Chapter 12 Confrontation
"Severus," Tristan took a deep breath, casting a wary glance at the other man. "I –"
"How –why –" Severus stared back, completely forgetting that the man was practically naked. "You –"
Tristan sighed.
"Look, I –let me get dressed. I can expl –I'll answer all your questions,"
Severus' neutral expression graduated into a frown. He folded his arms across his chest.
"Five minutes. In the living area. A second more and I demand to be let out of the Lair."
Tristan nodded. Severus swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.
0101010101010101010
When Tristan entered the living area, he was dressed in his Peverell robed of royal blue. He looked every inch of the High Lord that he was. Severus on the other hand had removed his clack outer robes and draped them over the back of the armchair he was occupying. He was staring off to space, nursing what appeared to be brandy. He barely acknowledged Tristan's entrance. He crossed his legs and set the glass he was holding down on the low coffee table in front of him.
"Sit." The Potions Master said simply, gesturing towards the seat opposite him. "Explain."
Tristan bit his lip as he took the seat.
"I would prefer to answer any questions you have, Lord Prince. I am not sure as to what you have heard or witnessed. It would take us less time if we only discuss what you seem necessary."
Severus gave him a glare.
"You were having a nightmare."
Tristan nodded slowly.
"yes."
"About –about myself,"
Another nod. The Potions Master leaned back in his seat.
"You were screaming. You were asking someone to leave somebody alone –"
"Death," The young lord breathed.
"Death?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Tristan avoided his gaze.
"I was speaking to Death –to leave you alone,"
Severus' mouth was agape.
"You –You –"
Tristan sighed. Again, he nodded wordlessly at the unasked question. If possible, Severus' eyes widened even more.
"But –how –the –"
Tristan snapped his fingers. Dinky appeared.
"Master Tristan called?"
"Dinky, please grab my cloak and the box sitting right next to it."
"Yes sir," the house elf disappeared and reappeared a few seconds later with the requested items. Tristan nodded at the elf to dismiss her, before turning to the other wizard in the room, he laid an ornate-looking box, the size of a large tome, on the low table. Right next to it, he placed the silvery cloth. He glanced at Severus. The man was eyeing the object suspiciously. He looked at Tristan.
"You were dreaming of my death –since when?"
The young lord paused.
"Since it happened,"
"And you bargained with Death in exchange, for your sanity –the nightmares –" the elder wizard's voice rose. "It gave you the nightmares in exchange for my soul?"
Tristan felt his heart stop.
"It's not what you think it is –"
"It better not be!" Severus stood up from his seat abruptly, effectively knocking the low table in front of him. The silvery cloak flew and the contents of the box that was next to it spilled out on to the floor: a small stone pensieve, a ring with a cracked black stone, a holly wand, a golden snitch, and two vials that seemed to contain memories . Severus glared at the items furiously before switching the murderous look towards the young lord as realization dawned upon him.
"Drop your glamour!" The man snarled. Tristan bit his lip.
"Severus –"
"DROP –YOUR –BLOODY –GLAMOUR!"
"Severus –"
"Drop your glamour or I swear to Merlin I will not be responsible –"
"PLEASE! Please listen to me! This is not how I wanted you to find out," Tristan pleaded desperately. Severus took a dangerous step towards him.
"You –think –you could fool me for that long?" He grabbed the collar of the young lord's robes forcefully. "I always gave you the benefit of the doubt –you seemed genuine in helping me out." He pulled the man closer to him until their faces were merely inches away. "I do not know what you are playing at, but High Lord or not –magic or not, if you are in any way toying with me -" his grip tightened. Tristan suddenly found it hard to breathe.
"P-please, Severus. I swear –I swear on my –my mother's sacrifice. I mean you no harm,"
Severus stopped at that. He released the younger wizard.
"Drop your glamour and –and I will listen to whatever farce your mouth will spew,"
Tristan gave him a questioning look. The onyx-eyed man caught this and sighed.
"I will listen. I swear on the power He knows not,"
The young lord nodded.
"Sit –" he began.
"I will not –"
"Sit, please." He amended. "What I will reveal to you will take time. Please, professor,"
Severus sighed but said nothing. He reclaimed his seat. Tristan stood in front of him. In a blink, the young lord Peverell was no longer. His burgundy hair darkened to almost a jet black; the final bluish tinges in his eyes faded completely; his face rounded to a more delicate look. But apart from that, there was not much of a difference. If Severus was surprised at the minimal change, he kept it to himself. He gave the man before him a once over.
"Now, explain yourself –Potter." He tried hard to keep the venom in his voice down to a minimum, but it was more than enough to make the young man flinch –especially the use of the last name.
Tristan, or rather, Harry, stared as his former Professor.
"No threat of turning me into potions ingredients, sir?"
Severus glared.
"It isn't too late, Tris –Potter."
"Please, call me Tristan,"
"I will call you whatever I damn well please! And it will be -Potter – until you convince me to do otherwise." The Potions Master snarled. "Begin!"
Harry sighed and sat down.
"Where?"
Severus thought for a moment.
"The Final Battle. I heard you. How did you manage to speak to Death?" How were you able to bring me back –to life?"
Harry met his gaze steadily.
"I am the Master of Death. I held the three Hallows: the Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone. I commanded Death to bring you b ack."
Severus looked like he was about to let out a rather rude expletive, but he held it back. Instead, he voiced out the question at the forefront of his mind.
"Why not Black? Or Albus? Or your parents?"
Harry actually looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.
"They have moved on. When I was walking to my death, to face Voldemort, they all appeared to me –except for you. You were still hovering in this realm. The moment I defeated Him, I went back to the Shrieking Shack. Your pulse was non-existent, but your magic –I still felt your magic. Then, I saw Death –"
"A spectre? You saw and spoke to Death?"
Harry nodded.
"I pleaded. Death said that since the Stone already broke, I no longer commanded him. But – but if I could give him something else in return –"
"And you just had to bloody offer your sanity," Severus smirked. "How truly Gryffindorish –"
"Not my sanity –my fear." Harry met his eyes. "My deepest, darkest, fear."
Severus actually froze after that. He held Harry's gaze, as if trying to gauge the authenticity of that pronouncement.
"Reliving my death –is your fear?"
"Losing you," Harry amended, " is my fear."
"Preposterous," Severus said, almost to himself, not wanting to believe.
"It was nothing," Harry assured him. "I can take Dreamless Sleep for that –"
"Dreamless Sleep is addictive. You can only consume it thrice in a given week," Severus countered in his usual 'professor' voice. "Even so, you build resistance to it over time. What on earth –"
The young man shrugged.
"That was what the Silencing Charms were for,"
Severus rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose.
"I will not… tell me," he sighed resignedly. "Tell me how you came to be the High Lord of the Bloody Wizengamot,"
Harry actually smiled at that.
"If you tell me where Nile Peverell's diary is –"
Severus scowled.
"You know – I was reading it. You planted it –"
Harry held his hands up.
"Wait, I did not plant it as you claim, sir. It appeared to you –You were drawn to it, because Nile Peverell wanted you to find it –"
"Explain."
"From what I've gathered, only the last heir of the Princes can read it. As to why –we will be moving too forward if I tell you that now."
Severus let out a frustrated sigh. He was really close to cursing someone or something, never mind the fact that he could very well not while in the Lair –at least not if he cannot manage Goblin Magic.
"Very well then. Tell me how you became the heir of Nile Peverell."
Harry rubbed the spot in his forehead where his lightning bolt scar used to be, his emerald eyes. Shinning.
"Well, the short version of it, the goblins had always known about my lineage. I was running away from The Ministry and the press after I had offed Moldyshorts. I went to Gringotts to ask them about transferring my account to untraceable muggle banks –I was planning to hide for a while, you see. When they had asked me which ones, I had no idea that I had more than one. Griphook had to do an inheritance test to determine which ones were mine… and poof! The next thing I knew, I was being introduced to Gareth. I was brought into the Lair and schooled in the ways of the nobility for seven weeks –about four years –and everything else, you could probably guess. I emerged from the time displacement room as Tristan Peverell. The falcon that was given to me, and all heirs proceeding Nile was Isolde. To keep things quiet, I had to have a new identity so I chose Tristan to match hers. The glamour was goblin-made. I did not have to change much because I grew into the look –and without the scar, it wasn't too recognizable."
"Nile's sister, Anastasia, then -" Severus began.
"She married Siegfried Potter." Harry smiled. "Their first-born, Harold, was the first non-Peverell to inherit the line. It just sort of faded into anonymity after Nile Peverell's death."
"Indeed," Severus breathed. "The last name was not mentioned in the diary,"
Harry looked surprised, but said nothing. Severus stared off into space.
"By any chance, you know how Nile Peverell looked like?"
"Gareth said he looked quite like me. I turns out that the Peverells were also known for their brilliant green eyes,"
Severus looked at Harry before closing his eyes briefly. 'That's why… in the dream…' he then shook his head. "Why go through all this trouble to help me?"
"I did not bring you back to life just to marry you off to the toad lady, sir."
Severus considered his reply before asking the next question.
"Why?"
Harry stiffened momentarily, but answered the older wizard nonetheless.
"I –I care for you, sir –a lot." He blushed. "Since –since fifth year."
Severus raised his eyebrows.
"You hate me, Potter."
"Frankly sir, you annoy me. But I never hated you as much as you hated me."
Severus crossed the distance to where Harry was. He rested his hand lightly on the young man's shoulder.
"You should know, than I don't – hate you, that is, Potter."
"You told Tristan," said Harry simply.
Severus removed his hand. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
"How much of Lord Peverell was made up?"
Harry held the man's obsidian gaze as he spoke.
"The name, the glamour –everything else was me –Harry Potter –or at least the man I grew up to be."
"I see," Severus looked away, feeling a small amount of his fury melt away at that admittance. "Tell me about the pact."
Harry hesitated.
"I don't think –how?"
Severus returned his gaze at him.
"The diary. It spoke of a pact between the Houses of Peverell and Prince. It described briefly, a life-debt my ancestor owed yours. But it was not clear on the condition of which it was to be fulfilled." He reclaimed his seat. "I assume it has something to do with –with this grand scheme of yours, Mr. Potter."
Harry looked alarmed. He resigned himself to swallowing whatever objection he had to speaking about the pact before continuing on.
"To fulfill the life debt, the House of Peverell shall have to claim –the Last Prince."