Chapter Thirty-Two of 'His Twenty-Eighth Life' Teacher For Hire
Chapter Thirty-One.
Title: His Twenty-Eighth Life (32/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Eventual Harry Potter/Voldemort; mentions of others, including canon pairings, in the background, and past Harry/others
Rating: R (more for violence than sex)
Content Notes: violence, torture, gore, manipulation, angst, Master of Death Harry Potter, reincarnation, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts
Summary: Harry Potter has been reborn again and again into new bodies as the Master of Death, some of them not human, none of them exactly like his old one-but he has always helped to defeat Voldemort in each new world. Now he’s Harry Potter again, but his slightly older brother is the target of the prophecy, and Harry assumes his role is going to be to support Jonathan in his defeat of Voldemort. At least, that’s what he thinks until Voldemort comes that Halloween night, discovers what Harry is, and kidnaps him. The story of a long fight between Voldemort’s sadism and Harry’s generosity.
Author’s Notes: This is going to be a very long fic, exploring some fairly dark character interactions. While the heart of the story is Harry’s relationship with Voldemort, that’s going to change only slowly and over time, and there will be plenty of concentration on other characters, too. Also, please take the tags/content notes seriously.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Thirty-Two-Teacher for Hire
Jonathan read the short letter from Harry with a frown on his face. He knew a little of what Harry had done, but not enough. Something to do with Voldemort. But Harry was rambling about how grateful he was to have Jonathan, and their parents, and his home, and something more must lie behind that.
I miss you.
Well, Jonathan could have written that line, and so could Harry at any time. In the end, Jonathan shook his head and put the letter away. He didn’t have time to write to Harry undetectably right now, but he would later.
“Your brother means a great deal to you, doesn’t he?”
Jonathan didn’t bother looking at Acanthus as he nodded. She made statements like this constantly, as though she was surprised to figure things like that out. Jonathan went back to working on his Astronomy essay. The movements of planets and stars seemed mundane to him after his concern about Harry and all the spells he was learning with Dumbledore, but he still had to do well in his classes. Dumbledore had spelled him to do that.
“I thought I would end up following you.”
“You can leave at any time,” Jonathan said without looking up, even though he knew Acanthus wouldn’t do so. She clung to him like a bur instead of a thorn.
“But I think now I might end up following your brother. You care so much for him that I don’t think you’d just go out and become a leader without his say-so.”
“Harry doesn’t want to control people.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to understand who you are. First I thought you were a Light wizard, and then a hero, and then someone who would be the next political leader, and then a victim, and now a brother. You’re very confusing.”
Jonathan finally cracked a smile. He had told Dumbledore that he kept his Slytherin friends around because he was trying to convert them away from following Voldemort. He didn’t kill the lie by smiling at Acanthus. “I’m just me. Just ordinary.”
“Ordinary students don’t have training sessions with the Headmaster every day.”
“Well, no.” Jonathan tried to think of what he meant while he added a last paragraph to the essay. “I mean, it’s-different for me, I reckon. I have lots of knowledge and spells and people looking up to me.”
“But?” Acanthus flipped through a book, then muttered something about “useless” and shoved it aside.
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m some hero destined to save the world or that I think I am. Like the Headmaster,” Jonathan had to add. “I don’t think of myself the way you did or the way Dumbledore thinks of himself.”
Acanthus took long enough to think about it that Jonathan finished reading the chapter in his Potions textbook. Then she said, “You’re not like that because you have someone more remarkable to follow, and I know that isn’t the Headmaster. Is it your brother?”
Jonathan’s shoulders tensed. Acanthus only shook her head at him. “I have a barrier raised around us already, silly.”
“Right. Of course. Sorry.” Jonathan sighed. “Well, you would laugh if I told you that I follow my younger brother. So I never mentioned anything about it.”
“After meeting you, I would believe almost anything of him,” Acanthus said, and she sounded serious. “I’m going to have to cancel on our dueling practice session tonight. I have an important letter to write to my mother.”
“Er. All right. What are you going to say to her?”
“That the Parkinsons need to carefully consider who they are going to follow in the next few years.” Acanthus shoved at the useless book again, like she was trying to punish it for making her waste time, and then stood up and strode out of the library.
Jonathan blinked at her back. Then he forced himself to start on the Potions essay, too, because the Headmaster would expect it.
But in the back of his mind, a soft fire burned.
*
Augusta cursed as she watched the collapse of yet another ritual circle. The small stick floating on water in the middle of it spun to a stop as the glass containing it cracked and the water drained out. Then the stick burst into flame, and took the remnants of the magic with it.
Augusta sighed as she stepped into the circle to retrieve the ritual implements; she could repair the cracked glass and use that again, although it would mean another tedious round of purifying the water and setting up the circle. She could not understand why the ritual that should easily find a source of Dark soul magic like Horcruxes wasn’t working.
It was true that other sources of it might exist, but none nearly as strong as Horcruxes. And the ritual she had chosen would account for and exclude other possibilities, such as heirlooms that might allow some of the pure-blood families to communicate with their ancestors. Or things should have been accounted for.
It is almost as if the existence of Horcruxes, or whatever the ritual is detecting, is overpowering the implements.
Augusta dismissed the concern. She must have made a mistake in putting the circle together, or perhaps the water was not sufficiently purified. She was better with spells than rituals. She would slow down, count over her steps, leave the water to steep in the presence of the sacrificial fire for longer than she had, and see what happened.
*
“Sirius? What are you doing here?”
“Well, your Dad thinks I came to see him. And I did visit him for a while.” Sirius sat down on the little bench in the garden, almost the same height as Harry when he did that, and gave him a somber look. “But I need to know more about what our side is going to be doing in this war.”
Harry brushed dirt off his hands. “What do you mean? We don’t need to move yet.”
“Of course we do. Albus isn’t including me in his plans much anymore. I think he can tell that I disapprove. But he’ll be doing something. And that means we need to be doing something to counter him.”
Harry held back an exasperated sigh. Sirius had been like this two lives ago, too, although at least there it hadn’t got anyone killed. That version of Sirius had lost his hands, though. “I really think it’s all right so far. Dumbledore isn’t being obvious, but he does believe me about Voldemort being obsessed with me. He’s counting on me keeping Voldemort occupied for a while.”
“And when that doesn’t work anymore? I mean Dumbledore believing you, not you keeping Voldemort occupied.”
“Then we’ll come up with something else. Mainly, I’m trying to buy time, for me to get a little older and more credible to people, and for people to lose faith in Dumbledore. The more time that passes without an attack, the more you know that others are going to think the war is over with.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Sirius’s eyes were gleaming, intent. “Or at least it’s shifted ground so much that Albus’s understanding of it is years out of date.”
Harry nodded slowly. He thought of telling Sirius that Voldemort had reabsorbed one of the Horcruxes, but he was sure that Voldemort wouldn’t want him to share that knowledge with anyone. “All the more reason for us to be cautious about what we reveal, though, and not act just because you feel we ought to.”
“I’m not saying that we should act just because I feel we ought to!”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
Sirius wriggled in place on the bench. “At least let me get ready. Strengthen some of the wards on Grimmauld Place, maybe other houses. Buy some house-elves that are sworn to secrecy and good at getting around in Dark places. Give you books from the Black library-”
“I probably know the contents of all those books already, Sirius.”
“Then I’ll study them myself.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “I know how much you hate Dark Arts. I don’t want you to do this just because you want to help me. There will be plenty of chances for that without subjecting yourself to something you hate!”
He hadn’t realized he was shouting. For a moment, the air in the garden went still, and then began to tremble and beat again around the petals of the flowers. Sirius sat back and stared at him, eyes wide. Then he pointed at the ground. Harry glanced down and sighed when he realized the neat earth of the beds had leaped into the air as though someone had stabbed a fork into its heart.
“That’s the problem with being the bloody Master of Death and losing your temper,” he muttered, and bent down to use his hands rather than his magic to smooth the dirt back into place. His magic was a little too volatile at the moment to risk it.
“Why are you so sure that I shouldn’t study Dark Arts?”
“Because you hate them.”
Sirius glanced away from him. Then he started tapping his hand on his knee. Harry stared at him. “I thought that was true in every world I’ve landed in.” But I should have realized the fucking twenty-eighth one would be different, again.
“I hate some of the things the Dark Arts do,” Sirius corrected, still looking away from him. “I hated the way they twisted my parents’ minds. And even my brother was affected by them. I never used them after I ran away to live with the Potters.” He sucked in a breath that made it sound as if he was swallowing all the air in the garden and faced Harry again. “But I was good at them when my parents forced me to use them as a child. And I can still manage them.”
“How do you know for sure?” Harry was used to magical skill fading for anyone who was born without his perfect memory.
“I tried a spell on a rat just before coming here.” Sirius’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “And don’t tell me that I should be kind to animals. I’m always going to hate fucking rats, now.”
“At least tell me that you put it out of its misery.”
Sirius chopped his head down in a sharp motion without looking at Harry.
Harry sighed. “Okay. Well…” Shit. He could think of one role that Sirius would be perfect for, but he honestly didn’t want to force him into it. He didn’t move people on a board like chess pieces. That was Albus’s job.
“Let me do something,” Sirius begged quietly. “And I think it’s likely that Dark Arts will be more widespread in the world since you and Voldemort are going to win.” He gave Harry a strained smile. “I refuse to be out of practice in what will probably be the main kind of magic then.”
“I’m going to try and ensure there’s as little change as possible from a normal and healthy world when we win the war,” Harry said. Then he sighed. “I know that Jonathan needs training in Dark Arts, but the kind of magic I could show him is mostly too powerful for him yet, and I don’t trust Dumbledore to teach him anything that’s not for his own purposes. You would be perfect. Although how you’re going to meet…”
“I have to go grovel to Remus and Albus.”
“I don’t want you to have to do that, either!”
Sirius just grinned as a small puff of dirt flew up into the air. Harry smiled ruefully back. Sirius shrugged. “I never thought I’d make a good spy, but no one is going to suspect me of anything when I try to get back into my best friends’ good graces and argue with them non-stop. I would do that all the time, anyway. Can I have your permission to do that?”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“I suspect I would to teach any Dark Arts to Jonathan.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, you’d need his permission, too, and you’ll need Albus’s. But try to make sure that you can talk to him in as coded a way as possible. I don’t think Albus is going to leave you alone with him.”
Sirius glanced around abruptly. “And no one is going to sense us or what we’ve been talking about here?”
“They could still see us if they look out through the windows, of course. Mum doesn’t react well when she doesn’t see me. But they won’t be able to hear anything that we said here, of course. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Harry leaned in and hugged Sirius, something he wanted to do as well as something Lily and James would expect to see from a boy reconnecting with his godfather. “Go to Hogwarts. Or find Remus. Whichever one feels better to you. Feel free to drop all the hints you want about the Deathly Hallows and how I feel that the war is over, but you don’t think it is and you want to make sure that Jonathan stays safe.”
Sirius hugged him back, fiercely, and didn’t let go even when Harry assumed he would. “Thank you for giving me back my life,” he whispered into Harry’s ear.
“A life of spying and sneaking around and lying to your best friends? That sounds-”
“Like a hell of a good time.” Sirius stood up, keeping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, and assumed a stiff, somber expression. “Stop playing pranks, Sirius,” he scolded in a good imitation of Lily’s voice. “We’re all older than that now.” He paused, then started imitating James. “And we need to be serious-don’t say it!-and start concentrating on being adults.”
“So I’ve given you back your pranking childhood.” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Yes, you have.” Sirius grinned at him and ruffled his hair, which Harry tolerated because it wasn’t like anything could make it worse. “And I hope that you stop frowning at some point and realize that no one ever completely grows up, either. Worse than your father, right now!”
Harry finally gave in the way he’d been fighting not to do, and smiled.
*
Albus eyed Sirius with calm sureness. He had expected Sirius to come back and ask for a place in the Order of the Phoenix’s ranks, even though Remus had doubted it, but not so soon. “And why do you want to train young Jonathan?”
Sirius’s frown was deeper than Albus could ever remember seeing. “Because Harry’s powers concern me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. The Master of Death in the body of a child? Lily and James aren’t taking it well at all, and they’re still some of my best friends.” Sirius sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Jonathan deserves to be free of people who might try to manipulate him. And I think the only way that’s going to happen is if his enemies get less powerful.”
Albus nodded, pleased that Sirius understood. He had thought Sirius was going over to Harry’s side, but it seemed that Harry had frightened away even his devoted godfather. Well, that only made sense; that much power should not rest in any mortal’s hands. “And you would be fully-prepared to teach Jonathan Dark Arts? It is true that I have little mastery of that branch of magic. But I know it would be a sacrifice for you.”
Sirius grimaced. “I know. But Jonathan and Harry are already making sacrifices, and so are Lily and James, who have to live with that knowledge and haven’t managed to come to terms with it. So I can make one, too.”
“One thing to remember, Sirius, is that Harry understands much about Dark Arts that no one else will know. That means I must ask you not to teach Jonathan those.”
“Huh? Oh, no, I know that. He showed me a few things that-they were shocking.”
The boy is so desperate for acceptance that he ignores the lessons of a dozen lifetimes and tries to ingratiate himself with adults when he should know better than to frighten them. Albus nodded. “Then you may begin lessons as soon as Jonathan has a free period. I will give you one of my lesson-slots for the week.”
“Thanks, Albus. I think I’ll feel a lot better as soon as I know that I’m keeping my godsons safe.”
And I will feel better for knowing that you are still in the fold.
*
Sirius leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, letting Albus’s moving staircase carry him down to the next floor without making any effort. He had done it. He had told the truth all the way through, not lying because there was no point in lying to a Legilimens, and he had managed to convince Albus he was doing the right thing.
Not that it was ever the right thing to force a child to learn the Dark Arts practically at wandpoint, but at least Jonathan would be older than Sirius had been when he was made to start, and he was a good kid. He would only use those spells to defend himself or innocents.
Or his brother. Does Albus not see the depth of the bond between them, or does he just discount it?
Sirius sighed when he remembered what Harry had told him. Albus had interfered with Jonathan’s mind. He thought he was in control. He had that paralyzing need to be in control, which would bite him in the arse in the end.
Sirius smiled as he stepped past the gargoyle at the bottom of the staircase. May some of those teeth be mine.
Chapter Thirty-Three.
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