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Author: parakletos Story: The Sins of the Fathers Rating: Teens Setting: AU Status: Completed Reviews: 7 Words: 104,346
Fourth of September When Ginny awoke, she felt more relaxed than at any time she could remember in the recent past. Even in the summer holidays, whilst her brother had slept as late as their mother would allow, Ginny was up with the lark. Well, that’s what you get for worrying about prefect patrols whilst it’s nice and sunny outside. She stretched lazily, wondering what time it was. That’s a nice change, she thought, to wake up and not care. She reached over to her nightstand and retrieved her pocket watch. It was only seven o’clock, but unlike previous mornings, she had no desire to be outside pounding the steps of the Quidditch stadium. She wouldn’t give up exercise altogether, after all, she’d worked hard to get this figure and she wasn’t about to give it up. And it wasn’t that she wanted to pull the covers over her head and let the day pass by; it was more the case that, well, she had other plans. Quite what those plans were, she wasn’t entirely sure. She should probably tidy up her room: too many of her books and supplies were adorning surfaces other than her normally well-ordered shelves. She would, of course, take a shower although a long, leisurely soak in a scented bath was more appealing. She had homework to finish but nothing that couldn’t wait until her free period in the afternoon. She kicked back the covers and walked over to her chest of drawers to pick up her latest acquisition: Madam Malkin’s latest catalogue. It wasn’t the general catalogue extolling the wares to be found in the front of the shop; no, it was for their Ladies’ Apparel department into which she certainly had never been taken. Not that she would have wanted to go in there before today, but that was then and this was now. She moved over to her chaise lounge, and made herself comfortable. Now, where was I? ~*~ Harry was not surprised to find that Ginevra was not training that morning: it was, after all, the sensible thing to do until her injury had been properly diagnosed and treated. He put all thoughts of their meeting to one side and set his mind to work along with his body, pushing himself harder than he had the previous two days. Something was going on in the Slytherin common room that made him uneasy. His expected welcome when he had returned the previous night had been non-existent, which—given the events earlier in the day—worried him. No-one was behaving how he’d expected them to and he needed to be ready for whatever was waiting for him. However, when it came, it was not in the manner he had foreseen. He had returned to the castle and, after having changed, was just descending the steps from his dormitory to the common room when Snape appeared from the side door that led to his quarters. “Mister Potter, a word if I may?” “Serpently, sir.” Snape did not respond to the jibe but merely pursed narrowed lips at him. “This discussion will be away from prying eyes and ears,” he said as his eyes flicked from one group of apparently disinterested spectators to another, “so I would be grateful if you would accompany me to my private study.” Harry, too, looked around at the other occupants of the room. Whilst they feigned disinterest, he knew that every phrase would be memorised and its meaning dissected. More than that, he would be studied, his body language analysed and someone somewhere would be sifting and sorting it, ready for the day when some minute detail might provide the key for whatever plan they hatched. He sighed inwardly. So much of his initial contact with his housemates had been physical, but now they appeared to have retreated and were playing a watching game. Of course, he had no idea just who ‘they’ were, just that they were out there and he needed to be ready. Another detail that worried Harry was the change in Snape’s tone and demeanour. The obsequious and bombastic man that had greeted his arrival in Slytherin house with alacrity had disappeared and been replaced by an altogether more professional, and therefore more worrying, proposition. So many subtle changes, so many nuances, such a complicated web they were weaving. And I don’t have a clue who is the spider at the centre of it all. Snape did not wait for Harry, but walked purposely through the door before taking his seat behind a well-ordered desk. Harry followed, resisting the temptation to glance behind and see just who was watching him. A few observation globes would have provided the solution, but they were still sitting in one of the compartments of his trunk, unused. Just another example of how you’re failing this mission, Potter. “Take a seat, if you please.” Snape indicated the spartan armchair on Harry’s side of the desk. He did not wait for Harry to be seated but started immediately. “Disturbing reports have reached my ears, Potter, reports that suggest that you have been rather freer with your magical talents than is acceptable in an educational establishment.” He paused. Harry, now sitting nonchalantly and feigning disinterest, understood that a less secure person would fill the silence, but Snape would have to try harder if he wanted him to do anymore than nod his head or smile enigmatically. “Certain members of this house have ended up in the hospital wing, and others are now guests at St. Mungo’s under sedation.” Again, Harry remained silent, taking comfort in the information Snape had provided. No one had made a specific complaint or allegation against him, that was certain. If they had, then the meeting would be taking place in Dumbledore’s office and Black would be in attendance. Plus, he was sure that Zabini had been healed whilst still in the Great Hall. Again, something was afoot but exactly what it was escaped him. “The magic used was highly complex, thus indicating that it was beyond the capabilities of all but the most advanced of students.” Well, he thought, it was reasonably complex, but I could see how the average student might not have been trained to conjure fully animated humanoids. Snape paused once more and, after seeing that the target of his interrogation remained tight-lipped, continued. “The two other potential assailants have been ruled out by the Headmaster, which leaves one other, and that is you.” It was Harry’s turn to pause, if only mentally. If he did not deny the allegations it would be tantamount to admitting that he was guilty, but he knew that his rebuttal needed to be phrased correctly. He also wondered what had been added to egg the pudding. True, if he had dealt with Nott and Zabini as he had originally planned, they might have been dead or close to it, but he failed to see how his actions warranted anything more than a few weeks of detention with a teacher. He hadn’t violated Greengrass and … He paused again… had someone intimated that Astoria had been party to his little show? No-one would report what the sisters did on their own, but the youngest would certainly be underage and if they could place him in her bed then… He dismissed the thought immediately, partly because it sickened him and secondly because it brought back images of the elder sister naked on his bed. “First,” he said, forcing his mind back to the present, “let me thank you for allowing me the opportunity to address these baseless allegations. It is clear from your opening remarks that none of the alleged victims of these attacks have identified their attacker. It would therefore appear that that I am to be accused solely because my magical ability is assumed to be in excess of the deplorably low standard tolerated in this so-called educational establishment.” He left it at that. There was more he could have added but there was no point: he was guilty as charged, as long as the charges didn’t include assaulting a minor. He felt a faint brush against his mental shields and allowed the intruder entry. You are so predictable, Snape. He did not let the professor anywhere near the real memories he was looking for, instead he fast-tracked him into the place reserved for unwelcome visitors: a field of sheep. For a few moments Harry watched as Snape tried to extricate himself from the annoyingly inquisitive ovines, enjoying his House Master’s trial. Eventually, he summoned a sheep dog who, after a few nips around the ankles, happily chased Snape out of Harry’s brain altogether. There was silence as the two antagonists faced each other. “Do you have nothing more to say, Potter?” “I do not think that the charges warrant anything other than contempt.” “I will convey the contents of our conversation to the Headmaster. The final decision rests with him.” Harry was surprised that Dumbledore had left the discussion to Snape. He would be even more surprised if Dumbledore hadn’t set up charms in the room to record the entire conversation. In fact, he wondered if, in this matter, Snape was acting on his own. Snape remained seated, his eyes narrowed as if wondering how he was going to deal with Harry. “When you joined us in Slytherin, Mister Potter, I had high hopes that this would mark a turning point for us. No longer would we be seen as witches and wizards who chose violence as the first option, but instead we would reclaim our cunning heritage. Despite your protestations, Mister Potter, two wanton acts of violence have been committed against students under my protection. The Headmaster may be unwilling to act but I am not.” So, he is acting on his own. Snape paused slightly as if gathering his courage and then continued. “You will surrender your wand to me immediately. It will be returned to you at the start of every lesson by the relevant professor and you will return it to them before you leave their classroom.” Harry laughed. He had to hand it to Snape, he had balls: a pity they were about to get crushed. “Taking a wizard’s wand is a sanction that only the Wizengamot can authorise, Professor. Apart from a properly authorised Ministry employee, and then only in extreme circumstances, the Supreme Mugwump may decide to take such drastic action and then must have it ratified by a full meeting of the members within forty-eight hours of the event. The ICW…!” “Enough of your babbling! Get out!” Harry laughed again, but only to himself. Snape was such an amateur, barely worthy of the responsibility given to him. The House of Salazar really had sunk to an abysmal low if the Potions Master was the most suited to the title of Head of House. Breakfast came and went without incident and he made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for his first encounter with Remus Lupin since the end of the war. He knew that there would be nothing in the NEWT syllabus that would test him, and thus all his energies and attention could be focussed on the one person who remained of the group that had made his life hell. Lupin was, in many ways, a pathetic figure. As a werewolf, he was an outcast from society, hounded for being something he had no control over and certainly didn’t ask for. For Harry, that would have been enough of a challenge to rise up and prove people wrong. Although Greyback, the man that had inflicted this curse on Lupin, was a beast in all senses of the word, Harry found himself more able to understand the path that Greyback had chosen rather than the submissive cur that was Remus Lupin. What made things worse for Harry was the way Lupin kept encouraging him to call him “Moony” or, worse still, “Uncle Moony”. When added to the unquestioning loyalty he showed Dumbledore, it was all Harry could do to stay in the same room as him. So today is the day, Dear Uncle Moony; today is the day that you get paid back for all that you put me through. Harry filed into the classroom with the other NEWT students and sat at a desk at the back, allowing even those in his own house to stay away from him. He was, however, disappointed when none of his classmates came within three desks of him, choosing instead to huddle together as a group to the side and to the front. As they waited, Harry rehearsed the lines he had prepared for such an occasion as this, happy that he could destroy the man with just a few well-chosen words. The others in the room contented themselves with idle chatter and the occasional glance over their shoulder in his direction. Not long now, Harry, patience is a virtue, don’t you know. A few more days spent with Ginevra and it’ll be appropriate to ask for her hand and then you and she can leave this place. And he was impatient to leave. When he had come to Hogwarts he had assumed, based on the information his troublesome godfather had given him, that this was a simple mission, with the aim to meet and fraternise with Ginevra and then, at the appropriate moment, propose to her, thus fulfilling the obligations of the contract and enabling them to get on with their lives. His expectation had been that, once married, they would find an accommodation that suited both of them and allowed for the timely arrival of their progeny. What he hadn’t been prepared for was this growing appreciation of Ginevra and a desire to spend time in her presence, and his frustration that the time to do so was both limited and frequently dogged by others who had their own vested interests. He had been pleased that she appeared to appreciate the time they spent together and—more than that—that she initiated physical contact with him, albeit in a limited fashion. He had come to realise that he had changed since he had arrived at the school, and that the longer he stayed, the more that change would deepen. He had no desire to become like his peers, but he couldn’t deny that he had, in a few ways, changed for the better and that he regretted some of his earlier actions. ‘Walk softly and wield a powerful wand,’ had been advice Mad-Eye had given him. It was advice that had served him well prior to Hogwarts; unfortunately, once he had finally gained control over his own life, it had been advice he had forgotten. It had created problems for him, although whether life in Slytherin would have actually been any easier for him had he kept his powder dry, he doubted: either way, he knew that rumours of his retaliations for the lack of respect shown to him had spread through the school like wildfire. His humiliation of Snape had been well received across the school, but his attempt at similar humiliation of Professor McGonagall had earned him nothing but animosity, especially when her subsequent ‘punishment’ had become known. “… do you think, Mr Potter?” Harry’s arm flexed and his wand fell into his open palm as he turned in the direction of the voice. “It appears Mr Potter has lost his tongue, anyone else like to answer? Yes, Miss Granger?” “Because it’s an inanimate object and therefore can’t be killed.” The Killing Curse… how original, thought Harry as he caught on to the discussion he had missed through his contemplation. Ten Points from the House of Potter for being caught unaware. It was Black’s favourite phrase throughout his training when Harry got caught out by something he should have known how to combat. Well, sentry wards aren’t really appropriate for a classroom, are they? True, but paying attention is. Fuck off, Padfoot! “So we know what you can’t defend against, so what can you defend yourself against?” Harry watched as everyone else’s hand shot up, eager to answer Lupin. Look at them, like piglets trying to find a place at a sow’s tit. Despite the host of pupils anxious to answer, Lupin again chose him. “Harry, what do you think?” “It’s Potter, Sir.” “That it is, Mr Potter, but here we aren’t so formal, after all, we’re all adults.” “Really?” He watched Lupin’s face, waiting for the irritation to show and then fade as he’d seen it do so many times in the past. Ever the one to back down, Lupin had been the runt of the litter, forever deferring to his more confident friends. “Yes, really, Mr Potter. Of course, if you prefer to be treated like a first year, I’d be happy to oblige.” If Harry expected Lupin to choose another then he was mistaken. “I appreciate that coming to Hogwarts is an overwhelming experience, Mr Potter, but this classroom is a safe environment and we’re not going to judge you.” Inside, Harry was seething, especially as Lupin had used that word over and over again when he had been responsible for his training. ‘Why can’t people see what’s going on, are they blind?’ ‘Don’t be so quick to judge, Harry, not everyone has the benefit of your training.’ “They don’t need training, they just need to wake up and smell the dragon dung! Can they really not see what a failure Fudge is? They laugh at Muggles for being unobservant, but they certainly wouldn’t let their Ministers get away with such lies.” “All politicians are liars, Harry. Some because it comes easily to them, some because they feel they have to, and some because they’re not telling the part of the truth that we believe in.” “A liar is a liar is a liar. There are no shades of grey, the truth is the truth.” “Again, don’t be so quick to judge, Harry. Answer me this, it is impossible to Apparate in or out of Hogwarts, true or false?” “It’s false, everyone knows that. It’s just that most people don’t have the power to do it.” “You would struggle to find anyone who would agree with you on that. Everyone believes that it’s not possible, so who is telling the truth: you or them?” “I am!” “And yet if you read Hogwarts: A History, it will tell you that you are wrong.” “But—” “As I said, Harry, don’t be so quick to judge others.” Harry looked back at Lupin, trying to decide how to respond. The rest of the class was staring at him. He felt the temptation to tell Lupin where he could stick his question, but something stopped him. Lupin smiled at him: it wasn’t a smirk of triumph such as Black would have given him, or one of Dumbledore’s annoying, ‘I’m your grandfather, trust me’ smiles. No, this was… to his surprise, there was no guile in the professor’s expression. “Everything and nothing.” His reply set the other pupils into a heated discussion, some protesting to the professor about his answer. Lupin merely nodded his approval and then turned back to the class. “So…” Lupin allowed Harry to remain relatively anonymous for the rest of the lesson and their parting was without ceremony. As he walked towards Transfiguration, he found himself dealing with another change that added more layers to his increasingly complex existence. The remainder of the day and the day that followed were the most uncomfortable of Harry’s life. Around him, nothing appeared to have changed: the rest of his house kept their distance, Weasley and his cohorts still took every opportunity to deride him and Ginevra continued to provide a welcome ray of sunshine in his existence, but something undoubtedly had. And what that something was, he could only guess at, and that infuriated him even more. He spent little of his day in conversation, that was nothing new, but whereas before it had been because he regarded all but one of his peers as inferior, it was now because he was deep in thought. Had any of his opponents realised the extent of his distraction, the corridors would have been filled with spell-fire despite his fearsome reputation. Members of his house were cordial towards him even if it was the faux familiarity often seen at social functions and, although other students were distant, he could detect no malice from them. He was almost relieved when he took a detour on his way to help Professor McGonagall to find that Weasley and his gang of miscreants had tracked him to this seldom frequented part of the castle. “You’re dirt, Potter. I know everyone thinks you’re the bee’s knees, but I’ve watched you closely and you don’t fool me.” “No need for me to fool you, Weasley, when you’re fooling yourself, is there?” “Just leave my sister alone, Potter, or there’ll be trouble.” Harry’s only response was to laugh, which did nothing to improve Weasley’s temper and, despite their tactical advantage, none of the group did anything more threatening than call him names. He did notice that the group now included almost as many members of other houses as those from Gryffindor, but there were no Slytherins, at least none he could recognise. One face, a Ravenclaw whom others only referred to as Gibbon, did seem familiar, but why that should be, Harry couldn’t remember. He walked away, confident enough to turn his back on his enemies despite their increasing anger at his dismissal of them. Mentally, he berated himself. Potter, have you become so piss-poor in your battlefield awareness that you let a gang of school children corner you in an ideal place for an ambush? Apparently he had, and whilst he was annoyed at his carelessness, part of him didn’t care. As he continued on, the two voices argued vehemently. You have compromised your mission. Go and find the girl and leave. You can be married before the sun has set and all this will be over. Compromised the mission? This is the mission! And so it continued until he reached the library. The girl in question started to be the main focus of his day. He knew her timetable and could predict when she should be available, but what he couldn’t predict was when her Head Girl responsibilities would occupy her free time. To make matters worse, she had requested that he no longer meet her in the morning for breakfast. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy our time at breakfast together, Harry, it’s more a matter of removing temptation from the path of those who are a little hot-headed where you are concerned.” Along with everyone else, her attitude towards him had changed. She was no longer nervous around him, which was something he missed. He was used to having those around him ill at ease, but that wasn’t what he missed with her. No, it was the fact that he could have that much affect on her and she still wanted to spend time with him. She had also begun to tease him, something he both loathed and liked. He loathed it because it placed her with Black and others who had teased him mercilessly, especially when it came to the interest that members of the opposite sex took in him. He loved it because of the way she smiled when she did so, and the way she would let her hand rest upon his when she sought to reassure him that she wasn’t being serious. Sleep came slowly to him. As he tossed and turned, two conflicting emotions warred within him. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to leave Hogwarts and the compromises that had crept up on him since he’d been here. On the other, he was loath to leave Ginevra behind. He wished that she were a year older and no longer in school, then he could pay court properly to her. They could have met in circumstances controlled by convention and tradition, circumstances under which he would feel less exposed, circumstances under which he could have ensured there would be no outside interference. His time at Hogwarts was changing him, he knew that, but the catalyst for that was not his interaction with his peers, but with Ginevra. He now had an almost physical need for her company and all the unfortunate bodily responses to that. It was only when he’d given in to this need that sleep came to him and, to his consternation, his dreams provided him with further fuel for the already roaring fire that was beginning to consume him.
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