FIC: Book Seven (4/?)
Series: Book Seven
Title: Vow Spoken
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with other mild possibilities
Word Count: 2,927
Betas: Lesameschelle
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and am making no profit.
Summary: Post-HBP. Everything has fallen apart and Harry doesn't know what to do. Dumbledore says to trust Snape, but how can he?
It occurred to Harry later that day that he hadn’t seen Dudley around at all. He had been randomly staring at the golden egg and at the pensieve, wondering when Fawkes would hatch and how he could get around acceding to Dumbledore’s dying request by fulfilling it to a shifty degree. Unfortunately, he didn’t see a way around it, which was why he let his thoughts drift to other more pleasant directions that did not involve Snape being any different from what he’d always suspected.
His fat, loud cousin was a good distraction. The strange thing was Harry hadn’t even heard the sounds of his heavy footsteps on the stairs. He hadn’t even seen him at dinner last night, and he hadn’t noticed until today. Maybe Dudley was visiting a friend or something. Maybe that was why Petunia was so odd. There was no Dudders around for her to coddle.
“Dinnertime!” said Petunia. “Get downstairs before your soup gets cold.”
How funny when his world was falling apart, his only family left was nice to him. Well, he didn’t know if Dudley would be nice, but Petunia certainly was and Vernon didn’t count. Harry didn’t like to think of Vernon as his Uncle and really he didn’t understand why his Aunt had married such a blustering pig.
Harry opened the door before Petunia could rap her knuckles on the wood. “Thank you,” he said because he found the voice to be polite. “You didn’t have to. I could have fixed something for myself.”
His Aunt shrugged her thin shoulders and Harry found that the usual scowl that twisted her features was missing. “I made some for myself and it wasn’t that much harder to make enough for you.”
Harry bit his tongue before he could say that in the past it would have been an unnecessary hardship and waste to make him some decent food, much less soup. He smiled instead and cleared his throat. “Well, thanks then.”
Nodding stiffly, Petunia turned and started heading down the stairs. Harry watched her go, the question of where her son was popped into his head and before he could stop his mouth, he asked, “Where’s Dudley?”
She stopped suddenly and whirled around, a most unpleasant expression on his face. Harry cringed inwardly, but was determined not to show any weakness to her that she could exploit at a later time. “That’s none of your concern,” she snapped and to his astonishment, she said nothing else. She continued down the stairs as if she was reprimanding him for not making his bed.
Harry hesitated and decided that it would only piss her off even more if he didn’t eat the soup she had so thoughtfully prepared. A tingle of doubt shot down his spine when he thought of how Vernon would react to Petunia actually cooking something for him. But it turned out that he didn’t have to worry about anything. His Uncle wasn’t at home and it was just him and Petunia at the table, eating.
-
Sitting in his room late that evening, after trying to figure out when he could leave this place and begin his search for the horcruxes, Harry knew that he had no choice but to continue with the pensieve and the memories. Dumbledore was a sly fox, look how neatly he had arranged things after his death, and so Harry was almost certain that there was more in that pensieve than just bloody Snape.
Carefully Harry picked up the pensieve and placed it between his legs. He took a deep breath and just went for it. After all, that’s what he did. Be impulsive, be strong and try to forget his fears…
“You knew, but still you did it!” shouted Snape, waving his hand at Dumbledore’s dead hand. It did not look as bad as it had, but it was still a husk of what it had been. “Yet you still put on the blasted ring!”
“I had no choice,” said Dumbledore, almost softly. “You know that.”
“I could have put it on,” hissed Snape. He took a step forward at Dumbledore and Harry had never really noticed that the two men were virtually the same height. “It could have been me.”
“And where would that have gotten us, my boy?” asked Dumbledore. “You know fully well we need you more than we need me.”
Snape looked away from Dumbledore and started pacing around the Headmaster’s Office. “That will not be what others will think.”
“When you have you ever cared?”
Abruptly Snape stopped and his shoulders seemed to hunch forward. Not ondce had Harry even seen Snape with his shoulders not pushed backwards and his back irrepressibly straight. It was a well-known fact that Snape had an iron rod shoved up his arse. Greasy git.
“At least tried to make others believe that you didn’t,” said Dumbledore softly. “You might want everyone to think you are a heartless bastard, but inside of you-you don’t want to be thought as evil. You don’t want to be thought of as Voldemort’s man, do you?”
“Since you seem to analyze people so well, Albus, why don’t you tell me?” retorted Snape. “After all, that is what you do best.”
“Severus…”
“Don’t!” he snapped. “Just-don’t.”
Stepping forward, Dumbledore laid a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “It will be okay.”
Harry shuddered, pulling himself out of the pensieve before the next memory could start. What in bloody hell was Dumbledore trying to prove? Did he really think a memory of Snape snapping at Dumbledore for basically being a fool was going to make him trust the git! Harry scowled and shoved the pensieve away. These memories were pointless. Snape was a good liar, had to be if he was fooling Voldemort and really fooling Dumbledore.
One tiny part of Harry, though, thought that maybe-just maybe-Snape had been fooling Voldemort by making it look like he was fooling Dumbledore even though he was really fooling Voldemort.
Harry shook his head. That was just too fucked up to be real. He glared down at the pensieve and wondered if he should keep going or just… stop. His eyes wandered to the letter lying on the nightstand next to him and he knew the right choice to make, he did owe Dumbledore this. This one little thing. Harry placed his hands on the pensieve and slowly drew it back to him.
“You need to come with me to my house at Spinner’s End,” said Snape insistently. “There are things there that can help you.”
“Severus, my boy…” began Dumbledore, his voice quite faint and his face very ill-looking.
“No,” snapped Snape, pushing his face forward, “you don’t understand.” He gestured at Dumbledore’s crippled, dead hand. “This will kill you and I cannot stop this. I can only delay it, but only if you do what I say.”
The Headmaster looked into Snape’s hard, beady eyes. “I cannot waste time.”
“You are needed.” Snape’s gaze never wavered, not even a little. “Still.”
Dumbledore was the one who looked away first. “How long do I have?”
“I’ll give you as long as I am able.”
Dumbledore smiled slowly and sadly.
So he knew, Harry thought, dropping his head onto his pillow. Dumbledore knew he was going to die. Snape knew he was going to die. Who else? Who else had known? Harry balled his fist up and slammed it into his bed. Had McGonagall? He bit his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
If they’d known, why hadn’t they told him? He should have known, should have known about this. Dumbledore-god-just when Harry felt like he was beginning to really connect with him, he was gone. Just thinking about how much he still had to learn from the Headmaster was depressing. Just thinking about the time when he thought anything was possible, as long as Dumbledore was by his side. He didn’t have to worry about Voldemort, not really. Now he did.
There was no one he could rely on, not even his friends, Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn’t put them in danger and they would be, if they were with him. Look at Cedric. The memory was still sharp, still relentless. Cho’s face also coming to mind, her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. Harry shook his head and slumped forward. Sirius. His godfather. Harry had just begun to get to know him when he was taken. If there was anything that was his fault, it was that. How could he even think to ask Ron and Hermione for help, when it would put them into that kind of danger?
And if Dumbledore thought he could trust in Snape, from some puny memories in a pensieve, then he had to be delusional. Harry twisted his covers into his fist. Dumbledore hadn’t known then, but Snape’s offer to help was all a hoax. Of course, Snape would help Dumbledore. Why not? Dumbledore was going to die. They both knew it. Helping only staved off the inevitable. Harry dug his nails into the fabric. Had Voldemort laughed when he’d heard that Snape had helped Dumbledore? That Dumbledore trusted Snape to help him? Harry felt his stomach twist and turn, almost heaving. Had Snape, in pretending to help, actually made it worse?
Harry knew what kind of things Snape could do. He had the book, the hard evidence. If Snape could teach an incompetent like him to brew a perfect potion, then of course he could kill Dumbledore slowly by helping him. Harry swallowed down the threat of bile and let his eyes wander to his rucksack. In the very bottom, the book-The property of the Half-Blood Prince-was there. Why he had brought it, he didn’t know. But he had kept it, because in his mind he knew that the only way to really defeat Voldemort, to even have the chance, was to use dark magic.
Just thinking about the book made his hands twitch. Harry let go of the sheets and pressed his hands together to still them. It didn’t matter who that book had belonged to, who had even written it, if it would help-it didn’t matter the origins. What mattered is what he did with it, what his knowledge gleaned from the dark material would allow him to do. It wasn’t something he’d be proud of, but it would do the job. And in the end, that was what everyone wanted. They wanted him to be a bloody hero.
-
No matter how hard he tried to sleep, to forget about the pensieve and its contents, Harry couldn’t. Doubt, doubt that had not been there before, kept creeping into his mind. What if he was wrong about Snape, what if… he really ought to trust Snape? But that was ridiculous and Harry scowled, shaking his head. Snape wouldn’t have killed Dumbledore if he’d been on their side. How did you kill someone, even if they were going to die, for no reason?
Harry slammed his fist into his pillow and then abruptly sat up. He grabbed the pensieve from the side table and dropped it between his legs. He stared at the swirling liquid and just dove in, not even bothering to think about it-knowing that if he did, that maybe he wouldn’t want to find out what Dumbledore wanted him to understand and accept.
“I meant what I said.” Dumbledore stood up from his desk in the Headmaster’s Office and actually walked over to where Snape was pacing back and forth at an almost dizzying speed. “You did the right thing.”
“You ask,” said Snape, stopping in mid-stride, his robes swishing past him and then settling back, “you ask too much.”
“It’s what you must do,” said Dumbledore, placing a hand on Snape’s shoulder.
Snape jerked away from Dumbledore’s touch and he whirled around, his face so white and his eyes so prominent, bugging outward. He opened his mouth to shout, Harry thought, but Snape ended up saying nothing at all. The Potions Master’s shoulders slumped forward and he slowly backed up, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“I know it’s hard for you, but for the greater good, this is what must be done.” Dumbledore stepped forward and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. “Look at me, Severus.” Snape didn’t look up. “Look at me!”
And Snape did. “Albus, you-”
“I understand you,” said Dumbledore and he smiled. “But you must understand that this is the only way.” Both of them were staring hard at each other, their eyes never wavering at the intensity of this moment. “You cannot hesitate. This is the only way to get Voldemort,” Snape flinched when Dumbledore said the name, “to trust you again.” Dumbledore paused, but his hands didn’t drop and he didn’t back away. “You must do this for me.”
“I will kill you,” said Snape in a soft, defeated voice. “I will.”
Harry didn’t even have a chance to gather his thoughts before he was being propelled into another memory. Suddenly, he didn’t know where he was and what he was doing but this place was strange and unfamiliar and the only thing he actually recognized was the hooked nose and greasy hair of a younger Severus Snape.
“I hate you,” said Snape, looking down at a stone marker that was inscribed: James Potter. “I hate you.” The wind whistled around Snape, making his cloak billow up around him and his hair to cover his face, and it was the only sound in this lonely, abandoned field of the long dead. Snape turned and his gaze fell upon another marker, Lily Evans Potter. “You foolish girl,” said Snape, his eyes fluttering close. “You stupid girl.”
“Will you do it?” said Dumbledore, coming up from behind Snape and stopping next to him. “Will you make the vow?”
Snape’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t turn to Dumbledore. “Why would I?”
“Because you do not enjoy inflicting pain for the sake of it,” said Dumbledore, gazing out at the craggy, sparsely grassed field where the sun barely touched the ground, hidden as it was behind thick, gray clouds. “You must have a concrete reason and though vengeance is not the best route, it at least is an understandable one.”
“Why should I protect their child?” rasped Snape, his black eyes so dark that they were indiscernible.
“Because he is the one who will save us and you.”
Snape looked at Dumbledore and was about to say something-
Harry was jerked out of that scene and felt himself being pulled along to another memory, skipping past others with such speed they were blurred until he couldn’t tell what he was seeing and didn’t care to figure them out since it was the first time going fast had made his stomach turn.
Snape and Dumbledore were again in the Headmaster’s Office, but they were not sitting, facing each other with a desk between them. Instead they were standing in the middle of the brightly colored rug, each clasping the other’s right hand as Fawkes hovered over them, holding a wand in each of his claws. Dumbledore smiled at Snape and asked, “Will you, Severus Snape, swear to protect and care for Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter, no matter what the future may hold?”
“I will,” said Snape.
Brilliant, red flame burst from both wands, wrapping around Dumbledore and Snape’s entwined hands and twisting into a knot before it settled into their flesh and disappeared belying its physical presence, eternally embedding itself inside them.
“And will you save his life from harm by giving your own?”
“I will.”
Another burst of fire swirled around their hands burning fiercely before extinguishing.
“And, if he should falter, will you help him fulfill his destiny?”
“Yes.”
Dumbledore nodded and Fawkes flew down and touched their hands with the wands and more fire threads spun out and wrapped around them, binding them to this promise, this vow that they had undertaken for the sake of boy called Harry Potter.
Harry stumbled out of this memory, entirely disoriented and he didn’t have a clue what had gone on between Dumbledore and Snape, all he understood was that it had been very important and that it involved him. This must have happened right after when they were in the graveyard. Somehow, someway, Dumbledore had convinced Snape to protect him, to save him, to actually help him-which meant that Snape was on their side. At least, Snape was on his side. It didn’t mean that Snape couldn’t kill Dumbledore, it just meant Snape couldn’t harm him. But there could be some way around that magic, Harry thought, after all this was Snape and Snape had used magic on him in the past, had punished him. That wasn’t very protecting or caring of him, was it?
Harry wished that Hermione was here, that he could ask her about this swearing ritual, he knew that he could owl her, but if he heard from her he was afraid that his resolve to keep his friends out of it would cave. For so long, he had depended on Ron and Hermione to be next to him, but this time they couldn’t. He knew that and he hoped that one day they would understand. He had to separate himself from them now, while he could. Because it was his name that was in the prophecy, not theirs, and no matter what-he wouldn’t let anyone die for him. Even if it was Snape.
TBC
A/N: Wow this has been a while and I'm sorry, but I'm trying to make this good and really, didn't you think this was worth the wait? I think it turned out way better than I thought it would... but what do you think?
Thanks and hopefully the next one won't take this long!
And gosh, he's been at the Dursley's for a long time, but it's only been nearly two days.
Title: Vow Spoken
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with other mild possibilities
Word Count: 2,927
Betas: Lesameschelle
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and am making no profit.
Summary: Post-HBP. Everything has fallen apart and Harry doesn't know what to do. Dumbledore says to trust Snape, but how can he?
It occurred to Harry later that day that he hadn’t seen Dudley around at all. He had been randomly staring at the golden egg and at the pensieve, wondering when Fawkes would hatch and how he could get around acceding to Dumbledore’s dying request by fulfilling it to a shifty degree. Unfortunately, he didn’t see a way around it, which was why he let his thoughts drift to other more pleasant directions that did not involve Snape being any different from what he’d always suspected.
His fat, loud cousin was a good distraction. The strange thing was Harry hadn’t even heard the sounds of his heavy footsteps on the stairs. He hadn’t even seen him at dinner last night, and he hadn’t noticed until today. Maybe Dudley was visiting a friend or something. Maybe that was why Petunia was so odd. There was no Dudders around for her to coddle.
“Dinnertime!” said Petunia. “Get downstairs before your soup gets cold.”
How funny when his world was falling apart, his only family left was nice to him. Well, he didn’t know if Dudley would be nice, but Petunia certainly was and Vernon didn’t count. Harry didn’t like to think of Vernon as his Uncle and really he didn’t understand why his Aunt had married such a blustering pig.
Harry opened the door before Petunia could rap her knuckles on the wood. “Thank you,” he said because he found the voice to be polite. “You didn’t have to. I could have fixed something for myself.”
His Aunt shrugged her thin shoulders and Harry found that the usual scowl that twisted her features was missing. “I made some for myself and it wasn’t that much harder to make enough for you.”
Harry bit his tongue before he could say that in the past it would have been an unnecessary hardship and waste to make him some decent food, much less soup. He smiled instead and cleared his throat. “Well, thanks then.”
Nodding stiffly, Petunia turned and started heading down the stairs. Harry watched her go, the question of where her son was popped into his head and before he could stop his mouth, he asked, “Where’s Dudley?”
She stopped suddenly and whirled around, a most unpleasant expression on his face. Harry cringed inwardly, but was determined not to show any weakness to her that she could exploit at a later time. “That’s none of your concern,” she snapped and to his astonishment, she said nothing else. She continued down the stairs as if she was reprimanding him for not making his bed.
Harry hesitated and decided that it would only piss her off even more if he didn’t eat the soup she had so thoughtfully prepared. A tingle of doubt shot down his spine when he thought of how Vernon would react to Petunia actually cooking something for him. But it turned out that he didn’t have to worry about anything. His Uncle wasn’t at home and it was just him and Petunia at the table, eating.
-
Sitting in his room late that evening, after trying to figure out when he could leave this place and begin his search for the horcruxes, Harry knew that he had no choice but to continue with the pensieve and the memories. Dumbledore was a sly fox, look how neatly he had arranged things after his death, and so Harry was almost certain that there was more in that pensieve than just bloody Snape.
Carefully Harry picked up the pensieve and placed it between his legs. He took a deep breath and just went for it. After all, that’s what he did. Be impulsive, be strong and try to forget his fears…
“You knew, but still you did it!” shouted Snape, waving his hand at Dumbledore’s dead hand. It did not look as bad as it had, but it was still a husk of what it had been. “Yet you still put on the blasted ring!”
“I had no choice,” said Dumbledore, almost softly. “You know that.”
“I could have put it on,” hissed Snape. He took a step forward at Dumbledore and Harry had never really noticed that the two men were virtually the same height. “It could have been me.”
“And where would that have gotten us, my boy?” asked Dumbledore. “You know fully well we need you more than we need me.”
Snape looked away from Dumbledore and started pacing around the Headmaster’s Office. “That will not be what others will think.”
“When you have you ever cared?”
Abruptly Snape stopped and his shoulders seemed to hunch forward. Not ondce had Harry even seen Snape with his shoulders not pushed backwards and his back irrepressibly straight. It was a well-known fact that Snape had an iron rod shoved up his arse. Greasy git.
“At least tried to make others believe that you didn’t,” said Dumbledore softly. “You might want everyone to think you are a heartless bastard, but inside of you-you don’t want to be thought as evil. You don’t want to be thought of as Voldemort’s man, do you?”
“Since you seem to analyze people so well, Albus, why don’t you tell me?” retorted Snape. “After all, that is what you do best.”
“Severus…”
“Don’t!” he snapped. “Just-don’t.”
Stepping forward, Dumbledore laid a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “It will be okay.”
Harry shuddered, pulling himself out of the pensieve before the next memory could start. What in bloody hell was Dumbledore trying to prove? Did he really think a memory of Snape snapping at Dumbledore for basically being a fool was going to make him trust the git! Harry scowled and shoved the pensieve away. These memories were pointless. Snape was a good liar, had to be if he was fooling Voldemort and really fooling Dumbledore.
One tiny part of Harry, though, thought that maybe-just maybe-Snape had been fooling Voldemort by making it look like he was fooling Dumbledore even though he was really fooling Voldemort.
Harry shook his head. That was just too fucked up to be real. He glared down at the pensieve and wondered if he should keep going or just… stop. His eyes wandered to the letter lying on the nightstand next to him and he knew the right choice to make, he did owe Dumbledore this. This one little thing. Harry placed his hands on the pensieve and slowly drew it back to him.
“You need to come with me to my house at Spinner’s End,” said Snape insistently. “There are things there that can help you.”
“Severus, my boy…” began Dumbledore, his voice quite faint and his face very ill-looking.
“No,” snapped Snape, pushing his face forward, “you don’t understand.” He gestured at Dumbledore’s crippled, dead hand. “This will kill you and I cannot stop this. I can only delay it, but only if you do what I say.”
The Headmaster looked into Snape’s hard, beady eyes. “I cannot waste time.”
“You are needed.” Snape’s gaze never wavered, not even a little. “Still.”
Dumbledore was the one who looked away first. “How long do I have?”
“I’ll give you as long as I am able.”
Dumbledore smiled slowly and sadly.
So he knew, Harry thought, dropping his head onto his pillow. Dumbledore knew he was going to die. Snape knew he was going to die. Who else? Who else had known? Harry balled his fist up and slammed it into his bed. Had McGonagall? He bit his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
If they’d known, why hadn’t they told him? He should have known, should have known about this. Dumbledore-god-just when Harry felt like he was beginning to really connect with him, he was gone. Just thinking about how much he still had to learn from the Headmaster was depressing. Just thinking about the time when he thought anything was possible, as long as Dumbledore was by his side. He didn’t have to worry about Voldemort, not really. Now he did.
There was no one he could rely on, not even his friends, Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn’t put them in danger and they would be, if they were with him. Look at Cedric. The memory was still sharp, still relentless. Cho’s face also coming to mind, her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. Harry shook his head and slumped forward. Sirius. His godfather. Harry had just begun to get to know him when he was taken. If there was anything that was his fault, it was that. How could he even think to ask Ron and Hermione for help, when it would put them into that kind of danger?
And if Dumbledore thought he could trust in Snape, from some puny memories in a pensieve, then he had to be delusional. Harry twisted his covers into his fist. Dumbledore hadn’t known then, but Snape’s offer to help was all a hoax. Of course, Snape would help Dumbledore. Why not? Dumbledore was going to die. They both knew it. Helping only staved off the inevitable. Harry dug his nails into the fabric. Had Voldemort laughed when he’d heard that Snape had helped Dumbledore? That Dumbledore trusted Snape to help him? Harry felt his stomach twist and turn, almost heaving. Had Snape, in pretending to help, actually made it worse?
Harry knew what kind of things Snape could do. He had the book, the hard evidence. If Snape could teach an incompetent like him to brew a perfect potion, then of course he could kill Dumbledore slowly by helping him. Harry swallowed down the threat of bile and let his eyes wander to his rucksack. In the very bottom, the book-The property of the Half-Blood Prince-was there. Why he had brought it, he didn’t know. But he had kept it, because in his mind he knew that the only way to really defeat Voldemort, to even have the chance, was to use dark magic.
Just thinking about the book made his hands twitch. Harry let go of the sheets and pressed his hands together to still them. It didn’t matter who that book had belonged to, who had even written it, if it would help-it didn’t matter the origins. What mattered is what he did with it, what his knowledge gleaned from the dark material would allow him to do. It wasn’t something he’d be proud of, but it would do the job. And in the end, that was what everyone wanted. They wanted him to be a bloody hero.
-
No matter how hard he tried to sleep, to forget about the pensieve and its contents, Harry couldn’t. Doubt, doubt that had not been there before, kept creeping into his mind. What if he was wrong about Snape, what if… he really ought to trust Snape? But that was ridiculous and Harry scowled, shaking his head. Snape wouldn’t have killed Dumbledore if he’d been on their side. How did you kill someone, even if they were going to die, for no reason?
Harry slammed his fist into his pillow and then abruptly sat up. He grabbed the pensieve from the side table and dropped it between his legs. He stared at the swirling liquid and just dove in, not even bothering to think about it-knowing that if he did, that maybe he wouldn’t want to find out what Dumbledore wanted him to understand and accept.
“I meant what I said.” Dumbledore stood up from his desk in the Headmaster’s Office and actually walked over to where Snape was pacing back and forth at an almost dizzying speed. “You did the right thing.”
“You ask,” said Snape, stopping in mid-stride, his robes swishing past him and then settling back, “you ask too much.”
“It’s what you must do,” said Dumbledore, placing a hand on Snape’s shoulder.
Snape jerked away from Dumbledore’s touch and he whirled around, his face so white and his eyes so prominent, bugging outward. He opened his mouth to shout, Harry thought, but Snape ended up saying nothing at all. The Potions Master’s shoulders slumped forward and he slowly backed up, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“I know it’s hard for you, but for the greater good, this is what must be done.” Dumbledore stepped forward and grabbed Snape by the shoulders. “Look at me, Severus.” Snape didn’t look up. “Look at me!”
And Snape did. “Albus, you-”
“I understand you,” said Dumbledore and he smiled. “But you must understand that this is the only way.” Both of them were staring hard at each other, their eyes never wavering at the intensity of this moment. “You cannot hesitate. This is the only way to get Voldemort,” Snape flinched when Dumbledore said the name, “to trust you again.” Dumbledore paused, but his hands didn’t drop and he didn’t back away. “You must do this for me.”
“I will kill you,” said Snape in a soft, defeated voice. “I will.”
Harry didn’t even have a chance to gather his thoughts before he was being propelled into another memory. Suddenly, he didn’t know where he was and what he was doing but this place was strange and unfamiliar and the only thing he actually recognized was the hooked nose and greasy hair of a younger Severus Snape.
“I hate you,” said Snape, looking down at a stone marker that was inscribed: James Potter. “I hate you.” The wind whistled around Snape, making his cloak billow up around him and his hair to cover his face, and it was the only sound in this lonely, abandoned field of the long dead. Snape turned and his gaze fell upon another marker, Lily Evans Potter. “You foolish girl,” said Snape, his eyes fluttering close. “You stupid girl.”
“Will you do it?” said Dumbledore, coming up from behind Snape and stopping next to him. “Will you make the vow?”
Snape’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t turn to Dumbledore. “Why would I?”
“Because you do not enjoy inflicting pain for the sake of it,” said Dumbledore, gazing out at the craggy, sparsely grassed field where the sun barely touched the ground, hidden as it was behind thick, gray clouds. “You must have a concrete reason and though vengeance is not the best route, it at least is an understandable one.”
“Why should I protect their child?” rasped Snape, his black eyes so dark that they were indiscernible.
“Because he is the one who will save us and you.”
Snape looked at Dumbledore and was about to say something-
Harry was jerked out of that scene and felt himself being pulled along to another memory, skipping past others with such speed they were blurred until he couldn’t tell what he was seeing and didn’t care to figure them out since it was the first time going fast had made his stomach turn.
Snape and Dumbledore were again in the Headmaster’s Office, but they were not sitting, facing each other with a desk between them. Instead they were standing in the middle of the brightly colored rug, each clasping the other’s right hand as Fawkes hovered over them, holding a wand in each of his claws. Dumbledore smiled at Snape and asked, “Will you, Severus Snape, swear to protect and care for Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily Potter, no matter what the future may hold?”
“I will,” said Snape.
Brilliant, red flame burst from both wands, wrapping around Dumbledore and Snape’s entwined hands and twisting into a knot before it settled into their flesh and disappeared belying its physical presence, eternally embedding itself inside them.
“And will you save his life from harm by giving your own?”
“I will.”
Another burst of fire swirled around their hands burning fiercely before extinguishing.
“And, if he should falter, will you help him fulfill his destiny?”
“Yes.”
Dumbledore nodded and Fawkes flew down and touched their hands with the wands and more fire threads spun out and wrapped around them, binding them to this promise, this vow that they had undertaken for the sake of boy called Harry Potter.
Harry stumbled out of this memory, entirely disoriented and he didn’t have a clue what had gone on between Dumbledore and Snape, all he understood was that it had been very important and that it involved him. This must have happened right after when they were in the graveyard. Somehow, someway, Dumbledore had convinced Snape to protect him, to save him, to actually help him-which meant that Snape was on their side. At least, Snape was on his side. It didn’t mean that Snape couldn’t kill Dumbledore, it just meant Snape couldn’t harm him. But there could be some way around that magic, Harry thought, after all this was Snape and Snape had used magic on him in the past, had punished him. That wasn’t very protecting or caring of him, was it?
Harry wished that Hermione was here, that he could ask her about this swearing ritual, he knew that he could owl her, but if he heard from her he was afraid that his resolve to keep his friends out of it would cave. For so long, he had depended on Ron and Hermione to be next to him, but this time they couldn’t. He knew that and he hoped that one day they would understand. He had to separate himself from them now, while he could. Because it was his name that was in the prophecy, not theirs, and no matter what-he wouldn’t let anyone die for him. Even if it was Snape.
TBC
A/N: Wow this has been a while and I'm sorry, but I'm trying to make this good and really, didn't you think this was worth the wait? I think it turned out way better than I thought it would... but what do you think?
Thanks and hopefully the next one won't take this long!
And gosh, he's been at the Dursley's for a long time, but it's only been nearly two days.