Chapter Forty-One of 'Practicing Liars'- A Driving Purpose

[lomonaaeren]

Chapter Forty.


Title: Practicing Liars (41/?)
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 Forty-One—Driving Purpose

“We should take her to Dumbledore.”

Minerva stood in the center of Severus’s chambers, her hands on her hips, her face hard and cold with less compassion than Severus would have thought she would possess for any student. Of course, the moment Miss Cravens had attacked him, she had crossed the line from being a student to being an enemy. Perhaps that was the way Minerva saw the matter as well.

Severus sipped from the glass of brandy Minerva had insisted he have and watched Harry face his Head of House down.

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t trust him anymore.” He shook his head when Minerva gave him a stern glance. “And no, Professor McGonagall, I can’t tell you why. But I think it would probably come out that she was a Slytherin before anything else, and then things would be worse for the other Slytherin students. She has to be taken away, I know that. But I want to control the way everyone finds out.”

That was entirely Harry’s strategy. There were words in that speech which made Severus wince. He would have spoken a bit more softly, and he would have given a few convincing half-hints which would make Minerva less likely to question his suspicions of the Headmaster.

On the other hand, Minerva had a fondness for Harry that was on his side in any argument he might have with the old lioness. Though she was fairer to Severus than most of his colleagues, Severus could not fool himself into thinking that Minerva liked him. She sighed now, and softened, and she would never have done that for a Slytherin.

“You’re sure, Harry?” she asked, with one more distrustful glance at Severus, as if she suspected him of influencing the boy against the Headmaster. Severus sneered at her and nodded to Harry, bidding her look where her eyes would be most useful.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said, perhaps wanting to show that he could respect adults who did something to deserve that respect. “I’ve thought about it. Can you contact the Aurors, please? Tell them that a professor was attacked, but he managed to stop the student responsible. And then the other details can come out slowly.”

“That leaves out anything about you,” Minerva said slowly.

“Yes,” Harry replied. His face was stubborn, those green eyes squinted in a way Severus knew well. “The papers would just want to report that if they heard about me. I don’t care to have my story take over a page that should be about Death Eaters in the school and someone arrested because she tried to hurt someone else. So I want to stay out of it.”

“Permanently?” Minerva asked, peering over her glasses as if she were trying to tell who this child was and what he had done with Harry Potter.

Not that his name is Potter, if you knew the truth. Severus contented himself with another sip of brandy rather than speaking, though. Harry would hardly thank him if he did.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Like I said, I thought about it. I don’t want everyone to fuss over me. I wasn’t hurt.”

Minerva sighed, but the sound was proud rather than incredulous. For a moment, she let her hand drop on Harry’s shoulder, and then she turned and nodded to Severus. “I will contact the Aurors,” she said. Monica Cravens was already drifting in the air in front of her, still bound in the ropes that Harry had conjured, and still thoroughly asleep. “If they want to contact you, what should I say?”

“That I am resting,” Severus said, having thought about what part he would play in this deception already. “If they need me to make a statement, I will. But I imagine they will be little interested,” he added. “I have dealt with the Aurors before, and they were not much interested then.” He sneered.

“That situation was different,” Minerva said.

“Aurors have long memories, and so do I,” Severus said coldly.

Harry looked thoughtfully at him for some moments. Minerva rolled her eyes and appeared to give in, though Severus suspected that had only happened because Harry had specifically asked. “As you will. If you change your mind, tell me.” She hesitated, then added, “And I still think that Albus should hear of this. He probably will anyway, you realize. He has ways of learning what goes on in this school.”

“You sound desperately like someone trying to warn us of an evil Dark Lord’s powers,” Severus drawled. “Go away, will you?”

That was enough to make Minerva depart through the Floo connection, and Cravens went with her. Severus was just as pleased to see the last of the girl. He was curious about the spell she had cast on him, but he would as soon research that on his own, rather than ask her questions. The idea that she would tell the truth was preposterous in any case, and he already knew that Legilimency was difficult when employed against her.

“Do you mind?”

Severus turned and stared at Harry. He had been so deep in his thoughts that he owned he might have accidentally ignored a question, but he had not thought there was any reason for Harry to use that tone.

Then he realized that Harry’s eyes were anxious, along with his voice, and not annoyed. Severus shook his head, certain he had missed something. “Do I mind what?”

“Do you mind that I’m probably going to be an Auror?” Harry watched him, measuring slight movements and sounds and other metrics invisible to Severus. While he had been a wary child and served a master who repaid cautious attention, he still did not know exactly what abuse Harry had endured. “Since you hate them, and everything.”

Severus met his son’s eyes and sat there for a moment until the shock of finding himself in this position wore off. He sometimes had to lie awake in bed for several minutes each morning before he remembered that it was not a dream that he had a son. “Of course not.”

Harry frowned at him. “Why not?”

“Because you are my son,” Severus said. He wondered how he was to explain anything to that uncomprehending stare. Harry had never learned that people might make differences and exceptions to their usual prejudices because he was family. Because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, yes, but Severus hoped that he knew better than to compare the two situations. “Because I know that you will not resemble the other Aurors. If I had been tortured by a Potions master, and was not one myself, I would still accept it if you desired to become one. Your ambitions do not align you with them in my mind.”

Harry nodded slowly, peering at him all the while, as if he thought Severus would change his mind in a few minutes and he didn’t want to miss it when it happened. Then he shook his head and said, “There was another reason I didn’t want McGonagall to contact Dumbledore.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled-looking bit of paper, which he held out to Severus.

Severus read the note quietly, and then looked up at Harry. His face must have held something he would have preferred to subdue, because Harry flinched and took a step back. Severus shook his head at himself in irritation and kept his voice as quiet as possible. “How did you get this? Did you show it to anyone else?”

“It came in my food,” Harry said. “Part of a piece of bread. And I brought it to you because I thought Draco would probably tell me I was right no matter what, but you would tell me whether it was stupid not to go to Dumbledore’s office.” He was twisting his hands together, and Severus had a sudden strong flash of what he would have looked like when he was younger and made the same gesture. “I mean—he does have valuable information. Maybe I’m resenting what he did too much.”

“No,” Severus said, and at least he thought his voice was not a bark, because it produced no flinch in Harry this time. “You did exactly right.”

Harry took a deep breath, and a flush colored his cheeks. Severus also did not think it was his imagination that Harry stood a little taller.

Are compliments that rare in his world? Severus thought, and then answered himself out of the knowledge he possessed of his son, which was still far too scanty. Sincere ones are.

“Good,” Harry said. “But—well, I don’t know if I trust anything he says, but he seemed pretty serious about luring Voldemort in to attack the school. That means that we have to be ready to face him when he comes.” He hesitated again, bracing his shoulders as if to push against an immovable wall, and then said in almost a whisper, “That means we have to finish the Entwining Potion, sir, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Severus said, and if Harry frowned at him curiously, Severus himself knew the emotions weighing his voice down were affection and grief. He set the glass of brandy aside and leaned forwards. “Choose the time.”

Harry half-shut his eyes, a gesture that made Severus wonder if he would have preferred to have the time fixed for him. But control over the date was the only control Severus could offer him in this situation. He waited, and Harry finally whispered, “Saturday. Saturday evening. No one will notice if I look sleepy during the evening and say I’m going up to my room after I get out of—out of it.”

“Very well,” Severus said, simultaneously proud and saddened. “It will be your privilege to choose who is in attendance. I believe you will wish Draco, but what about Weasley and Granger?”

Harry swallowed. “I’d like them to, but if you think they’d interfere—”

“I will put them behind a barrier, if necessary,” Severus said. “I think you need their presence.”

Harry nodded, and then put his head in his arms. Severus hesitated, wondering if he needed the touch of a friendly hand. There was no doubt that Draco would embrace him if he was here.

But Severus was not Draco, and Draco was not his son. Before he had made up his mind about touching Harry, Harry had lifted his head, nodded to him, and gone to the door. His steps were a little unsteady, but they became firmer as Severus watched him, and he opened the door and shut it quietly behind him.

Severus shut his eyes tightly and leaned his head against the back of the chair. There were many things he could do. He could check on the dose of the Entwining Potion that would have to work, because Severus couldn’t stand to put Harry through the pain a third time. He could read up on spells similar to the one that Cravens had used on him and try to figure out which it had been. He could take a pain potion and go to bed, which perhaps would be the most sensible course.

Instead, he sat there, unmoving.

*

Harry curled up. He was in a little room off the main second floor corridor, which he thought one of the caretakers who was better than Filch must have kept cleaning supplies in once. There was still a faint smell of something strong and acid.

He concentrated on that, or tried to, and not on the fate he would be walking down to the dungeons on Saturday to meet.

Of course, his mind looped right back to the subject he most wanted to discourage it from thinking of.

Harry uttered a breathless whimper, and then told himself he was being an idiot. Why should he be so afraid of this? It wasn’t as though he would die. He would come out on the other side of the pain, and then the Horcrux would be gone, and he could finally fight Voldemort with a clear conscience and have a chance of winning.

Everything was going to be wonderful.

After Saturday.

Harry tried to slow his breathing. If he couldn’t think about something else, at least he could face this without panicking. What kind of hero would he be if he panicked? Or what kind of person, he amended, remembering that he had decided he wanted to do more than play the hero now. There were plenty of people who had to go through worse things every day. Dumbledore had probably felt worse when he thought that he would have to kill Harry.

Then Harry laughed in spite of himself. He knew by the violent resentment that flared to life in his heart like an ember in open air that he still wasn’t ready to forgive Dumbledore for that, or even joke about it.

“I’m glad to hear you laugh. But I would have felt better if I could have found you earlier.”

Harry looked up with a start. Draco stood in front of him, shaking his head. His eyes were bright, and so was his smile, in the same way a steel trap was bright. Harry cleared his throat and shifted uneasily.

“Sorry,” he said. “But something happened.”

“I know that,” Draco said, stepping up to Harry with a quick motion, as if he was afraid that Harry would vanish again, and wrapping his arms around him. “Something always happens to you when I’m not around to watch you. What was it this time?”

Harry leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder and told him about Monica Cravens and Dumbledore’s note and the way that he’d had to help save Snape. As he spoke, the fear and the pain seemed to run out of him as if he’d dumped a heavy cup of water he was holding. When he finished, he blinked in wonder. “I feel a lot better now,” he said.

“Of course you do,” Draco said, voice tight with something that might have been fury or exasperation. His arms closed around Harry even harder, until Harry squeaked and pushed at them so he could breathe, and his voice was harsh. “You should have told me all your troubles in the first place, instead of waiting.”

“I didn’t know where you were.” Harry sniffed the back of Draco’s neck and then licked it.

Draco squeaked in turn. “Harry, we are trying to have a serious conversation,” he said. “Don’t do things like that.”

“But I already know everything you’re going to say,” Harry said innocently, lifting Draco’s hair out of the way so he could reach his skin better. “And I’ll agree and look at you with a mournful expression. But really, it’s much better to let me feel how happy I am now that I’ve told you the truth instead of making me feel bitter because you gave me a scolding. Don’t you agree?” he added, and tried another lick.

“Someone has to be the adult here,” Draco said, struggling to keep his eyes open and his voice stern. Since he broke into a moan on the last word, that didn’t sound as mature and stern as he probably meant to be.

“This is very adult,” Harry said, and licked again.

They didn’t get much done that night, unless Harry going back to Gryffindor Tower and sleeping several restful hours, unbroken by nightmares, counted as “doing something.” But he enjoyed it all the same.

*

“What’s Malfoy doing here?”

Draco kept a distrustful eye on Weasley and Granger as they walked into Professor Snape’s office, but he said nothing. It would make him look like the better person if he didn’t, and anyway, Harry was already snapping, his voice husky with irritation. Irritation might keep his mind off what was coming.

“He’s here because I’m dating him, and I love him, and I trust him,” Harry said. “Really, I don’t know why this is so hard for you to grasp.”

Granger put a hand on Weasley’s arm, but Draco knew her expression. She was about to try her own “reasonable” form of argument and see if it made a dent in Harry’s determination. Draco didn’t know if he would be able to keep silent under words that he found more lacerating because they weren’t emerging from someone so obviously inferior as a Weasley.

Luckily, Professor Snape interfered by that point.

“I will have no quarreling,” he snapped, as he pointed his wand at a chair and Transfigured several of its cushion into thicker and softer ones. “Anyone who wishes can leave. Anyone who wishes to support my son can stay.” He whirled around and stared at Granger and Weasley with a hostility that left Draco breathless.

Granger switched her gaze to him instead, and looked the way Draco had sometimes seen her look when she was intently reading a book about a subject new to her. Most likely, she was trying to envision the professor as Harry’s father. Weasley opened his mouth, closed it again, and muttered something sullen. That left Harry and Draco able to get further into the office and Draco to take up the best position next to the chair.

Harry stood in front of the chair for long moments. He was staring steadily at it, and to see him from the back, you would think he wasn’t afraid at all. But Draco could see the pale sheen to his skin and the glazed expression in his eyes.

“It’s all right,” Draco said, under his breath, leaning forwards until his eyes were an inch from Harry’s. He let his breath travel across Harry’s lips in a reminder of kisses they couldn’t share in front of other people. “I’m right here.”

Harry reached out and squeezed his wrist tightly enough to make Draco wince. But at least his eyes were sane again. He climbed into the chair and settled himself with his arms resting on the chair’s arms. He almost looked as if he would have preferred to be chained down, but he sat still.

Weasley and Granger came towards them. Granger bit her lip and looked back and forth between Harry and the vial that Professor Snape held. Weasley was trying to push his chin into the air, but he wasn’t very successful. Draco hoped for the sake of the entire wizarding world that Weasley wouldn’t become an Auror the way he seemed to plan on; Aurors occasionally had to be able to lie.

“You’ll be fine, mate,” Weasley said quietly. Draco was surprised and impressed in spite of himself. He hadn’t thought Weasley would be able to lay his prejudice against Slytherins aside long enough to encourage Harry.

“I hope so,” Harry said, and then turned to Snape as if he had forgotten the rest of them existed. Draco took his hand again. Harry squeezed back and opened his mouth to swallow the potion. Draco wondered why Professor Snape was pouring it into his mouth instead of giving Harry the vial, but then thought about the temptation for Harry to smash the vial on the ground, and decided that Snape was probably wise.

Harry stiffened and shut his eyes. A low whine worked its way out of his throat. Draco swallowed and tried to remain calm.

“What does the potion do?” Granger asked.

Draco shot her an angry glance, but didn’t say anything when he realized that her fingers were locked in the sleeves of her robe. Asking for information was one way for her to survive stressful situations, he supposed.

“It removes the shard of soul that makes him a Horcrux from his soul,” Snape said. His voice was low and calm. Draco could only tell what he felt from the fixed way that his eyes stayed on Harry. “I have tested it once, and the first dose shifted the Horcrux slightly and proved that Harry had no specific allergies to the ingredients of the potion. Now the second dose will close on the piece of the Dark Lord’s soul and move it further to the side and out, helped by the way the first dose functioned.”

It isn’t only Granger who gets comfort from talking about facts and potions, Draco thought, with a quick flash of amusement.

Harry howled.

That was what it reminded Draco of: not a scream of pain, but the howl a werewolf would make as it went through its transformation. He had once heard that the pain of the change was so intense that werewolves survived it only because it was condensed into a single moment, not spread out over several.

But from the sounds Harry was making, this pain was continuous. Draco thought Harry would break his wrist from the way he was pressing down. That was almost the only movement Harry made, though. He sat still in the chair, not even turning his head from side to side. Draco looked into his eyes, which were open, and then away again.

Professor Snape dropped to one knee and began to murmur something. Draco had no idea if it was comforting words or some spell that was meant to ease the pain, if it could be eased; the professor kept his voice too low for Draco to hear.

A startling, unnatural light flared around Harry’s body. Draco caught his breath and stared at Professor Snape. “That didn’t happen the first time,” he said. “Did it?” He had to admit, the time with the first Entwining Potion was filled with so many wishes that Harry’s torment would stop that he couldn’t be sure he remembered it accurately.

“No,” Snape said, his voice strained. “Harry’s magic is fighting the assault on his soul that the potion makes.”

“The assault on his soul?” Weasley snapped, and started to draw his wand with an unfortunately heroic movement. “What did you do to him?”

Granger moved in front of him, tears so brilliant in her eyes that they never seemed to actually fall. “It’s the only way, Ron!” she shouted, over the sound of Harry’s screams. “This has to work, or else Harry will never be able to face Voldemort!”

In the midst of everything, Draco found room for a spark of hilarity that the name made Weasley, and Professor Snape, and Draco himself, flinch.

Harry’s voice died into a high, shrill sob of despair. Draco heard something pop in his arm where Harry held it, but he didn’t feel it. His attention was split between the way Harry sat stiff and quiet in the chair and the expression on Professor Snape’s face, as though he were watching all his Potions books being destroyed before his eyes.

Then a black mist obscured Harry’s head.

Draco flinched back in revulsion at the vision he saw, which he never knew the source of, or even whether or not it was real. He saw a red-golden snake wrapped around a black one, eating it alive. The black snake tried frantically to escape, but the red-golden one swallowed it relentlessly, shining like fire all the while. When the tail of the black one vanished, the red-golden one shone in the air for a moment before it melted.

Harry opened his mouth and vomited up a sticky, emerald-green mass of potion. Snape snatched him up and held him close, not minding the shining stain on his robe at all. He closed his eyes, and Draco had to turn away from the expression of profound relief on his face.

Granger surged forwards and did what she could to hug Harry’s foot around Snape’s body. Weasley came up behind her, pale and solemn. Draco rearranged himself so that he could reach one of Harry’s dangling arms.

Professor Snape turned away from them all, sheltering Harry with his body. Granger and Weasley recoiled from what they saw in his face; Draco didn’t, but he did put his hands behind his back. He thought touching Harry might not be a good idea right now.

“The Horcrux is gone,” Professor Snape said. Draco thought he would add something about how they could defeat the Dark Lord now, but instead his words were little different from a snarl when he continued, “And he is hurt. I am taking him with me.”

He opened the office door and disappeared down the corridor in what Draco knew would be the direction of his private quarters. Weasley and Granger showed more sense than he’d dreamed they had and didn’t try to follow. Instead, they looked at each other, and then Granger leaned on Weasley and Weasley put his arm around her.

“He really is Harry’s dad,” Weasley muttered.

Any moment, Draco told himself, he would laugh at Weasley’s tone of disbelief.

Any moment now.

Really.

Maybe when I can forget what Harry looked like as he suffered.