The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter Nineteen: Snape's Confession

The next day at breakfast, both Ron and Hermione were craning their necks, trying to see if the mysterious Porphyria Beauchamp would make an appearance. Harry had told them exactly what he had witnessed from the moment Snape had slammed his office door in Harry's face, unceremoniously postponing their detention.

"That sounds well weird, a female Snape?" Ron commented in mild horror.

"She's even got his nose," Harry replied, spooning porridge into his mouth. Ron made a face, and went back to eating his plate of eggs and bacon.

"And she said her husband was coming here too?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"Yep. François Beauchamp," he embellished. Hermione looked agitated.

"She must be so worried," she said to nobody in particular. Ron looked up at her mid-chew, with an odd expression on his face.

"Why?" he asked, after swallowing his food.

"Because of all the trouble people went to keep Professor Beauchamp's link to Snape hidden from everyone," Hermione explained. "There must have been a good reason for it, and I imagine it had something to do with Voldemort. Now he's back..."

"He's a threat to them both," Harry finihed.

Soon after, Ginny and Dean joined them, cutting their conversation short.

"Hi, guys," Ginny said, "Ready for the DA reunion this afternoon?"

"The Hog's Head at two o'clock, we know," Ron replied. Despite the seedy reputation and numerous eavesdroppers lurking in said establishment, it seemed fitting to hold the DA reunion in the same place it had begun. Hermione stirred her porridge absently before beginning to eat it.

"It'll be nice to see how everyone's been getting on- I mean, we don't get to see everyone who was a member every single day," she replied.

"Oh, Beauchamp knows about it, by the way," Harry suddenly added. Hermione dropped her spoon with a clatter.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"I didn't tell her, but she found out during one of my Occlumency lessons," he replied.

"How did she take it?" Ron asked, though a mouthful of bacon. Harry shrugged.

"She thought it was a pretty good idea- and she wasn't surprised it was yours, Hermione. Maybe you come across as more rebellious than you think," he embellished. Hermione frowned and returned to her porridge.

"Hang about," Ron said, nudging Harry. "You know what they say- 'speak of the Devil' and all..."

Professor Beauchamp had entered the Great Hall, though not with her customary purposeful strides. She seemed altogether more lethargic than usual as she made her way up to the staff table. Harry watched her grab a slice of toast and wolf it down. McGonagall put a hand gently on her shoulder, which Beauchamp patted gratefully. The two entered into a whispered conversation which the rest of the staff failed to notice, though Harry was certain he saw Beauchamp's mouth form the words 'I just needed to get out of there, they're all driving me nuts!' at one point. McGonagall smiled sympathetically, before patting her on the back. Beauchamp stretched her arms out behind her back, jutting her chest forward, before rolling her shoulders a couple of times, and striding back out of the Great Hall, as though preparing for battle. Harry sniggered as he saw her collide with Draco, who had also come down to the Great Hall in search of breakfast, and nearly sent him flying. Draco turned to glare at Harry, then dropped his look completely when Hermione turned to face him.

"Wow, you've really got him running scared," Harry whispered to Hermione, whilst Ron was in deep conversation with a yawning Dean about how getting up this early was nothing, as he and Harry were getting up at half past five in the morning twice a week in order to do Quidditch practise. Hermione snorted.

"Well, that's what you get for minding your own business in a library," she replied, sarcastically. Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Except you weren't, really- you were looking up Beauchamp's medical files," he said, blithely. Hermione glared at him, but soon smiled.

"You say it as though you wouldn't have been doing the same," she retorted, and the two laughed.

Ron looked up at them.

"Oi, what are you two sniggering about?" he demanded. Harry grinned,

"Oh, nothing important," he replied. Ron studied them for a moment, shrugged, and returned to finish off his breakfast.

The walk for Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade was uneventful, if you ignore the new device that had been added last September. It consisted of a magical line that stretched across the path every student had to cross to exit the Hogwarts grounds to Hogsmeade, and two blackboards, one either side of the gateposts. One bore the legend 'In' written at the top in white, and a list of students' names, the other had the word 'Out', followed by a list of different students' names. Harry crossed the line, and saw his name disappear from the 'In' headed blackboard and appear on the 'Out' headed blackboard instantaneously.

"The line is charmed to recognise when each of us crosses it, and the blackboards convey information as to all the students' whereabouts. Each of the heads of house have one in their offices too, so they can monitor where each of us are- I saw one in McGonagall's office the other day," Hermione explained.

"What do they think we're going to do out here?" Harry asked. Hermione sighed.

"I don't think it's what we're going to do that worries them. It's more what other wizards and witches might do to us, I think," she replied. Ron kicked a stone along the path.

"Just stepping up the security," he commented. "I reckon it won't be long before Hogsmeade weekends are cancelled altogether."

As they approached Hogsmeade, Harry noticed there were less students milling around than there usually were. He assumed since the rise of Voldemort, fewer parents were giving their children permission to leave the relatively safe grounds of Hogwarts. Looking at his watch, he realised that he, Ron and Hermione were late for their rendezvous with the rest of the DA, so they hurried to the Hog's Head.

Most of the DA were already there, tucked away in an unobtrusive corner of the pub, mockingly tapping their watches as the three entered.

"Tut, tut, what have you three been up to?" Dean questioned, amidst Neville's laughter. Ginny slapped Dean on the shoulder disdainfully.

"Ignore them," she said to Ron, "They're just being deeply silly."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged curious glances, then sat down next to Ginny, Luna and Hannah. Everyone sat round the pushed together tables looked at Harry expectantly. Harry felt himself blush furiously. He glanced around the tables, and saw no sign of Cho.

"Maybe we ought to wait a few minutes, there are some people..."

He was about to say "missing," but the door of the pub creaked open, and a small, dark haired Ravenclaw entered the establishment and sat down as far away from Harry as she physically could, next to Michael Corner, who smiled at her.

"Right," Harry found himself saying, "Now we're all here, I guess I'd just like to say well done. I'm guessing everyone who took O.W.L.s last year got really good results in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, because even Professor Beauchamp commented on how some of the marks were so much better than the others. Truth be told, I think she's got a fair idea of what we did," he remarked, knowing the latter to be true, having been grilled about the DA by Beauchamp after one of his Occlumency lessons. The congregation grinned at each other.

"Well, I suppose she is a little perceptive, for such a young teacher," Zacharias Smith added, sniffily. Hannah glared at him.

"Oh, honestly, Zack!" She turned to the rest of the group. "He's been like this ever since she started. I know some of her methods are... unconventional, but she's proven herself to be ten times better than Umbridge!"

"Well, she lets us practise defence, for a start," Seamus quipped, causing the group to laugh.

Suddenly, Harry found his attention distracted from the discussion going on around him. The door to the Hog's Head had opened, and a middle-aged couple walked in. The man was tall and had brown hair that flopped into his eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in robes of brilliant blue and white and gave off a distinct aura of suaveness, arrogance, sophistication and, well... Frenchness. He held the door open for the dark haired woman dressed in deep blue velvet robes, whom Harry instantly recognised from her hook-nosed profile as being Porphyria Beauchamp. The gentleman ordering two large glasses of vintage red wine must be her husband François.

Harry surreptitiously watched the two sit down at a table that was far away from him, yet close enough that he could make out their conversation, which at the moment was entirely in French, so Harry couldn't understand a word. Eventually, with their heads lowered to each other, Harry heard Francois Beauchamp speak.

"... Non, non, you did ze right theeng, ma chérie. Zat boy, 'ee is nozzing but trouble!" he announced, in a strong French accent.

"Don't say that! He's my brother!" Porphyria exclaimed in an accent that was strongly indicative of one born and bred in the southeast of England, but who had spent a substantial part of her life in France.

"And," she added, "he can hardly be called a boy anymore. Maybe it's because I haven't seen him since You-Know-Who's first downfall, but he looks so old! Oh, and I do wish he'd do something about his hair..."

"You are not 'eez mozzer, Porphyria..."

"I'm the closest he's got. I've been a mother to Persephone since she was born, and look what's happened now- I couldn't even protect her from Severus' mistakes..."

"Zey are 'eez fault, not yours," François comforted. Porphyria he her head in her hands.

"I should have seen it coming, I should have knocked some sense into the boy!"

"You couldn't 'ave known. Of all ze things to do, would you honestly expect your brozzer to become a..."

"Shush! Keep your voice down!" Porphyria hissed.

"I am just saying..."

"I know, I know," Porphyria whispered, "but the signs were there. That crowd he hung around with during his N.E.W.T.s, they were an unpleasant lot, especially that Black girl- and guess what? Her and her husband ended up in Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity! Vile, vile, the whole family! Plus, things were pretty rough for him at home, what with the parents' splitting up. I'd left before things really began to get bad, but I heard of it all from Severus when he came to visit. The fights, the screaming matches, bringing him into all their rows... poor kid was a wreck by the end of it. 'Course," venom began to creep into her voice, "my folks didn't believe he ever saw any of it. 'Oh, we always kept it away from your brother'... like Hell, they did. He saw it all; they were too wrapped up in their developing hatred of one another to even notice. That's the problem, see, when you mix passion and parenting. I suppose it's hard to see what's right in front of you, when all you can see is each other."

She took a large sip from her wine glass and swirled the liquid around it thoughtfully. François kissed her on the cheek.

"It can't 'ave been zat awful- 'ee was at 'Ogwarts, and Dumbledore is said to be an excellent 'eadmaster..."

Porphyria's expression soured and she snorted contemptuously.

"I am sorry, but any headmaster who allows his students to get away with attempted murder does not class as an excellent one," she spat. François looked shocked.

"What on Earzz do you mean?" he asked. Porphyria slammed her wine glass down.

"You mean I've never told you? Oh, he had trouble with a gang of obnoxious Gryffindors since he first started at Hogwarts. You met Severus when he was about fifteen, so you know what he was like- very bright, but rather odd and withdrawn, the kind that screams 'victim' to children so inclined. The bullying escalated into all-out war between him and them, but four against one is hardly very fair odds. Anyway, the whole thing came to a head when one of the group- a Black, surprisingly- tricked him into opening a secret passageway that led to the Shrieking Shack..."

"Ze place zat ees 'aunted?" François exclaimed. Porphyria gave him a dark smile.

"Oh, it was haunted alright, but not by the dead."

"I don't understand..."

"One of their students at the time, he was a lycanthrope. The Shack was usd to confine him every month while he transformed- that's where the shrieks really came from. So, this nasty little boy thought it would be fun to get Severus to open this passageway to the Shrieking Shack and face up against a fully-fledged, utterly demented werewolf!"

François openly gawped at this piece of information.

"You are joking!" he gasped. Porphyria shook her head defiantly.

"I wish I was."

"So, ze boy was expelled?"

Porphyria laughed bitterly.

"You'd think. Any sane headmaster would have. Nope, he got a rap on the knuckles and told not to do it again, and Severus was sworn to secrecy about the whole affair, which I can understand. It's hardly the werewolf's fault-he didn't have a clue what he was doing, there was a reason he was locked up in that place, after all. The Black boy, however... Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. Yet nothing was done... When I think about it, it's hardly surprising Severus took the Mark- why side with people that have put you through that, when you could follow a wizard who was clearly going places at the time, and was ready to offer you some respect?"

"Porphyria!" François exclaimed, clearly horrified by his wife's words. Porphyria merely shrugged.

"I'm not saying he was right!" she retorted, "I'm saying I see why... Oh, why didn't I see it coming?"

François put his hand over hers in a comforting gesture.

"You did all you could..."

"I should have done more," she replied, briskly.

"Zere comes a time when one 'as to make one's own choices," he said, looking deep into her eyes. She sighed heavily.

"And so he has- and I hate it even more than the first one."

François looked confused. Porphyria simply waved her hand across her face, making clear the subject was not open for discussion.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Guess what happened to that Black boy anyway?"

"What?" François asked. Porphyria smiled maliciously.

"He ended up in Azkaban for killing thirteen Muggles with a single curse! The infamous Sirius Black? It was in all the British newspapers. Told you they were a vile family, and you know what they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

Harry clenched his fists in pure anger. How dare that... that woman, say such things about Sirius! He desperately wanted to march right over to her and point out that Sirius was innocent, he had died and her brother was a greasy, malicious, vindictive git of the first order, but something stopped him.

It was Hermione's vice-like grip on his arm.

"Harry, don't even think of doing what I think you're going to," she warned, and Harry suddenly realised she had been listening to the same conversation he had. Before he even had chance to argue his point with her, he heard a scraping of chairs,

"Are you ready to face ze music once again?" François asked. Porphyria laughed humourlessly,

"Yes, I'm ready. Not that we'll get anywhere, mind. We'll just argue some more and possibly have a punch-up. It's pretty much hereditary in our family."

François laughed and they walked, arm in arm, out of the pub, leaving furious Harry in their wake, pale and shaking with rage, and biting his tongue so much it was beginning to resemble a dog's chew toy.

"How dare she... no right..." Harry growled, whilst trying to breathe deeply and think of calm blue oceans like Professor Beauchamp got them to do at the end of every lesson. It wasn't helping much, for he still had a vivid fantasy of throwing Porphyria Beauchamp into a gladiatorial area with a pack of werewolves and watching the results whilst eating popcorn.

Ron was staring at him.

"What's up with you?" he asked. The rest of the congregation had clearly noticed too, for they were all staring at him as though he were a particularly interesting specimen at London Zoo.

"Nothing," he said, quickly, whilst Hermione gave Ron a pointed look. He took the hint and began to share an anecdote about McGonagall's inspection last year by Umbridge, which distracted the crowd from Harry's fury and caused them to laugh raucously.

"Are you okay, Harry?" someone asked. Harry turned around to face them and almost jumped out of his seat when he saw it was Cho. She had clearly manoeuvred herself between Harry and Hannah to talk to him.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he managed to utter. Cho smiled sympathetically at him and there was an uncomfortable silence, which she eventually broke.

"I heard about your, you know, from Luna the other week. About him, you know, because of You-Know-Who..."

Despite Cho's reply containing more censored words than Ron's account of a recent Potions class in a letter to his mum, Harry knew what she meant, and thanked her for appreciating his grief for his deceased godfather.

"Last year was pretty tough for you too, wasn't it?" she more stated than asked. Harry grunted in reply.

"I was there when Cedric, you know," he said, and just wished the word 'dead' wasn't so hard to say, for it would have made their conversation a bit easier. Cho smiled back.

"I know... Look," she said, suddenly looking straight into Harry's green eyes. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last year. I'm sorry I was so hot and cold towards you, and that I got so jealous of Hermione. I know she's just your friend... I guess I'm just saying I really wasn't ready to be with you. I had a lot going on in my head."

"I'm not surprised," Harry replied, then suddenly felt very wary.

"You aren't suggesting we could give it another..."

"No," Cho replied emphatically, then laughed. "Sorry, that sounded so horrible. I just don't think we are that good a match."

Harry laughed.

"Me neither. So, we both think we shouldn't date. Well, that's good."

"We agree on something- bonus!" Cho replied. They looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into hysterical laugher.

When Cho eventually moved back to talk to Michael and Padma, Ron stared at Harry as though he had gone insane.

"What was all that about?" he asked, suddenly narrowing his eyes. "You aren't going back out are you?"

"No," Harry replied, truthfully, "but we've made friends."

"That's nice," Hermione replied, having halted her conversation with Ginny and Terry long enough to do so.

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile. "It is."

That evening, the entire former DA walked back to Hogwarts, their names jumping from the 'Out' board to the 'In' board as they passed through the gate, chatting and joking.

"That was really good fun," Hannah exclaimed appreciatively, with Ernie nodding in agreement.

"We must do it again some time," he added, before they and the other Hufflepuffs bid them goodnight. Soon after, the Ravenclaws did the same and headed to their tower, leaving the Gryffindors to ascend the staircase to their own common room.

"Right," Dean coughed, "Queerd..., Qu," he burst into hysterics.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it," he guffawed. Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

"You have the maturity of a five year old. 'Queerditch Marsh'," she announced.

"You tell him, love," the Fat Lady commended, before the painting swung away, leaving them free to enter their common room.

"Ooh, look!" Colin squeaked, excitedly, "it's Professor Beauchamp!"

The woman in question gave a tired wave from her seat near the fire.

"Hi, Colin," she replied. Dean looked suspiciously at her.

"What are you doing here, Professor? We didn't forget to hand in any homework, did we?" he asked. Beauchamp laughed as though it was clearly an effort.

"No, Dean, you're quite safe. I wanted to have a word with Harry, actually, about his Auror application practice?" She looked at Harry pointedly.

"What, now?" Harry said, before he could stop himself. Saturday night seemed an awfully odd time to discuss Occlumency with him.

"Yes, now," she replied, and stood up from where she had been sitting. Harry followed her out of the room. She strode as purposefully as usual, yet she seemed exhausted, leaving Harry able to catch up with her fairly easily as they went down the staircase, turned and went up another flight until they reached the second floor.

"Damn moving staircases," Beauchamp muttered. "I swear I use a new route every day to get to my office," she said to Harry as they reached the heavy oak door. She opened it and gestured for Harry to enter.

"Take a seat," she offered, and Harry thought she meant the blue mat, until he spotted two comfortable-looking armchairs situated nearby. He sat gingerly in one as Beauchamp locked the door and sat in the other.

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, warily. Beauchamp smiled weakly.

"No, not at all. I just..." She sighed heavily and ran her hands through her thick dark fringe. "I have something to tell you."

"To tell me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling nervous. Beauchamp nodded.

"Something you're not going to like, but I have to tell you anyway," she replied, looking even paler than usual. Harry looked up at her to show she had his full attention.

"It's about Professor Snape and myself. You see, my memory was restored the other day with a potion. I trust Hermione told you about it- Viktor wrote to me and explained how he had told her about my amnesia. Turns out that vision you saw last term of a little girl in a cottage garden with a man- well, the girl was me, the cottage was my Aunt Porphyria's, and the man was Severus. He's my father, Harry."

Harry squirmed in his seat a little.

"Erm," he managed to say, "me and Hermione kind of worked it out the other day. It was accidental," he added, quickly. "We knocked some medical records over, I was reading a back copy of the Daily Prophet, about the mystery girl awaking from the coma- we put two and two together. We're really sorry, we should have said..."

Beauchamp touched her finger to her lip momentarily and Harry fell silent.

"That's not what I'm concerned about," she said, and Harry felt his stomach tie up in a knot. There was something else?

"It's about you, Harry," she sighed, and looked away from him at the crackling fire.

"See, you're my half-brother. Maternal- same mother," she said quickly, as though hearing this revelation at speed would somehow be easier.

It took Harry a few moments to realise what this meant. Then he was beyond furious.

"What?" he asked quietly, though with a murderous look in his eyes. Beauchamp continued to find the flames in the fireplace fascinating.

"Your mum's my mum. Your dad's not my dad," she replied, quietly. Harry thought he might have staggered into a chair, if he wasn't already sitting down.

"How?" he asked, feeling winded with the news.

"Well, generally, the man puts his..."

Harry leapt out of his chair.

"Don't try and make a joke out of this, it isn't funny!" he yelled.

"Sorry," Beauchamp replied, in that same subdued voice, whilst still staring at the fireplace in that maddening way. Harry jumped up out of his chair and glared at her wildly.

"No, no," he said, feeling his whole body begin to tremble with excess adrenaline. "You don't get to dump this on me and just sit there as though it doesn't matter!"

"Does it?" Beauchamp asked serenely, finally looking at him.

"Too bloody right it does!" he practically yelled. Beauchamp stared at him, and stood up herself.

"Look, this isn't my fault," she shouted back. "I didn't have much of a say as to whether I was born or not, you know!"

Harry felt sick. None of Beauchamp's words changed what was making him so angry- that Snape, of all people, had known his mother in a way he really didn't deserve to, as far as Harry was concerned. At that moment, he had felt an almost crippling hatred for the man. In a horrible way that twisted at his stomach, he began to feel something less than love for his mother. What possessed her to, well, get that close to Snape in the first place?

"Harry," Beauchamp said, warningly. "Nobody must find out about this..."

"Why, are you as ashamed as I am?" he spat back, viciously. Beauchamp sighed, and gave Harry her glare of superiority.

"Harry, you're a pretty smart kid. I'm sure you can guess what would happen if a Death Eater spy was revealed to have a half-blood love-child by the famous Lily Potter?"

"Did they... I mean, did she agree to it?" Harry found himself asking. Beauchamp looked horrified.

"Harry! Severus may be many things, but he's not..." She trailed off, evidently too upset by Harry's words to speak.

"I'm sorry," he replied, feeling guilty on top of his seething hatred. Beauchamp composed herself.

"Just don't let my Aunt hear you talk like that. She may tell the world and his wife what pains Severus and I are, but woe betide anyone who dares to agree with her."

Despite himself, Harry found he was smiling at her words. Beauchamp relaxed a little.

"Look, I can't really give you the answers you want. Know what I always do when I want to find something out?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Enlighten me," he said.

"I go and speak to the one person who is most likely to be able to give you the answers," she replied. Harry blinked for a second, and he understood. He must go and talk to Snape. Harry felt himself become overwhelmed with righteous fury. Oh, he'd go and talk to Snape, all right...

"Harry, perhaps you should wait until you've calmed down," Beauchamp called after him, but Harry was long gone. He pelted down the second floor corridor, ran straight through a rather unnerved Nearly Headless Nick, and almost fell down the stairs to the dungeons. By the time he had reached Snape's office, he was panting from the exertion and from the burning anger and contempt inside.

Still, he managed to be polite enough to knock first.

"Enter," Snape's voice called from behind the door. Harry opened it and entered his office, slamming the door behind him. That noise, at least, made him look up from the huge pile of essays he was in the process of marking.

"Mr. Potter," he said, with thinly disguised contempt. "I trust you've spoken with Professor Beauchamp..."

Harry strode towards the desk.

"You had sex with my mother," he spat, as though it was a crime punishable with lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. Snape glared back at him, and said nothing for a while. Eventually, he sat back in his chair a little.

"Once, twenty-three years ago. It's hardly pertinent."

"She was my mother!" Harry said in a raised voice.

"I'm sorry the news that your mother had a life before you were born upsets you so," he replied, before going back to his marking. Harry slammed his fist on Snape's desk, causing the papers to flutter.

"I want to know what happened!" he demanded. Snape looked back up at him with a disdainful glare.

"Persephone," he replied, simply. "Satisfied, Potter?"

"I want to know why," Harry retorted. Snape sighed as though he was thoroughly bored with the proceedings.

"What makes you think it is any of your business?" he sneered. Harry leant closer to him.

"Because she was my mother," he repeated, though more quietly and venomously than he had the first time around. Snape appeared to be ignoring him, instead choosing to hunt around in his desk drawers. After five minutes of this, at which Harry felt himself grow steadily angrier, he pulled out a few thin red volumes, kept together by a few elastic bands. He thrust the volumes at Harry, who took them in shock.

"Your mother's diaries," he explained. "She left them to me when she died. No doubt they'll hold whatever answers you require. Just don't come crying to me if you don't like what you read," he said, silkily, before returning to his marking. Harry stood and stared at him for a while. His mum left Snape her diaries? Why him? Why not leave them to her son, or her husband, or to anyone else on the entire planet that wasn't Snape? It beggared belief.

Harry coughed.

"You still here?" Snape said, without looking up. "What is it now, Potter?"

Harry felt Steve, his savage side, suddenly flare into life and make him say something he was sure he would regret, as he leant towards Snape, his entire body tingling with hatred.

"You're unbelievable, " he whispered. "So, when you became a Death Eater, I take it you'd decided Muggle-borns didn't deserve a place in society, but they were alright for a quick..."

Harry didn't finish his sentence. Judging from the sharp pain he could feel spreading across his jaw, he hadn't needed to. Snape was rolling the sleeve of his left arm back down, and Harry caught a glimpse of that awful red mark burned into his skin. His face was flushed.

"I think you'd better leave, Potter, before I do something we'll both regret," he said, quietly but without losing any of the venom that laced his voice.

Harry did as he was told and stormed out of his office clutching that bundle of red diaries, slamming the door behind him and feeling no better than when he had first stormed in.

Chapter Twenty: The Aftermath

Harry returned to the common room later that night, to be greeted by both Ron and Hermione, who were palpably struggling to stay awake.

"Harry? Oh, Harry, what on Earth's the matter?" Hermione exclaimed, on seeing Harry's thunderstruck face.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he said, walking straight past them and up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Ron followed him.

"Harry, wait up!" he called. Harry stopped, then turned to face him.

"Look, Ron," he said, "I just don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to go to bed and forget all about it for tonight."

Ron looked concerned, but nodded.

"Sure thing, mate. Just remember, we're here, you know," he replied. Harry smiled gratefully, though he felt it was an empty gesture, before flopping down on his bed.

He felt something cold and smooth tickle his face. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and looked at his pillow. Sure enough, there was a letter lying there in an envelope with his name written on it in small, slightly spindly writing. He recognised it as being Professor Beauchamp's own hand. He sighed heavily, and put it to one side, focusing instead on the diaries he was still clutching in his hand. Carefully, he pulled of the elastic bands and laid them out on his bed. The volumes dated from 1971 to 1980 and each had the words 'Lily's diary- do not read!' emblazoned across the front in colourful ink, and were decorated with hearts, flowers, cats, stars and little potion bottles, as well as the occasional snitch. He noticed with a smile the different initials that were scribbled in the hearts according to the year of the diary, and for a moment felt an odd, tangible connection with his mother that he had never experienced before- the idea that she had been a kid just like him. He opened the page of the first volume and began to read.

'1/09/71:

Wow, I just can't believe it! Me, a witch? It all seems so bizarre. Mum and Dad were thrilled, and took me down to Diagon Alley themselves. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, showed us how to get in- wow, all these secret openings and passageways that Muggles can't access. Anyway, we bought school-robes, a cauldron, I also got a wand- it's made of willow and apparently it's good for charmwork! I suppose I'll find out for myself tomorrow when I have my first classes. I'm really nervous!

Anyway, today I boarded the special Hogwarts train- imagine my shock when I realised I had to literally walk through the wall to get onto the platform! There weren't that many seats free, so I sat next to this boy, who looked about my age. He was engrossed in a copy of 'The Daily Prophet', which I imagine is the wizard equivalent of 'The Guardian', perhaps, or maybe 'The Independent'. It didn't look much like a gutter tabloid, at any rate.

I tried to make conversation with him, but he didn't seem interested in speaking to me, so after a while I gave up. He was a queer-looking boy with a big nose, he had really pale skin, and really dark hair and eyes- he almost looked like one of those monochrome paintings Petunia has up in her room.

Ah yes, that's another thing. Petunia. She didn't seem at all pleased about me going to Hogwarts. She merely sniffed and said something about it being 'unnatural'. I don't understand her, I think she just doesn't want me to have any fun.

Anyway, I left him alone, and started talking to this girl who had sat next to me. Her name was Sylvia, she's from a long line of wizards, and told me loads about Hogwarts. We got on really well, and she introduced me to her friend Tessa, who was also really nice.

Then there was some horrible girl who wandered into our carriage, acting as if she owned the train. She had long dark hair and appeared very toffee-nosed, and introduced herself as Bellatrix Black, as though that was supposed to mean something to me. She asked me my name and what my family did, when I told her they weren't wizards, she looked at me as though I was utter scum! Tessa told me to ignore her, and that there were some wizards that believed 'pure-blood' witches and wizards were somehow better than 'Muggle-borns', but that most knew it to be nonsense.

What was funny though, was that this Bellatrix girl kept pestering the boy reading the newspaper for his name, but he kept ignoring her. She got so mad, she took his newspaper off him and he cursed her! Right there in the train carriage! It was really nasty too- she was covered in horrible boils; I thought she was going to cry! He looked really mean, and I was a bit scared, to be honest, so I just passed him his paper back, hoping I wouldn't be next. He just said 'thank you', took the paper back and carried on reading as if nothing had happened! Weird.

When we got to Hogwarts, we had to go through a 'sorting', where each of the first years had to put on this black pointed hat and it told us which 'house' we would end up in. It spent a lot of time talking to me- I thought I might be going mad- but it told me I was in Gryffindor, which is groovy. That's the brave house, plus Sylvia and Tessa were in there too, and they were neat! We stayed up talking until twelve this evening! That's why I'm writing this so late.

Ooh, we've also got two horrible boys in our house- James Potter and Sirius Black. They're simply beastly! James cursed Tessa's butterfly hair band to come to life, and flew her around the room- it scared her so much, but he and that Sirius seemed to think it was hilarious! Well, I just hope I don't have to have anything to do with either of them! I suppose that Sirius must be related to Bellatrix- that would explain why they're both so vile!

Oh, I almost forgot- the other houses. There was Hufflepuff, but I didn't recognise anyone who was sorted there. It's the hardworking house, apparently. They did seem a decent lot. There was Ravenclaw, who are the clever ones. That boy I sat next to on the train was sorted there, though he didn't seem too happy. I don't know why- it must be nice to be thought of as clever. Then there was Slytherin- they are supposed to be cunning and ambitious. That Bellatrix girl was sorted there, and didn't she look pleased about it- vicious little so-and-so!

I'd better go to bed now- breakfast is at half past seven, so I'll write in here tomorrow!

Lily x x'

Harry smiled, and tucked the diaries away into his trunk. Knowing what he did about James and Sirius, he couldn't help but smile at his mother's description of them being 'beastly', considering their illegal animagus status. He wondered briefly who the boy that cursed Bellatrix was. At first he'd assumed it was Snape, from the description, but he ended up in Ravenclaw, and Sirius himself told him that Snape had hung around with a Slytherin crowd during school.

He yawned and looked at his clock, which showed the time to be half past one in the morning. He quickly got undressed and ready for bed, though he didn't feel much like sleeping, a thought exacerbated by Neville's frequent snoring. The letter from Professor Beauchamp lay unopened on the top of his trunk.

The next morning, he awoke to see Ron and Hermione sitting, fully dressed, at the foot of his bed, Hermione holding a napkin full of breakfast food.

"We smuggled these out of the Great Hall," she explained. "Breakfast finished two hours ago!"

Harry looked at his clock, and was stunned to see it read ten o'clock.

"I didn't fancy waking you, seeing as you went to bed really late last night. Thought you might be well annoyed," Ron added.

"Thanks," Harry replied, and sat up in his bed, gratefully eating the bacon and egg sandwiches Hermione had hastily thrown together, and drinking the pumpkin juice Ron had somehow managed to store in Neville's old Potions flask. Hermione appeared to be staring at his face.

"What is it?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"When did you get that bruise?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Ran into a door frame last night," he lied. Hermione frowned, but said no more about it. Instead, she and Hermione sat in relative silence, occasionally chatting to him about the D.A. reunion yesterday. Eventually, Harry looked up at them.

"I suppose you want to know what happened with Beauchamp last night," he said, through a mouthful of sandwich. Ron and Hermione looked horrified.

"Oh, Harry, not unless you want to tell us..."

"We were going to wait until you wanted to mention it..."

Harry laughed out loud, for despite their protestations, he could see the gleam of curiosity in both their expressions.

"It's okay. I was planning on telling you, but thanks for pretending I didn't have to," he replied with a sly grin.

"Hey, we're mates right? No secrets," Ron stated, which made Harry feel really guilty about the one big secret he had kept from them both since last June. He cleared his throat.

"Is anyone else here?" he asked. Ron looked around the room and shook his head,

"Nah- they're all in the common room," he replied. Harry took a deep breath.

"Alright. Beauchamp sat me down in her office and told me that Snape was her father."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"So we were right, after all," she commented. Ron looked perturbed,

"Why did she feel the need to tell you?" he asked, "I'd keep very quiet about that little fact if it was me."

"Well, you see, that's what I thought," Harry replied, "but it turns out it actually concerns me."

Ron looked blankly at him.

"How?" he asked, but Harry saw Hermione clap her hand to her mouth in horror. He gave her a lop-sided smile.

"Beauchamp's my half sister. We've got the same mum. You do the maths," he finished. Judging by the looks on both Hermione and Ron's faces, the former had worked out the equation at least five seconds faster than the latter.

"Oh, Harry! What did you do?" Hermione asked. Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"I went to see him," he replied. Ron stared at him suddenly.

"Did you kill him?" he asked. Hermione slapped him on the arm.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, clearly horrified. Ron shrugged.

"Well, at least we'd get out of Potions," he replied blithely.

"No," Harry answered. "But I got pretty angry. He just sat there at his desk, chucked me my mum's diaries, which for some reason he owns, and told me pretty much not to bother him about it again." He felt it wise to omit his later offensive accusation, and the resulting altercation of Snape's left fist with his jaw.

Ron muttered something under his breath that caused Hermione to glare at him.

"Oh come on, Hermione," he retorted, "It's hardly fair to tell someone not to bother them when that someone has just found out they have a sister because of them!"

Suddenly, Ron pulled a face.

"Hang about!" he exclaimed. "How old is Beauchamp?"

Harry shrugged.

"Snape said something about it happening twenty-three years ago. I'm guessing she must be about twenty-two. Why?"

"Blimey, think how young your mum must have been when she had her!" Ron pointed out. Harry did some mental calculations, but Hermione beat him to it by replying.

"Fifteen! That's younger than me!" she exclaimed in horror. "Snape and your mum were in the same year at school, too, so he must have been her age..." She shook her head in dismay. "I didn't think you could even get people pregnant at fifteen."

"Well, you learn something new every day," Harry replied, suddenly feeling angry again.

"Well," Ron pointed out, "at least it explains why your mum was Beauchamp's Secret Keeper."

Harry sighed.

"True. That makes sense. Doesn't make me feel any better, though," he replied with a sliver of bitterness in his voice.

He saw Hermione lean over the bed to pick up the letter on the top of Harry's trunk and scrutinise the writing on the envelope.

"Harry, is this from Professor Beauchamp?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yep," he replied, shortly. Hermione turned the envelope over in her hands and examined the unbroken seal.

"I take it you haven't read it yet?" she enquired. Harry sighed.

"No, I haven't," he replied, testily.

"Well, don't you think you should?" she asked. Harry shrugged, but said nothing.

"It's hardly her fault, perhaps she has something she wants to say," Hermione pointed out, as she thrust the envelope under Harry's nose.

"Open it," she instructed.

Feeling as though he was a naughty first year under Hermione's reproachful glare, he did as he was told. The first thing he noticed was that the letter was fairly short, the second thing he noticed was that Beauchamp liked to doodle in the margin of her parchment, and draw smiley faces at the end of her letters.

Dear Harry,

Sorry I felt the need to commit all this to paper- after you bolted from my office this evening, I reckoned this was the best way to get you to at least pay attention. Don't worry; I was the same when I was your age. Thing is, despite what's happened, I would really like to get to know you as, you know, who you are to me (I don't want to write it explicitly for obvious reasons). All the other animosity I feel has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with other people in our lives, and I don't see why certain people and their feelings should interfere. Please come and see me some time so we can talk about things, I would hate to leave them how they are. I know you're angry and I also know I can't do anything to stop that, but maybe we can learn to get along at least?

Love, Persephone

X x x

Harry stared a moment at the paper, then back at Hermione.

"Do you know something?" he said to her. She shook her head.

"What?" she asked.

"You have this annoying habit of being right," he replied, with a smile. Hermione beamed.

"So, you're going to talk to her?" she asked. Harry nodded,

"Yeah, well." He looked down at his pyjama top. "I will once I've got changed."

Hermione ushered Ron away, who looked indignant.

"Hermione, I share a dorm with Harry; there's hardly much need for me to leave the room," he replied, before staring at Hermione and her prim expression. He sighed and shrugged.

"Fine, I'm coming, I'm coming," he groaned, following her out of the dormitory, leaving Harry to get dressed.

It was quarter past eleven by the time Harry had got ready and made his way to Beauchamp's office on the second floor. As he reached the door, he heard Beauchamp was talking to someone. She had rather a distinctive voice, and he could hear her words clearly.

"... Your grades have been slipping, Draco..."

"I know, Professor, I'm trying to catch up, really..."

"Well, what I'm suggesting is perhaps I could help you over Easter. I know it's a school holiday and you will probably want to go home, but it would be an ample opportunity to get caught up, and I'll be free to give you some extra tutoring. I'm sure your mother would understand. What do you say?"

"Okay, Professor, I'll talk to her about it."

"Good lad..."

Harry felt it might be prudent to knock and at last make his presence known.

"Come in," her voice called after he knocked gently on the door. He walked in to find her with Draco sat in the chair next to her desk. A large stack of parchments sat on her desk, making it clear to Harry that she was in the middle of doing much the same thing Snape had been yesterday evening- swiftly marking a huge pile of homework parchments.

"Oh, hi, Harry," she said on seeing him standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Erm, I can come back another time," he said, "I can see you're busy..."

"Oh, nonsense, Draco and I had just finished," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. She looked at Draco with a mixture of sternness and concern.

"So, are you happy to try that?"

Draco nodded, standing up.

"Yes, Professor," he replied. Beauchamp smiled.

"Good lad, now let me know what decision you come to, okay?"

Draco smiled, and Harry though he looked the epitome of sycophancy.

"Certainly, Professor," he finished, before leaving he room, though not before he had glared at Harry.

"Sit down, Harry," Beauchamp gestured towards the chair Draco had previously occupied. He did as he was told, and sat in a chair next to her desk. He fiddled with the cuffs of his robes whilst she finished off marking the paper she had been looking at before he entered.

"I just wanted to say, I read your letter, and I'm sorry," he said, once he had got her full attention. She smiled briefly.

"It's quite alright, Harry," she replied. "It came as a bit of a shock to me, I must admit..." She looked up at the open door, and suddenly raised her right hand.

"Dextera; obstruo ianua," she commanded, and with a jet of white light, the door swung shut.

"And I woke up remembering it all," she finished, with a chuckle. Harry looked at her warily.

"You find it funny?" he asked, though less aggressively than he did when she made a joke about it the previous evening. Beauchamp shrugged.

"Well, what else can you do?" she replied, unapologetically. Harry found he could see her point.

"So," he asked, "what do we do now?"

Beauchamp looked at him and shrugged.

"Beats me. I've watched Muggle telly where they reunite families, but they never show you that bit. Suppose it makes for boring television. I think we're supposed to drink tea and reminisce- sound good to you?" she asked. Harry laughed.

"Yeah, why not? Not that I can really remember much, being only one at the time," he replied. Beauchamp smiled.

"If it helps, I can't remember a huge amount either, just being in a strange house that seemed normal at the time to me and trying to make my baby brother learn Latin- an offence I definitely picked up from my father."

Harry tried to hide his shock at Beauchamp having mentioned her stay with the Potters' as though he knew, and failed. Beauchamp flashed him a wicked smile.

"Dumbledore told me you and Hermione, ahem, found out entirely by accident the whole story of my death," she replied, with mock care. Harry flushed with embarrassment.

"We were..." he began to explain, then realised that pointing out that they were spying on Snape didn't make him or Hermione fare any better in the tale. Beauchamp waved her hand casually.

"Not important," she replied, getting up to make two cups of her rather pungent green tea. "There are some things, Harry, that I imagine I could well do without knowing about my little brother," she added, as the kettle boiled.

"So, you survived the Killing Curse- I doubt that's happened to many people," Harry pointed out, by way of making conversation, as Beauchamp poured two cups of green tea.

"No, I didn't," Beauchamp replied, curiously, as she sliced a lemon in half with a nearby dagger. Harry almost did a double take.

"Yes you did, I mean, you're walking around and everything," he replied, thinking Beauchamp had suddenly gone quite mad. She shook her head and handed him a cup of tea.

"No, Voldemort killed me. He struck me with the Killing Curse and I died. I was dead for weeks, lying in that mausoleum with asphodel in my hands ready to be buried by the darkness of the new moon. Somehow, I didn't stay dead."

She glanced up at Harry's bewildered expression and laughed.

"I know, it's weird. No wonder ghosts and the living dead regard me as a freak."

Though stunned by this piece of knowledge, Harry suddenly remembered something Augustine Dougherty had mentioned during his visit to Beauchamp's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"Hang on," Harry said, "Augustine said you drowned, and that's how you died!"

Beauchamp sipped her tea casually.

"I did," she replied, simply. This made little sense to Harry.

"So how could you have died at Voldemort's hands as well?"

Beauchamp shrugged.

"I've no idea. I don't think it's very common."

Harry's eyebrows almost leapt off his face.

"You can't die twice!" he exclaimed, as though saying it out loud would make it truer. The only occasion that sprung to Harry's mind of such an occurrence was Ron's Divination homework. Beauchamp looked down at herself.

"And yet," she commented, "here I am."

"So, how did you drown?" he asked, as though knowing this might help make the fact that his half-sister had apparently died twice yet lived to tell the tale make sense. Beauchamp put down her cup of tea.

"I was at Beaubaxtons," she explained. "I was sixteen years old, and in my first year of N.E.W.T.s, and it was our first inter-house Quidditch match, which our house had won. I was getting changed back into my school robes, when I heard one of our teachers show a well-to-do gentleman around. He was making comments in very poor French, and then began to converse with me, again in dreadful French. So, I saved him the bother and let him know English was my mother tongue. Anyway, he was very polite, asking me why I was studying here and not at Hogwarts, to which I replied that my mother wanted me to learn French, which was the story Aunt Porphyria had told me to tell. However, during this conversation, stupid sixteen year-old me let slip that I had been at Durmstrang, at which the man was suddenly very interested in what I had to say- apparently he was thinking of sending his kid there, if he could talk his wife into it. After that- well, it seems such an innocuous act, you'd be surprised it lead to my death."

"What happened?"

"I dropped my bag. The gentleman went to pick it up. It was heavy, and he had to lift it quite high to support the weight. His sleeve rolled down, and I saw he had been marked. By Voldemort. I mean, when he was believed dead, the mark wasn't clear on his followers, unless you knew what you were looking for. The skin's kind of puckered- I knew because I'd seen it on Karkaroff."

Harry felt himself gasp.

"What's worse," Beauchamp continued, "he noticed my expression. And he was not happy."

Harry' eyes widened.

"What, so he drowned you?"

"No- he tried to strangle me first, but somehow, I made part of his head explode- don't know how, except that it was the first time I had made anything like that happen since I was eight, and it led to the beginning of my wandless magic training. He was pretty peeved."

Harry scrutinised Persephone's face. He imagined 'pretty peeved' was a slight understatement.

"We struggled," Persephone continued, "and he thrust my head into a blocked sink until I drowned. Alex Ridley, a visiting alumnus of Beaubaxtons and now a friend of mine, found and resuscitated me. But I was clinically dead for at least three minutes. I think Alex must have chased Malfoy out of the..."

Beauchamp stopped suddenly, and Harry realised she had not meant to tell him the name of her killer.

"Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked, feeling a sudden wave of renewed loathing hit him. Beauchamp nodded.

"Yes. I didn't really want to tell you, seeing as his son is in your class and all," she replied. Harry stared at her.

"But his son's an utter git!" he exclaimed. Beauchamp hushed him.

"He's one of my pupils, and I like to separate the father from the son. It doesn't help with impartial teaching, as I'm sure you're only too aware."

Harry realised she had noticed the animosity between himself and Snape, though if he thought about it, you really had to be deaf, blind and dumb not to notice.

"Anyway," Beauchamp pointed out, "from what I've heard in the Daily Prophet, you're no stranger to escaping death."

Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, once in every year I've been at Hogwarts," he replied. "Except I have never actually died."

Beauchamp smiled and sipped more of her tea. Harry did the same, and they sat in silence for a while, though the silence was comfortable.

Suddenly, Beauchamp fished in her desk drawer and pulled out a cylindrical tin.

"Biscuit?" she offered, "They're jammie dodgers," she added, as though trying to tempt him with the deal. Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied, and took one of the biscuits, whilst pulling his chair a little closer to Persephone, feeling glad he took Hermione's advice.

"So, it went well then?" Hermione asked, when he returned to the empty common room. Harry smiled.

"Yeah, it did. We got on pretty well, actually. We're not getting our family portrait done or anything like that, but we talked and it was okay," he replied. Ron beamed at him.

"Well, that's good- maybe she'll let you slack off on homework now and then?"

Harry laughed.

"Doubt it."

"As it should be," Hermione added, pointedly, with clear disapproval at the suggestion of Harry's sister letting her brother's education slide. Ron rolled his eyes at her, at which she glared before returning to her book.

"She told me about her deaths, too," Harry pointed out. It took a few moments for Ron and Hermione to fully process this new information, for about seven seconds later, they reacted in the same manner Harry had, in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Deaths? As in plural?" Hermione asked, clearly sceptical. Harry nodded.

"Yep- once at the hands of Voldemort, the other whilst she was at Beaubaxtons."

"Is that the time Augustine was talking about when he said she'd drowned?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, it was. An Alex Ridley revived her, apparently. Anyway, have a guess who did the dirty deed?" he asked, darkly. Ron and Hermione looked blankly at him.

"No idea," Ron replied.

"Malfoy," Harry answered, simply. Hermione looked shocked.

"Gosh! And she has to teach his son?"

"Yep," Harry replied. Ron pursed his lip a little.

"Well, she's pretty good if she can ignore that and teach him- her dad can't even let go of the fact your dad beat him at Quidditch now and then!" he pointed out.

Hermione seemed distracted by something else Harry had mentioned, however.

"Alex Ridley?" she mused. Harry nodded, not wanting to correct Ron on the situation between his father and Snape during their school days.

"Yeah," he replied. Hermione frowned.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"Ridley- the name rings a bell. Perhaps my parents knew a Ridley- I'll ask them over Easter..."

Harry drew a deep breath, it was now or never.

"I've got something to tell you both," Harry blurted out, suddenly. Ron and Hermione looked at him with surprise.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. Harry looked around the common room to see if it was still empty, and let everything he had been worried about that year spill out of his mouth- the prophecy, how both he and Neville could have been the one Voldemort marked... Once he had finished, he saw that Ron and Hermione were staring at him, their jaws slack.

"Wow," Ron managed to say. "Wow!"

Hermione looked concerned.

"You? The fate of the wizarding world is entirely down to you? Isn't that scary?" she asked. Harry looked at her with an expression of bewilderment.

"Well, yeah!" he replied, incredulously. Ron shook his head.

"Blimey," he sighed, "you can't even make your hair surrender to your command of a morning, how are you going to manage Voldemort?" he asked. Harry looked at him and saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes. They both laughed, the tension broken.

"That's pretty much what I thought," he replied. Hermione smiled at him, and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"It'll be okay," she said, "you've got Dumbledore and all the Order on your side. Beauchamp too, I'd imagine, and she's pretty tough."

"She might even join the Order, for all we know," Ron pointed out.

Hermione looked concerned.

"Does Neville know?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"No, I don't think he does," he replied. Hermione chewed her lip.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up at them both.

"Shouldn't you tell him?" she asked, though Harry knew the question was directed at him. He swallowed hard.

"I don't know. What's the point, if it isn't him?" he asked. "It's bad enough what the Lestranges did to his parents; wouldn't knowing they might have tortured them because he was a candidate for this prophecy of Voldemort's downfall make things worse?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"I didn't think of it like that," she replied.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Hermione spoke up again.

"You've got us, you know that, right?" she added.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "we may not be as skilled as Dumbledore, Tonks, Kingsley and Lupin, but we're not afraid to nearly get killed helping you out- you've seen that enough times!"

Harry managed a smile and pulled his friends into a hug, not wanting to point out to them that it may very well come to that, and more.