lomonaaeren | Chapter Sixteen of 'Practicing Liars'- Closing In

Title: Practicing Liars (16/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Summary: AU of HBP. Harry found out that he was Snape’s son two years ago, and he’s carefully concealed it. But now Snape is his Defense teacher, and Draco Malfoy is up to something, and Dumbledore is dying, and the final battle is coming up, and everything is getting very, very complicated.
Pairings: Background Ron/Hermione and Ron/Lavender. Harry and Draco have a ‘complicated friendship’ which will become a preslash relationship. For obvious reasons, Snape/Lily is mentioned.
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence (lots of violence), profanity, angst, character death (not Snape, Harry, or Draco), slash and het hints.
Author’s Notes: While I’m hoping to make this plot at least somewhat original, I know that I’m treading on well-covered ground. I don’t know yet how long the story will be, except that it will be novel-length. Practicing Liars is being written for my dear soft2smooth2000, who has helped me wonderfully with keeping track of and linking to my fics on LJ.

Chapter One.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Sixteen—Closing In

“Take hold of my arm.”

That was the only warning Harry had before the world vanished around them. His skin crawled as he was compressed through a tube and his breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. Then he was out in the open again and wheezing gratefully.

I hate Side-Along Apparition, he thought, as he looked quickly around. They stood in some dark place with absolute blackness to either side and pale grey above. Harry thought the black was hills and the grey the night sky. There was springy grass underfoot that pressed back when he pressed on it. When he turned back, he saw that Snape had drawn his wand and cast Lumos, so Harry could make out the three brooms the professor pulled out and resized.

And Malfoy, who was so pale that he looked as if he would faint.

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. They hadn’t got to meet before Snape burst in and told them they had to be ready to go to Malfoy Manor. Harry wished they had. Perhaps Malfoy would have some more confidence then.

Malfoy straightened up and took a deep breath when he saw Harry looking at him. Harry nodded encouragingly, then quickly snapped a hand up to take the Firebolt that Snape tossed at him. Harry swung a leg over it and stood waiting. He would have flown up immediately, but he didn’t know what direction they were going or how far away Malfoy Manor was.

“Be as quiet as you can.” Snape spat the words like spikes as he handed Malfoy his Nimbus, his head turning so that his eyes fixed on Harry. “I will Disillusion us. In addition, I have spells that will tell us if Muggle technology has managed to detect us despite the Disillusionment. If you see a green light blaze from my wand, you are to dive at once and find a hiding place in the nearest group of trees. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Malfoy whispered. His voice squeaked.

Harry nodded. He could wish Snape had sounded a little less authoritarian; Harry had been on these kinds of expeditions before and knew what to do. But Malfoy would probably have been angry if he caught Snape treating him differently than Harry.

“Fly.”

Just that single command, and Snape jerked ahead into the darkness. Harry flew up beside him, then hovered a moment to make sure Malfoy got off the ground safely. Malfoy gave him a dirty look, which Harry met with a smile.

And then they were soaring through the clouds, navigating by the dull light Snape kept on his wand, flying high so that they wouldn’t have to dodge tree branches and the tops of buildings. Harry shivered absently. Then he remembered what Malfoy had said to him that night they met on the Quidditch pitch and smiled. He cast a Warming Charm, and after that flew in comfort through the clinging mist and the whistling wind that followed them at this height.

By the moon, Harry thought they flew southwest for about ten minutes. Then Snape said, “Down,” and they began to swoop.

Harry leaned forwards on his broom and looked out keenly, trying to use the same senses that let him feel the Bludgers coming in a match before he could actually see them. There might be Death Eaters guarding their Lord’s stronghold from the skies.

But whether because Wormtail had got the guards out of the way or for some other reason, they landed safely on the ground without encountering anyone. Snape swung off his broom in a single smooth motion and strode forwards. Harry hastily shrank his broom and trotted after him. He could hear Malfoy grunting and cursing as he did the same thing. Harry rolled his eyes over the amount of noise.

Sure, he tripped a few times over holes in the grass as he got to the place where Snape was waiting, but that was nothing compared to how Malfoy moaned and groaned. Harry would have to remember to tell him that when they were back at school.

“Snape?”

The voice set Harry’s teeth on edge, and it came out of the darkness just ahead. He made himself stand still instead of bolting ahead to set Wormtail on fire and blame him for Sirius’s time in Azkaban the way he wanted to. He hoped Wormtail could feel his glare, though.

“Pettigrew.” Snape sounded the way he did when he was looking at a cauldron Neville had blown up. Harry reckoned it was also his Death Eater voice. “Adigo veneficium tuum debitoni.”

Wormtail screamed. His voice soared to a high, thin noise that went through Harry’s head like a drill. He swayed, holding his temples. Someone supported him from the side, and Harry leaned on the arm without thought, knowing it must be Malfoy, because Snape would never do something like that.

“Now you will not betray us,” Snape continued in an inexorable voice that made Uncle Vernon’s orders look weak, “or the life-debt will turn your own magic against you as punishment. Show us the way into the Manor.”

“I would—I would—” Wormtail sounded as if he was panting. Harry couldn’t blame him. “I would have shown you the way without it, Snape,” he whispered at last.

“Forgive me for not trusting one who made his name by treachery,” Snape sneered.

Silence for a minute. Harry was just afraid that Wormtail had decided he wasn’t going to do it when he hissed, “Come,” and Harry saw a shadow move in the light of Snape’s wand as Wormtail scuttled ahead of them.

Snape led the way again. Harry went after him, shuddering and trying to tell himself that people had to do painful things to other people in war.

Malfoy walked right beside him, shoulder leaning against shoulder.

*

Draco had to shut his eyes when they passed through the wards that surrounded the Manor—Pettigrew doing something that made them blink out for a few seconds and then return—and across the grounds.

He knew those bushes, quiet and sullen now but blooming with brilliant red flowers in the summer. He knew those pools, serene and silver under the moonlight. He even knew the peacocks that saw them coming and fled with a startled squawk, their white feathers looking greenish-yellow in the light of the Lumos charm that guided them.

This was his home.

It was your home.

He was grateful in ways that words could never explain for how Potter kept in lockstep with him, shoulder solidly planted against his, though he knew in the back of his brain that Potter was probably just as frightened as he was and just as needy. The gratitude let him, by the time they reached the wall of the Manor and Professor Snape turned around to look at him with expectant eyes, calm down and fight off the panic attack that had been building ever since Professor Snape found them and herded them beyond the Hogwarts grounds so he could Apparate.

“The door, Draco?” the professor prompted him, as if he might not remember.

Draco stepped forwards. He hated revealing the door to Pettigrew, but it wasn’t as though he could use it; it responded to those of Malfoy blood only. Draco traced his finger along the carving of a rose in a section of wall that abounded in roses, and the rock reached out a small silver needle and tasted his blood through his fingertip. He hoped he hid his wince. It was too small a pain to make him comfortable showing weakness in front of his audience.

The needle sank into the wall again, and the door groaned open. Draco nodded to Professor Snape. “The tunnel comes out at the top of a staircase that leads down to the ground floor,” he muttered.

“Good.” Professor Snape turned and looked at Pettigrew, who kept giving him looks of mixed fear and hatred. Draco didn’t mind that as long as the fear stayed more powerful than the hatred. “Where are they keeping the boy’s mother, Pettigrew?”

Draco stiffened, but reminded himself that they might be in trouble if Pettigrew thought Professor Snape cared about his mother in any way. Referring to her that way instead of by name or even as “Mrs. Malfoy” seemed to distance him.

“This way,” Pettigrew whispered. In the light of the Manor, he looked even shabbier and dirtier than Draco remembered, though part of that might be the facts he knew about him now. Pettigrew scuttled into the tunnel, and Professor Snape followed. Potter practically hovered at Draco’s shoulder as they walked in Snape’s wake.

He doesn’t need to do that, Draco thought in irritation. I can take care of myself. But a small warm glow lingered in his chest anyway.

They easily avoided the few Death Eaters they saw in the main part of the house. When Snape asked Pettigrew why, in a voice that promised consequences if he didn’t answer, Pettigrew whimpered and whispered, “Raid night. They’re all out on raids.”

Potter’s step faltered next to him. Draco bumped Potter’s shoulder with his, though he didn’t dare look around. The less they gave Pettigrew to notice and remember, the better.

He could still hear Potter grinding his teeth, though. Draco rolled his eyes. Honestly, the chances of the Weasleys being attacked are small, since they’re a pure-blood family. And Potter doesn’t know many other people. Why does he care what the Death Eaters do, as long as people he loves don’t die?

Draco was afraid at first that Pettigrew was guiding them to the dungeons, but Pettigrew led them through the most elaborate dining room, his father’s study, two small rooms that were kept mostly to show off portraits of ancestors, a long corridor that had been built for no reason Draco could discern, and then two bedrooms kept for company before he halted in front of a smooth, polished wooden door. Draco knew it led to a room usually used for exotic pets when the Malfoys had them, and his stomach churned. But Professor Snape turned to him with a perfectly calm expression.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you would confirm?”

Draco stepped forwards and laid a hand on the door, concentrating fiercely on the spell Professor Snape had suggested he should look up in anticipation of this night. He stumbled over the incantation the first time and had to pause and think about it again.

Though he would never admit it, Potter’s warm, brief touch to the small of his back helped enormously.

Draco whispered the spell again and felt a breath of warm air travel past his ear. It blew through the door and returned a moment later, striking his skull. When Draco shut his eyes, he got a clear picture of the room beyond the door. It would only work for someone related by blood to a prisoner, but was useful if you could master it, Professor Snape had said.

His mother lay on a bed, her arms wrapped around herself as if she had lost weight and needed the warmth. Her face was skull-like, her hair thin and unwashed. Her eyes were closed, and the way she shivered made Draco think of someone who had been kicked over and over again until they never stopped expecting blows.

Draco swallowed his outrage—Pettigrew probably wasn’t the one who had tortured her, and taking his anger out on him wouldn’t help anything—and then opened his eyes and nodded to Professor Snape. The professor nodded back and turned to Pettigrew.

“Undo the protections on the door,” he said.

Pettigrew whimpered, but at least didn’t say anything about not knowing what they were. Professor Snape moved a step back when he drew his wand, supposedly to let him have more room. Draco wasn’t surprised when the professor’s wand lowered to rib height, though. If Pettigrew did something wrong, Snape could strike him through the heart.

Ward after ward fell with a faint clicking noise; sparks of light leaped from the door and faded away in midair. Now Draco could hear strangled breath from inside the room if he concentrated. His grip on his wand tightened, and Potter touched his shoulder.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered.

“Not exactly, babies,” said a high-pitched voice from behind them.

Draco recognized both his aunt’s voice and the malevolent hiss that followed.

*

Severus kept himself calm as he turned. He could fight Bellatrix. While she knew powerful Dark Arts and was fanatically devoted to the Dark Lord, enough to keep fighting long after she should have fallen, she was not his match in strength or stability of temper. Goad her and she would begin fighting without care. Someone who did that against an opponent of Severus’s skill would lose.

He was more concerned about the great snake that coiled alongside her, watching them while her hiss built like steam escaping from a kettle. Though Severus had dosed himself regularly with antivenin since he returned to spying, he had never been sure what magical touches from the Dark Lord himself Nagini’s poison might have.

“Potter, Malfoy, stay back,” he said clearly. “Pettigrew, you will die if you betray us. Absumo!”

The spell struck Nagini as she began to move forwards, and she gave a screeching hiss as it blackened and destroyed several of her scales. She writhed in silent pain for a moment while Bellatrix turned to try and save her Lord’s pet, and that gave Severus the time he needed, since everyone else was standing about in shock.

He wove a powerful shield around Draco and pushed him hard at the door. As he had expected, the traps Pettigrew had not disarmed flared to life and burst against the shield, but Severus’s magic held true and they could not break it. Of more concern were the alarms that began to ring, but since Bellatrix and Nagini had already found them, Severus cared less about that than he would have otherwise.

“Potter, to me,” he snapped, and spun a shield around the boy’s throat and wrists, the vulnerable places Bellatrix liked to strike. He would have done more, but he knew Potter would insist on being part of the battle and Severus could not use a spell that would interfere with his casting magic.

The boy stepped up to his side at once, eyes alight. Severus nodded to him. “I will take Nagini,” he said. “You take her. Our spells must not cross each other and we must not interfere. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Potter breathed.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the ecstatic expression on his face, but shook his head and turned back to the snake. The curse had harmed her less than he had thought it would. He prepared a more powerful one, never taking his eyes from her fangs or her coils.

Only when he heard Potter begin to cast did he remember that Bellatrix had caused Black’s death, and so of course Potter would be eager for vengeance on her. He grimaced, but they had chosen their targets and he could not change them now.

“Rota camini,” he whispered, and a wheel of fire appeared in front of him, rotating faster and faster, red and gold glowing at the edges of the spokes. Severus narrowed his eyes and awaited the snake’s response.

Nagini attacked.

*

Draco was unprepared for the sudden push at his back, but since he would have frozen with fright at the spells that assaulted him from every direction, blinding and dazzling him, he reckoned that was a good thing. At least the door popped open and he stumbled through, dazed but unhurt.

“Draco?”

Draco had never been so glad to hear his mother’s voice. He would have thrown himself into her arms if he could have, but since they were in this particular situation, he stood up, cleared his throat, nodded to her with dignity, and said, “Mother. I think we should leave.”

Her eyes darted towards the door. Draco winced as he heard the crack and boom of spells and then someone’s scream. But at least his mother got quickly to her feet, despite her shaking, and nodded regally back to him. “Let us go, Draco,” she said, as if it were entirely her choice. Not a trace of relief or any other indignity showed on her face.

Draco took her hand, and they stepped out into the battle.

*

Snape was apparently trying to kill Nagini with fire. Harry knew that because he couldn’t help seeing the flames from the corner of his eye. But he was rather occupied with Bellatrix at the moment, and the pure, trembling joy that flooded him when he thought of killing her.

The problem was that he wanted to make her suffer, and she kept deflecting his spells and making him defend himself instead.

He didn’t like that.

Bellatrix watched him with narrowed eyes and crooned out a litany of words that Harry didn’t bother listening to. They would be taunts about him and Sirius and demands that he submit to Voldemort. Nothing about Bellatrix was attractive, and that included her loyalties.

Snape dodged against him, jostling Harry just as he let one of his curses go. Harry hissed and leaned to the side. Yes, apparently Nagini had tried to bite Snape and Snape was right to dodge, but couldn’t he do it somewhere else?

“Poor little baby,” Bellatrix whispered. “You still don’t want to hurt other people. I told you that at the Ministry.” She dropped her hands, including her wand hand, down to her side, and stood there smiling at him.

“Does the widdle baby need a strike with no defenses to make it fair?” she asked, in a singsong voice that made Harry grind his teeth together. “Aunt Bella will give him one.” She nodded and winked at Harry. “But baby must act fast, in case Aunt Bella changes her mind.” She raised her eyebrows.

Harry stared at her, his veins swarming with hatred. He was vaguely aware that Snape had used a kind of fire that looked like leaping animals and demons, and that Nagini was finally, finally, shrieking and thrashing in a way that sounded like her death throes. Understanding Parseltongue was an advantage when it came to telling when snakes were about to die.

But then those things faded away, and he was entirely focused on Bellatrix, her waving arms and her dark evil eyes and her smile.

It was the same smile Sirius had seen right before he fell through the veil. Harry remembered it. He thought he would always remember it.

Unless he could create another memory that would replace that one.

He would have liked to use an Unforgivable Curse. But he still wasn’t certain he could manage one, and if he did and managed to kill Bellatrix, then Snape would still make sure he got expelled from Hogwarts. Harry had done a lot of thinking over the summer after Sirius died, and he knew that he needed to think in the long term instead of the short term.

The long term was that he would have to fight Voldemort, and he would need the shelter and the support of the school to do that. And maybe even some of the things his professors could teach him, as unlikely as that seemed.

His thoughts raced through his mind, which felt absolutely clear as he raised his wand.

He knew what spell to use. But he needed to make sure that he threw all his magic behind it, so it could still hurt Bellatrix even if it wasn’t designed to hurt enough.

He took a deep breath, and, as he took it, he pulled on his power. His left arm felt weak—not his right arm, because the directed surge of magic held it up—and his head spun and his vision darkened at the corners and his knees literally knocked against each other as he ruthlessly drained his magical core.

There was a bit of power that wouldn’t come with the rest, that was stuck to his magical core like a spiderweb. Harry pulled on it, yanking three times before it came loose and clapped together into the whole. He heard a distant roar in his ears, and thought it was the tide of his magic, gathered and held, pulsing.

It must be used. Harry knew the time had come when he had to cast the spell or die.

He whispered the word. It didn’t need to be yelled, not when the thunder he was hearing made up for that.

“Sectumsempra.”

The magic washed over his hand like a wave of burning heat and then out through his wand, which vibrated so hard that Harry almost dropped it.

Bellatrix’s chest exploded in a fountain of blood. Then her arms exploded. Then Harry saw something raw and juicy under the surface of her chest, which was probably her heart, explode.

Then her head exploded.

Harry fell to the ground in the wake of the magic’s passing, whimpering in exhaustion. He felt someone shake him, but it came from a distance and couldn’t be important.

The memory of Bellatrix’s death had seared out the sight of Sirius’s.

I did it, Sirius. You’re avenged.

*

Severus controlled things. It had always been his role as a spy, though there he might control no more than himself and, on occasion, the flow of information. He could control his classrooms, and he could control his anger about the past when he looked at Potter, and he could control his impatience in conversations with Albus.

So he controlled the Fiendfyre that had destroyed Nagini, the only spell he could think of with sufficient power to do so, and his shock on hearing the spell Potter had spoken.

We must have a talk, you and I, he decided as he stooped over the boy. A single shake was enough to convince him that Potter wasn’t coming back to consciousness any time soon, so he conjured a stretcher and then turned to glance over his shoulder. Draco and Narcissa, both very white, stood in the doorway. Severus appraised Narcissa’s slenderness and shakiness and conjured a second stretcher.

“We are leaving, now,” he said.

Narcissa nodded and climbed onto the stretcher. Draco, though he had to glance hastily away from Bellatrix’s remains, nodded and assisted Severus with Potter.

And it was back along the corridors, dodging by means of the doors that Draco knew and now had no reason for concealing, because the few other Death Eaters in the building were hunting them by now. When necessary, Severus spun and launched curses behind him. That was enough to dissuade the pursuit, never very determined in the first place. Severus knew something about the breed of Death Eaters left behind when the rest were out on raids.

The worst thing that might have happened was someone summoning the Dark Lord, and, perhaps because they knew they would be blamed for their failure, no one did so.

Then it was out into the clean air again and up on the brooms, and Severus hitched the stretchers to the brooms.

Straight up they went, over the borders of Malfoy Manor’s grounds and back towards the edge of the wards. Severus counted softly under his breath; he had felt where the anti-Apparition spells began as they flew in, and he no longer saw the need to wait until they were far beyond that, given the Manor’s thorough rousing.

There was the place. Severus reached out and clamped one hand on Potter’s arm. With the other he held Draco’s, and Draco in turn was touching his mother.

Severus had not often Apparated with this many people, never mind the brooms or the stretchers. But he did not hesitate. He knew when to take risks. It was not never, as the Gryffindors sometimes thought was the code of Slytherins; it was when one would lose a great gain if one did not. In this case, their lives.

He Apparated, Hogwarts held firmly in his mind, and they appeared hovering on the edge of Hogsmeade.

After that, Severus operated largely from moment to moment: dismissing the stretchers, shrinking the brooms, Disillusioning them, determining that Narcissa could walk, Lightening Potter and scooping him up, and making for the hospital wing. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could see the faint shimmer that was Narcissa leaning on Draco, and he decided they would be fine—Draco would not let his mother go without treatment—and sped up.

Potter, you stupid, stupid…

Severus hovered nearby as Poppy laid Potter on a bed and began tapping her wand on his shoulder. She suspected it was nothing worse than magical exhaustion, which Severus could understand if true. The spell Potter had cast had never been designed to be that powerful.

Severus should know, since he had designed it.

Finally, when Narcissa came into the hospital wing with Draco supporting her, and Poppy turned to bid them a surprised but cordial welcome, Severus could let himself relax from emergency mode and begin noticing details again.

Potter had held off one of the most powerful and crazed Death Eaters. He had killed her. Severus had not known, until that day, if the boy was capable of truly lethal violence, despite his strength with curses. After all, he had never cast one to kill, and had rarely cast one in battle. He had sometimes wondered if they would lose the war due to Gryffindor ethics.

Potter had fought at Severus’s side in close quarters; he had concentrated on Bellatrix, as asked; he had not interfered with Severus’s own fight.

Though Severus still had questions about where Potter had found that spell—and sudden suspicions about how well he had been doing in Potions—he had to admit a grudging admiration for the boy. James Potter could never have done such a thing. His fighting was flashy, and he wanted to be personally involved in the defeat of every opponent.

More of Lily in you than I ever suspected, and something of your own.

Severus glanced at Poppy. She was fussing softly about Narcissa now, probably because the woman had been the victim of multiple pain spells that affected her nerves, and wasn’t about to chase him away from Potter’s sickbed on the suspicion that he was harming the boy. Severus stepped closer and bent down to study him.

Potter moaned and rolled his face towards him, eyes fluttering as he struggled to open them. Severus shook his head, the reluctant admiration surfacing again. Only Potter would recover from magical exhaustion that fast.

He began to run his eyes over Potter’s features again, looking for traces of Lily in what had become a habit by now, and paused.

Potter’s glamour was gone. That was understandable; with as much magic as he had hurled against Bellatrix, he must have drawn on every bit of his own power. Severus had seen warriors who had healed their own wounds open them again doing the same thing.

But now…

But now.

Severus stared. The reawakened memory of Lily in his head spun about and linked together like a puzzle piece with the fact of the boy’s changed features and the fact of his changed behavior and the fact that Severus had been wrong about how talented he was and made a new whole.

It was impossible. But Severus, who had designed new spells and potions in his time, considered “impossible” only a term that could be redefined with accumulations of the possible.

The echo in his head rang like a bell, and ceased to be an echo, as Potter opened his eyes.

*

Harry looked up fuzzily. He ached all over, and he was sure that he would start throwing up in a moment.

Then the nausea retreated, and he found himself staring up at Snape’s face as the man opened his mouth.

“You are my son.”

Chapter Seventeen.

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From:

jtsbbsps-dk.livejournal.com

O_O

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This is a MOST fulfilling chapter!

*dies*

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*loves*

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*LOVES*

You never cease to astound me in the best way possible!

I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!

You're going to keep me on edge for DAYS!!!

I bow to you and this chapter of utter perfection!
The most satisfactory chapter EVER!

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From:

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And I got first comment! O.O Can it be any better?!?!?!? XDDD

Re: No, I am not exaggerating!

From:

azamir.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-11-24 06:39 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: No, I am not exaggerating!

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jtsbbsps-dk.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-11-24 06:50 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: No, I am not exaggerating!

From:

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Re: No, I am not exaggerating!

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From:

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aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!

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Chapter Sixteen of 'Practicing Liars'- Closing In

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