rakina (rakina) wrote in snape_potter, @ 2009-02-01 15:16:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | fic, rakina, rating: pg |
FIC: Tapestry, by Rakina, chapter 4
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
Warnings: AU
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, Hel Bee (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.
Chapter notes: As before, please remember there will be lots of OCs (original characters). You may recognise canon characters and places, but they will not be precisely canon, as this is an AU. However, I hope their personalities remain intact.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4: The Threat From Without
Harry soon came to love Hogwarts. He loved the food, which was so much nicer than at Hedwig's. He liked the castle, which was magical in every way, with its suits of armour, moving portraits and pictures on every wall, and resident ghosts that were happy to interact with the children. The sense that generations of children had come here, all equally nervous and knowing nothing, to be taught and to leave as wizards on the brink of adulthood, filled Harry with a sense of the rightness of being here, and of his destiny.
The grounds were also amazing: there was a huge forest behind the castle – the Forbidden Forest, which as its name implied was out of bounds to all students because it contained many fearsome things: magical beasts and places. Harry thought he'd heard of it before, but couldn't quite remember where. There was a large, deep lake, the Black Lake, in front of the castle and the boys spent time there looking out for the magical creatures that lived in it: a giant squid and – it was rumoured – merpeople and selkies. The castle felt safe, too, just as Professor McGonagall had told them, for the tall, brick-built wall that ran around the grounds could be seen clearly, and Hermione Granger told the boys that it was spelled with powerful magical wards to keep dangerous creatures – and dangerous folk – out. Harry had wondered who these dangerous people might be, but Hermione said she didn't know, just that it mentioned them in Hogwarts, A History.
Hermione had started to hang around with Harry, Liam and Sid because she wasn't popular with other girls. The three boys didn't mind her, because she was very clever, certainly as clever as any of the Ravenclaws, and she was okay if you learned to ignore her nagging. Liam had said Hermione was just like a junior Miss Sharpe, which had made them all laugh.
Harry's very first lesson at Hogwarts was Defence Against the Darkness. Harry had seen it on his timetable, which had been given to him at the Welcoming Feast. He didn't know what it meant, but then he didn't have any idea what Astronomy was really about, except that it had something to do with stars, or Care of Magical Creatures for that matter, because he didn't know any magical creatures, let alone have any idea of how or why you might try to care for one.
The professor of Defence Against the Darkness was Professor Quirenius Quirrell, a young professor who dressed rather oddly. He wore traditional wizard's teaching robes in a sober charcoal grey, but he also wore an exotic purple turban, the end of which hung down the front of his robes like a scarf. Hermione couldn't get over it, she'd never seen anything like it in the Muggle world; Sidney had agreed and admitted that he hadn't seen anything as odd at Hedwig's either. Another notable thing about their DAD professor was that he stuttered, quite badly. It made him seem even younger and very nervous, but he cast some pretty powerful spells during their first session, causing blinds to appear at the windows, closing the door and silencing the room. Anyone who had believed they could mess about in this class soon thought better of it when Professor Quirrell took points from a boy named Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin who thought he was better than anyone else. Draco had been getting on the four friends' nerves with his snooty attitude; he sneered at Harry, Liam, Sid and Hermione because they were orphans or Muggle-borns. Liam was all for giving the boy a bloody nose for his cheek, but Hermione managed to persuade him not to, in the interests of keeping Gryffindor in the running for the House Cup. All four friends were proud of being in Gryffindor, and so peace prevailed.
Professor Quirrell began their first lesson. "N-now c-c-class, it is in y-your best inter-interests to p-pay a-a-att-ention. H-here I shall t-teach you to cast sp-spells that will allow y-you to f-fight the Dark Cr-creatures that thr-eaten wizard-kind, especially v-vampires and w-were-w-wolves. Also, I will sp-spend some t-time on g-giants, e-even th-though there are n-none in Britain today. It is b-best that you kn-know these things, for you m-may come across them on h-holiday or if you t-travel for w-work later on.
"D-during this f-first term we will concentrate on w-werewolves. Both werewolves and v-vampires are the most common threats to our w-world, in ap-proximately equal numbers. Th-there is much M-Muggle misinformation about both these creatures, and I will take some time to c-correct the myths you may have come across."
Harry noticed that Professor Quirrell stammered less frequently as his lecture got underway, and he soon stopped noticing it at all, because the subject was completely fascinating and Harry listened with all his attention and took notes as he went along. Professor Quirrell's first lesson was all about Muggle myths about werewolves, both past and present. He told the class some fairy stories, starting with the 'big bad wolf' stories like Little Red Riding Hood and The Three Little Pigs. These, he told them, linked into the fear of wolves in general, and to the stories about werewolves in particular. Many of the pure-blood children had not heard these stories and they, too, were enthralled. Although no spells were taught in this first lesson, the professor assured them they would be casting their first defensive spells by the end of the term. It seemed a long way away, but Harry was just too interested in Defence Against the Darkness to complain. The curriculum for the year was simply too exciting.
In the Spring term they would do similar lessons about vampires: focussing first on Muggle misinformation, leading to the reality of vampires and finally to the initial, simple spells to repel them. It would not be until much later in their Hogwarts career, probably in fourth year, that they would be able to cast the more complex and effective repelling hexes. Finally, in Summer term, they would learn about the other threatening Dark creatures, like giants, Lethifolds, Inferi and others, which Professor Quirrell briefly described to them. The professor assured them they were unlikely to meet any of the creatures in this category in everyday life, but there was always the risk of encountering them when travelling, especially abroad, although it was not unknown for Inferi to be reported from some remote areas of the British countryside. The four friends looked at each other wide-eyed at that thought.
At the end of their first lesson the children were given a chapter to read from their DAD book, Defence Against the Darkness: Preliminary Studies, and were told to look up additional references in the library, with points to be awarded for the most useful, relevant references found.
During their second DAD lesson, Professor Quirrell had lectured while walking around the class to familiarise himself with his students' names as he took in their homework assignments. As Quirrell passed along the aisle taking homework from the children opposite, Harry noticed that the professor's turban smelled of garlic; Sid joked it must be to keep vampires away, but Harry thought the man knew enough spells to do that, so he doubted that was the reason for it. Perhaps Quirrell just liked garlic, a lot.
When Professor Quirrell turned to Harry, he stopped and announced to the class: "Harry Potter, children, is more than just another boy in your class. Maybe some of you have already heard of him."
There was general muttering at this, some children shaking their heads, but a few, like Malfoy, nodding. "Harry is quite famous in the wizarding world," Quirrell said in his lecturing voice, addressing his comments to the Muggle-borns, his voice grim, "because he is the only person to be in the midst of a werewolf attack, left defenceless, and yet have the werewolf leave him alone, quite unharmed. This is against a werewolf's fundamental nature, as you should have realised even at this very early stage of your studies. Werewolves attack humans, without exception. Harry's case is especially remarkable because, not only was he not attacked, the werewolf had already attacked and killed his parents. For a werewolf in blood lust to leave a small child – no, a baby – alone, is such a mystery that many have spent years trying to find out why. The mystery remains unsolved. I do not suppose you can shed any light on it, can you, Harry?"
Harry was bright red from embarrassment by now. He hated all this, being singled out and made to look like he was different again. In Privet Drive he had frequently been called different – a 'freak'. He had always longed to be the same as everyone else, and in Hedwig's that's just what he had been, for none of the children there had heard of him. But it seemed those days of anonymity were gone, and he was fated to be different here in the wizarding world, just as he had been in Little Whinging. "No, sir," Harry said flatly. "I've no idea."
"Well, you were a baby, so of course you wouldn't," Professor Quirrell said, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "But there is something special about you, Potter, something different. If people could work out what it was they would use it to defend themselves against werewolves. I've no idea if you would have that effect on a vampire," Quirrell went on.
Harry was sick of all the additional attention he received; he just wished the man would walk on and leave him alone. Liam, Sid and Hermione were staring at Harry as if they'd never seen him before. Harry didn't want his friends to think he was a freak; when that had happened at Little Whinging Primary the children had all become afraid of him and kept away. Of course Dudley made sure of that, but Harry was scared right now – scared he'd lose all he'd gained. The thought of Liam turning away from him was dreadful, and Harry swallowed, feeling sick.
Quirrell moved on, continuing his lecture about the reality of werewolves compared to the Muggle myths. Harry had a weird buzzing in his ears, and it took a while before he could hear what the professor was saying and focus on the lesson again.
To Harry's relief, when the lesson was over he found he still had the same number of friends as before. Less welcome, he had a lot of other people asking him questions, but he just shook his head and told them all he couldn't remember anything because he'd only been a baby, which was the truth. The events surrounding his parents' deaths had been a terrible shock and made him feel very sad and a little ill, even though he couldn't remember them; he certainly didn't want to dwell on it. As if she realised this, Hermione took it upon herself to chase the questioners away in a very bossy, know-it-all way. Once again Harry was glad of her personality; it certainly came in useful at times.
Another lesson that fascinated Harry and his friends was Potions. The equipment was so curious – cauldrons and vials, ladles and stirrers, not to mention the ingredients! They hadn't used the weird mushroom-thingies they'd bought in Diagon Alley yet, but had been given ingredients from the school stores. It appeared that the students only had to buy a few of the rarer ingredients for Potions; the more common, cheaper ones were provided by the school. As Hedwig's children, Harry, Liam and Sidney bought their supplies from the stipend allowed them by Gringotts, though where that came from Harry hadn't thought to ask. So far they'd only had one lesson, and they'd brewed a simple tonic drink which, according to First Year Potions, was 'of benefit to all magical folk, stimulating the body's processes to align with the drinker's magic in the most beneficial way.' After boiling up all manner of planty things in the cauldron, including nettle, hyssop and rose-hips, the resulting liquid had been a watery greenish-brown and smelt organic. Harry had eyed it dubiously, but the teacher had insisted they take their completed samples (subject to his approval) away with them and drink a tablespoonful each morning. Harry's potion had passed the teacher's inspection, so it must be right despite its less than appetising appearance, and Harry had shrugged and pocketed his bottle of potion before cleaning up his workbench and equipment and packing his bag.
Their Potions teacher was called Professor Borage. Harry thought he was exceptionally old for a teacher. Professor Borage was a short man with a very wrinkled face, wispy white hair and thick glasses. His skin looked thin and papery and he was a little deaf; the children had to shout out their answers to his questions. This had the advantage that they could whisper to each other – or even talk quietly – without Professor Borage noticing. There was a good reason for the professor being so old, Harry learned, when he mentioned it to Hermione who was sitting on his left.
"Potions is a very important discipline," she said, sounding like an extract from a book, as she often did when 'teaching' her friends. "It links to all other branches of magic, including Medi-wizardry, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures – Hagrid couldn't do without potions to subdue some of his more dangerous charges – and even Divination. Really, I can't think of a problem where you can't use a potion to solve it. If we only learned Potions to an advanced level we would be able to live in our society quite comfortably."
Harry nodded, now convinced of the good reasons for studying Potions, but still unsure why they would have such a decrepit teacher. He was about to say so when Hermione continued, "There is a severe lack of Potions masters in the wizarding world due to the complexity of the subject. Of our class, possibly one or two may be able to study the subject to a higher level. Potions masters are much in demand, not only as teachers, but as brewers, researchers, Ministry employees in the Department of the Regulation and Control of Potions, and in many other jobs. They are highly prized in wartime because they can brew offensive potions, and if they come up with a good new one it can sway the war in one side's favour. This happened in 1837, in the conflict between the Serbians and the Turks. Really, it was Master Melrose who-"
"Hermione," Liam interrupted from her other side, "we really don't need a history lesson. Get to the point about Borage!"
Hermione frowned at him, but nodded and went on. "The Ministry has control over most, if not all, Potions masters in Great Britain. They pay good money and have the monopoly of Potions clinics and outlets, also taking a royalty from all commercial potions via a levy on apothecaries. Needless to say, the younger Potions masters are snapped up by the Ministry or by private entrepreneurs, or else work for themselves. I'm guessing that Professor Borage is a retired Ministry worker. I bet he's doing a favour for the headmaster by working here at Hogwarts."
"Miss Granger," the thin, quavery voice of their professor called. "Please concentrate on your potion and stop lecturing your friends."
Liam sniggered, but catching the old professor's eye he turned back to his cauldron, just in time to stop its roiling simmer turning into a disaster. Sidney, however, had no such luck; he'd been following Hermione's words from the next table along, leaning across the gap, and had missed his potion rising up the side of his cauldron. It had splashed over onto his workbench.
"Mr Padley is an example to you all," Professor Borage said, hastening as fast as he could along the aisle between desks. He might have been deaf and worn glasses – half-moon types like the headmaster – but it seemed that his sight was sharp enough, probably because of those very glasses. Harry wondered if they were magical. "If you take your attention from your brewing something is bound to happen," Borage snapped. "As this is only a tonic potion, and entirely benign, there were no ill effects save for a mess on his work area, but had this been a more advanced potion it could have had dire consequences. Imagine if the liquid were caustic, as many potions are during their early stages; Mr Padley would not just be facing a wet sleeve, he would be missing the skin of his left arm. Always, always keep your focus on your brewing, children, and ignore outside distractions. Even if your neighbours are indulging in the latest juicy gossip, you will do well to ignore them. Now, clean this up, Mr Padley, and next time, concentrate!"
"Yes, sir," Sid mumbled, grabbing a towel and wiping the worst of the wetness from his robe before wiping the table clean. "Sorry, sir."
Professor Borage nodded and returned to his desk at the front of the Potions classroom, and everyone concentrated more carefully after that. Harry decided that maybe it wasn't an advantage having a semi-deaf teacher in Potions if it made you chat more, and determined to keep his mind on his work.
As the year advanced, Harry discovered that Defence Against the Darkness and Potions remained his favourite lessons; they interested him most of all and he worked hard to get good marks, putting a lot of effort into his homework for both classes. As a result he was near the top in both, though he was more average in the rest of his classes: Transfiguration, where he often struggled and was glad of Hermione's help; Care of Magical Creatures, where he paired up with Liam and did well enough; Herbology, which was okay but not very interesting to him; History of Magic, which was downright boring to everyone except Hermione; Flying, which Harry found he could do with no effort at all, much to everyone else's bemusement, and Charms, which he was good at, but sometimes lost concentration when he got bored as they practiced the same spell over and over again. Hermione told Harry that all lessons were important – she looked quite stern when she said it – but did say that the two classes he worked hardest at were especially important and it was good to be doing so well in them. Hermione, of course, was doing well in everything.
Liam was, like Harry, mostly average. If he had a best lesson it was Charms, although he loved flying and dreamed of getting on the Gryffindor Quidditch team when he was old enough. Sidney was struggling in quite a few classes, especially the branches of practical magic like Charms and Transfiguration. In Potions he had trouble concentrating, often with bad results, but when he did manage to keep his mind on his cauldron he could brew well enough. Harry thought it was because Potions was at least partly chemistry and didn't rely on wand-work. Sid did have one subject where he excelled, though, and that was Herbology. Sidney Padley had green fingers; Harry had noticed it often enough in Gardening Duties back at Saint Hedwig's, and it seemed Sid's ability worked with magical plants too. Harry had had no idea that there were magical plants, just as there were magical creatures. Like the creatures, the plants could be dangerous and needed knowledgeable and careful handling. Sidney really enjoyed learning about them, and was as enthusiastic about Herbology as Harry was about DAD and Potions, and Hermione was about everything.
At the end of September there was an incident that worried them all. The boys were in their dorm; Hermione was with the girls so they didn't find out she'd had the same experience until breakfast next morning.
The three boys had been sitting on Liam's bed, chatting about Quidditch teams from a borrowed back-issue of Quidditch Monthly that an older boy, Percy Weasley, had given them. Percy was a prefect and very strict, ensuring the Gryffindors behaved themselves in the corridors and the Great Hall. He was vehement that they would win the House Cup this year, having lost out to their great rivals, Slytherin, last time. But he did love Quidditch, even if he wasn't on the House team. His two younger twin brothers, Fred and George Weasley, were, however, and their copy of Quidditch Monthly was well thumbed and out of date by the time it got passed around. This didn't matter at all to the first year boys, who were wide-eyed at the articles and pictures, which moved, of course, showing different manoeuvres and winning strategies.
Suddenly, all three looked up as a sound drifted over the grounds from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. A sound they were only too familiar with, though they'd only heard it once before, they'd never forgotten it. Sitting in a castle tower, so close to a magical forest, only made it all the more eerie.
"Th-that's howling..." Sidney stammered, eyes like saucers.
Liam and Harry nodded, and Harry scrambled off the bed and went over to the casement window, pressing his face flat against the glass to try and see out. Because of the candlelight in the tower he could see little beyond the black mass of the trees and the full moon hanging in the sky above them. It was enough to make him shiver, just as if an ice cube had been dropped down his back.
"Merlin!" Liam said, coming and standing next to him. "Can you see anything?"
Harry shook his head, unable to speak. All of them knew what it was that was howling; there could be no doubt after their DAD lessons.
"I suppose they would live in the f-forest," Sid said from behind Harry. "It's full of magical creatures, Hagrid said so. And some of them are Dark, he said that too."
Liam nodded, but Harry just continued to stare out into the darkness of the autumn night, completely captivated by the ongoing sound of werewolves howling – for there were obviously several, they answered each other in their eerie, ululating voices, not entirely wolf, but certainly not human either. Harry had the oddest feeling that the howling was a language, though he'd never heard it said. He'd have to ask Hermione.
"Look!" Liam said from where his face was pressed against the glass next to Harry's. "Can't you see those shapes?"
Harry squinted, concentrating. Sid pressed forward, trying to find a space a the narrow window, desperate not to be left out.
There was something – some shape, no, some shapes drifting over the trees like clouds, hard to make out because there were no clear edges, just drifting like clouds, or... as one drifted over the face of the moon, the boys gasped. They weren't like clouds – they were like people! People wearing long, trailing cloaks, but definitely human by the shape of the head and the shoulders, the body elongated and merging into the flowing of fabric.
"That's no werewolf," Harry croaked.
"No..." Liam said, his voice just as affected by what they were seeing. "No... that's got to be... vampires!"
"Argh!" Sid yelled, and fell back. "Merlin! I hope the castle's shut up tight! If there are any windows open we've had it!"
Harry turned from the window. "Don't worry, Sid. Don't you remember what Hermione told us? This is one of the safest places; there are wards, and powerful witches and wizards here. We're safe."
"Even with that lot out there?" Sid's eyes were bulging and he looked far from convinced. "Just one window open..."
"It's all right," Liam said, still with his face pressed against the glass. "They can't get in. They have to stay out there, beyond the wall. Every time they fly near, they're pushed away, like they're caught in a great gust of wind. They can't get in, Sid. We're safe."
Harry accepted what Liam said, what Hermione had told him. He accepted how safe Hogwarts castle was. But that didn't mean he'd always be safe; he couldn't live here forever. What happened when they'd finished school – what then? It took a long time for the boys to fall asleep that night, and Harry lay sleepless in his bed for what seemed like hours, looking up at the darkened canopy over his bed as he heard the distant howls and imagined the swooping flight of the vampires. And, occasionally, he wondered what else lived in that forest, and whether it could be worse.
The next morning, when Harry asked Hermione about the werewolf's howling, she scoffed at the suggestion that they might have a language. Nobody had ever thought that, so it must not be true, and there was no trace of humanity in werewolves, they were totally taken over by their bestial nature. But Harry wasn't so sure, and he decided to listen more carefully if – when – it happened again.
Just before Halloween it happened again. The boys had been ready for it, watching the waxing of the moon from the window of the first year boys' dormitory, none of them admitting that was what they were doing as they looked out over the grounds. When the full moon came they snuffed the candles and watched carefully, making space for each of them at the window. While Harry listened to the howling, trying to recognise patterns in the repetitions of sound, the others listened less closely and watched the swooping shapes of the vampires. Harry couldn't help noticing that the vampires seemed to fly in formation, flying together as if they were a group, and he was tempted to see their soaring flight, which had a strange kind of eerie beauty, as a sign that they were happy together. Were they a family? Could Dark creatures have any fellow feeling, or was their existence all primitive instinct and the need to sate their desires, whether for blood or flesh.
"Well," Liam said as they came away from the window, "at least it's only once a month."
"Yeah," Sid said, his voice still a little shaky, betraying his fear despite learning from the older children that the phenomenon was routine here at Hogwarts, "George Weasley said being a werewolf's as bad as being a girl!"
Harry and Liam looked at each other, not understanding the comment. Nor did Sid, but he thought it must be something funny, judging by the way the other boys in the common room had burst into laughter, and he was desperate to lift their mood. Unfortunately, his attempt fell flat, as Harry and Liam had only looked confused, and they'd shrugged and headed off to bed, to spend another mostly sleepless night. As last month, it wasn't until the moon set just before dawn and the werewolves went quiet that the boys managed to find sleep.
As the end of their first year approached, the boys had got used to the sounds the full moon brought. Harry was convinced the sounds had meaning, but he'd given up trying to convince anyone else. Life at Hogwarts had become a routine. The summer holidays were only a month away, and the children without families to go to had been informed of their summer placements. Harry was going to an old couple in Kent who owned a gift shop at Margate; although he would be expected to help out with the summer tourist rush, he'd have plenty of time to himself as well. The couple – Mr and Mrs Ivett, took children every summer. If they liked him, Harry could expect to spend all his summers there until graduation. He was quite looking forward to it. He'd never been to the seaside, and it sounded exciting, even if he'd be expected to work some of the time.
Harry was quite happy with his progress and school, and though he was nervous about the end of year exams, he thought he'd probably do all right. He would have been perfectly happy with his life here, if it were not for the recent odd behaviour of his DAD professor, which was making him uncomfortable.
Lately, Harry could have sworn Professor Quirrell was following him around the castle. He had no idea why, but the number of times he'd turned in a corridor only to see the professor behind him, or caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye as he walked from the Quidditch Pitch to the castle, or up the trail from Hagrid's hut, had to be beyond coincidence. There was no reason for the DAD professor to be in those places; they were places the first years went between lessons, or Harry went with his friends. Surely Professor Quirrell ought to be near his own classroom, or in his office or the staff room, not following first years about. Harry couldn't understand how the man wasn't late starting his classes, though he'd heard nobody complaining about it. Harry wouldn't have thought it was personal, except that every time he noticed the man, Quirrell was looking straight at him. And Harry had started to feel spooked each time it happened: a tingling sensation ran through his veins and he got a weird compulsion to go to the man. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, or on top of a tower, and being attracted to the drop. Harry had felt like that when he'd stepped onto the walkway at the top of the Astronomy Tower during their first night-time lesson. The yawning drop seemed to call to him, tempting him to step out into thin air. The odd professor with the strange turban was affecting him that way, and it was beyond creepy.
Harry gave himself a stern lecture, telling himself it was all his imagination; both the idea that the man was following first years about, more specifically Harry, and the idea that Harry was drawn to him. Harry really should have listened to his instincts, however, and not the voice of reason (which sounded remarkably like Hermione Granger as it spoke up in his mind). Harry's instincts would not let him down.
Really, it was a shame he hadn't learnt that yet.
Next Part