- 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: This is a long chapter. Enjoy it, and let me know what you think. 2+epilogue to go.
Chapter Ten — Memories and Remembrances
December 29, 1997
"Harry?" Someone shook him awake gently. Harry turned his face away, unwilling to respond. "Harry, we were worried. No one saw you come in last night. Harry, wake up."
The sound finally flooded his senses, and he snatched the blankets up to his chin. "Damnit- Ginny, I'm not really dressed — go away!"
Ginny gave a loud snort and tugged on the blanket. "It's nothing I haven't seen. Six brothers?"
"You're — you're dating Dean!" Harry spluttered. "You're not trying to do something — scandalous, are you?" He blindly reached for his glasses and heard a book fall to the floor from his bedside. He didn't give it much thought, as he shoved the frames onto his face. Before he turned, he caught sight of Lucius Malfoy's artefacts — the dagger, the brooch, and the orb — placed in plain view on his dresser. He pulled his scarf over the top surreptitiously.
"Don't get your hopes up," she snapped, ignoring his adjustment to the bedside table. "Like it or not, you remind me far too much of my brothers to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention. Now get your arse out of bed, we've all gone down to breakfast already. When you hadn't gotten up, they sent me back."
Harry shook his head firmly. "I'm not coming out, not while you're here."
"I won't look," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the fallen bok from the floor and hopped over onto Ron's bed, firmly placing her back toward him. "There. Are you happy? Hurry up, it's scones and clotted cream." She flipped open the book on her lap.
Muttering under his breath, Harry climbed out of bed and pulled his robes over his head. After a pause, he pulled on his pants from the day before, as well. He couldn't remember what time he'd returned to the dormitory, but it was well past curfew. Not a soul had been awake, not even Luna, who appeared to have been waiting up for him in the Common Room, where she'd fallen asleep reading The Quibbler's latest edition upside down. Harry glanced over at the clock. "Bloody hell, it's only nine in the morning? Why didn't you just let me sleep through breakfast?"
Ginny didn't answer.
Harry scowled and tried to flatten his hair. "I was up late doing work... stuff, and I know it was hours past midnight by the time I got back. I was — in the library, you know, anybody could've found me." He glanced down at his feet, hoping that no one had tried to do just that. Still, she didn't answer. Harry sighed and slipped on his shoes, finally sticking his wand into his belt. He was as ready as he'd likely be. "If you're angry at me for coming back so late, I apologize. I'd simply forgot the time..." He squinted over at her, finally noticing the droop of her back and the shaking of her shoulders. "Ginny?"
"So — this is why we weren't supposed to share information from the diaries?" her voice sounded watery, as though she was crying, though Harry hadn't a clue why.
"What are you talking about?" he muttered. "I suppose it was all to keep staff secrets from getting around, but Hogwarts is so small that everyone knows everything -" He cut himself off abruptly, finally realizing what her words meant. "Oh, no."
Ginny finally turned around, showing a tear-stained face to Harry as she lifted the book from her lap and waved around a well-worn page. "It's all creased. How many times have you read it?"
"It was — like that..." he remarked lamely, unsure how to respond. "It keeps opening to that page. Like — like someone... wants people to know..." Harry trailed off and looked away, hating the way his cheeks burned in shame.
"He's your father," Ginny said, tossing the diary to the floor at Harry's feet. She climbed to her feet and advanced on him. The gold inlaid 1980' gleamed up at him, as though mocking his secrets. "Does he even know?"
Boy. The word rang through his head. "He doesn't want me," he said savagely. "I don't — I'm not going down to breakfast, I need to stay here and -"
"Your father is a Death Eater?" Ginny stumbled back as though physically struck by the realization, She bumped back against Ron's bed and finally collapsed back into a sitting position again. "Merlin's beard, Harry, how are you going to — your dad's a Slytherin, he's a horrible, terrible teacher, he's a mean, spiteful -"
"Stop it!" Harry stooped to grab the diary, hugging it to his body. "He's — he's not evil, he's not a Death Eater, he's on our side! I don't — like him, but he's my dad! He's my father!"
Ginny scowled. "I thought you said he didn't want you."
It stung, even if they had been his words. "He doesn't," Harry whispered. "He doesn't want Harry Potter. He wants... I don't know what he wants. He wants Blaise as his kid, maybe, but not me." His fingers tightened on the diary in his grasp. "Not me."
"So — so that's it, then? You're going to defend him, even when he's behaved in a perfectly awful manner to you for the entire time you've been at Hogwarts? You're going to claim that — that hateful bastard?" Ginny jumped to her feet again, hands clenched into fists, showing the Gryffindor metal he'd come to expect from the youngest Weasley.
Harry wavered. "I've always wanted a family. He's my family. And it wasn't his fault..." Harry trailed off, shaking his head.
"Well." Ginny sniffed loudly and took a step toward the door. "Ron'll think this is just the most horrible thing he's ever heard. You — Snape's son — you don't even look like him!"
He darted between Ginny and the door, tossing the diary to his bed as he went. "You can't! Ginny, you can't tell Ron! You can't tell anybody!"
"Just try and stop me!" she countered. "We're your family, Harry, not that terrible man. Me and Ron, and Mum and Dad, even Hermione. We're your family, you don't need him. But you still need to tell them! I can't keep this a secret — it changes everything!"
"It changes nothing," Harry snapped, "not about what's important! I was still born at the end of July in 1980, I've still been marked by Voldemort himself, I'm still the one who has to destroy him! All it changes it the way people will look at me, and Professor McGonagall told me how it'd all play out!"
Ginny stepped sideways; Harry followed her. Without being conscious of the motion, he set his hand on the handle of his wand. "If it doesn't change anything, why keep it a secret? Just because McGonagall said -"
Harry shook his head frantically. "That's not it, not at all! They need a figurehead, she said, and she's absolutely right. That's all I've been, that's what I'll have to be. They need something to rally behind, and if this scar on my forehead's enough to build an army, then so be it!"
"Army?" Ginny whispered. "What are you planning?"
"I've got three — no, two days to figure out how to destroy him. To weaken him. I need to weaken him, so that he can be killed by someone else. I'm not strong enough to kill him myself, but my mother's protection... Dumbledore's protection... it all has to be enough!"
"You're not making sense," she responded. "Protection? Killing? I know you think you've got to... but why in two days? There's years to plan, years to get together this bloody stupid army or yours -"
Harry shook his head again. "In two days, I'm dead. Remember the prophecy?"
Ginny's eyes narrowed. "The what?" Then she paused, letting out a loud bark of laughter. "Trellawney's thing? She's a batty old fraud, Harry, you know that as well as I! You can't trust a word the woman says! She probably came up with the whole thing just to scare you, just like Ron says she always does during class -"
"It was real," Harry replied. "I swear it. It's her third real prediction. I'm going to try to weaken him, I'm going to try my hardest, but I know I'll be lost in the whole thing. I guess I knew at the beginning, sort of. It's all coming full circle — he failed in killing me the first time, so he must be the one to do it the second time around."
"You're daft," Ginny snapped, trying to push past Harry. "I'm going down right now, and I'm telling Ron everything. He's going to -"
Harry grabbed her shoulders and shoved her away from the door. "No. You're not telling him anything. I can't trust him not to spread this all around."
"Oh, and you can trust Blaise? Maybe Luna?" Ginny rubbed at her arms where he'd touched her. "Let me past."
"Promise me you won't tell," Harry growled. "Promise me you'll take the secret to your grave. That's where I'm planing on letting it reside."
"Ohhh, no," Ginny replied. "They have a right to know. They're your family, not the man who fathered you."
She tried again, but Harry prevented her leaving. This time, he shoved harder, and Ginny tripped, landing on her backside on the floor. "Harry! Let me by!" She struggled to her feet angrily.
Harry took a step back and drew his wand. "Promise me, Ginny."
"No. I won't promise a thing. This is wrong." She stepped forward, grabbing for his wand. "Put that down and let me by!"
He stepped backward again, avoiding her grasp, and came up against the door. At least he was keeping her from leaving again. "So help me, Ginny, I'll — I'll — Just promise, and we can go down for breakfast!"
Instead of responding, Ginny grabbed at his wand. Harry managed to keep a tight grip on it, but went down under her onslaught. With his free hand, he grabbed a wrist and slung her out of the way — she tore at his sleeve as she went, and he stumbled, down to his knees. He recovered just in time to see her making a dash for the door. Harry brought his wand up — there was no way he'd make it in time to stop her from getting out — her hand touched the doorknob —
He wasn't entirely sure why the particular spell came out of his mouth but, despite his lack of training in the area, it nonetheless did. "Obliviate!"
Ginny straightened up slowly. "What's — why are we in the Gryffindor dormitory?" she asked. "Harry?"
"I — oh, God -" he stumbled back, wand still extended. "I'm sorry — I -" He choked, hands shaking. He hadn't a clue how to do a memory erasure. How much had he changed? How old did she think she was, what month did she remember last?
She tilted her head to the side. "Where's Hermione? We're we all supposed to... er... I can't remember... Oh, I feel sort of woozy..." She wobbled on her feet.
Rather than help, Harry scooped Lucius Malfoy's Dark artefacts into his pocket, shot past Ginny and fled out the door. This was bad — bad beyond belief — and the one person who might be able to help was the last he wanted to see.
~
Around every corner, he imagined he could hear shouts of accusations. He took a back staircase to the dungeons, rather than take the chance of passing anywhere near the Great Hall. If he was seen without Ginny, there would be questions.
Harry paused to peer around a corner, then jerked back, pressing his back to the wall. Peeves was there, unscrewing a sconce. If anything could bring the whole of the castle down on him, it was the interference of Peeves the Poltergeist.
The creaking of the screws stopped. "Hm. What's that I hear? Breathing, in the dungeons. Is there a nasty student lurking about...?"
He held his breath, trying desperately not to move.
"He thinks he can hide? Maybe I'll just knock over this suit of armor... Headmistress is sure to come... Is it an iccle firstie? A high and mighty fifth year?" Metal clunked.
Harry threw himself around the corner, frantically. "No! Don't!"
Peeves had his shoulder against a suit of armor, which was tipping precariously. "Harry Potty, sneaking about in the night where the students shouldn't be — Headmistress will know what to do with Potty -"
"I'm hiding!" Harry hissed, thinking fast. "From the Bloody Baron! He heard me in the hall and thought I was you."
He hadn't thought it would work, anyway. Peeves gave a snort. "Bloody Baron, out for a stroll? Where is he, then? Just in your mind — Potty's crazy, the papers said, bloody mad -"
A loud clunk echoed down the hall, and Harry had no need to fake fear. "He's coming!" Harry mumbled, scrambling for an alcove. He heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away — one problem out of the way, at the very least — and crouched between the suit of armor and the wall, trying to stop panting.
There was a swish near his ear, and Harry squeezed his eyes closed, making himself as still and small as possible. Had it really been the Bloody Baron, or some other school ghost? They were all likely to sound the alarm — he really wasn't meant to be roaming the building alone — but once someone found Ginny, that would be the very least of his problems.
However, no more sounds came. Harry relaxed a bit, and opened his eyes to survey the hallway, only to find something tall and brooding looming over him. He let out a yelp and crashed against the suit of armor as he shot to his feet, trying to make himself feel less like a first year in trouble. "Prof-Professor Snape! I was just -"
"Playing hide and go seek? Did you think closing your eyes would keep someone from finding you?" Snape sneered, grabbing Harry's shoulder and yanking him away from the wall. "Perhaps that's your plan to take on the Dark Lord — close your eyes so he can't see you and sneak up behind him, before beating him to death with your stuffed bear?"
"Stop it," Harry retorted. "I was — I know you don't want me down here, but I was coming to find you!"
Snape shrugged and spun on his heel, his robes following in a graceful drape. "You can tell the Headmistress that I prefer to dine alone."
Harry rushed forward and grabbed his father's arm. "That's not it! I've done something — I shouldn't have — oh, God, I'm going to be in so much trouble for this -"
"What did you do now?" He finally stopped and turned around. "Well? On with it? I haven't got the day to listen to you."
Running his hands through his hair, he winced. "I'm — Ginny read the diary, she found out — and she threatened to tell everyone, she wouldn't promise not to -"
"You want me to obliviate her? It's illegal."
"I know," Harry moaned, "that's the very problem!"
Snape froze. "You — you obliviated a fellow student?"
Harry took a step back, away from the anger simmering in his father's gaze. "I didn't mean to. I just — my wand was in my hand, and I said the words, and I didn't realize the words were coming out. And then she was all confused!"
"With any luck, your spell was too weak to destroy her memory." Snape took off in the other direction, and Harry jogged to catch up. "Where is she?"
"In my dormitory. She came to wake me up, for breakfast." Harry ducked his head. "Can we fix her? Can we give her the memories back?"
Snape shook his head. "Where's Minerva? The Headmistress? Where is she?"
Harry grabbed Snape's arm and yanked, forcing the older man to a stop. "NO. You can't tell her this! It was an accident — and I'd be expelled for sure! I can't kill Voldemort if I haven't a proper education, and I can't go back to the Dursleys, I can't!"
"You should've thought about all of that before you meddled with something so sacred as someone's memory!" he snapped back.
"What, and you haven't done worse?" Harry growled. He reached over and applied pressure on the place where Snape's Dark Mark still lay. "I haven't killed anyone. I haven't tortured anyone. I made a mistake, she'll be fine — she knew who I was, knew Hermione's name -"
"You can't brush this aside!" his father countered. "Spells like Obliviate should be as Unforgivable as anything I used in my youth!"
Harry snorted. "Oh, and you have problems with the people who use that spell to keep this whole world secret? Do you have a problem with the people who run around erasing Muggle memories to keep us hidden?"
"It's different," he began. "It's for the good of -"
"You hypocrite," Harry snapped. He pulled himself up to his full height and realized, for the very first time, that he had become as tall as his father. "One thing's bad for wizards, but it's fine to use on Muggles? How dare you act as though they're not people, too! You're acting all high and mighty, as though being a wizard makes you somehow better — I'm not so surprised you became a Death Eater and all that, you're just as prejudiced and terrible as Hermione makes you out to be -"
Snape snarled. "You're changing the subject! You've just erased part of your friend's memory, and you want to argue morals with me?" Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder and propelled him down the hall, barking out "July 29!"
Harry tripped across the threshold into his father's quarters and rubbed at his arm. "There's got to be some way to fix it."
"What do you want me to do, wave my wand and make the world perfect again? I've got magic, Harry, but I can't make miracles." His father turned and stalked over to a counter. He started a magical fire and fumbled, one handed, to put a kettle on. "What do you expect me to do?"
"I don't know," Harry whispered, sinking into a chair. "I didn't mean for it to happen, really I didn't. I just pointed and the spell came out, and I didn't expect for it to work — when I was chasing Bellatrix Lestrange, the spell didn't work, no matter how much I hated her and I wanted her to hurt — why did this one work, I don't understand -" Harry cut himself off and slapped a hand over his mouth, wishing desperately that he could undo what he'd just said.
Snape was frozen in place by the counter. His voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire beneath the kettle, but Harry could hear the steel in it. "What spell did you try to use on Bellatrix?"
"Nothing. Nothing, I didn't — I didn't say that, it was nothing -" Harry pulled his knees to his chin and rocked back and forth, praying for the line of questioning to pass.
"Black had just been killed. You ran after Bellatrix. That's what Albus told me." Snape turned slowly, Harry could catch the flair of his robes out of the corner of his eye. He was too afraid to face him eye to eye. "Albus said he caught up to you as the Dark Lord was about to destroy you. What happened then, between the time you pursued Bellatrix and the Dark Lord attacked you?"
"I just — I tried to stop her, is all. She was going to kill me." Harry cringed.
Snape's shoes came into view, and he reached out to tip Harry's head up. His face wasn't as Harry expected — no anger remained. Instead, there was something he'd never imagined: fear. Terror. "What spell did you try to use on Bellatrix Lestrange? Tell me."
"No, I can't -" Harry drew back, but his father held his chin in place.
"Harry, what spell did you use on Lestrange?"
It would be so easy to tell — so easy to get it off his chest... but it was illegal, it was Unforgivable, it was an immediate sentence in Azkaban... just one sentence and it would be off his chest, out in the air, and he could learn to live with it, just as his own father had learned to live with the hurt he'd caused... Harry gulped and hugged his knees tightly. "I tried — Cruciatus — I wanted her to hurt -"
Harry cut himself off as his father sucked in a panicked breath and dropped Harry's chin, stepping away. "Oh, Merlin. You didn't."
"It didn't work," Harry objected. "I just — it was the word, the spell, it didn't work, she was fine -"
Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder, and Harry was very conscious of his father's crippled arm, hanging uselessly in its sling. "Just the word — just the spell — none of that matters. It was Unforgivable, and you broke boundaries which were set in place for a bloody good reason. Those spells are Dark, those spells are meant to torture and maim, to kill and to control, to do all the things the Dark Lord does. Once you've used one... Unforgivable, Harry, it's just what the word means. Your very soul -" He cut himself off and snarled, releasing Harry's shoulder in order to rub his hand over his face. "You're marked. You're truly marked."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, to try to explain himself, but stopped abruptly. He sank back into the chair and covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
His father smoothed down his mussy hair tenderly — for just a moment, Harry forgot "Boy" and could only see his dad. "I can't make it right... but you have to promise me, Harry. You have to promise me you'll never do another Dark spell. It's the only way..." He paused and lifted Harry's chin. "Once, a long time ago, Albus Dumbledore offered me a second chance, on one condition: I could never do another Dark spell. Not an Obliviate, not a Killing Curse to destroy a fly. In that way, I might gain redemption. The Dark still calls, like a Siren, but I'm committed. I curse his memory for what he did to us, but I am committed to the Light. If you can do the same thing... I doubt the Dark can ever be truly expunged, but if you commit yourself to -"
"I can't," Harry whispered. Hand shaking, he drew the slip of paper with the incantations for the dagger, brooch, and sphere from his pocket. "I have to use one of these to destroy Voldemort, remember?"
"We'll find something else, then," his father snapped. "You can't. Don't you understand? The Dark calls to me, every day of my life. After being the vessel of such power, it's nearly impossible to wean oneself of it. It's an addiction, a drug of unsurpassed and uncontrollable power over a person's being, over your every waking moment. The spells you've done, the spell that failed... it's only a taste of the Darker magics, but as your slipup demonstrated... as you used a Memory Spell on your friend, you gave in. You didn't even realize it, you don't realize it, but if you don't learn to control yourself it will take over you..." His eyes were wide, almost frenzied, and Harry pulled back sharply. This was his fatherh as he'd never seen him: not the imposing disciplinarian of the classroom, nor the man whose tears flowed at their first reunion as a family. He seemed, to Harry, half mad.
"That's ridiculous," Harry muttered. "It's not like that. I was just — just wishing that Ginny would forget, and the spell just slipped out -"
"Uncontrollably," Snape finished. "This is magic we're speaking of, not a game. Actions have consequences, have you not learned that lesson yet?" He let out a sigh. "Terrible consequences. My actions, your actions, your friends' actions — good and bad, they've led us to the place where we are now."
Harry scowled. "Yes. The place where we are: we can destroy Voldemort, I can destroy him, if I can use the tools put at my disposal -"
"They'll destroy you," Snape growled. He took another step back and yanked at the knot around his neck, releasing the sling holding his arm in place. It flopped to his side uselessly. Snarling under his breath, he fumbled one-handed at the button on his sleeve and pulled it up. "This is what you can look forward to. This, or something equally horrible, that will mark you as being forever tied to the Dark." Lifting his useless limb carefully, Snape turned his arm to face his son.
"Oh, God." Harry turned his face away.
"Look at me," his father snapped. "Look at this. This was my fault. Had I not turned Dark, I might've been with your mother when she died; I might've been there to raise you instead of Lily's contemptable Muggle relatives; I might've been able to prevent you from being so burdened, from having to be Dumbledore's pet hero. This is my mark, this is my burden to carry and, so help me, I will keep the same from happening to you. Even if it destroys me."
Tentatively, Harry glanced back. His father's arm was hideously withered, the bones jutting and the skin stretched so thin it appeared skeletal. Broken veins criss-crossed the mess, leaving purpled bruises in a painful web, and in the middle of it all was the Dark Mark. It alone was undamaged, its black pigment and red eyes glaring out at Harry. "Voldemort did that," Harry whispered. "You didn't do that."
"But I deserved it," his father said. "Every moment of it. I've done the same to others — do unto others as you would have them do to you, Harry. I tortured, and so was I tortured in turn."
Harry shook his head. "That's not you talking, that's some more of the nonsense Dumbledore fed you — just look what he did to us! If he'd told the sodding truth, we wouldn't be in this mess! It's not your fault, it's Dumbledore's!"
"I took the Dark Mark, I made the choice to devote my life to the Dark Lord's will and now, even after seeking my penance, I have to pay for what I've done!" Snape rolled down his sleeve and replaced the sling. "Don't you understand what I'm trying to teach you, son? The consequences of your actions won't be known for years. If you use that dagger as the Dark weapon its meant to be, if you cast the spell and stab the Dark Lord with that brooch, if you throw the orb at him and freeze him, freeze his very soul... any action you take will rebound on you tenfold... Harry..." He sighed, and started over. "You took away your friend Ginny's memories. Once she realizes that she's missing time, what will she do? Who will she think had a hand in it?"
"What?" Harry furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."
"Her first year at this school, Harry — you should remember better than anyone else! Albus told me the story after the fact, when she was terrified that the whole of the school would blame her for being a murderer, for messing in Dark things that she'd never touched, yet her body had..."
Harry sighed and looked down at his hands, ashamed. "You think that Ginny will believe Voldemort's taken her over again."
Snape shrugged. "She may. And if she does, it may undo all the good progress she's made since the incident. One cannot touch the Dark without being marked in turn — Ginny's mark is in her mind. Don't you see? That's only one consequence that could occur... what if Mr. Weasley discovers you've taken her memory? What will Mr. Zabini do when he learns his new friend plays with Dark materials as though he hasn't a care in the world?"
He let out a short breath. "Yes, yes I see all of that, and you make a good point — but what about Voldemort? He'll be attacking in only two days! We know he's coming, but will that be enough? This time, we have the power to destroy him for good. We don't need Dumbledore's plan, we don't need hundreds of witches and wizards to sacrifice themselves for the figurehead of Harry Potter, just so a spell will rebound more powerfully. We have the tools to make it easier! And if I'm marked, so be it — this is something greater than either of us!"
"This is just what Dumbledore wants you to do," his father snapped. "Damned Gryffindor — foolish -" He snarled, shaking his head. "I won't let him do this to you, not when he's dead and buried. We don't even know if these would work! You could stab him only to find he's soulless, or immune to poison, or — or something else entirely! You could stab him, only to be stabbed right back! I'm not going to lose you again, not when I've spent all these years mourning -"
"But it's not about you," Harry whispered. He touched the paper lightly. "It's not about you, and it's not about me. This is about saving our world. The prophecies say it has to be me. Trellawney's third prophecy: only black can save his life... the hero cannot be saved... I was right, and I know it. Only Black Magic can save my life, even if I end up marked by it — and I will be marked, I know that because the hero cannot be saved.' The heroic Boy Who Lived façade can't survive this, but I can. It just means I use these." He waved the paper around. "You can't stop me from making this choice, father. I know it's for the best. It's going to save who we are."
Snape sighed deeply, leaning back against the counter. The kettle was boiling over, but he didn't seem to notice. "I said as much, to my father, once," he said simply. "The next day, I was branded by the Dark Lord. I — I see so much of my youth in you. It scares me... I fear you're making the same mistakes as I made..."
"They're mistakes I need to make for myself. Now teach me the correct pronunciation or let me leave. We've only two days to prepare." Harry busied himself with digging the artefacts from his pocket (plus the brooch from Luna, which had been shoved there accidentally) and setting them out on the desk in front of him, unwilling to chance his father seeing the desperation in his eyes.
"I must," his father whispered. "I'll curse myself for it, but if this keeps you alive..." He sighed. "Repeat after me..."
~
Several hours passed as they poured over the tiny slip, and Harry memorized Hebrew roots and Greek derivatives just to approach the understanding needed to master the use of Dark objects. His father was a good teacher, without the stress of House loyalty in the way — Harry made progress at an alarming rate. By lunchtime, he felt confident of using the orb or the brooch, but the most powerful of his weapons, the dagger, still eluded him. After another failure to activate the spell, Harry stabbed the nearest desk with it. "It's useless. I should just use the orb. I don't need to be near him with the orb."
"Yes, but your aim is horrendous," Snape countered. "You could accidentally hit a teacher, or a friend."
"I need a rocket launcher," Harry mumbled. "Or a grenade. I could just blow him to bits and be done with it."
Snape sniffed. "Well, that sounds perfectly barbaric. Muggle tools of war?"
"They're effective," Harry countered. "Not everything the Muggles produce is useless."
He yanked the dagger from the table and presented it to his son, handle first. "Try it again. This was your idea, not mine."
Whispering the spell under his breath, Harry didn't notice as the door flung open. The dagger was yanked from his hand. He looked up in shock, keeping the slip of paper clutched tightly in his hand
"What are you doing!?" It was Remus, holding the dagger as far from his body as possible. "Oh, Merlin — what are you doing, that's Dark Magic!" He looked weary, and it was then Harry remembered that it was the night of the Full Moon. They'd be one defender down.
"I'm practicing in order to destroy Voldemort with a spell-activated poison," Harry snapped. "Now give it back, I haven't perfected it."
Remus growled at Snape, slamming the dagger on the tabletop near Harry. "You're teaching him this, aren't you. He's your boy, so you're going to ruin him for all time -"
"Oh, sod off," Harry's father snapped, sending Harry gaping with shock. "You heard Trellawney's prediction, this is the only way to keep him alive."
Harry gave his father a skeptical glance. Was this the same man who'd argued against that very logic? Snape avoided Harry's gaze.
Remus grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Don't do this, Harry. You're not going to die, Trellawney's off her rocker -"
"No." Harry brushed him off. "She predicted Pettigrew's escape. She's right on this. I'm the one who has to kill him, and I'm going to dictate the terms of it. I'll use his tricks against him. Now get your potion and go."
Snape turned and walked over to the counter, laddling something into a goblet awkwardly and pressing it into Remus' hand. "Just take the cup. You'll be locked in somewhere for the evening, Poppy will watch over you. Without the entire dose of the potion, as you've been unconscious, we have no idea how violent your transformation will be."
Defiantly, Remus downed the whole of the potion in one gulp, slammed the cup on the table next to Harry's pile of artefacts, and stormed out of the dungeon room. He paused in the doorway to look back at Harry. "Mark my words, you'll regret messing with hissorts of magics," he growled, looking every inch the wolf, before disappearing down the hall.
Harry sighed deeply and went back to his slip of paper, taking up the dagger again. "I'm almost done. I can feel it. I'm going to understand this -"
"We should take a break," Snape pressed. "You've been working too closely with the Dark magics for too long. We should go up to lunch and prevent Lupin from spreading knowledge about what we're doing — we should check on Miss Weasley -"
"No," Harry growled. "I'm going to finish this!"
Snape tried to disengage the dagger from Harry's grasp. "Give it over. You're learning this too quickly. It took me weeks to pick up the first of my Dark spells."
Harry snorted. "Jealous, are we?"
"Not of something so Dark," Snape murmured. "This, your swift comprehension, is not a good sign for the state of your soul. You're already inclined toward anger, this is enough -"
The reality of it dawned on Harry. "You're afraid of what I can do," he whispered, eyes wide.
Snape hesitated, and then nodded. "You shouldn't be able to tap into Dark Magic, not without other forays into it. You have only two, unless you've kept some from me... and though Elizabeth and myself both resided in Slytherin, Bethy hadn't a Dark bone in her body. This isn't something inherited -"
"It's Voldemort," Harry explained. "It has to be. He marked me. I got his Parseltongue. I'm connected to him. That's why I can use Dark Magic."
"We need to stop. If it's Voldemort's influence, we need to talk to Minerva — maybe she won't blame you for what happened to Miss Weasley -"
Harry grabbed the dagger back and scooted his chair away. "No. You go up, but I need to finish this -"
"Harry — Come on, you don't want to end up as Dark as a Dark Lord -"
He pocketed the paper, then the brooch. The orb was on its way to Harry's pocket when his father plucked it and the dagger from his hands. "Give me the brooch too, Harry. I'll not have you wandering the halls with instruments of Darkness."
Harry shook his head. "I need some protection, unless Voldemort shows up early. I'll be back to learn those later today."
"Not today. You have two more days. You shan't learn more of the Dark Arts until you've had a chance to do some Light magic to balance some of the Dark off of you..."
He scowled and turned to the doors. "You're afraid of what I can do," he repeated. "I'm your son, and you're afraid of me."
"Harry," Snape sighed, "that's not what -"
"I'm going upstairs," Harry said abruptly, cutting his father off. "I'm going to eat lunch with my friends. I'm going to hang out for the afternoon with my friends. I'll be back here tomorrow morning to finish my training. Do you understand? This isn't your call anymore. You can be as afraid as you want, but it won't change what needs to get done. Don't talk to me, don't contact me, until tomorrow." Without looking back at the likely shocked expression on his father's face, Harry marched toward the door.
There was still a way to overcome, he was certain of it... it would simply take more than Severus Snape could offer for Harry to be ready in time. He had the horrible feeling that time was most definitely short.