Our Fathers

Chapter Eighteen - No Other Way

Harry wasn't in his bed. He wasn't quite sure where he was, for a moment, until the familiar feel of the bed beneath him jogged his memory. He was in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps he should just set up shop there - he seemed to spend enough time sleeping there, anyways.

But what had put him there this time? He couldn't remember. Not Quidditch, certainly - the match wasn't until the weekend to come. Potions? Yes, he'd had Potions Class after breakfast. But he hadn't gone, had he... he'd gone to see Dumbledore after a vision...

And it all flashed back. The discovery of his family's roots, Dumbledore's betrayal of trust, the beginning of another vision, and the vial of Hyupnos Draught... no, two vials. Remus had said that an overdose could kill.

Harry opened his eyes. Unless one woke in the afterlife in some sort of celestial infirmary, he was still alive. Morning sunlight was streaming through the high windows of the long, vaulted room. It was nearly empty, though someone was asleep on the bed nearest Harry, and Remus was slumped in a chair next to him, with a firm grip on Harry's hand even in sleep.

Waves of guilt washed over him. He'd dragged Remus from his job. Remus would be so disappointed in him... Why had he done it? He didn't really want to die... but it had seemed so easy, to just take the potion and never have to watch another parent die at Voldemort's wandpoint or another innocent be tortured; so easy to leave behind the pain and the confusion and the betrayal and the...

Harry let out a moan, snatching his hand from Remus and turning onto his side to sob. Hermione would be so angry and Ron would be hurt - and who had found him? - and Professor McGonagall would take more points from Gryffindor for acting so cowardly and trying to take the simple way out of it. But if he was going to die anyways, why prolong the suffering? The two impulses warred within him and he shivered under the blankets. The symptoms of withdrawal from the potion had returned even while he cried - his body shook of its own accord, his head ached in fever and his stomach churned.

A hand set lightly on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Harry...? Oh, God, Harry... I thought you weren't going to make it..." It was Remus. The werewolf moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and pulled Harry up into his arms in a tight embrace. "Please, don't ever so much as think about doing something like that again! Harry, I was so worried!"

"I'm sorry," Harry choked, burying his face in Remus' suit-coat. "I'm sorry, Uncle Re, I'm sorry, I just picked it up and drank it and I wasn't thinking. I just wanted it to stop!" Another sob broke through.

"We'll make it stop," Remus whispered. "We'll find a way. There's no other way. I can't lose you, Harry." Remus rubbed his back soothingly and, just for a moment, Harry let himself imagine that it was his dad hugging him like that. No one else ever had.

Another voice broke from the bed beside him. "I'm glad you're alright, Harry." He glanced over and found Professor McGonagall perched on the edge of her own bed, hair mussed from sleep. Had she spent the night watching over him as well? "We were very worried about you."

"I'm sorry," he moaned, cringing against Remus. She was sure to take points... he'd been so stupid... "I made a mistake, Professor, I don't really want to die, I just wanted to make the visions stop for a while, and I was scared, and the potion was right there -"

Remus squeezed him more tightly. "It's okay. You're going to be alright. Just please, before you do anything, think about it."

"Professor Dumbledore made a mistake, too," McGonagall murmured. She scooted from the edge of her bed onto Harry's and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"He wasn't supposed to let me read the book, was he," Harry stated. "I was too stupid to figure out that the green names on the chart were Slytherins, and no one was supposed to tell me it, because then I might turn out like all of them." He knew he sounded bitter over it - but it was a secret that had been kept from him for years!

The professor shook her head. "No... his mistake, Harry, was keeping the secret from you in the first place. He was afraid that you'd think exactly what you are... that because your family was on the wrong side of magic for so long that it was somehow a part of you. But Harry, it's not true. You are your own person, just as your father and your grandfather. They chose the Light, even if your uncles made a different choice. That choice is also yours, and no one else can make it."

"So I chose the Light. What does it matter?" The pain sweeping through his joints and clenching in his stomach caused Harry to be much more forward in his misery than he'd normally be, especially where his Head of House was involved. "I'm dying anyways, why not let the stupid potion make it less painful?"

Remus let out a moan - or maybe it was a gasp of disbelief - as McGonagall folded her hands across her lap and frowned sternly. She was silent for a long moment before taking breath to speak. "That's absolutely ridiculous, Harry. Wherever did you get that idea?"

Harry would've laughed, had the pain not been so overwhelming. "You yourself heard the news from Madame Pomfrey! Before the Christmas hols! How can you sit there and pretend I was deaf enough not to hear?"

"And what exactly did you hear?" she demanded, lips thinning in such displeasure that they nearly disappeared from her face.

"Madame Pomfrey said I was dying. You didn't believe her. She listed off a bunch of symptoms and said that if I was really connected to Voldemort, then the connection would end up killing me. And she said it was coming much sooner than she'd thought. You remember it, don't you?" Harry scooted away from McGonagall, trying to ignore the expression of horror frozen on Remus' face. "You can't deny it."

"I don't deny hearing it," she replied, frowning even more deeply. "I do deny believing a word of it. Were the connection what Madame Pomfrey believed it to be, You-Know-Who would be having the same symptoms and degrading at a similar pace. Our spies suggest nothing of the sort is happening - and that suggests you're a natural Seer, rather than triggered by the blood sacrifice. Though that probably attuned your senses to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. When You-Know-Who is dead -"

Harry gave a snort. "All well and good that you're staying optimistic, but if being a Seer means I have to live with dreams like the ones I've been having for the rest of my life, I'd rather live with the Dursleys."

Remus winced. "Harry... there's not a thing we can do about it..."

"So five years down the road I'll be wasting away up in the North Tower, convincing students I'm a batty old fraud? If that's what a Seer is, I don't want any part of it!" Harry snapped.

"Harry!" McGonagall gasped, eyes widening in shock, "How dare you address your professors like that! I understand you're not feeling well, but I can still take points!"

And then it hit him. He wasn't thinking about dying anymore. He frowned. "If Madame Pomfrey was wrong, and I'm not dying... why do I look like the dead raised?"

"The potion," Remus answered. "You were warned not to overdose on it. When did you really start to go downhill...? October and November, after you'd had plenty of doses. It's not meant to be a long term solution, Harry."

"And my nightmares are?" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared, channeling all his pain into it.

"Harold James Potter, I'm sick of this," McGonagall snapped. "I know I can't imagine how horrible the visions must be for you, but I do know that the only thing killing you is your own want for death. You are not taking the potion again. You will not be allowed run of the school by yourself until you've proven that you can be trusted. At all times, you will be accompanied by another member of Gryffindor House or a professor. Is that clear?" She leaned forward and snagged Harry's sleeve, giving a jerk until he met her eyes. "Is that clear, Harry?"

He scowled and looked away. "Yes, Professor."

Remus immediately tried to soften the blow. "I'm sure it won't be for that long. And you're usually around with Ron and Hermione, aren't you? Once you're all better, you'll be off playing Quidditch and making your House proud, right?" He offered a sickly grin.

"Wait, Quidditch - what day is it? The match against Slytherin is on Saturday, and even if Malfoy's not Seeker anymore, we still can't let them win! I have to be on my broom Saturday, no matter what happens -"

McGonagall halted his lurch forward with a firm hand and a shake of the head. "It's Wednesday, and you're not playing."

The breath caught in Harry's throat. "I'm not... what? Professor, this is the Slytherin game we're talking about! I know their new Seeker's not nearly so good as Malfoy was, but Marius Blair's nothing to scoff at. In the Hufflepuff match -"

"Harry," she broke in, leaning over to catch his eye, "this isn't part of your punishment. If you were to go play Quidditch on Saturday, it could result in serious injury."

"Nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix. I've fallen off my broom half a dozen times, Professor! What is there that keeps me from playing?" Harry crossed his arms, ignoring every pain in his body, trying to prove his good health.

McGonagall merely sighed and lifted Harry's hand into her own. "They shake," she said simply; and it was the terrible truth. If his essays had been illegible at the beginning of the week, Harry would've been spilling his ink before he'd had a chance to start at midweek. "If your hands are shaking like this during the game," the professor added hesitantly, "do you think you'd have a chance at catching the snitch? At least resigning for the moment will let us bring out our reserve. Dennis matches Blair, at the very least."

He snatched his hand back, nearly choking over the words. "You want me... to resign...?"

"Only until you're better," Remus was quick to break in. "Not permanently, Harry, I promise. You'll have to take some medications to help you get over your addiction. And you have to promise never to go near the potion again - magical drugs aren't like Muggle drugs. If you're dosed with Hyupnos again, you'll have to go through rehab again."

"Yes, Uncle Re." And Remus smiled and started excitedly telling about something Marguerite had told him and about how worried he'd been, and started telling a story about Fizzing Whizbees and Harry's father that caused McGonagall to gasp loudly and glare at the werewolf. Harry was only half listening, however. Flickering through his mind was a list of every Quidditch match he'd flown in; every time he'd flown, from the very first lesson with Madame Hooch and his miraculous capture of Neville's remembrall to the early-morning practices with Oliver Wood to his dive for the Snitch in the Hufflepuff match at the beginning of the year. So much of his life at Hogwarts revolved around Quidditch... what was there left for him to do?

Hermione slammed a stack of books in front of Harry that easily would've dwarfed Ron's lanky height, had he been in the library. "Now, I know you can't take notes, but Professor McGonagall said I should make sure you're alright while Ron's off at his detention. I still can't believe he set off that dungbomb outside of Professor Snape's office. He certainly deserved what he got.

Harry didn't think he did, but Harry also wasn't a prefect. And, had he not been laid up in the Infirmary, he'd have been helping with the dungbomb, too. "I thought you weren't finding anything," he replied, trying to keep the groan of boredom from escaping his lips.

"I said I was going slowly and had a few leads," Hermione said, grabbing several thick notebooks from her pack. "There we are. Those books in front of you are on and about the Founders as Headmasters of Hogwarts. Anything about Rowena Ravenclaw or Salazar Slytherin would be helpful. I know the rumors about their affair were just that - rumors - but the key to solving all of this could very easily be in one of those tomes."

"What if it wasn't a rumor?" Harry flipped open the first book, quickly hiding his hands back beneath the table - hiding the tremours. "And how am I supposed to know what I'm looking for?"

Hermione frowned and slammed another stack on the table. "Of course it was a rumor, Rowena Ravenclaw married one of the grandsons of one of King Arthur's knights. Everyone knows that."

Harry gave a snort. "Doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "you don't think -"

"They might be the Founders of the school... but they're still human," Harry snapped. He sent a glare at the book opened in front of him. "For all we know, her descendants are actually Slytherin's too. Don't they say all myths have a kernal of truth? Anyhow, what exactly am I looking for?"

She gave a frown, but restrained any response on the first comment, choosing to get to work instead. Hermione tossed a pack of Magik-Marks (remember your page without ruining the book) over to him. "Every mention of Ravenclaw or Slytherin I want you to mark with a little flag. I'll go back through later and see if there's anything useful. Just find all the references."

Great. There were half a dozen tomes, each thicker than any of his textbooks. "Hermione, this is so much..." he whined, "and I'm tired and have a headache..."

Hermione wavered. For a moment, Harry thought he might have a chance to spend the afternoon sitting alone. However, something stayed her hand. "No. It's not that much, and you only have to skim them for the names. You're not to be alone, Professor McGonagall said, and Professor Lupin agreed with her."

"He's not our professor anymore," Harry grumbled distractedly, and gave up the fight, opening the closest book to a random page. "Hermione, this book is a load of rubbish." He poked at it. "Says it was Hufflepuff's idea to form the school, and I'm sure Binns said it was Ravenclaw's. And there's all this tripe about arguments over names..."

"Alright, so that one's not worth your time. Toss it and go on to the next. I just have a feeling that I'm getting close! I'm just missing one vital clue..." Hermione sighed and flipped through a book at random. "Oh, look, a map... that's interesting, it has some of the plans from before the great fire..."

A memory flashed to the fore, of Voldemort in a vision, from just before he'd overdosed. A map. Voldemort wanted a map of Hogwarts. "Hermione..." Harry whispered, "I think Voldemort is one step ahead of us on this... I think he's found a way to get in to the school."

Hermione dropped her quill in shock. "He... no, that's silly. Did he... did he say that? Did you See it?"

Harry nodded slowly. "He sent someone to find a map of an old building in Scotland. Where else could he mean? If he's got the map already, he could show up at any moment."

"But I'm sure Professor Dumbledore knows all the entrances to the school by now," Hermione rationalized. "Unless he knows of a passage that even your father's friends hadn't heard of, You-Know-Who hasn't a chance of making it inside."

He shrugged non-commitally. "He might be old, but Dumbledore certainly isn't omnipotent. He only manages to seem that way." Harry glanced down at his shaking hands in embarrassment. While it was his fault, Dumbledore could take plenty of the blame on himself. After all, the Headmaster had been the one concealing the family secret. When Hermione only frowned slightly, Harry pushed aside the first book and moved onto another. "The Chronicles of Founding. Yes, this looks to be just bloody fascinating reading."

"Oh, quit your whinging," Hermione snapped, glowering. "It's just Quidditch. Missing a game won't kill you."

"The Slytherin game," Harry pointed out. "With Malfoy off the team, it would be easier than facing Hufflepuff. Dennis isn't half bad, but this will be his first Quidditch game with spectators. He's completely unused to it!"

She gave a snort. "As were you." Hermione flipped through a few more pages. "Oh, how fascinating! Not only did the Founders handpick the original students, they also each built a tower to house their Houses! And the Founders lived among the pupils, so teaching went on all the time, instead of just during the day!"

"Classes all night? Ugh! I can't imagine Professor McGonagall sleeping up in the Tower... or Snape, down in the dungeons? Well, that's not so far off." Harry read a few lines before something else occurred to him. "Wait... they each built a tower?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course! Slytherin's was destroyed in the fire of 1106, which also destroyed a good portion of the western wing of the school. The students relocated to the dungeons, and never moved back out."

Harry nodded and went back to The Chronicles of Founding. It seemed to be about as helpful as the other book, unfortunately. "It's just gossip about Helga Hufflepuff's suitors - hmph, apparently Slytherin was one for a bit - and Godric Gryffindor's illegitimate son... the bloke's name was Octavian, poor guy..." He was almost ready to move on to the next book when Hermione's head popped up from behind her book, face painted with epiphany. "Slytherin's Tower... and Ravenclaw's Tower... oh, Harry, that's it!"

"What's it?"

Hermione frowned and chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "But that's just it... it's only a theory... if I'm wrong, it would mean such a bother for no reason..."

"What's it, Hermione?" Harry demanded, frowning back. "You really aren't making any sense."

She glanced over to the door, then back at Harry, face a picture of hesitation. "I have a book back in Gryffindor Tower that I need to find, to see if I'm right. I'm not supposed to leave you alone, though."

Harry scowled and shoved his books across the table. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to go back to the Tower, Fred and George are having a Quidditch strategy meeting in the Common Room."

"You are too coming, Harry! I'm going to do exactly as Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin said. You are going to be living with Professor McGonagall this summer, after all. I don't want to make her angry where you're concerned, and you shouldn't either -"

"I'm going to live with Uncle Re," Harry snapped, planting his hands on the table (it kept them from visibly shaking) and half-rising from his seat. "Percy said the bill will pass. I'm going to live in a flat in Maida Vale. I am not going to spend the rest of my childhood with Professor McGonagall."

Hermione's face had turned an ashen white and she sunk into her seat. The expression of sheer terror could mean nothing good. For just a moment, Harry wondered if he'd found himself in some sort of bad comedy show - from the look on her face, he was positive that either McGonagall or Lord Voldemort himself was standing just out of view. He almost wished for Voldemort.

"As glad as I am to know your perspective on the matter, Harry, very little about the situation can be changed. It's either me or summer with Professor Snape," Professor McGonagall said, voice tight in anger.

Harry turned around slowly to come face to face with the woman. It seemed quite odd, but he'd finally outgrown her. The witch's hat added a good few centimetres of height, but they were no longer eye to eye. "I didn't mean it that way, Professor," he began hurriedly, trying desperately to pick up the pieces. "It just seems so odd, living with one of my professors, especially my own Head of House... and when the bill passes, you won't have to put up with me, because I know Uncle Re will be glad to take me on -"

The anger melted suddenly and McGonagall stared forlornly down at a newspaper clutched in her hands, that Harry had only just noticed. "The bill won't pass," she mumbled, shoving the paper in Harry's direction.

Though floored with surprise, Harry took it and skimmed the headlining article.

"What is it?" Hermione asked softly. "What's happened?"

"A little girl," Harry choked. "A werewolf in Brixton... the girl's mum wasn't watching, and the wolf attacked..."

Hermione gasped softly. "Then... she's dead...?"

"No," Harry whispered, "she's a werewolf. The man who bit her will likely be executed for the crime... because he's not a being, he's a beast..."

Hermione stood and rounded the table, pulling Harry into a hug. Now he'd never have the family he wanted... he'd only have a grouchy old teacher. But then, what had changed? Nothing.

"You forgot a jumper at my flat," Remus said quietly, pulling Harry aside before he could enter the Great Hall for lunch.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Re?" Harry asked, surprised. Remus should've been teaching, or on lunch break at the very least.

Remus presented Harry with the green jumper that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him for Christmas. "I'm on lunch. I thought I should come up and talk to you today... with the story in the paper and all..."

Harry sighed and nodded slowly, following his old teacher down to an empty classroom. "This means what I think it means, right? That I won't be living in Maida Vale this summer."

"I'm afraid that will probably be the case," Remus admitted. "The bill goes up for a vote tomorrow. I doubt that even a miracle can pass it this year. Maybe in a few years, someone will propose it again... Things don't change very often in the wizarding world, Harry. Wizards don't like change. But, it'll be passed someday."

"Someday, maybe, but it'll be of no help to me," Harry snapped, hugging the jumper to his chest. Remus looked hurt, but Harry's heart was aching so much that he barely made notice. It was time to make a clean break, or be hurt once more by promises. "I have to go to class." A lie.

He turned and hurried away, Remus' calls echoing after him. There had been enough hurt, and Harry couldn't stand any more empty promises.