Chapter Forty-Four of 'Practicing Liars'- Pinning Dumbledore Down

[lomonaaeren]

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Chapter Forty-Three.

Title: Practicing Liars (44/?)
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.

Chapter Forty-Four—Pinning Dumbledore Down

“Was it awful, mate?” Seamus asked the question with a sympathetic look in his eyes, as if he knew that his imagination couldn’t create a reality one half as horrid as what Harry had experienced.

Dean snorted and lobbed an apple at Seamus’s head. They were in the Great Hall for dinner, the first meal Harry had attended with his friends in five days. Snape hadn’t thought he was safe to come out until then. “Don’t be stupid, Seamus. Of course it was awful, and we don’t need to ask questions if Harry doesn’t want to answer them.” He nodded to Harry and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure he’s heard enough insults to last him ten lifetimes.”

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, meanwhile trying to identify why his stomach was churning and why he felt unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Then he knew. He felt bad for Snape. He wanted to say that it hadn’t been that bad, defend Snape, but his friends would never believe that—except if Harry told them the secret that would get back to Voldemort if it was released into the whole of the school. There might even be Death Eaters in Gryffindor, for all Harry knew. Peter Pettigrew had been like that, so it wasn’t impossible.

He hadn’t known it would be this hard, to go from Snape’s care to his friends. When he was in bed, especially when he was bored or when Snape was telling him to sleep for the sixtieth time that day, Harry had been lonely and longed to see them again.

Now he would have liked to shut the door of Snape’s quarters and listen to yet another reminder about how he should rest or not strain his eyes when he read or drop crumbs everywhere.

Can you get addicted to having a parent? he thought wistfully as he bit into an apple of his own and felt the juice trickle down his chin. There wasn’t anyone to scold him about that, since Hermione was busy with Ron. And with such a short exposure, too?

He caught Draco watching from across the room, and nodded to him when he thought no one was looking. A nod might be safe. A nod could say We’ll settle this later or Remember we have that private duel that the professors don’t know about. A blown kiss or a wink or a smile didn’t carry those meanings.

Draco looked as sullen as Harry felt—or maybe he was just trying to play his part extra well—before he turned back to his food. Harry took a deep breath.

I want everything settled. I want Voldemort gone and the Death Eaters under arrest so that I can be with my boyfriend and my dad and things can be normal.

Then Harry blinked, because that state of things was hardly “normal.” Just a month ago, he would have thought normal was having Ron and Hermione talking to him every minute of the day, and wondering about Voldemort, and obsessively studying his Defense spellbooks, and trying to keep his secret.

He hadn’t known, then.

Yes, it’s addictive.

“Harry, can we talk to you?”

Harry glanced up. Hermione had finished scolding Ron, and she seemed to understand that Harry wasn’t about to finish his meal in any real fashion. She smiled sympathetically at him, but there was a kind of steel behind his smile that made Harry decide it would be good to agree.

“Yeah,” he said, and stood up and wandered away from the table with her, Ron coming right behind them. At least there was nothing unusual in that.

Even if I kill Voldemort, then people still aren’t going to take it well. And I’d have a year and a half here at Hogwarts to hear nasty taunts and get the stares and have people mutter about how the Slytherins are corrupting me. Do I want that?

The answer was no more than a breath away, and Harry didn’t have to search for it.

Yes, as long as they’re all right with it. I want them both.

Hermione took them almost all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, probably because she thought no one would venture that far while dinner was going on. Then she faced him and cast a diagnostic charm. Harry blinked at her, wondering if she thought he had some kind of sickness from his stay in Snape’s rooms. He never knew what Hermione would think of next.

“Good,” Hermione said, relaxing. “You don’t have any mind-controlling potions in your system or any curses on you that should prevent free action, including the Imperius Curse.”

“Is that what you thought?” Harry didn’t bother controlling the fury in his voice, because he thought Hermione should have got past this by now. Draco had told him about the things Snape had said to Hermione, and the things she’d said back. “I stayed with him of my own free will. I needed a holiday.”

“I know, Harry.” Hermione raised one hand, and she really did look sorry, which was the only thing that kept Harry from trying to continue the row. “But if I didn’t test, I wouldn’t be sure, and there would always be a nagging little doubt in the back of my head that kept me from believing you. This way, I’m sure.” She looked at the floor. “And I’m sorry.”

Harry calmed down, and made himself remember that these were his best friends, and that he had kept secrets from them for an awfully long time. Maybe the secret hadn’t been as personal for them as it was with Snape, but it was still a kind of betrayal of trust. He nodded. “All right. Now, did something happen that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Hermione smiled at him wistfully. Ron stepped forwards and took Harry’s wrist, squeezing almost hard enough to hurt.

“We just missed you, mate,” he said. “We wanted to spend time with you. Isn’t that all right?”

“Of course,” Harry said, relaxing. That did sound wonderful. He’d missed his friends, and if there was no one trying to kill him at the moment, then he wouldn’t have to be constantly ready to fight.

In the end, they went out to the Quidditch Pitch and flew. Well, Ron and Harry flew, while Hermione hovered nervously a few inches off the ground and tried to lecture them on the time that the Headmaster of Hogwarts banned Quidditch because it was too dangerous. That turned out to be the one part of Hogwarts, a History Ron had actually read, and he and Hermione bickered comfortably about whether it was a stupid idea, Hermione maintaining that it wasn’t because it was a matter of principle, and Ron maintaining it was because of how messily that Headmaster’s students had killed him.

Harry listened, and was happy.

*

“It’s no good, Severus. He insists on speaking to either you or Mr. Potter.” Minerva sipped from her tea again and gave him a direct look. “Are you sure you won’t tell me why Harry prefers to avoid him right now?”

Severus grimaced. He was once again sitting in Minerva’s office, but he was less confident this time around. He didn’t know how hard Minerva had pushed the old man. What if she had done less than was necessary, simply because she didn’t know the stakes? On the other hand, explaining the truth would take too long, and she would probably need multiple explanations and demonstrations, perhaps even Veritaserum, before she would believe it.

And then another person would know the secret. Severus was already uneasy with how far the truth had spread. He would prefer that no one else knew until the Dark Lord’s death had made secrecy less important. Even then, he would only speak because there was no other way that Harry would be able to live with him.

An edited version of the truth would be best, he decided, and met Minerva’s eyes at last. She considered him with quiet seriousness, and he suddenly realized that she had left him alone for a much longer time than he would have thought. Perhaps she at least suspected there was something serious behind this, rather than simply the reluctance of a small boy or a sour professor.

“Mr. Potter learned that Dumbledore had kept something from him,” Severus said. “Something concerning the events of last year.” That was similar enough to the truth that he could speak it with a sincere voice, and yet far enough away that Minerva should look in the wrong direction if she decided to do her own investigations. “More, he learned that he might have been able to—use this information if he had it.” There. Now Minerva should assume that it had something to do with Black’s death, and perhaps with the idea, mentioned by several members of the Order, that Black could have remained alive behind the Veil for a short time. “He has not forgiven Albus for holding that back. I have spoken with Albus to try and determine his motives for this secrecy, and while he has confessed them, they do not satisfy me.” It was not at all hard to growl those words. “And now Albus is trying to use this information about the Dark Lord to seek a reconciliation with Harry without offering an apology. I do not think he should be allowed to get away with that.”

Minerva cocked her head backwards. “Well,” she said. “I never thought I would see the day when Severus Snape cared so much for Harry Potter.”

“I care so little for Albus Dumbledore,” Severus said, his tone full of disdain. He paused, and then added, as if persuaded against his will, “Though I must admit the boy’s Defense skills are considerably greater than I thought they were.”

Minerva gave him a smug look. Again, she seemed to accept his words as the truth, and there was an additional motive for her to do so here, since she had been informed of the way that Harry had rescued Severus from Cravens. She would think that Severus felt the force of his life-debt to Harry but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“I tried with Albus,” she said. “I did,” she added, when Severus snorted despite himself. “He would not give up the information. He said it was something he could allow only Harry to hear, and no one before then, because they would not agree with the timing of the battle. I’m afraid there may be no alternative but for Harry to meet with him.”

Severus shut his eyes. They needed the exact date of the battle so that they could decide on a battle plan—one that would not be under Dumbledore’s control. And while he did not want Harry to spend any time with Dumbledore ever again, he was prudent enough to acknowledge that the Headmaster was less dangerous than the Dark Lord.

“Would you ask if he will see us both together?” he asked. “Mr. Potter and I.”

Silence. When he looked to see the cause of it, Minerva was staring at him in astonishment. She shook her head slightly, eyes wide and questioning. “You are doing more for Mr. Potter than seems—strictly necessary,” she said.

“There is a reason for that,” Severus said, gambling. “One that has to do with how he saved my life and the time we spent in private. But I cannot reveal it to you without his permission.”

Though Minerva continued to look mystified, she nodded again. “I will ask Albus,” she said. Then she sighed. “It is so hard to know whether he is keeping this information from us for good reasons or because of his own love of mystery. He’s older and wiser than anyone of us.”

“Older, I will grant you,” Severus said.

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you had your own faith in his wisdom, once upon a time.”

“Last summer, I still did,” Severus said.

Minerva waited until she seemed sure he would say no more, then nodded in what looked like resignation. “As you will, Severus. I will ask him.”

*

Harry watched Professor McGonagall sit next to Snape at dinner and whisper to him with uneasiness. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he rarely saw those two particular professors talking together, even though he knew they did, since it was McGonagall Snape had told him to summon after that confrontation with Cravens.

Maybe it was the way they both looked at him after McGonagall gave whatever bit of news she had to Snape.

Harry wondered if he should glare, or look accepting, or nod back. In the end, he did nothing except turn back to his dinner and pick at it. Even though he was free now to eat all the desserts that Snape had forbidden him while he was “recovering,” they didn’t look appetizing.

“Mate?”

Harry looked up with a weak smile. Ron and Hermione were both watching him, and Ron looked up at the high table as if he thought Snape was to blame for Harry’s loss of appetite. Harry shook his head, muttered something about not being hungry, and pushed his plate away, hurrying out of the Great Hall.

He walked around corners and up staircases almost at random, until he was on the third floor, and leaned against the wall not far from a bathroom. When he shut his eyes, he could see the glittering Entwining Potion in its vial, and his muscles twinged with what felt like a distant echo of its pain.

There’s something else I have to do, I think, and I won’t like it.

“Harry?”

It was Draco’s voice. Harry didn’t pause to think about whether they were in a sufficiently hidden place, or whether Draco had been noticed when he followed Harry from the Great Hall. The only thing that mattered was that Draco wouldn’t have called him by his first name if there was anyone around to overhear.

He stuck out his arm, grabbed Draco’s robes, and dragged him into his embrace. Draco made a muffled sound, then hugged him back and sighed into the side of his neck.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Harry had to laugh at that, because his answer would sound so stupid. “Nothing, yet,” he said, and hugged Draco until he could feel Draco gasping. Then he loosened his hold and finally opened his eyes. Draco peered back at him from so close that Harry had to blink and squint to see his expression of concern. “Just the way Snape and McGonagall looked at me a few minutes ago. I think he sent her to find something out, and she did, and now I’ll have to do something else unpleasant.”

Draco was silent for some time, looking so thoughtful that Harry wondered if he already knew what the awful thing was and was trying to spare Harry’s feelings. Harry was quite ready to wait until someone was up to telling him. He let his hand rest on the back of Draco’s head instead, and watched his throat. He wanted to bite it, but they weren’t in a private enough place—especially since he could already feel himself hardening against Draco’s groin. He shifted in embarrassment.

Draco grinned at him and surged forwards a little. Harry gasped, which gave Draco a chance to kiss him. Harry responded eagerly, dragging his hands up so that strands of Draco’s hair fell through his fingers. Fuck privacy, then. He nipped Draco’s neck, the way he’d wanted to, and started to drag off his shirt.

“Wait, wait,” Draco panted, and drew back just as things were starting to get interesting. Harry whined at him, and Draco looked extraordinarily smug, but he didn’t back down. “No, Harry, I know it’s hard, but listen to me.”

“It’s hard in more than one way,” Harry muttered sulkily, and fell silent, waiting to hear this all-important pronouncement.

Draco snickered at him, and gasped to catch his breath before he could continue. At least Harry could take pride in his pink cheeks and the way his hands were tight on Harry’s shoulders, letting go and then closing down to massage again, as though he could hardly bear not to be touching Harry.

“Snape said something the other day that makes me think I know what this is about,” Draco said.

Harry frowned. “Why didn’t I hear this?”

“You were asleep,” Draco said, giving him what Harry had come to recognize over the past week as his you invalid look.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Go on.”

“He said that he’d gone to McGonagall for help because he didn’t know who else to trust,” Draco said, and, as Harry felt his eyebrows rise, “Yeah, I don’t know why he can trust the old cat, either, but apparently he can. He said that it was about ‘the old man.’ There aren’t many candidates for who that can be.”

“He didn’t make you promise not to tell me, did he?” Harry asked. The last thing he wanted was for Draco to get in trouble with Snape. It didn’t matter how helpful Snape had been about the Entwining Potion or how well he’d taken care of Harry; he would still give our dreadful punishments if he thought he had to.

Draco shook his head. “He was muttering to himself, and he didn’t know I’d overheard. I was helping him with a potion. It was unusual. I’ve never heard him talk to himself like that before.”

“Oh.” Harry stood there, now that his worry about Draco was assuaged, absorbing the content of the message.

“Harry,” Draco said gently, “you’re hurting me.”

Harry started and released Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He thought about it for a little more, then volunteered, “I really don’t want to see Dumbledore again.”

“I know,” Draco said. “But he has knowledge we need, and at this point, I don’t think we’ll convince him to just write us a nice letter where he sets out everything we need.”

Harry laughed in spite of himself at the thought of that, it was so far from anything he could imagine Dumbledore doing.

“There.” Draco smoothed the hair away from his scar, giving him a tender smile. “I missed hearing that sound.”

“Would you like to show me what other sounds you missed?” Harry murmured, and Draco’s smile evaporated in a grunt. Harry moved his leg back into position and leaned forwards to kiss Draco.

“Ahem.”

Harry promptly felt as if he would burn up in embarrassment. He knew that voice, and it was one that he didn’t want to imagine anywhere near him and Draco while they were snogging. He shut his eyes, drew gently back from Draco, dropped his foot to the ground, and rotated to face the direction the voice had come from. Only then did he open his eyes.

McGonagall stood in front of Snape, who was watching Draco with a thunderous frown. Harry wanted to laugh at that. Snape looked as if he thought that Draco had been taking advantage of Harry’s virtue or something. If anything, it was the other way around.

Harry resolved to say that to Snape, assuming he could think of a non-embarrassing way to say it. Or assuming that this blush didn’t kill him.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said with biting gentleness, “I think you are both old enough to understand the rule about snogging in the corridors.”

“Don’t do it,” Draco said, and gave her an innocent look. “But now we aren’t snogging, Professor.”

Harry blinked at him. He couldn’t believe Draco was acting this brave in front of the Head of Gryffindor, someone whom he had once confessed to Harry terrified him. But Draco gave him a bright glance, and Harry understood. I make him brave.

McGonagall cleared her throat and said, “As that may be,” but her eyes said I won’t forget this. “The Headmaster has asked to see you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry swallowed, and hoped that the fluttering pulse at his throat wasn’t visible to anyone else.

“But,” McGonagall added, and her voice had softened, “he has said that Professor Snape may come with you.”

Harry shot Snape a quick glance. Does she know? he tried to ask with his face.

Snape returned a reassuring look, the exact message of which Harry couldn’t quite make out, but which was enough to do its intended task. He took a deep breath and straightened.

“I’ll go, then,” he said. “As long as Professor Snape comes with me.”

“What about me?” Draco asked. “Are you leaving me here?” His voice was unpleasant with something Harry hoped was indignation rather than fear or relief.

Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm and glanced at McGonagall. She raised her eyebrows. “I have only secured permission for one companion,” she said. “I do not know that the Headmaster would see you if you came with two.” Her voice conveyed her own disgust at that, and Harry was a little bit cheered to know that, no matter what she knew, McGonagall was on their side.

Harry gave Draco’s arm a comforting rub and said, “Stay here for now. Please,” he added, when Draco opened his mouth.

Draco nodded sulkily and leaned against the wall. “But I’m going to count the minutes,” he whispered to Harry. “If you aren’t out of there in one hour, then I’ll come in.”

Harry hugged him quickly, irrespective of professors watching them, and then slipped out into the corridor. Behind his back, where McGonagall couldn’t see, Snape gave him a quick, fierce touch on the shoulder.

That made Harry ready to go as nothing else could have done.

*

Albus stood alone in the center of his office when the moving staircase admitted them. He was reading a book and smiling gently. The smile startled Severus. He had not seen Albus look like that in quite some time.

When he saw them, the smile remained, but the Headmaster did set the book reverently aside on a table. Fawkes, on his perch and currently in the middle of his growth cycle, ruffled his feathers at them and crooned, then flew over to greet Harry. Severus could see that surprised his son. Harry raised a hand and hesitantly touched the phoenix’s crest. Fawkes nuzzled his cheek before he soared back to his perch and twisted his head to watch Dumbledore with a bright eye.

“Thank you for coming, my dear boys.” Albus’s smile had vanished, but there was a dignity and nobility in his face that Severus had missed of late. “First of all, I apologize for keeping this information from you.” He looked directly at Harry. “I did it for what I thought was a good reason—because if you heard the plan, Harry, you might refuse to let it go ahead. I hinted and hoped that you would figure it out on your own. In hindsight, that must have seemed infuriatingly mysterious rather than a mark of respect.”

“It certainly was,” Severus said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and holding him back slightly so that Harry wouldn’t feel a need to respond. “Your good reasons have been mostly based on fear.”

“Yes,” Albus said, without an attempt at defending himself, which again caught Severus off-guard. That made him the more suspicious. What is he playing at? “I had to overcome my fear, of many things, before I could decide that it would be best to reveal the plan to you. And even then, I thought you might not believe me without evidence. So.” His smile returned, sad this time. “The evidence.”

He murmured what sounded like a countercharm, and a sharp smell filled the room. Severus stiffened. It was the smell of rotting flesh.

Albus pulled back the sleeve of his robe.

The skin around his wrist was dark and discolored, a black-green color that Severus had never seen before on skin in a natural state. It did not take him long to recognize the mark that the ring, the first Horcrux, had left on Albus—the mark Severus had been certain was healed.

“I have been wearing this glamour for months now,” Albus said, turning his hand back and forth and looking at it with a certain amount of relief, as if he were glad to see it the way it should look rather than under illusion. “And, of course, I did not want to cancel it, because my magic is weakening and I was not sure I could restore it.”

Severus was too much stunned to say anything, even though he knew the weakness was a pretense, but Harry spoke, his voice trembling with distress. “Professor, are you—”

“Yes.” Albus looked at them calmly. “I am dying. Tom has his revenge for my decision to disturb his Horcruxes, after all. And it has grown worse with each one I destroyed.” He smiled at Harry. “I have made my decision. I made it completely once I knew that the Horcrux was gone from you, Harry, but I think it was half-made before then, hence my hints. I am dying,” he repeated. “And Voldemort grew as great as he did in the first place because of mistakes that I made you before either of you were born. It’s only right that I should be the one to kill him.”