At the edge of the World

By: Despondent

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Chapter 1

On secrets

"It's a lie! He cannot be my father!"

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Sixteen year old Harry Potter, soon to be seventeen, had his eyes glued to the black, flickering digits of his alarm clock. It was a battered alarm clock, cheap, plastic, and on the verge of being considered 'obsolete', but it was his, nevertheless, a gift from his relatives. No doubt that Aunt Petunia gave it to ensure his constant punctuality and prevent him from 'slacking off his chores', as she put it.

The digits continued flickering. Just a few seconds more, Harry whispered softly to himself. His annual, unofficial countdown to his birthday greeted July the 31st in every single year of his pretty miserable life. However, this year, his heart was not really into it. He still did it anyway, perhaps in his desperation to cling on to the norm, to grab on to something methodical and repetitive and familiar.

There, I am seventeen, Harry whispered once more, with a slight bitter satisfaction. Satisfaction in the fact that despite Voldemort's unremitting attempts on his life, he had survived once more, which was pretty good, in his opinion, because well… Voldemort was a Dark Lord after all, and a damn good one, at that.

The bitterness was there, because of Sirius.

What did I do? Harry asked himself, in what must have been the umpteenth self-inflicted verbal attack. I was foolish, rash, overly Gryffindor… It was his fault, and Harry knew it. There was no use trying to blame someone else, there was no real need in self delusion because the truth was so garishly obvious that he did not need Hermoine to berate him.

Sirius died, it was Harry's fault, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Except… to fight back…

That was the only way that Harry could adopt to avenge Sirius's death, the one way that could help him appease his own, ever-present guilt, and it was also, most probably, his only lifeline to liberation. Once Voldemort was gone, he was free, free to do anything possible. No more Order members tailing him, no more secrets, no more deaths and no more fear. At this point, Harry remembered something. Professor Lupin's words suddenly popped up in his brain.

"The one thing you fear is fear itself."

The first few weeks of his summer had been spent in a constant flurry of books and chores. His relatives had taken heed to the Order's advice, much to the chagrin of his Uncle Dursley, who had muttered furiously under his breath, "Freaks, the whole lot of you, how dare you challenge me…" However, he did not voice it out and Harry did not laugh. Not much made him laugh these days, and instead, he chose to stare at his Uncle, watching detachedly as the latter's face turned from a shade of puce to a deep burgundy.

Uncle Dursley, that night, had attempted a strained smile at his nephew, but the supposed look of amicability just turned sour and his Uncle's face had looked- with uncanny resemblance- like a prune. He had given up after that, and stuck to looking civil, which meant that he completely ignored Harry.

Aunt Petunia, with another forced smile, had heaped some food on his plate. It was not more than she usually gave him. With her screechy voice, she had informed him, "I'm not scared of those friends," she said this word with a sneer, "of yours." This uncharacteristic show of boldness left Harry a little stunned, but he shrugged it off and began his dinner.

The dinner was dead silent, and Harry knew it was because of his mere presence. Dudley, his cousin, was still shaking in his enormous pants and was too scared to say a word. Aunt Petunia did not speak; instead, she just sighed and piled on more food onto his plate, rubbing his shoulders in a motherly gesture. Uncle Vernon did not look up from his plate. Instead, he continued muttering furiously under his breath.

Finally, dinner was over. Harry had finished first, seeing that his portion was the smallest, (over-boiled cabbages mixed with a few pieces of burnt meat) and he got up from his chair.

"I'm finished," he said coolly. His voice was low and emotionless. "I'll be going up to my room. Don't worry, I won't bother you."

Dudley heaved an audible sigh of relief. Uncle Vernon's complexion cleared. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips.

Harry turned, and was about to go up when his Aunt spoke. "Boy, don't go yet. I've got something for you," she said. She got up and walked to the fridge, where she pulled a scrap of paper that was placed under a magnet saying 'DUDLEY'. (They had got it custom-made last year.) She thrust it to Harry roughly.

"It's your chores for tomorrow, Boy," she snapped, "and don't think you can just laze off. You had better earn your keep here; your Uncle does not print money."

Uncle Vernon started to turn a little pale at her words. "Erm…" he stuttered, "Petunia, those freaks at the station…" His words were squeaky now.

"Vernon, I told you, there's nothing to be afraid of. They won't hurt us," she said, before turning to Harry again. "I expect them to be done before dinner."

Harry sneered. "Of course, Aunt Petunia," he said, spitefully, "I wouldn't want to rip a bigger hole in your pocket. Why with Dudley around…" Without waiting for a reply, he had bolted up the staircase, not staying to gloat over Uncle Vernon's now maroon face and Aunt Petunia's screeching shouts of anger.

The chore list had been long, a lot more than usual, and it never shortened subsequently, but Harry completed them faithfully anyway. He knew he needn't have, all he had to do was to send a letter to the Order and they would come, knocking on the door. However, he still did them. The chores were mindless, backbreaking, physical, and tiring, but he quite enjoyed them. It kept his mind of things.

The rest of his nights had been spent in books. Burrowing his head into thick tomes, Harry had committed himself to a studying frenzy that could have left Hermoine cold. It was as though he was making up for five years of studying- or the lack of it, and he had begun very systematically.

First, he revised his previous years work. This proved to be quite useful, much to his surprise, because he had never really bothered about the theory and the basics behind the subject.

Subsequently, he had delved into more specialized and advanced books, and he found that the theory helped him to understand them much better than he would have normally. He practiced spells with a stick he had saved from the garden, and he did the imaginary wand work with the flick of his wrists and the whisper of words.

It was all to fight back.

Harry's eyes flicked to his alarm clock again. It read, very clearly, 12.02amHe had been seventeen for two whole minutes. He smiled a tense, stretched, smile. Hedwig was out hunting, or maybe getting his letters, but he doubted it. Professor Dumbledore had sent him a short note at the beginning of the holiday, informing him of his postal changes. He had wanted to shred the letter into tiny, irrevocable pieces, but he didn't. Instead, he used the letter to bookmark his pages.

Dear Harry,

It pains me to tell you this. I know that the last year has been hard on and perhaps I was nowhere as truthful as I should have been, but I have only one thing to say- you must move on, Harry.

Don't grieve for Sirius; he would not have wanted you to do that.

Perhaps you are still angry at me, for not informing you of the prophecy earlier but I just want to tell you that I did what I thought were best for you and nothing more.

I'm afraid that this will most probably be the last letter you receive this summer, or for a substantial amount of time. With Voldemort out on the loose, we cannot afford to have him tracking your letters and reading its content. Instead, I will keep the letters your friends send you and return them to you when the term starts.

In addition, I would like to caution you- or to plead with you- not to stray outside your relative's garden. Please do not leave the compound! We are very busy and don't have anyone spare. If you leave, there is nothing that will stop you, except that you will further endanger the lives of a few people, and not just your own.

For these, I aplogise, but there is nothing that I can do about it- your safety is my priority.

Have a happy holiday, Harry.

Professor Dumbledore

Yes, he could certain, much to his bitterness, that Hedwig was not receiving letters but rather, hunting rats in some obscure place. She would be free, flying in the air, unhindered, unstopped, while he was stuck in this hellhole.

Manipulative Dumbledore! Saying those words- 'endanger the lives of a few people, and not just your own'… Knowing all too well that the Gryffindor in Harry and his 'saving people thing' would not allow him to stray from Number 4 Privet Drive.

"Fuck him," Harry whispered.

But Harry hadn't left the compound.

Harry looked at the clock again. 12.07am. Harry was pensive for a moment. He was now seventeen, a legal wizard, and what changes would that bring?

Suddenly, there was a bang. The door swung open and Harry instantly whipped out his wand. His heart was racing wildly. Who was it? He whirled around at a near impossible speed and brandished his wand in front of him threateningly, the tip glistening with unspoken power. He was about to yell out a curse- any curse- when he said who it was.

"Oh," he muttered.

It was Remus Lupin, grey haired, pale skin, tweed shirt and dark eye bags. There was an object in his hand, and Harry realised that it was a circular disc of some sort. He stared at it questioningly.

"Portkey," Remus explained hurriedly, seeing Harry's curiosity, "but we don't have time. This will activate in precisely," he paused to look at his watch, which was a worn out leather-strapped one, "two seconds, so your questions will have to wait."

Harry did not have anything to say, because at that moment, Remus grabbed his hand and they both disappeared in a flash of brilliant, blinding white light.

-

Harry opened his eyes. He was at an unfamiliar place, he did not recognize it. All he saw was the whiteness of the ceiling, a pristine, virginal white. Not the Order Headquarters, he mused. The Blacks quite evidently hated white. He remembered the headquarters, with his dark and foreboding furniture and its matching walls, ceilings and floors.

It was then when he realised that Remus Lupin was peering right at him. It took him another few seconds to register the fact that he was lying on the floor, and that Remus Lupin had been staring at him for the good part of a minute.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Professor Lupin sounded concern and anxious.

Harry sat up, somewhat groggily. His head seemed to spin and it hurt a little. He faltered for a moment before replying, "I'm fine… I think. What happened?"

Professor Lupin, who had miraculously churned up a piece of honeydukes chocolate, passed it to Harry. "Well, it's my fault, actually. After we reached here, I let go off your hand and-"

Harry got the idea. "And I fell, hit my head, gained a bruise and became a little dizzy?" He was not in a good mood. Being whisked out of your room suddenly, near midnight, without warning, did wonders for your temper.

Remus nodded his head apologetically. "I'm really sorry…" his voice trailed off, "but I thought you were you know, steady on your feet."

Harry ignored it. Instead, he stood up, a little shakily, but slowly, his weight evened out between the soles of his two feet. He stared at Professor Lupin. "Professor Lupin, will it be too much to enquire exactly where I am and what I am doing here?"

Remus looked stunned for a moment, as though he did not expect such acerbity coming from Harry's mouth. It was unlike the Gryffindor boy to be so sarcastic- that was a trait usually associated to Slytherins, and Snape in particular. However, he ignored his surprise. Instead, he cleared his throat. "I'm not very sure myself. I wasn't given much detail too, except that Professor Dumbledore wanted to see you. I'm not sure about what."

It was Harry's turn to look disbelieving. "You are telling me, that I was dragged out of my room, on my birthday to speak to Professor Dumbledore?"

Remus pursed his lips. "Well… yes… but... it could be urgent…" Even to him, that sounded weak.

"Right, Professor, so urgent that the first place I go to, after being locked in my relative's house for a month, is to some unknown place to see Professor Dumbledore, who pulled me out suddenly, out of the blue, without informing me."

Remus was speechless. This was certainly not the Harry he knew. The Harry he knew was more innocent, lovable, friendlier… He was certainly nothing like the bitter, sarcastic, biting Snape-sound-alike standing before him. "Well, it's not an unknown place exactly. It's… it's… Snape Manor, I believe."

"I'm at Snape Manor!"

Remus ignored him. "Yes, I believe so, it's either Snape Manor or its Snape Lodge, or it could be Snake Tower, but I'm not too sure. You'll have to ask Severus." Remus paused. "But anyways, you don't even have a greeting for me?"

Harry stiffened for a moment, as though he had been struck, but he loosened again, much to Remus's relief, and then, he smiled. "I'm sorry Professor; I was just… carried away..."

Remus Lupin smiled back. It was a genuine smile that spread across his face, and it made him look a lot younger. It seemed as though his wrinkles disappeared, and the grey strands in his hair were suddenly dwarfed by the brown ones. His eyes twinkled, very alike Professor Dumbledore's. "Take a seat, Harry," he said, as he pointed to a few chairs that suddenly appeared out of thin air.

Harry sat down. The chair was simple, brown with a slight padding for the bottom. Not particularly elaborate.

"How are you Harry?" Remus asked kindly. "Professor Dumbledore told us that we were not to send you any letters, and you were not to send us any. I haven't heard from you for awhile… How are the muggles treating you?"

Harry turned his face away, so that Remus could only see the side of it. He did not want the elder man to see the anger in his eyes. "The muggles have been fine," Harry said calmly, his words not betraying any emotion, "they are too afraid to do anything."

Remus surveyed him critically. "You've grown taller," he said finally, "but it seems as though you've put on some muscle. Growing to be quite the muscle man eh?" he joked.

Harry laughed softly. "It's a long awaited growth spurt, I think," he replied. "Thankfully… I'm tired of only reaching Ron's shoulder!"

Remus laughed. His voice was clear, like glass, and it was full of warmth. Harry, when he heard it, softened and felt instantly better- and happier. "Why are we still here?"

Remus grimaced. "Well… it's because a certain person didn't want us 'ravaging around my house like hippogriffs'. That person was quite certain that 'Potter will damage what's left of my ancestry with his Gryffindor clumsiness and foolishness'." Remus mimicked Snape's low slur. "So we're stuck here, as assigned to by our wonderful host, who has appointed this room as the waiting area."

Harry laughed, he couldn't help it. Remus had mimicked Snape nearly perfectly.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Harry was happy. It was enough that he was out of Privet Drive, never mind that he had been so abruptly pulled out of his relative's house. The anger had worn off and he was just contented to stay here, in a different room for once.

Finally, he spoke again. "Professor, how has things been going?"

Remus looked at him, confused.

"With the… war..." Harry clarified hesitantly.

Remus became solemn at once. His smile became grim and he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder comfortingly. He looked away. "It has been fine so far. I think that Voldemort is lying low, just bidding his time."

Harry turned to Remus. "Has there been any attacks- any attacks whatsoever- or any mysterious disappearances?" Harry's voice, meant to sound calm or curious, came out panicked and breathless. Harry looked at Remus Lupin intently, and when Remus stared into his bright green eyes- the emerald green that Lily eyes had been- he saw fear. A fear clouded by other indefinable emotions, but fear, nevertheless.

"No," Remus said finally. "Has something happened?"

Harry looked frantic for a moment, but it suddenly disappeared. "No, everything's fine. Everything's fine."

-

Professor Dumbledore came in, a few moments later. He was carrying, in his hand, an envelope. He looked a little flustered but there was a smile on his face, a small smile, and nowhere as brilliant as his smiles usually were.

"Remus," he said hesitantly, "I'm afraid you can't stay."

Remus turned slightly pale, and for a moment, he looked indignant. "But Professor, you know I won't leak secrets or anything…"

Professor Dumbledore sighed. "Your loyalty is not in question, Remus, do not fear. I have full faith in you, its just that what I'm about to speak of its highly confidential and it is best if no one, with the exception of three people, should know of it."

Remus looked wearied. "And who are these three people? You, Harry and…?"

It was then when the door swung open, banging against the wall and rebounding wildly. Standing through the door frame was Severus Snape.

Remus looked aghast. "Severus? The third person is Severus?"

"Yes," Professor Dumbledore nodded, "and I really need you to leave the room, Remus." Remus grudgingly got up from his chair and left the room. He did not turn back once, and he slammed the door shut. It was an uncharacteristic show of anger.

Professor Dumbledore turned to the Harry and Professor Snape. "Severus, take a seat." Severus sneered but sat down anyway. "Now," he continued, "we need to talk."

Severus Snape was the one who spoke up first. The Potions Professor of Hogwarts looked irritated. "Albus, I do not understand what this matter," he waved his hand, "has got anything to do with me. I do not understand why I have to be here with," he paused and his sneer deepened, "Potter." The word was spat out. "Especially at one in the morning, Albus… This is ridiculous."

Harry looked up from his lap. He was tired of being ignored, he was tired of being misinformed, and he was tired of Snape's conniving attitude and behaviour. "It is not as though I wanted to be here any more than you do," he snapped, furious, "and Professor, what in Merlin's name is going on? What is so damn urgent," he continued sarcastically, "that you've broken your own rules to bring me out of Privet Drive?"

"Ah, I see that the spoilt Gryffindor boy has spoken. This place cannot compare with the luxury of your home right?" Severus drawled, "Why am I not surprise? And it is not unlike a Gryffindor," he curled his lip, "to hate rules."

"Let me assure you, Professor, that you know less about me than you think, so you should stop making blind assumptions." This was said very coldly and for a few seconds, Severus Snape shuddered.

"Stop this right now," Professor Dumbledore said sternly, "we don't have time for your petty spats. Something very important has cropped up." He drew out the envelope.

It was a dusty brown, as though it had been kept for very long. The paper was made of hard material and did not crinkle. It was a yellowish-brown, tainted by age, and there was a faint musky odour. "I found this on my table yesterday. I have no idea how it got there, but I suspect that I was meant to find it yesterday."

"I don't see what this has to do with me… and him," Professor Snape said.

"There is a letter inside. I have it here, let me read it out for you."

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

If you are reading this, it means that we are dead, James and I. It is with my deepest regret that we have to write this, for I would have greatly wished to tell you this face to face.

This is a matter of the most serious, and I plead with you to take me seriously. I may sound incoherent and even insane, but Professor, I assure you that what I say is genuine and the complete truth.

Harry… My dear Harry…

Professor, there is no way I can break this out in a manner that will not stun or horrify. I shall be blunt, I shall keep it simple.

James was not my first love, Professor, and I think you suspect that. I had another lover before that, one that I was with for quite some time in Hogwarts, ever since our fifth year. I broke up with him, in the middle of my seventh year, because of some unforgivable thing he had done, but by then, it was too late. I was pregnant.

I time-locked the baby in my womb, I knew that there was no way I could have the child in Hogwarts. I never told the father. I married James shortly after, and rest assured, I do love James and it wasn't some rabid plot that I concocted to save my hide. I told James the truth, and he was horrified, but he agreed to let me have the child and to raise the child as his own. I undid the time lock and I had my child… I had my Harry.

I must be dead by now. My greatest sorrow is that I never had a chance to see Harry grow, and that I never had the opportunity to be with him. I am uncertain of where Harry lives, or has resided in for the past seventeen years. If he is living with his godfather or Remus or even Peter, don't take him away from them. However, if they are dead, for some reason, or unable to take care of Harry, please return him to his father.

I believe, I truly do believe that Harry's father remains a good person. This has been proven, many times over, after my graduation, and I know that he will take care of Harry with all his heart.

You might wonder why I time spelled this letter to arrive on your desk only after seventeen years. The truth is simple. I have no idea when the war will end, and James and I decided to leave a wide berth, just in case. I know that you will leave Harry in hands of either Sirius or Remus or Peter, and I trust them to love Harry as we do and to raise him with all their care. We are not worried that Harry will grow up unhappy; we know that you will ensure his happiness.

My time is running short. There is a limit to time-spelled letters, if you believe it or not. I have attached some individual letters with this one, and if you would, please pass them to the respective parties. I will end this letter here.

You wonder who the father is, I will tell you now. The father is Severus Snape.

Thank you, Professor, and I will like to thank you for everything you've ever done for me and James. Your council was invaluable and we will forever respect you.

Yours sincerely,

Lily Potter

The silence that followed was deafening. It was broken by one particular person. The words spoken were hysterical, panicked, horrified, and disbelieving.

"It's a lie! He cannot be my father!"

-

End of Chapter 1

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Next up:

Chapter 2

On blood

"He cannot stay with me- and that's final."

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A/N-

First chapter finished! Please review! The rate at which I update, or the decision whether to even continue the story depends on response!