Fic: Lost Boys 9/14
Prologue - Two Dads
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
Title: Lost Boys, 9/14 - Spectres of the Past
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. Also I have been quite remiss in not recognizing the Listening Beta Extraordinaire, Wee Hob (my son, aged 12). He listened patiently while I read all this stuff aloud to him, some sections in multiple versions, and between his comments and questions, and my own hearing some of the really stupid things I was saying, a lot of literary tragedies were averted. Go here to leave him a comment telling him how awesome he is.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Hermione turned to see what Harry was staring at in the doorway, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Professor? Is that you?” she whispered.
Snape looked-- frightened, Harry thought. It was a lost, vulnerable expression he had never seen on the man’s face in life. Harry stepped forward slowly and raised his hand reassuringly, hoping the ghost would not bolt. His track record, chasing ghosts, was not stellar. “Professor. It's, um... It’s been a long time, Sir.”
The ghost eyed him warily. At length he replied, in cold, disdainful tones, “I had rather hoped I was the shade of some long-dead builder of this castle. But I take it that you know who I was.”
“And you don’t, Sir?” Harry was puzzled as he said it-- he had never heard of a ghost having amnesia before. But then he remembered how Snape had died. Memories pouring out of him, like blood. Yeah. Maybe it was little wonder, then.
“No. Nor do I wish to find out. I merely....” He paused, looked at David, lying so still now on the bed. An odd expression flitted across his pale features. “What is the matter with this boy?”
“We aren’t sure,” Hermione replied. “What do you know, Sir? Do you know David?”
Rose was looking at Snape with a kind of dawning understanding. “You’re Davey’s friend. Professor Ghost. Aren’t you?” The ghost looked at her almost kindly and inclined his head.
“Rose,” her mother’s voice was deceptively mild, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“Do not blame your daughter, Madam,” Snape said. “She made a promise, and I believe she was just about to break it when I revealed myself, were you not, child?”
Rose nodded. Hermione frowned as she looked from one to the other. “A promise? To keep you secret? Why? And what has David to do with this?”
“You led Uncle Harry to your laboratory just now, didn’t you?” Rose said. Again, Snape nodded.
She turned to her mother and explained, “Davey took me down there several times last term. He said he’d met a ghost who was very shy. Who helped him his first day here, when he got lost. And then, well, Davey ran across him again last year looking for a place to study when-- um, when-- we weren’t getting along so well.”
She looked a little embarrassed and pressed on quickly, “I couldn’t see the ghost. But between the two of us we tutored Davey in potions. And they both -- well Davey asked me, from the ghost-- they made me promise not to tell. Davey seemed-- quite fond of you, Sir,” she said, turning to the ghost at the last.
Now Snape looked a trifle embarrassed himself. “He is not as ... annoying as others of his age,” he admitted grudgingly.
Harry was looking on at all this in stunned bewilderment. Snape had never, to his knowledge, liked a kid, not since he’d been one himself. It was kind of like the earth had started spinning the opposite way on its axis or something. He was relieved to hear Ron’s deep voice begin his customary report from the door, and amused to hear it go outraged about halfway through.
“Harry, we’ve finished our sweep of the lower dungeons; other than that one you pointed out, there doesn’t-- Bloody Hell! Snape? What’s he doin’ here?”
“That, Ronald, is what we were trying to find out,” his wife said patiently. Ron lowered his wand a fraction.
Harry decided introductions were in order. “Professor Snape, this is my partner, Ron Weasley, his wife Hermione, and I believe you know Rose.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “And I’m Harry, Sir. Harry Potter.”
Snape showed no recognition of the names. “Wonderful. I assume you were once my students, and that you hated me beyond all reason. Very well, then. Can we please return to the matter at hand? I believe, Madam Weasley, you were speculating about Dark Magic poisoning before I appeared? I find it highly unlikely this boy has been dabbling in anything Dark. But there are several types of poisoning, if memory serves, caused by directed curses, or objects....”
“I thought you had no memory,” Hermione interrupted. The Potions Master gave her a pitying look, as if she were a particularly dull-witted child.
“I have no memory of my life, or of the time before,” he corrected. “My basic sum of factual knowledge, however, appears to be undiminished. And I have done some reading in many areas of interest, since making the acquaintance of young Mr. Dursley again last year. He has brought me a number of journals and books....”
“Any on Dark Magic, by chance?” Ron asked pointedly.
“No, but I do seem to recall quite a number of fascinating facts on that subject,” Snape drawled, keeping his temper, though Harry could tell it was by sheer force of will. “If you would be so kind as to tell me what you are considering, I may be able to help you rule a few possibilities out. Or brew an antidote, if it comes to it.”
“Excuse me, but in case you haven’t noticed, Professor, you are a suspect in an Auror’s investigation....”
At this point, Harry laid a hand on Ron’s arm in that warning gesture they’d worked out years ago, when his partner’s hot head was about to get them both into trouble. Again. Ron subsided, still glaring suspiciously at the ghost.
“Ron, could I have a word, please?” Harry drew him off to the side of the room, well aware that Snape’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull.
“Harry, if you ask me, we should lock him up now and...”
“Ron. He’s a Ghost. A Hogwarts Ghost. Even if he doesn’t remember it at the moment. You know they have all kinds of special rights. We can’t just ‘lock him up.’ It’ll take us days just to fill out the paperwork to start the binding rituals. If the Wizengamot even grants the warrant.”
“I hate when you’re right,” Ron grumbled.
“Besides,” Harry glanced back and found Snape looking once again with concern towards his young cousin. “I think he may be connected to this somehow....”
“Really? It’s so amazing how you figure these things out, Harry--”
“Shut up, Ron. I also think he may not know that yet, either. He seems to genuinely care for Davey, and he wants to help. Let’s keep him close, see where he leads us. He might actually be useful.”
Ron’s agreement was grudging at best, but Harry was willing to settle for it. He turned back to the ghost.
“All right, Professor. We need to know everything you know about Davey, and fast. At the moment, you're the only lead we've got, the only thing out-of-the-ordinary about his life here at Hogwarts. We think...” Harry’s voice caught a little. “We think he's dying, Professor.”
The ghost studied the boy on the bed. “All right,” he said at last. “I'll need a Pensieve.”
Part 10 - The Pensieve
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
Title: Lost Boys, 9/14 - Spectres of the Past
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to lady_clover, rainkatt and emmessann for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. Also I have been quite remiss in not recognizing the Listening Beta Extraordinaire, Wee Hob (my son, aged 12). He listened patiently while I read all this stuff aloud to him, some sections in multiple versions, and between his comments and questions, and my own hearing some of the really stupid things I was saying, a lot of literary tragedies were averted. Go here to leave him a comment telling him how awesome he is.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Hermione turned to see what Harry was staring at in the doorway, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Professor? Is that you?” she whispered.
Snape looked-- frightened, Harry thought. It was a lost, vulnerable expression he had never seen on the man’s face in life. Harry stepped forward slowly and raised his hand reassuringly, hoping the ghost would not bolt. His track record, chasing ghosts, was not stellar. “Professor. It's, um... It’s been a long time, Sir.”
The ghost eyed him warily. At length he replied, in cold, disdainful tones, “I had rather hoped I was the shade of some long-dead builder of this castle. But I take it that you know who I was.”
“And you don’t, Sir?” Harry was puzzled as he said it-- he had never heard of a ghost having amnesia before. But then he remembered how Snape had died. Memories pouring out of him, like blood. Yeah. Maybe it was little wonder, then.
“No. Nor do I wish to find out. I merely....” He paused, looked at David, lying so still now on the bed. An odd expression flitted across his pale features. “What is the matter with this boy?”
“We aren’t sure,” Hermione replied. “What do you know, Sir? Do you know David?”
Rose was looking at Snape with a kind of dawning understanding. “You’re Davey’s friend. Professor Ghost. Aren’t you?” The ghost looked at her almost kindly and inclined his head.
“Rose,” her mother’s voice was deceptively mild, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“Do not blame your daughter, Madam,” Snape said. “She made a promise, and I believe she was just about to break it when I revealed myself, were you not, child?”
Rose nodded. Hermione frowned as she looked from one to the other. “A promise? To keep you secret? Why? And what has David to do with this?”
“You led Uncle Harry to your laboratory just now, didn’t you?” Rose said. Again, Snape nodded.
She turned to her mother and explained, “Davey took me down there several times last term. He said he’d met a ghost who was very shy. Who helped him his first day here, when he got lost. And then, well, Davey ran across him again last year looking for a place to study when-- um, when-- we weren’t getting along so well.”
She looked a little embarrassed and pressed on quickly, “I couldn’t see the ghost. But between the two of us we tutored Davey in potions. And they both -- well Davey asked me, from the ghost-- they made me promise not to tell. Davey seemed-- quite fond of you, Sir,” she said, turning to the ghost at the last.
Now Snape looked a trifle embarrassed himself. “He is not as ... annoying as others of his age,” he admitted grudgingly.
Harry was looking on at all this in stunned bewilderment. Snape had never, to his knowledge, liked a kid, not since he’d been one himself. It was kind of like the earth had started spinning the opposite way on its axis or something. He was relieved to hear Ron’s deep voice begin his customary report from the door, and amused to hear it go outraged about halfway through.
“Harry, we’ve finished our sweep of the lower dungeons; other than that one you pointed out, there doesn’t-- Bloody Hell! Snape? What’s he doin’ here?”
“That, Ronald, is what we were trying to find out,” his wife said patiently. Ron lowered his wand a fraction.
Harry decided introductions were in order. “Professor Snape, this is my partner, Ron Weasley, his wife Hermione, and I believe you know Rose.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “And I’m Harry, Sir. Harry Potter.”
Snape showed no recognition of the names. “Wonderful. I assume you were once my students, and that you hated me beyond all reason. Very well, then. Can we please return to the matter at hand? I believe, Madam Weasley, you were speculating about Dark Magic poisoning before I appeared? I find it highly unlikely this boy has been dabbling in anything Dark. But there are several types of poisoning, if memory serves, caused by directed curses, or objects....”
“I thought you had no memory,” Hermione interrupted. The Potions Master gave her a pitying look, as if she were a particularly dull-witted child.
“I have no memory of my life, or of the time before,” he corrected. “My basic sum of factual knowledge, however, appears to be undiminished. And I have done some reading in many areas of interest, since making the acquaintance of young Mr. Dursley again last year. He has brought me a number of journals and books....”
“Any on Dark Magic, by chance?” Ron asked pointedly.
“No, but I do seem to recall quite a number of fascinating facts on that subject,” Snape drawled, keeping his temper, though Harry could tell it was by sheer force of will. “If you would be so kind as to tell me what you are considering, I may be able to help you rule a few possibilities out. Or brew an antidote, if it comes to it.”
“Excuse me, but in case you haven’t noticed, Professor, you are a suspect in an Auror’s investigation....”
At this point, Harry laid a hand on Ron’s arm in that warning gesture they’d worked out years ago, when his partner’s hot head was about to get them both into trouble. Again. Ron subsided, still glaring suspiciously at the ghost.
“Ron, could I have a word, please?” Harry drew him off to the side of the room, well aware that Snape’s eyes were boring into the back of his skull.
“Harry, if you ask me, we should lock him up now and...”
“Ron. He’s a Ghost. A Hogwarts Ghost. Even if he doesn’t remember it at the moment. You know they have all kinds of special rights. We can’t just ‘lock him up.’ It’ll take us days just to fill out the paperwork to start the binding rituals. If the Wizengamot even grants the warrant.”
“I hate when you’re right,” Ron grumbled.
“Besides,” Harry glanced back and found Snape looking once again with concern towards his young cousin. “I think he may be connected to this somehow....”
“Really? It’s so amazing how you figure these things out, Harry--”
“Shut up, Ron. I also think he may not know that yet, either. He seems to genuinely care for Davey, and he wants to help. Let’s keep him close, see where he leads us. He might actually be useful.”
Ron’s agreement was grudging at best, but Harry was willing to settle for it. He turned back to the ghost.
“All right, Professor. We need to know everything you know about Davey, and fast. At the moment, you're the only lead we've got, the only thing out-of-the-ordinary about his life here at Hogwarts. We think...” Harry’s voice caught a little. “We think he's dying, Professor.”
The ghost studied the boy on the bed. “All right,” he said at last. “I'll need a Pensieve.”
Part 10 - The Pensieve