SLYTHERIN TRINITY
LADY SHINIGAMI
DISCLAIMER: DUH.
CHAPTER 1- PAIN, SECRETS AND DISCOVERY
Harry looked up into the darkening sky, warily eyeing the black storm clouds that thundered ominously and lit up the night skies with bright flashes of electric blue lightning.
Fear began to rise inside as the lightning came closer, and, futilely, he struggled, trying to ignore the excruciating pain as he aggravated his bleeding wrists.
A loud clap of thunder right above him made him jump and he yelped; the sound drowned out as the rain, cold and fast, started to fall. Harry shivered violently as the wind picked up, but he knew he would rather be where he was, in the raging storm, than be inside the house at the cruel 'mercy' of his relatives.
'Speak of the devil and he shall come,' was Harry's thought as Vernon Dursley ambled out of the house, coming for him, undoubtedly, and through the bitter, harsh rain, Harry could hear his uncle's gleeful laughter. He shrank away with fear.
His fat uncle was carrying something, like a short pole, or a metal rod; Harry could see its silhouette from the light of the house, and a dreadful, sinking feeling started in the pit of his empty, starved stomach. It was very doubtful that he was going to live past this horrible night. He closed his eyes and he braced himself, and he prayed that it would end quickly.
"Boy! I've got just what you deserve, and you're gonna get it tonight!" Vernon's horrifying, and drunk, voice.
God didn't answer his prayers. He never did.
Vernon put a ladder in place beside the tree before cutting the bonds that had kept Harry tied to it, and the teen wizard fell weakly to his knees. He didn't have the strength to even try and get away. Laughing, his uncle looped some strong, thick rope around one of the thick branches of the tree before tying Harry's wrists together.
Harry's eyes opened wide as the fat man heaved on the other end of the thickly woven cord, bringing Harry to his feet in a rush, and pulling his limbs out of joint, dislocating both of his shoulders. There was no holding back his ragged scream.
Vernon just laughed some more, his manic, beady little eyes gleaming. He pulled on the rope until Harry was just barely able to touch the sodden earth below with his toes.
Without another word, the fat man grabbed the metal rod he had brought out from the house and with no hesitation; he swung the pipe, connecting with Harry's rib cage. Hearing the bones crunch, he swung continuously, breaking as many bones as he could, listening to Harry's pathetic screams of agony.
Breathing heavily, Vernon dropped the pipe, grinning. "Now, boy... just what you deserve." Harry barely heard his uncle, but he certainly felt panic as thick fingers tore away at the remains of his tattered, dirtied, bloodied cloths. He struggled futilely, ignoring the pain in his entire body, but he froze as his leg brushed up against his uncle's gorged member.
'No, no, nononono... anything but that!'
Jolt after jolt of sharp, white-hot searing pain flooded through Harry's weak and exhausted being and he screamed, the roaring thunder overhead drowning out his feeble, broken cries.
Vernon finished up quickly and headed for his nice, dry house when lightning struck down from the sky, striking the tree behind him. He turned and watched, surprised but giddy as lightning coursed through his wretched nephew's body, dancing across the skin, searing through his broken body as it searched for the earth below. What a fantastic light show, and the boy was a good lay. Then the lightning stopped, as quickly as it had come, and Vernon was back inside the house. He'd check if the boy was dead tomorrow. Thank God for the high fences, or the neighbors would start talking.
Moments after the fat man had entered the house, there was a pop and a tall figure in black robes stood in the yard, and with a startled gasp, a pale hand reached out slowly. He knew Harry was still alive, if only just barely hanging on by a thread. He removed his wand from within his robes, and he severed the bonds that held Harry to the sizzling tree, catching the boy as he fell. At the moment, there was nothing he could do about the pain, but he removed his cloak and he wrapped it around the pale, broken body of the Boy Who Lived.
Clutching the teen to his chest (he weighed nothing! He still looked like a child!), and with a wave of his wand, he carved a short message into the dead tree.
He looked down at the teen in his arms, tenderly tracing the jaw line, and he knew he could no longer hate the boy, for all he had been through. An instant later, he Aparated away with Harry in his arms.
Hundreds of miles away, in the dungeons of a lakeside castle, a wizard stood in front of a wall cabinet full of potions, with a list in his hands. He wasn't happy about inventory, but, for once, Severus Snape, Potions Master wasn't scowling or glaring. What a shocker.
He sighed as he realized that he would need more burn slaves and boil creams and other such antidotes and remedies for the upcoming first years. He considered just upping the number of the different potions he had on hand for accidents and their side effects. He made a note of it on his list and moved on.
As inventory was as natural to him as breathing was, his mind began to wander aimlessly. Since the Department of Mysteries incident, Voldemort had been quiet. The Dark Mark didn't burn, not even so much as a little twitch. But, as it always happened when he thought of the Dark Lord, his thoughts turned to Harry Potter.
Severus scowled. Harry bloody Potter. He knew from Occlumency lessons last year that the boy had never been treated well in his home, and in the last two months Severus had seen the boy, before school had let out for summer break, something had been different about him.
Potter had gotten slightly paler, thinner, like he wasn't eating, and he had grown about a foot in height, becoming nearly as tall as the Weasley boy. And, while the color of his eyes was still the same as ever, that vivid green, the shape of those eyes, barely noticed behind those horrid glasses, the shape had seemed... different. More like Lily's eyes. Harry Potter was no longer a carbon copy of James Potter.
Still didn't excuse the boy's intrusion into his Pensieve, although Dumbledore claimed the blame for that, and had explained that the boy hadn't known it was wrong. All right, he could accept that.
Potter's fifth year had been an angry one, and had reminded Severus of himself at that age, which had angered him further. He had done everything in his power to punish the boy for everything he could think of, even sabotaging Potter's potions, which was wrong of him, he knew, as the boy actually had a great deal of talent in the art of Potions making, though the talent was still unrefined, as displayed in the boy's OWL. Very surprising.
Still didn't change the fact that he didn't like the Potter brat.
Severus continued with his inventory just as Dumbledore's head appeared in the fireplace, grave and somber. Frowning, Severus set aside his list and came into the Headmaster's view.
"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, sir?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, Harry Potter has been kidnapped. I need you to go to the Dursley residence while I go the Ministry to inform them. I need you to go right away, please."
Severus nodded. "Of course."
Dumbledore vanished from the fireplace, but the Potions Master was already well out of the dungeons, shoving open the great oak doors leading out of the castle a few minutes later.
However, an owl caught him just before he reached the aparation point, holding a yellowed letter out to Severus. He paused, removing the letter fro the owl's leg, thanking it as he was slipping the letter into his robes, promising to deal with it later.
He arrived at 4 Privet Drive in the darkness of a raging storm. Instinct told him something was desperately wrong.
He slipped around the side of the house, trying to avoid any contact or confrontation with the wretched muggles who lived inside. He hated dealing with muggles, and these were the worst kind.
In the backyard, Severus was on high alert. Something was very wrong. Even through the relentless rain, the stench of blood, fear, and most recently, sex was there in the small yard, with a smoking, steaming tree in the center. The air was charged, as it happened when lightning struck.
Severus moved closer to the tree, and the smell of burnt, electrified flesh and hair was strong, though not nearly as strong as the stench of blood. Blood was on the tree, and on the ground, and with a spell, he determined that blood was Potter's. Severus frowned. Just what had happened to the boy?
"Some of this blood is weeks old," he said quietly to the charged air, muttering to himself. He scanned the immediate surrounding area. A metal pipe with a jagged edge on the sodden earth, the rain quickly washing away what was undoubtedly Potter's blood. Thick rope, burnt, but cut cleanly as if to release its captive.
And, carved into the tree itself, a message.
Your protection has failed him, Dumbledore.
The boy's life is now mine,
And this war will end with your death, not his.
I will protect him where you have failed.
LV
Severus understood entirely. The boy was being severely abused in this muggle household, and no one had known. He, himself, had been horribly wrong. Potter wasn't pampered, he knew that, or even treated decently, although, if the boy had been left under his care, he would have been. And now, the boy had been rescued by his enemy.
There were rags on the ground, soaked through with blood, and Severus guessed that they were, undoubtedly, the bare remnants of Harry's clothes, horribly oversized. Furious, the Potions Master picked up the metal pipe and stormed towards the Dursley household. Someone would answer for this outrageous and infuriating development, and someone was going to be in some serious pain for this!
He slammed open the door, the glass cracking in his wake as he startled the damned muggles. He knew he presented a fearful sight; soaked, his black hair hung raggedly in his pale face, his onyx eyes gleaming furiously as he stood tall with all of his imperious height.
Sitting at the table before him were three muggles; a stick thin woman, he barely recognized as Lily's sister, a teenaged... whale of a child, and a fat pig of a muggle glaring outrageously at his entrance, sputtering with startled anger.
"Wha-! You-! Your kind is not welcome here!"
Severus ignored the man. "What have you done to him?" His raised voice surprised him, but what the hell.
"What are you talking about? Get out of here!" Dursley started to stand, but paused as Severus advanced on him.
"Harry Potter! What did you do to him!"
"Nothing that the little demon didn't deserve!" Dursley shouted back at him, unaware of the coming danger. Severus paused, and a deadly air formed around him.
"Demon. You seriously believe that the boy is a demon, and thus, worthy of abuse, neglect, torture and rape. He should be a child, but he already bears a heavy burden. That boy is the only person protecting your world from conquest and destruction. Why would you do something so ridiculously stupid?" His voice was now quiet, calm, his tone dangerous.
"He's a freak, and he deserved it, with all of his funny business disrupting our normal household; and we never wanted him anyway! He was just left on our doorstep!" Dursley was getting red in the face. "He deserved everything he got, and I don't regret anything I did to him!"
"Avada Kedavra." Severus turned away from the muggle he just killed, facing the wife and child. Both stared at him, terror in their wide, frightened eyes.
"Answer me. How long has the abuse been going on?"
Petunia fumbled for words. "All- all of his life. We make him do everything we say."
"He never had clothes of his own, he has always been too small for his age, and you made him your personal house elf. He is a human being! Did you do nothing to stop the abuse?" The remaining Dursleys cringed and shrank back from Severus' quiet, deadly manner.
"Avada Kedavra." The son fell dead. Severus looked Petunia directly in the eyes.
"You are Lily's sister. She was brutally murdered trying to save her family and you have killed her son. Why?"
The last Dursley could only fumble for words, but there was a hatred in her eyes, a distinct loathing that Severus recognized; it was that same hate and loathing that he himself had shared with James Potter, and had shared with the recently deceased Sirius Black.
"He shares your blood. He is your family, and you don't even care, not one bit." Severus said quietly, in complete disbelief.
Petunia jumped to her feet. "Of course not! He was a freak, just as she was! I always hated her! Always so much better than the rest of us! She deserved what she got, and so did that ungrateful brat!"
Severus' onyx eyes narrowed dangerously. "Lily Potter was my best friend before she was murdered, and she was the most caring witch I have ever had the honor of knowing, helping others no matter who they were, and her son was exactly the same, saving those who needed his help, fighting evil everyday, facing death and corruption, yet remaining as pure as he can. You are truly pathetic. Avada Kedavra." Petunia fell dead and Severus turned away, eyeing a padlocked cupboard. A shiver went down his spine.
Inside the cupboard was an old cot, a ratty thin blanket, and a Hogwarts school trunk with a very active protection charm, as well as an empty owl cage. He felt a twinge of sadness. The boy's owl had been a beautiful owl.
Shrinking the boy's things, Severus did a once over of the house, finding more of Harry's meager possessions under one of the floorboards in one of the small bedrooms. Birthday cards, letters, a beautiful photo album, an enchanted two-way mirror, and his Invisibility cloak. Severus packed them away and Disaparated from the cookie-cutter neighborhood and the deaths he'd caused without remorse.
Dumbledore met him as he came onto the grounds leading up to the castle. The old wizard appeared older than he did, and there was no twinkle in his damnable blue eyes.
"Well?"
"The Dark Lord has the boy, and he has vowed to protect him where you have failed." Severus said, and Dumbledore was confused.
"The boy was severely abused in that house, Albus, nearly to the point of death, from what I could gather. I am under the impression that the Dark Lord saved him, and will not be harmed. Also, the muggles responsible for Potter's abuse are dead." Severus watched as Dumbledore took the information and was surprised that the Headmaster was taking it rather well, almost too well.
Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Severus. I shall inform the Order about this."
"Sir, what about Potter?"
"What about him?"
"He was taken by the Dark Lord, not killed. I believe he is still alive, and we may be able to rescue him."
"Well, if you happen to find out of his whereabouts, then we may have a chance of saving him," Dumbledore didn't sound hopeful at all. "But until you do, I will have to assume the worst."
Severus watched, stunned, as Dumbledore walked away from him. Since when did Dumbledore not care about his Golden Boy? What had happened in the last four weeks since Black's death and the Department of Mysteries incident that could have changed Dumbledore's opinion of the boy?
Bemused, Severus went inside the castle and down into his chambers, collapsing in his favorite chair in front of the fire. It was at this time that he remembered the letter he had received before his startling and disturbing discoveries. With a frown, he removed the letter from his robes, and he stared at it. Who would send him a letter?
Then he smelled a fragrance that shocked him; a fragrance he hadn't smelled in nearly sixteen years; a fragrance that sent shivers down his spine as old memories emerged, memories that he buried deep within his mind.
"Lily... this can't be..."
Slowly, Severus opened the letter, noticing that the letter itself was a bit yellowed, as though written years ago. Lily's perfect handwriting was now faded ink on parchment. Severus could almost smell her perfume, could almost hear her laughter as he slowly her last words to him.
Sev, my Dearest friend,
When you received this letter, I will be dead almost fifteen years.
James and I have already gone into hiding, but I don't believe it'll Protect us, even as I sit here writing this.
This is my final goodbye, Severus, and because you have always been my Good friend, I ask that you listen to my story. I had hoped to spare you,
But I fear that I will never get another chance.
Eight months before my son Harry was born, there was a Deatheater raid, and several women were kidnapped, raped and left to die. Not even James knows what I'm about to tell you, but you, dear friend, you need to know.
I was one of the women kidnapped, and you were there, Severus. I know that you didn't want to do to harm anyone, but I know that Voldemort forced you to do what you did to me.
Here's why you didn't know that it was I; all the women had been put under Glamours, and were gagged. You couldn't have known whom you were forced to rape.
But Sev, my dearest friend, my best friend, I don't blame you, nor do I hate you. No one knows about that night; not James, not Dumbledore. Remus may have a suspicion, because of his heightened sense of smell, but not even he cannot guess that Harry, born a month premature, is your son, with your family name. His true name is Rhaegal Snape, Sev.
I love James, you know that, but this would have broken his heart. Yes, he would have loved Harry as his own, like he does now, but it wouldn't have been the same.
Don't blame yourself, Sev, because I don't blame you. Just, please, take care of our son, and keep him far away from my sister and her family, please. They are the worst kind of muggles in every sense, to every extreme.
Don't let our son die there.
Sev, you have always been my best friend, and you will remain my best, and dearest friend. I love you, Sev, like the brother I never had.
Your loving friend,
Lily.
Tears coursed down Severus' pale face, splashing down on the last remnant of his best friend, Lily. He remembered that horrible night long ago; he had kept apologizing for what he had been forced to do. Lily had been his best and only friend since their fourth year at Hogwarts to the day she and Potter had been murdered. And he had failed in her last request.
"I was too late..." Suddenly, all of the recent changes he'd noticed in the boy made sense. Lily must have created a charm to change the boy's appearance on the molecular level, magically altering the appearance of his DNA. That was the only possible explanation, as there was no charm, spell, or potion that could alter appearances for more than a few hours, and Lily had certainly been clever enough to come up with something to last fifteen years.
But, he had been far too late. About everything. He had forgotten that the boy was Lily's son, focusing instead on his anger towards James. He had made too many mistakes, and even though the boy was still alive, there was no way that he, Severus Snape, could be a father figure to anyone, let alone his own son.
He was startled from his thoughts as the Dark Mark on his left arm started to burn. Not viciously, but enough to let him know that the Dark Lord wished to see him.
With a small ray of hope, Severus had a feeling, a gut instinct about what Voldemort wanted from him. He rushed to his Potions cabinet, and with care, he stored away as many healing potions, restorative draughts, and other potions designed to aid and repair the body, into a satchel designed to carry such potions before leaving his chambers, Lily's letter once again inside his robes.
Once past the wards, he Aparated into the graveyard of Riddle House, noting that it was not raining here. A quick drying charm and he was on his way up to the manor house, his satchel hidden in his billowing robes.
Opening the large oak door, Severus caught sight of the Dark Lord waiting for him in the main foyer. For a moment, he was startled by the dark wizard's appearance. Vastly different from the snake-faced monster, Voldemort stood tall and regal; complete with pale, flawless skin, luxurious black hair, sleek and cut short, almost spiky, and those piercing crimson eyes, the slitted pupils very much like a snake's.
Catching sight of Severus, the Dark Lord smiled and ushered the Potions Master forward. Severus closed the door behind him and closed the distance between them, wary.
"No need to be so cautious, Severus. I just need your help with an important matter. Follow me." Voldemort led him to a bedroom on the third floor, opening the door to reveal Harry Potter on the bed, broken and bruised, barely clinging to life. His breathing was ragged and just looking at him caused Severus to wince with sympathy.
"I was able to heal some of his wounds, bringing him from fatal to critical, but that was all I was able to do. Can you save him?" Voldemort asked, and Severus nodded, removing his potions satchel from within his robes. He approached the bed removing a pale blue vial from the satchel.
"This will heal his respiratory system," he explained, rubbing Harry's injured throat gingerly to force him to swallow. "And this will start healing the most severe of his injuries." He said, drawing forth a crimson potion.
"This will take a while, won't it?"
"Yes, my Lord. A few weeks, at least."
For a few minutes, Harry's ragged breathing, evening out, was the only sound in the room. Severus emptied his Potions satchel, arranging the different potions in silence. Voldemort watched him as he worked, but every so often, his crimson gaze would flicker to the prone wizard on the bed, and his eyes would seem... softer, almost.
"I know you're a traitor. I've been aware for some time now."
Severus paused. "Am I supposed to know what to say to that?" he asked, turning to look at the Dark Lord.
Voldemort chuckled. "I guess not. Why did you come when I called? I could easily kill you at any moment."
Severus sat down in a chair at Harry's bedside, pondering his reply. "I know you wouldn't hesitate to kill me, but I knew you had the boy, and I couldn't allow him to die."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow in question. "Oh?"
The Potions Master nodded. "Yes. Due to very recent information, I have come to realize a great many things. He is my responsibility, one I do not regret or begrudge, as requested by his mother."
Voldemort took a seat opposite Severus, his curiosity clearly visible in his expression. "Really? This I have to hear. Oh, and I have no intention of actually killing you, so feel free to elaborate."
Severus shrugged. "Fine. But first, what has changed? With you, I mean?"
"Fair enough. All right, I'll trust you with this. Today is the boy's 16th birthday, is it not?" At Severus' nod, Voldemort smiled, leaning back in his seat. "Well, something has happened, and it started with his scar. I created a connection between us all those many years ago, insane as I was. He could see through my eyes, but until very recently, I was unaware that the connection went both ways. After the disaster at the Ministry, I kept feeling such a profound feeling of sorrow and despair, but also resolution. Soon after, I felt pain, not my own, but growing as time went by. But... tonight was the worst. For the first time, I had a vision. A vision that restored my humanity, my sanity."
"What was this vision?"
Voldemort sighed. "A raven-haired angel, bound at the wrists to a tree. The wings were translucent, like they weren't real, but bloodied, just like the angel, with lost feathers. Broken and bleeding, this angel cried tears of blood as he was cruelly violated, suffering the ultimate suffering, and crying out for salvation."
"Do you know who this angel was?" Severus asked.
"Of course. He's healing right here," The Dark Lord gestured to Harry, whose breathing was almost returned to normal. "And I have a feeling that his wings will reveal themselves once his body can cope with it. Anyway, after this vision, something happened to me."
Standing, Voldemort removed his thick cloak, and black leathery wings, like those of a bat, or of a demon, ripped through his tunic. Severus was stunned, and he stared, completely bewildered.
"You see, now that I am completely sane, I can see that he is the light to my darkness. Without my sanity, I was unable to distinguish the very fine line between love and hate. From the moment we first fought, five years ago, when I first saw his eyes, glowing with emotion and power, alight with such fiery emotion, I had fallen for him. I believe I love him." Voldemort smiled.