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: Mmph. Have realized, from review, that Professor Lupin brought in the Christmas Tree. There's an excellent reason for that: this story was mostly completed in April 2003. Sirius was the one in the coma, and most of Tonks' part was played by Lupin. But with OotP out... I had to rewrite entirely (thus the late publishing. I'd been promising this fic for October at the latest). It seems I missed a change or two, and I apologize! I'll be back to fix those when I've the chance. As it is, I'm graduating college, and am rather busy. Despite errors, enjoy anyway!

Oh, and there's a nod to one of my favourite books in here. If you guess it, I'll... do something nice. I don't know. Perhaps I'll send an unfinished draft to you, if you wish.

Chapter Eight — Dark Finds

December 27, 1997

He hadn't expected the research to easy — but he also hadn't expected it to take up every moment of Christmas and Boxing Day. Harry turned in his diaries — minus 1980 — and notes to Professor McGonagall and, along with Snape and Zabini, retired to the Restricted Section of the library with two crates of necklaces, brooches, marble bowls and glass trinkets, and dozens of other baubles. Identifying each piece took hours of cross-referencing, and that was if one was lucky enough to correctly distinguish each object from dozens of similar shapes. Ginny pitied him working with the two Slytherins, but Snape and Blaise seemed to be in their element — they really should've been Ravenclaws, Harry mused, as he watched the two bent over tomes larger than even Hermione's summer reading list.

"Wicked!" Blaise pronounced just after noon on Boxing Day, peering intently at a shiny gold ring in his hand. "This ring is either a soul-corrupting Invisibility talisman or a 17th century wedding band charmed to brand a cheating husband by shrinking on his finger until it cuts off the circulation and his finger falls off! Isn't that bloody brilliant!?"

"Yeah... wicked..." Harry muttered, trying to keep himself from being sick. He'd changed his mind — they were Slytherin. All Slytherin, every cell in their bodies.

"While fascinating — I'd be interested to see which of the two it actually is — neither will help us, in this case, Mr. Zabini," Snape said, without lifting his gaze from the book in front of him. A fairly large ring was sitting in the palm of his hand, sporting a very large seal of some sort carved into red stone. "This may be of more use. It appears to be the... the crest of Arnor. The ring will deliver a highly poisonous substance into the bloodstream when the crest is laid against the skin, preferably at the throat, of an enemy. As the poison, a derivative of arsenic, travels through the blood, the victim will -"

Harry coughed lightly, attempting to draw Snape and Zabini from their captivation with gruesome details. "Er — Father, while that's... very interesting, I doubt I'll be getting close enough to Voldemort for it to be of any use."

Snape gave a sigh and nodded. "Quite right. A pity." He scribbled out the name of the object on a scrap of parchment and tied it to the ring with a flick of his wand. And, as it was of no use, he carelessly tossed it over his shoulder into their labeled' crate. Harry winced, hoping the ring wouldn't shatter anything and send Dark particles of something or other scattering across the room to turn them into Blast-Ended Skrewts — or something worse.

"You're looking a little green there, Willy," Blaise grinned. Harry, finally at his breaking point, let his forehead smack against the table, upsetting the blue and yellow glass he was working on. Yes, Blaise had found a new way to taunt Harry — saying anything embarrassing in front of his father was enough for a blush, but the nickname Willy' brought so many connotations, that he really didn't want to think about it. And, unfortunately, Snape found the nickname amusing.

"Do be careful," his father cut in. "I recall reading about a chalice that, when filled with a liquid, would transmography that liquid to a corrosive acid. Such an artefact would be incredibly useful. Voldemort certainly wouldn't be expecting acid," Snape continued, almost smiling. "Oh, I do hope it is. I'd like to be there for that. If I remember correctly, tossing the acid onto him would slowly burn away his skin, though with the enchantments protecting him, there could be some very interesting -"

"Father," Harry snapped, "if you'd like me to sick up into the cup to test that theory out, please, continue with that line of thought!"

Blaise snickered while Snape tsked loudly. "Your mother really would be surprised at what a prude we created. Honestly, I would expect you to have a stronger constitution than this. You've been spending too much time with that Weasley boy. He seems to have taken more after his brother Percy than Fred and George — which, from my end, is quite fortunate, but you've certainly been cut off from useful pursuits. And Granger, I'm sure she's no help either."

Harry smacked his head against the table again. Blaise continued to snicker.

Snape patted his shoulder before rummaging around in the crate for a new artefact. "We have here artefact number... seventy-nine. Harry, take notes."

"Yes, Father," he muttered, grabbing up their master parchment and his quill. "Artefact seventy-nine. Physical qualities?"

"Silver brooch with blue stone, appearing to be lapis lazuli. The pin and lock appear to be a great deal more complicated than the generic piece of jewelery. I suspect it to be some sort of trigger mechanism. And... yes, the stone is not original. It has been welded on fairly recently. The mounting is silver, as I mentioned, and around the edge of the stone I can make out words — I believe on the original piece, they framed a smaller stone. Er... Soul in flight, into the night,' I believe. Or it could be light'. Blaise, where's the book on brooches?" Snape set the brooch aside to free his hand for the book.

"Here, Professor," Blaise answered, passing it over. He finished labelling his little gold ring and tossed it to join the others, taking out another piece of his own. "Harry, this is number eighty. It's a shallow white vessel, probably marble, painted with an oriental scene in blues and oranges along the outer rim. At the center inside of the bowl is a painted bird... a crane, I think."

Harry nodded. "Right, right. Let me finish looking up mine, here?" he asked. He was pathetic at research, it seemed. The little cup in his hand — it was little bigger than a shot glass — had been puzzling him for hours. It was decorated with a pretty gold design, almost Indian looking, but he couldn't quite pinpoint anything about it in any of the books. He gave a loud sigh and stared at it. "That's it. I give up on this one. Could it be something we don't have in the book, Father?"

Snape glanced up. "I was wondering when you'd ask," he remarked snidely. "It's a shot glass. Lucius purchased it in Diagon Alley the summer before your first term. I have a matching one, in green and yellow, in one of my cupboards."

Trying desperately to keep his temper, Harry slammed the glass onto the table in front of his father. "There. You've a set. Happy?" He slammed his head on the table. "I hate you both."

"There, there. You'll learn." He could almost sense the smirk on Snape's face. And then, suddenly, his tone of voice shifted. "Harry — this might be it."

"It won't rip out his innards, right? Shred his intestine so he vomits them up on the carpet? Or plucks his eyes out? Or turns his lungs into sludge?" Harry demanded desperately, clinging to the edge of the table and, very hesitantly, peeking up.

His father turned up his nose. "That's disgusting, boy. Keep a civil tongue. I was right about the locking mechanism — this was originally a brooch created by King George III's private wizard advisor to serve in case of an assassination attempt. It functions as a normal clasp until the pin is twisted and snapped down into place — see, it sticks out like a stiletto? When the correct incantation is said, and followed by stabbing the pin into the opponent, the opponent's soul is tied to the stone, along the same lines the Dementor's Kiss works. Should the stone be destroyed — poof. So is the opponent." Snape smiled.

Blaise was equally excited. "Perfect! Oooh, can I be there when it happens? I want to watch the bastard go up in smoke for what he did!"

Harry held out his hand for the artefact, which his father dropped onto his palm gently. "Yes... perfect. If Voldemort is still human enough to have a soul."

"He may not be," Snape replied. "However, that isn't our only problem. You see, the incantation... It's Dark, Harry. Blackest of the black. I don't know if you could make it work without blackening your own soul in the process." His gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, to his useless left arm, on which the Dark Mark was still burned, though hidden under his sleeve. Blaise probably hadn't seen the covert glance, but Harry had — and he remembered what his father had said.

Dark magic always left a mark. The scar on Harry's forehead gave proof to that. But could Harry cast a spell that Dark — and would he be able to deal with the consequences? His eyes were locked on the seemingly innocent object. And they had no way of knowing whether or not it would work... he could easily cast the spell and take the repercussions, only to learn that Voldemort hadn't enough soul to be destroyed at all.

He pocketed the stone. "Let's keep working. We don't have much time." He reached for the next piece.

~

It was nearly dawn when the first box of Dark Artefacts was emptied. Sometime after dinner, the house-elves provided hot chocolate and tea for the researchers. Sometime after midnight, Blaise dozed off, slumped across the texts. And sometime after two in the morning, Harry's father had nipped off for a snack and returned with a rather large bottle of whisky, which he'd been kind enough to share with his son. Research had trailed off, after that. "This is the last of it," Snape murmured, setting a sheathed dagger on the table. The hilt of the piece was carved of ivory into two coiled serpents and tied neatly with a decorative green cord — a dagger any Slytherin would be proud to carry. "I saved this one for last."

"Mmph," Harry stated, peering at the dagger bleerily. "Are you sure I should've had that whisky?"

"You're a Snape," his father countered, "you can handle a bit of alcohol. Now listen. This dagger is enchanted to freeze a person in place when one has been stabbed. It was one of Lucius' prized posessions." He unsheathed it artfully, letting Harry marvel at his father's mastery of the weapon. "Drawing blood is enough to begin the magic, and it's almost instantaneous. I think this is the most important weapon at our disposal, William. The blade is longer than the stiletto pin of the soulcatcher, and more effective than lobbing that damned crystal ball around. I think this is it."

"I can't carry it to class. It'd look funny."

He slid the dagger into its sheath and rounded the table, perching on the edge next to Harry's research. "No one's going to stop you. Minerva knows the danger you're in, and I'm certainly not going to demand you hand it over." Snape settled the dagger in front of his son and ruffled the boy's hair. "Keep it on you."

Harry slid the dagger partway out to have a look at it before packing it away into his backpack. "I'll find my belt to keep it on tomorrow... so... what are we going to do about class? I mean, it's going to be weird having you for a professor, and knowing who you are. Different."

"I'll have to pretend, if only to protect you." He cupped Harry's chin in his hand and turned the boy's face up, examining his features closely. "Your mum had green eyes, you know," Snape was saying. "But they weren't green like yours. They were a hazely green... soft and lovely... and her hair was curly. She hated her hair, but I loved it. I wish you'd got her hair... I guess you didn't really get mine, though, it's not all greasy..."

"Snapes can hold their liquor? I'd say you're pissed, Father," Harry muttered. "Not that I'm not. You're going all mushy on me. This is weird."

His father gave a snort. "William Augustus Snape, I'm not drunk, nor have I been in years."

"My middle name is SO not Augustus," Harry growled back.

"It's a family name, and you'll be proud to bear it! At least you're not William Septimus!" Snape released his son's chin and scooted back on the table a little, settling in for an explanation. "I've just been wondering why you look so little like your mother and I. You really do have more James Potter and Lily Evans in you than you should. While you've been released from the curse of the greasy hair, you don't look like you're mine. However... do you know what Albus taught before he became the headmaster here?"

"Transfiguration, right?" Harry wasn't going to explain how he came upon the fact — it had been part of the incident with Tom Riddle's diary in his second year, and his father didn't know the half of that yet. Come to think of it, his father didn't know about the polyjuice potion, either... or the stolen ingredients... or anything about his life. They had a lot of catching up to do.

"Yes, transfiguration," he was saying. "And, in fact, he was an expert in the field of glamoury. I think Albus tweeked a few minor things to insure no one would find the truth. You could actually have brown eyes. Or curly hair. Or greasy hair. But the changes are permanent — they're transfigurations, not charms. We'd never know the difference."

The idea of having his whole body permanently changed made a shiver run up Harry's spine. "There's no way to know?"

He shook his head. "No way. This is your face now. I hate him for it, even as I love him for saving you and hate him for taking you from me. If he lived... he would have so much to atone for..." Snape slumped forward, covering his face with his hand.

If Harry didn't know better, he would've thought... but yes. His father was crying. Without considering the consequences, Harry hopped up onto the table next to his father and pulled him into a hug. Surprisingly, his father hugged back. "He did some terrible things to the both of us, Father, but we know everything now. We know who we are, even if nobody else does... c'mon, stop this, what would you say if Blaise woke up? Please... Dad?"

Suddenly, there was a gasp and Harry glanced up to find Tonks stopped short in the midst of the library, hands clenched at her sides. Harry froze, not noticing whether his father looked up or not. "Er — Hullo, Tonks."

"What did you call him that for?" the Auror snapped, eyes flashing with some animalistic fury.

The time of reckoning was at hand. "I wasn't allowed to tell you," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry... there's so much I'm supposed to keep a secret..."

The woman's eyes flickered to Snape; the man had shifted to a more formal position, though he kept Harry within his grasp. "It's the truth, Nymphadora. Albus did it."

Tonks drew herself up to her full height. "I need to... I've got to go now. I -" She broke off and shuffled backward, as if fighting to stay upright. Then, without another word, she turned and dashed away.

"I have to go, Dad," Harry whispered, not noticing the expression of sheer happiness on his father's face after the more intimate address. "I've just destroyed everything she's believed..." And without waiting for a response, Harry was running down the halls of Hogwarts. It was the time of reckoning. And he'd been so careless... "Tonks!" he called, catching sight of the swirl of pale green robes turning toward the Infirmary. "Tonks, please — stop, we have to talk NOW!"

He'd expected her to run for Madame Pomfrey and demand school records, but instead, the Auror stopped in her tracks, clenching and unclenching her fists as Harry arrived at his side, panting. "Just when were you planning to tell the rest of us about this? Obviously the Slytherin boy knows — but I'll bet the Gryffindors don't. How long have you known?"

"It was in the diary," Harry whispered, looking down at his feet in shame. "Dumbledore switched babies. You told me... that I wasn't making any noise when I was born? It wasn't me. James and Lily Potter had a girl, and she died. Severus Snape and Elizabeth Potter had a son, but Dumbledore didn't think he could let my father raise me, because of what he is-was. I don't know, maybe he was right... but I don't have any family at all, except for him."

Tonks' hand snagged onto his shoulder painfully. "Dumbledore did... all of this...? It doesn't — Harry, WE were your family. Remus and me. We'd have done anything for you. Dumbledore wouldn't let us — not after Sirius died the way he did, but Re and I had a plan — after your N.E.W.T.s, he wouldn't have a say in anything, and we were planning to buy a little cottage in Wales to disappear and train for war. He's- just because he's your father doesn't mean he can be your dad. He's a smug, greasy, Slytherin bastard, just like he was when he taught me -"

Harry stumbled back, brushing the Auror's hand away and crumpling against the wall of the corridor. "Tonks... because of what Dumbledore did, I never got a family. It was because of a prophecy. Professor Trellawney's first real one. And it all came true. She's had another one, now — don't tell me it wasn't real, because I saw it — but that means I'm going to die this week. I'm going to spend time with my fa- my dad, because I've never had the chance before. Slytherin bastard or not. I'm not going to tell Ginny or Ron or Hermione or Luna because when I'm dead, I don't want them to remember me as a lying Death Eater's kid. All the knowledge will do is hurt them. And when Remus wakes up... you're not going to tell him, because it'll kill him. He's still the closest thing to an uncle I've got, and I want you to tell him that I love him very much, since I'm not going to get to -"

"He's awake." Tonks shrugged. "I came to tell you. He woke up. Minerva's telling him what happened. Good luck keeping the secret from him — he's not nearly so gullible as I am." Her eyes drifted in the direction of the Infirmary before she turned and stalked in the other direction.

Harry was too stunned to yell after her.

He stared after Tonks for a long moment before the woman's words penetrated his brain. Remus was awake? He stumbled to his feet and made a dash for the Infirmary, flinging the doors wide in a frantic search for his friend.

"Remus? Are you alright? Remus?!" In his excitement, he forgot to call the man professor, as he used to. He'd nearly lost him, just like he'd lost Sirius, and a simple thing like propriety wasn't going to stop him now.

Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey were standing next to the bed at the end of the row; the curtains had been drawn away. And a distinctive, male voice came from the bed. "I'm alright, Harry."

He didn't waste time — in a few bounds he crossed the room and threw himself into Remus' embrace, ignoring the distress of the nurse. "God, Remus — we thought you weren't going to wake up! I missed you — I needed you so much, and I thought I wouldn't ever get to say goodbye, and when I saw what Voldemort did to you — he killed Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid, and Tonks' leg is all mangled so she can't be an Auror, and d- Professor Snape lost the use of his arm! And you- and you looked so still -"

"I'm okay," Remus was repeating, rocking Harry in his arms as though the nearly-grown man was no more than a small child. "It was a curse form of the Draught of Living Death. Or — that's what Poppy here decided. It just threw me into a coma rather than killing me outright. Professor McGonagall thinks it might be an experimental curse of some sort... I'm not leaving you, Harry, I promise I won't..."

Harry couldn't help the sobs, as they finally came. "I have so much I have to tell you. He killed all the Slytherins — a few survived, but Pansy tried to run for help, and they cut her down in the hall. And Draco Malfoy — he tried to get Voldemort to spare the Gryffindors, but Voldemort slit his throat, and there was blood all over the hall — I found his body when the battle was over, and Pansy's, and Gareth Montegue's. And Blaise found all of the bodies in their Common Room — he killed children, Remus, first-years and second-years and all the third-years in Slytherin — and I don't understand why!"

And Remus was crying, too, though Harry didn't know why, but it was alright. It was all alright, even though Harry had secrets to keep. He didn't know when Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall disappeared, nor did he know when he dozed off and Remus put him to sleep on the nearest hospital bed. Remus was alright. The rest would come in its own time.