Okay, so I lied as I always do. Does it strike you that good storytellers should be good liars? This is the second to last chapter, which I'm sure many of you, who are familiar with my inability to estimate anything, will not find a great surprise. Next chapter (hopefully last, but I am becoming disparaging of my own approximations) is nearly finished, and much longer than usual. Which is why I did this chapter. I ended up telling myself; 'It doesn't make sense. Even if it is the last chapter and you want it to be special and all, I don't think the weight of the words alone should equal that of a Buick.'
And a shout out to my beloveds; Adele Sparks, ataraxis, ShadowPhoenix, Chantelli, and Sepia; thank you guys for helping to motivate me!
And of course, thanks as well to Nerfi-Tiri, Jetta Snape (Hey, I personally write better when I'm inebriated—maybe if I have a few shots I'll think of something), Ayame Kyoko, The Goddess Artemis, Pure Black (Yeah, I'm sorry, but he's really most sincerely dead), sphynxx, Kristy (Don't worry, unlike some annoying fics, this WILL actually HAVE an end, and I won't just get bored!), Desdemona321 (hugs back!), The-Magnificent-Fuzzy, milgarion (the one before the one before the end? Hee hee.), Ailey (yes, my ego is swollen with pride), severus's-bane (I blush!), Menecarkawan (thanks for reminding me about that minor point!), odessaspacey1, Mikee, Lady Darkness13, Glorfindel of Gondolin (yeah, I think I was having a hard time getting my mind off of sleep), Iaurhirwen, Tasumi Ashiru (hey, that might work on my ex. I'll have to try it sometime!), Agar (I like hormonally-driven!Harry), Nilu (much thanks!), immortalbeauty1977 (they do, don't they? And yet I'm not conceited at all! ; )), and the frabjous 'The Bell and the Black Dragon.'
And one more thanks—to my beta, Echo the Insane, who has not yet approved this chapter. We're starting at the beginning, and when this is finished I will really get it in gear, and you'll have a whole new, polished version. Meanwhile, I have already learned a lot! Have you noticed; she has taught me the magic of making italics! Yay! (Y'all have no idea how I am transported with rapturous joy. You'd gag, really.)
So, on with the fic! Starry
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Chapter 38: A Werewolf's Secret Told
Harry awoke to the feeling of long fingers gently sliding up and down his back. It was lovely—so lovely—to wake here, next to Severus, feeling safe and warm and wanted. And to be touched. He had hardly ever been touched with anything resembling affection before—certainly the Dursleys never bothered—and he'd never had anyone else in his life who might have done so until he was eleven. Even then, it wasn't like there were hugs and rampant snuggling after he found out he was a wizard. Ron would have been grossed out, and though Hermione had given him the occasional peck on the cheek, she was Ron's girlfriend, and always careful to walk the line. Remus tried hard, but he had his own barriers against touching—it was probably a werewolf thing, knowing that the people around him would likely be uncomfortable—so he didn't do it often. Sirius was the only one Harry remembered actively wanting to be that close to him—slapping him on the shoulder, slinging an arm around him—but he had come and gone from Harry's life so quickly that he hardly had time to make a dent in Harry's need to be loved.
The fingers on his back were doing figure eights, and Harry adored it. It dawned on the youth that Severus had doubtlessly grown up in similar circumstances, and was as affection-starved as he himself was. His heart ached a little at that, and he suddenly flipped over onto his other side, catching the man's lips in a searing kiss. Trapping Severus's face with his hands, he kissed the man several times on the nose. "I wuv you," Harry told him in his squeakiest voice, and Severus rolled his eyes.
"I like you better when you're asleep," he grumbled in reply. "You're far less noisy and annoying. Harry laughed. "Harry…" Severus said, and the boy felt his heart clench up. Gravity time again, then. "You do know that we can't continue to do this, don't you? I do lo…I…enj…am not wholly exasperated with your presence," he continued, "but we are risking a very great deal when we do this—and the world simply isn't ours to risk. Do you understand what I am trying to say to you?"
Harry had never seen the man's face so gentle before, and his heart felt as though it would shatter from tenderness and loss and desire. He nodded. "I'm much better at closing my memories off," he said, "but you're right. When you're in love, it's awfully hard to hide how you feel. It's just too powerful, and it's always there. And I don't want to risk you. I don't want to be the reason Voldemort discovers what you're doing."
Severus, abruptly pale, jerked out of Harry's arms and began dressing hurriedly.
"What—? Sev…are you all right? What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?" Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. The Potions Master wasn't angry, was he? Why?
Severus carefully kept his face turned from the boy. This had gone too far. And in one thing, at least, Dumbledore was correct—if this kept up, he would only break the boy's heart. "Nothing is wrong. I'm not at all upset," he lied through gritted teeth. "I merely have things to do for the Order for the next few days, and I must begin preparing. I may not be back for several nights." He turned to the teen. "I'll expect you to behave, for once in your irresponsible life, while I'm away." He stared at Harry, and Harry could see the anxiety the man was trying to mask in those glittering black eyes.
"Yes," he whispered. "I'll be careful. I will." Severus looked slightly relieved and bent to give the boy one last, fleeting kiss before leaving.
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Harry saw Severus in Potions, but the man did not look him in the eye, and seemed extremely ill at ease. Harry wasn't certain what was wrong, or why Severus wouldn't discuss it with him, but since Draco had died so recently, everyone else was chalking the man's behaviour up to grief. Harry, himself, couldn't fathom Snape's conduct.
Harry felt grief as well, and was weighted down by substantial feelings of guilt. Severus could say anything he liked about Voldemort's intentions, but it had still been Harry's thoughtless actions that led to the other boy's death. A lot of the time, he merely felt numb, with an odd undercurrent of stomach twisting unhappiness that he couldn't seem to shake.
He'd see Draco's empty seat and flinch. He'd pass a bewildered looking Crabbe or Goyle in the hall, and have the urge to say something, to confess his involvement and relieve the burden on his soul. What kept him from doing so was mostly the knowledge that neither one of them could begin to appreciate what he meant, and hearing it would not alleviate their sorrow. He began seeing them flanking Blaise as he patrolled the halls, speaking quietly to whatever Slytherins crossed his path. It made Harry feel slightly better to see them with him—they seemed a little less lost when they were with Blaise, and moved with more purpose. He hoped Blaise wouldn't screw them over the way he did everyone else.
He told Ron and Hermione what had happened, suffering through their scolding afterward. He had to nod through a half hour of 'Harry, that was really dangerous, do you even grasp how dangerous it was, you're lucky you didn't end up in his place, you must be more careful in the future,' dictated by Hermione, and then a half hour of 'Oh, my God, you have to be joking, please tell me you're joking, are you trying to give me a stroke, Jesus, Harry, you have the worst taste in guys!' from Ron.
Of course, eventually they calmed down, especially since it was obvious that he already felt horrible, and there was nothing to be done now in any case. Hermione sat with her arm around his shoulder for a long time, telling him it wasn't his fault; it just wasn't a very bright thing to do. Ron nodded agreement and offered him a couple of chocolate frogs, and proceeded to try to distract him with lengthy games of chess whenever he began to look mopey. Harry was glad when they finally backed off about the situation; he had more than enough on his mind without their haranguing.
Neither one of them brought up the subject of Harry's sleeping arrangements. Hermione smiled a little too knowingly whenever Harry mentioned Snape. Ron just told Harry flat out, "I don't know if you're doing anything with him, but if you are, please don't ever, ever tell me about it, because I'll have to saw my own ears off afterward." No one else asked Harry about it, either; Ron had told the other boys in the dorm that Harry was suffering nightmares again, and had to be isolated for everyone's well being. Not that it mattered; he'd come to a taciturn agreement with the Potions Master that as long as Voldemort was still around and Snape was spying on him, there would be no further late night trysts in the man's chambers. It hurt to be away from the man, but he knew it would hurt even more, if he lost him forever because of a careless memory.
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Tuesday evening, he knew something was wrong. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was a current of tension in the air that had been streaming through the castle all day. Teachers had been short-tempered and snappish, and Snape had been conspicuously absent. Until supper, that is, when he flitted through the Great Hall and went straight to Dumbledore and hissed something in the man's ear. The headmaster immediately stood and followed Severus out, and Harry pushed his plate away, feeling a stone forming in his stomach.
He mumbled an excuse to his friends and got up from the table, following the path the men had taken a few moments ago. When he reached the stone gargoyle, he knocked on the door a few times before Severus opened it, looking agitated. His hair was mussed, his eyes were wild, and he did not look the least bit pleased to see Harry. "Come in," he finally grudgingly admitted the boy. "Albus wishes to speak to you."
Harry squared his shoulders before entering the room. He knew Sev would say it was arrogance, but he had known from the start that this involved him, somehow. Bad things almost always did. He was like a lightning rod for misfortune. Dumbledore regarded him grimly for a long moment after he walked in before saying, "Harry, I'm afraid I have ill news. It may come as something of a shock."
Harry sighed wearily. "I can't imagine anything would, but go ahead. You'd think I'd be used to this sort of thing by now, but it never gets any easier. Is someone dead? Is that it? Is someone about to die? God, don't make me guess," he finally pleaded. Severus put a strong hand on his shoulder, and he felt obscurely calmed by it.
"No, Harry," Dumbledore was saying, shaking his silvery head. "No one is dead; not yet. I am afraid, though, that Remus Lupin is in very serious trouble, and I…I cannot promise you his safe return," he told the boy sadly.
Harry was shocked, his eyes springing wide and his heart thudding uncomfortably hard in his chest. Remus? But he was the last one—Harry's only link to his parents, to Sirius, to the people who loved him! He couldn't lose Remus. Dazed, he hardly noticed when the headmaster conjured a chair for him to sink down onto. He felt himself trembling, and lowered his face into his hands. "What happened? Where is he? Is there anything I can do?" he asked in a muffled voice.
Having his head down, he missed the sharp look Snape directed at the headmaster, only hearing the old wizard's fatigued sigh. "He took the Dark Mark," Dumbledore told him, and Harry's head shot up in disbelief. "He volunteered to be a…second contact within the Death Eaters. It has been known for some time that Voldemort was aggressively recruiting dark creatures, and Remus believed he would have a good chance at successfully infiltrating their ranks. We thought he would be valuable to them, as a known member of the Order. He had hoped they would be influenced by the fact that he was in a position to work so closely amongst their enemies."
"That's disgusting," Harry replied in a quiet voice, and Severus trembled a little at the words. "You shouldn't have made him do that."
"He was not forced," Albus sighed. "Nor was it even suggested to him. This was something he decided on his own," he added gently.
"THEN YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE LET HIM DO IT!" Harry shouted. "How could you let him do something like that? He's the only person I have left that's like family, and you let him volunteer to be a loathsome, murdering Death Eater, just to get some crummy information? What the hell is wrong with you? You let him go out and c—curse and k—kill people and do God knows what else those twisted fucks do?" Harry's voice was rising in pitch, and he was stuttering in anxiety at times, so upset that he did not notice Severus had retreated to the corner, where he was shivering violently. "What happened to him?" Harry demanded, his voice tight.
"We aren't entirely certain," Dumbledore responded. "Severus has not been able to find him since he took the Mark. We believe he is in danger, but our enquiries have been fruitless. It is likely they were not fooled by his declarations of loyalty to Voldemort, and only planned on deceiving him until he had no further opportunity to turn back. We will continue doing our best to find him, but…I felt you deserved to be informed."
"I DESEVERED to be INFORMED before you fucking let him DO it!" Harry roared. "How the hell could you do this to me? To him?"
Albus's eyes wandered over to the Potions Master. "I was advised against it," he admitted.
Harry turned to stare at Snape. "You knew about this?" he whispered. "You KNEW about this, and you never bloody TOLD me? You just let him MARCH OFF to his fucking DEATH and you didn't say a THING? I trusted you, you bastard!"
Severus was very pale. "…Harry, I was unable to con—"
"You can SHUT THE HELL UP! You didn't tell me then, and you think I'm gonna listen to it now?" He stood shakily and looked at Albus. "You can tell me if you think there's something I can do, or if you've got him back. Beyond that, I don't want to hear anything from either of you," he said quietly through clenched teeth, and strode out the door, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Albus…" Severus said weakly.
"What?" Albus said, unconcerned. "He'll get over it. I blame hormones." He gave the man a cunning look over the top of his glasses. "You'd better see if you can find anything else out." Snape just looked at him. "Trust me, would you?"
Looking as though it were against his better judgment, the Potions Master nodded slowly, before heading back out to take the much-despised roll of spy up again. He would find Lupin. He had to.
Dumbledore sighed and sat back in his chair. A voice came from behind him. "Dumbledore?" Phineas Nigellus said. "I've just been in the North Tower, having a cup of tea…I heard the most interesting prediction. Would you like to hear?"
Dumbledore looked up at the previous headmaster, who wore a vengeful little smile. "Oh? Do tell," he replied.
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Harry spent much of the next day feeling heartsick, although he attended classes to, as Hermione proposed, 'take his mind off things,' and 'maybe learn something while awaiting developments.' He even read, or tried to read, during breaks. He even forced himself to take notes. Think of something else, Harry. Think of something else… 'Charms that affect the arrangement of linear events, such as the Sistere Spell, and Infectum Reddere, often have time restrictions which result from the inherent inertia of the…'
He felt horrible for having yelled at Severus. This wasn't the man's fault. Doubtlessly he had not encouraged Lupin to do such a stupid thing. Why had Lupin thought they needed another spy?
Because soon Severus isn't going to be able to be successful at it anymore, a little voice in the back of his head replied. Severus has had two years to bring Voldemort your head on a stick, and hasn't managed it. They're getting suspicious. He isn't going to last much longer—especially if they start picking out the little 'sweet feelings' he has for a certain Potter. Harry forced his eyes to focus on the text in front of him, fighting off the chill that had invaded his bones… 'These time limits vary from object to object and spell to spell, but a safe estimate is generally one hour, as this is the standard…' He could NOT keep his mind on this, even if it WAS about the spell in the cuff link Severus had given him for Christmas. Severus. He's fine, he told himself sternly. No reason to imagine otherwise. He's fine, he's fine, he's fine.
By the time everyone gathered for supper in the Great Hall again, no one had seen the Potions Master since the day before. He tried to convince himself that everything was all right; Severus had merely gone out to spy again—it was hardly surprising, under the circumstances. Still, a foreboding weight had settled in his chest, and his mind was a whirling storm of fears and questions. If he could only leave well enough alone—if only he'd stayed away from Severus in the very beginning, if only he'd spoken with Remus first—had a chance to discuss things, if only he'd apologized to both of them—for his behaviour, for making them feel they had to take such risks to keep him from doing the same, if only, if only.
Everyone was under some kind of strain; Seamus and Jack had been fighting, and looked to be breaking up, Crookshanks had been sick, making Hermione tetchy and nervous, the Slytherins were still in mourning over Draco, and of course the faculty that were also part of the Order of the Phoenix were all worried about Remus. The combined pressures made the entire school feel like a powder keg in the midst of a lighting storm. Harry kept waiting for the inevitable flash of light that would bring the noise and explosion and pain to them all.
That night he suffered terrible nightmares. Occlumency was no help fighting them—they weren't something sent by Voldemort, just products of his own guilt-ridden mind. He started out in the cemetery where Cedric had died. Voldemort stood before him, and opened his mouth, Harry knew, to say, 'Kill the spare,' but then it wasn't Voldemort, but Dumbledore, who said, 'It was his choice.' And there was a flash of light, and Harry leaped to save Cedric, but it wasn't Cedric at all, but Draco Malfoy who lie dead at Harry's feet. And then Draco—dead Draco, with lifeless eyes and chilled skin—looked up at Harry and said, 'You're not doing a very good job at protecting us, Savior.'
Harry woke up in a panicked sweat, but the moment he closed his eyes again he fell into another ghastly dream. It was dark here, so dark, with just an edge of blue light outlining every object, and Harry was lost in a maze of corridors with sinister looking doors. He tried the handle of one, then another, then another, but they were all locked. He heard dry, rasping laughter, and looked over his shoulder to see Bellatrix Lestrange pointing her wand at him, but before she could say anything, everything shifted, and they were in the Department of Mysteries, and Harry was surrounded by veiled doorways. There was a scream, and he turned to see Hermione falling through a veil, but before he could even move toward her, a motion to his right made him look round, and he saw Neville do the same; until every where he looked, someone he cared about was tumbling through a veil of death, and he was helpless to stop it. Meanwhile, Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the center of the room, laughing and laughing and laughing. And then she turned into Sirius, who stared at Harry with haunted eyes, and held out cupped hands, full of shining alphabet letters. "You mustn't waste them," his godfather told him earnestly. "Quickly, quickly, quickly, Harry! You haven't much time, and these are so important!" He opened his hands, letting the sharp letters fall through his fingers, pouring onto the floor. They were tearing his palms and finger pads as they fell, leaving streams of dripping blood. Harry was horrified, but Sirius just shook his head sadly, saying, "It's the ones that you don't use that hurt the most." His godfather reached out to him, and Harry never felt so conflicted before; he wanted so badly to touch and be touched, but it was Sirius's pain he'd be touched by, Sirius's blood and agony, and he didn't know if he could take it.
He sat up in bed, gasping, and saw that everyone else in the room was still asleep. Right, then. He'd just get up and sit in the window for a while. That would keep him awake, and he'd just have to think about other things until morning came. He purposely sat down by the light of the nearly full moon without a blanket of any kind—the cold would only help serve his purpose tonight.
It made no difference. With a strip of white light across his face, he soon slipped again into an uneasy sleep. He found himself walking down a dusty road, and there was too-bright sunlight in his eyes. He was wearing filthy robes, and his feet were bare; he could feel every pebble and rut in the road. He felt someone tugging at his sleeve and looked down. There was a man crawling by his side, saying, "Please forgive me, please save me, please heal me, please." Harry didn't know what to do; he hadn't really studied any healing magic, and couldn't see anything wrong with the man. Before he could say anything at all, there was another supplicating voice, and then another, and he was surrounded by people, all begging him for something. He was frightened and overwhelmed, and saw a tall black silhouette from the corner of his eye. He turned, relieved, to see Severus, and made his way toward the man, seeking his comforting presence. But when he came before the Potions Master, the man fell to his knees with the rest of the group. Harry was horror-struck when the man reached out in pleading, saying, "Save me, please save me; save us all." He realized what they must have thought he was, and he fell back, appalled. Lupin dragged himself to the front of the crowd, bleeding and naked, and lifted up an arm—and arm with a skull and snake—and beseeched Harry to help him. Harry could only hold his hand, unable to think of a single useful spell. Then Remus changed into Severus again, who was chanting his name. Harry stared down into his eyes, eyes that were open like he'd never quite seen them before, eyes that were inundated with pain, betrayal, longing, envy and shame. One of the man's long, elegant hands reached up to touch Harry's face, and the boy heard him whisper, "Harry, please…Harry…please forgive me…" He leaned down to press his lips to Severus's, but found himself being shaken awake by Ron. It was time to go to breakfast.
He dressed, feeling both traumatized and somehow vaguely comforted. It had been a horrendous night overall, but Snape was there at the end…and Snape had asked for something that Harry could give.
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So, at last we approach climax…wheee! (Hey, you filthy-minded little brats! Get your collective minds out of the gutter! I mean the kind you get in a story! If you want an actual climax, go read my other fic. On second thought, if you want an actual climax, go get yourself a vi—CENSORED. Hey, man, what's up with that? I'm censoring myself now? I knew I was weird, but that's just plain mental. Ah, well; give me encouragement, lest I leave you hanging forever! Mwahahahaha! Starry