"Portus," Snape said, and there was a sudden lurch in Harry's gut, strong enough he was glad he had skipped breakfast, and felt as if a giant hook had snagged him right behind his navel and jerked him backwards through his own spine. Wind whooshed in his ears, louder than when he was on a broom, but unlike when he was flying, he could not tell up from down or left from right, but kept falling, falling . . . sideways?
The sensation continued for some time, which felt almost like forever, but could only have been a minute or two, and then he was definitely falling down and toward the ground, which rushed up to meet him. Harry braced himself for impact with the ground, but instead of smashing to his death, he just felt a rather soft bump. The feel was like going downstairs and thinking there was one more step, only to find you had already reached the bottom. Jarring. That was it. Harry stumbled from the non-step, and fell to one knee. His stomach lurched again, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight to keep from spewing.
"Easy there, Potter," Snape said, and put a hand on his shoulder.
Harry flinched violently, and the hand went away quick enough he didn't have to shove it off his shoulder. Feeling his face redden with shame, even in the sudden cold of outdoors, Harry forced himself to his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled and opened his eyes. "I'm all right, though."
The professor's eyes were unreadable, and his expression was that careful blank that Harry hated to see. But then Snape just nodded, and turned to start walking along a path in front of them. Harry could see they were in a dense copse of woods, thoroughly overgrown but for the narrow footpath . . . which might have even been merely a game trail. The air was very cold, despite the autumn sunlight that managed to creep through the canopy, and Harry's breath escaped his mouth in white clouds as they walked.
"Where are we, sir?" he ventured after a few minutes.
Snape didn't answer, but led him around another bend in the path to where it opened up into a clearing of sorts, with a small building off to one side that looked like a church. Snape moved to the right so Harry could join him, and gestured again, this time to what was all around them.
Gravestones. Hundreds of them.
"A cemetery?" Harry asked. "Why did you bring me here?"
"You have never been here before." It was not quite a question, but Harry answered it anyway.
"No. Should I have?"
Snape's dark gaze took on an irritated cast. "I would have hoped so. But . . . no matter. You are here now. This way." Once more he led the way, this time across several rows of plain white markers, and then some taller, marble affairs, one with an angel with outspread wings, and then a wide obelisk with a star on top.
Finally, the professor stopped, in front of some marble headstones that seemed at first glance like many of the others. His face went unnaturally still as he stared at the marker.
Harry followed his gaze to see what he had never imagined to see on an outing with his Head of House: His parents' gravestone. It had their names, and the date they died, and an inscription on the bottom that read:
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
His parents lay beneath this cold and unforgiving ground. His parents, whom he could not even remember, except in dreams or nightmares. He had never been here before, and could not understand why he was here now. "Why . . ." Harry swallowed thickly. "Why'd you bring me here?"
Snape's voice was very low as he said, "I thought you might want to see where they were laid to rest."
Harry could not meet his gaze. "You've been here before?"
"Only once. For their funeral. To say good bye."
"To my parents?" He frowned and glanced over at Snape. "I thought you hated them."
"No, Harry," the professor said quietly. There was an edge to his voice that had not been there before, but Harry could not figure what it could mean. "I did not get along with you father, it is true. But I did not hate your mother." The tall man shook his head and turned away from the gravestone and his dark eyes were bright, almost shiny. "Far from it, in fact."
Harry drew in a sharp breath. "You were friends? With my Mum?"
Snape nodded again, and Harry, hardly daring to hope, could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest. "I was."
TBC . . .
A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read and give support on this story! Your reviews are all wonderful, and are both humbling and awe inspiring. Since some people have asked, yes, I do write my own stories and novels, and have even sold a few of the former -- see my bibliography via my webpage for more information, if you're so inclined. Naturlich, my ambition is to sell my novels, too, and eventually rest comfortably on my laurels. Lol
Meantime, spiced pumpkin lattes all around! For those trying to cut back on those caffeinated holiday treats, I've got these one-of-a-kind Harry hugs, fresh off the presses. . . .
*Chapter 30*: Chapter 30
Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 30
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I imagine I'll get over it.
Warning for spoilers from Deathly Hallows. But then, if you haven't read book seven yet, what are you doing reading my fic? Go now! Come back when you're done. I'll wait. . . .
Updated to correct a horribly stupid mistake. Yikes.
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Previously:
Harry drew in a sharp breath. "You were friends? With my Mum?"
Snape nodded again, and Harry, hardly daring to hope, could feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest. "I was."
Severus watched the play of emotions over Harry's face, and thought for the first time about how unfair it was that the boy had never had a chance to know his mother. Lily had been a beautiful person, not just fair of face, but full of life and joy and . . .
And the boy was speaking. Severus gave him his attention in time to hear the end of his request, ". . . me about her?"
For a long moment, Severus stared at Harry, his heart in his throat, almost literally. How could he have thought this was a good idea? His own emotions were a mess; it had been years, many years, since he had so devotedly thought about Lily, her life and her death, and about their friendship, about how much he loved her, even after it was clear she no longer wanted him near her.
How could he explain any of that to a child? To this child?
And yet . . . and yet the boy was gazing up at him with such hope in his eyes that it took Severus' breath away.
"We were friends," he said at last. Then he cleared his throat, embarrassed at the thickness of his voice. He looked away, in the direction of far off Spinner's End, and the neighborhood park where he had first seen his first -- and only -- love. "We knew each other even before we went to Hogwarts. I met her . . . on a playground near where we both lived."
"Really?" Harry's voice was breathless, his eyes wide, as if Severus was imparting unto him the secrets of the universe. In a way, he supposed, he was.
He managed a sardonic smile. "Really. Do you imagine I would lie about such a thing?"
The boy's already pink cheeks darkened to a deeper red as he looked down. "No! No, sir. Sorry. I just . . . I never thought . . ."
"That your old professor was once a child like yourself?" His smile deepened. "You would be amazed, Mr. Potter, how much you and I are alike." And in that moment, he realized exactly how true his statement was. The truth of it rocked his foundations once again, and he had to shake himself bodily, to recall where he was in place and time. The cemetery. Lily's gravesite.
"We . . . we are?"