Our Fathers

Chapter Sixteen - This Moment, My Last

Harry couldn't help but watch Blaise Zabini during breakfast the next morning. She sat at one end with Malfoy and a few younger Slytherins whose names Harry had never bothered to learn. Laughing and smiling, she hadn't a clue what had befallen her family the night before, and the danger that now faced her, even at Hogwarts. When Malfoy had been attacked by Crabbe back in September, he'd finally realized that Hogwarts was as defenseless to the attacks of a Dark Wizard as any town - it was just a bit harder to approach. There were Death Eater children sitting right down the table from the girl. Would her Housemates turn her over?

Without question, yes.

"Why're you watching the Slytherins?" Ron muttered, poking at his third serving of breakfast. "Sweet on Zabini, or something?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, no! I just..." He slumped against the table with a sigh. "Vision. More dead. I've got to tell Professor Dumbledore about it later. And the one this weekend, I forgot to tell him when he was chewing me out about the potion."

Hermione gave a loud sniff and peered disapprovingly at Harry. "Your own fault, you know."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Ron countered in Harry's defense. "How would you like it if you couldn't sleep and you had to watch people die? He had a bloody good reason for doing it, even if I'm still mad at him for lying to me." Ron's grin was enough to let Harry know he didn't really mean it.

Harry couldn't bring himself to smile back. "He killed three people last night, and one this past weekend. And both families have children at Hogwarts. I just don't know who the children of the woman killed over the weekend are... not Slytherins, I don't think. There aren't any Indian students in Slytherin." He gave a sigh and turned from his friends. "Hey, Seamus, could you pass me the marmalade?"

"Sure." Seamus sent the bowl down with a grin before turning back to the girl sitting next to him. Parvati grinned as well, taking up the conversation Harry had interrupted.

He dropped the bowl, which shattered on the edge of the table, sending splatters of orange marmalade all over his robes and all over Ron. Harry didn't notice, eyes locked on Parvati's smiling face. "Bloody hell," was all he managed to whisper through the uproar from Ron. The woman had seemed familiar... and now he knew why...

Harry pushed away from the table. "Gotta get a clean shirt," he mumbled, backing up quickly. Hermione was demanding something of him, but he turned and pushed past a few Hufflepuffs into the silence of the hallway.

His hands were shaking. He needed another dose of the potion, but he wasn't allowed. He felt sick and stumbled in the direction of the loo before a wave of exhaustion swept over him and he slumped against the wall. His knees couldn't keep him upright, they were shaking so badly, and he sunk to the ground, already in the throws of another vision.

It was a different home, with sunlight streaming in the kitchen windows over the scene. Once again, Harry recognized the victims, though this time it was two - a man and a woman, of Oriental descent. A circle of Death Eaters kept the pair in place as Voldemort poked through the cupboards. "Where is it, Chang?"

Harry choked back a sob - these were Cho's parents. First she'd lost her boyfriend, and now her parents? And both were because of Harry... If it wasn't for Harry, Voldemort wouldn't be back... "I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Chang snapped. One of the Death Eaters behind him stepped up and smacked the back of his head in response.

Voldemort gave a snort. "I know you went to the old fool's meeting. He thinks I don't have spies of my own? More the fool is he! Where are the papers?"

"Not here," Mrs. Chang replied. "He didn't give them to us! They're in Gringotts. Even you can't get them there."

"They aren't in Gringotts." Voldemort stepped forward. "You hold your daughter's life in your hands with your own. Who has the list?"

"We don't know!" Mr. Chang shouted, ducking away from the slap of a Death Eater.

Voldemort's serpentine face morphed into a sneer. "Fine, then... have it your way..." He raised his wand.

Harry snapped back to reality with two flashes of green light. Faces swam into focus crouching over him - blonde hair, black hair... "Malfoy?" he croaked, blinking in confusion.

The Slytherin held out a hand. "Breakfast is about to end. You're lucky we found you before the crowds came running out. No seizures today?"

With only a bit of hesitation, Harry allowed Malfoy to help him up to his feet. "You're being nice to me," he stated, frowning. "Why?"

Malfoy gave a snort of indignation. "You're welcome. I just figured... hey, we're in the same mess, why bother being nasty without a reason?"

"I have to get to the Headmaster's office," Harry replied quickly, taking a step away from Malfoy and his friend - Blaise Zabini. His eyes flickered to Blaise and stayed there - he was unable to look away, filled with guilt. He had to tell Dumbledore about the Changs and the Zabinis and Mrs. Patil.

"What happened?" Malfoy demanded, reaching out and grabbing Harry's shoulder to force him to answer.

Normally, Harry would've merely shoved Malfoy back, but the need to go quickly to Dumbledore overrode pride. "Voldemort. Killed someone. I have to go."

"We've got Potions now," Blaise Zabini shot in. Harry was fairly sure he'd never heard the girl speak before. She had a lovely, tremulous alto voice. "Snape will skin your hide if you don't show up."

Harry winced. Potions... and Snape would probably be in a bad mood after admitting his relation to Harry... "Could you... tell him about what happened? You saw it. You know I'm not making up excuses to skip class." Asking a favour of a Slytherin? Inexcuseable... but then again, Malfoy sometimes seemed to be something else without his powerful father to hide behind.

Malfoy shrugged. "Snape will probably just chew me out for talking to a Gryffindor... but hey, I can't get any Slytherins angrier with me, anymore. What do you think, Blaise? Do we help the Gryffindor?"

Zabini's lips curled into a frown. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get along with him after graduation. Why not?"

And then, suddenly, Malfoy stuck out his hand. Another moment flashed from Harry's memory - of Malfoy offering a hand of friendship long ago, before they'd even reached Hogwarts. That day, Harry had turned him down. "What do you say, Potter? A truce... for both of our sakes?"

He hesitated only a moment. "A truce. Let's stop hurting each other for no good reason." They clasped hands for only a moment before Harry pulled away. "I've got to go. Dumbledore needs to hear what I've Seen."

"I'll try to keep my godfather off your back," Malfoy replied. He continued with a snort. "Not like it'll help... he doesn't even listen to Dumbledore, most of the time, why should he bother with me?"

Harry wasn't given time to answer, as the two Slytherins turned and headed for the dungeon. He went the other way, pausing to give the password, Sugar Quill still, to the gargoyle, which sprung aside to allow Harry access. Up the stairs... and, somehow unsurprisingly, the old man sat behind his desk, waiting for Harry.

Professor Dumbledore set aside a stack of papers and adjusted his glasses. "News about Voldemort, Harry?"

He nodded sullenly. "Three sets of murders since Friday afternoon... I didn't tell the first set, because of the problems with the potion..." Harry couldn't help but blush in guilt, as he was still taking the Hyupnos Draught, right under his teachers' noses.

He gave a slow nod. "Did you recognize them? Were they the same types - recruitments gone wrong - or were there differences?"

"All of the dead have children at Hogwarts," Harry reported. Slipping into a mode of pure recitation let him be calm, at least for a few moments. "Friday afternoon, I think it was Parvati's mum. First non-Slytherin I've Seen, unless Mrs. Patil was one."

"No. She was Ravenclaw," Dumbledore murmured. He pulled over a stack of parchment and scribbled something on it. "Go on, Harry."

"Last night, I think it was a bit before midnight, he killed Ian Zabini and two others, Priam and Helena by name, I guess them to be the parents? Blaise Zabini's family?" Harry winced at Dumbledore's solemn nod and the continued scribble of the quill. "Just a few minutes ago, he killed Mr. and Mrs. Chang. That was different. It wasn't a recruitment. He was demanding some papers, from a meeting Mr. Chang had with you... but Mr. Chang said he didn't have them."

The quill's scratching had stopped abruptly. "He didn't have them. I mailed them to Sirius." Dumbledore winced visibly. "I... excuse me, Harry. I need to inform certain people of what has happened. Please wait here for a few moments." Leaving the parchment, Dumbledore rose and disappeared through a side door.

Harry sat patiently for a few minutes, until boredom overcame any qualms he had about poking through the Headmaster's belongings. Almost immediately, he reached for the big book about his family, which was still sitting on the desk. He flipped it open, eager to learn anything else the pages might have to offer about his past.

Dumbledore had mentioned that Ulysses Potter had died by a Light Wizard's hand, Harry remembered. Curious to learn more, he flipped through until the name came up and started skimming.

Ulysses Potter (1851-1919) - Born to Hermes Potter and Abigail Dumbledore. Attended Hogwarts from 1862 until 1869 as a member of Slytherin House; Seeker on the Slytherin team (1863-1869). Entered work with the Ministry in 1870. Held positions as Head of Internal Affairs and Head of International Affairs. Married Victoria McKinnon in 1902, one son, Henry, born 1913. Fired from Ministry in 1913 under charges of use of Dark Magic. Escaped custody before trial. Charges: believed to be involved in the April Massacre of 1899, along with father, Hermes Potter. Accused of the 1911 deaths of Herbert Crewe, Godric Avery, Ron Jones, and Elizabeth Leeds. Accused of spearheading the 1915 attack on the Dublin Academy of Magic - 23 deaths. Accused of the 1917 attack which left wife, Victoria McKinnon, in St. Mungo's after prolongued use of the Cruciatus Curse. Believed to be mentor to Gustav Grindelwald. Killed in 1919 by Auror Albus Dumbledore (cousin).

Harry slumped back in his seat in shock. Dumbledore had killed his great-grandfather? His great-grandfather had been a Dark Wizard, and a Slytherin as well? And it looked as though Hermes Potter had been Dark as well, from the sentence about the massacre in 1899. All those deaths, on Ulysses' hands... Dumbledore had looked particularly uncomfortable at the mention of this name, and with good reason...

But they'd been uncomfortable with the name Henry Potter, Jr., as well. He flipped quickly through the pages, toward the names at the back of the book. Though shorter, the entry revealed just as much.

Henry Potter, Jr. (1954-1977) - Born to Henry Potter and Mercy Ross. Attended Hogwarts from 1965 until 1972 as a member of Gryffindor House; Beater on the Gryffindor team (1970-1972); Dueling Captain (1971-1972). Reporter for Daily Prophet beginning in 1973 until death in 1977. Killed in duel with Auror Frank Longbottom. Known Death Eater.

He flipped through more pages, almost desperate to find something different. Slytherins... Dark Witches and Wizards... every one...

When Dumbledore entered the room again, Harry was shaking violently, flipping frantically through the pages. Harry sent an accusing glare at the man. "Why didn't you tell me!?" he demanded, voice hoarse with emotion. "My whole family... why didn't you tell me they were all evil!"

"Harry... give me the book..." Dumbledore held out his hand, moving swiftly across the room. "Professor McGonagall will be here in a moment to talk to you about the summer... Now please, calm down and give me that."

He did more than give it to the professor; Harry stood and sent the book hurtling across the room. Fawkes let out a loud shriek as the tome smashed into a potrait of Headmaster Dippet, sending the man scurrying into the next painting over. "The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin... that's why, isn't it! Because of my family! You killed my great-grandfather! Neville's dad killed my uncle!"

The Headmaster grabbed Harry's shoulder and forced him back into his seat. "That doesn't make you like them. Henry and James were as righteous and as Light as men could be! Your bloodline has nothing to do with your morals!"

Harry's thoughts flickered back to Ron's words on the staircase in the Gryffindor dormitory. "Ron knows what I am," he croaked. "Who else knows? Does everyone but me know?"

"Of course not," Dumbledore gave a snort. No hint of the gentle twinkle was visible in his eyes, only seriousness. "About Henry, Jr. and Julius? Yes, I'm sure most adults remember the scandal of that... my Henry was an Unspeakable, you know... but even a Gryffindor can go bad, Harry. Peter Pettigrew is proof of it. But yes, some people know... and some will hold it against you, once you leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh, so I'll be not just the Boy Who Lived anymore? I'll be the Boy Who Might Be a Dark Wizard? Malfoy overheard some of you talking in the Hospital Wing when I was unconscious months ago - he told me that someone spoke of me ending up as the next Dark Lord! I'll admit, the similarities are there, but just being raised by the Dursleys didn't seem enough to cause that. But it's not the Dursleys anyone is worried about, is it! It's who I am! I could just be a natural born killer!" Harry tried to shrug his shoulder from the old man's grasp, but Dumbledore held firm.

A frown creased the Headmaster's face. "I don't believe that in the least. You've proved yourself to be moral beyond what I'd hoped for. Older members of society - especially those who lived through the wars at the end of the 19^th century - will hold your blood against you. Most others will not. And once you defeat Voldemort, not a man or woman in our world will doubt your loyalty."

Harry gave a loud snort. "You truly expect me to kill Voldemort like this? I can't even write an essay - how am I supposed to hold my wand straight? The way things are going, I won't live to see the day!"

"And what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Potter? Once you're over the addiction, everything should be manageable -"

"I'm dying!" Harry cut in with a snarl. At the blank look which stole over Dumbledore's face, he elaborated. "I was listening to Madame Pomfrey speaking with Professor McGonagall. She said I'm dying."

"She's wrong."

"She's a mediwitch! How can she be wrong!? I've seen what I look like in the mirror! On the Underground, some Muggle doctor thought I had leukemia! I look like I'm dying, the mediwitch says I'm dying - I think it must be the truth. I'm sick of everyone trying to hide things from me!" Harry managed to gain his feet, wrenching his shoulder from Dumbledore's grasp. However firm, the old man couldn't be a physical match for an angry, Quidditch-toned teenager.

Dumbledore made another grab to stop him from leaving, but Harry managed to dodge out of the way. "Harry, I believe there are ways to stop the connection with Voldemort. You'd be cured immediately."

Harry backed toward the door. "Then why haven't you stopped the visions, then!? Because you can't! Either that, or I'm just another pawn in the battle, and you're using me for information! No matter the reason, I'm still Seeing what that bastard does, and I'm sick to death of it! Do you hear me?! You're NOT going to have control anymore! If you want to go kill Voldemort, do it yourself - you killed my great-grandfather, you seem to be good at it!" It had been the cruelest remark Harry could think of, but he didn't wait around to see Dumbledore's response. Instead, Harry fled the office.

McGonagall grabbed him halfway back to the Gryffindor Tower. "Mr. Potter!" she scolded, "There's no need for such childish behavior!"

"Get off me!" He tore himself away. Everyone was in class. There was no one available to hear him mouth off, which was why he allowed himself the luxury. "Bugger off! Can't you see I want to be alone!?"

Though "Potter! 10 points from Gryffindor, Potter! Get back here!" trailed down the corridor after him, he didn't stop; didn't look back. "Veritas," he snapped at the portrait of the Fat Lady, slipping into the empty Common Room.

Truth. What an ironic password. Truth was what he'd been denied for so long.

Could he be like them? He took the stairs two at a time up to his dormitory and slammed the door behind himself, locking it. Could he be evil? Could he be a Death Eater; feel no remorse as he killed, like his uncles and his great-grandfather?

Harry collapsed at the foot of his bed. The tremors in his hands and knees were too severe to ignore. His stomach churned, his head ached, and the words of the book ran constantly through his head. How many had Ulysses Potter killed? Dumbledore wanted him to kill Voldemort... if he killed once, would he find he liked it? Was it in his blood?

And then, unwanted, came a flash of another room. Voldemort had turned his wand on a Death Eater. The man quivered at his feet. "Avery, Avery... you've not found a map? There must be one... it's one of the oldest buildings in Scotland..."

Muffling a scream of despair in the fabric of his comforter, Harry flipped open the top of his trunk before the vision overtook him completely. Without thought for rationing, or even for dose size, Harry drank the entire vial of Hyupnos Draught. The tremors stopped.

Harry picked up the second vial and stared for only a moment before drinking it as well. In a remarkably steady hand - remarkable because of the way his vision was slowly floating - he grabbed a quill and a scrap of parchment from the top of his trunk. He wrote.

Uncle Re, I'm sorry. -Harry

He set it aside and struggled to climb onto his bed. He wasn't sure what had prompted him to take the second vial, but in the haze overtaking him, he wasn't sure he cared.

He wondered what Ron would say.

Gray faded to black.