|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: cckeimig Story: Protecting the Prophecy Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 6 Words: 18,887
Disclaimer: The setting and characters all belong to JK Rowling, of course. I’m just having fun with them. A/N: Thanks to my wonderful beta, Dancing-In-Magic! Sorry this update took so long, folks! Real Life strikes again... Lupin came tearing down the stairs, wand out as well, but stopped short at the scene below. “So very good of you to make the time to come over so immediately, Severus,” he gasped. “But next time, considering the circumstances, Apparating outside the front door and ringing the bell or knocking might be a bit more appropriate. You could easily have been Stunned.” “Or it appears I could have given Potter a heart attack at the thought that just anyone might make it past Dumbledore’s wards and Apparate right into the front hallway,” Snape said. “I did think it a bit more appropriate to arrive directly into the house, considering my attire.” Harry took a few deep, calming breaths and got to his feet. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Professor Snape,” he said, nodding at his Potions Master’s comments but not rising to the bait. “Please come in.” He gestured into the lounge. No sooner had the three of them sat down when Bill Weasley Apparated right in front of them, looking extremely concerned. Harry slapped his forehead, “I must have scared her half to death!” Bill just nodded and pointed at the phone. Harry leapt to his feet and rushed to dial his friend. “Hi, it’s me,” he said. “Someone had Apparated into the hallway. It was Professor Snape—Uncle Moony had called him while you and I were talking and he came over so quickly that no one was expecting him just yet. I’ll write you later. Gotta go!” A relieved Hermione said good-bye and both hung up, then Harry made his way back over to the sofa. “Well, Potter?” Snape said. “Well, sir, it’s like this. I want to make sure my Aunt Petunia is really her, and that she’s not acting under the Imperius Curse or anything. Her behaviour has just been way too weird lately. Snape raised his eyebrows and looked over at Aunt Petunia. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to use Legilimency on her to discover the truth of the matter,” Harry continued. Aunt Petunia smiled and shook her head indulgently. “See what I mean, Professor?” Harry said, jumping to his feet and starting to pace again. “She seems quite nice to me. What’s so weird about that, Potter?” Snape asked, looking confused. Lupin just looked amused. “Let me put it to you this way, sir. This is almost like coming to school and you suddenly smiling warmly at me and inviting me to tea in your office, then praising my classwork to the skies in class in front of Malfoy.” Snape cringed at the very idea. “Exactly. Weird,” said Harry. “When you put it that way, Potter,” Snape said. “Would you mind, Mrs. Dursley, if I performed a little magical test on you?” “Not at all, Professor,” she smiled. Harry shuddered. Snape smirked at his least favourite student, then concentrated on Petunia Dursley. “Legilimens!” he shouted. After a moment he turned to Harry. “Well, Potter, it’s definitely her. She remembers finding you on the doorstep, practically shaving your head except for your fringe, an incident at the zoo with a boa constrictor, and lots of that fat boy in these pictures,” he waved a hand at the photographs on top of the mantelpiece. “Did she really keep you in the cupboard under the stairs all those years?” Snape looked slightly ill. “Yes, sir, until my Hogwarts letters came, quite specifically addressed, and they panicked and gave me Dudley’s second bedroom,” Harry said. “I can find no evidence that she’s under the control of any spell or potion, Potter. The emotions she’s been experiencing since the Dementor almost Kissed your cousin last summer do seem consistent with true remorse and a change of attitude towards you,” Snape concluded. Harry shook himself and sighed. “Thank you, Professor Snape, for taking the trouble to come so far. This has really been freaking me out.” “I can imagine it has, Potter,” Snape said gently, looking at him with something like pity. “Well, I’d best be going now. Good luck with your classes. I’ll be seeing you in Potions in September.” He Disapparated, leaving Harry staring in horror at the empty space he left behind. Bill, Lupin, and Harry just stared, mouths agape. “C-could it be a magical virus of some sort?” Harry asked weakly. The other two just shook their heads. Aunt Petunia chuckled softly. “I wonder if you will ever be able to forgive me, Harry. I don’t wonder at your reaction, really. It must give you the creeps after so many years of abuse and neglect. In my case this has been coming on gradually for a year, but you’ve not been around to see it, so it must really…” A tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek. “She was my sister, after all. Even if I refused to understand her difference. And now you’re practically the only family I have left, and your life’s in such great danger! I don’t want to lose you, too, Harry!” More tears escaped her control and she reached for a tissue. Bill cleared his throat. “I’d better get back outside.” He lifted his wand and Disapparated. Harry excused himself to write a quick note to Hermione about what had just happened and to check on Dobby. *** The next morning after breakfast, Harry, Dobby, and Lupin headed for Mrs. Figg’s house to Floo up to Hogwarts. Dobby looked even worse than he had the day before, in spite of his enforced rest, and Harry really wanted to get him looked at by someone who knew what they were doing. A cheerful Mrs. Figg showed them eagerly to the fireplace and invited them to have tea with her on their return, if Harry was feeling up to it after his afternoon lesson. They thanked her and hurriedly stepped into the blazing fire one by one after tossing in a bit of Floo Powder and shouting, “The Great Hall, Hogwarts” as clearly as possible. Harry didn’t want to be late for class on his first day of Potions with his Head of House. Lupin carried Harry’s cauldron and Potions supplies, as he’d been voted least likely to land on his face. Dobby travelled by Floo Powder as well, under Harry’s insistence; the humans were concerned he might splinch himself considering the state he was in. Professor McGonagall was there waiting when Harry stumbled out of the fireplace. “Hello, Potter,” she said. “Right on time.” “Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” Harry coughed through the soot. “Is Madam Pomfrey around, by any chance?” “Why, yes, Potter, she is. Why? Are you ill? Is Remus?” “No, Professor,” Harry caught a nearly unconscious Dobby as he fell out of the fireplace. “It’s Dobby,” he said unnecessarily. He scooped the little house-elf up into his arms. “I hope you don’t mind starting a few minutes late, Professor. I’ll even do extra homework if you’d like, but Dobby really needs attention.” Lupin stepped out of the fireplace at that moment, “I agree, Minerva. Dobby’s not doing well at all.” “Yes, thank you, Remus, I can see that for myself. Well, Potter, you know your way to the Hospital Wing blindfolded by now. Poppy told me at breakfast she’d be doing an inventory before leaving on holiday,” she said. Harry ran off, a rather limp Dobby in his arms. Lupin started after him, but Professor McGonagall held up a hand to stop him. “Let the boy have a few minutes on his own. He’s being so closely watched he’s probably afraid to even sneeze by now.” Lupin grinned. “All too true. And with his Aunt Petunia suddenly being nice to him and worrying about him, he’s probably ready to crack under the pressure.” “Probably?” she scoffed. “I think perhaps he already has! Severus told us about his visit yesterday.” Lupin’s grin widened. “Yeah, Harry’s decided it must be some sort of magical virus going around. After Severus looked into Petunia’s mind and saw a fraction of the abuse she and that gorilla of a husband of hers inflicted upon Harry as a small child, even he started to soften towards the boy. This could be a very interesting year, to say the least.” *** Harry slammed into the hospital wing, out of breath. Madam Pomfrey came running from the storeroom at the noise. She took one look at his face and asked, “Now what’s happened to you, Potter? I thought my Hospital Wing was to be quiet for two months of well-deserved peace.” Harry finally caught his breath well enough to gasp out, “It’s not me, Madam Pomfrey. It’s Dobby. He’s—well, look at him!” Harry held out his limp bundle and Madam Pomfrey waved him over to the nearest bed. “Dobby, what in Merlin’s name have you been up to?” she asked, tucking in the house-elf. Harry quickly outlined the history of the problem for her, including many comments about how it was all his fault, and Madam Pomfrey just stared for a moment—it was the longest speech she’d ever heard come out of Harry’s mouth. He was usually so reticent about what was wrong. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. “Household magic doesn’t drain them, Mr. Potter, but the level of spells he’s been doing in your home for the past few days…” “Can you give him anything?” Harry was so worried he could hardly stand it. “Of course I can and will. Stay with him for a moment, please.” She turned on her heel and went to the storeroom. Harry sat on the edge of Dobby’s bed and picked up the closest little hand. “You’re going to be okay now, Dobby,” he promised. Dobby struggled to lift his head, but Harry gently pushed him back, so he settled for a weak smile. “Thank you, Harry Potter, sir. I hope you will forgive Dobby’s weakness, sir. He…” “Nonsense!” Harry snapped. “I won’t hear another word about it, my friend. Your health is much too important to me.” Madam Pomfrey returned with a bottle of potion and a small goblet in her hands, a tender smile on her face. “Not many wizards would speak that way to a mere house-elf,” she said. Harry’s gaze hardened. “’Mere’ is hardly a word I would use to describe someone as noble and powerful as Dobby,” he snapped, eyes burning with the injustice of such a remark. Blinking furiously to contain the tears that threatened, he continued, “The things these ‘mere’ house-elves can accomplish, even without wands…” “Don’t get me wrong, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said as she measured out a small dose of potion. “I’m not most wizards.” Harry nodded, then helped hold Dobby’s head up for Madam Pomfrey to administer the medicine. “Dobby, I’ll come check on you after lunch. And if I hear you’ve so much as set a toe out of this bed without express permission from myself or Madam Pomfrey, I don’t think you want to know what I’ll do to you!” “What about me?” a deep voice asked. “Can I give him permission to get up?” “No!” Harry snapped. “Especially not you! This whole thing was your idea and I refuse to allow you to endanger Dobby again like that for my safety!” “Some calculated risks must be taken in a war situation, Harry,” the voice continued. “Maybe so, Professor, but this isn’t wizard chess. This is real life. And if the key to my future success is what you implied it to be, you’d better hope I not get to think of my loyal friends as mere pawns in the game of war.” “Touché, Harry. But it was for the best. Dobby is in the best possible hands now, and his temporary sacrifice allowed for two goals to be accomplished at once—you were protected as well as I would hope you would be, and the unfortunate side-effects I hadn’t counted on helped you to master certain concepts I feared would take us weeks to get through.” “Hadn’t counted on? You mean you risked Dobby without knowing the consequences?” Harry felt his face redden in anger. “This has never been attempted before—it was by chance that Dobby was the house-elf to be cleaning my fireplace when Minerva and I were discussing your situation. Once he realized it was you at risk, he volunteered more information about house-elf magical abilities than I think anyone has known in hundreds of years. In fact, I’m sure that’s why they were denied wands—wizard fear and prejudice over non-humans having stronger magical abilities than they.” Harry felt somewhat mollified after hearing Professor Dumbledore voice Harry’s own opinion of the matter. “But he didn’t bother to tell you what it would cost him to do this special magic, I suppose,” he said quietly, shaking his head at Dobby, who looked like he was trying to shrink out of sight. “That he did not,” Dumbledore said sternly. Dobby’s ears flattened even further at this. “Very well, Dobby, then I’ll most certainly trust the Headmaster in this as well. But no one will be letting you out of bed at least until after lunch when I come visit you. Right?” Harry kept his gaze locked with Dobby’s, so he felt, rather than saw, the others’ nods of confirmation. “Fine. If that’s settled, I’d better get down to Potions. Professor McGonagall has been kept waiting long enough.” He thanked Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore, then sprinted out the door. *** Harry arrived, yet again breathless, to the Great Hall, where he found Lupin and Professor McGonagall waiting for him and chatting over a nice cup of hot tea. Before he could get out a word of thanks for her patience, Professor McGonagall waved her wand and a table suitable for potions work appeared. Then she waved it again and a blackboard appeared filled with Snape’s handwriting. As Harry read it, he realized it was one of the many potions he’d managed to bungle during fifth year when he was so distracted by Umbridge and by visions of the Department of Mysteries. This time, however, he didn’t hate his professor and the other distractions were no longer foremost in his mind, so in spite of his late start, he managed a perfect Draught of Peace. He measured some into a flask for grading and corked it so that Professor McGonagall could check it at her leisure (or have Professor Snape do so—Harry suspected the Potions master would be the one to actually grade his work, for how else would Snape be satisfied enough with Harry’s improvement to allow him into sixth-year Potions?) and brought the sample to her chair. She smiled as he handed it to her. “Looks like it’s the right colour and consistency, Potter,” she said crisply. “Now for homework, you’re to rewrite that absolutely dismal moonstone essay you wrote back in September.” Harry grinned. “Yes, Professor. Erm—do you think Madam Pince might lend me a couple of books to take home with me so I can get it done for Thursday? I know I’ve information in my textbooks at home, but something tells me I need more than that to make up for the drivel I wrote last time.” “If you knew it was such ‘drivel,’ Potter, why on earth did you turn in such inferior work?” she asked. “I’d been doing all those detentions with that Umbridge woman and had no time left for homework if I wanted any sleep at all—she had me there until midnight every night, so I just dashed it off to avoid detention with Professor Snape,” he said. Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows had shot up at Harry’s disgusted look as he spat out Dolores Umbridge’s name, but as he made sure to call Snape by his title and she felt pretty much the same about the former Hogwarts High Inquisitor, she said nothing of his disrespectful tone. “What on earth did she have you doing until midnight?” Harry held out his right hand, the scars still clearly visible. “Lines,” he said. She sucked in a breath and Lupin jumped to his feet to look more closely. “She had a special quill,” Harry began, and told them just what it did. “Ask Lee Jordan—he got in trouble with her once, too.” As Harry finished, he could feel the anger crackling in the air. He spun around and found himself face-to-face with a Professor Dumbledore looking very much as he had when he arrived that night at the Department of Mysteries. “I think,” said Lupin quietly, “that it’s a good thing Fawkes is all the way up in your office and that not even you can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts.” “Yes, Remus,” Dumbledore agreed. “It’s probably a very good thing. First the Dementors and then daily torture?” He looked sternly at Harry. “The next time anything that might even be remotely similar to this type of attack on you is to be reported to me at once. At once, Harry.” Harry just nodded, eyes wide at this display of righteous anger in his usually oh-so-calm and practically omniscient Headmaster and protector. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, causing Harry to jump in the stressful silence. “Lunch is served, gentlemen. Perhaps we should start eating before it gets cold?” She led the way to the table as Madam Pomfrey entered the Great Hall for lunch with them. “Good afternoon, Poppy,” said Lupin. “How’s Dobby?” “Better,” she said, “but not doing as well as I’d like.” Harry straightened his shoulders and set to eating his lunch quickly so he’d have plenty of time to visit the Hospital Wing before his next class. *** If this was ‘better’, Harry decided, he’d hate to see ‘much worse.’ Dobby looked awful. Harry sank to his knees beside his little friend’s bed and clasped a tiny cold hand in his own. He felt the tears streaming down his face as he watched the small chest rise fitfully in a struggle to keep drawing breath. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Not to Dobby. Not because of him. A hand on his shoulder broke Harry’s reverie some time later. He turned hollow eyes to the headmaster and nodded, getting slowly to his feet. “There is something you can do for him, Harry.” “What? Make sure his sacrifice wasn’t in vain or some other such nonsense?” Harry spat. “Actually, I was thinking along a bit more practical lines. After our class session we’ll give it a try.” “Do you really think he’ll hold on that long, sir?” Harry gestured at the prone figure on the bed, a doubtful expression on his face. “Good point, Harry. First things first.” “What did you have in mind, Professor?” Dumbledore shook his head. “Not here, Harry. Let us go to the Potions dungeon where we are sure to have the tools and ingredients we require—along with Professor Snape’s assistance.” He gestured for Harry to precede him out the door of the hospital wing. Dumbledore knocked on the door of the Potions Master’s office, then opened it and stuck his head inside. “Severus? We are in need of your expertise—it’s a bit of an emergency, I’m afraid.” “Of course, Headmaster. Come on in.” Dumbledore gestured Harry inside, then followed him in, closing the door behind them. “It’s our little friend, Dobby, Severus,” he explained. “We need to resort to more drastic measures to save his life. He’s sacrificed too much of his own strength to be able to recover on his own. Things don’t look good at all.” Snape’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said. “That bad, sir?” “I’m afraid so, Severus. I’d like to try a special potion, if you would be so kind as to help us with ingredients and …” “I think I know what you have in mind, Headmaster. But who will we take the blood from? Dobby is a free elf, and although you’re technically a sort of ‘master’ to him…” “I’ll give the blood, Professor Snape,” Harry said, hope awakening in his heart. A slight smile appeared on the Potion Master’s face. “Yes, Potter, I think that will do. If you are in agreement, Headmaster?” “Absolute agreement, Severus. I’ll leave you both to it, then, shall I?” and Dumbledore swept out of the dungeon without a look backward. Harry chuckled to himself. “You have to admit he’s a smooth one, sir.” Snape actually laughed along with his student. “That he is, Potter. That he is.” He shook his head and began collecting ingredients from his private store. “This potion is very delicate, Potter, so I’ll need you to follow my directions precisely. There is absolutely no room for error in this—Dobby’s very life is at stake, and so much as a drop wrongly measured will end it for him rather than save it. Is that understood?” “Yes, Professor. Most definitely understood,” Harry said nervously. “What should I do first?” Snape gave him a measuring look. “Start slicing up the daisy roots, Potter, while I crush the scarab beetles.” Harry was surprised at how quickly the potion was simmering in Professor Snape’s smallest cauldron, and especially at how not a negative word had been spoken between them in all that time. “Now comes the hard part, Potter. Hold out your arm so I can make the cut and we can drain some of your blood into the concoction.” Harry swallowed convulsively—that was quite a wicked-looking dagger. But this was for Dobby and it was only a few drops after all, wasn’t it? What were a few drops of blood to Dobby’s life? He knew Muggles donated entire pints of blood without any adverse effects, so why couldn’t he? He held his arm out over the bowl the Potions Master had set on the table between them, and braced himself for the sting of the knife cutting into his flesh. It was quick and relatively painless, although the bowl filled alarmingly quickly. Professor Snape hurriedly covered the wound with a clean cloth and applied pressure to it to stop the bleeding once the bowl was filled to the correct measure. Harry wasn’t sure, but that looked like way more than a few drops of his blood! He felt a bit woozy and thought he’d like to sit down before he fell over. Professor Snape seemed to sense his weakness and led him to the closest chair. “Hold your hand over it like this, Potter, while I add the blood to the potion. We can’t let even an extra second go by.” Harry nodded and pressed on the rapidly-reddening bandage, slumped in the chair his professor had provided for him. When it was ready, Snape put out the fire and filled a flask with the life-giving potion, then helped Harry to his feet and half-carried him to the Hospital Wing. “Merlin’s Beard, Severus!” cried Madam Pomfrey. “He’s white as a ghost! How much blood did you take from him?” She rushed to apply ointment to the still-seeping cut. It closed instantly. “Merely the required pint, Poppy. But Potter’s not exactly overweight, now is he? It seems to have taken too much out of him. Perhaps some chocolate?” Snape helped Harry into the chair at Dobby’s bedside, then brushed past the matron to the storeroom, coming back shortly with a bar of Honeyduke’s Best, which he unwrapped and fed to Harry, bit by bit. Harry’s head was spinning so much he could hardly open his mouth to accept the bite-sized pieces. But as he finished the bar, the room started to come back into focus. He sighed. “Thanks, Professor,” Harry managed, then leaned forward onto the bed to grasp Dobby’s hand and rest his head on the pillow next to his little friend. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape administered the potion to the rapidly-failing house-elf. *** Four hours later a recovered Harry sat in the hospital wing with a now-awake Dobby, who was thanking him profusely for his blood sacrifice. “Stop it, Dobby,” Harry insisted for probably the tenth time. “It was the least I could do after you practically killed yourself to help me. Don’t you dare ever do that to me again!” Dobby stopped thanking him aloud, but Harry laughed at the look in his eyes. “Not even in your head, Dobby! I mean it! I’ll not have you bowing and scraping to me over this! You are my friend, Dobby. You’ve helped me so very many times, and what else have I ever done for you?” “What else has Harry Potter done for Dobby? Can Harry Potter possibly have forgotten the fact that he was the one who freed Dobby from his former master? Dobby could never thank Harry Potter enough for that, and now Harry Potter has given some of his own blood to strengthen the potion that revived Dobby from certain death. Surely Harry Potter is aware of the bond this creates between him and Dobby? We are now brothers in blood, Harry Potter. We are obligated to care for one another for the rest of our lives.” “What? Dobby, my intention wasn’t to chain you to me, just to save your life. I don’t want to force you into slavery again!” Harry was horrified. What had he done? And how had Dumbledore allowed it to happen? “No, Harry Potter. Do not be alarmed! Dobby was perhaps clumsy in his explanation,” Dobby hurried to remedy his mistake. “Dobby is not a slave. Dobby is now like a brother to Harry Potter, and Harry Potter is like a brother to Dobby. The potion you and Professor Snape made was the only thing that could have saved Dobby’s life, and you chose to make it for Dobby out of friendship and loyalty. Dobby knows Harry Potter is a generous person who might have attempted to save any person in the same way, but in the case of a house-elf, the magic is permanently binding. We are now family, Harry Potter.” “Then I guess you’ll be coming back to Privet Drive with me after all. But as my guest and brother, Dobby, not to ward my sleep.” Harry chuckled, “I always wanted a brother, but I kind of thought he might be a bit taller.” Dobby laughed along with him, then threw himself into Harry’s arms in a furious hug. “Let’s go home, Dobby,” Harry said.
|