FireOpal's Comments:- Phew, this was hard work. Just had exams, so this chapter is a little shorter than the last two, but also because this is a good stopping point. Finally we learn of the letters! Its taken me this week to type this up from my handwritten notes (written in Exam revision periods), as my father keeps stealing the pc for no apparent reason. Growl. Anyway, it's here, finally. Enjoy.
Chapter 3: Revelations.
"POTTER!" 'Oh no, not again…' thought Harry dully, discreetly trying to hold his hand to his throbbing temple. Sure enough, the overgrown bat swooped over to his bench with all the grace of a lame dung beetle. "Why must you try my patience? Can you not get it into your single over-inflated, egotistic, wool-filled excuse for a brain cell that you must work instead of merely relying on the good grace and over-looking glances of your fame-blinded teachers to get anything near a passable grade? Good Merlin, boy, one has to question how you passed any of your OWLs, let alone Potions, if you handed in anything like this mess!" he gestured at Harry's cauldron, his onyx eyes flashing venomously. Harry winced as the loud and sharp words lanced into his skull, but his professor seemed oblivious.
"Well? Do you have anything to say, or am I going to have to put up with your abominable presence in my office this evening for detention, and the rest of this week?" Harry swallowed. Somehow he knew this was one of those lose-lose situations. If he talked, even without sparing a modicum of manners, then he would be punished. If he remained silent, well, ditto. It rather forcefully reminded him of his uncle, but he quickly banished any such thoughts quickly, trying to stay focused on the present. Of course, this was rather hard, as the throbbing of his heartbeat in his mind disrupted most of his thought-processes, the reason that today's potion was like it was. To be quite honest, Harry knew it was a complete mess, but sighing inwardly, he knew that admitting this wouldn't help matters either.
"Very well then. Detention, Potter, tonight, half past eight in here. I will try to make it worth your while – I'm sure there's some bat spleens that need mincing." Thankfully, with that final comment and the usual death glare, he swept off to the front and barked at the class to hand in their potions. Rubbing his left temple with one hand, he stirred his bubbling mess once more, sighed, and vanished it with his wand. It wasn't worth his while handing it in. Looking across at the person next to him, Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance, before bottling her own near-perfect potion and tidying away. As he was mopping up the bench, he felt another pair of eyes on him, and turned just in time to see Malfoy glance away. Harry frowned slightly, his eyes on the blond Slytherin for a few seconds, before he turned back to the bench and threw his belongings in his bag. At the moment, he couldn't care less whether Malfoy was watching him, he just wanted to get out of the Dungeons, find a pain relief potion and get into bed. Shame it was Transfiguration next.
Hiding his nervousness expertly, Harry raised a clenched fist and knocked as politely as he could. On hearing the usual barked
"Enter!", he opened the door, walked in and closed the door, ignoring the usual dread he felt as the heavy wooden door swung shut. Snape stood in front of him, his back to the door.
"Hurry up, Potter. I haven't got all night!" Snape snarled, turning his head around so that he could see the teen. Harry nodded, walking to where a desk sat at the front of the classroom, a large bucket sitting on it, full to the brim with lots of small, black somethings glistening in the low light. Dropping his bag beside the chair, he opened it to remove his equipment.
"I assume you've seen Bowtruckle eggs before. I want them de-shelling, carefully. If they are not to my satisfaction, you will have to buy me some more, won't you? Begin!" Biting his tongue slightly, Harry took out his scalpel, rolled up his sleeves and tentatively put his hand in the bucket. To his slightly cold hands, the small spherical eggs felt warm, and the shiny iridescent shells were smooth but hard when he picked one up. Wondering how he was supposed to start, he peeked a glimpse at his teacher to check the coast was clear, raised the blunt end of the knife slightly and struck the shell as hard as he dared. A small hairline crack appeared, tracing its way quickly around the sphere in a straight line. With gently questing fingers, he pulled at the crack and the shell fell open, leaving a smaller, jelly-like purple egg in his hand. Spotting a second, empty bucket beside his chair, he tossed it in and reached for another egg.
Half a bucket, 152 eggs and 3 shallow cuts on his hand later (from holding the sharp end of his scalpel), Harry was definitely tiring. The headache he had taken a potion for earlier was starting to press on his mind, and the repetitive motion of 'grab-crack-open-throw' was to getting to him. His mind started to drift dangerously. For a second, he mused on what he was going to do at the weekend, and, in his inattention, he cut his hand again. Not too deep, but rather painful, and it was already starting to bleed. Mentally swearing, he risked a glance at his professor's back, before delving into his bag for something to put on it. His uninjured hand felt over books, parchment, quills, before he found what he was looking for – a clean washing rag. As he pulled it out, it caught on something else, and the still unopened letter fell to the floor. Disturbed by the sudden silence, Snape turned, just in time to see Harry reach out and grab the envelope. In a split second, he recognised it, and spun fully round.
"Potter!" Harry jumped, nearly dropping the letter in shock. "What are you doing?"
"Um, just finding a, er…" he held up the partly-bloodstained rag for proof, but Snape was having none of it.
"Give me that letter."
"Sir?" Harry asked curiously, his gaze glancing down to the emerald writing on the envelope.
"You heard me, the letter, give me the letter!" Snape barked, his eyes promising danger. Quickly, for fear of angering his teacher further, he handed it over. The Potions Master nearly snatched it from him, and clenched it tightly.
"Have you read this?" he asked, his expression tense.
"Um, no sir." Harry replied, wondering if he was going to get told off for not reading 'obviously important mail'. Snape's expression relaxed a fraction.
"Out."
"Sir?" Harry asked again, puzzled. What the hell was going on?
"Get out!" he roared, and, moving swiftly, Harry leapt up, grabbing his bag and running for the door. For a few minutes, he raced down the corridor, putting as much space between him and the classroom as possible. Then trying to calm his wildly beating heart and shaking hands, he swallowed and closed his eyes, before turning to go back up to Gryffindor Tower.
Ron and Hermione didn't know of the letter. He hadn't told them – a combination of not wanting to intrude on their newfound need for alone time, and the internally apathetic way Harry viewed the document. Yes, it was presumably important, delivered by Fawkes himself, but it obviously wasn't an emergency (judging by the way a week had gone by and he still had to be called to Dumbledore's office), and, to be quite honest, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Despite Remus' desperate attempts to assure him that Sirius' death was not his fault, something that couldn't be prevented, he still felt it gnaw him inside, underneath the mask he now wore. After all, he doubted the letter had anything to do with Voldemort, and it wouldn't bring Sirius back, so who cared. They, and his friends, were the only things that mattered to him anymore…
In the Common Room, that evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat up late, talking. For once, their conversation was relaxed and inconsequential, avoiding the difficult topics of the war, Voldemort, and Harry. Hermione, surprisingly, had found a hidden stash of Chocolate Frogs that she had bought last Hogsmeade weekend, and, more surprisingly, had avoided the attentions of her chocolate-addicted dorm mates. As Harry was eyeing the depleted pile thoughtfully, the Portrait Hole opened, and a tall black hat came through, followed by the tartan-robed McGonagle.
"Mr Potter," she said, spotting them by the fire with no amount of surprise on her features. "Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you immediately." Harry nodded, shot a puzzled look at his friends, and stood. Hermione raised her eyebrows briefly to signal her astonishment and curiosity, and Ron just shrugged minutely. Harry followed his transfiguration teacher out of the Common room without another look, seeing the slight tensioning of the lines on her face and knowing she didn't want pushing.
"Has something happened?" he asked, wondering with some consternation as to why he was being taken out of the dorms after curfew.
"I was not informed of any occurrence, Mr Potter." The stern woman replied. This didn't particularly help, other than to mean it had nothing to do with the Order in general, or Voldemort, and she would've known if anyone was hurt…
Still musing, he barely realised when they arrived. McGonagle stopped, her posture strangely stiff.
"The Headmaster stated that my presence would not be necessary." She said, when Harry hesitated. The emerald-eyed wizard could tell from her tone of voice that she was not happy about this. "The password is Floating Flapjacks." With that, she strode off, leaving Harry to make his way up the spiral staircase alone. Feeling slightly nervous now, he knocked and entered when he heard the usual cheery response.
"Enter."
It was suddenly obvious to Harry that this was not going to be a conversation he would enjoy. He bit back a heartfelt groan as he noticed the dour Potions Master sitting in one of two seats near the large desk. Strangely, the sight of Dumbledore's sky blue eyes twinkling madly made him feel even worse, and his stomach gave a lurch as he sat down and declined the mandatory cup of tea and sherbet lemon.
"Now," the elderly headmaster started with a meaningful glance at the pair, "I'm sure we all know why we're here," If possible, Snape's scowl at the wall deepened, and Harry's sense of foreboding increased.
"Um," he interrupted quietly, "I don't." Dumbledore looked at the slight teen sharply.
"Sorry, Harry?"
"I, er, don't know why we're here." Dumbledore was, quite frankly dumbfounded; something that had not happened for a good few years at least. Snape continued to glower into space, and Harry fidgeted. "Is it something to do with the Order?"
"Ah, no Harry, it has nothing to do with the Order, or your friends. This is linked to the matter I spoke of the other week. I take it you read the letter?" he enquired.
"Er, no." Harry said, flushing slightly with guilt, Dumbledore raised one eyebrow, eerily reminiscent of a certain teacher who was also sitting in the room.
"And why not, Harry?"
"I forgot." The teen replied. Albus sighed and sat back in his chair.
"Is it still in your possession? It really is a most urgent matter…"
"It was confiscated." Albus resisted the urge to sigh again and place his head in hid hands. Only one other person knew about that letter, and that was…
"Severus, return Harry's property immediately." The old man rebuked. Honestly, sometimes the man was more childish than the students he taught. Glaring at the younger wizard, Snape reached into a pocket and drew out the envelope, handing it over.
Taking it carefully, he reviewed the front of the parchment again. Same emerald green writing, bearing just his name. 'Harry'. Glancing quickly at the two waiting adults – one patiently sipping his tea, the other returning to scowl impatiently at the wall. What had set off Snape so badly? Then he turned back to the letter, and, with trembling fingers, slit open the flap, withdrew the letter, and read.
My dearest Harry.
I have a feeling you will read this, as times are dangerous and I fear for our safety. Know that I do and always will love you my son, my Harry. I wish I were there to tell you this in person, but if you're reading this, then I am dead. Whatever you do, wherever you go, whoever you become, I will always be proud of you.
This letter will have to be briefer than I would like, as I cannot risk others knowing of the contents, though I loathe the thought of leaving you alone with this. Oh, my little Jewel-eyes, you are so young now, but I know when you read this you will be older, stronger. I hope that life will not give you too many cares and troubles, but I feel in my heart this will not be.
Harry, I know that this will not be easy for you to accept, but I have no time and must be blunt. Your father is not James Potter. At school, it is true, for many years we argued and got together in our seventh year, but he is not the man I love. There was another in our year, who I loved dearly and will do after I die. We met in secret for a long while, as our relationship would not be accepted, to his parents or anyone. I was the Gryffindor girl, scholarly, popular, and he, a mysterious man with a troubled past, shut off from others, but with a good heart. Nevertheless, he was a Slytherin, and Slytherins and Gryffindors do not mix.
James was a good man, and when I became pregnant with you, he provided me with an alibi, and I married him. No-one, save me, knew your true identity.
As I have spelled this letter to arrive to you when the charm on your appearance begins to fade, I assume you are at Hogwarts. I hope it will not come as too much of a shock to learn that Severus Snape, a Potions Master of high repute and likely still Potions Professor at the school, is your father.
I have sent similar letters to your father and Professor Dumbledore to ensure your safety.
Know I love you, always, my little star.
Lily.
He sat, emerald eyes staring at the page, his mind reeling. Snape, Snape was his father. Snape. Father. Dad. All his life was a lie. His mother, his father, who he was…
"Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, and the boy looked up. Unchecked and unnoticed tears were streaming down his face, and his eyes were haunted. They focused for a split second on Albus' own intense blue, before the lithe boy leapt out of his chair, out of the door, and raced down the stairs, his feet thudding on stone.
"Potter!" Snape called after his retreating back, irritation clear in his voice. He half-moved to fetch the boy back, but was restrained by the headmaster, who sighed deeply.
"Leave him, Severus. He will need to be alone." The Potions Master regarded the older man for a moment, then swept out without a word, his black robes swirling out behind him.
He couldn't sleep that night, his mind turning between lethargic shock and reeling with a million thoughts. And, after lying in his increasingly uncomfortable four poster with the suddenly annoying snores and snuffles from his catatonic dorm mates echoing in his restless ears, he gave up. Tossing back the covers and creeping out of bed, he tiptoed over to his trunk, opened it and withdrew the infamous Invisibility Cloak and a blank piece of parchment. Wand in hand as ever, he tapped the parchment and whispered the password;
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Immediately, fine lines of ink trailed from the centre, and spelt the words 'Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauders' Map'. After a dew seconds studying the map to check that Severus Snape was in his quarters, Albus Dumbledore was pacing (as ever) in his study and both Argus Filch and Mrs Norris were walking near Raven's Roost (the lofty attic assigned to the Ravenclaws) he threw the Cloak over his shoulders and walked out. He didn't register the small dot marked Harry Potter (Snape) that traced his path to the Owlery.
The Owlery at night was a rather desolate and empty place, made conspicuous by the absence of the hundred or so jewel-eyed birds that usually filled the room. Now, at this early time in the morning, only a few remained – the diurnal owls that sat with their heads under their wings, and a few nocturnals who relished the unusual peace.
It wasn't the peace that Harry had come for. His usual spot in the Astronomy Tower had had to be rejected on account of the very close, unmoving set of dots already in there. He tried very hard to not think about what Justin was doing in there with a seventh year girl, Daisy, but allowed himself a small smirk at their expense. Lucky he had tha map at least, or his mind might've been scarred again tonight, but for another reason.
He sat down next to the large open windows that gave access to the lofty tower, looking out across the grounds. The view from here was spectacular; encompassing the lake, the forest, Hagrid's hut, and even a corner of the Quidditch pitch. The lake, silver in the light of the moon, shimmered, providing stark contrast to the shadowed edges of the Forbidden Forest.
After a few minutes, Hedwig flew down from her roost and perched next to her master. Blessed by the intelligence of a bird surrounded by magic from the day she had been born, she sensed her kind master's discomfort, and hooted gently.
"Hey Hedwig," he whispered to his old friend, raising a hand to stroke her soft chest feathers. Nipping his hand carefully, she hopped forwards, and did her best to comfort him. Her master was good to her; gave her food when he had none, still sparing a thought for her through all his own troubles, and she would do anything and everything to help him.
The next morning was a Friday. Luckily, that meant Charms with Flitwick in the morning, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon. Unluckily, Harry still couldn't think properly. He had spent until dawn crept with rosy fingers over the forest-lined horizon in the Owlery, and that had soothed him a little. However, some of his internal turmoil must have shown on his face, judging by the sudden concern his two best friends showed him.
His friends. That was another problem. How, if at all, was he supposed to tell them? At the very beginning of the year, Harry had come to the conclusion that he was endangering his friends by being around them, and spent all week distancing himself from everyone, including an oddly sympathetic Luna. Needless to say, it didn't work, as Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville had cornered him in the Common Room and proceeded, by use of words, hexes and tears (the girls mostly), that he was "being a right idiot, and should bloody well accept that they were sticking with him, thick and thin whether he liked it or not". On that night, he had told them, his voice thick with tears of remembrance, of the full Prophecy.
Since then, the five of them had been very close. Each of them relied on the other four for different things, and while there were some things the steadfast Golden Trio kept to themselves, there was acceptance.
But this, this was unlike anything. This was too much for even him to handle, let alone…
"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Hermione asked for the millionth time as he stared aimlessly into space, his thoughts a mess. Luckily, it was Defence Against the Dark Arts, so he didn't even have the teachers breathing down his neck, but Hermione seemed to have made it her personal mission to cheer him up or something. On one level, he supposed he could understand her concern, and was even grateful that she cared, but on the other, larger scale, he was just reaching the end of his tether.
"Hermione," he said calmly, sitting back and giving her his full attention. "I am perfectly, completely, utterly and without doubt, fine. But if you ask that question even once more, I most certainly am not going to be fine. Just back off, will you?" He tried to make it sound as polite and gentle as possible, but sometimes, despite all her intelligence and insight, the girl did not know when to let something go.
"OK, if you're sure…" she left the statement hanging in an obvious question.
"Yes." He replied, biting back the urge to grit his teeth. Then, placing his head on his hand resolutely, he slimped back down into a contemplative doze. For a few short seconds, he felt her gaze on him, but then she turned away again.
He was starting to think about it logically now, the initial shock and disbelief were wearing off, leaving him with sickening uncertainty. Surely Snape couldn't be his father? Everyone said he looked so much like his fa- James, but then wasn't that supposed to be part of it? In the past few months he had started to wonder why he only had his mother's eyes, beautiful as they were. Shouldn't it make more sense that he at least have her nose or something?
Another thought drifted across his subconscious. If he really was Snape's son (it sounded weird even in his own head), then why did he have to wear glasses? The glasses were from James, and as far as he knew, neither Snape or his mother had needed them. But then yesterday, as far as he had known, he had been Harry James Potter, son of the illustrious and charismatic James Potter, Quidditch champion, Auror and Marauder. Now he was apparently Harry Snape (he shuddered involuntarily)), son of the infamous greasy old bat Severus Snape, Death Eater, Potions Master and Spy.
Just then, he was startled from his thoughts by Professor Turner shouting out from the front of the classroom that the lesson was over. Surprised, he looked around at the class, most of whom where either in a similar state to himself, others lazily completing homework. Another lesson with no work done. Mention that to Hermione and it'd be SPEW all over again. The Anti-Turner Association. Well, the idea had merits… He chuckled quietly to himself, and followed Ron and Hermione out of the class, ignoring the fearful look the teacher gave him as he left, amusement lighting his features.
"And he said what?"
"He said he was fine, but you can tell, there's definitely something bothering him…" Hermione said in an undertone to her boyfriend, her brown eyes serious. She glanced over her shoulder, noticed said boy approach their usual seats in the Common Room, and quickly looked back at her homework. Harry sighed inwardly as he looked between his best friends, but sat down with a smile.
"Talking about me again?" Ron shook his head.
"Nah, 'course not mate." His red ears said otherwise. Hermione, seeing Harry's disbelieving look, and then the glowing scarlet ears her boyfriend so unwillingly sported, interrupted.
"Yes, we were actually." She fixed him with a penetrating glare. "There's something up with you, don't try to deny it. And we're going to find out what it is."
"There's nothing-" Harry tried, but was beaten to it.
"Harry, even I can tell you're not quite yourself, so give the 'I'm fine's' a rest." Ron said bluntly. "To be honest, I'm rather hurt you can't, or won't tell us, but if you won't tell us…"
"It's not like that!" Harry retorted, his eyes pleading. "You know I trust you guys with everything!"
"Then tell us." Hermione said firmly, her attention solely on the cornered teen.
"Well, for a start you wouldn't believe it…" Harry said reluctantly. Hermione's eyes shot up.
"Harry, we now live in a world where magic exists, dragons really breathe fire, a Dark Lord is trying to kill us all and we travelled in time. I think I can pretty much believe anything." She paused, staring at him. "I think you don't not trust us. You don't understand it yourself, I think. And you don't know how to explain. Or you don't want to." Harry hung his head.
"Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away, whatever it is, Harry." Ron said quietly.
"You wouldn't understand…" Harry tried.
"You won't know 'til you try us." Hermione said, looking straight into his eyes. He held her gaze, then turned and looked at an equally resolute Ron. He sighed, and ruffled a hand through his hair. Glancing around, his eyes alighted on a small group of first year girls, the last remnant beside them left in the Common Room. Seeing his gaze, Ron got up and walked over to them, spoke quietly for a few moments, and then returned, the first years packing away their equipment and heading to their dormitory. Harry sighed again at the now empty room, and faced his friends.
"You really aren't going to believe this…"
FireOpal, who wishes people would visit her LiveJournal and talk to her! And wants to know your opinion of her new extreme use of breaking lines.
Review Responses.
Miss Lesley – Feel free to ask questions, by all means! I might not answer them, as I don't want to give away the plot, but I'll try grins
1) Why would udmbledork allow Harry to distrub a class reguardless if the teacher can teach. harry might think she is bad, but she does deserve respect and I am supprised that Gryffindorks are not in the minus point range.
Dumbledore doesn't know for certain it's Harry in this, and D's always been lenient to Harry. OK, not this much, but Harry's had a hard year, D's got a lot on his mind… Um, I just like the interaction? Bad excuse, but I planned it that it isn't always Harry, we just see the classes he's in. There is practically a school riot when Turner's in the room.
2) Both Harry and Snape got letters from flakes and they still have not opened them. Since they were both called out of class and the pheonix delievered them and considering who got the letters I am sure Snape atleast would have opened his already. Also so would have Harry. It seems that over a wek has gone by and harry has not read it, nor has ron and hermione presured him about the meeting.
I never said that Snape didn't read the letter. And Harry, as explained in this chapter, viewed it rather apathetically. I myself have done something similar (it wasn't delivered by a phoenix during a Potions lesson, but hey!). Ron and Mione assumed the meeting was Voldemort-centric, and try not to press Harry for details if he doesn't want to give them.
3) Has Harry gotten any books from the library on how to protect his mind? Why has he not improved and surely Snape has learned from last year that this apporch will not work?
I see it this way – Legillimency is a fine art, practised by few. Therefore, any books in Hogwarts library would be of little help. He has not improved from last year, because Snape is not truly teaching him, but is attacking his mind and expecting a defence. Harry cannot construct a defence, and therefore he is not improving. Snape is just being a crotchety git (pardon my language), and is in a snit about something.
Hope that answers your questions! Here's some more, as promised. Any other questions, things you want clarification on, I'll try to answer, within reason.
enchantress of the dark – I love mischievous Harry, I think it fits his personality, especially as he is now growing up and is more sure of himself. Plus the teacher is a pillock.rosiegirl – the letter is now read! I would say 'Bet you weren't expecting that one', but it is probably rather clichéd, and I did advertise Severitus in the summary. Damn.
EbonyBeach – Woohoo! Go us! 'Intertwined' will live forever! Um, yes. ahem Glad you like it buddy. If you like it, I'm obviously doing something right!