December 27th
Harry fell on his bed, not bothering to change or to go and brush his teeth. He was just lying there, staring at the white ceiling, his thoughts spinning in dark depressed circles.
The circles included death, burial and graves of Hermione, of his friends, of the Order members, of the Dursleys, and those of complete strangers, and of his own death and burial.
He could feel a headache building.
A part of his brain was screaming at him to get a grip, to stop being melodramatic. The majority of his head, however, was caught in the feeling of deepest gloom. He honestly couldn't remember feeling more depressed and helpless than this, even with Dementors nearby. Unable to snap out of it, his thoughts, unchecked, ran rampant once more.
If he died first, he wouldn't have to bury anyone. With his death he would cause everyone to die in Voldemort's reign, though. It was unimaginable to let the foulest-ever wizard win and let the world turn dark. At the same time, Harry couldn't imagine killing Voldemort. How could he? Voldemort was older, more experienced, powerful and completely ruthless. Harry on the other hand was still learning the basics. His biggest success had been escaping Voldemort. He was the rabbit, and Voldemort the wolf. How often did the rabbit stand up and kill his hunter dead?
Harry couldn't let anyone die, though, could he?
The Dursleys might already be dead, he admitted the truth to himself. It pained him, but he would survive. What if Hermione died, though? What then? One hot tear slid down Harry's face.
A very soft knock sounded.
Harry didn't feel like answering. Or moving.
The door opened. Harry turned his head slightly. He wondered if Andy or Chris decided to check on him. He had no idea how much time passed whist he was lying here, thinking.
It was Snape.
"Potter," he said. "I wondered if you forgot to turn off the light."
Harry thought about shrugging, but then it felt like too much effort, and he simply stared at Snape.
"It's after one in the morning," the wizard informed him. "You should be sleeping."
Harry shrugged this time. He didn't care if Snape criticised him. He didn't care much about anything at the moment.
Snape let himself in, shutting the door softly behind him. He came nearer to the bed and said with slight hesitation, "Andrei told me the movie disturbed you a bit. I see that it was an understatement."
Harry averted his eyes. He didn't feel like talking to anyone, least of all with Snape.
Seeing that no answer was coming, Snape continued, "I'm no expert on the Gryffindor way of thinking, assuming they indulged at all, but I feel safe to guess that it was the death of Rambo's friends that sent you into this funk?"
Did Snape really say 'funk'? This was getting too weird. The man was on the spot of the problem, too. Harry closed his tired eyes for a second. It felt as if his eyelids were as heavy as lead. His head was pounding with the headache. He didn't want to talk about it with Snape. He wasn't sure he would want to talk about it to anyone.
"I'll bring you a dose of Dreamless Sleep," Snape announced after a while of silence.
It seemed as if no time passed before Snape returned with a vial in his hand. Harry downed it without any comment which earned him a raised eyebrow.
"No fear I was poisoning you, Potter?" the Potions Master asked him with a completely unconvincing snarl.
"Who cares," Harry mumbled just before his eyes closed. He didn't see the worried frown that ran over Snape's pale face.
ssSSSsss
Well rested, Harry woke up and berated himself for his weakness. He might lose his life and future in the war against Voldemort, but he would prepare as much as he could, so that he at least saved the wizarding world for others. For Hermione. For Neville. For the six Snapes. Even for one ungrateful Ronald Weasley. Instead of despairing, he would learn as much as he could. The prophecy stated he had a chance to defeat Voldemort, and Harry would take it, as slim a chance as it was.
He took out a parchment, and decided to make a list of things he would try to learn.
'Spells, and curses' Harry wrote, and frowned. He was sure Voldemort knew an awful lot of those. Maybe Harry should find what Voldemort couldn't do.
Of course! Harry realised with a start. The prophecy stated 'and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.'
It meant Harry just needed to find out what power Voldemort lacked, then learn it, and kill him. Yup, that easy, commented a sarcastic voice in his head.
Harry was biting the top of his quill, thinking furiously. Voldemort had been a very good student when at Hogwarts, which probably meant he was better than Harry at the school subjects. Maybe Harry should find his school results? Dumbledore would surely let him see that and maybe offer some insight.
Unwilling to let the matter lie till he was back at Hogwarts, Harry tackled the problem from the other - Harry's – side. What was he good at?
Flying. Not so helpful.
Harry went through his school subjects. Apart from Defense, he wasn't really that good at anything. Maybe he should have picked other subjects than Divination, he admitted to himself. Maybe Voldemort didn't know Runic magic and if Harry studied Runes… Then again, Harry wasn't really sure what else was Runic magic good for except of warding.
He definitely needed to get Voldemort's school results.
Harry wondered why he was good at Defense, but average at Charms – his Mum was Flitwick's best student, so why didn't Harry inherit the trait? His Dad was ace at Tranfiguration, figuring out the animagia by himself with Sirius. Harry, on the other hand, struggled with Tranfiguration more often than not.
It would be nifty to become an Animagus. Harry had never heard about Voldemort being one.
Harry scratched his head, and wrote 'Animagia' on his list of to-do things.
After a short hesitation, he added 'Muggle weapons'. Rambo made them kinda impressive. Voldemort was supposed to hate everything of Muggle origin, so there was a chance he didn't know anything about their weapons and ways to protect against them.
Harry realised he knew precious little about the Dark Lord. It was a failure on his side, he decided, that he hadn't thought to study his arch-enemy more closely. He scribbled at the bottom of the parchment, 'find things about V.' and after a moment he added 'find out about spells & wards against Muggle weapons'.
Then he packed the parchment back into his trunk and decided to oblige his stomach that had been announcing for a while that it was about time Harry had got to breakfast.
On his way down he wondered who to consult about sources of information. Chris was the DADA teacher, but Snape would be pissed off about Harry bothering her. Asking Snape was out, definitely. Harry settled on asking Andy as soon as he found a quiet moment. Also, tomorrow the Paintball game might be a good moment to raise the topic innocuously.
"Good morning," Harry stepped into the kitchen somewhat shyly. He hoped nobody would hold his last-night weird mood against him. Everyone was in the kitchen, the whole Snape family, in various stages of breakfasting.
He got a chorus of 'morning's and a 'good morning, sleeping beauty' from Eduard, or Pavel. A quick glance at the wall informed him it was 9 o'clock already.
Harry sat beside Andy on his usual chair and served himself hot porridge from a pot. The smell of cinnamon reached his mouth and Harry nearly burned his tongue in his haste to taste it.
"We're going to look out for Aunt Minnie," one of the smallest twins announced.
"She won't be here before half past ten," Chris informed them in a voice that indicated this particular sentence had been said multiple times already.
Harry grinned. An obvious thought occurred to him. "Where should I move from the guest room?" He felt daft that he hadn't realised it earlier that he was in the way.
"You can bunk with me," Andy offered. "We'll put a mattress in for you as we do when my friends are over."
"Or you can sleep on the couch and watch kids' movies every night," Nicolay quipped before Harry managed to express his gratitude to his twin.
"Can we sleep on the couch and watch movies every night?" Sasha stopped his retreat into the living room; his little brother nodding fervently.
"In your dreams," one of the middles chuckled.
"Thanks," Harry told Andrei finally, when the small boys finished their heartfelt laments, and the rest of the family stopped laughing. "I'll move after breakfast."
Andy nodded at him, and amicably passed a bowl of uneven chocolate pieces. Harry put a few of them on his hot oatmeal and watched them melt. This could possibly be the best morning he had had here – that was, if Snape continued to ignore him. Harry feared that the foul wizard would start to ridicule him about the sleeping potion he had given him last night.
Later, upstairs, Harry easily levitated his unpacked trunk to Andy's room, and then he returned for his bed sheets. He looked back at the empty room, and scratched his head pensively. He remembered that everyone was supposed to clean after themselves, and put to practise the household spells the firsties had taught him.
Back in Andy's room, he found the mattress planted along the wall. He put the trunk out of the way under the window. The room was somewhat overstuffed now. There was Andy's bed, his table with a chair, shelves with textbooks above the table. Beside the table there was a bookcase with glass doors. Nearly half of the shelves in the bookcase contained pictures, postcards, a row of stones and some souvenirs and other small thingies obviously collected over the years. It made sense to Harry - there were huge bookcases in the living room serving the whole family, so Andy didn't have so many personal books. Beside the bookcase there was a huge wardrobe, the same as Nicolay had in his room. With the mattress and trunk added, there was enough space to cross the room but nothing more. Andy didn't seem to mind, so Harry shrugged it off. The remaining space was bigger than his cupboard, so what.
"Do you have any books on You-Know-Who?" Harry asked Andy, who was sitting on his bed, trying for a casual tone of voice. He even remembered to use the stupid moniker.
Andy's dark eyes turned to him, his face showing surprise. "He's in every history book, I guess, but apart that I don't think we have his biography. I doubt it exists at all." His voice turned somewhat sarcastic when he had said 'biography'.
Harry realised that his question was probably weird – at least from Andy' point of view – and explained, "I'm supposed to duel him and I know ridiculously little about him. Dumbledore told me something about his childhood and how evil was he, but hardly any weak points."
Andy stared at him as if Harry sprouted a new head. "You are supposed to duel him?" He echoed. "As in you and Him? No offence, but I don't think you would stand a chance."
"Well, thanks for your vote of confidence," Harry retorted a bit angrily. Immediately, he deflated, "And I know that myself."
"Who expects you to duel him? Dumbledore?"
"There's a prophecy," Harry mumbled. Seeing Andy's very curious face, he recited him the stupid thing. He knew Dumbledore had been keeping it secret, but honestly, what could it harm to share with Andrei? It wasn't as if the boy was going to run to Voldemort with it.
Andy whistled. "Once more, please." He made a rotating motion with his arm.
Harry obediently repeated the damning words.
Andy was silent for longer than Harry liked. Harry bit his lower lip to keep his impatience at bay. It was a good think that the teen thought about the prophecy instead of showering Harry with concern and useless words of pity, Harry reminded himself.
"Hasn't the prophecy been fulfilled already when you vanquished him as a baby?" Andy asked.
"I guess not, as he came back," Harry pushed his glasses up his nose in his usual nervous gesture. "And he's after me. The jerk just can't let be. I would have to fight him even without the prophecy, so this way I at least know I have a chance, as small as it is."
"Tough luck," Andy agreed, and fell silent once more.
Harry waited, resisting tapping his foot impatiently. He stepped to the window, looking at the vast garden. He turned back when Andy finally started speaking.
"I don't think it necessarily implies you have to duel him. You could vanquish him through an army you created and it would still fit the criteria," he stopped at Harry's unbelieving stare.
"And either must die at the hand of the other," Harry reminded him.
"No, really," Andy insisted. "If you wanted to be literal, you would have to kill him with your bare hands. A wand is just a tool, as is a knife, a sword, or a Muggle gun. Think of an army as of an elaborate gun."
"Sounds nice," Harry admitted, "But I don't quite believe it. But I thought about Muggle guns. What can V- He know about those?"
Andy shrugged. "Muggles have been using guns for ages. So it would depend on how much he knows about the Muggle world."
Harry sighed dejectedly. "Dumbledore told me He grew up in a Muggle orphanage."
"Sucks," Andy agreed. "He might not know about some new inventions, but guns generally won't help you much. Only maybe if you catch him unprepared."
Harry tried to imagine it. If there were other people attacking Voldemort with curses against which he would have to protect himself, Harry could shoot him. Not even Voldemort could cast against everything at once, could he? It sounded like shooting someone in the back, though. Harry grimaced with distaste. "Are there spells against bullets?"
"There are some shields," Andy informed him. "I know only the basic one, but we have a book where we can find more." The teen paused and frowned. "Dad said that You-Know-Who was inventing his own spells and curses, though."
"Which we won't find in any book," Harry finished for Andy. The other boy nodded. Well, bother.
They were silently contemplating the implications. Harry could hear Snape admonishing the smallest twins for running in the corridor. He grinned upon hearing indignant 'we're not babies!' in the boys' high voices.
"You know what?" Andy sat more upright, with a grin of his own, "we have an expert on Him here." Then without warning he shouted, "Dad!"
"No!" Harry exclaimed in alarm.
Too late.
"Is there any problem?" Snape stood in the door, looking at Harry across the room.
Of course Snape would immediately jump at conclusion that there was a problem, Harry Potter was included after all! Harry could curse Andrei where he sat on the bed. Why on Earth he had to call Snape in?
"No problems, Dad, we're just talking," his son assured him. "Could you close the door, please?"
Snape obliged, and went to sit on the chair by the writing table. He looked at his son, and raised his customary questioning eyebrow.
"We were discussing You-Know-Who," Andy filled in his father, "Harry was asking if He could protect himself against Muggle guns."
Snape turned his head to Harry, who shrugged mutely, avoiding the wizard's eyes.
"Harry wants to be prepared to fight against You-Know-Who but he found he was lacking information," Andy continued and looked at Snape expectantly.
This time Snape spoke directly to Harry, "What about those private lessons Albus claimed he was giving you?"
"There've been just two of them so far," Harry shrugged, "Dumbledore doesn't seem to think there's a hurry, saying I have two years till I finish school to learn everything." Before Snape could voice his opinion on the matter, Harry pointed out, "but You-Know-Who always strikes before the end of the school year, every year."
He paused to let that sink and give Snape the time to remember all the incidents that had happened since Harry stepped in to the wizarding world.
Snape nodded his head to the side, accepting that.
"What has Albus taught you so far, then?" the wizard asked in a carefully neutral tone, as if he didn't really care about the answer. Harry was aware that it was just a pose.
Harry shrugged again.
Snape pinched the bridge of his big nose, "Potter, no offence intended, but please be so kind as to stop that infernal shrugging."
Andy snickered before Harry could get angry at Snape.
The man added, "You're nearly an adult. It is high time to abandon childish gestures, if you want to be taken seriously."
Harry decided that Snape was for once being honest, and he did want to be taken seriously. "Okay," he agreed.
Snape face turned pained, but he desisted on commenting. The answer was probably equally childish in his eyes as shrugging.
"Dumbledore told me You-Know-Who was Tom Riddle – well, I knew that already from his diary that tried to possess Ginny. He grew up in a Muggle orphanage. His mother was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin but they were really poor, and she was bullied at home by her brother and father. You-Know-Who's father was a Muggle and he abandoned her when she stopped dosing him with love potions."
Andy's face was the picture of surprise. Snape had on his poker face, so Harry couldn't tell if the man was surprised or displeased at Harry's erratic narration.
"You-Know-Who's a half-blood?" Andy asked in sheer disbelief. "Did you know?" he asked his father.
"No, I didn't," Snape replied, "And I don't understand why Albus is keeping it secret. If his followers knew he wasn't a pure-blood it would considerably weaken his position."
"How is that possible that nobody else knew?" Andy wondered, "Didn't they ask, in the very beginning, where he had come from? I mean, all the purebloods know each other from the cradle. How could he just appear all of sudden without anyone knowing him?"
"I remember Lucius once mentioned, years ago, that he tried to find out about the family name Riddle, but he failed. When he asked the Dark Lord, he was brushed off, the Dark Lord supposedly took the name Riddle to distance himself from his family," Snape answered.
"He didn't seem like someone you can ask questions," Harry remarked idly, remembering the dark graveyard where Voldemort was resurrected.
"He used to be more reasonable. And charismatic. Persuasive. That was why people started following him," Snape, to Harry's immense surprise, explained. "What else has Dumbledore taught you?"
Harry nearly shrugged before he caught himself, and forced his shoulders to remain still. "Just that He hated the kids in the orphanage and he tortured them."
"Not surprising," Snape opined. "That's all?"
"Also that He was top of his class at school," Harry shared, "that's about it."
Snape's face showed disbelief briefly, before he schooled his face into the usual impassiveness. "No spells, curses, shields? Albus is preparing you just by sharing stories?"
"You forgot the prophecy," Andy piped in.
This time Snape's head turned as fast that Harry wondered that he didn't break a vertebrae. "Albus shared the prophecy with you? The whole prophecy?"
Harry nodded, his mind working furiously. What an odd question to ask, 'the whole prophecy'. Did Snape expect him to freak out because of the dying part?
"Dumbledore told me after Sirius died," Harry informed the wizard mostly to gain time to think.
Or was it possible that Dumbledore told Snape only a part of the prophecy, and Snape was surprised that Harry had been told the whole thing?
"Well, Potter, are you going to share it?" Snape asked a bit impatiently, confirming Harry's thoughts.
"Why didn't Dumbledore tell you?" he wondered. He wasn't sure he really wanted to ask it aloud. "He told you only part of it?"
Snape closed his eyes as if pained. Harry supposed he was trying to reign in his temper. Harry decided to recite the stupid prophecy once more, he had already told Andy, and Andrei would undoubtedly share it with his father anyway.
Snape listened to the ominous words with his head tilted to the side. Afterwards, he stayed silent for a long time. Harry waited impatiently. Before he lived to hear Snape's opinion on the matter, the babies' screams sounded through the house.
"Minnie, Minnie! Aunt Minnie is coming!"
"They're gonna collapse the roof on our heads," Andy grinned, standing up.
Snape stood up as well, and promised, "We'll talk about this later."
ssSSss
Harry followed Snape and Andy out of the room and towards the staircase. He looked down, in the sitting room McGonagall was bent down, hugging the babies. Then she stood up, and proceeded to hug one of the middle twins. Her eyes trailed upwards, and she smiled at Snape. Then she spotted Harry and froze.
"If I ever- " she exclaimed, and her hand flew to her heart.
Harry's heart sank. She hadn't known he was here. It meant she probably wasn't bringing any news either.
"Doddering old fool!" Snape cursed angrily. For once his ire had another target than Harry.
"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted, swallowing his disappointment.
"Mr Potter," McGonagall recovered as well. "Allow me to offer you my condolences."
Harry felt blood leaving his head and face. He stared at her in horror. "The Dursleys?"
"Albus hasn't told you?" the elder witch sounded beyond scandalised.
Harry bit his lip. "All three of them?"
"What happened, Aunt Minnie?" one of the babies asked.
McGonagall ignored him, her eyes didn't leave Harry's. She didn't answer his question, but her grim expression conveyed it all.
Harry nodded at her tersely.
She nodded back.
Harry turned on his heel, going to his room. Only standing beside the door to the guest room, he remembered it wasn't "his" room anymore. He turned back, got into his new dwelling, and flopped on his mattress.
Dead. They were dead.
Harry didn't know what to feel, what to think. He had suspected, so it didn't come as a complete shock. Still, the finality of it…
They never liked him.
He felt loss, but at the same time he didn't. He was more surprised than grieving. They hated him, and he disliked them. He had already decided not to return to the Private Drive again, so he would have never seen them again anyway.
Their demise saved him a fight against Dumbledore, Harry guessed. He hadn't been looking forward to that argument. Did profiting from their death make him a bad person? At least he wouldn't get any money or possessions from them, everything would undoubtedly go to Marge.
Harry decided he wasted enough time looking at the ceiling. He wasn't heartbroken over their death, and maybe it made him a callous person, but pretending would only make him a hypocrite.
Harry took Foreign Curses & Hexes Fitting in English Hand out of his trunk. He was not obliged to mourn the Dursleys. They definitely wouldn't mourn him had he died first. His decision cemented. His goal was to learn enough to make Hermione and the rest of the people he cared about safe.
He was still reading when Andy came to ask tentatively if Harry wanted to eat lunch with the rest of them.
"Sure," Harry got up, realising he was in fact starving. He put his book back in his trunk, and followed Andy out of the door. He noticed the boy was eyeing him covertly.
"I'm alright," he assured him. "I'd suspected already something wrong had happened."
Andy nodded at him solemnly. "Just say if you wanna talk, or something."
Harry nodded back. He hoped that he would be able to corner McGonagall after the lunch and find out what else she knew.
Down in the kitchen, Harry's face coloured under the scrutiny of the whole family. Everyone but Chris – and Andy of course - was already sitting at the table. The room smelled faintly of garlic. It was probably the steaming bowl of soup on the table, Harry decided absentmindedly.
Snape got up, gave Harry a little bow, and announced rather formally, "By the name of our family, I offer you sincere condolences. May they rest in peace."
Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, fishing for the proper response. "Er- Thank you?" He imitated Snape's bow. He guessed it was a wizarding thing?
Snape bowed slightly back, saying nothing. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that Snape wanted to roll eyes at him.
Harry just sat at his usual seat, when Snape's last sentence sunk. He raised his head alarmed, "Can Muggles come back as ghosts?"
Pavel smirked at him, "Do you fear they'll come hunting you?"
"I got them killed, so why wouldn't they?" Harry dryly answered him with a question of his own.
McGonagall frowned. "It's unclear if the car accident was caused by wizards, or if it was indeed only an accident. Muggles have many of those every day."
Under Harry's unbelieving stare, she amended, "Though the working version in the Auror department is that there were Death Eaters behind it."
"Either way, the Dursleys were on the way to get me, so it's still my fault," Harry shrugged.
"Stop playing martyr," Snape admonished. His voice didn't hold its usual harshness, though. "And Muggles cannot become ghosts, only wizards and squibs have the ability. Even among them it's incredibly rare to become one."
Harry didn't respond. He figured out it wasn't an appropriate topic to discuss before the small twins anyway. He mulled it over in his head. His Mum was a Muggleborn witch. Some people said, though, that there wasn't such a thing as Muggleborn, their magic simply manifested whist it just laid dormant in their ancestors, Squibs. So if this was true, where had it left Aunt Petunia? She had the same genes as his mum, so she could be a kind of a Squib, and their parents too. And Harry wouldn't put it past Petunia to make his life a hell for getting Dudley killed, even if it meant she would have to become a ghost. He sighed.
Harry shook his head. It didn't matter. If Petunia became a ghost, he would find soon enough. He would just exorcize her or something.
He waited for a lull in conversation, and asked McGonagall. "Professor, is it hard to become an Animagus? How long does it take?" He had more pressing questions for her, mostly about Ministry and Dumbledore, but this wasn't the time to ask them.
She peered at him over her glasses, "It certainly isn't easy, otherwise there would be more Animagi around. The length of the learning is highly individual, the most talented ones managed the transformation after six months of intensive training. In most cases it takes between eighteen months and two years. And of course, some witches and wizards never master the transformation."
"How long did it take you to become a cat, Aunt Minnie?" Sasha asked.
"Ten months," the elder witch informed him.
"Why did you pick a cat, Aunt Minnie?" Mark wondered. "Not that it's not cool."
"You cannot choose your form, Mark," McGonagall explained between mouthfuls of soup something that Harry already knew. "Your animal form is given."
"What if someone turns into something stupid? Like a slug or a worm?" The small boy was positively horrified.
"There is a potion that reveals the form to you," Snape informed his son. "If someone finds his form lacking, he decides against learning Animagia."
"What animal would you be, Daddy?" Sasha inquired. "Was it something you didn't like?"
"I would be a blackbird," Snape revealed.
Harry would sooner guess a bat or a crow. Whatever black worked though, he smirked inwardly. He didn't share his thoughts aloud, of course, using the time to add more soup on his plate.
"I've never found the time to pursue learning Animagia, though." Snape finished.
It made sense, Harry guessed, Snape was teaching, spying, and probably trying to keep at the top of Potions and Dark Arts latest news. Now that he thought about it, Harry wondered when Snape actually slept.
"I would like to be a blackbird too," Sasha smiled at his father loyally. "I could fly everywhere without a broom."
"What about you, Mum?" Mark turned to his mother.
"According to the potion, my form would be an owl. I never mastered the transformation, even though Minerva tried to teach me," Chris admitted.
Harry decided that it was cool of her to share a failure with her sons. She apparently didn't fear they would respect her less for it.
"We could learn together, Mum," Sasha offered. "When can I start learning it?"
"You will have to wait a couple of years," McGonagall's answer made the little happy face crumble. She obviously realised that the boy was about to start crying, and she soothed with gentleness to which Harry wasn't accustomed to, "But you can use the potion and find your form as soon as you start performing magic."
At that the babies cheered up and retold their story about the dog chased away to Minerva. Harry listened with only half an ear, preferring to follow the conversation between Kolya, Pavel, and Snape – the three residing potions geeks. Between them, they decided they had all the ingredients needed and they were going to brew the potion after dinner – after the boys had read through the theory of it in detail during afternoon.
"You are going to brew it for us, Daddy?" Mark overheard the end of their discussion. "I love you so very much!"
"I hope you love me so very much, as I and Pavel are going to brew it," Kolya teased his little brother.
"Sure I do!" the little boy gave him a blinding smile. "I can't wait!"
"If your magic is not pronounced enough, the potion wouldn't show you anything," Snape was curbing his enthusiasm.
The babies' faces fell, especially Mark's. Harry remembered his first dinner here, and realised Mark's insecurities about having magic were reappearing. Snape was such a spoilsport!
Snape touched Mark's hand, and promised, "A lot of witches and wizards don't perform accidental magic at your age. I promise to make you the potion again next summer, and next Christmas again if it doesn't work now."
Mark stood up on his chair and leaped above the corner of the table into Snape's lap in one fluid motion only a kid could perform. He managed not to upset the table and plates, but Snape's cutlery rattled on the floor. Snape hugged his son fiercely. "I love you, Mark, with or without magic."
Harry knew he was staring, but the scene was so bizzare! He realised the he would be in deep troubles if the wizard noticed, and he forced his eyes to look elsewhere.
"Is it hard to brew the potion?" he asked Kolya quietly. "I would like to find out my Animagus form too."
"I don't think you can make it if you didn't qualify to the advanced potions," the boy answered with honesty that took the edge off it. "But the batch will give eight doses of the potions, so you can have one," he offered generously.
"I would like the last dose for Eva," Andy pleaded, and his brothers nodded at him easily.
Kolya suggested to Pavel, "We could do another batch for the school market. That's how we raise some change," he explained to Harry.
Andrei noticed Harry's surprise, and explained shortly. "We get pocket money, of course. If we want more, we raise it. Preparing for having to support ourselves when we're adult."
Harry guessed it made sense. They didn't have a vault of gold at their disposal as he had. He wondered why Ron always bemoaned his lack of money, but never tried to raise some by himself. He could find a summer job or something, but he never did. Fred and George sold their funny stuff, and for what he knew maybe they sold potions as well.
"How do you raise money?" Harry turned to Andy.
"Tutoring, mostly. I teach Defence, or even Potions. As good as those two are," he indicated to his Pavel and Kolya, "I'm better at explaining."
And didn't that qualify for Snape too? Harry thought bitterly. For all his generally acknowledged geniality at Potions, he was a tosser when it came to teaching. Even Hermione said so, and she had that infernal respect for teachers. Without consulting his conscience and brain, Harry's eyes flew to Snape. He found the man watching him with narrowed eyes.
Well, bother.
Thinking about money and Snape reminded Harry about the wizard's dismay upon learning Harry hadn't had a clue about his financial situation and state – or even numbers – of assets. Harry had to admit it was a failure. Granted, he had used to be a penniless freak, so who could blame him for being over-awed by a huge heap of shining gold coins? Staying in that state for five and half years bordered on pathetic, though, he supposed.
It irked him that Snape was right. That freaking bastard had no right to be right! And he especially didn't have the right to play softie daddy-poo in front of Harry's eyes! Harry gripped his cutlery as if he wanted to suffocate the piece of metal.
His own anger surprised him.
Perhaps he was going mental.
"Harry?" Andy inquired softly, with his head bowed to him.
Harry swallowed. He licked his lips, and forced himself to relax his hands. He shook his head mutely, trying to communicate he was okay. He made the mistake of glancing at Snape again, and found the man still watching him with narrowed gaze. He wondered if they all thought he lost his marbles.
"The duck is great," he turned to Chris, "it's even better than at Hogwarts."
He felt he owed it to the woman who took him in and was given nothing but troubles for it. The others joined him, complimenting the meal. Chris smiled at them, and her eyes rested on Harry for longer than at the others, and Harry felt in that moment, that he loved her more than he had ever loved Aunt Petunia in his early childhood years when he still had been trying to gain her affection. He would probably never see Chris again after this Christmas break, but he would never forget her.
"Let's go for a little ski trip this afternoon," Andy offered to Harry. True son of his mother.
"I would slow you down," Harry objected, though the idea of trip sounded wonderful. He needed to burn some energy to keep his anger at bay. He also hoped to gain at least for an hour that wonderful state of equilibrium.
"I'll hurry you up," Andy grinned at him. "Going just after lunch?"
"Yeah," Harry grinned back. It was good to smile, if just a little.
ssSSss
Harry changed into the thick winter trousers. He hesitated about putting on the underpants, or legins, or how it was called, under it. Finally, he decided that the trousers should be enough, as they would be constantly moving. He really felt funny in that kind of clothes anyway, it was girl's stuff! He put on the sweater and hurried to the living room. Near the bottom of steps he could hear the family talking, still in the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks. They were discussing him!
" … coping better than I hoped." That was Chris' voice.
"He's pretty tough or awfully cold," said one of the boys, one of the middles Harry thought. "I mean, his eyes weren't red at all, and he didn't talk about it at all, or- "
"How would you know?" Andy cut him off a bit sharply.
"Grief has many faces, my dear," McGonagall chided, if in much softer voice than she would at school.
"I'm just saying he appeared pretty unfazed, is all," the boy defended himself. "I would cry my eyes out, or destroy everything in the room, or I don't know."
"Crybaby," Andy sing-songed in an obvious effort to lighten the mood. He had the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, Harry thought.
"Destroying something in anger would be much more likely," Snape's deep voice cut into the conversation. "For all the difficult or painful situations Potter found himself in over the years, I have never seen him cry."
"They were the worst Muggles ever, that's what I told Dumbledore the night he left Harry with them," McGonagall shared. "Frowning upon everything and everyone."
"He joked about moving out the day he was adult," Andy revealed, "though now I think maybe it wasn't a joke at all."
Harry had heard enough. It was definitely about time he stopped the discussion, or at least pulled Andrei out of it. He tried to remember what else he had revealed to the amicable teen. He descended the rest of the stairs more loudly than necessary, and walked to the kitchen door.
"Are we going?" he asked innocently, his eyes trained on Andy.
"You need a safety Portkey," Chris got up from the table.
"I'll get it," Snape told her, indicating she should sit back.
He exited the kitchen. "Follow me, Potter," he ordered without bothering to glance at him. Not as if Harry wanted to be glanced at, thank you very much.
Snape led him to his workroom, and indicated Harry to proceed in as well.
Snape handed Harry a golden cross on a golden chain, small but less delicate than women's jewellery would be. "Put it on on your bare skin. In an emergency there's no time for fumbling with gloves and layers of clothing. One single word will activate it."
It made sense, so Harry complied. The gold felt cold on his warm skin under his t-shirt.
"The activating word is 'Madagascar'. The Portkey will take you to the basement here," Snape continued. "Do not leave this property without it."
Harry nodded mutely. He supposed he should thank Snape. The man was actually pretty decent about it all, refraining from sarcastic remarks, or from pointing out he wouldn't bother to protect Harry if it wasn't for endangerment of his own precious family. Instead of voicing gratitude which Harry didn't feel, he stayed mute, waiting for dismissal.
He sensed that Snape was watching him, but he didn't feel like making eye contact to confirm that.
"If… " Snape started in a very soft voice, and then paused as if reconsidering.
"I understand that you are undergoing remarkable amounts of stress," Snape started again. "If you feel like exploding in anger, try to do so away from Alexander and Mark."
It took Harry a second to realise who Snape was referring to. Honestly, couldn't he call the kid Sasha? Then his thoughts got back on track. So, he was now the official basket case. How lovely. Suddenly he felt the unbearable urge to be outside already. In the biting cold under the blue sky. He couldn't breathe.
He gave Snape a quick terse nod without glancing at the wizard, and more run then walked from the study.
He put on the ski boots hastily and threw the jacket on, and rushed out of the door, his gloves still in his pockets and his hat in his hand. A small part of him realised that he must have seem to behave weird to Andy, but he didn't really care. He needed out. Badly.
The coldness gave him the much needed shock as it bit into him mercilessly. He took a shuddering breath, feeling as a drowning man taking the first gulp of breath above water. What the hell was wrong with him? They were talking about Animagi and then it suddenly and quickly went downhill.
Andy joined him just as he put on his second glove. He didn't comment on Harry's behaviour, but Harry still felt the need to apologise.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "I needed outside. I… kind of lost it."
"Understandable," Andy nodded at him. "Still feeling like skiing?"
"Sure," Harry nodded, and he headed towards the shed. He looked up, "I wish I could fly."
"Your usual stress relief?" Andy grinned.
Harry grinned back, and soon they were on their way. Harry went first, so that Andy could accommodate to his speed. He could hear the reassuring shuffling of Andy's ski, which let him knew he wasn't alone and he didn't have to care about getting lost. At the same time he felt wonderfully alone. Before himself he could see only snow, snow, and more snow on the plain they were crossing. It was bliss.
Harry didn't want this trip to ever end.
ssSSss
It wasn't exactly dark when they got back, but it was quite late in the afternoon. Harry was famished. Andy apparently felt hungry too, because he put his finger before his mouth in the common gesture asking for silence. They tiptoed through the empty living room to the kitchen, and inhaled some cake that Andy found in one of the cupboards. It was nearly as a deja-vu in the Burrow with Ron. No Mrs. Weasley came to berate them good-naturedly, and they soon were in Andy's room.
"When's dinner?" Harry asked, as he shed his sweater and the winter pants. He put on his school trousers, and went through stretching exercises, the same ones he would do after a Quidditch practise.
"About forty minutes," Andy informed him from his bed, where he lay just in a tee-shirt and underwear. He was reading – or re-reading – a letter. Harry wondered if it was from Eva.
Harry followed his example and lay down on his mattress. He could read a little before dinner, he guessed. Before he knew, though, his eyes closed and he was dead to the world.
ssSSss
Harry woke into darkness. He took a shuddering breath. His nightmare left him shaken. He dreamed about the Dursleys driving a car. It was raining heavily. Vernon was drunk. A Death-Eater as huge as Hagrid, or maybe even bigger, stepped into the track of their car, and waved his black wand at their car. It crashed into an invisible barrier. The three Dursleys were dead, all wearing the same expression of surprise, and all three of them sharing the very same zig-zag scar as Harry. Talk about creepy.
He shook his head. His heart was slowing down to a bearable pace. He glanced around. He couldn't see a thing. He didn't hear anything either, which meant he couldn't have been screaming. Thank Merlin, he hadn't woken Andy, and the rest of the house.
He took out his wand, and mumbled a silencing charm. He tried to fall back asleep for a very long time before he succeeded.