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: Meeep. Apologies for the lateness — I was out of town on Saturday and nearly was blown up, then work-filled on Sunday, and then Twisting the Hellmouth went down... I'll update on Saturday like normal, however. Here's the chapter many have been asking for...

Chapter Five — Slytherins Lurking

Snape didn't appear for the rest of the meal, as well. "Must not like curry," Ginny had suggested.

"Yeah, he's had to put so many wonky things in potions that he can't tell what's what anymore," Ron grinned, trying to raise a laugh among the students. It didn't work, and only caused McGonagall to frown down the table at him disapprovingly.

"Hey, Pip, could you pass the nan?" Harry asked. It was a long moment before the Hufflepuff girl — a fifth-year, actually named Phillippa — shook herself aware enough to scoot the plate down the table. She, like most of the other female students, was staring dreamy-eyed at the combination of Bill and Percy Weasley. Harry wouldn't have believed it, two years earlier — but really, the absurdly tight pants were probably drool-worthy for the girls, cut off from most of what was happening outside. Harry, of course, thought they looked like prats.

When Ginny was safely chatting with Ron, Blaise leaned over to Harry. "Are you going to track him down after supper?"

He shook his head lightly. "Not tonight. I'm finishing the journals first. You know — I want to see if anything else has been kept quiet before giving it all up. I'm going to read... that night first. Get it over with. Never have to look at it again."

"You won't want to be doing that with a lot of people around, I suppose. Want me to scare everyone out of the room?" the Slytherin offered. "Hold up a sec." He turned and glared at the first-year sitting by his side. "Marin, do you REALLY want to listen in on my conversations? Cause I know you think you're being sneaky, but the giggles and ankles dug in my shin really aren't helping your cause."

"I'm not!" the little brunette protested, but she scooted her chair away from Blaise's to sulk. At least the Slytherin first-years, unlike the Gryffindors, tended to listen to their upperclass Housemembers.

Blaise gave a snort and turned back to Harry. "Little bit's been trying that for ages. But listen, mate, I'll do it if you need the space."

Harry grinned. "No, actually... I'd like someone else there. Maybe not Gin or Ron — he'll act like a prat if I lose my composure — but I don't want to be alone." The smile faded quickly and he lowered his voice even more. "Even though they're not — you know, my parents — they still died for me. They loved me as a son because to them, I was. I'm afraid to read what he'll say about them."

"I'll be there," Blaise promised.

~

And he was as true as his word. When they all headed back to the Ravenclaw Tower — they only a day or so remaining there — Harry headed directly for the dormitory. Within a few minutes, Blaise appeared alone. "It's done. They won't come up here until I tell them it's clear." He launched himself onto his bed and pulled out one of his journal volumes.

"What did you tell them?" Harry asked. "Usually, Ginny ignores helpful suggestions."

Blaise grinned. "Oh, just told them all we were planning on shagging each other senseless." When Harry started spluttering in indignation, Blaise burst into laughter, waving his hand. "I'm kidding, Potter! Kidding! I told them you were going to read about your parents' death, and I was going to sit out and keep watch. They're bright enough to understand you needed some quiet time for that..."

"Well, thanks..." Harry gave a rueful grin. "I needed that. I think I'll be needing a lot of humor before the night's over... so what are you reading?"

"Ahh, good old 1994... Just so you know, Potter, he really didn't have a clue about the whole Triwizard thing. He was horrified that your name was drawn. It's the only reference since your volumes about your father being your father. If there were a way to break a wizarding contract, I would release Harry from what has happened... all we've worked for may end in vain, should he die. And I can't help but wonder — if Severus had raised his boy, how would he have turned out? Dangerous thoughts; I best not write them here.' Wicked, huh? He thought you were way important." Blaise stretched exaggeratedly and puffed up his pillows. "I'll read now... let me know if you need something."

Harry smiled weakly and grabbed 1981 from the floor. He paged through... there was no entry on Halloween itself, but the next day was certainly full.

1 November, 1981

The prophecy is completed, the boy is marked. My dear little Jim is dead... and his wife is gone with him, her sacrifice, I believe, the one to ultimately allow little Harry to live. Riddle cursed him, and the Killing Curse bounced right off... and rebounded onto the Dark Lord. Riddle, I am glad to say, is banished — banished, not dead, since Severus retains the Mark (which he showed me only an hour ago) and the dear little boy carries a scar from his ordeal. I'll deposit him at Lily's relatives home this eve... but right now, the last Potter descendant is sleeping on my lap. I was so fortunate for him to be born looking so like his mother, and so little like his father...

The ruse must be kept, making the Muggles the best guardians for him. We will need him to destroy Riddle in the end, I believe. He has a darker side, I can feel it even as he lies asleep... I fear Riddle's touch has fouled the boy. Though magically no safer with the Muggles than with any wizard on the street, everyone knows of the power of blood ties, and no one would dare attack him there for it. That which protected him in the end was blood magic... his mother died to give him life at birth, his uncle, of sorts, died to protect him, and Lily — who truly believed herself to be his mother, and thus tied herself to him magically — gave the last bit of love needed. That is the difference between Harry and the McKinnon children, I believe. Though their mother gave her life, she was one person, while three were Harry's protectors.

To truly destroy Riddle, it may take a second, more powerful instance of the rebounded Death Curse. With Harry as an adult... the sacrifice of his father and myself, I who am related now by my loyalty to my dear, departed Henry and Edward, may be just enough to swing the tide... if another few can be enlisted, nothing can harm him, and Riddle himself will fall.

The entry went on for a few pages, raging over Sirius' percieved betrayal, but Harry didn't even catch the rest of it. Breathlessly, he snatched a sheet of parchment from his bedside table and copied down the third paragraph of the entry, changing only a few words. He doubted Snape would ever give his life for Harry... but Dumbledore already had. The protection was now there. How many more sacrifices would be needed?

"What is it?" Blaise asked, looking up from his journal in curiousity. "Is it about your father?"

"It's a theory," Harry half-explained. "I'm going to McGonagall. I'll be back." He didn't wait for Blaise's response and, instead, tore down the stairs and through the crowded Common Room as fast as he could sprint. Ginny's shout of alarm couldn't stop him, nor could the foreboding corridors of the darkened school.

What did stop him, however, was tall, snarky, and robed in black, and headed around a corner in a self-consumed daze. It felt like a bad comedy film as Harry rounded the corner, slammed face-first into a black mass, and went sprawling across the floor. The first thing he set eyes on were a familiar pair of scuffed black boots, which Harry had stared at in countless potions classes as he avoided looking at the owner's eyes. "Oh! Professor Snape — I'm sorry, I didn't mean to — I was hurrying to find Professor McGonagall, it's an emergency -"

Snape pulled himself to his feet and dusted his robes off with his good hand; his crippled arm seemed to permanently hang in a black sling, but his limp seemed almost gone. "A seventeen-year-old should have the forethought to watch where he walks. Especially you. Anything could be waiting around a corner for you."

Harry flushed and grabbed up his slip of parchment, which had fallen to the floor with him. He brushed off his knees and started to get to his feet when he caught sight of two thin books lying where Snape had fallen. He grabbed them up. "Here, Professor, you dropped these -" he began, holding out the volumes, but he broke off abruptly as the torchlight of the corridor glinted off of a gold 1980' inscribed in the cover of the top book. A wave of dread swept over him. "Wh-where did you find these?" he croaked, trying to keep his hand from visibly shaking in fear.

"Black's bedside. I went for a potion. For my leg. Poppy told me I should take it daily... it's helped..." Snape muttered. He almost seemed to be babbling, as he trailed off.

He couldn't bring himself to meet his father's eyes. "H-have you r-read it?" he stuttered, focusing on the shining numbers. Harry snatched the books to his chest, in the off chance he hadn't. He could always claim he wasn't finished with the journal... but he was, and he'd decided he was going to tell Snape; it was just that now, with the chance hanging before him, it was so much harder than in theory.

There was a long uncomfortable pause. Harry refused to move and show the professor how nervous it was making him, and he was still too terrified to see Snape's expression. He could feel the Potions Master's eyes on him, however. It seemed an eternity before his father responded, and it was in a low tone; impossible to tell the emotion behind its monotone. "Why didn't you tell me before? Did you know?"

It was all Harry could do to keep from bursting into childish tears, and what an impression that would make. "N-not until I read the journal. I didn't know — I didn't know my- that James had a cousin, even. I finally got Tonks to tell me about James' family, but I never thought... wh-why would he do something like that? Wasn't he supposed to be the L-light Side? Noble, and honest, and -"

"Why didn't you tell me when you read it?" the other man asked, cutting off Harry mid-babble, his voice still utterly monotone.

Harry took a deep breath, pondering just what to say. All he could find was the truth... no matter how immature and unlike a Gryffindor it sounded. "I was afraid," he whispered. "I was afraid that you wouldn't... that you'd still hate..." He trailed off with a shrug, unable to finish the sentence without losing what was left of his composure. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself look up at the professor.

As the silence stretched on, he couldn't stop a tear. Before he could dart a sleeve up to wipe it away, a callused hand settled itself on his cheek, thumb brushing away the tear for him. And Harry lost his composure entirely. He couldn't look at Snape — not now, in the middle of his shame — but he made sure the tears were silent, as only eleven years straight of living in the cupboard under the stairs, hounded by abusive relatives, could teach him. "I don't know why he did it," the professor's voice came, somehow gentler yet somehow steelier than before, "but if he wasn't dead, I'd kill him for it. I've been mourning needlessly for seventeen years." His voice broke over the last words.

With that, Harry finally drew the courage to sneak a glance at his father. What he saw shocked him: the rims of Snape's eyes were red. As if he'd only been waiting to meet his son's eyes for action, he lightly took hold of the young man's chin and met his gaze. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. I could never hate you for what happened. I can hate Albus, and I DO hate Albus for it, and it was alright to be scared because I've never been anything but awful, but it wasn't your fault."

Harry sniffed loudly, trying not to let snot dribble down his nose and make the scene any worse, when he found himself soundly enclosed in a one-armed hug. It was one of few he'd been given in seventeen years of life, and though he was sure James and Lily Potter had hugged him before their deaths, he'd never once been hugged by a parent. So it was, with more than a little shock involved, that he finally hugged back.

He had no sense of how much time had passed before his father pulled back and dug a handkerchief from a pocket, which Harry gratefully took. "Have you told anyone else?"

"I didn't tell him, but Blaise knows. He snagged the journal and started reading it. I think Justin and Luna suspect something's wrong, but Ron's too daft to -" He broke off with a hiccup, and blushed.

Snape gave a half smile — not a smirk, but a true, if somewhat strained, smile that probably hadn't been worn for years. "Let's find you something to eat. I've some tea and biscuits in my office, I think. I doubt you'll want to go back to your room like that."

Harry nodded and hiccuped again, letting Snape lead him with a tentative hand to his shoulder. The silence between them seemed a little uncomfortable, as Harry searched for something profound to say. What he came up with and blurted out before he could stop himself, seemed anything but. "Wh-why am I a Gryffindor?" He hiccuped, cutting himself off and blushing furiously at the stupidity of his question.

Snape gave a snort. "From your expression, I doubt I'll need to give that an answer. But I will anyway. Yes, children often end up in the same House as their parents... but it's a question of nurture, not nature. Those Muggles you lived with; as they were Evans' family, I'm quite sure they gave you better care than an ex-Death Eater would've managed -"

"No, not at all," Harry broke in, as sincerely as he could manage when he was still being interrupted every few moments by a hiccup. "I mean, I understand that people thought that, but it wasn't true. The Dursleys were terrible — I hated them, they made me sleep in the cupboard with the spiders, and after Hagrid told me I was a wizard, they put bars on my window to keep me from getting back for my second year of school, and Dudley's the size of a small whale so they put him on a diet of just grapefruit and I had to eat it too, only they gave me smaller pieces so he wouldn't be angry -" Harry cut himself off, with that. "'M sorry, I'm babbling," he whispered.

The hand on his shoulder had tightened with each reported abuse. "If he wasn't dead, I'd kill him," Snape muttered under his breath. "I'd kill him. July 29!" he barked.

Harry looked up in confusion, only to note the door to Snape's office swinging open. "The password — it's the day my mother -"

"Yes," he said shortly, ushering Harry inside. "And the day you were born. And the day I thought you died." Snape seemed to choke on the words, and his fingers found the back of Harry's head, brushing through his hair as if to reassure himself that Harry really did exist. "I never wanted to forget," he said in explanation.

Harry sat down on the seat Snape led him to and stayed silent, except for a stray hiccup, as a large pot of tea was conjured up and a package of chocolate digestives — the kind in the can, Harry's favourite — found its way out of a desk drawer. "What happens now?" he blurted out.

"I don't know," Snape responded. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to piss on his grave, at the moment." There was a beat as he poured the tea. "D-do you want to tell anyone?"

The stutter and the shaking of Snape's hand as he passed cup and saucer to Harry were plenty to alert him to how important Snape found the question. "Well, Blaise knows," he said lamely, knowing it wasn't a true answer. Snape wouldn't meet his gaze. Harry gulped. "W-well, we should p-probably tell Professor McGonagall first. I mean, if anyone should know... if that's what you want..." Harry stuttered, trying desperately to gauge his father's mood.

"I was coming to find you, tonight," Snape confessed. Harry was sure the seeming nonsequitar would lead somewhere, so he remained silent. "I read the journal over dinner, and it took me a long time to decide whether or not you'd want to acknowledge me. After all, I'm hardly parenting material. I was scared to death when Bethy told me she was pregnant; I was scared to death every moment I stood in front of Voldemort, because I knew what would happen to Bethy if he found out, but the moment I woke on the 30th of July and Albus told me I'd lost both of you... I spent seventeen years mourning, and I won't rob myself of the chance, however slim, that you'd actually want me for a relative, let alone your father. If-if you don't want to tell anyone, I'll — I'll pretend I never read it. If that's what you want." Snape's hand was shaking so violently that tea was spilling over the edge of his cup, held tightly in his grasp.

What else could Harry do? He set his own cup aside and reached across the table to pry his father's fingers from the cup, and set it aside, dabbing the scalding liquid from his father's callused fingers with his sleeve. "I want to tell McGonagall," Harry said softly. He heard Snape's sob of relief. "I don't know when the time will be right to tell Ginny and Ron. I don't know how they'll react. B-but I know Blaise is happy, and- and that's something, right?"

Snape grasped Harry's hands tightly. "If she really cares about you, she'll care no matter who your family is. And if he can't accept who you are, then he's worthless as a friend."

Harry forced a bitter laugh. "It's easy to say that, isn't it? Not so easy to believe it."

"No matter how hard it is, it's an important thing to remember," Snape replied. He moved his hand to hold Harry's cheek again, the gesture of more comfort than Harry could've imagined. "Now, then... didn't you say in the hall that you were on your way to see McGonagall in any case?"

He jerked upright in shock. "Oh! I shouldn't have forgotten! In Dumbledore's journal — in 1981, he wrote that maybe it was the combined sacrifice of — of my mother, James, and Lily that saved me. That three sacrifices were more powerful than one. And he thought that maybe, if the circumstances of Halloween 1981 could be duplicated with enough sacrifices made, the curse could bounce off two or three times more powerfully and destroy Voldemort completely..." He paused, considering what he'd just said. Harry gave a sigh, shaking his head. "It's not any more of a plan than we had before. I'm so stupid, I should've realized what the whole deal entailed, and even though Dumbledore already sacrificed himself to protect me, it doesn't mean anyone else -"

"Harry," Snape said firmly, cutting him off, "even that theory could help us, in the end. Now let's go to Professor McGonagall. Bring the 1980 journal, I think it would be easier for her to just read it."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, still trying to deal with the thought of anyone else being forced to give their lives for Harry to live one more time. Snape set aside his tea and rounded the table, tugging Harry to his feet. He followed blindly, letting the hand on his shoulder guide him. It wasn't a dream — and the moment McGonagall knew the truth, it would be firmly reality. Even the concept of it all was hard to grasp.

Snape was his father. Professor Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, was his dad. And Severus Snape, Slytherin and former enemy, had loved his mother very much and had deeply mourned for seventeen years the life of his son. He had a dad, and his dad cared. Somehow, even if it was Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater and Slytherin, that meant the world.

A/N: There. Snape and Harry, family, aww. But if you think this is the end, you obviously aren't familiar with the rest of my work.... Angst ahead!