rakina (rakina) wrote in snape_potter, @ 2009-03-01 15:56:00 |
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Current mood: | busy |
Entry tags: | fic, rakina, rating: pg |
FIC: Tapestry, by Rakina, PG, chapter 7/?
Title: Tapestry, A Journey in Eight Stages
Author: Rakina
Rating: PG for now, possibly rising to R or NC17 later.
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Summary: Harry only has one thing from his parents: a blanket. But his mum and dad were magical, and so it turns out to be no ordinary blanket, after all.
Beta: A very big thank you to my regular, wonderful beta and remover of my foot from my mouth, Hel Bee.
Disclaimer: I am not making any money from the characters which belong to JK Rowling. No disrespect intended. I do, however, lay claim to the plot and original characters.
Note: Feedback is wonderful, and makes me smile. Again, I'd like to encourage any lurkers to say hi.
Previous chapters here
Chapter 7: Duels
After a year of studying magic and enduring the dreadful attack in the Hogwarts dungeons from the vampire, Quirrell, Harry really needed his summer break. He was glad it would last for just over two months, from the end of June to September 1st, the day the students caught the Hogwarts Express to return to school.
Mr and Mrs Ivett, his foster family in Margate, were very kind to him. Initially rather reserved, they became far more relaxed once they got to know him. They told Harry they'd had one or two unfortunate children over the years they'd been taking in Hogwarts' students who needed a place for the summer, so these days they reserved judgment until they got to know them better.
Harry had his own small bedroom above the gift shop on the sea front, and although he had to help out in the shop, he only worked between noon and six pm, so he had every morning and evening to himself. He was allowed to go out into the town or onto the beach, or do whatever he wanted. John Ivett was a Squib; as the magic-less son of wizarding parents he'd never got the chance to go to Hogwarts, unlike his elder sister. Perhaps surprisingly, he was never bitter about his lack of magic; he'd gone to the Muggle secondary school with all his friends from primary school, and eventually took over his father's little business in the town when he was in his twenties. John's sister had married a wizard in Ireland, and he kept in touch with her and with his parents, who had moved to Hogsmeade to spend their retirement in the comfort of a magical home. Mr Ivett knew Harry was a wizard, but he also knew that trainee witches and wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts' wards unless they were in magical homes or places like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. To all intents and purposes Harry was just a boy who was spending the summer holidays with Mr Ivett and his wife.
Rosalie Ivett was a Muggle, and she'd had no idea of the magical world until a year after her marriage, when she had been introduced to John's family. It had been a shock, but she was a steady woman who loved her husband, and so she took it in her stride. She was rather nervous whenever she visited Hogsmeade, but her in-laws assured her they would keep her safe within the magical environment. Magic fascinated Rosalie, but it was scary too. She'd heard enough tales of the Darkness that beset the magical folk, and so was glad she was a humble Muggle. She could only hope that the magical creatures never turned their attention to Muggles; apparently there was a fierce debate about the issue, with some wizards maintaining that vampires and werewolves could not appear to Muggles, nor exist outside of magical places. Their opponents, the majority, believed that the Dark creatures chose to pursue magical folk; that magic drew them. Rosalie didn't mind either way, just so long as no werewolves or vampires appeared in Margate!
Harry loved being in Margate; he'd always dreamed of spending time at the seaside. This was heaven to him; he'd never felt so lucky or so blessed, and the darkness that had invaded his mind down in the Hogwarts dungeons was banished by the bright sunlight and fresh air of the English seaside.
"Pity the pier got blown down," Mrs Ivett told Harry over breakfast soon after he'd arrived. "Terrible storm, that was, and not so long ago – I remember it well."
"It was 1978," Mr Ivett put in, pointing at Harry with his butter knife for emphasis. "And it was a great shame, lad, that it was. A real old-fashioned pier we had here – Victorian. There was so much to do on it; it had a theatre right at the end, and all along it there were bars and shops. There was even a fortune teller, like!"
Harry laughed. He'd seen enough fortune telling in his Divination classes, and doubted Muggles would be able to do it properly, but he wouldn't have minded having a look at one trying. At Hogwarts all the students had to attend Divination; the wizarding world was very respectful of Seers, Soothsayers and fortune tellers of all sorts. No one wanted to tempt Fate, and Harry, who'd seen many strange things in his first year at the magical school, was now inclined to agree with them, even if most of what they said was obscure at best and downright baffling most of the time. Hermione didn't agree with him – she'd been very scathing about having to take Divination, saying her time would be better spent in the library. She'd had no choice in the matter; Divination was mandatory. Draco Malfoy had sneeringly said that Hermione was showing what a stupid Muggle-born she was, as only Muggles didn't respect Fate, which was a powerful influence on the world, especially the magical world.
Towards the end of August, Mr Ivett had told Harry that he was very pleased with him, both with his work and his politeness and cleanliness at home. So much so that he was welcome to stay with them every summer throughout his Hogwarts career if he wanted. Harry happily accepted; it felt really nice to have some certainty in his life, and he should be at Hogwarts until he was sixteen. Now he could look forward to his summers by the sea every year as well!
The work in the gift shop was easy. Harry's job was to unpack goods, price them and put them on the shelves, making sure they were never left empty; he also ran any little errands the couple wanted doing, and made tea at regular intervals. When he was a little older, Mr Ivett told him, he could serve in the shop, but he was too young for that yet. Compared to his tasks at Hedwig's, the work was light and enjoyable, and the whole summer, even his time in the shop, felt like a holiday to Harry.
In July, Harry had become fascinated with his first visit to the Shell Grotto – an underground cave decorated with shells all over the walls and the ceiling. It felt quite magical, and Harry thought it must be very old. The Muggle tourist information leaflets said it was discovered in the 19th century, possibly made the century before as a folly; but Harry thought the truth was that it was much, much older. He imagined magical folk coming down here over the centuries. Harry thought it was only after the Muggles had become braver – after the Statute of Secrecy that had hidden the magical world from their eyes – that the locals had started to come down here and take it over. Some of them still felt the pull of the magic though, because people had spent many hours decorating this grotto, making it into a temple, honouring far older gods even than those of the Romans.
Harry had just stood in the open space in the centre of the grotto, beneath the Dome where the sun shone in, letting the magic of the place fill him. He could have sworn it was dedicated to a Celtic god – and thought it was probably the horned god that they'd learned about in History of Magic classes.
While he was in Margate, Harry had been rather surprised to feel the gods near to him, especially as he walked along the beach some evenings. He would head away from the tourist areas to the quieter shores where he could listen to the sea and feel the movement of the air as the wind played with his unruly dark hair. Mrs Ivett had told Harry to get a haircut, because his hair was growing too long for school. But he wouldn't, not yet; not until the last minute if he could help it. Harry loved to feel the wind in his hair, like divine fingers pulling at the strands. Harry was sure the gods of the seafront were not the same as the ones he could feel beneath the earth in the grotto. It was the horse goddess he could feel up there on the shore: it was her hooves he could hear under the roar of the waves on a windy day; it was her soft neighing in the echo of the seabirds' cries. But in the shell grotto, in the womb of the Earth, deep within the Mother herself, Harry thought it was the potency of the horned god he could feel surrounding him.
In the grotto, Harry had stood and breathed deeply, feeling residual magic tingling along his skin. Other visitors passed him by, some with curious looks, or suspicious ones, but Harry stood there a long while, not noticing their presence, not counting the time, but feeling it pass him by.
September came, and Harry was sorry to leave Margate. He'd got up early that morning, said a fond goodbye to Mrs Ivett and climbed into the shop's van with Mr Ivett. Mr Ivett took a day off and drove Harry to King's Cross, rather than dropping him at Margate station. He'd become close to the boy in the summer months and wanted to say a proper goodbye by taking Harry as far as he could. Mr Ivett finally left him on platform 9 after assurances from Harry that he could see his friends and there was no point in waiting any longer while his wife was managing the shop single-handedly. Mr Ivett, who really didn't like leaving his wife to cope without help, nodded, then put out his hand and shook Harry's. "Goodbye then, Harry; I'll see you next year."
"Thank you, sir, for a wonderful summer," Harry said, smiling broadly. "I'll look forward to coming back."
Mr Ivett had left then, and Harry had made his way onto Platform 9¾ with mixed feelings. He wanted to go back to school, to see his friends and learn more about the exciting world he was part of, a world Mr and Mrs Ivett could never truly join. He knew he'd miss Margate, but was truly looking forward to going back there again.
At Hogwarts, Harry's second year was much easier than his first in many ways. There was no Sorting to face at the Welcoming Feast; he'd already learned the basics of his subjects and had done quite well in them; his bed in the boys' dormitory was familiar, and best of all, he had his friends. Liam, his Good Companion from Hedwig's who lived up to his title; Sid, his chubby, happy, bumbling friend, and Hermione, the one he could never have predicted. Because Hermione was different: obviously because she was a girl, but also because of the way her mind worked. She was clever - quite brilliant really – but it was more than that. Hermione could solve problems like no one he'd ever known, and she made him feel safe whenever she was with them.
The only cloud on the horizon was Harry's increasing enmity with the Slytherin ringleader, Draco Malfoy. Why does he hate me so much? Harry wondered after Draco had spent all one Flying lesson sniping at Harry, passing mean comments and trying to knock him off his broom whenever Madam Hooch's back was turned. I mean, I know Slytherins don't like Gryffindors, but he's just so... angry. I can see by his eyes how much he detests me.
That evening, Harry had brought it up in the common room as the four friends sat together. Hermione had her own theory about it. "I've been reading up about Pure-bloods, Harry," she said. "And Draco is from one of the oldest, most influential families in the British Isles, both wizarding and Muggle. His father is high up in the Ministry, and is so rich he can influence many people. Added to that he's a Lord, a genuine peer of the realm who could sit in the House of Lords should he wish to; you can see why Draco's so snobbish."
Harry had frowned, but yes, he supposed he could understand the snobbishness. "But that doesn't explain why he hates me, Hermione."
"True, but there is something that might explain it, at least a bit. You see I also found out, by reading his family history and those of some of the other major Pure-blood families, that they think differently about the whole werewolf/vampire problem. You see Draco, like many Pure-bloods, has creature blood in his lineage which was deliberately sought to make his family more powerful. Therefore he resents you, Harry. He probably sees you as wanting to destroy all the werewolves and vampires in Britain, thus removing any chance for the Pure-bloods to make their families more powerful in future. Their borrowed blood – and their borrowed magical power – will gradually disappear over the generations. Pure-bloods are very protective of their pedigrees."
"They sound like they're breeding dogs, not having children," Sid said disgustedly.
"Hang on," Liam interrupted, lifting a hand. "Creature blood? What on earth do you mean by that, Mione? How can his ancestors have mated with creatures? They'd have been killed!"
"No, that's where you're wrong, Liam. Werewolves choose their mates and, once chosen, they'll protect that mate and their offspring carefully. They make very devoted family members."
Hermione sounded as if she admired them. Harry had to suppose it was an admirable trait, especially as he and his two friends came from a magical orphanage where not all the children's parents were dead. Unwanted magical children were not in short supply; it seemed that quite a few parents were unable to cope with magical children, be they witches and wizards or Muggles.
"Yeah, devoted family members," Sid said, still sounding disgusted, "who just happen to turn into slavering beasts once a month..."
"Yes, well," Hermione continued with a prim sniff, "vampires, on the other hand, are very caring towards a regular donor, if they are fortunate enough to have one. If they were to become a parent, to bond somehow with their human donor, they would also be very careful, very protective of that family."
"So Draco Malfoy hates me because I'm 'immune'?" Harry asked. "And there's nothing I can do to stop him and the rest of the Pure-bloods hating me?"
"Why do you even care?" Liam asked. "It's not as if we need him, or any of those stuck-up Pure-bloods."
"Maybe not, but I think Draco could be a good friend," Sid said thoughtfully. "And a very useful one."
Liam turned and stared at Sid, incredulous at what he saw as his change of attitude. To Hermione's surprise, she noticed that Harry's expression was wistful. Catching her eye, he smiled and explained. "I agree," he said. "But I don't think it's going to happen. Like everyone else, Malfoy thinks he knows me; and like everyone else he's wrong," he ended bitterly.
Liam put his hand on Harry's back in silent support and denial of misunderstanding. Harry turned to him. "Everyone else except you, Liam, and Sid and Hermione, of course. You know me. But the rest of them, all of those who've heard rumours about me since I was a baby, who've heard the tales of what went on with Quirrell, well they don't know me at all. They only know the hearsay, and I'm sick of being judged by them. Malfoy is doing that: judging me, presuming he knows what I'll do. Well, he just might be wrong." Harry's face was set in lines of fierce determination and he turned to look out through one of the common room windows in Gryffindor Tower. Though he couldn't see into the gathering darkness, even the relatively light, moonlit darkness of a night of the full moon, Harry's gaze was drawn to the windows in the knowledge of what was going to happen soon. He felt it like a heavy hand on his shoulders, a weight he had to carry.
Later that evening, in their dormitory, the boys were sat around, up late. Bright moonlight was spilling through the ancient, leaded windows making a crazy diamond pattern on the floor of the room. Everyone was waiting, all of them knowing what would come next, feeling an inkling of the overwhelming sense of inevitability that Harry was surrounded by.
"I don't think any of us will get much sleep tonight," Liam said quietly.
"Any of who?" Sid asked, looking around the dorm.
"Any of us, all of us in the castle," Harry said, with his eyes turned to the window he did not look at the speakers, for ever since his confrontation with Quirrell, Harry had been troubled by what the vampire had had to say. Were they – the magical folk – really no better than the creatures that were drawn to them? Because Harry now believed that werewolves and vampires, and probably other magical creatures too, were drawn to magical humans and the places where they lived; it made sense. Harry remembered the night they'd been drawn to St Hedwig's, ringing the building with their eerie howls. He wondered if that had happened again. The Owner had managed to deal with it on that one occasion, so hopefully the orphanage remained safe. Hogwarts was a very powerful place, the landscape imbued with magic, deep in the earth. It was like a magnet for large numbers of the creatures; they would always come, even if they could not enter, could not reach the place that was the centre of the magic. Might it be possible, somehow, for the creatures to live with humans without killing them? Was there a way to make wizarding folk safe?
The wolf-song began; the eerie howling rising and falling, filling the night sky with its lament. To Harry it spoke of longing and loneliness, of some great sorrow.
"It's a lament," Harry said quietly to his friends.
"Whatever could they be lamenting?" Sid asked quietly, his voice tinged with awe. Sid and Liam always listened to Harry's views on the Dark creatures. Harry had nearly everyone's respect after killing Quirrell, and everyone felt he understood the Darkness better than anyone, except possibly the professors. Even when they couldn't understand what Harry was talking about, they listened.
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Laments are usually about things that happened in the past, but this is different. It's as if they're crying about something that hasn't happened yet, but will."
Liam chuckled darkly. "Course they are; they know you're going to kill them!"
At that, Harry turned away from the window to look at Liam. His eyes glittered in the moonlight. "No; I'm not. I won't let them hurt you, Liam, or anyone if I can help it; but I won't just go out there and kill loads of wolves and vampires. That's just... horrible. No better than what everyone says they do to us."
"But, but... why would you be immune if not to protect us?" Sid put in.
"I don't know. But I'm not killing a lot of people, Sid. I'm just not."
"But they're not people, Harry," Hermione said. She'd risked McGonagall's wrath and sneaked up to the boys' dorm to spend the night of the full moon with them, at least until the wolves stopped howling. "They're creatures – Dark creatures."
Harry's eyes darted to Hermione's pale face. "They were people, Hermione! People who got bitten, that's all. They're someone's children; perhaps someone's mum or dad. I could have been a werewolf."
"But you're not," she objected. "And if you had been bitten, Harry, you would have changed, just like they did. There's no in-between; yes, they're human at first, but once turned they're monsters."
Harry couldn't help remembering Quirrell, remembering the fact that he'd passed as human for nearly a year, and the words the man had spat at Harry in the dungeons. Quirrell had made the Dark creatures sound more like victims, as if they had their own proud heritage with their Order of Werewolves, as if it was the humans who were persecuting them, not the other way around.
Hermione was speaking again, her eyes were bright in the moonlit room. "No one can reason with a vampire or werewolf that's found you out at night. You're going to die, or end up being one of them; it's as simple as that."
"Well, everyone except Harry is," Sid added quietly, and they all nodded morosely.
It went quiet in the dorm room then, as they all sat silent, thinking. The wolves sang outside, and the vampires swooped and turned, sometimes rushing up to the wards only to be knocked back by an invisible hand.
Harry sat there frowning. He knew all that; everything that Hermione had said, he knew it was right... His parents had been killed, ripped apart, eaten for all he knew. But although he hated that, hated the thought of what had happened to them, what could happen to other innocent people, he still couldn't imagine himself walking up to these creatures and slaughtering them, except in defence of himself or his friends. He supposed he could do it just by touching them, just as he'd done with Quirrell. But that had been dreadful – horrific. Harry never wanted to go through anything like that again.
The others gave him looks from time to time, wondering what he was frowning at, but Harry wouldn't say any more that evening.
In light of last year's attack on Harry, the new Defence Against the Darkness professor, a flamboyant man called Gilderoy Lockhart, eventually started a duelling class. Notices appeared in the house common rooms just before Christmas. Hermione was so excited she bounced on her toes.
"Look! A duelling club. I can't wait!" Sid looked at Liam and they smirked. "What?" Hermione snapped, catching the look.
"You're not interested in duelling – not that much, anyway," Liam said, winking at Harry. "You're just interested in Lockhart!"
"What? Is that what you think?" Hermione spluttered. "How dare you, Liam Webster! I'll have you know I've always been interested in duelling. It says in Hogwarts: a History, that in the seventeenth century they used to..."
The boys tuned her out and read the notice instead.