rakina (rakina) wrote in snape_potter, @ 2009-02-22 16:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, rakina, rating: pg |
FIC: Tapestry, by Rakina, PG, chapter 6/?
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 6: As Clear As Mud
Harry woke with a start, immediately sitting up, ready to bolt. His heart was thundering with remembered panic, but he found he wasn't in the dungeon room anymore; instead he was now seated on a warm, soft surface, rather than cold, hard stone.
"Mr Potter, you're awake at last."
Harry saw the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, hurrying along the hospital ward towards his bed at the end. There were a few people hanging around down by her office, but he was the only person up at this end of the ward, and he was glad of it. He felt jumpy and didn't think he'd be able to deal with a crowd of people. "Madam Pomfrey?"
"Here," the nurse put her hand into a deep apron pocket and drew out a tiny glass bottle. "Drink this, Mr Potter."
Harry took the green bottle from her hand and looked at it. It was corked, but there was no label or anything to tell him what it contained.
The nurse must have seen his hesitation. "It's a restorative, Mr Potter; a general elixir given to many of my patients. You do not have any specific illness, but you have been subjected to a terrible shock, your magic was drained and consequently you have been sleeping for quite a while. I've no doubt you need something to fortify you. Now, drink up and I will send for some food for you. Then the headmaster wishes to speak with you."
Harry nodded and worked the cork out of the bottle neck as Madam Pomfrey bustled off back to her office. He couldn't resist sniffing the contents, and was unsurprised at the organic, vaguely unpleasant smell that wafted out from within; potions always seemed to smell like that. Sighing, he lifted the bottle, tipped back his head and drank. Sure enough, it tasted just as it smelled, like old cabbage. He was just wondering if it would make him sick, when a strange creature appeared in front of him with a loud crack! Harry, still jumpy and easily panicked after his recent ordeal, shrank back up the bed as far away from it as he could.
The creature grinned, its wide mouth stretching even wider, though it was overshadowed by a long, pointed nose that Harry couldn't seem to stop looking at. "Wh- what- er, who are you?"
"My name is Dobby, sir. Dobby the house elf. Dobby is helping Madam Pomfrey as Professor Dumbledore is telling Dobby to do."
"Oh." Harry was at a loss, still startled by the small elf's odd appearance and its strange way of talking. Harry had thought elves were mostly like humans, but this little creature was only about half Harry's height, and had spindly limbs and very little hair on his head. He was, quite simply, grotesque. Harry had immediately thought of the creature as male, for he had quite a low voice for such a little creature, and Harry sincerely doubted the female elves could be quite this ugly. Dobby's clothing was eccentric too; it seemed to consist of some kind of cloth tied at the shoulders, like a simple tunic. In one corner there was an embroidered crest; Harry recognised the round Hogwarts emblem and the motto, Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus, was sewn neatly around the edge.
"Here is your breakfast, Harry Potter, sir." The elf continued talking, smiling all the time. "Madam Pomfrey says you needs to be keeping up your strength, sir, so Dobby has brought you many tasty things."
He had indeed. Dobby carried a large wooden tray which he placed on Harry's lap as he sat up by the pillows at the head of the bed. There was porridge, toast, a bowl of cornflakes with a milk jug and sugar bowl next to it, a glass of orange juice, a small teapot with matching cup and saucer, some sliced fresh fruit, a little dish of yogurt and a plate of chocolate finger biscuits. Harry's tummy rumbled and his mouth watered; it all looked so good and he now realised just how hungry he was. He quickly forgot Dobby's strange appearance and happily accepted the breakfast, tucking into the bowl of porridge to start with. It had swirls of cream and brown sugar drizzled on it, and Harry mixed it in and moaned in happiness as he tasted the first mouthful.
Dobby clapped his small hands in delight. "Dobby is glad Harry Potter is hungry," he enthused. "Dobby has been waiting all year to see Harry Potter, ever since he came to Hogwarts; but Professor Dumbledore said Dobby must wait, that Dobby is being a stupid elf to keep wanting to see Harry Potter."
Suddenly, Dobby let out a wail. "Oh no! Dobby is being a bad elf again!"
Dobby picked up one of Harry's school shoes from under the bed and began to hit himself over the head with it. Harry, unable to speak because of his mouthful of porridge, looked on in horror. He put his spoon down and started waving his hands at Dobby, trying to get him to stop.
"Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby spoke disrespectfully of Professor Dumbledore, who is keeping Dobby at Hogwarts and is letting Dobby work here. Dobby does not deserve such kindness after he has been so bad!"
"You're not being bad," Harry said, managing to grab the shoe in mid-arc before it could make contact again with Dobby's mostly bald head. "You didn't do anything wrong!" Harry dropped the shoe at the other side of the bed away from the elf.
"Dobby did! Dobby did! Dobby said Professor Dumbledore had kept him from Harry Potter. But Dobby doesn't have any need to see Harry Potter and he shouldn't have pestered the headmaster all year."
"You wanted to see me all year? But why?" Now that Dobby seemed to have stopped hitting himself, Harry happily went back to his breakfast. The little he'd had so far had merely made him feel hungrier than ever.
"Harry Potter is very famous. Harry Potter stopped a werewolf."
"Um, not really," Harry said through a mouthful of porridge. "I didn't die, but I didn't stop it. If I'd stopped it, it wouldn't have killed my parents."
"Oh no, sir," Dobby disagreed. "You was only a baby. You was in a cot; you could not have saved your parents. Harry Potter stopped the werewolf when it went into his bedroom. Yes, he did."
Harry wondered if he had; surely he would have died if something like that hadn't happened. He shrugged. "Why is that so important to you, Dobby?"
"Werewolves and vampires is dangerous to house elves, they is eating us all the time. Far worse to elves than to humans, they is, because we is small and easy to catch, and we don't have much blood so the vampires is drinking us dry very quickly. And the werewolves never just bite us and leave us to become werewolves; they is always eating us all up, every bit." Dobby nodded, obviously determined to show Harry how dreadful the Dark creatures were.
Harry shuddered, feeling momentarily queasy at the images Dobby had conjured with his words, but he had just started on a slice of toast spread with butter and marmalade, and it was very good, so he soon recovered. "I'm sorry... that's dreadful," he said between bites.
"Yes, it is. But all elves know that Harry Potter is special, and we is knowing that Harry Potter will make the werewolves and vampires leave us alone, or he will kill them, because they cannot hurt him."
Harry paused, toast halfway to his mouth. "You what?"
"Yes," Dobby continued enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Harry Potter is the first immune wizard. He will be a strong wizard when he has been to school and learned all his wizard spells; then he can save the elves and all the people in the wizarding world."
Harry goggled. What on Earth did people expect of him? Immune? Quirrell had said something about that. But it was stupid... just because he hadn't been eaten once, didn't mean he would always be safe. But then, he had survived again when Quirrell, a vampire, had attacked him. Harry frowned, but tucked into a second slice of toast, thinking furiously as he ate. He had beaten off a vampire, and as a baby he'd stopped a werewolf. Was that what Dobby meant by being immune? Quirrell had said Harry was nothing special, but he must be, because how else could he have stopped a full-grown vampire with nothing but his bare hands? Harry looked down to his hand holding the piece of toast. He was a kid, not even twelve years old; his hands weren't strong or special, not as far as he could see. Something was very strange; and it was something inside him.
Abruptly, Dobby disappeared with another crack and Harry looked up to see the headmaster walking towards him along the ward.
"Harry, it's good to see you safe and sound," Dumbledore said, smiling broadly.
Harry was putting his piece of toast back onto his plate, but Dumbledore added, "No, no, eat up. You need to eat after your ordeal. Don't let me stop you; I have just come along to check on you, and to answer any questions you might have.
"Your encounter with Professor Quirrell in the dungeons is a secret, of course, and so naturally everyone in Hogwarts knows all about it."
Harry took a drink of tea, and smiled. "Really? But I don't really understand it myself."
"I didn't say they understood it, just that they've heard that Professor Quirrell was a vampire, and that you thwarted his attempt to kill you."
"But how could that be, sir? That he was a vampire, I mean. I thought Hogwarts was safe from vampires."
"Normally it is, Harry, normally it is. However, Professor Quirrell had several tricks up his sleeve, as I'm sure you noticed. Firstly, his vampiric nature was controlled by the turban he wore, and that would have kept the wards from recognising him. It turns out that various strong potions were used on it – potions based on garlic. And there were dampening spells cast on it too. It was a very magical hat; not as magical as our own Sorting Hat, but far from ordinary. You see, after Professor Quirrell applied for the job of Defence Against the Darkness professor, he was invited to Hogwarts for an interview. Now, any creature can enter the castle with a proper invitation, even a vampire or a werewolf. The turban's magic prevented me from recognising him as a vampire, and I was happy to appoint him as he was competent in the subject. Once Professor Quirrell was appointed as a Hogwarts teacher, that invitation became permanent for as long as he remained on the staff. Therefore he could come and go as he pleased."
"But why did he want to attack me?"
"Ah, Harry, that I cannot say."
Harry couldn't help wondering if it was more a matter of 'will not' than 'cannot', but he nodded anyway.
"It seems," Professor Dumbledore continued, "that you have a deadly effect on vampires, Harry. That, and your ability to survive a werewolf attack as a baby, makes you a very special child indeed. Naturally, I would prefer that the truth of this did not come out, but alas, it is already spreading throughout the school and beyond. Your 'immunity', as people are already starting to call it, is only going to be emphasised by this episode; emphasised, and indeed extended to include vampires as well as werewolves, possibly all Dark creatures. People are saying that you can walk among them without fear."
"Th-that's not true," Harry said nervously. "People say the werewolf didn't attack me as a baby, that something about me kept it away. But that's not true. It did."
Dumbledore sat forward, his eyes intense. "What do you mean, Harry?"
"It did attack me, sir. I have the scars."
Dumbledore looked amazed. "Scars?"
Harry nodded. "On my chest," he said in a small voice.
Dumbledore sat quietly for a while, obviously thinking. Harry wondered what the old man would say, and whether he would learn any more about what was going on from the old headmaster. Dobby had told him Dumbledore had stopped Dobby coming to see him before now, and Harry had learned some interesting things from the elf, even in the few minutes they'd spent together. Maybe the headmaster was keeping things from him; Harry had no idea why Dumbledore would know all about that fateful night when his parents died. But someone had to have been involved back then; someone must have found him, wrapped him in his special blanket, taken him from the bloody scene of carnage and given him to his relatives. Harry had a feeling that person was Albus Dumbledore, a man who was very important in wizarding Britain. Dumbledore held several posts and was often away from Hogwarts on important business.
Harry's patience was rewarded, because finally, Dumbledore spoke. "I did not know you had scars. You see, Harry, Hagrid found you that day, in your parents' house. He took you and cared for you until we – Professor McGonagall and I – took you to your relatives. He did not say you were injured; rather, he told me he had taken care of you and you were all right. I had no idea you were marked by your confrontation with the werewolf."
There was so much here that Harry needed to ask, like why had Hagrid come to his house, and why had he taken him away instead of calling someone in authority – someone from the Ministry or from St Mungo's hospital, for instance. Instead, Hagrid had sorted him out and healed his wounds without even telling the headmaster much about it. It seemed like Harry had been taken and placed with his aunt and uncle without the authorities having any say in the matter... unless Dumbledore counted as the authorities.
"I can't remember, sir; I just know I have these marks running down my chest – they look like claw marks. I assume it was the werewolf that did it, though when I was younger my aunt told me it was because of the car crash that killed my parents."
Dumbledore shook his head, as if disappointed by Aunt Petunia's story. "So, you have been marked by the wolf, Harry; marked, but not turned, which means you were not bitten. I am unsure whether your marking would have had anything to do with what happened in the dungeon room; I am inclined to think not. You already realise, I'm sure, that the verse the Hat gave at the start of term refers to you?"
Harry sighed. Yes, he'd thought it probably did, and now Dumbledore was confirming it. Harry hadn't wanted to think about it; the whole 'survived the werewolf' thing was something he didn't want to keep hearing about, but it seemed he was fated to have it following him forever. No matter how much he might wish to be an ordinary boy, someone like Sid or Liam, he wasn't. Dumbledore, seeing his despondency, reached out a hand and placed it on Harry's shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and comfort.
"Why did my hands do that, sir? To Professor Quirrell, I mean. It looked like what's supposed to happen to vampires when they're caught out in the sun. But how can I have the sun in my hands?"
"I do not know, Harry," Dumbledore admitted. "But I intend to find out. I will research the problem, as I have been researching vampire and werewolf lore all my life. But for now, I will leave you in peace, for you have visitors queuing up to see you, and I have already made them wait far too long."
Harry wanted to protest, to tell the headmaster he had things he needed to know, more questions to ask... but Dumbledore had stood up and was even now striding along past the empty beds in the ward, heading towards the exit.
And as Dumbledore opened the door, there were Liam and Sid, who hurried in once the headmaster nodded to them.
"Harry! Harry!" Liam was as excited as a litter of puppies. "We thought you were a goner for sure."
"Yeah, you were as white as a sheet down there," Sid added as he hurried along behind, puffing and red-faced. A year of Hogwarts' plentiful food had resulted in Sid putting on some weight. He grinned at Harry and ruffled his hair.
Harry grinned back. "Did you come down there then? How did you find me?"
"We followed you, mate," Liam said. "Not very close, because you were right – that Professor Quirrell was spooky, and we didn't want to be seen. We weren't sure which door you went through though, because by the time we turned into that corridor, you'd disappeared, and the corridor ended at a blank wall just a bit further along. So you had to be in one of those chambers, but we didn't know exactly which one. We couldn't hear you at all."
"I think he put spells on the door. He opened it with a magical key," Harry explained. "I reckon when he was muttering his incantations he probably silenced the room."
"Makes sense," Liam agreed, nodding.
"So anyway, we sat and waited," Sid said, his round face flushed with the excitement of reliving the adventure, "until it just got silly. Do you remember when Liam won that watch in our last year at Hedwig's?" When Harry nodded, he continued, "We timed it; we decided to wait an hour at first..."
"And nothing happened," Liam interrupted, in a hurry to get to the good bit. "Not a sound, nothing. And it was getting bloody cold down there, and it was past curfew!"
"Yeah, we were sure to cop it if Filch found us."
Harry's eyes were wide. Filch, the school caretaker, was a demon at patrolling the corridors after curfew; he'd caught lots of the older students out after hours, and he always doled out harsh punishments. None of the first years wanted to fall foul of him.
"So, well, we got anxious and finally went back to Gryffindor Tower to wake up McGonagall," Liam continued. "She was hopping mad with us for being out, but when she heard you were with Quirrell she got all agitated."
"She really did!" Sid joined in. "She looked quite green around the gills, and kept muttering that she'd known there was something wrong about him. So she made us show her where you'd gone. It was all we could do to remember the route though..."
"Took us too long," Liam groused. "We got lost three times before we found the right corridor. It was still quiet down there, with nothing to see, but McGonagall took out her wand and cast some fancy spells. Eventually one of the keyholes glowed in one of the doors, so she cast some pretty impressive spells at it, and after a lot of booming and crashing, the door opened."
"Yeah, Quirrell must have put warding spells on it," Sid said. "It certainly wasn't easy for her to get in, and McGonagall's pretty strong. We never would have made it."
The three boys stopped and stared at each other a while; they all knew how powerful their head of house was – she was an animagus, for a start, and that was a transformation that took a lot of power and concentration.
Liam resumed the narrative. "Anyway, when we rushed in, there you were, lying on the floor like you were dead." He shuddered.
Harry's eyes were wide as he saw the remembered horror on his friends' faces.
"McGonagall tried some spells to wake you up, but you wouldn't. You were as cold as a stone when I touched you, but she examined you and said you were breathing," Sid said, sounding relieved. "And next to you there was this mound of... of... stuff. Clothes and dust and muck. And McGonagall told us to keep away from it, so we did. Not that we wanted to touch it."
Sid looked quite ill at the memory. Harry remembered just how that pile of clothes and dirt had come about, and he felt rather ill too.
"What a way to end the year!" Liam said. "We're off to our summer placements next week, and I'm looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet. No schoolwork and no adventures! I never imagined we'd be doing this at the end of our first year at Hogwarts. Life's definitely not boring with you around, Harry."
"Well, he's the babe who lived to spite the moon," Sid said, his voice sounding sing-song as he quoted the Hat. He ignored Harry's glower.
"Yeah, and now he's lived to spite a vampire too," Liam said, giving Harry a long look. "How did you do it, Harry?"
Harry knew he'd have to tell his friends, but he didn't want his ability blabbed around as common knowledge. "Promise me you won't tell anyone else. Please, Liam, Sid, you've got to promise me..."
"And what about me, Harry Potter?"
Harry looked up. Hermione was standing a little way away, her hands on her hips. "Oh, er-"
"I'll give you 'oh, er'! You'd better tell me too. How can I help you with research or anything else, if I don't know what's going on?"
"Yeah, but it's dangerous!" Liam protested.
Hermione's expression hardened. "Oh, is it? And are you saying you could protect Harry or fight a werewolf, Liam Webster?"
"No, of course not, but I'd try!"
"And do you think I wouldn't?"
"No- you'd try too. But well, hang it all, Hermione, that's the problem; I don't want you getting killed. It's our job to protect you!"
Harry could see that Hermione was about to go into a rant about girls not needing boys to protect them, but she was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey, who came to see what the shouting was about. She promptly dismissed the visitors with a stern rebuke about the need for peace and quiet in a hospital ward, and encouraged Harry to go and take his bath.
It wasn't until Harry left the hospital wing next day with a clean bill of health, that he found the opportunity to tell his friends about the weird properties of his hands. All four of them looked at Harry's hands, but could see no reason for the 'sunlight effect', as Hermione called it. She, like Dumbledore before her, promised to research all she could. "It has to be something to do with what the Hat said," she concluded.
"But most of what it said doesn't make sense," Harry grumped.
"It's a prophecy," Liam said wisely. "They only make sense later on, once everything's happened. They're pretty useless really."
Hermione agreed; she was not keen on the Divinatory arts.
"The work begun in death and blood, begins again in student-hood," Liam quoted. "Which is probably what happened down in the dungeons; it's a continuation of what you did as a baby."
"Yeah, I understand that bit," Harry said, "but 'The babe who lived to spite the moon, has come to where he'll find the One' is just odd."
"As the Hat said it here at Hogwarts, I reckon you'll be meeting this 'One' here," Sid said.
"And further, it implies that it's not someone you've met beforehand, which rules out you two," Hermione said to Sid and Liam.
The boys nodded at that. "Makes sense," Harry agreed. "But those last two lines are as clear as mud!"
And so they were, for none of the children understood them, or could make any real suggestions what they might mean.