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Chapter 10 : Chapter Ten: Should and Shouldn't
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“I can’t believe you didn’t let him do it Hermione!” shouted Ron ask they got back into Grimmald Place. “Look Harry had every right to, he had a perfect chance, and you blew it!”
“Look, i don’t want-”
“You want the deatheaters to take over that’s what!” bellowed Ron.
They had been rowing all the drive to Grimmald Place. Harry had tried to ignore it, but it bothered him. True he did want to hurt Snape, but he had to admit, Hermione had a point.
“I just don’t want my friend to become a killer, that’s all,” interjected Hermione coldly. “I could tell that he was going to-”
“Kill Snape,” interrupted Ron. “Snape deserves to die, Hermione. Harry would only be killing a killer. He would be doing the whole wizarding world a favour. It would be great to get rid of that murderer. Wouldn’t you want him dead, Hermione?”
“He should go to Azkaban, get a fair trial,” insisted Hermione.
“He definitely killed Dumbledore Hermione,” murmured Harry.
“Your own friend saw him do it,” continued Ron. “Are you saying that we can’t count on Harry? Do you not trust your friend. Are you turning into some muggle-born deatheater? That would be so funny, sort of hypocritical, but I could so see you doing that.”
Hurt, Hermione looked at Ron. “Please don’t say that,” said Hermione.
“Sorry,” sneered Ron. “It’s just-”
“We aren’t qualified to deal out justice, Ron,” explained Hermione. “There are people who do that for a living, they should be the ones-”
“Murderers don’t deserve-”
“Witnesses swore that they saw Sirius kill Wormtail, and they were wrong,” Hermione reminded them.
“So you’re saying that Dumbledore killed himself,” laughed Ron. “That’s bogus.”
“I didn’t say that!” snapped Hermione. “i was just saying-”
“I can’t believe your taking his side!” shouted Ron.
“What’s going on?” asked Ginny as she came down the stairs, with Tonks, Remus and Malfoy close behind.
“We could here you fighting from upstairs,” explained Tonks.
Hermione flushed, and Ron looked at Harry who rolled his eyes. “They’re just being stupid,” began Harry.
“I am not being-” interrupted Ron.
“What happened?” asked Remus, looking the three of them over.
“Can’t you tell,” sneered Malfoy.
“Your opinion is not wanted or needed, Malfoy,” snapped Harry.
“As I was saying,” continued Malfoy, “It’s quite clear that they were just in a fight-”
“I figured that much,” said Lupin.
“With Snape? Am I correct in saying that?” asked Malfoy, cocking his head to the side. “By the sound of it, I would have to say it would only be him.”
Harry frowned, and Malfoy took his silence as an answer.
“What did you do?” asked Malfoy.
“How do you know all of these things?” asked Remus.
“Really professor, I have ears, and so do you. Doesn’t being a werewolf make you have really good hearing?” stated Malfoy.
Remus looked over at Tonks.
“I would have loved to fight him,” drawled Malfoy, sitting down on the sofa. “I would have loved to kill him. I should kill him, after all, he is the one.... Well, he’s done so much to me, get in my way, trying to be an utter glory hog. Sleep with my mother-”
“He’s not sleeping with your mother!” snapped McGonagall who had just walked in.
“And you would know how?” challenged Malfoy, raising his eyebrows.
Harry wanted to laugh, but the thought of Snape sleeping with Narcissa was just too disgusting to even think about.
“Because I know much more about Severus than you ever will Malfoy, and I know that he would never do that,” explained McGonagall.
“Well any road, he’s a pathetic half-blood,” Malfoy caught himself, and then looked mournfully at the ground. “It doesn’t matter what blood he is,” said Malfoy. “It’s just,” he looked at Harry and then at Hermione, “I can’t get the thoughts out of my mind that I have had forced into them since I was little. I’m trying harder, but I don’t think that I can get them all out. I’m sorry.” He looked back down at the ground. “Sorry,” he added in a whisper.
“That’s quite all right, Draco,” said McGonagall. “Now all of you should be getting ready for bed, it is very late.”
After undressing and getting into bed, Ron murmured, “You should have killed him, Harry.” And then he turned off the light.
Harry was in a room filled with blackness, the only thing that wasn’t black was the frame of the mirror, the reflected black. He stood, transfixed, waiting for something to happen. He was looking frantically around the room, sure that something was going to happen.
“Look in the mirror...”
He didn’t know where it had come from, he was completely along in the darkness, but he did.
And he wasn’t alone.
“Dumbledore,” he breathed, touching the glass of the mirror.
Was Dumbledore in the room all the time? Or had he been hidden in the mirror. Just like the other dream, Dumbledore was just as Harry remembered him before he died. He had his blackened hand, and his long silver hair and beard.
“Harry,” said Dumbledore, once again his voice seemed to be several people, and seemed changed. He reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder.
Harry could feel Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder. But he couldn’t turn his head to see Dumbledore’s hand, in the mirror he could though. He touched Dumbledore’s hand, but it didn’t feel like he remembered it.
“I saw Snape today, and his father. His father was a friend of my uncle-”
“That only makes sense,” said Dumbledore in the echoey voice. “After all, Tobias Snape now lives in your own town.”
Harry could feel his mouth drop open.
“Harry,” said Dumbledore, softly, “please...”
“What?” snapped Harry.
Hermione was on the edge of his bed, Ron looking at him, worriedly from the other side of the room. Hermione had a bathrobe over her pajamas, and Ron was standing, and looking alert.
“Ron came and got me because you were acting like you were having another dream, and you just screamed-”
“I didn’t-” His scar throbbed, and he put his hand to his head. Once again his body was filled with pain, so that the room around him drifted in and out of focus.
“It’s happened again,” he, Voldemort was saying.
The surroundings were dim, and he could hardly see them.
“How can you explain it-”
“I can’t...” the voice was familiar, but through Voldemort’s rage and Harry’s own pain, Harry could not identify it...
“Harry?” asked Hermione nervously.
Anger surged through Harry’s body, followed by waves of pain.
“Hermione...” Harry gasped. He held his hand up to his scar, and cried out in pain.
“Should we get someone?” asked Ron.
“No,” said Harry roughly, still touching his scar. “I’m doing fine.”
“Harry,” said Hermione.
“What?” snapped Harry.
“Mate,” said Ron, “You have to see it.”
Harry tried to get to his feet, but fell back to the bed. Staggering, Harry made his way out to the hall, and down to the water closet. Looking in the mirror, Harry gaped. His scar was not bleeding like it was last time, but it wasn’t like it normally was. Normally it was just a darker colour of his own skin, usually slightly reddish. Now, well, it was black.
More like a charred burn, it stung as Harry touched it.
Looking from Ron to Hermione, Harry gaped. “Why does it-”
“What were you dreaming of, Harry?” asked Hermione urgently.
“The circumstances have long since changed,” Voldemort was saying, “the boy is no longer our main focus, we must concentrate on-”
Hermione’s hand was cool against his burning head. He felt ill, and could hardly see. Barely making it to the toilet, Harry vomited several times.
“Harry,” said Hermione. “What are you seeing?”
“Please don’t,” the other voice was saying. “My Lord...”
Harry lay down on the floor of the water closet. Sweat was pouring down his back. “Voldemort...” he panted. “And...” Where had he heard that voice, it was so familiar. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew who he was, but could say. “Someone else, a man. They’re talking... I really don’t understand.”
“Wormtail?” asked Hermione.
“No...” said Harry.
“What were you dreaming about before Harry?” asked Hermione.
Silence, then Harry managed to say, “Dumbledore.” Before he blacked out.
He woke up hours later, disoriented. Where was he, he looked around the room, but since he didn’t have his glasses he couldn’t see much.
“Here,” said a voice, handing him his glasses.
Harry took them and put them on. “Hi, Ginny,” he said softly. Quickly he glanced around the room, “Hi Tonks.”
Why are there only girls here. I’m in my boxer shorts? he thought. It was still his and Ron’s room.
“Hermione woke up Tonks,” explained Ginny.
“She woke up Remus first,” said Tonks, and then she woke up me.
“Where’s Remus?” asked Harry, pulling the covers up to his chin.
“He’s at the Order meeting,” said Tonks.
“Why are you up here then?” asked Harry harshly. At least he was wearing a long tee shirt.
“Because it’s my turn to watch you,” said Tonks.
“Geez, I’m not a kid,” said Harry. “And that doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he said pointing to Ginny. “Where’s Ron and Hermione?”
“With Malfoy,” said Ginny. “He wanted to watch you, but Hermione and Ron told him no. Since there was no one to watch you, ‘cuz they’re at the meeting, I was left to do it.”
“They’re at the meeting?” asked Harry sitting up.
“They have to explain what happened,” said Tonks. “Last night and about the dream. Later on you’ll tell them about it.”
Harry got out of bed quickly. He wanted later to be now, he was going to go to that meeting whether Tonks liked it or not.
“Harry,” giggled Ginny.
Harry groaned. “Do you mind leaving, I’m going to change,” he said.
“Sure,” laughed Ginny leaving.
Tonks followed after her, closing the door.
“Why were you at the meeting?” Harry asked as he sat down next to Hermione in the sitting room. She was reading one of what had to have been, Snape’s journals.
She looked up from the journal, and put her place in the book. “Because I was talking about what happened last night. Ron and I had to talk about it, and now Ron’s with Draco. They’re talking about quidditch.” She shook her head. “Men and quidditch. The best way to a man’s heart is through his broom, I guess.”
Harry laughed. “Finding those interesting?” he asked pointing to the journal.
Hermione glanced back down at the journal. “I’m not done,” she said. “Some parts are more exciting than others, after all, this is his life, and he documented nearly every part of it. Even some parts I’m not going to mention.” She blushed slightly.
“I take it that it’s things that I don’t want to know either,” said Harry, forcing images of Snape doing, well, anything with a girl.
“No,” said Hermione quickly, reading his expression, “nothing sexual. Well, he does mention some jokes that some people, Regulus Black, James -your father-, or Sirius, said. Mostly it was them. Some of them are a little rude or immature-”
“Well how old are they?” asked Harry.
“Well, I’m up to December in their fifth year.”
Harry’s stomach leapt a little, he remembered what had happened in June of that year. “So besides sex, or lack of it-”
“Well, any road, anything else disturbing?”
Hermione looked quizzically at Harry. “Well, he describes some fights that his parents had very vividly. He was there at his parents house during some parts of the summer, and some of them are rather, well,” she looked around the room, “I really don’t want to go into it. It’s just so sad. He says that his first memory that he knows is true is this fight his parents had when he was two. His dad had just found out that his mum was a witch, because Snape had accidentally showed signs of magic. So Tobias Snape went through the roof and well,” she looked down at the book, “I sort of feel sorry for him.”
“Is that why you wouldn’t let me kill him,” shouted Harry. “Because he had a bad childhood?”
“No, it’s just I wonder how someone could live life knowing that well,” she shook her head. “Lets just say that his home life, with his parents, and the Princes, isn’t something that I want to discuss.”
Harry sat down next to Hermione on the sofa. “So what do you want to talk about?” he asked. “Please don’t make it be about Snape, I’ve heard enough about that son of a bitch to last me twenty-five life times.”
“In a way,” began Hermione, “it is.”
Harry sucked in his breath and looked angrily at Hermione. “Do we have to-”
“But it’s also about your mother,” finished Hermione.
“What do you...” started Harry. But stopped. “What is that?” asked Harry, pointing at the photo Hermione had pulled out of the journal. “Where did you get that?”
Hermione placed it down on the table.
“The journals,” she explained simply. “One of the many photos he has in this.”
Harry didn’t want to touch the picture, afraid of it contaminating him. But he looked at it intently. Taken with a muggle camera, Lily Evans, who had to have been thirteen, fourteen at most, was sitting by the lake looking at Snape, who was lying down beside her. He was on his stomach, flipping through a book, with a quill in his hand.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” sputtered Harry.
“A picture is worth a thousand words, Harry,” said Hermione. “And the journals have spelt it out, as clearly as I think you can get it. They were best friends.”
“In the first term of first year, they were constantly competing to be the top, but by the end of first year, they had become friends. I don’t get why, exactly, but I would call them friends. Sadly, or I suppose it’ll make you happy, they started to drift apart in fifth year. Snape just says that his feelings have begun to change about Lily and he wanted to protect her, or something...”
“Protect her,” laughed Harry, standing up. “He hated her. They were never friends. He thought of her as a mud-blood. That’s all that really matters to him.” He looked at the picture.
“I think he means something else-”
“You don’t know what you mean,” spat Harry. “You just want him to be a better person. Well, I don’t care. Nothing you say can prove anything, Hermione.”
He walked out of the room.
“It doesn’t matter,” he shouted over his shoulder.
“You’re just biased against him,” she shouted back.
A/N: Don’t own pictures or Harry Potter, duh!
Now you know what the photo was about. Teehee! One mystery solved, millions left!
I promised that this would be shorter, and it is. Next time, well, we’ll see, won’t we...
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