Our Fathers

Chapter Seventeen - To Redeem this Empty Life

One Blaze of Glory

"I bet he's just not feeling well," Seamus suggested. "He looked rather off at the table at breakfast, and then he dropped the marmalade all over himself... his hands were shaking badly, and he was staring at me and Parvati as if we were about to jump him at any moment."

Ron frown and slung his backpack over his shoulder, following Seamus and Hermione from the Potions dungeon. Harry had been acting funny, that was true... but what if he was really sick? What if he was in danger? "What class do we have next? Transfiguration, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. You should know our timetables by now, Ron, it's April!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Hermione. Look, I'm worried about Harry. Seamus is right, he was looking odd at breakfast, and if he's had another seizure, he might need help. I'm going to run back to the tower... could you let Professor McGonagall know it's for Harry?"

"I'll go too," Seamus offered. When Hermione started to protest, he gave a snort to cut her off. "If he needs help, someone will have to stay while the other goes for a professor. I'm not trying to get out of class. Really."

"If she takes points, it's not my fault," Hermione griped. She grabbed Dean Thomas' shoulder and dragged him off toward class, ensuring she wouldn't be the only one there.

Ron hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitories, pausing only long enough for Seamus to catch up once he'd realized Ron had dashed off. "I'm sure he's alright," Ron said, "he can take care of himself. I just want to make sure, you know?"

Seamus nodded. "He's your best mate. If Dean was this sick, I'd be worried too." They skidded to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. "Veritas."

The portrait seemed to take ages to open, and Ron hopped from foot to foot in impatience. He wasn't sure why, but he had a terrible feeling that something bad had happened to Harry. There was no evidence for it, just the odd behaviour of the Boy Who Lived at breakfast... but Ron knew that Harry wouldn't miss class for something silly...

He was halfway up the stairs before Seamus caught up to him again and shoved the dormitory door open with a kick, snapping the lock - it had been locked? "Harry?" Ron called. "Harry, are you in here? Are you alright?"

Silence. Ron and Seamus exchanged worried glances before Ron crossed to Harry's bed. The first thing he noticed was a foot extended over the edge of the mattress. He dashed forward and bounced onto the mattress beside Harry, grabbing his shoulders. "Harry? Mate, wake up, we've got Transfiguration!" Despite the shaking, Harry didn't respond.

"Ron... I don't know if he's breathing..." Seamus whispered, eyes wide. He rounded the other side of the bed and knelt to listen to Harry's breath. "No, it's there... but barely..."

Ron seized Harry's wrist and felt frantically for a pulse. It was almost gone. "Oh, God... Seamus, go for Madam Pomfrey, quick!"

Seamus was off in an instant, leaving Ron to roll Harry onto his back. There was no blood anywhere, so he hadn't been stabbed. He was still alive, so it hadn't been the Killing Curse. A glint of sunlight on glass caught Ron's eye as he took Harry's pulse again. Climbing off the bed, Ron knelt beside two empty vials, quite large ones, that were lying on the ground beside Harry's open trunk. The contents of the trunk were spilt across the floor, as though someone - Harry? - had been rooting through it.

He picked up one of the vials and sniffed at the contents for a moment before a very recognizable odor came to mind - it was crushed lavender, one of the more mundane ingredients of the potion Harry had been making for himself. The dangerous one. The one he wasn't allowed to take anymore.

With a loud curse, Ron carefully replaced the vial. Just how dangerous was the potion, and what could that much do to a person? Ron backed up, away from the vials, and tripped, falling against the small table beside Harry's bed. Though he smacked his head rather hard, the accident brought one more piece of evidence to light. A scrap of parchment fluttered from the table and into Ron's lap, Harry's slanted writing coming into focus. "Uncle Re... I'm sorry...?" Ron read softly.

And then his eyes widened with sudden comprehension. The paper was set back on the table quickly as a string of curses escaped Ron. He pulled himself back onto the bed and pulled Harry's body across his lap, holding him the same way he had over Christmas, when he'd cried himself to sleep. His pulse was even slower, and his breath barely coming at all.

"Oh God, Harry... I don't understand..."

Only a few moments later, footsteps came pounding up the stairs and Madam Pomfrey burst into the room with Seamus on her heels. "Am I too late?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

"He's tried to kill himself," Ron moaned, unable to choke back a sob. "The vials - on the floor, they smell like the potion, Hipnis, the one he's not supposed to take!"

"Hyupnos," she corrected offhandedly. "I might be too late." She conjured a stretcher and levitated Harry from Ron's arms. "Stay here, both of you. I'll send someone for you when I know more."

And then she was gone, along with Harry's motionless body. Ron choked back another moan, burying his face in his hands. Seamus came over and sat beside him, staring down at his hands. "He tried to do it...? How do you reckon...?"

Ron grabbed the note from the table and thrust it into Seamus' hands. "Suicide note," he mumbled, sniffing loudly. "Why does he want to die? I don't understand, Seamus!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and curled up as small as possible, staring in agony toward the door.

Seamus shook his head and set the note aside. "I don't understand either, Ron. Maybe... maybe it's just too much."

One Last Refrain

"You need to be sure to get the hand movements right on this spell," Minerva was explaining to the class of fifth year Gryffindors, "or you'll end up with a purple owl instead of a proper brown one. Animate to animate Transfigurations are the hardest type to learn, beside human Transfiguration and, of course, the Animagus transfiguration. If everyone has a birdcage with a single dove? Yes? Well, then begin." She moved to the closest desk - Neville Longbottom's - and crouched a bit to watch him attempt to change the dove to a small brown owl. "Mr. Longbottom, that's quite close, but you're making the movements too slowly. Practice them a few times yet before trying it on the dove?"

Before Longbottom could respond, the classroom door went flying open and Severus Snape stalked through, cloak billowing and face schooled into a scowl. It took all of Minerva's self-control not to roll her eyes at the sight - Severus tried with all his might to frighten the students into submission, but it seldom worked, especially with her Gryffindors. Well, except for Longbottom, who was cowering down into his seat. "Yes, Severus? What is it?" she snapped, moving toward the door. "I'm rather busy, if you haven't noticed -"

"It's Potter," Severus snarled. The students stiffened in their seats and started casting glances in Ms. Granger's direction. The girl looked quite concerned and leaned forward to try to catch the conversation. "The Headmaster has sent for both of us. We're to go to the Hospital Wing, immediately."

Potter? Had something gone wrong with his withdrawal treatments? Or had something happened with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? "What is it?" she asked simply, taking steps toward the door and sticking her wand into the holster at her side. "Is he alright?"

Severus' gaze flickered across the students hesitantly. "I'm sure he's fine," he finally answered - but his hesitation had given everything away to Minerva. He was lying through his teeth.

"You're all dismissed," she called out quickly. "Go back to Gryffindor Tower. Please leave the birdcages on your desks." Minerva didn't bother to take a second glance back at the class before following Severus' retreat into the halls. "What's really wrong?" she asked curtly.

"He tried to commit suicide while the others were at class. I suppose he thought no one would find him until too late." Severus winced for only a moment, though a moment was enough to let Minerva see the emotion behind his sour mask. He was actually worried... and where Potter was concerned, Severus Snape didn't often let his true emotion surface.

Minerva covered her dropped jaw with a hand, though the difficulty of keeping up with Severus' long strides kept her from sinking into shock. "Oh, Merlin... what did he do to himself?"

Another wince from Severus. The situation must be dire indeed. "Albus said he overdosed on Hyupnos Draught. I suppose he'd hidden some away for an emergency..." He drew a vial from his pocket. "This is just a common system-purging potion. Hopefully it will be enough to counteract the Hyupnos. He'd nearly stopped breathing by the time Ronald Weasley came across him."

And what if it didn't work? Minerva hadn't been looking forward to caring for Harry - she was 73, far too old to be in the business of mothering - but she had grown fond of the boy over the years he'd spent in her House and classroom. The mirror image of his father, yet with a mischievous streak the size of Sirius Black's and humility greater than Remus Lupin's. She'd not considered him fragile until the seizures had begun, but despite them, Harry had remained strong. So what could've pushed him to such extremes?

"He spoke to Draco before Potions," Severus murmured. "He had another vision. Maybe... maybe he saw something so painful...?"

Dozens of scenarios flashed through Minerva's mind. "Perhaps his family was killed? No, they were never kind to him, the great big Muggles. Or... oh, no... Harry's always thought of the Weasleys as family; could something have happened to Arthur and Molly?" The thought made her sick. Molly and Arthur's graduating class had been the first she'd taught as a professor. They'd been deeply in love, even in their final year of Hogwarts, much as James and Lily had been in later years, and Frank and Margaret Longbottom and a very few other Gryffindors who went on to happiness. She'd hoped the same for Harry... but was it too late?

"We can't know. Albus will tell us," Severus responded. That was always his response in a crisis - listen to Albus, Albus will know. If only she were 35 again and idealistic even in the guise of the cynic which Severus put forth - accepting would be so much easier... because even Albus Dumbledore wasn't infallible.

Severus pushed open the door to the infirmary and rushed through, potion held out in his hand. "Madam Pomfrey! The potion. Is the boy breathing?"

She let him run off to work to save the dying child and turned instead to seek the Headmaster. As she'd expected, he perched on the edge of a bed only a few down from Harry. Unexpected, however, was the expression of regret frozen upon a face usually seen with only a smile. Minerva took a seat beside him silently and waited for him to offer a reason for what had happened. "Albus?" she whispered gently.

"Oh, Minerva... I've made a terrible mistake..." The elderly man slipped off his glasses and rubbed at the deep bags beneath his eyes, which grew more pronounced by the year. "He had a vision. Several over the past few days, which he had not yet told me. The Zabinis are dead, and Sarasvati Patil, and the Changs died over a simple piece of paper, this morning - a paper they were not even given for safekeeping... so many lives, Minerva..."

With a comforting smile, she lifted a gnarled hand to her lap and patted it lightly. "He told you all of this? And what happened then?"

"I went to contact Arthur... Percy's managed to make a few trusted contacts among the Aurors. I asked them to find out for me if any of the bodies had been recovered. And when I came back... Minerva, I left the book on my desk, and of course he was reading it - he had every right to read it!" He broke off, rubbing at his eyes again.

"What book?" His inability to keep on topic frightened Minerva just as much as the thought of losing the Boy Who Lived. If Albus Dumbledore was affected so by just a mistake... what did it mean for everyone else?

He turned and watched Poppy and Severus hurrying about, and Harry's inert form; black hair a stark contrast to his pale face and the white sheets tucked around him. "The genealogy of the Potters. I left it on my desk, thinking that Harry wouldn't be visiting for a while at least. He picked it up and read several of the entries. I don't know how many... but certainly the one on Ulysses. Minerva, he knew that I'd killed Ulysses. He was my own cousin... how must it look to a boy of fifteen? He grew angry. I tried to calm him; tried to assure him that he wouldn't be judged by his forefathers.... but he just ran off. I thought he needed time to calm down, and did not follow."

"I would likely have done the same," Minerva sighed. She'd taught Henry Potter, Jr., the most famous traitor to the Gryffindor name, and Harry's uncle. With Henry, she'd somehow known that he'd end badly - there was a gut instinct that something within him had been tarnished by the reputation of his line long before he'd sat beneath the Sorting Hat. Harry, on the other hand, couldn't be more different.

"I'd forgotten," Dumbledore was saying, "exactly whom I dealt with. As much as it hurts me to remember it... Harry is not James, and Harry is not Henry. Henry had me as he grew, and James had Henry and Mercy. But Harry... the only parents Harry knew were Lily's sister and her husband. They mistreated him. He never learned love. He only learned hate... but he had the dream of his parents to hold onto. The illusion of a perfect family... an illusion I was too foolish to remedy before it became a foundation for him. How must it have felt for him to suddenly discover that his father's family has bred wizards as Dark as Voldemort? Oh, Minerva, I've made such a mistake with him..."

No, Albus Dumbledore was certainly not infallible. They turned and watched the scene play out in silence, until Severus collapsed into a chair and Poppy approached from across the room. "I don't know," she said simply. "We've done all we can... but if he hasn't the will to stay with us, we can't bring him back."

Albus rose slowly and nodded. "I know you and Severus have done your utmost to save him. Please excuse me... I've someone to call..."

Minerva didn't watch him leave. Instead, she crossed the room and took up a seat by Harry's side. The boy might not think of her as a caring guardian, but it could be the duty handed to her, should he survive the ordeal. She had a duty to him, and to his deceased but much loved parents, and to her own bloodline... but above all, she was worried.

One Song

Remus always felt stretched to the limits after a full moon - especially on a day he was still required to work. None of the Muggle children he taught had bothered to look for any sort of pattern within his brief illnesses, and they wouldn't have made a connection to the moon even if they'd bothered. What made the day even more horrible were the held-over fears about Harry's recovery. He'd gone through the symptoms of withdrawal, though the substance involved was one much more ordinary yet just as dangerous as the dream-blocking potion. After losing James, Lily, Sirius, Peter, and Harry in a single night and day, the werewolf had gone to many terrible extremes in the hopes of forgetting his pain. None had eased it, and several had been nearly impossible to recover from. They were places Remus never wanted to visit again.

"Professor? Here's my exam," a voice said, snapping him out of his reverie. Elaine Roberts gave a bashful smile and set the paper on the table before him, then scurried off to the back of the classroom.

She had been the first to finish. With a sigh, he pushed aside memory and pulled the exam over to start grading. Elaine was a good student - much like Percy Weasley and Hermione Granger had been at Hogwarts, in the short year he'd had the privilege of teaching there.

He was only a few marks in before the door swung open and Marguerite poked her head in. "Re, dear?" she whispered, glancing over at the rows of test-taking pupils, "you've a phone call. It's Albus... he says your nephew is in a spot of trouble."

Remus didn't care what the students thought - he was out of his seat and across the room before she finished. "Is Harry alright?" he demanded. "Did he say what happened?"

Marguerite gave a significant look in the direction of the students before dragging Remus to the phone on his desk. She offered up the receiver and made a show of pressing the right line. "Talk to him. I'll stay." She turned to the students, who were staring in interest at the proceedings. "Go on, finish your exams."

"Albus, it's me," Remus muttered. He was rather surprised to learn that Albus Dumbledore, famous and rather old wizard, knew how to use a Muggle telephone. It was no doubt a rather recent invention for someone of his great age.

"Oh, Remus, good," came the reply, crackling with static. "Blasted telephone... I really should get a new model. I purchased this one in the spring of '45 and charmed it myself to work at the school -"

Normally, Remus would never interrupt the important old man, but under the circumstances, he wasn't willing to wade through the small talk to the Headmaster's message. "Please, Albus, what's happened to Harry?"

There was a long pause, and Remus wondered for a moment if the ancient phone had finally crumbled to pieces. But finally, Dumbledore answered. "I made the mistake of leaving the genealogy on my desk. Harry read it. He knows... he went back to the Tower and took several doses of Hyupnos, which he'd hidden in his trunk. Poppy doesn't know if he has the will to remain with us."

The receiver was shaking in Remus' hand, and he found Marguerite kneeling by his side and offering silent reassurances. He wasn't sure what emotion his face reflected at the moment, but it was certainly one the students hadn't seen on him before. "I'll be there immediately," Remus whispered before hanging up and setting the phone aside.

"What is it?" Marguerite asked quietly.

"Harry... he overdosed on his medication... I don't know if he did it on purpose. He might not make it." Remus choked on the words and found Marguerite tugging him to his feet.

"A train leaves at two for Edinburgh, I think," she murmured. "I'll cover your classes. Go to him, Re."

Remus nodded quickly and snatched up his case, slipping through the door. In this case, a train wasn't necessary - only a dark alley. Remus wasn't a wizard for nothing.

A blink and a run through Hogsmeade later, Remus was dashing through the corridors of Hogwarts on his way to the infirmary. Those he'd taught sent fearful glances and those who were too young to remember his time there would certainly be told of his lycanthropy within days. His visits to see Harry over the past year had always been conducted quietly, so as to not upset the students who had grown up fearing werewolves. With Harry in danger, however, Remus frankly didn't care what the pureblooded children thought.

Before Remus made it to the Hospital Wing, however, three students intercepted him. "Professor Lupin!" squeaked Seamus Finnigan, staring wide-eyed as Ron Weasley grabbed hold of Remus' sleeve and Hermione Granger wrung her hands in agitation. "What are you doing here?"

"Seamus, he was Harry's dad's friend," Hermione explained quickly. "Oh, Professor... Did Professor Dumbledore tell you what he did? I just don't understand, he seemed fine this morning -"

"No he didn't," Ron corrected gruffly, a dark flash of anger across his eyes. He shoved a crumpled piece of parchment into Remus' hand. "That's for you. It was on Harry's table. He didn't write to us." The last was strained, as if the boy was holding back tears. Hermione grabbed his shoulder in comfort, but he shrugged away, looking at his feet.

Remus smoothed out the parchment and stared down at the short note in horror. "Then he really did... on purpose..." He winced and gave a jerk of surprise as Ron's hand patted his shoulder in clumsy consolation.

"Yeah. He did... Me and Seamus found him about an hour ago. Can we go see him, too?" Poppy Pomfrey probably wouldn't allow it, Remus realized, but the anguish present in Ron's face was just too much for Remus to say no to.

"I don't know if you'll be allowed in, but I'll try to convince Madam Pomfrey. I've got to hurry now... just in case..." He couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, he clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder and steered the boy in the direction of the infirmary, not really noticing whether Hermione and Seamus followed. The note was still clutched in his fist.

"Remus, thank goodness you've arrived," Minerva greeted him as he pushed open the infirmary door. She was seated beside Harry's still form, fingers entwined with his limp hand. His face was deathly pale and without the colour of health it became obvious just how skinny he was and how ill he'd actually become - though some of the fault of that had been the potion meant to save him, it seemed.

He left Ron, Hermione, and Seamus to hover around the door and crossed to the bed immediately, snagging a chair and pulling it to Harry's other side. Grabbing Harry's other hand, he choked back a sob of despair - his skin was cold. "Is he...?"

Minerva shook her head. "He's hanging on, but barely. The temperature of his skin is a side effect of Severus' restorative."

Remus nodded shortly and turned his attention back to Harry, reaching to tenderly brush aside a stray lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "Where's Albus? How did he let this happen?"

"Remus..." Minerva sighed and leaned back in her chair, setting Harry's hand back on the bed with a light pat. "Albus made a mistake, in not telling Harry of his family earlier. He's been quite sheltered, away from the wizarding world. There was almost no way of his history coming to light, and Albus hoped Harry could mature more before it became necessary to tell him the truth. He was wrong."

"But why does it matter so much?" he found himself demanding. His family didn't have secrets and Darkness as the Potters did. Sirius' family had a Death Eater cousin, but nothing so black as Harry's forefathers... "His father and grandfather were Light. Isn't it enough that they overcame it?"

He glanced up in time to see Minerva purse her lips in a frown. "For many, that would be enough. However... Harry never knew his father or grandfather. He only has the few stories we've told him. And, as one of You-Know-Who's most visible adversaries... a connection to Darkness, even within his own mind, could be dangerous. Albus tells me that the Sorting Hat wished to place Harry in Slytherin, but he utterly refused."

"And that means he's Dark? Lord above, Minerva, by that reckoning, I should be spouting off Unforgivables myself! The Hat placed him in Gryffindor, but not all Slytherins go Dark! That's ridiculous!"

She gave a snort. "Of course it's ridiculous. However, Harry's world is still a great deal more black and white than ours. He sees good and evil. We see only gray." Minerva leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and gave another sigh. "He likely felt betrayed. Everyone's kept this from him... even those he trusted the most."

Remus nodded slowly. Realizing the note was still clenched in his fist, he dropped it on the bed before Minerva. "He told me he was sorry."

Minerva didn't pick it up. Instead, her chin quivered and she looked to be on the verge of tears. She patted Remus' shoulder lightly. "He really loves you, Remus. I hope you're given the chance to care for him properly."

He looked down at the prone form of the child lying on the stark white hospital bed and squeezed his hand firmly. Though he wished desperately for it, there was no squeeze back. "I hope so too," he whispered.