Disclaimer: Still don't own HP, still not making any money from this.
Author's Note: This chapter represents my first real attempt at writing Snape; I only hope I kept him somewhat close to what he's like in canon. This chapter is also where I pay homage to the Marauders and to Remus, who, I think, has been rather cheated in the past few books (of course, basically every character was cheated in some way in that mess of a book known as HBP.)
From My Soul
Part 14
Harry had sent his Patronus to Remus since he was now rather leery of owls because of how easily they could be intercepted and Remus appeared promptly once it was dark, guessing accurately, as Harry had expected, that Harry would be at Grimmauld Place.
"I need you to do something for me," Harry blurted out flatly.
Remus nodded. "Of course. You know I'll do anything I can."
Remus looked tired, even haggard, and Harry frowned slightly, mentally calculated, and then realized that the full moon was approaching in four days.
He glanced at Hermione and met her quick glance and knew that she'd had the same thought when he saw the quiet concern in her gaze.
"Fawkes came to me to lead the Order," he finally said.
Remus's otherwise-composed expression faltered for a moment as a look of stark, poignant grief flickered across his face. But it was a momentary lapse and then Remus responded, with assumed calm, "I rather thought he would."
"And that's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't know how to lead the Order; I want you to do it for me."
Shock flared in Remus's eyes. "Me?"
Now that it was out, Harry felt more comfortable. "Yes, you. You're the adult I trust the most."
"Thank you," Remus said quietly. "I'm not sure I'm qualified; I certainly can't replace Dumbledore…"
"No one can replace him. Trust is the most important criteria right now, Professor," Hermione ventured. "And we all agree that we trust you most."
Remus glanced at Hermione with a faint smile. "Thank you for the vote of confidence." He paused and added, his gaze moving from Hermione to Harry and then to Ron, "I think it's time you all call me Remus. I haven't been your Professor for years now."
Remus shifted his gaze back to Harry, meeting Harry's eyes directly. "If you're sure about this, then I'll do my best."
"Thanks."
Harry paused, wondering how to ask this one last thing and wondering, too, at how history was repeating itself, somehow-although he couldn't help the thought that his history would have been very different if history really were repeating itself accurately.
"There's one more thing."
Remus managed a slight smile. "Asking me to lead the Order wasn't enough?"
It was said jokingly but Harry shifted in his chair uncomfortably anyway, suddenly very aware of how much responsibility he was putting on Remus's shoulders and felt the first flicker of some doubt-this was, after all, the man who wasn't human on at least one night a month. But there was no one else.
There was no one else-and even if there had been, he knew, he would not have asked it of anyone else. No, it needed to be Remus.
"We're going to be staying here, using this as our main headquarters again."
Slowly, Remus straightened in his chair, an arrested expression on his face.
And Harry knew that Remus knew what was coming but he asked it anyway. "We need you to perform the Fidelius Charm and be our Secret Keeper."
For a fleeting moment, Remus was transported back in time to a similar scene nearly twenty years ago, a scene he had not actually witnessed but had pictured many, many times over the years, with regret and with grief and with anger and always that same painful knowledge that he should have been there. He could see it all almost exactly as it must have happened. He knew how Sirius's eyes must have gleamed with that hint of triumph, that same gleam he always got when he'd plotted some new prank for the Marauders, the same thrill of excitement, as he had heard another young man with messy black hair and round glasses say those words.
That light in Sirius's eyes when he had some new scheme in mind. "No, I won't be the Secret Keeper."
And James's look of surprise. "You won't?"
"I've got it all planned out. Everyone will expect it to be me, you know that. It's the predictable, natural thing, right?"
James had probably nodded, cautiously. James had learned to be a little wary of Sirius's schemes after the fateful one involving Snape in their 6th year; it had shocked him into realizing the dangers inherent in Sirius's madcap escapades, sobered him into realizing the very real consequences of what began as thoughtless pranks. (And Remus had thought, many times, that Sirius's last, worst prank had had one very unthought-of consequence that wasn't bad-because it had sobered James which, in turn, had helped Lily to change her mind about James-and after all, that had been the beginning of it all. Ironic, he supposed, that Sirius's thoughtlessness could have had so many far-reaching effects. Snape's undying hatred of James, which he'd passed on-in typical Snape fashion-to Harry; James and Lily's eventual marriage and then Harry's birth… So many consequences, spreading like ever-widening ripples from one carelessly-tossed stone into the water…)
And then Sirius would have explained it all, his brilliant, clever, risky plan.
Remus could picture so clearly the looks James and Sirius must have exchanged when they decided on Peter to be the Secret Keeper-little Peter, always following them, with his hero-worship of James-never quite as talented, always a little slower than they were, the last person anyone would pick to be the Secret Keeper and therefore the perfect choice. And he could picture, too, their looks as they silently, tacitly, agreed not to tell him. Even now-years after the fact and long after it had ceased to matter-the thought could make him flinch, just a little. He could picture the looks, the reluctant hint of doubt, the wondering, if he, their old friend, could betray them-not wanting to believe it, refusing to really think it--and yet… The seed of doubt had been planted and had taken root, as doubt always did.
And so the decision had been made. Peter would be the Secret Keeper.
They had gambled with their trust and their lives-and they had lost. And as always, when he thought of it, Remus understood with a strange surge of pity and regret and poignant grief, just how Sirius could have stood there in that street and laughed so wildly before he'd been arrested and thrown into Azkaban. It was the same reaction he would have had-that choice between crazy laughter and equally wild tears, that moment of stark disbelief at something so fiendishly horrible happening (James and Lily dead! And it's my fault! I was too clever, too clever and now they're dead and I'm done for!). There would have been, quite literally, nothing else to do but laugh-madly, at the terrible irony of it all.
It had all started then and it had come full circle now when James's son, who had Lily's eyes, could look at him and ask him to perform the Fidelius Charm and be the Secret Keeper.
Remus looked at Harry, seeing not Harry as he was but seeing James instead, and had to speak through the sudden tightness in his throat. "I'll do it." The words were quiet but spoken with all the intensity of a vow. Yes, he would do it. He hadn't been able to do anything to save James or Lily, but he could do this for their son. This and more-anything he could do-to help Harry in his most important task.
The details-the members of the Inner Circle who could be told (McGonagall, Mr. Weasley, Hagrid and Moody and maybe more, if deemed necessary in an emergency, to be told at his discretion)-were settled quickly and the Fidelius Charm performed.
One soul, one secret-to be kept there until the Secret Keeper revealed the secret or until the death of the Secret Keeper.
Grimmauld Place was safe and the next part of their war could begin.
~*~
Harry looked around at the Great Hall which was noisy with more than 20 people talking quietly amongst themselves and realized just why it was that Fawkes was put in charge of informing all former members of the Order to the meeting. Fawkes (along with Dumbledore) had probably been the only one who knew of all the members of the Order. He saw several familiar faces, it is true, but there were at least a dozen others whom he had never met.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had, predictably, arrived early so they could spend some time with Ginny and see the three of them. Indeed, Mrs. Weasley had basically mauled all three of them with motherly concern, to the point that Ron had blushed crimson and not-quite-gently escaped her questions with a "Gerroff, Mum! We're fine!" (Clearly the Weasleys had heard of the little ambush set up by Voldemort when they'd come to Hogwarts a few weeks ago and the news had set all of Mrs. Weasley's maternal fears on the rampage.)
Really, Harry found himself thinking as he looked around, any meeting of the full Order was also going to be, inevitably, a pseudo-family reunion for the Weasleys. They were all members, after all, with the obvious exceptions of Percy and Ginny (and he knew, from Ron's information, that Ginny was positively spitting mad at her parents' strictly forbidding her to get involved with the Order other than through the additional DADA classes offered for 6th and 7th years, in addition to the NEWT-level DADA classes, these additional classes being taught by a rotating number of professors, from Mad-Eye Moody to Remus to McGonagall herself among others.) Bill and Fleur were there, sitting with Charlie. Fred and George were there, sitting a little apart from the others and in a spot where they could occupy themselves with making faces at Snape (and Harry could only wonder what mischief the two were planning for Snape, judging from the wicked expressions on their faces). They had grinned when they'd arrived, coming immediately over to greet Harry with an enthusiasm they didn't even show for Ron, and matching conspiratorial grins as they informed him that they "were developing some plans of their own". Harry was left to wonder since Fred and George both refused to say anymore.
He met Remus' eyes and Remus nodded and stood up but before he could actually say anything, everyone's attention was caught by Fawkes who suddenly appeared and flew gracefully across the Hall to land gently on Harry's arm. Fawkes let out a few notes of phoenix song that almost seemed to echo in the now-completely-silent Great Hall, filling each of them with a renewed sense of purpose and hope.
It almost seemed, Harry thought, as if Fawkes had now given them permission to begin this next meeting of the Order named after him.
Harry reached up with one hand to lightly stroke Fawkes's back and then, as they all watched, Fawkes turned to where Remus was standing, watching Fawkes, and nodded. It almost looked like a king giving a subject permission to speak.
Remus cleared his throat. "Er, right. Thank you, Fawkes," he began a little uncertainly but then, he continued with growing confidence. "Now I know most of you know exactly why we are here but in case anyone does not, let me begin by saying that the Order has never been tied to the life of only one person, although it is true that Dumbledore was its original Founder and remained its head even in its second formation. However, he would be the first person to say that the Order must go on without him. As you've just seen, Fawkes has chosen Harry Potter to be the next leader. In turn, Harry has chosen me to be his deputy, in a sense, and delegated his role to me. I do not pretend to being able to replace Dumbledore but I will attempt to follow his example." He paused, waiting to see if there would be some response.
There wasn't.
Harry wasn't sure exactly how much Fawkes had revealed or how he had told the rest of the Order members to assemble but he'd realized when everyone was coming in that most people had been rather expecting Fawkes to choose him. It was a stunning thought and one he'd never have expected. Only now was he beginning to realize just what it meant to be the Boy Who Lived-that title he'd never sought and still disliked rather intensely. He might not care for it, might not think in those terms but everyone else did. No one-and they all had more experience in the Order than he did-but no one, it seemed, was surprised or even concerned at the leadership of the Order of the Phoenix being entrusted to a 17-year-old boy. Hermione had been more right than he would ever have expected when she said that he was needed to be a symbol, a figurehead, for people to turn to. She had, as usual, been absolutely right-and true to her word, no one had shown either surprise or dismay on seeing him sitting at the front of the room. (That is, except Snape, whose expression was as determinedly disagreeable as always, but Harry chose to ignore him other than a brief exchange of coldly warring glances when Snape had arrived.)
There had only been a rather loud murmur of reaction, with some minor explosions, when Snape had entered, his black robes billowing out behind him much as they always had, looking like some sort of ominous bat with ill intent. Harry suspected that the only two things that had kept several people from outright protesting or even attacking Snape right then had been Snape's more-than-usually grim countenance and, more importantly, the fact that neither he nor Remus nor Professor McGonagall had shown the least bit of surprise or dismay at Snape's arrival. Apparently, if they-and Harry rather thought, in spite of himself, that what he really meant was that if he-was willing to accept Snape back into the Order, then everyone else would follow their judgment.
Harry shifted rather uncomfortably in his seat, wishing people wouldn't stare at him so much. He hated being in the spotlight like this but, he supposed, he had better just resign himself to it.
He caught Remus's eye as Remus addressed him directly, "Harry, I know you, Ron and Hermione have already decided on your own path. I won't ask what it is but only if there's any way the Order can help."
That they had their own plans had been all they'd told Remus in that meeting when they'd asked him to lead the Order. Remus had, after a moment's pause, not pushed them further, and his very lack of curiosity had made Harry doubt his decision. He trusted Remus-why not tell him? And yet he'd remained silent.
Harry swallowed, glancing fleetingly at McGonagall who showed no reaction and then at Ron and Hermione, who both looked anxious. He remembered, though, Dumbledore's promising him to secrecy and thought of how Dumbledore had gone so far as to keep all the different members of the Order to himself, for the most part. He trusted Remus-but everyone else…
He met Remus' eyes directly. "I'm sorry, Remus, but I don't think the Order can help me."
Snape made a disagreeable noise. "Still as self-centered and foolishly arrogant as ever, Potter," he sneered.
Harry shot to his feet so fast his chair fell over, his fist clenched around his wand, his arm trembling with the control it took not to hex Snape and his bloody big nose into the next century.
He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, others jumped in.
"And you're the paragon of selflessness," Ron shot back sarcastically, shooting a glare at Snape.
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley rebuked automatically (and significantly more mildly than usual), as she was glowering at Snape as well.
"That's enough, Severus!" Professor McGonagall's coldly furious tone cut through the room with the force of a whiplash and silenced everyone in the room.
Harry sat down slowly, trying not to make a noise as he righted his chair. Black anger was still clouding his mind, the fury at Snape for killing Dumbledore which he'd never really released bubbling up inside him, and he sat bolt upright, every muscle locked to keep from moving-or to keep his magic from slipping beyond his control. Then he felt a hand move to rest over his fist, giving it a gentle, sympathetic pressure, calming and soothing him by slow degrees. Once he was more relaxed, the hand left, leaving his hand feeling oddly bereft. He didn't glance over-and he could sense that she didn't either-their gazes and their attention firmly fixed on McGonagall and Snape, but he tucked the memory of her calming touch into a corner of his mind, to take out and consider later, perhaps, as further evidence of how much he needed her and how attuned to him she was.
"Severus, I know you have never entirely approved of Harry," McGonagall was saying, her tone crisp and glacially precise.
Ron snorted softly, irrepressibly, at this diplomatic understatement of the actual relationship between Harry and Snape from the beginning but subsided under McGonagall's quick, reproving glance.
McGonagall continued. "But, while we have agreed-some of us less willingly than others-that you should remain in the Order and as a spy-I will insist that you refrain from making any of your usual insulting and unjustified comments to Harry or to his friends." She paused and then muttered under her breath-although it was still audible to nearly everyone given how quiet the room had gotten. "They are behaving in a more adult manner than you are."
Ron choked and began coughing as McGonagall fixed a glare on Snape as if he were a first-year who had committed an offense worth subtracting 200 points for. "Is that understood?"
For a moment, a fleeting look as if Snape was thinking words that were unutterable in public and could only be written in asterisks crossed his face, before he gave in and nodded once, shortly, looking, if that were possible, even more disagreeable than before.
McGonagall turned back to Remus. "Go on."
Ron surreptitiously passed a note to Harry and Hermione that said, Remind me never to make fun of McGonagall again. The three of them exchanged fleeting looks of amused agreement before turning their attention to Remus.
Remus cleared his throat a little, steadfastly refusing to look at either Harry or Snape lest his unholy amusement show-and had the sudden thought, James and Sirius would have loved this. He had a fleeting memory of one particular time McGonagall had been scolding James and Sirius for some prank and Sirius had, in his inimitable way, gone down on his knees in front of her and begun to serenade her, his expression so comically exaggerated to look like love-sickness that even McGonagall had had to crack a brief smile before resuming her scolding. He could almost imagine Sirius once again wanting to serenade McGonagall, half-seriously too, for her defense of Harry and blistering set-down of Snape-and had to clear his throat again to hide his reaction. "Yes, well, er-Harry, obviously it's your choice who you tell and none of us has any doubts that whatever you're doing will help our cause." Remus glanced pointedly at Snape as he emphasized the word, none.
Snape looked on the verge of interjecting but McGonagall's eye on him made him visibly refrain from reacting aloud.
"Our first order of business, I think, is to recruit more members if we're to have any hope." He looked at Mr. Weasley. "Arthur, can you--"
"I'll work on it," Mr. Weasley nodded his affirmation even before Remus finished the question.
Remus nodded. "Next, I think we must see to our defenses. First, Diagon Alley," he looked around. "If any of you live or work nearby and would be able to see to defending it…"
Several people raised their hands and Remus nodded again.
"The Ministry is relatively well-guarded but we cannot assume its safety yet. For those of you who work at the Ministry, keep up your guard." Several other people nodded in turn.
"Finally, I think, Hogsmeade and the area around Hogwarts. The school has its own defenses, I know," he said, turning to McGonagall.
"Yes but we cannot rely on them. I have spent these last few months since the attack rebuilding the defenses but I fear it may not be enough," she said rather grimly.
For a fleeting moment, Hermione couldn't help but think that Professor McGonagall looked aged, somehow. She knew that McGonagall was not young, even by wizard's standards, although she was not very old either, but at that moment, she looked very old and very weary. For almost the first time, Hermione was conscious of feeling a pang of pity mingled in with the respect she'd always felt for her Professor. It could not be easy trying to fill the shoes of Headmaster Dumbledore, whom almost everyone acknowledged to have been one of Hogwarts's greatest Headmasters and at such a time as this. It could not be easy to know that the safety of the school and all its students rested on her shoulders. But weary as McGonagall suddenly looked, Hermione was conscious that she felt no doubts in McGonagall's capability to lead and protect Hogwarts effectively. She did not have Dumbledore's wisdom or his power but she had her own version of strength and intelligence, her own courage-and Hermione, at least, didn't doubt McGonagall for a moment.
It was comforting, this confidence in McGonagall.
Lately, confidence in anything had seemed so rare. Hermione, who had always received her reassurance and the knowledge she wanted to give her confidence, had found that none of the books she looked through had the information she needed about where the other horcruxes might be or how to destroy them either. She'd come to realize that all they needed to find out wasn't in any books-at least not that she could find-and the thought made her nervous, unsettled her as almost nothing else could.
She doubted her ability to help Harry in this quest, doubted the Order's ability to function effectively without Dumbledore, doubted the significance of the warmth she thought she saw in Harry's eyes and his smile when he looked at her… Doubted almost everything.
And Hermione didn't like to doubt or to feel uncertain and ignorant.
So the realization that she felt confidence in McGonagall was a welcome one.
Automatically, her gaze sought Harry as he sat beside her, his gaze wandering over the members of the Order with a slight frown and she wondered what he was thinking. He shifted, his gaze landing on her, their eyes meeting, and his slight frown disappeared as he gave her a quick, barely perceptible smile before turning his attention back to Remus.
Hermione was conscious of warmth blossoming in her heart as she too turned back to Remus, reminded of one other thing she had complete confidence in: Harry. She believed in Harry.
And she knew, too, that he believed in her; it was clear in his eyes just now when he looked at her.
She returned her gaze and her complete attention to Remus to find that the moment she, Harry and Ron had all been rather tensely waiting for, had arrived.
"Severus, what can you tell us of Voldemort's plans?"
"Would you like a calendar, perhaps, of his planned attacks along with a detailed list of instructions?" Snape inquired with whip-like sarcasm.
Remus visibly stiffened, his eyes flashing. For a fleeting moment, Harry was reminded of that moment when Remus had burst into the Shrieking Shack and confronted Sirius. Remus, too, was a powerful wizard. The Order was in good hands.
"That won't be necessary," Remus answered, the words clipped, the tone sardonically polite. "Do you know where he plans to attack next?"
Snape was silent for a while, so long that Harry sensed even Hermione get restless and shift in her seat and he forgot himself and demanded, "Well? Do you?"
Snape sneered. "Fools, the lot of you. What, do you expect that the Dark Lord trusts me-or anyone-with his plans? That he invites us in to his presence and then informs us of his thoughts? The Dark Lord has no friends, no confidantes; he has only servants, lackeys, slaves if you like. He does not share his plans; he gives orders. Orders which we receive when he deems necessary and not before." Snape's voice was harsh, appearing supremely indifferent to the disgusted looks his little lecture received and the mistrustful glares.
"In other words, you're no bloody use at all," Ron spoke up. "Good then. We can do the rest of the world a favor and get rid of you."
"Ron!" Hermione hissed at him sharply but her voice was drowned out by Remus's.
"The moment you find anything out about a possible attack or anything else which might be useful, you are to tell me or Minerva, if at all possible," Remus ordered curtly.
Snape opened his mouth- no doubt to protest- but Remus cut him off. "That's enough!" he said sharply.
Remus glanced around the room, his expression and his tone becoming more businesslike. "I believe that is all. You will be informed when the next Meeting will be or if any of you are needed. Thank you all for coming and stay safe."
Snape was, predictably, the first person to leave the Great Hall, almost out the doors before Remus had stopped speaking.
No one was sorry to see him leave.
Hermione stayed where she was, watching, idle and alone for the moment, since Ron had been captured by his parents and Harry was standing in front of the doors, having a few words with everyone who'd come before they left.
It was, she knew, one thing that Remus had insisted on and she'd agreed with him, persuading Harry to go along with it, even though Harry had been reluctant to seem like he was putting himself forward.
Watching, she was suddenly struck with something she'd never really had the opportunity to see before, maybe could not have seen before now-the respect that almost everyone showed Harry (the exception being those who knew him, like the Weasleys and Professor Flitwick). It didn't matter that he was younger than everyone else; he was, still, the Boy Who Lived and the boy, therefore, whom everyone said had been fighting Voldemort since before he could hold a wand.
For the first time, she saw Harry as the rest of the world probably saw him: the young hero who, in spite of his youth and his rather slight build, still managed to exude a hint of power, an impression made greater by the tinge of aloofness in his manner. Harry was, of course, always polite and friendly but, as she knew, he had many levels of trust which he reserved for different people-and for the most part, all the members of the Order were still on the lower levels. For just a moment, she felt as if she were looking at a stranger, a distant figure who was only a name, and felt an odd chill, not quite loneliness or isolation or apprehension but something more vague that was almost but not quite a combination of all three.
But then she saw a slight change in his expression, one which would have been imperceptible to anyone who didn't know him as well as she did, the hint of nervousness and uncertainty which she could see in his stance and in the faint frown which lingered on his face in spite of his rather forced smile.
She saw him glance at her, his eyes meeting hers for little more than the space of a heartbeat, before he turned back to Hestia Jones, who was talking to him now.
And he was just her Harry again, her best friend and maybe- possibly- more than that…
To be continued…