A/N: WARNING!!! Have you read Chapter 40: Turned yet? If not, click back. If yes, proceed!
More thanks to Tome Raider, especially for the Funeral Scene, which would not have been written if she were not around to inspire me.
Standard disclaimers apply
Chapter rating: NC-17
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Chapter Forty-first: Aftermath
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Harry ran his fingers through his hair, elbows to knees as he sat in his study at Grimmauld Place, his heart filled with grief. He felt the soothing touch of Hermione's hand on his back, stroking him gently, probably hoping to ease the deep sadness he was feeling.
On a nearby sofa chair, Ron was stooped over, elbows to knees as well.
They'd brought him back from St. Mungo's together, but it was only when they got home that Ron sat him down and told him the grim news. Who died and who had gotten hurt.
Mad Eye was gone. So was Amos Diggory. Professor Sprout didn't make it. Professor Flitwick was in serious condition. Ron mentioned names of classmates of old; students from Hogwarts and Beauxbaton. Ministry employees and shop-owners they knew. And when Ron listed all he could remember, he told Harry about Seamus Finnigan.
Harry willed his tears to stay unshed. He couldn't be weak; he didn't want to be.
Seamus had been his partner. Wayward as Seamus had been with his women, he had been a dependable and loyal Auror. Harry had saved his life many times, but Seamus had backed him up when nobody wanted to, when everyone else called him "mad," Seamus laughed all of them off and did what he had to do to help Harry accomplish impossible tasks. Seamus had also covered for him all too often, whether it was to makes excuses for his inebriated over-sleeping, post-Hermione-search-failure or getting Harry across a field of hexes in one piece.
"He'll be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, posthumously," Ron said quietly. "Seamus and Dean got left behind enemy lines, and they found out there aerial vampire attack would be coming from the Easternmost side of the castle. Dean said someone spotted them and Seamus told Dean to go and warn the rest of the Hogwarts unit, that he'd cover for Dean and made sure Dean made it across the field alive… Seamus didn't make it, but Dean did, and… well, the Coven vamps called over their morphers to meet the Death Eaters' aerial attack."
Harry didn't know what to say. It was something he and Ron could've done, too. He could've been Dean in that situation, and Ron could've been Seamus…
Harry felt Hermione's arm around him tighten.
He took a moment to control his emotions before looking up wearily. "I heard about Fred. I'm sorry, mate."
Ron gave him a tight-lipped smile, filled with quiet grief. "All of us… well, most of us, at least, had lost hope for him for quite some time. It's-I feel guilty about that, especially since George always believed he'd wake up one day, but when Fred died, I thought he'd only been waiting for the war to end before he finally let go and… left. I'm okay. Most of us have come to terms with it a long time ago, but George… he'll take it hard when… if he wakes up. Luna's with him…"
Harry saw something in Ron's eyes that went beyond grief. It was heavy and miserable, but Harry wasn't sure what it was. Ron blinked it away before Harry could examine it more closely.
Ron continued to speak. "Right now, the rest of us are just thinking of George… no one's saying it, but we all feel rotten that Fred's death… it occupies our thoughts less than George's condition. But what are we supposed to do, Harry? Fred's gone. I feel-very, very sad about that, but George… he can still make it. I just want him to make it."
Harry had heard about George's condition from Hermione. It was bad. He needed magic to make him breathe, and even if he woke up, the doctors said he might not walk again.
He wasn't going to offer Ron empty promises, simply because he didn't know if George would make it or not.
They sat for a long time, talking in quiet grief.
Harry realized that all his funeral clothes-he had quite a few of them-would be worn and washed that week alone. He set his gaze on Hermione beside him and she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead tenderly. He smiled a bit, and she smiled back. He couldn't help but think that he'd miss her comforting presence during the many morning and afternoon burials. She'd be able to make it to a few evening memorials, but many of the services would be held during the light of day.
She'd be asleep…
He wasn't sure why he expected-somehow, that she wouldn't be. He supposed seeing all that magic in the Riddle ballroom; how something dark and ominous had seemed to be removed from her made him expect some sort of change from her, and since the prophecy spoke of a broken vampire curse, he had assumed she could-
I don't know… walk in the day, maybe?
She couldn't. The morning following his rising, he had remained awake, while she drifted off into her vampiric sleep.
Their shared experience in the Riddle ballroom remained a mystery. Other than his changed appearance, there were no other signs that something inside him had changed. Hermione hadn't begun any research, but already they could tell she was going to have a hard time of it.
He had a nagging suspicion-remembered words from Voldemort's lips; magical phenomena that Harry saw with his own eyes-that Snape would be able to explain some of what happened, but the man was nowhere to be found.
It wasn't surprising, really. Even with the role Snape took, spying for the Order, he had to be held accountable for Dumbledore's murder, and Harry figured Snape didn't want to be sentenced to Azkaban for anything. Not for one day, much less for twenty years-if he was lucky, "considering the mitigating circumstances," Hermione had explained.
Their discussion went from funerals to memories, and soon they were remembering things that they could laugh at-quietly. The dead were yet to be buried.
The door to his study opened. No knock; no nothing, and Draco walked in.
And just when I thought I've had enough grief for one day…
Harry had forgotten about Draco, and perhaps some primal mistrust in the recesses of Harry's mind had expected that Draco wouldn't be there when he got back, yet that part in him that Hermione said wanted to believe in Dumbledore hoped that Draco would make the right decision. To see Draco standing by the couch, staring at him through a gaze conveying casual nonchalance, was jarring.
"What do you want?" Harry spat. Just because Draco exceeded Harry's expectations, it didn't mean Harry had to like him all of a sudden.
Draco sniffed after giving him a momentary look. "What the hell happened to you? Granger turned you, or something? You look like a fucking half-arsed vampire."
Harry glared at him.
Draco paled a bit even while he stared right back.
"Back off, Malfoy," Hermione hissed. "None of us are in the mood."
"I'd like to talk to Potter alone," said Draco. "So you could take your PMS-oh, that's right, you don't PMS, because you've lost the use of your equip-"
Harry was not going to let Draco speak to Hermione like that, ever again. He rose from his seat even before he realized he had gotten to his feet, and then Draco was up against the wall, Harry's hand to his throat while Harry stared him down with his vampiric eyes and elongating fangs.
The surge of power in him was exhilarating, but his focus was sharp, and he remained intent on what he wanted Draco to understand.
Draco looked like he wanted to piss his pants, but Harry didn't feel like laughing. In fact, he scowled, annoyed that he had to go through such lengths to make Draco pay attention.
The gagging noises Draco made finally prompted Harry to loosen his hold, then Hermione and Ron's cries of, "Harry, let him go!" made him release Draco completely.
Harry stepped away from Draco while Draco recovered on the floor.
"Harry!" Ron gasped, then perhaps seeing Harry's fangs and eyes, Ron blinked in shock. "Oh, shite."
Hermione was less astonished. She touched his shoulder, squeezing firmly. "Harry? Harry, say something."
Harry could feel his fangs retracting and his eyes easing from its blazing glare. He swallowed and stared at Draco. He looked at his hand, wondering how such a light touch could have had Draco gasping for breath on the floor.
"Don't do that, Draco," was all he could say, and three pairs of eyes turned to him disbelievingly. He kept his gaze on the man on the floor. "Just don't. You can disrespect me all you want, but you keep your slurs and your bigotry away from Hermione. That's the last time. Do you hear me? Are you finally listening to me?"
He wasn't sorry for what he did to Draco, which was a bit of a surprise to himself, but he knew he hadn't wanted to kill; he only wanted to frighten. And while the power was a rush, he hadn't lost control. He knew exactly what he was doing.
And then the reality of the situation crashed upon him.
Holy shit… I vamped.
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When Madame Pomphrey was done applying bruising salve on Draco's neck, she gave Harry a thorough but quick examination. She asked brisk, medical questions and his answers had her brows knotting at least three times.
Standing around them were the anxious gazes of Ron, Hermione, Solomon, Remus, and Tonks. Draco merely sulked in the corner, mostly because his earlier threats of filing charges had, first, been mocked-"Oh, Harry made me piss my pants. Send him to Azkaban!" Ron had said in a high-pitched voice-, dismissed-"Oh, stick it up your arse, Malfoy," from Hermione-, and then ignored.
Harry answered Madame Pomphrey's questions mechanically. He'd gone through this routine hundreds of times in the past. He could quote Madame Pomphrey's questions chapter and verse.
Finally, Madame Pomphrey asked a question that got his full attention. "Did you want to suck his blood?"
Harry looked up from his dazed expression and stifled a laugh. "Did I… vant to suck his blood, you mean?"
That seemed to have broken the tension in the room, because he thought maybe he heard a collective sigh of relief.
Hermione and Solomon actually laughed, and she sat beside Harry, wrapping her arms around his middle and leaning her chin on his shoulder. "I don't care what Malfoy says. You make a very sexy vampire," she whispered, breathing in his ear.
He wondered if it was even appropriate to get all hot and bothered by that in a room full of people. He wanted to press his own lips to her ear and whisper something sexier, which he just knew would take them in that direction, but there were other things to consider now, more important, if not better, things.
"I don't understand what happened, Mr. Potter," said Madame Pomphrey, professional even in the face of Hermione's cuddling. "I noted an increase in your Veneficus levels, and I can only assume you had a lot more when you… vamped, but the fact that you're not actually-well, it just defies all rules of magic, Muggle science, and simple logic. As you are, you're fine; healthy, really. I heard your stomach growl a bit. Are you hungry? Eat something. A sandwich, maybe. Perhaps your vamping hyper-activates your metabolism. Saps your strength."
Harry stared up at her, brows furrowed and wondering whether Madame Pomphrey wasn't desperately trying to prescribe him something-anything that would make it seem like she helped him in some manner. She had always patched him up. Now she had no answers. He could tell it was bothering her.
"Erm, there's some Shepherd's Pie in the pantry, I think. I'll have that, maybe…"
"Good! Nice and rich. You need to beef up, anyway. You're looking a bit too skinny. All bones and sinew."
Harry scowled; more so when he saw Ron, Solomon, Tonks stifling a laugh.
"Hush," said Hermione softly, a ghost of a smile on her face.
"I am not skinny," Harry muttered as Madame Pomphrey said her goodbyes and proceeded to leave the room.
Remus threw them exasperated glances as he escorted Madame Pomphrey out.
"Oh, stop it, all of you," Hermione cried quite seriously when they all simultaneously burst out in giggles.
Harry shot them all a glare, putting his arm over Hermione's shoulders, appreciative of her support. "I'm glad I can entertain you all."
"Well, I'm not entertained," said Draco sourly. "And before you so judiciously had me by the neck, Potter, I was going to tell you something important."
"What could you possibly say that would interest me, Malfoy?"
Draco's eyebrow arched haughtily. "My father. I have him in my custody. Would you like to know where I've kept him?"
He had finally shut all of them up.
Their attention captured, Draco went on. "He's in my mother's vault in Gringott's. The Goblins 'accidentally' shut him in and they couldn't seem to undo the lock. He hasn't been given anything to eat, I think, but I suppose he'd have liquid in there. From what I remember, there are a selection or pretty rare wines in some of the crates. He could have it. I'll be making my own wine in my vineyard in Tuscany."
Harry didn't know what to say.
"Your vineyard in Tuscany?" Solomon asked. It wasn't the smartest thing to say, but it was better than nothing.
"Yes," said Draco. "I haven't bought it yet, but it will be mine, just as soon as I bargain my way out of my prison sentence."
That snapped Harry out of his daze. "Tonks-"
"I'm on it." Tonks said, beginning to head out of the room to contact the Auror department about Lucius Malfoy.
Harry stood but Tonks ordered him to sit back down with a potent glare.
"Talk to him," she said, meaning Draco. She left.
"And how did you manage that?" Hermione asked. "Getting your father into your mother's bank vault?"
"A most serendipitous event, I assure you," said Draco. "I went to the bank. I needed advice on my finances… for the vineyard, you understand. While I was there, I was informed by one Mr. Proudlip that my father was at the front desk, demanding to be let into my mother's vault. As the rightful inheritor of the vault, I was asked what I wanted done. I told Mr. Proudlip to accommodate my father's request. The vault locks are ancient. I'm sure it was some sort of malfunction."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "So you use your new-found freedom to go to Grigotts… in the middle of a full-blown war… to get financial advice?"
"Yes," said Draco silkily. "Do you have a problem with that, Granger?"
"I have a question for you, Malfoy," she said. "Do I look like an idiot?" She was snarling by the time she was done and Draco took a step back but didn't retreat, which was saying something for the oft-cowardly man.
"Is it so hard for you to believe that I'd like to live the rest of my life free of the threat of incarceration?" said Draco, showing true emotion. "I've served my time in this horrid house; put up with the lot of you; worked in a goddamn tomb; I've been relatively well-behaved; and dammit, I even helped you in the fucking war effort! I've earned my freedom, and I'm not going to throw it away trying to escape when Potter gave me the chance!"
Everyone listened to him with rapt attention. Harry had never seen Draco like this, not even when Draco threw him a sucker punch after Harry said something disrespectful about Narcissa. He eyed Draco suspiciously even as he listened. Harry knew, by default, that Draco had lied about something, maybe earlier on in the discussion, but the man wasn't lying now.
Draco rounded on Harry angrily. "Because that's what you were hoping for, weren't you? You wanted me to do something so you can haul my arse to Azkaban once and for all! Well, it didn't work. I'm still here, and I've caught you a major Death Eater. I demand my freedom. I earned it. I EARNED IT."
Harry was never one to give Draco any kind of consideration. He felt sympathy for Draco when news of his mother's death came, but Draco didn't want his compassion. Draco didn't want anyone thinking he was more than… well, Draco. But right now, Harry actually saw the merits of Draco's words. Was it even possible in this universe for Harry to think that Draco deserved to be let go?
Thinking about it, it occurred to Harry that Draco had nothing but his dreams left. His mother was dead, his father was going to be executed, his aunt already dead by Veil, nobody loved him, and there was really nothing for him to look forward to except freedom and starting over.
He has no one…
Draco, perhaps seeing the look in Harry's eyes, or maybe even hearing Harry's thoughts, glared at him so fiercely that Harry thought Draco could vamp quite well, too.
"Don't you fucking dare feel sorry for me, you useless excuse for a Gryffindor!" Draco hissed. "You better goddamn NOT give me your sympathy. I want nothing to do with it! Just give me my due. Give it to me or I'll haul your arse into court and sue you for anything and everything. I don't care if I can't prove anything. I'll harass you every second of your bloodsucking life, you son of a-"
"Alright!" Harry cried. He didn't want to hear anymore. "Alright already! I get it! Submit your petition for release, or whatever it is you do with barristers, and when the time comes for testimony, I'll be fair. I'll stand witness to your good and bad behavior. I won't keep you here if a judge rules that you're free to go. Is that what you want?"
Draco paused, expelling a breath as he straightened his rumpled hair and clothes. He seemed to have regrouped and gotten his haughty expression back. "Yes. And that's all I ask, really. Now if you don't mind, I have to contact myself a barrister. Excuse me."
He left and no one stopped him; not even Hermione, who always seemed to have something nasty to say to him.
The door slammed shut and all four of them stared at one another.
"Son of a bitch," gasped Ron.
That seemed to break the tension.
Hermione scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Bullocks! He's still a world class arsehole! He's-He's-a racist, selfish, murderous little ferret faced gint! I still want to-I still want to wring his neck!"
"Oh believe me," Harry said wearily. "Nobody in this room hates him any less, but the man has a right to his freedom. You know this, don't you, Hermione?"
For a moment, Harry thought she was going to be stubborn, but she was Hermione, after all; agent of Justice and all that.
Hermione growled. "Oh, bugger me! Of course I know."
"Well, since when was this a bloody democracy?" Ron asked.
"Ron!" hissed Hermione in disapproval. "You don't mean that!"
Ron sighed in exasperation. "Fine, I don't! Doesn't mean I'll like it, though!"
"Bloody Gryffindors," Solomon muttered.
Ron sneered at him. "Oh, and I suppose Hufflepuffs are so much more interesting, seeing as your house-animal is the oh-so-fascinating Badger."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean!" Solomon cried.
"Oh, don't take it out on him, Ron," Hermione said. "Sol, my dear, he didn't mean that. Badgers are very dependable animals and-well, you know what? That's really not important right now, is it? Harry, can I talk to you in private?"
Harry would like that, though he didn't know what for. He nodded and opened the drawing room door for her to walk through. They made their way back to Harry's study.
When they were shut in, Hermione rounded on him.
"Do you really think Malfoy deserves to be set free?"
Harry swallowed. "What do you think?"
"I asked first."
He paused, giving it some thought. "Would you-would you think me a fool if I said yes?"
For a heartbeat, her face was a mask of stone, and then her expression softened. "No, Harry, of course not. You're not a fool."
"He's right, you know. I removed the restrictions on him-gave him the perfect opportunity to escape. And I expected him to, Hermione. I was so sure Malfoy was going to up and leave. It would have been so easy for him. I think Draco hit the nail right on the head when he said I just wanted him to do something so I could haul him off to Azkaban…"
Hermione shook her head, holding him by the shoulders. "Draco's not right. He did that thing again-planting doubt in your heart, but he doesn't know you. I know you, and I'll tell you why you did what you did; why you removed his brace. You were testing him. You were giving him the chance to prove himself because you needed Dumbledore to be right again."
Harry sighed. "You're giving him too much credit, thinking that he passed the test because he worked hard for it. I'm pretty sure he cheated somewhere. If not, I think Draco found a loophole and used it to his advantage."
"He's a Slytherin. He couldn't help it, but think of his motivations for staying."
"Revenge on his father?"
"There's that, but he already believed he was serving revenge through you. He just wants to be free, body and mind. He wants to live in a vineyard in Tuscany without wondering how many years of Azkaban he'll get if he was caught by Aurors in his Italian hideaway. I think that's saying something. Pain in the ass, he will always be, but I think his motivations have changed since leaving the service of Death Eaters." She smirked. "You already know this. You just needed to hear it from me."
He never really thought of it with that much detail, but he always did things on instinct, and his instincts were always right. It was Hermione, as always, who broke it down for him.
He sighed, sitting on the backrest of the couch and pulling her to him. "How do I know he isn't going to be like his father?"
She smiled wanly. "You don't."
He expelled a breath and nodded, burying his face on the crook of her neck and shoulder. "I'm supposed to be happy that Voldemort is gone, you and Ron are alive, and that the war is quickly coming to an end. Why do I feel so weighed down by everything else?"
"Because you're a human being and you have a soul." She idly played with the strands of his hair as she let him take solace in her gentle embrace.
He nodded and pulled away, cupping her face so he could kiss her several times before leaving her arms completely. "I have to go to the Ministry. Get the business with Lucius Malfoy over with. Red tape, you know."
She sighed a bit. "You just defeated the greatest threat known to the Wizarding world forty-eight hours ago, Potter. You deserve a break, don't you think?"
"Time enough for that when I retire from the Auror department and teach in Hogwarts."
He was serious and he could tell she knew it. Her momentary look of surprise faded with the smile on her lips.
"See you later, then?" she asked.
He nodded, stealing one last kiss before he headed out the door.
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Harry asked Ron about their unnamed Death Eater spy that morning, before sunup, while they sat drinking tea at the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Hermione's small cup of hot chocolate piped steam until it went cold and untouched.
Ron finally told him who the Death Eater had been. Harry didn't know if he was shocked to hear that it had been Viktor Krum. He was shocked to hear that Viktor had chosen Ron as his Secret Keeper.
Ron told him that Viktor's new identity was still a secret-hopefully not for long, but that Viktor would still prefer to keep things quiet while he healed in Bulgaria. The only reason Viktor let Ron tell Harry, in any case, was because Ron requested it, because he was sure Harry was going to ask.
"Has he turned yet?" Harry asked quietly.
Ron nodded. "He has, but he'll be alright, I reckon. He's got his Initiator and he's on a full regimen of Wolfsbane potion. He didn't think it was so bad, anyway. If he goes back to play for the Vrasta Vultures, he wouldn't be able to play on a full-moon night, but he didn't think that was a big problem."
"We should drop by to see him some time," Hermione had suggested meekly. "After he's done with his two-week initiation… but only if you want to. I won't go by myself if you're… uncomfortable with it, Harry."
Harry hadn't missed the cautious look she dealt him upon saying that. It warmed his heart to see her over-considerate of his feelings, but he wasn't entirely comfortable having her that way. The real Hermione would go to Viktor whether or not Harry said he'd go with her, because it was only right to pay Viktor a visit, but he supposed having him dying in her arms still had its effect on her.
He told her that they would go to Viktor as soon as Viktor's initiation was completed, and that Harry would like to thank the man that put so much on the line for him, and for her.
Her relief was very touching and strangely enough, it gave him joy.
He put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly as he pressed a kiss to her temple. Her smile brightened and she began to ask Ron about Viktor's children.
Ron was only too glad to tell her about them.
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Lucius Malfoy was just one of many Death Eaters Harry had to file reports for.
Many of the major players in Voldemort's camp were under Harry's roster of cases, mainly because he had asked for them.
By far, Bellatrix Lestrange was a most satisfying capture. She was removed from Hermione's body-bind at the station. She had screamed and raved ever since, even in her weakened state.
Antonin Dolohov would have been satisfying, too, but the man was dead. After he was dispatched to join the Hogwarts raiding party from the Riddle house, he was caught by a Reducto and was stamped underfoot by their own giants.
Over the next few days, a few other Death Eaters were rounded up and detained in Azkaban, but for major players like Lucius, Bellatrix, and Macnair, who had decrees of Immediate Execution on their heads even before they were brought before the Wizengamot, there was no reprieve. They were made to walk through the Veil barely a day after they were hauled in. He didn't even get to see Bellatrix walk, because he was still unconscious at the time of her execution.
Harry still felt ambivalence in the matter of such decrees. After all, Sirius Black had once been framed for his parents' murder. If a proper trial had been conducted, it might have proven Sirius's innocence, but it was hard to make such an argument with his conscience where Lucius, Bellatrix, and Macnair were concerned, harder still when a decree for Immediate Execution was issued for Peter Pettigrew-still at large-, who was the one really responsible for his parents' deaths. Really, there was hardly any point for him to crow about the ideologies of "proper" justice when he did want nothing more than to see Lucius, Bellatrix, Macnair and Peter pay for their sins.
"You're right about Bellatrix, though," Hermione told him when he voiced his concerns about the entire thing. "I wouldn't want the Veil for her. That would be too kind. First I'd nail her to a coffin, and then I'd push her through the Veil."
Harry didn't feel he had a right to tell Hermione she was being too bloodthirsty. He wasn't the one Bellatrix nailed into a coffin. But afterwards, when Hermione had finished her full Anti-Bellatrix rant, she turned to Harry with utmost understanding and said, "You're thinking about Snape, aren't you? You don't think he should be made to walk through the Veil."
She was right, of course. As always. The decree for Snape's Immediate Execution was brought to him by Remus, himself. Remus swore Tonks had tried to reason with the tribunal; plea bargain, even: "Put him in Azkaban. Make him serve time, but not the Veil. Not a decree for Immediate Execution." But of course, no one listened. Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore-with an Avada Kedavra no less. Snape had to pay, therefore Snape had to die.
Harry never thought he'd ever feel he had to save Snape's life, but at that moment, he hoped Snape could successfully escape and avoid execution. It was horrible to think that Snape would have such a decree on his head for the rest of his life, but Harry could only conclude that being alive and in-hiding was a better alternative than being found and executed.
He put in a well-conceived Request for Pardon for Severus Snape, hoping that maybe his status as Harry Defeater of Voldemort Potter would get Snape out of the fix. The request was denied on the same day. He submitted a Petition for Reprieve. The petition was denied within the hour.
Snape was going to die and there was nothing Harry could do about it.
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Burying Seamus had been a very solemn affair. While the posthumously awarded Order of Merlin was a balm to the grief, the grief was there, nonetheless. Harry felt extremely relieved that Dean was made to give the eulogy, but he told no one that this is what he felt; not even Ron.
Harry, Dean, Ron, and Neville were among those who carried his casket, while his family walked behind. Harry took his place at the very front of the coffin, probably to place a distance between him and Seamus's mum. He didn't think he could bear the sight of Seamus's weeping mother for longer than he had to give his condolences and apologies to her.
Harry was deeply appreciative of Ron standing steadily beside him as Seamus was lowered to the ground. Harry took his place behind Dean, who was behind Seamus's family at the front.
Ginny, in the midst of consoling Dean with her presence, looked over her shoulder a few times to ask him with her eyes how he was doing.
He could only nod in response. No words had been necessary. In the last week, everyone seemed to have a deep understanding of each other's loss.
Seamus's casket wasn't the first one Harry had to carry. Fred's funeral was held only a few days before. His remains were put on a pyre to be burned, and the ceremonies were held at night. Hermione and Solomon were able to attend. While Harry carried Fred's coffin, the Weasleys walked behind it, and Harry was glad to see Hermione walking by Ron.
As the casket was burned, Ron leaned over his elbows and wept, silent and still. Hermione let him lean on her, and Ron took the offered comfort. The running of her pale fingers in Ron's flaming red hair brought Harry back to Dumbledore's funeral, how that day, in spite of his grief, he thought Hermione and Ron were together.
He had been young, and impressionable. He knew what friendship was, but he couldn't have known yet how deeply it could go without romantic feelings jumbling it up. Yet, he knew romantic love when he saw it and thought it could make everything right at the snap of a finger.
How experience changes our perceptions…
Lucien's funeral had taken place in the dead of midnight. There was a plot of land in the Sussex countryside where very few Vampires were buried, but it was an official memorial park for vamps, nonetheless. The place was guarded by wards and an official slew of horror stories, just so Muggles would stay away from it.
Most of the attendees were vamps, many of whom seemed to be acquaintances of Hermione and Solomon. It was very disconcerting when Harry realized that all of Hermione's vampire ex-boyfriends showed up to give their condolences.
Adrian, Mr. Tantric himself, was absolutely the most good-looking bloke Harry had ever seen. The man looked like a Muggle movie star, and he was genteel and intelligent. No wonder Hermione dated him!
Harry didn't really have any self-esteem issues when it came to his looks, mostly because he had bigger issues to deal with for most of his young life, but seeing Adrian seemed to have brought to the surface all those self-esteem issues he had never delved on in his teens.
Harry figured, however, that he would rather die than admit anything so superfluous during Lucien's funeral, even if he knew Lucien would've loved it all; his feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. Lucien would've laughed in his face and had a grand time of his misery.
But Hermione-and he loved her so dearly for it-erased all his insecurities with one look; one touch.
She hooked her hand on his arm, cast him a loving stare, and said, "Adrian, I'd like you to meet Harry Potter." She didn't say anything complicated, but the tender stroking of her fingers gently eased his inadequacies away.
When he looked up to shake Adrian's hand, there was an expression of resignation in Adrian's eyes that was cushioned by Adrian's amused chuckle.
"Ah," was what Adrian said. "Good to finally meet you."
Harry didn't even ask what that meant. All he knew was that it made him feel oddly good about himself.
Ron was introduced as well, and they ended up talking for quite a bit, having a similar interest in dragons.
Yasmin did not make an appearance, which was just as well. Earlier that week, Hermione had received a card. Yasmin conveyed her condolences in her beautiful script, telling Hermione that all the arrangements for Lucien's funeral had been made, but that regrettably, Yasmin would be unable to attend the services because of pressing matters related to the war. Hermione had called Henry to confirm the veracity of the card, and Henry had told her that indeed, Yasmin was back, that Lucien's funeral arrangements were indeed settled. There was nothing for Hermione to do but let it be.
So the arrangements were beautifully organized. Henry came to represent Yasmin, and both Ambrose and Gabriel arrived to pay their respects.
The dark woods upon which the burial would be held was lit with enchanted torches. The trees that surrounded the vast burial grounds were thick; silent and lifeless. Tombstones sprung from the earth all around; elaborate displays of strange things-statues of fairies and gargoyles; odd sculptures and three-dimensional insignias; even a demon or two. No crosses. It was only right.
Lucien's burial plot was made distinct by the dug earth, carved just right to fit his obsidian coffin, perched for the meantime on a covered platform. The casket was open, and Harry saw that there was something about death-real death, that made vampires seem more human than ever.
Lucien's body was prepared well. There was no sign whatsoever of his cause of death. Harry supposed that it really wasn't important to know how. Why was perhaps more important where vampires were concerned.
Surrounding their section were standing flowers, bouquets, and baskets. But most striking of all was that most of the flowers were a startling blood red, accented here and there by other colors that were just as deep. A lot of the flowers were roses, but there were many other blooms that Harry couldn't identify. The smell of exotic incense was thick, but Harry didn't think it pungent. It was strangely pleasing. Relaxing to the senses.
He looked at Hermione, watching her stoic face as she walked, her hand through his arm. Since leaving the house, she'd held a parcel to herself which was wrapped in a beautifully patterned fabric of black velvet and purple silk: The color of Lucien's eyes. When Harry had offered to carry the parcel for her, she had merely shook her head.
There were rows of somber black seats perfectly arranged in a semi-circle around the coffin. Guests were expected to be seated as they held the pre-burial memorial.
The usher showed Hermione to the seat, front and center. Harry sat to one side of her while Solomon took the other. Ron sat directly behind them, a reassuring presence.
Harry spotted Tonks and Remus seated amongst the small crowd.
The rows easily filled up, and there were many left standing to the sides and back.
There seemed to be a host of sorts who presided over, but there was no elaborate ceremony. There were certainly no prayers. The genteel, mild-mannered vampire host simply asked those with something to say about the departed to come forward.
He didn't need to speak loud in spite of the relatively open air. The cold, crisp night was still and frigid, and perhaps their lone voices bounded off the many six-foot tombstones.
One by one, vampires came forward to say something about Lucien. Many of the things they remembered him by were incidents of fun and frolic. To these vamps, he was a funny bloke; a lover; a fashion aficionado; the life of a party. There was quiet laughter and amused, yet melancholic smiles all around.
It was hard to tell how Hermione felt about it all. Harry held her hand as she sat almost stoically stiff on her seat, her black veil hiding the agonizing pain in her eyes, unable to laugh with everyone else. Her hand twitched in his whenever a tear attempted to roll its way down her cheek, but she was always quick to dab the tears away before they fell.
Finally, the host looked to her. She sat still for several seconds, and Harry had to lean over, asking her softly if there was something she wanted to say before they lowered Lucien's casket to the ground.
She nodded and stood, her hand lingering in Harry's until she was too far for him to hold.
Her dark robes were still in the windless air and Harry noticed that she held her parcel tighter across her chest.
"I haven't known him for very long compared to many of you," she said, her voice soft, but steady. "Five years seem so little to one hundred fifty. But that hardly matters to me, or perhaps even to him, because I was there during his best years. I didn't meet him in a club. I didn't meet him in bed, or in a fashion show or a party. He stumbled on to my doorstep, at his very worse, when no one else wanted him, begging for my help. He wasn't laughing, or amorous, and he was in torn, muddied clothing. You wouldn't have known him as the Lucien you might have known before. But I'll always be glad that I met him that way. Because when you meet a man gone of his trappings-without his frivolities and masks, you see who he really is, and he knows you see him too. His 'disguises' weren't going to work on me anymore, so to me everything about him was real. When he laughed, he was happy. When he cried he was sad. When he said he loved me, I knew he did. His true loyalty has no boundaries and he would take-took a sword for the ones he loved…" Her voice trailed for a moment and she swallowed. When she spoke again, it was as steady as it was when she started, and something that appeared to be a smile spread on her lips. "But don't any of you be calling him a saint. Try it and he'd turn over in his grave."
Soft laughter rippled through the crowd. At that same moment, Hermione turned, hiding the trembling of her lips. Harry almost didn't catch it.
She took her parcel and unwrapped it, revealing a sheathed sword-Lucien's sword. She pulled the sword free of its scabbard, partway, and Harry saw the glitter of blood just where her thumb touched against the blade.
She snapped the sheathed back on and placed the sword parallel to Lucien's body, delicately maneuvering so that the hilt would rest under his hands that were folded one atop the other just beneath his chest.
Her part done, she went back to her seat and watched as the casket was lowered to the ground and covered with earth.
Hermione held her own the entire time. She spoke in an even tone when attendees approached her to give their last minute condolences, and in the car, she held herself steady enough to seem emotionless. She remained strong even when they arrived at Grimmauld Place.
She pulled him into his room, possibly hoping to ease the grief away with mind-numbing sex, but when he gave gentle resistance to her heated kiss-instead taking her tightly in his arms-, she finally broke down and cried. The rest of the darkness was spent lying in bed, mostly in comforting silence when they weren't talking about Lucien's merits and hilariously bad deeds.
It was, as Harry expected, a week full of funerals and memorials, and he felt obligated to go to every one of them. It would continue on to the next two weeks ahead amidst the bustle of practical, day to day red tape that the events had seemed to incite.
The Ministry was busier than ever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry hadn't had time to give his present state of half-vampirism much thought. He had put his memory, Hermione's, and Ron's in a Pensieve, and he and Hermione had examined the memories together, several times, but there was nothing to be gotten from it, really.
Hermione had done research every night since Draco came to them with news of his father, but she hadn't been successful.
She seemed to spend a lot of time with Remus, too, who had seemed so eager to talk to her about something he didn't seem to want to divulge to just anyone. Harry got the impression that it had something to do with Remus's research at the M.R.I. It was about as much as Hermione was willing to tell him, at any rate.
She also admitted that Remus volunteered his resources to search for answers about Harry's condition. That they still didn't have any answers was making Harry a bit uncomfortable.
He was beginning to think he was some sort of new species; that he was a freak, and he told her so one evening amidst the bookshelves on the second floor of the Black Library.
He had, quiet simply said while paging through on irrelevant book, "I'm a freak. Always have been, anyway…"
Hermione hadn't liked hearing that in the least. The book she held was unceremoniously slammed shut and she scowled, almost angrily. She had no affection for the term "freak."
"Freak is a term born of ignorance and fear," she said, a slight squeak in her voice. "We are Gryffindors. There will be no more ignorance and fear in this house. I will get to the bottom of this if it kills me, but in the meantime, we will not call your condition anything. And what's so bad about what you are, anyway? Personally, I find nothing freakish about it. I happen to think that half of you makes you dead sexy, no pun intended. Your new eyes give me the chills, in a good way, and…"
Needless to say, her scolding from that point on suddenly made him terribly randy.
She kept scolding, but all he could think about was that he hadn't made love to her in more than a week. She was so intent on her lecture that she hadn't noticed that he was taking her in with his eyes.
Her white button-up blouse fit well to her form, the fabric sticking close around her breasts. And even without peeking above the unbuttoned opening at the forefront, he could see some of the bumps of her lacey bra through the surface of it. Even in the dim lighting, he could tell that the color of it was purple. Definitely something he could appreciate.
Her gray-plaid pleated miniskirt was one he'd seen before. It was flirty, and perhaps too short for the prudish. She had gotten his attention enough times already throughout the night, usually when she had to bend over, but right now, the skirt was some kind of "Welcome" sign that he wasn't willing to refuse.
She had on the most amusing black boots. Clunky footwear. She had worn it because she said it was comfortable, and because it didn't go badly with the skirt, either.
Her whole outfit, he realized, was screaming something he had missed through the veil of her "important research."
She was in the midst of telling him that he was so much stronger now than he ever was before when he practically stopped her blithering with a full-body brace against the book shelves.
Hermione's words were completely cut off by his tongue swirling in her mouth, catching her gasp in a deep, consuming kiss.
That seemed to do the trick quite nicely and she melted into his arms, wrapping her legs around him as she kissed him back, her tongue responding enthusiastically and her hips rolling slowly against his straining erection.
When they separated, she said, "Oh, finally! I thought you'd never come 'round!"
"Microscopic skirts and see-through blouses," he gasped, feverishly placing kisses on her jaw and that sweet spot beneath her ear. "You could have just told me…"
"Dressing like a tramp was so much more fun and randy," she breathed. "I wanted you to want me bad…"
He chuckled, shifting to suck on her tongue and whisper "Tramp," against her mouth.
She shuddered and smiled, hastily instructing him to undress her. He began to undo the buttons of her blouse, pressing his lips and laving her skin at her throat as he did so.
She made a most maddening sound from her throat, and he didn't bother to fumble with the rest of the buttons. He tore her blouse open, the clinking sound of scattering buttons pleasantly pitter-pattering around them.
Cupping her breasts, he kissed and tongued the wonderful swell of them, his cock twitching at the mere thought that she was indeed wearing his favorite bra. Not only was it purple, lacey and flirty, but it was the mother of all bras: front clasp.
It took but a tweak to undo her trappings and he was quick to take full advantage of her unfettered breasts, sucking on each hardening peak while she made encouraging sounds and pressed harder on his crotch.
His sigh was of frustration, but he liked the sweet torture, anyway, raising his head to kiss her lips, tongues twirling satisfyingly against one another while his hands traveled up her thighs to push back her little skirt so he could grab her ass.
The firm bump of her behind was pleasing against his palms, and he squeezed with one hand while tracing the edges of her knickers with the other. He could feel the lace on the pads of his fingers and he pulled away to look down and see just what he would be taking off her.
Her tongue was suddenly grazing the shell of his ear before it made tender passes on his neck. He closed his eyes, savoring the velvety feel of her tongue while he groaned and rocked against her.
"Like what you see, Potter?"
Of course his favorite bra would be matched with his favorite knickers.
He could only give an answering groan, bracing her against the shelves as he slipped her panties off and deposited it on the floor.
She was wet against his fingers, the gentle circling of his thumb on her clit while he slipped his fore and middle finger inside her had her squirming and throwing her head back as she moaned.
He pressed his lips to her inviting throat, working firm circles and thrusts with his hand while rasping his teeth gently against her skin. His astonishment at feeling his fangs extending slightly was marginal, and he continued on with his ministrations, but Hermione gasped loudly.
"O-Oh, mercy! Oh, yes!" she cried as she arched stiffly into the press of his hand. He smiled as he felt and heard her orgasm. It was the most satisfying sound in the world.
In his smugness, he was unprepared for the burst of pheromones that followed, hers reacting with his own. It flowed thick in the air and Harry thought he was going to pass out from it, his hold on her weakening slightly.
He wasn't even aware that she had alighted herself on her feet and began to fumble with the buttons of his trousers. He only realized it when she had his trousers and pants down to his knees. She knelt and proceeded to give him the most mind-blowing fellatio with her lips, tongue, and skillful hands.
He fell back against the opposite shelves, bracing the frames for support as he groaned helplessly and watched her with his lust-drunken gaze.
Harry began to feel himself lose control, and it took the most unsavory thoughts for him to keep his orgasm at bay. It was almost impossible. Hermione took on the task with the same brilliance she had in all things academic.
"Stop," he finally said, his voice hoarse from the rasping of his breath. "Enough…"
She pulled away, a wicked gleam in her eyes and smile. She was ravishing. Her blouse and bra undone, her hair a succulent pile of curls around her and her skirt riding up her thighs, she knew full well that she was a sight to see.
"Don't you like it?" she asked in maddeningly affected innocence.
He coaxed her back to her feet, hitching her by her thigh against his waist and pressed her back against the opposite shelves in revenge.
She gave a exquisite, "Ooh!" and giggled.
"You know full well that I liked it very much, witch," he whispered. He tasted the hollow of her throat and guided his cock to her center.
"How much?" she asked softly, tilting her hips.
It was easier to show her the answer with the thrust of his hips.
Being inside her was a whole new explosion of sensations, and when she thrust back, the shelves really rattled.
Their combined moans were thick against the hot, sweaty cadence of their joining.
He was enthralled by all of her, but the feeling her around his cock and the promises of orgasmic relief was intensifying his need. He slowed, only to have her pleading to go on.
Desperation rushed adrenaline through him, and his fangs extended even more.
Her eyes widened at the sight of it, just before she sighed and pressed her mouth to his. The sensual kiss was followed by pheromones so potent that he hardly noticed when Hermione pierced his tongue, and then pierced hers.
The coppery taste of her blood grew sweet and intoxicating, and the thought of having all of her was intensely mind-blowing. Her blood slid down his throat in liquid heat, flavoring his arousal. He didn't know if he could take much more.
When she stiffened in his arms and made that sound of desperate surrender, he came, moaning as he pressed hard into her, riding the waves of his orgasm while she rode hers.
It was over in a bit, and only then did Harry feel an overwhelming weakness.
He pulled away gingerly, her body still wrapped around him, and he carefully stepped backwards until he met shelf. He slid down to the floor, panting for breath.
She leaned against him as she sat comfortably on his lap. "Oh, Harry… love, that was wonderful…"
It was dreadfully ego-inflating, but he didn't think he was in any condition to act big and manly, considering all he wanted to do right now was drift right off to sleep. It was while he was trying to fight off the drowsiness when she began to ramble.
"Oh, Harry… so sexy and hot… I was coming so hard… we have to do that again soon… oh, but wasn't he so strong, the way he held me like that? I have never felt like that with another man. Harry is the BEST. Absolutely no one compares!"
He jerked awake and he looked at her, astonished that she would even bring up other men, even if he was very pleased to have her say he was "the BEST" and that "absolutely no one" compared. It was strange, however, that she was talking to him in the third person.
Staring at her, he realized that she wasn't talking at all. She was thinking.
"Sorry, I forgot to remind you," she said, speaking all of a sudden. "The mind link… after the blood exchange…"
He stared at her, fascinated as her unfettered, uninhibited thoughts poured gently into his mind. At first it was all just thoughts of him, and then the rest of her began to filter through. It was like an operatic song, the way her mind worked, and it was only then he fully realized how beautiful her mind was.
It wasn't like Legilimency at all. Legilimency was an effort, sometimes an invasion, something like looking through the windows of a house, or forcing one's way through the door. This… this was welcoming, and intimate, requiring no effort or implying no secrets. It was total surrender, and it felt like the warmest and most comforting embrace.
The link only lasted a few blessed minutes, and soon enough, he could hear nothing. It made him feel dismally empty, and he realized that he wanted that again. He would live for it.
"Your mind is lovely, Harry," she said, touching his face lightly with the pads of her fingers. She was smiling and contented. "It's filled with good and marvelous things."
He pulled her into his arms, whispering what he thought of her mind as he held her close.
They stayed that way, reveling quietly in the intimacy. It was while he had her in his arms that he realized how earlier, both their thoughts had been worry-free. It could have been the post-sex high, but it brought to mind the fact that this would be one of the many days they could actually live their lives without wondering if some mad man was going to kill them come the morrow.
It was exhilarating to realize that they truly had their lives back.
He couldn't be more grateful, and things, he believed, could only get better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hedwig held out an envelope from her perch on the window, cooing as she wiggled her neck to get Harry's attention.
After Fawkes began establishing himself as a pet and not a messenger, Hedwig had been diligently bringing Harry mail, her enthusiasm rejuvenated by her renewed security of tenure.
Harry was actually getting weary of Hedwig zipping in and out of his room, especially when he was trying to make love to Hermione, but he hadn't the heart to shut the window on the owl.
Sighing as he gingerly slipped from Hermione's embrace, he padded to the window and took his letter. Harry fed her some grub and Hedwig happily flapped away. He pulled the shutters closed, but not tight. It was unlikely that Hedwig would be back with more mail, but he didn't want her to think she was being a bother, even if she was.
Hermione stirred, blinking drowsily. "Did I fall asleep again?"
He smiled, sitting beside her on the bed. "Yes."
Her brows knotted, pushing herself up on bed. "I asked Elena about it, by the way. She said it happened occasionally when you mix sex and blood. Nothing to worry about… happens to me a lot, though. You've made a weakling of me, Harry."
"I can do no such thing even if I tried," he muttered, slapping her tush playfully as he kissed her.
She tried to pout, but failed miserably when she laughed softly into his kiss.
He sat back on the pillows, taking his letter and ripping it open. It had been two weeks since Voldemort's defeat, and as the general chaotic aftermath died down and people began to try rebuilding their lives, more than a few letters have poured in for Harry, thanking him for what he'd done. A few perhaps weren't so thankful, howling profanities of his folly and unholy habits. One or two had threatened death. Most of these letters were deposited in a mail bin on the roof of the house, but the many that did reach him directly were from people he personally knew.
The envelope in his hand was unmarked and as he opened the letter inside it, he saw that there was nothing written on it.
"What the…"
Hermione snorted softly. "I don't believe it." She touched the letter and the words bled onto the parchment.
Harry didn't even have to check the name at the bottom to know whom it was from. "Snape. I swear Hermione-"
"If you tell me he has my knickers one more time, I'm sending him a pair just to punish you."
"Ugh. Please don't ever do that, for the sake of my sanity." He read the letter. It said for him to meet Snape at Spinner's End at 7 in the morning the following day.
Hermione turned up her nose haughtily. "Humph. Way to make sure you don't have me tagging along. The coward."
Harry smirked, pinching her turned up nose affectionately. "I love you, but I can totally understand why he's afraid to have you there."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Whatever. I'm not that terrible. I can hold my temper if necessary."
He laughed, caressing her arm.
She looked at him suspiciously. "You don't seem the least bit worried about meeting up with Snape."
"Why should I be worried?"
"Because he's an oily, sneaky gint, and therefore you must never trust him."
He waved off her concern.
"Harry!"
He sighed. "He came through for us, Hermione, at a most crucial time. He made that potion that was instrumental in saving my life and defeating Voldemort, not to mention the fact that he managed to get me the last remaining Revivisco potion through you. What's there to mistrust?"
She frowned. "The fact that he could play both sides so easily. He's a dangerous man, Harry, and what with the decree on his head… he might be desperate."
"I wouldn't put it past him to be desperate, but you needn't worry about him hurting me. He could have let me die in the Riddle house if he wanted to, but he didn't."
"Indeed," she said softly. "Just be careful, love. I've done all I can to keep you alive… I can't lose you now, you know?"
He knew. Only all too well, he knew.
He kissed her, igniting their passions once more and letting himself get lost in the blissful comfort of their joining.
He would worry about Snape later. These days, matters such as those could wait.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry knocked on the door of Snape's squalid home in Spinner's End. The tepid, sewer smell of the nearby river made Harry wince, and the chimneys belching black smoke in the horizon was not what Harry would call a "view," but if it wasn't for the unpleasant surroundings, Harry was surprised to discover that he was rather looking forward to seeing his oily professor again, not that Harry had grown any kind of true affection for him.
It occurred to Harry that he wanted answers. He wanted to know what he'd become, and he felt Snape would have those answers.
The air was cold being so late in the year, and patches of dirty snow were evident here and there. Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. It was surreal to be wanting to go into Snape's home rather than suffer the cold outside. Never, until now, could Harry conceived that Snape, or anything to do with him, could ever offer comfort; even the simple ones, yet there he was, impatient for Snape to let him in.
It didn't take long for Snape to answer the door.
When Snape saw him, a flicker of surprise registered in the Potion Master's eyes. "What the hell happened to you?"
"I was hoping you can tell me."
Snape's lips pursed but he stepped back to hold the door open wider.
Harry wasn't asked to come inside. Snape merely held his eyebrows askance, as if to say, "Well, surely even you know what to do in this instance without being told."
Rolling his eyes, Harry stepped in.
The door closed behind Harry and the warmth was immediate, but when Harry turned, he was faced with not one, but two Severus Snapes.
The one who answered the door stood stoically stiff in his long black robes, while the other lay slumped against the wall-stunned, likely, in clothes more befitting of Mundungus Fletcher.
Harry's wand was out in an instant, Hermione's "I told you so!" ringing in his mind.
Snape-the one who was awake-scowled. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? Put that wand away!"
Harry was having none of it. "Turn around, put your hands to the wall, and shut-up."
"Potter, you are an idiot and a half-"
Harry was upon him in a blink of an eye, vamping as he slammed Snape face first against the door while pressing Snape's arm behind him.
Snape cried out in shock, and then pain, petrified by Harry's inhuman speed.
Harry quickly patted him down. He found Snape's wand and took it. Fangs halfway extended, Harry spoke over Snape's shoulder with a dangerous growl. "You will tell me who you are, and then you will tell me who that man is."
"You. Are. A. Fool!" gasped Snape. "Always will be."
Harry twisted Snape's arm harder and the man gave a wail. "Just answer the fucking question!"
Snape hastened to reply. "I am Severus Snape! And that over there is Peter Pettigrew!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It took a bit more roughhousing before Harry was totally convinced of Snape's identity, and when he was, he kept his wand out, just to make sure.
"After everything I've done," Snape muttered, sipping his tea. "You're still a bloody ingrate."
Harry glared at him. "Very few people know exactly what you did, Snape, the majority of which are gone in various ways, none of which like you very much. Considering your civil status at this time, which is D-E-A-D Wizard walking, you might want to consider kissing my A-S-S."
Snape showed very little in the matter of emotion.
"And how the hell do I know you're telling the truth about Peter Pettigrew?" Harry's eyes shifted to the unconscious man dumped in the corner. "It could be anyone! For all I know, you just picked a bloke off the streets and Polyjuiced him into you."
"I had to test the potion," said Snape irritably. "It is not everyday you have a Polyjuice potion that lasts for days and is able to withstand Polyjuice testing, you know. He should've turned back to himself twelve hours ago. It seemed to work better than I thought."
Harry eyed Snape suspiciously. "And what are you going to use it for, that you're so eager to make it work properly?"
Snape scoffed. "I should think that's obvious."
"Unlike some people, I don't have a criminal mind."
Snape shook his head, expelling a martyr-like breath of exasperation. "You're going to take him and turn him over as me-possible because I am a brilliant Potions Master. Given the decree of Immediate Execution issued in my name, there shall be no trial and he'd be sent walking into the Veil straightaway, thus precipitating the commencement of my worry-free life, which shall indeed be lived somewhere else."
Harry stared at him for several moments before he finally spoke. "Are-Are you mad?"
"Very. At a lot of people, most of all him," said Snape, tilting his head in Peter's direction. "But I like to be productive even when I am."
"B-But he's not-" Harry was getting very flustered. "He'll talk when he wakes up! And if he has to go down, he's going to try to take everyone down with him! You'll be the first-"
"He's not going to say anything. He remembers very little. He might think he's me, though."
Harry rose from his seat, eyes widening for a moment before he began to glare again. "You Obliviated him, didn't you? And you implanted new memories! You've done this before with Roberts-"
Snape set his cup of tea down noisily as he turned blue in the face. He looked quite angry. "Do not give me your over-tired, idealistic, Gryffindor bullshit, Potter. I've no time for it. Sit your ass down and listen to me! I earned that much helping you and the Know-It-All in your time of great need."
Harry stood above him, breathing from his own outrage, but he did sit, and he did acknowledge what Snape did for him and Hermione, but his wand remained clasped in his hand.
Snape leaned over, a look of resolve on his face. "You know as well as I that Peter very much deserves that decree. It makes no difference if he walks that Veil as me or himself. He will get his due. At any rate, Peter has it easier. He doesn't have to hear his name besmirched for very long. I have to live with it, legally dead though I may be. They'll write about me as the murderer of Albus Dumbledore and traitor of the Order of Phoenix. Contrary to popular belief, it is not a reputation I take particular pride in."
Harry took a moment to absorb this. Of course he knew why Snape did what he did to Dumbledore; he just wasn't sure if Snape knew that he knew. "Why are you telling me all this, then? You could have pulled this off by yourself with no one being the wiser."
Snape's face reddened this time, and he went rigid from what he was about to say. "Because you need to know that Peter got his due. Because I owe your mother that much, at least."
Harry didn't know what to say. It was disconcerting to think that the man he hated so much would have any kind of honor, however embedded it was in twisted scheming.
"Anyway," Snape continued hastily. "The plan would go smoother if I had… someone to help me from the inside. And don't think I don't know about those requests and petitions you've put in for me. You don't think I should be executed anymore than I do."
Harry felt his face grow hot. "Well, you can thank my over-tired, idealistic, Gryffindor bullshit for that one."
Snape snorted. "I will do no such thing. Didn't do me much good, did it?"
Harry narrowed his gaze at the Potions Master, shaking his head in abject disapproval.
"Once again, I had to do the thinking," said Snape, nose raised so high up in the air that Harry could have poked his wand through Snape's nostrils. "And of course, my plan is much better."
Harry wasn't quite through with him yet. "So you want me to lie for you, too."
"Essentially, but it isn't as if you've never lied before. Everyone does it. Even the great Albus Dumbledore had it in him."
Harry wanted to hit him for even saying Dumbledore's name, but Snape continued.
"In any case, you will be free to tell people you trust about what happened, provided you agree to a Fidelius charm."
"Hold on… you want me to be your secret keeper?"
"My life in your hands, Potter. Don't you just love that?"
Harry didn't love it in the least, but it did mean he could tell Remus about it. It meant Remus could know, too, and Remus wouldn't be burdened to tell the tale to others because of the Fidelius charm.
He stared at the man who was Peter Pettigrew in Snape's visage. Peter was set to be executed; that was fact. Everyone knew his sins. That was all that really mattered to Harry. The execution was something born from politics; something Harry never aspired to understand.
"I'll do it," said Harry tiredly. "I'll do it because you don't deserve to die. I'll do it because living in hiding, even when-especially because-everyone else thinks you're dead, is punishment enough for Dumbledore's life. After this, you're on your own. I don't ever want to see you again."
Snape inclined his head in agreement.
There was a shimmer of magic in the air and Snape turned to the body in the corner.
"Ah," said Snape. "He's changing back. See?"
Indeed, it took but a few seconds. The body became Peter Pettigrew, rat-faced and all.
Harry snorted wearily. "Indeed."
After staring at Peter a while, he walked over to the body, lifting Peter's face to the light with the tip of his wand.
"Satisfied it's him?" asked Snape after a bit.
Harry nodded.
"We'll give him a new dose of the same potion before you bring him back to the Ministry," Snape said. "Don't worry about what he'll say when you Enervate him. He'll be half-lucid and convinced that he's me. You can stand him up to any judge and I'll stake my life that they'll have him walking the Veil in no time."
Harry had very little doubts about it. He turned to sit back on down with Snape. "And now it's my turn."
Snape's eyebrow arched.
"What am I?" Harry asked.
Snape sniffed. "You ought to ask your vampire friends, Potter. I'm sure they'll know."
Harry shook his head. "None of them do."
"Perhaps you're not asking the right friends."
Harry looked up at him questioningly.
Snape looked smug. "Where do you think I got the foundation for immortality spells, Potter? I am not a God. I cannot make people immortal out of nothing. It had to come from somewhere. I had a source-an immortal source-who had access to books even the Know-It-All couldn't shake a Gold-Plated library card at."
Harry scowled. "Janus is dead."
"Are you really this stupid or are you just pretending? Did you seriously believe that Janus did all of it alone? Did you think that vampires would flock to Janus, second to Yasmin ibna Omar? Of course not. Janus had to have a backer, a very ancient backer that all his vampire minions could respect. It was through him I was lent ancient text from what I would call a very exclusive library, and I used those texts to build on my potion. The theories in the book were lacking, which is why none of them worked, but yours and the Dark Lord's circumstances were different. It was workable solely on that premise, and I did say it wasn't supposed to work for you at all. That was true, but apparently you did something to it. Maybe you added some kind of missing ingredient. It doesn't matter what it is, because here you are; alive and… shall I say, better than ever?" He rubbed his elbow at this, and Harry knew he was remembering their little scuffle when he first got there.
He was stronger, and faster; like a vamp, and he healed like a vamp, too, aches, wounds and pains disappearing with the drinking of blood. His humanity made him different. He had no bloodlust, he ate regular food, and the sunlight didn't hurt him in the least.
"What am I?" Harry asked again.
Snape smirked. "You are what the vampires used to be, Potter, before the curse of sunlight and blood befell them those thousands of forgotten years ago."
Harry paused. "Is there a name for it?"
"There is. They call you Dhampir."
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A/N: Yes, of course there's another one before the Epilogue, because I suck at chapter estimates. '-_- It ain't completely over yet, folks.
I don't mind telling you that there's shit load more of stuff I have to tie up, all of which SHOULD be done by the next chapter. I am no longer making any promises, as I've learned that I could never keep them.
So until the next post!!!