The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 15
Tonks toyed idly with the various scrolls lying on the table as Lupin cleared away the lunch things. Dumbledore had left a large book-shaped parcel for Harry, and two scrolls. He had also left a scroll for Lupin, but that remained unopened, and Tonks found herself intrigued by what it might contain. She had a suspicion that Lupin did not want to open it, and this seemed confirmed when he began running water into the sink to wash up manually instead of conjuring the pots to wash themselves.
Moody was leaning back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling with a fixed stare. Tonks watched him, marvelling that he could be so obsessed. 'So,' she said casually, 'has he leapt out of bed and made a break for freedom yet?'
Moody gave her a sharp look, then softened slightly at the twinkle in her eye. 'Only a matter of time,' he said gruffly. 'Both wounds are clean and healing nicely. I'll give him a week to sleep off the shock. If he hasn't woken up by then, I'll give him some help.'
He took a deep swallow from his hipflask, then sat in silence, gazing at it with a bleak, distant expression. Tonks watched him with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. She realised that what had happened to Alice and Frank had been a particular blow to him; he had worked closely with both of them, and she knew he had retired shortly after the Lestranges' conviction. But to pursue Snape with such single-mindedness when he had given them no reason to doubt Dumbledore's trust in him seemed bizarre to her.
'Why are you so convinced he's guilty?' she asked. 'I've read your report. The whole thing was ugly, but-'
Anger flickered in Moody's face. 'When I got to Frank's house, the only person in it still standing was Snape. I didn't see Crouch. I didn't see the Lestranges. But they were tried and he wasn't. Why not? If he's so bloody innocent, why didn't he stand trial and prove it?'
'It would have a bit suicidal, wouldn't it? There were Death Eaters we never caught – look at Lucius Malfoy. The minute Professor Snape admitted what he'd been doing, he'd have been a marked man-'
'I was there at Karkaroff's trial when he accused Snape. Dumbledore stood up in front of two hundred people and said Snape was his spy. If that didn't blow his cover I don't see how a trial would have. What's the difference? Do you know? Because I'd certainly like to know why Dumbledore trusted that little sod when he didn't trust me enough to so much as mention in passing what was going on!'
'Is that all this is about?' Moody looked up sharply. Lupin had wandered silently back, drying his hands, and now stood next to Tonks. 'You're jealous because you think Dumbledore trusted Severus more than you?' There was a cold look in Lupin's normally mild expression, a note of contempt in his voice.
Moody glared back, temper rising; but for some reason, Lupin's insistent bias in favour of Snape was more fascinating than infuriating. His normal eye narrowed as it focused on him. Lupin knew something more than he was saying, had to. He was too intelligent, too sensitive, for blind faith; and Snape was a difficult man to like.
'No,' Moody replied. 'Although I'm a big enough man to admit it galls me. No, Remus, the question is a legitimate one. I found Snape standing over the bodies of Frank and Alice Longbottom, pointing a wand at their baby. I had to let him go. Then months later when we're about to try Crouch and the Lestranges for it, I'm told we're not going to try Snape because he's the one who provided the evidence against them and that he's been on our side all along. You tell me why I shouldn't believe he didn't just sell them out to save his own skin?'
Moody's eyes bored into Lupin. What do you know that exonerates Snape? He could see a debate going on behind the man's eyes; there was something Lupin wanted to tell him, wanted to prove him wrong; but something was holding him back.
'How do you explain everything he's done since You Know Who returned?' Lupin said finally.
'Still trying to save himself, playing both sides. When all's said and done, Remus, what's he told us in the last year that we couldn't have managed without?'
Lupin said nothing.
'And then when the Ministry decided they were going to pull him in, he runs away. How do you explain that? Don't tell me that anyone capable of fooling You Know Who couldn't fool that idiot Minister. No. He ran because he's guilty and he knew wasn't going to get away with it this time!'
Lupin stared at the floor, chewing his lip; but Moody had noticed the conflict in his eyes intensify.
Moody pulled his box towards him and took out the bloodstained teddy bear. 'You see this?' he said, holding it up. Tonks took it, her expression neutral. 'I found that behind an armchair near where Alice was lying. Neville must have been hiding there, watching and listening while the Death Eaters used the Cruciatus curse on his parents.'
Lupin turned away to put the towel back on the kitchen range, his eyes suddenly bright.
Tonks' eyes narrowed as she gazed at the teddy, turning it in her hands, examining the stains. 'Whose blood is this?'
Moody shook his head, his gaze momentarily flickering back to his box. 'Don't know. Belongs to more than one person, we established that much. When I got there, the whole carpet was soaking in it.'
He reached into his box again, and this time pulled out a red and gold pendant. It was beautiful, an intricate pattern of curled gold forming a lacy net around a red jewel. 'Alice was holding that when we found her,' he growled, his normal eye glittering. 'She must have pulled it off him when he attacked her.'
'Then why isn't it broken?' Lupin said softly, coming back and taking the pendant from Moody. 'If they were struggling, and she grabbed it and pulled, why didn't the chain snap?'
Moody smiled horribly. 'You try breaking it.'
Lupin examined the pendant. The bright chain felt like silk in his hands, soft and pliant, but when he looked more closely he saw that it was composed of hundreds of tiny golden threads, all woven into a narrow, supple cord. He tested it in his fingers; then pulled at it hard. It had the tensile strength of nylon rope.
'That's never gold!' he said, as if it mattered. Moody gave a guttural chuckle.
'Who cares what it's made of?' he said. 'The important thing is the red bit in the middle. Take a closer look at that if you will.'
Lupin did so, holding it up to the light at various angles. His expression went blank for a moment as he realised that what looked like a red jewel was actually a tiny glass vial containing a red liquid. 'Blood...?'
Moody nodded with a grim smile. 'Snape's blood. That's how I found him. What you're holding is a tiny lachrymatory containing approximately three drops of Snape's blood. All I needed was a pinprick. A very simple little charm, but most effective with the right ingredients.'
'That's ridiculous!' said Tonks. 'Why on earth would he be carrying three drops of his own blood around with him in a necklace?'
Moody sniffed. 'Oh, our Snape hasn't always been the greasy little sod we all know and love these days. When he worked for Malfoy he was a right little peacock. All flowing hair and silken robes, rings on every manicured finger. Anyone that vain would happily wear something like that. He'll be regretting it soon enough though.'
Lupin frowned, and took another look at the pendant. There was, of course, another explanation, and it was no more unlikely than the idea of greasy, unkempt Snivellus suddenly taking a foppish interest in himself after leaving Hogwarts. But such speculation was fairly irrelevant at the moment. It was clear to Lupin that Moody was beyond reason where Snape was concerned; he wanted his blood in the judicious sight of the Wizengamot and that was all there was to it.
He tossed the pendant back to Moody. 'It's no good,' he said levelly. 'It'll take more than a bloodstained teddy bear and a gold necklace to convince me Snape was anything more than in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dammit, Moody, if it wasn't for him, the Longbottoms would have died more than a year before that attack happened. You've got nothing but circumstantial evidence against him!'
'Yeah?' Moody retorted. 'What is it to you anyway? He doesn't waste anything more on you or the rest of us than he has to, so why do you care?'
Lupin scowled. 'I care because I believe in justice! You're obsessed because of what happened to Frank and Alice, and you want someone to blame! And-' he grabbed the teddy bear and shook it at Moody – 'it'll take more than this kind of rubbish to-'
He gave a sudden cry and dropped the bear, collapsing over the table in pain. Tonks jumped up in shock, and with Moody's help, managed to steer Lupin into her chair. Lupin seemed almost on the point of fainting; his face was white and his breath came in short gasps as he clutched at his hand. Then Tonks managed to prise his fingers open, and they all stared in amazement at the skin which bleached and blistered as they watched.
Harry opened his eyes. The room was full of light from the waning noonday sun as it moved post meridian, and he squinted as he sat up, trying to remember where he had dropped his glasses.
'Harry Potter sir!' a voice squeaked at him from the side of the bed while a small arm waved his glasses at him.
'Dobby' Harry dazedly realised he was back in Grimmauld Place, while Snape's last words echoed in his head. He wondered why he had chosen that moment to wake up; that last sentence didn't make sense, he wanted to ask him what he meant and what could be done. But Dobby was insistent, bouncing up and down and tugging at his pyjama jacket.
'The one-eyed wizard has gone!' he said urgently. 'Harry Potter sir, please, you must help Dobby save Severus Snape!'
Harry fumbled his way into his jeans and t-shirt with clumsy fingers. He blinked at the day in confusion; he must have slept for hours, and yet he felt as exhausted as when he had gone to bed.
The corridor was empty; Harry strained for the slightest sound but could hear nothing. He and Dobby crept into Snape's bedroom, Harry closing the door behind them as quietly as he could.
The room was light enough to see everything clearly, but the curtains were drawn, taking the sharpness from the afternoon sun. Snape in the real world looked no different than he had earlier, although someone had pulled his blankets higher. Harry gazed at him, trying to discern breathing. He felt no desire at all to touch the worn-out-looking face with its curiously long eyelashes and high cheekbones. He reflected on how odd that was; in the dream world, hugging Snape had been almost like hugging himself, as if they were two versions of the same person. Out here, though, the closer he came, the more repelled he felt, in no doubt of Snape's otherness.
'And what do you think you are doing in here? came a cold voice from the opposite wall.
Harry looked up the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. He straightened up with a glare and went to stand in front of it, while behind him Dobby hopped up on the bed next to Snape.
'I don't think that's any of your business,' he replied insolently. Phineas fixed him with a glacial stare, and Harry returned it without flinching.
'How dare you take that tone with me!' said Phineas contemptuously. 'Who do you think you are?'
Harry gave a scornful sniff and turned his back on the painting. Dobby was running his little hands over Snape's face and head, as if looking for something. Harry was about to ask him what he was doing when Phineas' icy tones summoned him again.
'Do you not think you have done enough damage? Creeping back here as if you have any right to stand in my house, when your ill-considered actions have led to the death of my great-great grandson?'
Harry spun round, fury rising like a tidal wave. Phineas sneered.
'Oh yes, young man, I know exactly what happened. The great Harry Potter decided he would challenge the Dark Lord, and went rushing off to battle without a thought in his brainless little head except for his own glorification. You endangered the silly children who went with you, you endangered the people who were forced to run after you and save you when you realised you had bitten off more than you could chew, and now here you are again, poking your immature nose into matters you do not understand with your insufferable teenage arrogance-'
'SHUT UP!' Harry screamed. 'YOU'RE WRONG! I went there to save Sirius, I had a vision he was there being tortured by Voldemort! I didn't know it wasn't true until I got there!'
'What puerile vanity allowed you to imagine that your childish nightmares were genuine visions? How hard did you try to find out where Sirius was? What attempt did you make to contact him?'
'I couldn't contact him, I had that bloody Umbridge woman trying to use the Cruciatus curse on me! Dumbledore had gone, McGonagall was in hospital, there wasn't anyone else to go to– '
Phineas sneered again, his narrow gaze becoming more intense. 'Was there not?'
Harry's voice trailed off. The red hot anger in his heart turned white, and he turned towards Snape with a look of pure venom.
'He wouldn't help me,' he said, the words twisting his face with passion as they came out. 'He never does anything to help me. He let me go without telling me Sirius was safe. He hates Sirius, he hates me, he probably hoped we'd both die'
'No excuse too ridiculous if it absolves us of our guilt, is that it boy?'
Harry stopped. His anger had suddenly evaporated and he felt sick and shaky. Phineas believed it was his fault Sirius had died. Harry wanted to believe it was Snape's fault; but deep down he suddenly realised he did not believe this at all; in his heart he agreed with Phineas. It was like a knife inside him, tearing at him with a guilt he had pushed away, pushed onto his hatred of Snape so easily because of the way the man had treated him all these years; and yet
Snape had saved his life when Quirrel first tried to kill him. Even Dumbledore had not realised who had tried to attack him in that Quidditch match, but Snape had known immediately and tried to stop it.
The memories seeped up from forgotten places in Harry's head; he felt as if he was floating over visions from his past, looking down as if into someone else's Pensieve
Everyone had believed Sirius had escaped Azkaban to kill him. Snape believed Sirius had tried to kill him, when they were at school together, with the help of his werewolf friend Lupin. But when he had seen on the Marauders' Map that Harry, Ron and Hermione were trapped with a ruthless killer and a monster, Snape had rushed to save them without a second thought.
Harry began to shake. Snape had risked a Dementor's kiss to save him on the moor
'No,' he whispered. The dim realisation that it was Snape's wretched spell pushing forward these pieces of information for his consideration was of no comfort. A conclusion forced itself upon him: he wanted it to be Snape's fault, because then it wouldn't be his.
His knees buckled and he sank to the floor in front of Phineas' portrait. 'It's not my fault,' he whispered, 'it's his fault, it's his fault, it's his fault'
The room was going dark; the floor seemed to be sliding sideways. Harry, suddenly freezing cold, leaned his head against a carpet which seemed now to be covering the wall, and watched the colour bleach out of the world, turning Phineas' portrait into shades of grey. He thought he heard shouts in the distance, thought he saw Moody stumping towards him across the wall below him. Then everything went black, black, black, and he was falling
Tonks toyed idly with the various scrolls lying on the table as Lupin cleared away the lunch things. Dumbledore had left a large book-shaped parcel for Harry, and two scrolls. He had also left a scroll for Lupin, but that remained unopened, and Tonks found herself intrigued by what it might contain. She had a suspicion that Lupin did not want to open it, and this seemed confirmed when he began running water into the sink to wash up manually instead of conjuring the pots to wash themselves.
Moody was leaning back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling with a fixed stare. Tonks watched him, marvelling that he could be so obsessed. 'So,' she said casually, 'has he leapt out of bed and made a break for freedom yet?'
Moody gave her a sharp look, then softened slightly at the twinkle in her eye. 'Only a matter of time,' he said gruffly. 'Both wounds are clean and healing nicely. I'll give him a week to sleep off the shock. If he hasn't woken up by then, I'll give him some help.'
He took a deep swallow from his hipflask, then sat in silence, gazing at it with a bleak, distant expression. Tonks watched him with a mixture of sympathy and annoyance. She realised that what had happened to Alice and Frank had been a particular blow to him; he had worked closely with both of them, and she knew he had retired shortly after the Lestranges' conviction. But to pursue Snape with such single-mindedness when he had given them no reason to doubt Dumbledore's trust in him seemed bizarre to her.
'Why are you so convinced he's guilty?' she asked. 'I've read your report. The whole thing was ugly, but-'
Anger flickered in Moody's face. 'When I got to Frank's house, the only person in it still standing was Snape. I didn't see Crouch. I didn't see the Lestranges. But they were tried and he wasn't. Why not? If he's so bloody innocent, why didn't he stand trial and prove it?'
'It would have a bit suicidal, wouldn't it? There were Death Eaters we never caught – look at Lucius Malfoy. The minute Professor Snape admitted what he'd been doing, he'd have been a marked man-'
'I was there at Karkaroff's trial when he accused Snape. Dumbledore stood up in front of two hundred people and said Snape was his spy. If that didn't blow his cover I don't see how a trial would have. What's the difference? Do you know? Because I'd certainly like to know why Dumbledore trusted that little sod when he didn't trust me enough to so much as mention in passing what was going on!'
'Is that all this is about?' Moody looked up sharply. Lupin had wandered silently back, drying his hands, and now stood next to Tonks. 'You're jealous because you think Dumbledore trusted Severus more than you?' There was a cold look in Lupin's normally mild expression, a note of contempt in his voice.
Moody glared back, temper rising; but for some reason, Lupin's insistent bias in favour of Snape was more fascinating than infuriating. His normal eye narrowed as it focused on him. Lupin knew something more than he was saying, had to. He was too intelligent, too sensitive, for blind faith; and Snape was a difficult man to like.
'No,' Moody replied. 'Although I'm a big enough man to admit it galls me. No, Remus, the question is a legitimate one. I found Snape standing over the bodies of Frank and Alice Longbottom, pointing a wand at their baby. I had to let him go. Then months later when we're about to try Crouch and the Lestranges for it, I'm told we're not going to try Snape because he's the one who provided the evidence against them and that he's been on our side all along. You tell me why I shouldn't believe he didn't just sell them out to save his own skin?'
Moody's eyes bored into Lupin. What do you know that exonerates Snape? He could see a debate going on behind the man's eyes; there was something Lupin wanted to tell him, wanted to prove him wrong; but something was holding him back.
'How do you explain everything he's done since You Know Who returned?' Lupin said finally.
'Still trying to save himself, playing both sides. When all's said and done, Remus, what's he told us in the last year that we couldn't have managed without?'
Lupin said nothing.
'And then when the Ministry decided they were going to pull him in, he runs away. How do you explain that? Don't tell me that anyone capable of fooling You Know Who couldn't fool that idiot Minister. No. He ran because he's guilty and he knew wasn't going to get away with it this time!'
Lupin stared at the floor, chewing his lip; but Moody had noticed the conflict in his eyes intensify.
Moody pulled his box towards him and took out the bloodstained teddy bear. 'You see this?' he said, holding it up. Tonks took it, her expression neutral. 'I found that behind an armchair near where Alice was lying. Neville must have been hiding there, watching and listening while the Death Eaters used the Cruciatus curse on his parents.'
Lupin turned away to put the towel back on the kitchen range, his eyes suddenly bright.
Tonks' eyes narrowed as she gazed at the teddy, turning it in her hands, examining the stains. 'Whose blood is this?'
Moody shook his head, his gaze momentarily flickering back to his box. 'Don't know. Belongs to more than one person, we established that much. When I got there, the whole carpet was soaking in it.'
He reached into his box again, and this time pulled out a red and gold pendant. It was beautiful, an intricate pattern of curled gold forming a lacy net around a red jewel. 'Alice was holding that when we found her,' he growled, his normal eye glittering. 'She must have pulled it off him when he attacked her.'
'Then why isn't it broken?' Lupin said softly, coming back and taking the pendant from Moody. 'If they were struggling, and she grabbed it and pulled, why didn't the chain snap?'
Moody smiled horribly. 'You try breaking it.'
Lupin examined the pendant. The bright chain felt like silk in his hands, soft and pliant, but when he looked more closely he saw that it was composed of hundreds of tiny golden threads, all woven into a narrow, supple cord. He tested it in his fingers; then pulled at it hard. It had the tensile strength of nylon rope.
'That's never gold!' he said, as if it mattered. Moody gave a guttural chuckle.
'Who cares what it's made of?' he said. 'The important thing is the red bit in the middle. Take a closer look at that if you will.'
Lupin did so, holding it up to the light at various angles. His expression went blank for a moment as he realised that what looked like a red jewel was actually a tiny glass vial containing a red liquid. 'Blood...?'
Moody nodded with a grim smile. 'Snape's blood. That's how I found him. What you're holding is a tiny lachrymatory containing approximately three drops of Snape's blood. All I needed was a pinprick. A very simple little charm, but most effective with the right ingredients.'
'That's ridiculous!' said Tonks. 'Why on earth would he be carrying three drops of his own blood around with him in a necklace?'
Moody sniffed. 'Oh, our Snape hasn't always been the greasy little sod we all know and love these days. When he worked for Malfoy he was a right little peacock. All flowing hair and silken robes, rings on every manicured finger. Anyone that vain would happily wear something like that. He'll be regretting it soon enough though.'
Lupin frowned, and took another look at the pendant. There was, of course, another explanation, and it was no more unlikely than the idea of greasy, unkempt Snivellus suddenly taking a foppish interest in himself after leaving Hogwarts. But such speculation was fairly irrelevant at the moment. It was clear to Lupin that Moody was beyond reason where Snape was concerned; he wanted his blood in the judicious sight of the Wizengamot and that was all there was to it.
He tossed the pendant back to Moody. 'It's no good,' he said levelly. 'It'll take more than a bloodstained teddy bear and a gold necklace to convince me Snape was anything more than in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dammit, Moody, if it wasn't for him, the Longbottoms would have died more than a year before that attack happened. You've got nothing but circumstantial evidence against him!'
'Yeah?' Moody retorted. 'What is it to you anyway? He doesn't waste anything more on you or the rest of us than he has to, so why do you care?'
Lupin scowled. 'I care because I believe in justice! You're obsessed because of what happened to Frank and Alice, and you want someone to blame! And-' he grabbed the teddy bear and shook it at Moody – 'it'll take more than this kind of rubbish to-'
He gave a sudden cry and dropped the bear, collapsing over the table in pain. Tonks jumped up in shock, and with Moody's help, managed to steer Lupin into her chair. Lupin seemed almost on the point of fainting; his face was white and his breath came in short gasps as he clutched at his hand. Then Tonks managed to prise his fingers open, and they all stared in amazement at the skin which bleached and blistered as they watched.
Harry opened his eyes. The room was full of light from the waning noonday sun as it moved post meridian, and he squinted as he sat up, trying to remember where he had dropped his glasses.
'Harry Potter sir!' a voice squeaked at him from the side of the bed while a small arm waved his glasses at him.
'Dobby' Harry dazedly realised he was back in Grimmauld Place, while Snape's last words echoed in his head. He wondered why he had chosen that moment to wake up; that last sentence didn't make sense, he wanted to ask him what he meant and what could be done. But Dobby was insistent, bouncing up and down and tugging at his pyjama jacket.
'The one-eyed wizard has gone!' he said urgently. 'Harry Potter sir, please, you must help Dobby save Severus Snape!'
Harry fumbled his way into his jeans and t-shirt with clumsy fingers. He blinked at the day in confusion; he must have slept for hours, and yet he felt as exhausted as when he had gone to bed.
The corridor was empty; Harry strained for the slightest sound but could hear nothing. He and Dobby crept into Snape's bedroom, Harry closing the door behind them as quietly as he could.
The room was light enough to see everything clearly, but the curtains were drawn, taking the sharpness from the afternoon sun. Snape in the real world looked no different than he had earlier, although someone had pulled his blankets higher. Harry gazed at him, trying to discern breathing. He felt no desire at all to touch the worn-out-looking face with its curiously long eyelashes and high cheekbones. He reflected on how odd that was; in the dream world, hugging Snape had been almost like hugging himself, as if they were two versions of the same person. Out here, though, the closer he came, the more repelled he felt, in no doubt of Snape's otherness.
'And what do you think you are doing in here? came a cold voice from the opposite wall.
Harry looked up the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. He straightened up with a glare and went to stand in front of it, while behind him Dobby hopped up on the bed next to Snape.
'I don't think that's any of your business,' he replied insolently. Phineas fixed him with a glacial stare, and Harry returned it without flinching.
'How dare you take that tone with me!' said Phineas contemptuously. 'Who do you think you are?'
Harry gave a scornful sniff and turned his back on the painting. Dobby was running his little hands over Snape's face and head, as if looking for something. Harry was about to ask him what he was doing when Phineas' icy tones summoned him again.
'Do you not think you have done enough damage? Creeping back here as if you have any right to stand in my house, when your ill-considered actions have led to the death of my great-great grandson?'
Harry spun round, fury rising like a tidal wave. Phineas sneered.
'Oh yes, young man, I know exactly what happened. The great Harry Potter decided he would challenge the Dark Lord, and went rushing off to battle without a thought in his brainless little head except for his own glorification. You endangered the silly children who went with you, you endangered the people who were forced to run after you and save you when you realised you had bitten off more than you could chew, and now here you are again, poking your immature nose into matters you do not understand with your insufferable teenage arrogance-'
'SHUT UP!' Harry screamed. 'YOU'RE WRONG! I went there to save Sirius, I had a vision he was there being tortured by Voldemort! I didn't know it wasn't true until I got there!'
'What puerile vanity allowed you to imagine that your childish nightmares were genuine visions? How hard did you try to find out where Sirius was? What attempt did you make to contact him?'
'I couldn't contact him, I had that bloody Umbridge woman trying to use the Cruciatus curse on me! Dumbledore had gone, McGonagall was in hospital, there wasn't anyone else to go to– '
Phineas sneered again, his narrow gaze becoming more intense. 'Was there not?'
Harry's voice trailed off. The red hot anger in his heart turned white, and he turned towards Snape with a look of pure venom.
'He wouldn't help me,' he said, the words twisting his face with passion as they came out. 'He never does anything to help me. He let me go without telling me Sirius was safe. He hates Sirius, he hates me, he probably hoped we'd both die'
'No excuse too ridiculous if it absolves us of our guilt, is that it boy?'
Harry stopped. His anger had suddenly evaporated and he felt sick and shaky. Phineas believed it was his fault Sirius had died. Harry wanted to believe it was Snape's fault; but deep down he suddenly realised he did not believe this at all; in his heart he agreed with Phineas. It was like a knife inside him, tearing at him with a guilt he had pushed away, pushed onto his hatred of Snape so easily because of the way the man had treated him all these years; and yet
Snape had saved his life when Quirrel first tried to kill him. Even Dumbledore had not realised who had tried to attack him in that Quidditch match, but Snape had known immediately and tried to stop it.
The memories seeped up from forgotten places in Harry's head; he felt as if he was floating over visions from his past, looking down as if into someone else's Pensieve
Everyone had believed Sirius had escaped Azkaban to kill him. Snape believed Sirius had tried to kill him, when they were at school together, with the help of his werewolf friend Lupin. But when he had seen on the Marauders' Map that Harry, Ron and Hermione were trapped with a ruthless killer and a monster, Snape had rushed to save them without a second thought.
Harry began to shake. Snape had risked a Dementor's kiss to save him on the moor
'No,' he whispered. The dim realisation that it was Snape's wretched spell pushing forward these pieces of information for his consideration was of no comfort. A conclusion forced itself upon him: he wanted it to be Snape's fault, because then it wouldn't be his.
His knees buckled and he sank to the floor in front of Phineas' portrait. 'It's not my fault,' he whispered, 'it's his fault, it's his fault, it's his fault'
The room was going dark; the floor seemed to be sliding sideways. Harry, suddenly freezing cold, leaned his head against a carpet which seemed now to be covering the wall, and watched the colour bleach out of the world, turning Phineas' portrait into shades of grey. He thought he heard shouts in the distance, thought he saw Moody stumping towards him across the wall below him. Then everything went black, black, black, and he was falling
Hi everyone :)
Big hugs all round! Thank you very much for the kind words - and the feedback. If everyone is getting the same ideas and asking the same questions as you, Barbara, Frogfoot and Knitekatz, then that's exactly what I want. Great stuff!
Really sorry I couldn't update last week - it's such a fantastic challenge, trying to get the next installment ready, and I've privately set Fridays as my deadline for each Chapter because it's such good discipline to keep on track. Unfortunately I had to work an extra evening last week, so I couldn't make it. And with Easter coming up, this will probably be the last update until around April 23rd (although Ch16 is going well, so I might get it out for next week). Sorry Lillith - and thank you immeasurably for your generous praise.
Rather pushed for time now, so again a big thank you to everyone who reviewed. And if you liked this story (reviewers & readers), please consider adding me to your Favourites - the Harry Potter fanfic listing moves so fast that new entries are buried very quickly. So I get a better chance of new people finding it if they look among your Faves and see mine there.
Thanks and best wishes to you all - Happy Easter!
S.