Chapter Twenty-Seven of 'Practicing Liars'- Break the Circle
Title: Practicing Liars (27/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Summary: AU of HBP. Harry found out that he was Snape’s son two years ago, and he’s carefully concealed it. But now Snape is his Defense teacher, and Draco Malfoy is up to something, and Dumbledore is dying, and the final battle is coming up, and everything is getting very, very complicated.
Pairings: Background Ron/Hermione and Ron/Lavender. Harry and Draco have a ‘complicated friendship’ which will become a preslash relationship. For obvious reasons, Snape/Lily is mentioned.
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence (lots of violence), profanity, angst, character death (not Snape, Harry, or Draco), slash and het hints.
Author’s Notes: While I’m hoping to make this plot at least somewhat original, I know that I’m treading on well-covered ground. I don’t know yet how long the story will be, except that it will be novel-length. Practicing Liars is being written for my dear soft2smooth2000, who has helped me wonderfully with keeping track of and linking to my fics on LJ.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Seven-Break the Circle
Severus snarled under his breath as he raced after the foolish boy. He ran faster than Severus would have believed possible, especially with as much blood as he seemed to have lost through the welts on his arms.
If I find that he has been consuming illegal potions in order to move more quickly when he runs or plays Quidditch, there will be consequences.
But Severus did not think that was truly the case, especially given the other times when the welts had appeared.
He cast a tracking spell, concentrating carefully on the way that Harry’s arm had felt beneath his, and the way his sleeve had swung, and the sight of the spray of warm blood on the stone floor. This was a Dark spell, because it depended on memories rather than the “safer” method of tracking by hair or skin or fingernail, and Severus would not ordinarily have used it so close to colleagues who might pick up on the difference, but at the moment, he had no choice.
He simply runs too fast.
For a moment, Severus imagined the boy racing away from those who had taught him how to run, his Muggle relatives, and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated the folly of someone other than his son. He would meet them someday, and if he had to wait…well, he was as good at delaying his revenge as he was at seeking it immediately.
Then he drove the dream from his head with a single shake and bent to the task of his tracking. The images flickered in his mind, impatient to reunite with their real counterparts, and tugged him like a leash to the side. He curved away from the Quidditch pitch, which surprised him. He had naturally supposed the boy might run to it as a sanctuary in times of distress.
Instead, it appeared that he was heading for the Forbidden Forest.
Severus hissed in impatience and lengthened his stride. Trust the boy to find the one place in Hogwarts that is full of worse monsters than the ones he thinks he is leaving behind.
The initial path was clear enough, since Harry had trampled the grass without a care for covering his tracks, but then he got onto stones and it was harder. Severus slowed his pace, which he hated to do. He had, however, to listen intently, and to follow the slightest tug that the spell might make on him. It was hard to be sure now that he was beyond Hogwarts’s wards. Delicate spells like this were much affected by the atmosphere in which they were cast, and an alteration in the ambient magic would make them weaker. It was another reason, beyond being Dark, that this particular tracking spell was not often used.
A noise ahead had Severus dropping to one knee and drawing his wand before he thought. He knew that noise. It was that of grass scraping against legs. Because he doubted that Harry was up to much sneaking at the moment, he knew that it must be someone else in the Forest.
And they were beyond the wards.
Of course, Severus thought, his mind becoming calmer and clearer as his heart and spirit took more of the blow. If I were the Dark Lord, I would have a close watch kept on the outskirts of the wards, so that I might track who emerged from them and seize him if he was a useful prize.
The black cloak and white mask that showed through the undergrowth a moment later confirmed his suspicions.
Severus watched carefully as the Death Eater probed through the thickets with what looked like a cane, and which Severus realized a moment later was a lengthened wand. He curled his lip, but kept himself carefully from a snort, which might be heard. The man was an imbecile to use his wand in such a way, when he might want it at any moment as a weapon.
Then again, I know well that most of the Dark Lord’s followers are not to be relied on for their intellect.
Where had Harry gone? Severus could no longer hear the sounds of his wild rush, and the trembling images in his mind had subsided into nothing more than sullen, muddy flickers. Had he had the wit to hide? Unfortunately, at the moment, Severus did not know how rational Harry was. He wanted to say that his son would never venture into the Forest in a rational mood, but there were plenty of examples to contradict him. He shook his head, thinking of some of the escapades he had seen in the Occlumency lessons both last year and this.
Suddenly the Death Eater stopped and laughed. Then he bent down and waved his wand in an elaborate pattern over something in the grass.
From the way the ground seemed to waver and part, Severus knew he was looking at a pit trap. Simple, but effective, he admitted grudgingly as he watched Harry’s body float into the air. Something that would not be beyond the power of most of the Death Eaters he knew, and which could be tended and checked for anyone who had escaped the wards-though from the Death Eater’s continuing, delighted chuckles, he hadn’t expected to so neatly capture the Boy-Who-Lived.
The Death Eater floated Harry into the air and started to sling him over one shoulder. Then he turned with a motion of his cloak that Severus knew well. He was preparing to Apparate.
And that was what brought him to his feet and forwards.
He had waited because he was not sure if the man had companions or other intentions, but this he could not bear, to watch his son be stolen from him.
The Death Eater began to bring his arm up, with a clumsy motion that told Severus this was likely Vincent Crabbe’s father, as the laugh had already hinted. His magic was very good at basic curses, but he had nothing of the finesse that Severus brought to his duels, and he knew it.
“Incarcerous,” Severus hissed, and the ropes blew from midair, snaring Crabbe’s arms and legs and flipping him upside-down. A gag that Severus had added to his personal version of the spell plugged the man’s mouth a moment later. Severus reached out and caught Harry, bracing himself for the weight as he admired the way that Crabbe struggled frantically, unable to escape.
He looked down at Harry then, and shook his head. Harry’s face was as pale as salt, his head lolling limply, his arms rolling with blood. Severus stroked his face and held him close, then glanced swiftly at Crabbe. But, luckily, Crabbe did not seem to have observed the tender gesture. Of course, his never being a good observer, combined with being upside-down at the moment, likely helped.
“Come along, then,” Severus said in a bored drawl, and placed Harry in a carrying position that would look careless while supporting his weight-which was far too fragile-as much as possible. Another flick of his wand brought Crabbe floating along beside him. Severus sighed as he paced towards the castle. He would much have preferred to simply send Crabbe to the Aurors, but he could not Apparate a person such a distance without accompanying him. He would take Crabbe to Dumbledore and let the Headmaster decide what to do with him.
For such a task, I believe Albus is still competent.
*
Harry came back to consciousness slowly. When he heard voices, he blinked and turned his head, but the ghosts of white Dementors were all over his eyesight now, and he could only see their circles.
He began to breathe faster, even though he didn’t want anyone to know he was awake. He wanted to see. He’d still been able to see the potions Snape was showing him that afternoon, though he’d had to concentrate hard. Was he really going to be blind for the rest of his life?
“Just a moment, Mr. Potter.”
That was Madam Pomfrey’s voice. That let Harry relax a little, because at least he wasn’t alone with Voldemort, or Snape, or whoever had made him fall down. He felt her wand circle above his body, and then she murmured a long spell that had a little rising intonation at the end.
The white Dementors cleared away from his eyes in what looked like a flash of lightning. Harry blinked and gasped. The world beyond looked fresh and new. He thought it was the first time he’d seen it properly in several days.
Snape was standing over him, staring down. His eyes were bright and deep in a way that Harry hadn’t seen before, and his hand clutched Harry’s shoulder as if he meant to pry the joint apart. Harry put his chin up and stared back at him defiantly. I’m not afraid of him, whatever he thinks.
“You stupid boy,” Snape murmured, barely moving his lips. “Do you know what could have happened to you?”
“Severus!” Madam Pomfrey said, giving the scolding that Harry couldn’t have dared to give right now. “I hardly think this is the appropriate time to denigrate Harry’s intelligence.” She turned to Harry with a soft, motherly smile. “Now, dear, you’re suffering from a bloodline curse. I don’t know exactly what it is, because I never saw your poor father come in with it. Sometimes the curse skips generations. But there are ways to counteract all of them. Most people survive it, after all. Just lie still and relax. I’ll be researching this as soon as I can, and in the meantime, there are potions that can mitigate the obvious effects.”
Harry froze. He couldn’t even nod to Madam Pomfrey, though she bustled away so quickly Harry didn’t think she’d noticed. He had to lie there, his eyes fixed on Snape’s, and watch the awful knowledge slowly cross his face.
One thing happened that Harry didn’t expect. Snape’s hand did not tighten on his shoulder and give him another bruise.
*
Severus stood still. He could hardly do anything else, when Poppy had handed the answer to him as comfortably as she might hand a plate across the Head Table in the Great Hall.
A bloodline curse.
And though Poppy did not realize it, everything she had said was true, sans the implication that Harry bore the curse because of his link to James Potter.
The curse had certainly skipped a generation; Severus himself had never suffered from it, or from anything comparable. The curse could not have come through Lily’s bloodline, because, even if her distant ancestors had been pure-bloods or Squibs, such curses vanished when they were passed through a family line where the members had no magic. And there was a way to counteract them.
Severus remembered a story, then, that his mother had told him, of hallucinations she had suffered when she was Harry’s age. She had seen visions of werewolves, because they were the magical creature she feared most. These werewolves were silent, invisible to others, and capable of transforming into her best friends. Eileen had become convinced that they were her best friends, that she had never had such companionship in Slytherin House as she imagined, and that they were laughing silently at her for falling for such a deception.
The curse had broken after a savage fever that had caused Eileen to flee madly into the dungeon corridors. One of the prefects had found her and taken her to the hospital wing, where potions had managed to lower her fever enough to enable her to survive. When she opened her eyes, the visions of werewolves were gone. Eileen was inclined to say that she must have had a dangerous brain fever for a long time, and the visions of werewolves had been the one symptom of it. Sometimes fevers acted strangely on bodies that contained magic.
She had not connected it to a bloodline curse that Severus had heard. He knew for certain that her grandfather had been dead before she was born. If he had been the last ones to suffer the Prince curse, then she would have had no reason to have heard of it.
From the operation of the curse on his mother and his son, Severus believed he knew what it was meant to do. It enhanced the victim’s fears and drove them to irrational conclusions. The occurrence of death after that must be frequent. Someone tormented by fear might rush off a cliff or stab themselves to death under the conviction that only opening their skin could save their lives. On the other hand, it was equally as likely that they might survive, though hurt and more paranoid than before, and pass the curse on. That would satisfy whoever had cast the spell in the first place.
It is no wonder he fled from me, Severus thought, as he conjured a chair and sat down beside Harry’s bed, never taking his hand from his shoulder. I would have seemed more of an ogre to him than usual. And he fears so being found out and having his privacy taken from him. The curse would have increased his anguish to the point that he literally could not tell anyone.
“Harry,” he said.
“Yes, I know, I could have died,” Harry said, turning his head away and setting his jaw. Severus couldn’t help casting a glance over his shoulder, but Poppy was still busy among her potions. Good. Severus didn’t know how anyone looking at Harry in that moment could have escaped the conclusion that he was Severus’s son. Their faces darkened with anger in exactly the same way. “You can gloat about it if you like. God knows that you do often enough.”
“I do not wish to gloat,” Severus said, keeping his words as simple and direct as possible so that it would be harder for Harry’s fears to twist them. He did not know how long they had before the curse returned. “I wish to help you.”
“At a price.” Harry was lying still under his touch now, but it was the kind of stillness a statue might have, or a steel rod. Severus did not like it, and not only because he was sure it meant Harry wasn’t listening. “There’s always a price,” Harry continued, half-rambling, as if he assumed that Severus was reading his mind at the moment and would understand everything he said. “Someone wants me to give up my magic, or my identity, or my past, or my parents.” He stabbed Severus with a glance that made Severus breathless with pain. “Always something. And there’s no way that I can reach the relief they promise, most of the time, because I don’t want to pay the price.”
“I wish you to live,” Severus said, “whether or not you ever acknowledge me publicly as your father.”
Harry stared at him again. Then he asked, “But if you helped me do that, and then I didn’t do anything for you, wouldn’t you feel cheated?”
Severus lowered his eyelids so that Harry could not see how vivid his frustration was. In part, he was the one who had taught the boy to have this perception of Slytherins. He could hardly complain that Harry had learned his lessons too well, not when he would have sneered at him a month ago for being too trusting. “I wish to have a claim to you, of course,” he replied carefully. “I have told you that. I wish for your presence in my rooms because you like to be there, not because you are forced to be or because someone else would think that a son of my blood should be. I wish to know many things about you, and to help you recover from some of those you have suffered. I wish to help you recover from this curse, and to understand something about your history, the past of our family, if you wish it.”
Harry blinked at him, and said nothing.
“But none of that constitutes force,” Severus finished, with an iron tone in his voice he knew might undo some of the value of what he was saying. He could hardly speak otherwise, however. He desired Harry to understand. “A wish does not mean you must obey me.”
“But you want me to,” Harry said, his voice so soft that Severus would not have heard it if he was not straining his ears for it. Harry rolled away, crossing his arms. Severus kept a sharp eye on them, but Poppy’s first incantation had done that much good; the welts didn’t break open and bleed again.
“Of course I do,” Severus said. “I believe that a son should obey his father, unless his father is actually abusive.”
Harry stiffened, but said nothing.
“But I no longer intend to-demand obedience.” The words were difficult for Severus to pronounce. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Poppy’s presence, and found her holding up a potions vial to the light with a smile of triumph. He would not have much more opportunity to say what he needed to say. “I intend to offer, and it will be up to you if you accept.” He dipped his head to the boy slightly and then leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t know if I can trust you.” Harry was hissing at him, his eyes wide, as if being offered a gift was more frightening than being compelled into accepting it. Of course, compulsion is what the boy knows best, Severus thought idly as he watched him. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You do not know that you can trust the sun to rise in the morning,” Severus responded, standing as Poppy drew closer. “You must simply accept it, if it seems to you worth the risk.” He stepped aside and made his way towards the door of the hospital wing. From what Poppy was saying, and what he remembered of his mother’s story of the bloodline curse, the outburst was almost over. Poppy could manage to control the dangerous symptoms, including the welts and the tendency Harry had displayed to flee as if the white Dementors had the power to hurt him.
Besides, he thought Harry had had enough of his concern.
For the moment.
It was hard to know how to step, when the dance was not one of spying or dueling or brewing or correcting the mistakes of the dunderheaded.
*
Harry stared after Snape, not knowing what he should feel. He didn’t trust the promise that Snape had made, not for one moment. How could he? Too many times, he had wanted to believe something like that, and then Snape had invaded his privacy again, or grabbed him, or discovered a secret that Harry would have preferred he leave alone.
But this time…
Harry swallowed. Snape had never willingly backed off before. He had never said exactly those words, that he wished to have a claim on Harry but understood if Harry didn’t want to give him one.
“Madam Pomfrey?” he asked then, turning his head away from Snape so that he could look at someone who actually smiled. She glanced up and nodded to him, her eyes and mouth soft, so Harry knew she wasn’t too displeased with him and could perhaps be persuaded to answer some questions. “How did I get here? The last thing I remember is falling down, um, somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.” He blushed, because he saw her frown, but he didn’t think that she would refuse to answer him, because her mouth still stayed soft.
“According to Professor Snape, you ran beyond the wards and fell into a sort of pit trap,” said Madam Pomfrey. “And then-” She lowered her voice. Harry wondered who she was afraid of, but her next words told him. “A Death Eater came. Professor Snape said they set the trap and waited until they felt someone come out of the wards. He saved you from a much worse fate than you would have had without him, Mr. Potter.”
“Where’s the Death Eater now?” Harry demanded. He couldn’t believe that he had missed that much.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” Madam Pomfrey said, puffing up like a pigeon. Harry winced. He’d offended her, and he didn’t think that she would tell him anything more. “You ought to go to sleep,” the mediwitch continued, and Harry realized he was right. “The bloodline curse is focused on fear. This potion will help you sleep and help you clear your mind of the visions you’re seeing.” She leaned towards him and studied him with large, serious eyes. “But, Harry, I need you to be truthful with me if you start seeing them again.”
Harry lowered his eyes and nodded. His decision to keep everything to himself seemed sort of silly now. He could at least have told Draco, who knew something about the white Dementors already and who wouldn’t have mocked him.
But it had seemed so important that he have one secret that no one could take away, the way they’d taken all his others, he thought, as he opened his mouth and let Madam Pomfrey pour the potion in. Was that so hard to understand?
Well, maybe it is, when it leads to you nearly dying.
Harry lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes. His arms didn’t hurt now-the first time that had been true in two days. He tried to remember what he’d been thinking when they had hurt, how he’d dealt with the pain and why he’d convinced himself not to go to anyone, but it was like trying to think about the way he acted at the Dursleys’. Afterwards, it didn’t seem quite real, and the most important thing about it was trying to keep it hidden. While he was there, he just knew that he had to endure from moment to moment, and he wasn’t really thinking; he was surviving.
I think the bloodline curse did the same thing to me, he thought. Whoever cast the curse probably made it so that the person who had it would be afraid of other people for some reason, and afraid to ask for help.
I could have died.
Harry swallowed. He had thought he would be all right because the Dementors hadn’t hurt him that much before or lasted that long, but he had known something was different by the second morning, when he still had the welts and could barely see anything else past the circling white shapes.
I could have died if Voldemort grabbed me. I could have died if I fell into that pit trap and just lay there and no one found me. I could have died if the welts went on bleeding and I couldn’t make enough blood to keep myself alive.
Harry rolled on his side and tucked his legs close to his chest. He didn’t know what had changed. After all, a short time ago he’d been ready enough to die if that was the way he had to get the Horcrux out of him and defeat Voldemort. And he had thought that he changed his mind about living only because Snape forced him to.
But now…
It was…
I think things changed back again. I don’t want to die.
That didn’t mean he had to accept Snape’s offer, Harry hastily reassured himself. He could come to Madam Pomfrey if he was hurt, or Draco. But he would try to go. And maybe, sometimes, he could tell secrets. He didn’t think Madam Pomfrey or Draco would really betray him.
And even Snape didn’t betray me to anyone except Draco.
It was a weird thought, an odd one, and Harry was relieved when a sharp voice spoke next to his ear and took him away from thinking about it. The voice was Draco’s, and he apparently thought that Harry was asleep, or he wouldn’t have spoken the way he did.
“If you ever do that again, I swear, I’m going to tie you to a bed and just keep you there. The house-elves can help you go to the loo. I’m going to feed you myself. And I’ll help the elves change your clothes, and someone will always be there to watch you if I can’t. You need something like that.”
Harry reached out, caught Draco’s hand, and squeezed it. Draco caught his breath in surprise, and Harry opened his eyes to smile at him. It was hard. The potion was finally working, and his mind felt heavy.
“I don’t need something like that,” he whispered. “Not anymore. I’m going to try to care about myself and not think I don’t deserve that care from other people.”
Draco’s eyes were very wide. He said something, but the words blurred in Harry’s ears and became part of the darkness of sleep.
For the first time in what felt like months, his dreams were pleasant.
Chapter Twenty-Eight.