lomonaaeren

Chapter Forty-One.

Title: Practicing Liars (42/?)
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-Two—The Revelation of Emotions

Harry opened his eyes slowly. He was lying on a bed, he knew that from the softness beneath him, but he couldn’t hear the familiar grumbling and sighing he should have been able to hear from his roommates. That told him he couldn’t be in Gryffindor Tower.

Unless I slept late and everyone else is in the Great Hall already, Harry thought, and gave a long, deep yawn as he sat up in bed and reached for his glasses.

“Are you well?”

Startled, Harry turned towards the sound, blinking all the while. His sight was so furry without his glasses that it took him a minute to connect the sight of a black blob with the voice. Snape was right next to him, and he seemed to be the one who had brought Harry to this place. Looking around, Harry could see enough stone to know this really wasn’t his room at Gryffindor Tower, which looked more cheerful.

“Er, I think so?” Harry stretched out his arm sand felt lingering twinges. He wondered what he’d been doing to make him feel like that, and why Snape was concerned instead of scolding him for taking chances with his life.

Then he remembered what he had been through.

Harry clamped his teeth together to keep from whimpering. The memory of the pain was nearly as bad as the pain had been. He really thought he would be ripped apart that time, with no reprieve.

But he hadn’t been. Which meant he should stop shaking and acting as though he hadn’t survived.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

Snape held something out. Harry felt the round edges of his glasses and took them gratefully, sliding them onto his face. That brought the room into focus, and he realized he was in a single bed with pillows so thick that he didn’t know how he hadn’t drowned in them and sleek dark sheets. The walls were all stone, except for the torch sconces. Apparently, Snape didn’t think that he should hang tapestries on the walls to soften them.

And apparently Snape didn’t want to leave him to look at his surroundings in peace.

“What do you remember?” he insisted, and extended a Potions vial. Harry took it reluctantly, trying to ignore the temptation to hold his nose as he gulped it down. It was a blue potion he didn’t recognize, and it stopped the twinges in his muscles. He nodded his thanks to Snape before he tried to answer his question.

“The pain.” The words stuck in Harry’s throat, and he coughed. You’re getting over it. And the Horcrux is gone—I think. “Did the potion work?” he demanded suddenly, shuddering when he thought of what might happen if the answer was “no.”

Snape put a hand on his shoulder. Harry wondered where he could want to guide Harry when he was in bed, and then realized that Snape was practically stroking him, his palm flat, the motion soothing. Harry blinked and stared at him. If he stretched his imagination, he supposed he could imagine that Snape was capable of such gestures, but he wouldn’t have been able to imagine that Snape would want to make them.

“It did,” Snape said, and his voice was deep and, in its own way, as soothing as the stroke of his hand. “I would have told you right away if it had not.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. He had expected to feel a sense of enormous freedom when his burden was gone, but he didn’t. Maybe that would have to wait until he had more time to absorb the news of the potion’s actually working.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. He started to swing his legs towards the edge of the bed. He should probably go back to Gryffindor Tower and reassure Ron and Hermione, he thought, since there was no way Snape would have permitted them to come into his private quarters. And where was Draco? If anyone would have accompanied him besides Snape, surely it would be Draco.

Snape immediately pressed him backwards into the pillows again, hand acting in a much more familiar way, and scowled at him. “Where are you going?”

Harry blinked at him. “Back to Gryffindor Tower. Or to wherever Draco is right now. Camped outside the door, maybe?” he added, cocking his head so that he could look towards the place where the door must be. “My friends must be worried about me.”

Snape leaned so close that Harry had no choice but to become acquainted with every line of his scowl. “And have you not thought that I must be worried about you?” he snapped.

“Er,” Harry said, and blinked, caught off-guard and trying to decide exactly what Snape meant. “Of course. But you took care of me, and I seem to be all right, with no aftereffects from the potion, so what’s the matter?”

Snape closed his eyes and sat there for a minute, not doing anything but breathing, as if that would help him summon up patience to deal with a problem. Harry watched him, feeling his irritation build by the second. He’d been polite to Snape, and he’d asked him for help lately, and he might even have saved his life when Cravens was trying to escape. Harry didn’t know what else Snape wanted.

“You were in pain,” Snape said at last, looking at Harry again. “Such pain as it is not easy to contemplate, and which I expect to haunt your nightmares.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Like that hasn’t happened before,” he said. “Voldemort gives me nightmares all the time.”

“This is different,” Snape said, and both his hands were on Harry’s shoulders now. “This is pain that I myself inflicted on you—”

“Because I asked for it.” Harry stared at him. “You’re not blaming yourself for that, are you? That’s stupid! It’s just what we had to do to get rid of the Horcrux.”

“Nonetheless,” Snape said, and his eyes had a peculiar gleam that made Harry suspect he’d better tread carefully, “I still hurt my child, and I would like you to remain in bed until I am absolutely certain nothing is wrong with you.”

Harry blinked again. The conviction in Snape’s voice was firm enough, but Harry still didn’t quite see the reason behind it.

“You gave me that potion that cleared up the lingering pain,” he said slowly, studying Snape and hoping that he would nod and lean back and do things that made sense. “So nothing hurts now. And I told you, I’m used to the nightmares. So what’s the matter? Did something else happen while I was fighting the Entwining Potion that you haven’t told me about? Something that affected you?”

Snape closed his eyes and said nothing for long moments. His hands remained in place, though, so Harry decided it would be rude to shrug them off and go away.

Besides, he was curious.

“The aches will return,” Snape said softly. “That potion is only temporary, and you should be watched over until we are sure that you will not suffer seizures or severe headaches later.” He opened his eyes, and Harry winced. There was blended anger and pain in Snape’s gaze, and he didn’t think it fair that Snape should have to suffer all that over him.

“And I had to watch you,” Snape said, “writhing in that chair while trying to control that writhing, screaming as though there was a rack in the room that only you could see and feel. I tried to speak soothing words to you, explain what was happening and how sorry I was for it, but of course you couldn’t hear me. That—struck me, damaged me, in a way that I cannot explain. I only knew that I had to take you away after that and put you in a room where I could watch over you and be sure that no more harm would come to you.”

Harry could envision what Snape said, all too well. He reached up and hesitantly squeezed one of Snape’s hands where it held his shoulder.

“Is this another part of you valuing blood family?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter that I agreed to take the potion and that there was no other way to get rid of the Horcrux, because you still had to watch me suffer?”

“Yes,” Snape said, with a shrill breath of relief that told Harry how relieved Snape was that he understood. “I could watch you undergo torture for the good of the world, torture that you had chosen, and I would still be distressed. I have had the experience already of watching you fight down your pain and smile because it was what others would expect to see, and that hurt me.” His voice stuck on the last words, but Harry understood. He knew how hard it would have been for him to say that to someone himself. “You have been a symbol and a slave and a pawn for the wizarding world and the Headmaster.” His words chilled then, and his fingers bit into Harry’s shoulders until Harry shifted uneasily. Snape at once loosened his grip and nodded as though Harry had made his protest aloud. “That angered me. I would fight for your freedom for pain, your freedom to make your own decisions, and even your freedom to conceal your secrets. I would have fought for your right to undergo torture by the Entwining Potion, if someone else had opposed it.”

He stared into Harry’s eyes. “But it is still hard to watch this happen to you.”

“Because I’ve endured so much,” Harry said carefully, to make sure he understood, “and you don’t want me to endure more.”

“Because I care for you,” Snape said fiercely, “and no one should be forced to watch someone he cares for suffer, whether that suffering is freely chosen or not.”

Harry wanted to flinch and cower against the wall. It would have been easier to do that than to deal with the emotion in Snape’s words, and Snape would probably have let him go, apologized for hurting him, and left him to think it over. And then Harry could bury what he had felt just now deep and pretend that it had never happened.

Snape would probably do even that for him, if Harry wanted him to.

And because that was different, because he’d never had an adult who sincerely cared about not hurting him and letting him do what he wanted so close before, Harry decided that he wouldn’t force Snape to do that. He could have. He had the option. That was reason enough not to.

He carefully lifted his head and studied Snape’s face. “All right,” he said. “I—can understand that.” He paused, then added, “And I don’t want you to suffer either. So don’t get captured by Voldemort, all right? Because he would probably make me watch while he tortured you. If he knew about the link between us.”

Snape’s face worked. Harry didn’t know if he was trying to say something or just struggling with his emotions. Then he flattened out his hands and went back to stroking Harry’s shoulders once more.

“You shall not regret this,” he said, so fervently that Harry almost winced again. That sounded like an oath, and he didn’t want to think Snape was binding himself to a promise, for Harry’s sake, that he wouldn’t be able to keep. “This is a change for me, but it will be a change that endures.”

Harry nodded. “All right,” he said again. He stared at his own hands, and realized that he didn’t have the slightest idea of what was supposed to happen next. He sneaked a glance at Snape, but Snape just went on watching him fiercely. “D’you want me to stay in bed, then?” Harry mumbled. “Are you going to treat me the way Aunt Petunia treated Dudley when he was sick?” It was the only standard he had for how you were supposed to act after you’d gone through something an adult considered horrific. Madam Pomfrey had always made him stay in bed in the hospital wing, too, but at least she let him leave when she decided he was fine.

“Certainly not,” said Snape, curling his lip. “From what I know of her, she would have treated him as if he was incapable of doing anything for himself, and I shall certainly expect you to feed yourself and get to the bathroom on your own.”

Harry gave him an odd look; he knew it was odd, and he couldn’t help it. “But what about doing homework?” he asked. “I mean, what should I be doing when I’m in bed?”

“Resting,” said Snape, with the kind of finality that made Harry think of some fantasies he’d had of what a bad parent Snape would be. “Eating when I bring you food. Drinking potions when I tell you to.” He raised one hand, though Harry hadn’t mustered any protest except a single glance of outrage. “Nothing more than that. You are to recover your strength, and excessive activity will not permit you to do that. I will carry any message to your friends that you wish me to in the meantime.”

“But…” Harry let his voice trail off when he saw the way Snape stared at him. “It’s just that I usually do something when I’m in the hospital wing,” he tried to explain. “Homework or reading—” he wondered if Hermione would tell Snape about how little he read, except books on Quidditch “—or, or something like that. It feels lazy not to do anything.”

“Rest,” said Snape, with that same finality, and swept to the door.

“Won’t it look strange if someone finds out that I’m in the dungeons?” Harry called after him, in a last-ditch effort to make this make sense.

“I will tell those who are curious that you injured yourself in detention with me,” Snape said, and shut the door.

Harry blinked and lay down.

The pillows were comfortable, he had to admit. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t sleep.

But the restlessness gnawed the back of his mind, urging him to get up and move, to do something to relieve the boredom that would come any minute, and telling him that he didn’t have to listen to Snape.

Except I kind of promised to, when I said that I understood and I cared about him, Harry decided, and shut his eyes.

The restlessness faded as he thought about it. He had Snape’s permission to laze around and go to sleep. How often was that going to happen? He would probably keep Harry busy the rest of the school year after he killed Voldemort, making him scrub cauldrons and answer difficult questions in Defense because he didn’t want to seem as though he was favoring Harry.

And if he could rest…if he could really do whatever he wanted and not feel guilty about it because he should be doing something else…

It felt wonderful.

Harry’s breathing evened out, and that was the last thing he remembered.

*

Severus could not remember when he had last felt so triumphant. Perhaps when he had completed an experimental potion.

He had admitted to Harry the truth of what he felt, and he was still alive. He had won Harry’s admission back, and he no longer had to fear that his son hated him.

Harry had survived the Entwining Potion with none of the serious, debilitating side-effects that Severus had almost expected to see.

Someone was knocking at his door. Severus still waited before he went to answer it, because the joy was relentless and personal, and he had to put it somewhere out of sight before he was fit to face someone who would not understand.

The three of them were clustered at the door, of course. Draco was in the lead, but Granger and Weasley pushed against his back as if they assumed it would give way like a barrier of mist and allow them to slip through and into Severus’s quarters. Severus arranged his face in his best sneer, and Draco had the sense to step back, which crowded Weasley and Granger to a pleasant further distance.

“We wanted to see him, sir,” Draco said, and his voice grew softer when he saw Severus’s face. Severus did not think he had seen more than he should have. This was the softness of respect. “That is, if you’ll let us.”

“You have to let us see him,” Granger said, proving that she had learned nothing from watching Draco. “It’s our right as his friends, and we have to know how he’s doing.”

“Do you?” Severus asked, and at least the tone of his voice made her calm down and take a good look at him. Weasley blanched.

“Can we please see him, sir?” Granger asked, with more politeness this time, but still a thrust-forwards chin and an anxious tone in the back of her voice. “I just want to make sure that he survived all right.”

“He will be fine,” Severus said, “with more time, and rest, and several potions that are meant to keep pain away from him and calm the residual aches in his muscles. For the moment, I am sure he would tell you not to worry.” He paused, because one of the monitoring charms he had cast in Harry’s room had let him know that Harry had slipped into sleep. Good. That was both faster and more easily than Severus had expected him to sleep, considering what had happened to him.

“Residual aches?” Weasley spoke as if he didn’t know exactly what the words meant, but found them an excuse for worry all the same. “Then why can’t we see him? Madam Pomfrey lets us in to see him in the hospital wing all the time.”

“He is my son,” Severus said, glad that Weasley and Granger both fell back before the force of his voice. “He has agreed that I have a right to protect him. I will say when you can see him.”

Weasley turned red. Draco opened his mouth, took a careful look at Severus’s face, and then closed it again. He had been doing a good deal more observing lately than talking, Severus thought approvingly. At least he had learned to control his immediate impulse to speak, which could only do him good.

Granger said, gently, as if she was talking to someone who spoke a language other than English, “Harry’s never had parents. I don’t think he would agree to let you take over his life like this.” She stepped forwards as though she thought that her words ought to make Severus melt away like ice.

Severus looked at her, and into her. He doubted that the girl meant harm, but she could cause a lot of annoyance without meaning to. And she halted and stared at him as if she found it surprising that she wasn’t being allowed access to Harry.

“Come on, Hermione,” Weasley whispered, tugging on her arm. “I’ve seen that look when Mum didn’t want us to bother one of my siblings before.”

“My parents never tried to keep anyone away from me.” Granger pursed her lips and studied Severus.

“Your upbringing was undoubtedly different,” Severus said. It was an effort to keep his voice neutral instead of scornful, as he wanted it to be, but he thought Harry would thank him for his restraint later. Draco had told him how resistant Harry’s Gryffindor friends were to the thought of Slytherins intruding into his life at all. If Severus could prove that any conflict was their fault, he would hold his ground in Harry’s eyes, and perhaps gain more of it. “That does not mean that you have the right to interfere in the way I raise my son.”

“He’s practically raised already,” Granger said, and her suspicious look grew deeper. “He’s almost of age.”

“Hermione,” Weasley moaned, perhaps because he better read the expression on Severus’s face. “Leave it alone. I’m satisfied he’s not hurting Harry. We can see him later. Come on.” He tugged at her arm again, and this time managed to move her a few inches before she planted her feet.

“We ignored Harry earlier in the year,” she told Severus. “I don’t want to do that again. Let me talk to him for one minute, just to be sure that this is really what he wants, and then we’ll leave.”

“He’s asleep,” Severus said, and had to admit that he took a mean satisfaction in denying this petty, pushing girl what she wanted. “You can speak to him later. By morning he should be well enough for visitors.”

“But—” Granger began.

“Why would he lie about something like this, Granger?” Draco asked in a bored tone. “After all, all you’ll have to do is ask Harry tomorrow if he’s telling the truth, and if he isn’t, then Harry will distrust Professor Snape for ages. Just leave now. Let’s all leave now,” he added, as if he had seen the objection forming in Granger’s face about being sent away while he stayed behind. “It’s enough to know that he’s fine.” He nodded to Severus and began walking down the corridor.

Weasley sighed in what seemed like relief and started following him. Granger folded her arms and studied Severus.

“Harry has never had anybody to look after him,” she said quietly, “except us. If you hurt him…”

Severus felt like laughing. Granger was addressing him as if he were a new boyfriend instead of Harry’s father.

“I plan to look after him better than you can ever imagine,” he said.

Finally, Granger nodded and began to move slowly down the corridor. Perhaps she looked over her shoulder and made the look threatening, but Severus did not see it, because he had already shut the door and gone back to his wounded son.

*

Draco sighed as he turned towards the Slytherin common room. He had thought for a minute that Granger and Professor Snape would come to blows.

Well, considering that, I’m not happy that I have to wait to see Harry, either. But I’m not stupid enough to insult his father about it.

“Oi, Malfoy!”

Draco turned, automatically drawing his wand. Weasley was behind him, and that was never good news for anyone who didn’t have a Gryffindor tie.

But Weasley held up his hands in token of peace—or at least dirty tricks later—and said, “I wanted to say that I believe him, and thanks for walking away when you did.”

Draco blinked slowly. “You’re thanking me?” he asked at last, to try and clarify all the emotions swimming in his head.

“Yes.” Weasley flushed when Draco stared at him, but continued gamely instead of backing away, which Draco thought would have been his first instinct when confronted with anything this difficult. “Look, Hermione wasn’t raised in the wizarding world. She doesn’t know what it’s like here, why parents have so much control over their kids’ lives. Her parents largely let her do what she wants, and she’s more powerful than them, since she has magic. So that’s why she was acting that way.”

Draco nodded slowly. He could see it as a cultural difference and not a difference of blood, after his talk with Harry. Still… “She’s never challenged a professor like that before.”

Weasley gave him a wry smile. “No one’s ever tried to keep her from seeing Harry before, except Madam Pomfrey, and she accepts that that’s a mediwitch’s job. But Snape is different. He’s never acted like Harry’s parent, and she decided that he really wasn’t if he couldn’t defend himself. Now she understands. All right?”

Draco still thought it was suicidal to challenge Professor Snape on his own ground, but he nodded his acceptance. Weasley nodded back, and then turned and walked away hurriedly, as if he thought trapdoors would open in the walls and let out beasts that would eat him.

Draco spoke the password to open the common room door, shaking his head as he went. Who would have thought I would see the day that Weasley would explain Granger to me?

Then he smiled. Or the day that Professor Snape would act like Harry Potter’s father?