in for another uttersound thing, but it's confirmed what I feared. Their first child is a girl, according to the pictures it took. She appears healthy, but I can sense the struggle she experiences to survive. She won't overcome. And the prophecy tells of the boy who will live to destroy Riddle. I've done the figures again, as my Arithmancy was never the best, but it resulted in the same numbers. I fear I will lose both of Henry's grandchildren.

Blaise was hanging over his shoulder as he read in an alcove of the Ravenclaw Common Room, late in the afternoon. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked, shaking Harry's shoulder. "I'm a master of deception — I can tell when its being used on me."

"Master of deception?" Harry snorted. "Not likely. You're cunning and sneaky, like you should be, but I'd hardly call you a master."

"Eh, can't counter that," Blaise shrugged, swinging around to take a seat across from Harry. "Now, then, stop changing the subject. You were panicking this morning. What's up? It can't be Snape's affair with your cousin."

"Ohhh, it is," Harry said truthfully, closing the book on his lap. "I don't know if you'd understand, though. Even I don't understand most of it. There are two bodies buried down by the lake of people I'm related to, but not in the way I thought. And after reading all of this, I can't look at Lily and James Potter the same, anymore... or Dumbledore. He was the master of deception, Blaise, you wouldn't believe the things he did -"

Blaise snatched the book from Harry's hand and dropped it on his lap, blind to the well-read page it fell open on. "Try me."

Harry froze as 31 July 1980' caught his eye . "Give me the book, Blaise."

"Honestly, Harry, they're just words! They can't hurt you!" Blaise picked up the journal and waved it around before pulling it to his eyes. "Alright, then, listen and trust me... let's see, Elizabeth, my daughter, rest in peace, your son is cared for. James, my son, the boy has the features... of a Potter...'" Blaise's jaw dropped and his eyes scanned the rest of the entry. Harry grabbed for the book, but it was too late. The damage was done. "Oh my God... Potter, you're... you're not a Potter, you're a -"

Harry slammed his hand over Blaise's mouth. "Please, don't say it," he sobbed. "I don't want to hear it! Nobody's supposed to know! I wasn't supposed to know!"

Blaise tore Harry's hand away, keeping his fingers wrapped around the other boy's wrist. "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!"

"Well, I'm going to!" Harry snapped. "I'll Memory Charm you if I have to, but it won't get out! He hates me — he's shown me a dozen times; he even told me he blames me for living, and it hurts him every time he hears my name! When I leave this term, he won't even have to think about me again, and he'll be fine -"

"And he'll still mourn for a dead son, when he has a living one!" Blaise shook Harry violently, as though trying to knock sense into him. All he managed to do was knock the Gryffindor's head into the wall.

Harry fumbled for his wand with his off-hand. "So help me, Blaise, I'll Obliviate you, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm doing!"

"I'll keep your secret if you want, Potter," he spat. "God — I thought you wanted a family, but here you are throwing your second chance away, just for spite! I'd see Malfoy doing this, not you — he was talented and he had some morals, but he was still a sod in the end. I thought you had more of a grasp on right and wrong, though. Fuck, Potter, you were definitely Sorted wrong — you belong in Slytherin twice as much as I do. At least I have a conscience." Blaise shoved him back against the wall again and turned to stalk off.

He rubbed at his head, trying to get his eyes to stop tearing up and his hands to stop shaking. He had a conscience, all right — and right now, it was pleading for him to turn the diary over to Snape and accept whatever happened. But fear of the unknown kept him from giving in. Life certainly wasn't fulfilling, but at least he was living and had friends at his back. If Snape got involved, however... However, Blaise had given his word on the matter; he'd said he wouldn't tell Snape.

But could he trust a Slytherin?

A/N: And next time...

"Percy?" Harry demanded, snatching his glasses off to rub at his tired eyes. But no, his first glance had been right: Percy Weasley, former Head Boy of Hogwarts, former lackey of Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, had a ponytail and very trendy looking glasses, and was wearing a very tight pair of trousers.

~

Harry's gaze flickered to the blood-stained floor. "Tell me everything. Tell me why he died."

~

...Coming Soon!