Unforgivable Promises

Unforgivable Promises

Chapter 13

Harry caught up to Hermione in the library. Despite Ron's assurance, he was worried about how she was taking his news. I knew this was a mistake, he thought. "Hermione?"

She looked up at him, lips pursed.

"What is it, Harry? I'm a bit busy," she said. "Busy helping you, I might add."

"I know that, and I appreciate it." Harry watched her return the book she was holding to the shelf and pull another out. Her hands were trembling, and she seemed to be going through books randomly without reading their titles.

"If you'd rather not help me anymore. . ." Harry trailed off, terrified at her response.

"I told you I'm still your friend. Maybe I haven't been a very good one, but you can trust me, you know." She was flipping through the index of another book, her back to Harry.

"Of course I know that. I never thought I couldn't trust you."

"Then why did you wait so long to come out to us? Did you really think we'd hate you? After we've stood beside you against everything, did you really think so little of us?"

Harry took a step back, unbalanced. "Hermione, I said before that my taking so long to tell you had nothing to do with you, and it didn't. It had to do with me."

"You were afraid to tell us, Harry. It had to have something to do with us."

"Honestly, Hermione, it didn't. I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid to admit it to myself. I've known for a while, I guess, but I always ignored that part of me. It was like, as long as I never told anyone, I could always pretend. I could have a normal life. I just wasn't ready to take that last step until now."

Harry searched for the words to make her understand.

"Someone told me once that words have power. And he was right. It's scary to say it out loud at first. And it had nothing to do with who I was saying it to. It could have been an empty room, and I wouldn't have said it until now. But I always knew you guys would stay by my side. I never doubted that. Not until. . ."

"Until I left?" Hermione turned to face him. Harry swallowed but did not answer. "Oh, Harry!" Hermione dropped her book and pulled him into a hug. Harry returned her embrace gratefully. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that. And I never really thought you didn't trust us. But Harry, you must know that we're all terrified that one day you're going to run off to fight Voldemort without us. I guess that's why I overreacted. If we don't know what you know, we can't help you."

"Well, I'm not going to run to Voldemort because I'm gay. I've seen him. He looks better than he did two years ago, but he's still not my type."

Hermione laughed and wiped a tear from her eye. "Thank you for telling us, Harry."

Harry gave her another hug. "You're welcome. Want to go back to the room?"

Hermione nodded and the two left the library. In the hallway, she asked, "So, are we the first to know?"

"Oh, uh." Harry faltered. "Well, no. One other person knows. But I can't tell you who." Hermione frowned at him, and he quickly continued. "He's gay too, and I promised not to tell anyone about him. It's not that I don't want to tell you, but it's really not my place to say anything. And if it makes you feel better, I didn't plan on telling him. He figured it out."

Hermione nodded. He knew she was trying to piece together clues. "Did you two, ah, you know. . ."

Harry laughed. "No! No, no, no." This time Hermione laughed.

"Wow, Harry. It wasn't Malfoy was it?" She had a playful glint in her eye. "That's a lot of 'no's."

When they returned to their friends, Harry could sense their unease, which was quickly relieved when they saw the smile on Harry and Hermione's faces.

"So what about Cho?" Hermione asked, returning to her spot on the bed.

Harry frowned. "I feel bad about that now. I guess that was like what I said before about trying to be normal. I really got myself to believe that I was attracted to her. She's very pretty, so it really wasn't that hard. And I exaggerated my appreciation for her into something more. But I was fooling myself. When I look back on it, I realize I didn't care about her the way I should have–the way a boyfriend really would have. I just didn't know it. Maybe I was using her so I wouldn't have to face what I really am."

Ginny gave his arm a squeeze. "Don't get yourself down about it, Harry. I don't think Cho was really all that in love with you either. It was what it was, and no one got really hurt, right?"

Harry reflected on Ginny's words. "I suppose so. I just feel bad about it, that's all."

"Well, you wouldn't be Harry if you didn't feel guilty about something," Ron said with a smile. "And what did we hear Hermione saying about Malfoy out in the hall?" His eyebrows waggled as only his could. "Thinking of subscribing to Blonds with Wands?"

Harry turned bright red and feigned anger. "I don't like blonds!"

With a serious expression, Ron turned to Neville and said, "He's got a thing for redheads then. Poor guy. I'm going to have to break his heart." Neville chuckled; Harry laughed.

"You wish. I like dark hair, thank you."

"Ah," Ron said. "Flitwick, then. You into short guys?"

"Well, he would be just the right height," Harry said slowly.

"Harry!" Hermione was wide-eyed. "I cannot begin to consider how many ways hearing that has scarred us all."

-----

As the end of summer loomed closer, Harry's small triumphs were increasingly shadowed by larger frustrations. Snape's tutoring continued, and Harry, in a series of tests that worried his friends no end, had discovered that he could block out most of the pain that Voldemort sent him through his scar. Only the worst Crucios made it through to him, and the young man was reasonably sure that his failure to block the pain entirely was due to his bond to the Dark Lord rather than a failure of his shields, as Snape had pronounced him to be as good at Occlumency as the man could make him. He had also succeeded in removing himself from Voldemort's mind at will. Again, Snape's tutoring proved invaluable, as he had taught Harry the mental exercises used by Clairvoyants. The Markings later in the month would be the true test, though, as Harry had no doubt that the pain that leaked through his bond would be far worse than what came from the Crucios. Harry stopped testing the bond once he was satisfied he could free himself from a vision. The nightmares were bad, whether they were brought on by one of Voldemort's bad moods or by Harry's memories of atrocities past. If the potion used on the Longbottoms did not work, Harry's skill alone would not be adequate.

Any satisfaction at his new skills Harry may have felt was dispelled by the thought that he was still failing Snape. Hermione had no new ideas on how to break the Mark without a more aggressive use of Harry's bond to Voldemort, and none were willing to attempt that. They would have to wait until the week before the new term and hope Harry was able to learn more.

Combat training continued, with Snape sometimes accepting help from others in the Order, and other times refusing their assistance. Usually, that refusal heralded one of the special sessions with just Snape and the five students. The Potions Master had fashioned potion-belts such as he wore for all of them, and he drilled their use into them. Eventually, their presence and use would become intuitive to the group, but for the time being, they practiced with bottles of colored water. Each evening after dinner, all five spent time trying to grab the correct vial without looking. In a heated combat, there would be little time to read labels, so all potions had to be identified by touch and placement on the belt. In mock battles, Snape hammered them for missed opportunities to end a conflict with one of the potions or, more often, for grabbing the wrong potion for the situation.

To compound the students' exhaustion and confusion, everyone in the Order had taken it upon themselves to test their knowledge of spells. Harry and his friends had all but forgotten about Snape's assignment to memorize the endless list, but they quickly learned not to underestimate anyone in the manor. No one made it down a hallway or into the kitchen for dinner without hearing the shouted name of some real or imaginary spell. Four of them had already done several essays on incorrect responses. Hermione, of course, knew every spell on Snape's list. Alphabetically. Harry had a hard time resenting her for it, though. Her life may one day be saved by her knowledge, he knew.

Finally, with just less than two weeks until his return to school, Harry was exhausted. His every waking moment was spent working on something, and his nights were too often haunted. Snape had provided a Dreamless Sleep potion, but Voldemort's anger often broke through, and the Potions Master did not allow him to use it every night for fear of side effects.

Today, in fact, Harry found himself learning to brew the potion. In early August, Snape had slightly modified their potions lessons to focus on several that Harry would likely need. They had done a variety of healing potions and a few of the less questionable brews for the students' belts. And Snape was making a point of letting Harry know where he could purchase several others that were beyond his skills as a Sixth Year.

"The potion for phantom pain is called the Limbless's Draught," Snape said as he watched Harry work on the Dreamless Sleep potion. He always discussed the more difficult potions in that tone, as if he was commenting on the weather. "It isn't restricted, just hard to find due to its limited demand. Any respectable potion shop should be able to provide you with it once the batch I made is used up. I am sure there will be times in the future when its effects will be needed."

Harry simply nodded in response. He hated that he needed to know that it was called the Limbless's Draught. He hated that he needed to know how to brew Dreamless Sleep. He hated that in a few weeks, he would probably be left without Snape to simply hand him the bottle when the dreams got too bad and he was too tired to try to fight off the demons that waited for him to sleep. And he hated himself for not knowing how to keep that from happening. A part of him, a part that was growing day by day, wanted the Markings to happen tonight–now–so he could witness them and figure out how to free Snape.

Though they talked a lot now, their conversations always seemed to focus on Harry. Snape was making good on his promise to see that Harry was prepared to fight, and when they were not discussing tactics or magical theory, they were talking about Harry's state of mind or relationship with his friends. Severus had been very pleased to hear that Harry had come out to them. He had even smiled, and Harry could not help but note how those dark, cold eyes had held a smokey warmth if just for a moment. As he stirred his cauldron, Harry was overcome with a need to learn more about his teacher.

The man was, as usual, working on the other side of the room. Harry turned slightly and caught sight of his professor, who had rolled up his sleeves to keep them away from flames and volatile liquids. The young wizard reflected briefly on the first day Snape had bared his arms in his presence. As with so much of their relationship, the meaning of the gesture was never stated, but Harry took it as a sign of trust. As far as he knew, Snape never willingly allowed anyone to see his Mark. But hiding it made for more work when brewing potions.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You may. Though you understand that I may not answer it."

Probably not, Harry thought, but asked anyway. "Why did you decide to join him? If my father and his friends were just part of the reason, what was the rest?" The question was one he had long wanted to ask, but only recently did he feel comfortable enough to do it. He still expected no answer, but he also knew the other man would not be angry at him for wanting to know.

"Would it shock you if I told you I agreed with him?"

Harry thought about his answer for some time. He had learned that the Potions Master often chose answers that misled simply to provoke a response. "Agreed with him about what?"

Snape's lip curled a bit, and Harry guessed that he had avoided a trap. "I agreed with him that wizards should not have to live in fear of being discovered by Muggles. I agreed that it was unfair to punish a wizard for revealing himself when Muggles are forcing themselves upon us daily."

"There's nothing wrong about wanting equality, I guess," Harry said slowly.

"Indeed. And my words make it seem almost noble. But in truth, Harry, it was never noble. It was never about equality. It was about power, control, and revenge. The Dark Lord never spoke of equality. He spoke of dominance. Though it is far worse now than it ever was, it was never a noble cause. But the darkness drew me, I admit.

"And as I seem to be suffering from an honest streak, I will tell you, Harry, that your father was only a small part of what drove me to that darkness. While his words may have been the loudest, I think they often hurt less than the whispers. At least I could try to fight back against your father, though I never really succeeded. But that was easier than pretending not to hear the words more softly spoken.

"So, when the Dark Lord rose, and gave impassioned speeches about showing ourselves to the world and punishing those who would force us to hide, when he spoke about a reckoning against the people who drove us into shadows, I listened. And yes, some of that spoke to my being gay, but not all of it. I had learned very early in life to hide most of myself from the world, as it could be used as ammunition. My family taught me that, and it was reinforced in school. And not just by your father, I assure you. Though Slytherin may show a solid front to the world, it is far more cruel to those within its dungeons than without."

Harry kept his eyes on his potion, waiting for it to finish changing color before adding the final ingredients. He had no idea how to reply to Snape's words. It seemed foolish to try to console him over actions long past. But he felt he had to acknowledge, somehow, the trust the man showed in him. Harry had little doubt that few people had ever heard so much of Snape's story. "Thank you, sir." He knew Snape would understand what that meant. A hand on his shoulder was the only reply.

"I'm telling you this for a reason, Harry. Perhaps more than one reason, but this is most important." Snape kept his hand on Harry's shoulder as he spoke from behind him. "No matter what they do to you–the Dark Lord, his Death Eaters, or the world itself–never let them make you hate. Fear them, mock them, pity them, fight them, kill them if you have to, but don't hate them. Hate is a habit, Harry. It gets into your blood and every day the hatred comes easier, quicker. And then you hate everyone, simply out of habit. Even people you shouldn't hate. People you might have even become friends with if you weren't so used to the hate."

The two stood there in silence. Harry ignored the potion in front of him, his attention focused on the warmth and strength of the hand on his shoulder. After several heartbeats, Snape continued. "Most people who give in to that never find their way out of it. A few escape the darkness, and the lucky ones can even be saved. But for most of us, it's too late, and we get only a final glimmer of light before it's all over."

Snape's words, and the unspoken words lingering between them, were too much for Harry. With relief, he saw his potion fade to a light yellow and grabbed the final ingredients. "Is it ready for the Unicorn Tears, Professor?" His voice wavered.

"Yes." Snape let his hand slide from Harry's shoulder. When the potion shimmered silver, he said simply, "Good job, Harry."

Bottling the potion and cleaning up his area, Harry's thoughts were filled with protests. He kept them to himself, though, as he always did. He set the potion on the shelf above Snape's table and turned to leave when his fatigue caught up with him. Tripping over his own robes, he tumbled head-first toward the Potions Master, who reached out to support him. Harry grabbed onto the man as they collided forcibly, and his stomach flipped. Suddenly, he was falling backwards.

My cauldron! Harry pulled out his wand to steady the cauldron on the table, even as he was falling. With a thud, he hit the ground. Wild brown hair, an ear, and dark blue robes filled his sight as he brought his bare arms up to deflect the other body from landing atop him.

With another lurch of his stomach, Harry felt himself falling again, this time to the right as Snape pushed him sideways.

"Dammit, Harry!" Snape growled. "You have to be more careful. If that cauldron had spilled, it could have destroyed half the rooms up here." Harry shook his head and tried to regain his bearings. Snape was gazing at him with an expectant expression. He held his hand out to Harry. "You are unhurt, I assume." Harry nodded and reached out to accept the other man's help, but pulled his hand back in shock.

"Your Mark. I touched your Mark when we fell." Snape's expression grew stony and he unrolled his sleeves, hiding the brand again. Harry understood Snape's reaction, and stood quickly. "I'm sorry. It's not. . ." Harry tried to sort out what had happened. "When I touched the Mark, I think I entered your mind. It was just like what happens with Voldemort. As soon as I touched your arm, I thought I was falling backward. You charmed the cauldron, right?" Snape's expression was still guarded when he nodded. "I saw that through your eyes. Then I saw me falling on you. I could see my ear, then I pushed me- I mean, you pushed me off you. I guess that broke my contact with the Mark, because after that I was back in my own body, falling sideways again."

"Did you feel anything else?" Snape asked slowly.

"Mostly your annoyance." Harry laughed. "This thing keeps surprising me." He gestured at his scar.

"Indeed," Snape said. "We shall both have to be more careful in the future."

Suddenly worried, Harry asked, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"That is hard to guess. It is my belief that the Mark burns whenever he turns his attention to the bond, and it was not burning during the fall or now. Whatever happened to you most certainly was directed, in some way, through him as the common link. But he was either unaware of it, or it happened too quickly for him to connect it to us." Harry was still a bit terrified, and his expression must have showed it. "Relax, Harry. It is not worth worrying over so close to the summer's end."

-----

Harry did worry about it, and when he returned to his friends, he shared what happened.

"Do you think that means you can do something to the Mark?" Neville asked, though they were all thinking it.

"Maybe," Harry said. "What do you think, Hermione?"

Frowning, the young witch made some more notes before answering. "I really don't know. It definitely shows that the scar is more like a Mark than anyone ever thought. I wonder what would have happened if the Mark had been burning when it happened."

Harry turned pale. "What do you think that would do?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe you'd feel whatever Snape did. You might share the pain, or even project it back to Voldemort, since your link probably works both ways, unlike the Mark. Either way, I don't think it's a good idea to try it out."

Harry simply nodded. "The Markings will be tomorrow night. Snape's going in the morning to gather them and get them ready." Everyone nodded. They all knew it was coming, and they all worried for Harry. "I'll take the potion a little before midnight. It should last about four hours."

-----

Harry had been slipping in and out of Voldemort's mind all day, afraid that some change in plans would cause him to miss the Markings. Everything had remained on schedule, though, and when Harry once again filled himself with rage and faded away from his own body, it was with less than a quarter hour until the ceremony was set to begin.

He was just in time to witness a murder. That was nothing new, of course. A detached part of Harry's mind was relieved that the victim wore a mask. It worried him sometimes that watching Death Eaters die was easier.

"Remember this. I do not accept failure." He turned his attention to the children kneeling at the foot of the dais. Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Nott were prostrate before him, no doubt taught the proper posture by their loyal parents. The two Ravenclaws, Brocklehurst and Chambers, were doing their best to imitate the Slytherins, as was Summers. He took a deep breath through his mouth, tasting the air. Fear, like a sweet perfume, hovered close, along with another scent, one that was new to the Markings but just as welcome. Awe radiated from the seven, as it had from the Malfoy boy, and he basked in it. This was right, as it should be. His first followers respected and obeyed him as their leader. These new children of his worshiped him as a god. As all would some day.

Beckoning the first to approach, he drew his wand. "Why do you come before me, Nott? Why do you give your life to me? For I shall demand nothing less."

Eyes cast to the floor, Nott knelt before him. "My life has always been yours, as you have always been my lord. I come before you to serve you better."

"Well said, my child. Stand and bare your arm." The boy obeyed, and with a whispered spell, the tip of his wand glowed red. The sweet smell of burnt flesh chased away the other scents in the room, and the delicious scream drowned out his chanting as he drove the tip of his wand deeper into the boy's arm. He dipped his mind into the other's pain, savoring it like wine on a connoisseur's tongue. Skin cracked and peeled away as an inky blackness seeped from his wand, curling out in the pattern that decorated all his worshipers and claimed them as his own. Magic encased the student and held him upright as other charms wrapped around his mind and heart and seeped into his bones. Having branded and bound his newest possession, he allowed it to fall and motioned for the next to follow. As the Parkinson girl made her way trembling up the steps to him, Malfoy and Snape, still masked, dragged the unconscious Nott away. He may not survive the night, but most did. And those that died were too weak to be of use anyway.

Two hours later, Harry shuddered as he pulled himself from the horror. At some point, he had curled into a ball, and now that he was again in control of his body he had no desire to change that.

"Harry? Are you awake?" Ron's voice came from nearby.

"Should we get someone?" Hermione's voice sounded small and unsure.

Harry shook his head–a mistake. Nausea swept through him, and he barely managed to roll over in time to be sick all over the floor. When he stopped trembling, Hermione had already made short work of the mess with a quick spell, and Ginny was sitting on the bed next to him gently rubbing his back.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Neville asked as he handed him a glass of water. "I think Dumbledore's still here, waiting for Snape to get back."

"No, I'll be okay, I guess. It was just. . ."

"Don't talk about it, Harry," Hermione said. She had tucked her quill into her notebook. "It can wait, and you look like you could use some sleep. Do you want us to stay a bit, or just want to try to sleep?"

"I don't think I've ever been this tired. I just want to close my eyes and never open them again."

"Wait a tick," Ron said. "Any idea where Snape keeps the Dreamless Sleep potion?"

"I'd forgotten about that. It's on the shelf above the table on the right. Can you get the bottle that's half empty, not the full one?" Ron took only a moment to find the potion and bring it back. "Thanks Ron."

Ron nodded in response, and Harry was again grateful for his friends' forethought. Taking care of him was becoming second nature, and he looked forward to the day where none of them felt the need to tend to him.

-----

Morning arrived far too soon, but with some good news. Snape had returned late that night and had canceled the morning's lessons. Harry chose to go back to bed after breakfast. He forgot to take another dose of the potion, though, and woke up sweating with the sound of sizzling flesh playing in his mind.

Lunch found Harry still in bed, but sitting up and avoiding sleep at all cost. Somehow, shortly after his nightmare had forced him awake, the other students had found their way into his room, one by one. Jokes, games, and pointless chatter filled the morning and distracted him from thinking about why his hands were still shaking. It also distracted his friends from the haunted look in his eyes, though none would have ever said so to him.

Potions lessons in the afternoon went on as planned, and Harry tried to compose himself as he entered Snape's room.

"I seem to be missing a bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion, Mr. Potter. I assume you know its whereabouts."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, Professor. But I took some last night. Just the regular dose. I have the bottle in my room."

"Did not trust your own work?" Snape nodded to the bottle Harry had brewed earlier.

Harry knew he failed to keep his voice steady as he said, "I had a feeling I needed it to be as strong as possible."

Snape nodded, his back still to Harry as he worked at his own cauldron. "And did the Limbless's Draught work?"

"Yeah, it worked perfectly. I almost wish it hadn't."

Snape's eyes were laced with sorrow when he turned around, and he spoke quietly. "It was that bad?" Harry nodded and sat on the stool in front of his work area. "You could not escape his mind, then?"

Harry bit his lip. He had expected the question, and knew he would not be able to lie about it. "I didn't try."

"Why in the world-" Harry looked up to see the other man's dark eyes shift from confusion to anger. "Damn it, Harry. Stupid Gryffindor heroics. You need to worry about yourself a little more and the rest of the world quite a bit less."

"Interesting words coming from a traitorous Slytherin who's going to get himself killed in a week to save me."

"That's my decision Harry."

"Fine. And this one's mine."

Snape glared at him, fists clenched. "I have warned you several times that if you actively sought out the Dark Lord's mind, I'd make sure you regret it."

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "Then throw out the rest of the Dreamless Sleep potion."

The anger seeped from Snape's face. "Honestly, Harry, what were you thinking?" He sat down beside the young man.

"You know what I was thinking. And I learned a lot last night. Or I think I did. I still need to talk to Hermione. I just can't force myself to think too much about it. What he did was horrible enough just to watch, but to feel how he felt. . ." Harry swallowed hard. His throat was getting tight, and he tried hard not to cry. He was too old to start sobbing. "I never knew how much the pain distracted me from his other thoughts. From how much he enjoys it." His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands as he relived the markings. He could not keep the tears away.

Snape's arm fell across his shoulders, stiff and awkward, and Harry regretted falling apart. He knew Snape was uncomfortable. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he said, "I'm sorry about this, Professor."

"As you should be. That's twice this summer I've had to endure your tears. You really should be doing this with Minerva or Albus, or even Lupin."

"I'd think you'd be used to it."

"It is far easier to tolerate hysterics when you have gone out of your way to cause the break down. At the very least, you are not expected to try to stop someone's tears when you are too busy enjoying them."

Harry found a smile. "Careful, Professor. There's that sense of humor again."

Snape glanced down at him. "Nonsense."