Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Hi, everyone! Sorry for the delay! I was moving apartments and working on some upcoming twists in the plot of the story. The result was that I left you hanging on last chapter's cliff for longer than usual. I apologise for that ^^' Hopefully, this chapter will compensate for the wait!
Thank you for the massive show of support in the last chapter! I really appreciate it! You guys were the reason I kept coming back to my story and working on it through my busy schedule :) This chapter would probably have gone out in a month's time if it wasn't for you ;)
To my guest reviewers:
Cherrie-san: Someone will do just that. We will see how it will turn out. ;)
FanFiction Lover: I happen to find my actual father pretty awesome, actually, so I'd keep him. To be honest, when I see awesome characters in books, I don't want to imagine them as my father. That would mean that I'd be attracted to my father. I'd rather have the option open for some...developments without it being incestuous, if ya know what I mean ;)
Boblove321: I agree with you. The Black Bunny is often OOC, but it was mentioned in the warning at the beginning of the story. It's part of the concept of the story that it doesn't take itself seriously. I remember the chapter with the theme park and McDonald's, though, and I get why you stopped. It's too bad though, because I think that the part when Harry decides to implicate himself in the war started right after and brought nice elements to the story. But, well, I understand your decision in any case :) So, I made you doubt Harry and Voldemort's relationship in the last chapter? Mouhouhaha. That was partly my intention. It can't always go well between the two of them, right? I do agree that they'd need to talk about it, but they already have trouble acknowledging that their relationship is becoming more serious and that they care for each other. I guess it would make them a bit vulnerable to discuss openly the feelings and plans for their relationship. You liked the shower scene? Nice, hehe :) Did you really go and reread the whole fic? You know, at this point, this monster is about 350 pages long. I'll confess something to you. When I go back to reread some of it, I usually start after Harry and Voldemort's first meeting. All the teasing makes me smile :)
pennameisblank: Glad to read that my writing has improved since then. It is my first narrative work in English, after all, so I will take it as a positive sign. I suppose there hasn't been any "proper" action since the attack against the Rebels. I did think Gabrielle's kidnapping was a bit more than "a few shady political moves", however. So, I respectfully disagree on the plot going stale, but will concede that it might be developing a bit too slow for my tastes as well.
Kumo: Happy belated birthday! I'm glad you decided to give this story a try despite the first-person POV deterrent. I liked your description when you said that Voldie gave you "all sorts of tingles". That's the goal! ;) Fatherly Lucius has a surprising success with my reviewers and I'm really happy about it too. :) I'm afraid Voldemort might not be as mushy as he could be, but there will still be a tender moment or two that should compensate for it. ;)
In the previous chapter : Shower action, the Dark Lord reveals his plans for a new government without racism based on merit, Lucius gets cosy with the floor, Umbridge is surprisingly not dead yet, Crouch is still sorta creepy, but the French Minister of Foreign Affaires, Mr. Delacour, might actually be worse than him (if the Dark Lord's suspicions are right and he did plan his daughter's kidnapping) and Harry collapsed in the middle of the Ball for the Dark Lord's birthday.
Chapter 46: Powerless
31st of December 1997, Malfoy Manor
Lucius vaguely attempted to understand the nonsensical account of one Xenophilius Lovegood, while he pondered the events of the day. While not completely disastrous, the situation was troublesome enough. He knew that something had recently happened between his Lord and Harry, but since the latter had refused to talk about it, and he would never dare to ask the former, he was left with only speculations. Dark speculations, indeed, because there was a long list of things that the Dark Lord had repeatedly done to his lovers or servants that would be enough to, he hoped, make Harry take his distance from him.
"My Luna said it is imperative that I prevent the Blibbering Humdingers from harming her young soon-to-be-or-at-least-she-hopes-so-friend!" insisted Lovegood, his dirty blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead in an unnerving display of anxiety.
Lucius struggled to hold his composure at the sight. Baring the vague resemblance in the colour of their hair, he really didn't understand why some...deranged wizards insisted that they must have family in common. He subtly eyed the man in search for hints that he might be a long-lost cousin, but was distracted in his observation by the absurdities coming out of the other's mouth that he couldn't help but hear, despite his best efforts.
When he felt that an answer was expected of him, he mumbled a consolation:
"No need to worry, Mister Lovegood, as a member of the press tonight, you will escorted back to your home by an Auror as protection when you wish to leave the premise."
It sadly made the man look at him with strangely protuberant eyes for only a moment of blessed silence, before he started babbling again.
"But, I assure you, Lucius, the problem isn't with me," pressed Lovegood, irritating the Minister with his familiarity. He certainly had never given the strange man the authorisation to address him so.
"As I have said, my daughter is quite sure that..." started again the annoying man. Thankfully, he was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering.
There you go. Will it be a drunken guest or server in need of a good firing? wondered Lucius, relieved that, either way, it would give him an excuse to take his leave from Lovegood.
He turned around just in time to see Harry stumble confusedly, his arms extended on both sides of him as if the ordinarily graceful young man had lost his balance. If Lucius did not known him as well as he did, he would have thought the boy incredibly drunk and on the verge of vomiting, if the hand pressed on his stomach was anything to go by. However, the pained facial expression he saw as Harry crumbled suddenly to the ground took care of any remaining doubts he might have as the cause of Harry's condition.
Forgetting the composed image he had to uphold for a moment, he ran up to his young friend and hurriedly kneeled at his side while casting diagnostic charms. It didn't look good. It didn't look good at all.
Harry moved his head around, unseeing, and convulsed on the marble floor, his broken glass digging in his left hand, the lack of liquid in the vicinity indicating that either he had time to drink it all, or that the culprit had vanished what remained of it. Poison was the obvious solution, but, as he cast diagnostic charms one after the other, only a mild case of Veritaserum intoxication came up. As he dug further in that avenue, he found it to be a few hours old, however, taking out this possibility.
As the Head of a Dark family, he had had training in poisons and the antidotes, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what could have happened here. He suddenly regretted his old friend Severus' absence. He would have known what to do better than anyone else in this situation.
In his desperate haze, he barely noticed Draco's presence at his side until his son dropped to his knees and shoved something in Harry's mouth. A Bezoar! Of course! He had never been as glad of Draco's interest in Potions as he was now. At that moment, Lucius promised himself never to berate Draco for his unrewarding career choice ever again.
As he waited for the stone to work its magic, he looked around at his guests for the first time since he had spotted Harry's predicament.
It seemed like the Dark Lord had taken upon himself to handle the search for a culprit. The guests had been herded in a corner, and the only reason they kept vaguely sedated was because of his Lord's intimidating ire.
And angry he was. He was barking orders to his Death Eaters and Aurors and the guests flinched at every harsh syllable that escaped his mouth, as if they had forgotten the Dark Lord was a very dangerous and intimidating man. His Dark Magic was weighting down and choking everyone present, only letting up somewhat around those attempting to take care of Harry.
Attempting seemed to be the key word here, since the Bezoar had apparently not worked. Narcissa, who had some training as a medi-witch, was white as a sheet as she cast spell after spell. Harry seemed to be having a negative reaction to different spells cast on him and his convulsing was back in full force. His eyes had rolled in the back of his head and his breathing was erratic and rattling.
"It's infecting his lungs! Fizzy, where is my Fever-reducing Potion? And bring my Healer's kit! Draco, quantity of liquid absorbed?" fired away his wife, wisps of hair escaping her carefully done hairdo as she took control of the situation.
"Just a flute! Seven ounces, at most. Mother, he's presenting symptoms of an allergy to the Bezoar!" shot back his son.
"We have to make him vomit," decided Narcissa, lifting her wand to cast the spell.
"No!" shouted a guest from the corner of the room. "The contact with the magic fighting the poison might be detrimental to his recovery!" She looked like she desperately wanted to approach Harry, only to be cowed back into the crowd every time she glanced at the Dark Lord.
Lucius got up and went to see her.
He didn't recognise her. Which meant that she was probably the date of one preeminent Heir or another. The young Death Eater rising star, Blaise Zabini, was at her side. He was probably the one to bring her. An unusual choice of a partner, for someone in need to prove his value to the rest of them.
"Please, I am doing my Mastery in Healing. I can help!" she beseeched him.
Lucius glanced at the Dark Lord, but he seemed too busy exchanging cutting words with the French Ambassador and possibly declaring war on France (Lucius wouldn't even let himself think of the far-reaching consequences it could have!) to pay much attention to them. He did notice his Master send a worried glance at Harry's shaking form in the moment he looked, however, telling him that, if it weren't for the public, the Dark Lord would probably be at his lover's side.
Focus, Lucius! You are the Minister of Magic, you can take this decision by yourself! he scolded himself before nodding at the young woman and bringing her to Harry's side. It was obvious that the young man's condition had deteriorated in the minute or so he had been gone. It was a fortuitous that a Healer was present in the guests, as they were not usually the type to frequent these circles.
The girl refrained from adding her own diagnostic charms to the ones that everybody had shot at Harry, but listened attentively to the report Narcissa was giving her.
After a while, she came up to preliminary conclusions.
"No more spells on him! It's forcing his Magic to answer and it's already too depleted to divide its attention. The Bezoar is reacting with the Veritaserum and bringing it back in the fight. That reaction was under control and wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't for the magical exhaustion, the Dark Magic intoxication and the added poison."
"Do you know what type of poison it was?" he asked hurriedly.
The girl stopped short for a moment and leaned to whisper to him:
"If the diagnostic charms are not coming up with anything, at the moment, I am tempted to say that it might be..." her voice dropped even lower. "A non-magical poison."
A non-mag... a Muggle poison?
"But that would mean that..." started Lucius, but the girl had already returned her attention to Harry.
"Do you have the proper training to handle this?" he asked her, worried that Muggle poisons might not be part of the ordinary Healer curriculum.
"No worries; it's actually a nice coincidence, but I'm specialising in Muggle poisons and how to deal with them," she revealed, making Lucius frown as he considered the slim chance of having a Healer specialised in what they needed show up out of nowhere exactly when they needed her.
After a moment of short movements with her wand, she stored it away and suddenly grabbed Harry, wrapped her arms around his stomach and squeezed him. Hard. Enough to make the by now nearly delirious boy let out a strangled whimper.
Draco, Narcissa and he all gasped in surprise and horror at the move. Draco even jumped on her and wrestled her down and away from Harry. Lucius barely had time to catch the slumping body of the unconscious boy before he heaved and vomited all over his expensive dress robes.
Thankfully, and worriedly (When had Harry last eater?), only a small amount of liquid came out of Harry's mouth and most of it was bile. And blood. Dammit.
"Impertinent brat, release the Healer immediately. Miss Clearwater, please proceed," ordered tersely the Dark Lord who had come back to take matters in his own hands.
Lucius knew that it wasn't a good omen for his job as a Minister that he hadn't been able to help Harry by himself, but he couldn't help but feel relieved that his Master had taken over this crisis.
He looked up to evaluate if he could make himself useful with the remaining guests, but soon realised that the situation there was under Crouch and his Aurors' control. That damn Crouch! Lucius should have been the one directing the Obliviation process (because assuredly, there was going to be some Obliviation done tonight before they let the majority of them go) and seeing off the guests.
Instead, he had taken over the task of helping Harry. An area in which he knew next to nothing. He couldn't help a twinge of jealousy toward both Crouch and his Master for having the situation well in hand, whatever happened. He looked back at his Lord who was now discussing the pros and cons of a Healing technique with the girl as if he had studied Healing for years. Which he might have, for all Lucius knew. The man was a bottomless well of knowledge and knew the basis of practically every magical discipline, current or ancient. It was one of the things he had always admired about his Master, and was glad for it in this situation in particular because the Malfoy family had obviously not been prepared to deal with such a complicated case.
To say that the Dark Lord was furious when he learnt of the hours-old Veritaserum intoxication and how it reacted to the Muggle poison was an understatement. At least, it reassured the part of Lucius that thought his Lord might have been the one who had administrated it.
When the Healer said that Harry's magic was too weak at the moment to fight the combined poisons and that Harry was in grave danger of dying, the Dark Lord lifted a hand to his face and exhaled slowly. Lucius thought he read grief flash on his Master's face before it was hid beneath his hand. It shocked him deeply.
Did the Dark Lord really care that much for Harry's survival?
It made him regret the nagging suspicion he had entertained that his Master had been the one who poisoned Harry to accuse the French Minister of attacking him and give him a pretext for a war. It was a move his Master would never have hesitated to pull in his old days.
Now, thought Lucius as he took in the hand Voldemort had placed on his lover's neck in what could pass for a gesture of tenderness, he wasn't so sure of it. When a second hand was pressed on top of Harry's heart as the young man had worriedly stilled, he realised that the Dark Lord was using an obscure ritual to heal his lover. Something told him that none of them was going to remember this part of the evening after tonight. It pained him because he had just started to accept that Harry might be the only person who could make his Lord change for the better.
As it was, after another hour of difficult combat against the poison and a mostly stabilised Harry, Lucius did remember his conclusion, but conveniently forgot the strange coincidences that had happened that evening, like the fortuitous presence of the Muggle poison specialist.
He was only left with a strange sense of foreboding, which he attributed to the rapidly escalating tensions with the French Ministry and the war looming in the horizon.
o0o0o
.
Malfoy Manor, 30th of January 1998.
Fainting was not as interesting as it was hyped up to be. Being poisoned neither, I found. Even being poisoned because some Frenchies had the brill idea to provoke the Dark Lord into starting a war to have the backup of the ICW and beat him in his own territory was not as enhancive for one's self-esteem as one would think either.
It just meant a long and boring time lying in a fucking bed. And in Malfoy Manor, because my prestigious lover didn't have the time (or the interest, I thought unappreciatively) to nurse me to health. Apparently, both Marvolo and Lucius thought it would best to make the weaker links of their relationships stay protected at home together while they settled the problem at the Ministry as the good alpha males they were. I wanted to scream to them that I was an alpha male too, but my voice matched my magic levels those days. That is to say that it was pretty weak. And it hurt to admit it. I never wanted to feel so powerless again.
It had been an uphill struggle to beat the poison, I heard. Normally, I wouldn't have had so much trouble, but it was as if the whole world had conspired to weaken my immune system that day. I was already emotionally drained and sleep deprived from my time away from the Dark Lord and the sex marathon that followed my return. Then, of course, Barty demolished my magical strength with his powerful spell. Then, my body had to fight against a mild case of Veritaserum intoxication because it hadn't been a good-quality potion and I hadn't managed to vomit everything quickly enough. Add a splash of alcohol with a subtly added poison by a certain French Minister (I supposed it was him, even if the Dark Lord hadn't been able to prove it yet) during our brief conversation and you had a recipe for disaster. It was a conspiracy.
The Healer I saw when I awoke a few days later said it was a miracle that I was still alive. That I survived only because I was fighter through and through. I wanted to show him some of my inner fighter when he said I'd be confined to the bed for an indefinite amount of time until I got better. "Avoid straining activities," he had added nervously, trying not to glance at the Dark Lord while he said that. The message was clear enough without him needing to. Confined to a bed without sex, the best part of beds. I couldn't even snuggle up to Marvolo because the bastard was staying at his Fortress and had passed the burden of taking care of me unto Narcissa.
Dammit. Life was harsh.
At least, I was fulfilling my promise and 'visiting' Narcissa like I told Lucius I'd do. Sadly, that also meant that I got more than my desired share of Bellatrix at the same time. Indeed, it appeared that 'Bella', as I was now to call her, had become extremely attached to the small life growing in her sister's belly. I had wanted to warn Narcissa that I thought Bella would try to steal the baby from her to put it in her own stomach, but the image was so gruesome that it made my fragile stomach heave and started another lovely chain of reactions that left me weakened and paralysed on my bed 'for my own good' for a few additional days. I had tried not to think of stolen babies since then.
Despite the humiliation of having a 'weak' lover (as if it was my fault that I was poisoned), Marvolo did come to visit me from time to time. Not nearly enough for my taste and bored imagination, but I knew how focused he became when he was busy with a project. I saw him often enough to hear him rant about the stupidity and stubbornness of the ICW and how he'd like to just launch his attack against France and throw caution out of the window. Sadly for him, they still hadn't found any evidence that the French either set up Gabrielle, or poisoned me. Thankfully for the rest of us, he also had tons of advisors to respectfully argue with him all day, remind him of the potential catastrophe it would cause if the Muggles were to find us before we were ready for that eventuality and keep him from destroying life as we knew it in one fit of rage and retribution. So, I just listened instead, and watched, and learned, and nodded and hmmed and ahhed at the right places and slid in a few helpfully moral suggestions when I thought he'd be receptive to them. And since I was such a good listener, he kept coming back to see me, and talk and rant. And it did seem like I really helped him and supported him despite being stuck in bed. I idly wondered if I'd be as calm and patient about it if I could just up and leave, or if I had other distractions. As it was, it was either listening to him, or reading NEWTs textbooks.
Remus had brought them the other day in what had been the most awkward conversation of my life. And yes, it had been worse than 'The Talk: Special Edition' Sirius had given me all those months (it felt like years) ago. It took the cake because it included fabulous topics such as: the amazing 'knowing James, he wouldn't have been pleased (no shit?), but you know, I think he would have come around eventually', the insightful 'what to expect when you're dating a Dark Lord (where did he take his sources?)' and the marvellous conversation filler 'I had noticed months ago that you were having sex with the Dark Lord because I could smell it (Eurg), but I was waiting for you to come out to me with it'.
Great, just great, Remus. It only got better when he mentioned that apparently Sirius had known of my 'dangerous infatuation' with the Dark Lord and had been worried enough to send a rare letter to his childhood friend to ask for advice. Wow, I had been really obvious about it, apparently. No wonder Moody had had trouble trusting me back then if I was already salivating after the Dark Lord's metaphorical shoes.
So, of course, after this magnificently comfortable conversation, I only thought it fair to return some of the shame on Remus and shot back the ball by accusing him of having given information on me to the EFA, and being part of Bill's group despite having promised the Dark Lord that he wouldn't take part in any rebellious activities after he left the Camp. Which inevitably led to a wonderful volley of screaming on responsibility and morals that apparently set me back of about a week in my recovery. I hadn't had lessons with him since then.
Wow. Just. Wow.
So, over all, my life had really took a turn for the best in the last month. At least, I had somehow acquired (or, at least, kept) the role of Marvolo's confidant through all this mess. And I was getting better. I could now walk around for a few steps without collapsing instantly. Yay. And I was cautiously allowed to do basic magic. Nothing too straining, though. Of course not.
.
Today, however, proved to be very different from the routine of the other days. I awoke from a nap to the delicate features of my favourite Potions Masters. That, in itself, was not very special since he had cautiously resumed his tuition about a week before. What was surprising, however, was the bunch of flowers he was holding in his left hand. I lifted an eyebrow at the sight.
"Aww, Severus. You shouldn't have," I said, smirking. It was too easy to let it pass.
Snape, second surprise of the day, only rolled his eyes in answer.
"Are you coming?" he asked, as if we had made plans at some point.
"Err...Snape? Where are we going?" I inquired, intrigued, sitting up on my bed after a few seconds of struggling.
"Don't you know which day it is, ungrateful brat?" he snapped.
"30th of January, why?" I replied, by now quite used to his gentle disposition.
"And does the date not tell you anything?" he pushed.
I furrowed my brows, trying to think of what usually happened around this time of the year. I had a confused feeling that I should know what it was, but couldn't remember exactly the occasion.
"Valentine's Day is coming up in a while?" I came up with, lamely, because of his flowers.
He sneered at me.
"I have no interest in such trifling Muggle mating rituals. Do not confound me with your hormonal self," he replied, disgusted.
I shrugged at him, since I had no other idea of what the date could be.
"Come, then," he ordered before sweeping from the room dramatically. I rolled my eyes in answer, happy that I was already dressed. I never realised how energy-consuming putting pants on was before I was poisoned. I nearly made me want to invest in a couple of dresses or in those weird Muggle hospital gowns to spare me the trouble. Nearly.
I braced myself and lowered my feet to the ground slowly. The initial shock was always problematic, so I had to tame the floor by creeping to it inch by inch. Once that part was over, there was the gradual transfer of weight unto my legs and, if that worked, I was usually good to go for a few steps. Then, I had to take a breather while holding for my dear life on the door frame. Rehabilitation really wasn't the forte of Healers in the Wizarding World, apparently, so I had to do this stuff by myself and hope that my magic would heal whatever damage I did by straining myself.
By now, I had just taken my second breather on the next door frame when Snape returned to me, eyes blazing. And then he took in my pathetic shaking and found an ounce of pity in his cold black heart and refrained from screaming at me to hurry up. It felt good to be so pathetic that even Snape would pity me. But he waited. And he didn't complain, so neither did I. Eventually, we reached the entrance parlour and he flicked his wand once and summoned my winter cloak. He put it on my back (which admittedly made me scowl because I was able to do as much by myself) and extended a broken quill to me.
I took the Portkey and landed painfully on the frozen ground. The shock reverberated through my whole body and I felt like knives had stabbed each of my limbs. Snape didn't wait for me to feel better before he pretty much hauled me up and pulled me forward. We were in a cemetery.
"Snape," I croaked painfully. "What are we doing here? Where are we?"
He stopped abruptly, scrutinising me.
"You mean that you have never been here?" he asked suspiciously.
"Where is 'here'?" I replied smartly, still hurting from the fall.
"Godric's Hollow," he said in a low, solemn voice.
Godric's Hollow, where my parents died and were buried. And it was the 30th of January. Then it clicked.
"Hey, it's my mother's birthday!" I told Snape.
"I hadn't noticed," he replied sarcastically.
"Snape, how did you know it was my mother's birthday? Why are you bringing her flowers?" I asked him, confused.
"In a minute," he replied.
In the meanwhile, we had arrived in front of my parents' grave. It was the first time I saw it. Sirius had always said it would be too dangerous for me to visit it, so we had never gone. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember that I had lived a year with parents and was a cherished little baby like so many others before my life took a turn for the worse. I often wondered what type of life I would have had if I had grown up with them. Sirius had always told me that James would have tried to spoil me rotten and that Lily would have kept him in check. All I had of them were a few pictures and anecdotes on their lives.
I sadly knew a lot more about pranks my father and Sirius had pulled at Hogwarts than about any other aspect of his life. I knew even less about my mother.
When Remus was still living at the Camp, he made sure that we would light a candle in memory of my parents on their birthdays, on their wedding anniversary...and on Samhain. When he left, Sirius had found it uselessly painful to bring those memories up and the tradition had faded away slowly as the years passed.
Now, I felt ashamed that someone had had to remind me of my mother's birthday, but I wanted to know why that someone was Snape.
When he noticed that I was struggling to keep standing, he conjured a comfy chair for me and shot me a Warming charm when I was settled. It somehow felt even weirder to be toasty warm in a padded chair in front of the grave of those who sacrificed everything to keep me alive. I felt inadequate, unworthy of their love. If they knew what type of person I would become, what I would grow up to do, would they have still sacrificed themselves?
"I met your mother when she was ten. I saw her fly out of her swing and soar through the air in a magnificent show of Accidental Magic. I was the one who told her she was a witch, the first who taught her about our world," Snape said, a faint smile curling the ends of his mouth ever so slightly.
"She was my dear friend for years until...we had a disagreement and had to part ways," he recalled, his expression turning wistful.
"Why didn't you tell me about it before?" I asked, softly, to avoid startling him out of his memories. He turned to me, black eyes glinting in the gentle morning light, before he turned away again, facing the grave. I saw him swallow once before he spoke again.
"To this day, I have harboured certain regrets as to how our friendship ended and how I was partly, involuntarily, responsible for her untimely death...You remind me of her in some many ways that it is sometimes painful to even think that you are her son and that you could have grown with her, had it not been from me. It is easier not to deal with this reality and to label you as a perfect replica of your father, like I have attempted to do a few times so far. Your reaction to such experiments, however, has always defied their purpose, since, in your furiously righteous sense of justice, you are purely Lily's," he explained, unconsciously rubbing over her heart has he spoke.
I didn't know what to make of it, but it certainly explained why sometimes, in our tutoring, he'd snap at me and turn away with a weird facial expression when I defended myself. It was obvious that my mother's death still burdened him to this day.
"Why do you feel responsible for my mother's death when Voldemort is the one who killed her?" I asked, calling the Dark Lord like that because, in my head, Voldemort was the insane psychopath he had been before his resurrection and Marvolo was my lover.
"I was the one who heard the Prophecy and leaked it to the Dark Lord," he confessed rapidly, uncharacteristically.
"Did you know it was talking about my mother?" I asked in a careful tone, not knowing what to think of it yet.
"I would not have brought it to him if I knew what it would cause," he said, a pleading note in his voice.
What was he searching for in telling me that? Absolution? Inner peace?
"Snape... you were only one of the key actors involved in the death of my parents, but ultimately, the fault lies in Peter Pettigrew, and in Voldemort. You cannot control all the consequences your actions will have on the general flow of life. You cannot live your life thinking of every disaster you might have potentially caused or not prevented. You have to accept that people live their own life and make their own mistakes, even if you're one of those who contributed to putting them in a shitty situation. You are not responsible for my parents' death and anybody who says otherwise is obviously trying to guilt you into doing something for them," I ranted.
The topic of responsibility had always been a touchy one for me. If I was theoretically the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, did it mean that I was partly responsible for all the deaths he has caused since my birth because I didn't manage to kill him yet? Moody certainly thought so and had tried to manipulate me like that often enough. There was a time in my life during which anybody could guilt me into doing any sort of things to get myself prepared to kill the Dark Lord just by evoking my 'responsibility' to the world.
At one point, Moody had wanted me to torture small animals and butcher them to harden myself. It had taken the horrible whining of a dog that eerily looked like Sirius' Animagus form twisting in pain on the ground to make me realise how sick it was to try to teach me cruelty and heartlessness so that I could bring peace to the world and save other people's lives. But with each piercing cry of pain from the dog I was forced to hear as I fought against the hands holding me back, my resolve had hardened. I would not let myself be manipulated. I would not lose my compassion and my humanity for the sake of a political ideology. I would battle against cruelty and injustice in whichever form it presented itself.
And now that I had killed, now that I had voluntarily caused pain, I realised that I had become not unlike Moody had wanted me to be. I realised that, with the massacre at the Rebel Camp, I had not just lost past companions, but my morality, my own resolve with it. And the realisation hurt. It tore through my soul with excruciating pain and ripped my heart out of my rib cage, exposing the blackened organ to condemning eyes.
No. My parents would not be proud of me today. Not because of my sexual orientation or because of who my lover was, but because I had been corrupted. Because I had lost a part of my identity, just as Lucius warned me might happen.
I would not blame the Dark Lord for this. He has not pushed me into committing those crimes, into weakening my morals. He had simply been there and it had been enough to corrupt me. I had been easily swayed. I had lost myself.
I felt a hesitant hand settle on my shoulder and it was enough to tip the scale over. The tears, which I had been trying to choke back for some time, burst out of their dykes in thick streams trailing down my cheeks.
As I gasped and shuddered and cried, I felt my soul progressively purge its burden until I felt cleansed of the darkness that had inhabited me.
After a while, I returned to my senses and regained control over my body. Strangely, instead of feeling weaker after such an intense reaction, I felt more energised than I had been for the past month. The guilt over the deaths I had caused had not vanished, but it had abated somehow, settled down on my past indifference like a balm on a festering wound. I would not forget them, but I would not let it slow me down either. I just had to carry this burden with me from now on, and learn from it.
As my eyes settled on Snape, who was crouching in front of my chair, with his back to my parents' grave, I automatically felt incredibly awkward. What had pushed me into showing such a weak side of myself to Snape, of all people? His difficult confession probably had something to do with it.
"You realised something," he stated, in a neutral voice. I was grateful that he was not looking at me with pity.
I nodded decisively.
"I lost track of who I was somewhere along the way and I just found it back," I summed up.
He scrutinised me for a while, seemingly pondering something.
"How do you feel now, Harry?" he asked.
Did he really have to remind me of the embarrassing show of emotions I had given him?
"I feel fine. Lighter. Energised. Don't worry; I won't cry again like that, I promise. I don't know what came over me, really.
-I know," he interrupted my rant. At first I thought he was just agreeing with whatever I was saying to make me shut up, but then he spoke again.
"I know what came over you. I know what has made you so unbalanced those past months. We all knew."
I was flabbergasted. They all knew about the Horcrux? What was the big secrecy about, then? Why would the Dark Lord insist on not mentioning the word out loud anywhere outside his Fortress?
"Lucius told me that you looked like you were nearly going insane when you stayed at his manor. I can't imagine how badly it must have been at the Dark Lord's Fortress, then," he continued.
Wait a minute. I was fine at the Dark Lord's Fortress. He stabilised the Horcrux in me, I thought we had pretty much established that. What was Snape talking about?
"I did try to suggest to Him that you could come to Hogwarts to complete your education, but He wouldn't let you go.
-How would that have helped?" I asked, interrupting his monologue.
"Well, usually, it helps to be removed from the environment that caused the trouble," he explained as if it was obvious.
"Which trouble?" I asked, to make sure we were on the same page.
"Dark Magic intoxication, of course. I thought you had figured it out. You have mood swings, you become fidgety, your thoughts are unfocused, your vision can become blurry and your grasp on magic can falter? These are all advanced signs of Dark Magic intoxication. It isn't surprising that you would develop it either, seeing as you grew up mostly surrendered by neutral or light-oriented Magic and have had little contact with Dark Magic until your arrival at Malfoy Manor. I imagine that moving in one of the most saturated locations in Britain has only accentuated the problem..." he trailed off, catching my disbelieving expression.
"Are you telling me that the ambient magic nearly everywhere I have been in the past months was affecting me and nobody saw it fit to tell me about it?" I asked incredulously. Anger was building up steadily in my chest.
"You seemed to want to stay close to him. In order to do so, you can only be Dark. We all thought your Magic would accommodate the change sooner or later. Everyone who passes from a Neutral core to a Dark one has to go through a similar experience. Some lose their sanity in the process. That's why Dark Magic is dangerous and is not to be shown to underage students. It would saturate the environment and poison the rest of them. This is basic Dark Magic theory. You grew up with a Black. No matter how idiotic he was; he couldn't have forgotten his heritage that much," said Snape in a surprised tone of voice.
"No, at the Camp, they only told us that Dark Magic was just pure evil and never to be touched and left it at that..." I replied cautiously. "And Sirius wanted to forget everything his so-called 'family' ever taught him, so he never talked about these sort of things, except to ridicule or rage against them."
"Harry, we all thought you knew, to a certain extent. I think the Dark Lord was even flattered that you would go through so extreme symptoms just to stay by his side..." he said in a sardonic voice.
I snorted at the idea of the Dark Lord being flattered by anything.
"So...if I thought that I was getting better with the symptoms, that meant...that my magic was turning Dark?" I guessed.
He frowned and studied me critically.
"If it was, I think you just ruined months of progress today," he stated.
What? What had caused the setback? Crying, repenting on my mistakes and faults? How...Christian a concept. Or was it the Christian belief that was inspired of the ways of Magic? It was a "the phoenix or the ashes" situation.
"I don't really want to be Dark...I hate that I couldn't feel regret for the lives I've taken at the Rebel Camp. I mean, how sick is that? I knew those people! I grew up with them and I couldn't even muster guilt for ending their life. I know that even more of them would have died if I hadn't gone there, but it's only just a bit less worse, you know?" I ranted while Snape stood up again and paced in the space between me and the graves.
"Is there a way for me to keep seeing all of you and remaining magically Neutral, without suffering the symptoms all the time?" I asked him.
"I am not an expert on the question, Harry, but I think it would help if you were to go to places of Neutral Magic more often" he suggested. I didn't know about that. After all, I was fine when I was with the Dark Lord at his Fortress.
"Like where?" I asked, anyway.
"Hogwarts, for instance. You could go and join the 7th years on their NEWTs preparation class..."
I shook my head negatively.
"I'm still far from rehabilitated," I reasoned. "I don't feel at ease with going to Hogwarts while I'm so weak."
I wondered about the Horcrux's influence on the Dark Magic intoxication. Perhaps I had been right, and the Dark Lord's presence did stabilise me.
"Is there a way for me to cohabit with Dark Magic without it affecting me?" I asked him.
"Well, there is a ritual you could do, but it would only force your Magic to remain Neutral no matter what, so it's not advised," he explained.
"You mean that my general allegiance to Magic would be immutable, or that I couldn't cast Dark or Light Magic?" I asked. The latter would be problematic, because it would prevent me from casting the Unforgivables and the most damaging grey curses I knew, but also the Patronus charm and my best Healing magic.
"The latter, I'm afraid. That's why no one really does it without good reasons. It is very limiting, as you probably realised. I would... recommend against taking such drastic action only to allow you to be in proximity with the Dark Lord," advised Severus cautiously.
I hummed distractedly in answer, thinking about it. If a ritual could limit Magic like that, chances were that if you messed up a step, you could end up blocking your Magic entirely. Despite what I had said to the Dark Lord about considering living in the Muggle World as an option, ever since I'd started to explore Magic for my own sake, and especially since I felt the magical trance, I could no longer say the same now. Magic was part of my identity; I couldn't give it up.
I wondered suddenly if there'd be a way to create wards that would either filter out the Dark from a home, or even that I could anchor to me to only filter it for me. I'd have to research the subject of Dark Magic intoxication and go to the essence of what made Dark Magic, dark and Light, light, but I might be unto something here. And I knew right where to start. Who could know Dark Magic better than the Dark Lord himself?
If Severus was right, and it wasn't the Horcrux that was causing the instability, then all my problems would be settled, and I wouldn't have to worry about passing time with the Dark Lord, or anything, really!
"Thank you for letting me know, Severus. I thought I was just going insane for no reason," I told him, sending him a wide smile. Life was looking up and I felt more energetic already. When I tried to get up by myself and failed, however, I realised that I was still far from rejuvenated.
Well, one step at a time and I'd be better soon enough.
.
Severus helped me get up and didn't comment when I leaned heavily on him after we Apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
"Harry, I have a question for you. Did Lucius talk to you about the paper planes he receives at the Ministry?" he asked.
"Not since the first time, no. Why? Do they still receive some? What do they say?" I asked, curious. However, I was too busy trying to remember the messages I had read to notice a small step in the door frame out of the entrance parlour. Severus caught me before I fell, but, as a result, I was very uncomfortably pressed against him. I was struggling to pick myself up when I heard a voice speaking up behind me.
"Well, isn't this a cosy sight?" the Dark Lord said nastily.
I started, unused to not being able to feel him approach in my weakened state.
Severus peeled himself off me instantly as if I had caught in fire. It would have been funny if he hadn't left me standing there in the middle of the corridor without anything to hold on. As it was, I was swaying uncertainly on my feet and trying to make my way to the nearest wall and while swearing against Severus in my head.
When I felt a firm hand steer me away from my course and pull me to a strong chest buzzing with familiar magic, I couldn't help but to sigh in relief. If I nuzzled against his neck like a kitten in need of attention, it was purely because of my exhausted state. And if I hummed in contentment when he curled an arm around me to hold me up, well...same reason, really. I had missed his closeness. When he'd come to talk to me, he'd always sit on a chair so far away from my bed. He might have done it to help me recover quicker, but I had decided that this felt too good to give up again. Besides, sleeping better at his side would help my recovery, right?
"...only because I know that you wouldn't be so stupid, Severus, but see to it that you keep your distance outside of your tutoring sessions," finished the Dark Lord. I had missed most of it because I was basking in his proximity.
"Of course, my Lord," said Snape like the good minion he was and he left us. Alone. At last.
I started kissing up his neck slowly until I reached his ear, on which I nibbled in what I hoped was a playful manner. I felt his grip tighten on me and he took a few steps until I was squeezed deliciously between him and the wall. Then his lips assaulted mine furiously and I had no more thoughts as I floated in a world in which only his smell, his taste, his voice and his body existed. I moaned in desperate approval when I felt his hands massage my butt firmly. It had been way too long.
But then my knees buckled and I slid to the ground until I was sitting.
At first, I was frustrated by the interruption, but then I realised that it brought his crotch at the height of my face. I couldn't help but to lean forward and nuzzle against it, breathing in the earthy smell and rubbing against the hardness I could feel through his dress pants. I lifted a hand to unbutton the trousers, but he caught it and kneeled down to my level. His ruby-red eyes were shining with lust.
"If you think I will let you tire yourself giving me a fellatio when I could be buried in your ass right now, you are clearly delusional," he declared, his voice low and dangerous.
Oh, dear gods of Magic. What did I do to get such a man as my lover?
As it was, I only whispered fervently:
"Oh, Morgana, yes!"
He had a smirk at my enthusiastic answer and suddenly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder as if I weighted nothing. Good thing I hadn't eaten in a while because it might have made me throw up on his back. As it was, I only shouted a vague protest. Who knew he was that strong physically? I might have lost a lot of weight in the last month, however. My arms flayed useless around until I realised that they were at the right level for a bit of fondling. I didn't protest when I felt one of his hands copying mine. Soon enough, I heard a door open and was thrown on a bouncy bed. I barely had time to notice the unfamiliar decoration before he assaulted me; the outside world disappeared again as I was caught in a whirlwind of passion.
And if I felt a slight sting when he entered me after a cursory preparation, I didn't complain because feeling him inside of me again after all this time was just bliss.
And if the rhythm was tiring and I felt my muscles protest at the strain, I didn't say anything because I never wanted him to stop.
And if his bites on my neck burnt and were probably on the brink of bleeding, I didn't tell him because it felt good to be branded his again and it would serve as a reminder of this moment in days to come when I would no doubt pay for the strain with yet another setback in my recovery.
And if a cry of sweet pain erupted from my chest as I climaxed harder than ever, I didn't have to tell him how much I had enjoyed myself because it was quite obvious, but I still did before I let myself fall into a deep, sated slumber.
.
Voilà! No cliffy this time! Hope you liked it!
Next update should come next week as usual, if everything goes well :)