Chapter 10

"The Secret He Always Knew"

Severus stared at the Stone, uncomprehending, for several moments. If anyone had seen him, they would have said he’d been struck dumb and daft, because he seemed oblivious to anything around him. He stared at the small medallion, encrusted with gold and green. Ensconced in the middle was what could only be a piece of the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Dearest Merlin.

The box clicked shut and was shoved under his arm, and with the pendant still in his hand, Severus picked up his wand as he marched out of Harry’s old rooms to his sitting room. He threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and as soon as the green flames licked upward, stuck his head through and glared out of Dumbledore’s fireplace.

He and Minerva were sipping champagne, obviously engaging in a private moment, but just then, Severus couldn’t have given a rat’s bloody arse over just what the hell they were doing. "Headmaster."

Dumbledore, with a soft blush in his cheeks, turned to him. "Severus! I was hoping you’d reconsider the staff Christmas party. It’s set to start in ten minutes."

All Severus did was lift his hand and thrust it through the Floo. The Sorcerer’s Stone dangled off of the chain, catching all of the light in Dumbledore’s office.

The cheerful joy in Albus’s face bled out, but did not turn to shock as Severus had expected. He seemed more pleased than anything else; his old, lined face attempted to hide whatever emotion he was having at seeing the damn stone but couldn’t quite. Severus scowled. "I’m going to Grimmauld Place. I expect answers tonight, Albus."

Less than ten minutes later he’d dressed once more in much shabbier robes than the fine ones he’d worn to dinner, and walked back out of his dungeons up into the school. However, instead of heading toward the front doors as he’d originally intended, he bypassed them and strode quickly up to the seventh floor. He passed Flitwick’s office, Barnabas the Balmy teaching trolls to dance the ballet on his tapestry, the Room of Requirement, and walked until he almost reached Ravenclaw tower. Potter’s rooms were in a hidden corridor behind the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room.

What if that Clooney woman answers the door, Severus? Worse yet, what if the Clooney woman answers the door naked?

He scowled and knocked brusquely on the wood.

Sometimes Merlin smiled upon him. He was saved from his first crime against womankind when Harry opened the door, his handsome face lined with exhaustion. He had already changed into his night clothes, and appeared to have been getting ready for bed before Severus made his impromptu visit. "There’s something you need to see. Get dressed and come with me."

"What? Why?"

Severus didn’t bother explaining. He knew if he even tried to, he was sure to lose whatever patience he had left and that was the last thing he wanted.

Potter seemed to realize it, because though he threw Severus a filthy look he disappeared back into his rooms.

Severus waited for Potter to throw on some clothes and, with the man in tow, led him down the hall and out of the castle. The snowy night was absolutely chilled and Severus was grateful he’d pulled on his heavy woolen cloak and scarf.

"May I ask just where we are going?" Harry asked angrily from beside him, his boots crunching in the snow as he fought to keep up with Severus’ long stride.

"Grimmauld Place."

"Why?"

"Because Albus Dumbledore owes us both an explanation."

"About what?"

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Do shut up."

Severus utilized the stunned silence to grasp Harry’s arm, pulled him out of the wards surrounding Hogwarts, and Apparated the both of them into London.

He didn’t bother answering the angry spluttering beside him, nor did he let go of the wrist Potter was trying to wrench from his grasp. Instead, he ordered Grimmauld Place to appear, and as soon as the building had muscled enough room for them to go inside, dragged Potter through the front door.

Where, of course, the boy had to go and bellow. "I won’t be dragged around like a broom, Snape! Let me go, dammit!"

"FILTHY SWINE! MURDERING MUDBLOODS, STEALING THE HOUSE FROM MY FOREFATHERS!" Mrs. Black roared from her frame, and Severus caught only the smallest glimpse of her insane screaming before Ginny Weasley darted out from the kitchen staircase.

"Professor, Dumbledore is arriving any minute. He told me to send you downstairs!" Ms. Weasley cried over Mother Black’s screaming, and Severus, partly because he enjoyed feeling Harry’s muscles writhing under his hands, grasped his wrist with one, the box with the other, and hauled both down the steps. Potter’s hissed curses were music to his ears but Severus did not let go--did not even consider it until they were both down in the bowels of the house.

"Mr. Potter, let me ask you this," Severus said, as he pushed Harry into a chair, totally ignoring Granger and Weasley, the only people who’d already gotten there. "Do you think that the Sorcerer’s Stone, in the wrong hands, could be the worst weapon to ever see the light of day?"

Harry glared murderously over the edge of his glasses, rubbing his wrist. "Of course it would be. Please tell me you didn’t drag me to London on Christmas Eve because you have a point to make, Snape."

Severus growled low in his throat and slammed the box down in front of him.

At the sight of the mahogany box, Harry’s eyes widened. "That’s mine. Where did you find it?"

"Technically, it belongs to the long line of tyro’s that came before you and I, Mr. Potter," Severus said, coolly, but before he could say more--and more he’d wished to say-- Dumbledore arrived with Minerva on his arm.

He looked entirely too pleased for Severus’ tastes.

The older wizard, who hadn’t bothered trading his singing Santas and dancing peppermints, sat in the chair at the head of the table, Minerva at his side. Before he’d gotten properly comfortable Severus shoved the box at him. "Explain."

"Ahh. Yes, Severus, in just a moment. Tea, anyone?"

Granger and Ron Weasley both stood up and came to the table, and Severus had a moment to watch with pleasure as they both looked spectacularly awkward.

"Can we sit, Harry?" Ron asked, quietly, as he held a chair open for Granger.

Severus was saved from hearing the venomous reply he knew was waiting on Harry’s forked tongue when Albus interrupted them. "Ahhh. You found it. Good."

The mahogany box opened gracefully in the Headmaster’s hands. The table fell silent as he poked through it like a little boy in a candy shop, humming under his breath until he found just what he was looking for.

The Sorcerer’s Stone was absolutely dazzling in the firelight.

Potter made a sound like he was going to throw up, Granger and Weasley both gasped, and Severus grunted. He rubbed his fingers over his face, sitting back and crossing his legs to await the long-overdue explanation.

"Yes....yes. The Sorcerer’s Stone. I was so hoping one of you would find it...for a time, I rather thought neither of you would and I would go to my grave with my secret," Dumbledore murmured quietly. "It had to be safe, you see. The turning point–it simply had to be found by the two of you, but until then..no one could...hmm..."

Dumbledore sat thinking, watching the stone in his hand glitter. After what seemed like several eternities Dumbledore set it back down, folded his hands, and looked at Harry. "The time has come to tell you what we have done, and the mistakes we have made, in regards to your welfare, Harry."

Severus wanted to snort, but the sound got stuck somewhere in his throat.

"What do you mean, Headmaster?" Harry asked in very much the same tone, only there was a note of apprehension, a twitch of dread in it.

"It is a long, very complicated story, I’m afraid, where several things were done to keep you safe. You see, Harry, you are the most important piece of this puzzle, the treasure we’ve kept safe despite all odds." For the first time in many, many years the Headmaster looked his age, each line on his face showcasing his weary wisdom, and yet at the same time, his zest for life, his will to go on–his exhaustion with fighting an eternal war, but his faith in those fighting it. "You may ask me anything, Harry, and I will do my best to explain it to you."

The dark glint of Harry’s eyes made something shudder in Severus’ chest. "Why did you let that unmitigated bastard," he glared fiercely at Severus, "Hurt me?"

"For two reasons," Dumbledore said calmly. "The first being because Voldemort hurt you more than you can possibly imagine and because he would ultimately use you. You were too strong, too brave, and too naive of the world to understand. Your battle against Voldemort in your sixth year left you far more damaged than you could realize at the time. His essence, his power, his hatred were eating at the wounds in your heart. You were vulnerable to Voldemort’s manipulation--we could all see that."

"I killed Voldemort with my goddamned bare hands!" Harry snarled, thumping a fist on the table so hard the tea cups rattled. "I broke the bastard’s neck! How, how could he have come back?"

"Potter, you’re thinking like a Muggle," Severus accused before anyone could speak. "Do you honestly think that breaking the neck of a body made of magic could kill him for long? It was nothing but a vessel, boy. Within three months there were murmurs of his return, within five he used you to give himself a corporeal body–one strong enough to assist in the spell that would bring him back, as he did before. Within six months he tried to take over your body more than a dozen times. When you were engaged in your work, I..."  I could see the flicker of him in your eyes, your mouth, across your broad, beautiful shoulders. "We had to make sure you got as far away from him as possible."

"You were being molded into a vessel for him, Harry, one that would carry his soul," Dumbledore said. "Did you not notice that you were phasing out of existence, more and more? Your attention would wander, your mind would spin around menial tasks?"

Harry’s mouth was drawn, his eyes were open, almost wild. Severus could see each and every piece as it came together in the boy’s mind. "I spent forty five minutes brushing my teeth one morning. And I couldn’t concentrate in class, not like I was supposed to. I’d get stuck doing simple stuff...or concentrate so hard on what I was doing that everything else would fade away. I thought I was just zoning out."

"You were, in a way," Dumbledore said, as if he had any idea whatsoever what ‘zoning out’ meant. "You were fading into yourself and becoming what Voldemort wanted most, his ultimate prize–an impenetrable body protected by the charms your mother’s love put on you and by your own awesome power. You hold within you a gift, Harry. You are more powerful than most wizards...perhaps even more powerful than myself. If he were to take you over, combine his skill with yours...there would be no way to stop him and no way to bring you back from his clutches. He was too far into your mind for the Occlumency you learned in your fifth year to protect you, and by the seventh a great deal of his personality began to shine through you. His loyalty to Slytherin house, his deviousness, his cunning.

"I knew what had to be done. He would never allow you to recover; he would take you over through the connection in your scar. We only had one choice, Harry, and that was to place you where not even Voldemort would know to seek you out, where the connection would be faint enough that he would not be able to pinpoint where you were--the outside world, the foreign world. Where you would be safe enough to recover, to find yourself, to grow, and Voldemort was too weak. The spell he used to recover a corporeal body exhausted and weakened him, almost to death. Without you there to siphon power from, he grew weaker and weaker until alternative spells and enchantments were laid on him. The research took years. Distance and time are what saved you, my boy."

He paused. "That is, until Voldemort found you."

"Found me?" Harry echoed.

"Mm. Two days before you and Professor Snape came back to Hogwarts, I received intelligence that Voldemort was in Avignon. I became aware that he had shifted his attention to wizarding cities in southern France for his Alchemist crusade, and I knew it was no longer safe for you, Harry. Your scar would have undoubtedly led him to you, because while you can mask it's appearance, you will never be able to mask it's existence. You will always have it, and Voldemort will always be able to use it to find you."

Harry’s fingers were clenching and unclenching on the table top. "You sent me away, and plucked me up when I was needed again. Instead of talking to me like an adult, instead of explaining to me that Voldemort was taking my mind from me, you..." Harry’s eyes flashed green.

"Yes." The word was heavy in the silence of the room. "I could not simply hide you away in Grimmauld Place." The old man leaned forward. "Though I tried. I exhausted every idea, every venue, every possible alternative, Harry, but there was none. We could not take the risk of alerting Voldemort to our plans, Harry, which would have surely happened had I spoken to you. Voldemort was a part of you, seeded like a parasite in your mind. If I had spoken to you it would have been as if I’d spoken directly to him." He closed his eyes. "There was nothing else I could possibly do, nothing I could twist and turn, nothing I could create. It was either send you away or watch you succumb to the very thing that murdered all those you held dear."

"So rather than explain to me what I had to do, even if you couldn’t tell me the why’s, you had...had this man," he spit the word out as if poison and pointed at Severus. "You let him all but rape me? You let him touch me like that to make sure I would leave?!"

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment and looked every year of his age. "We could think of nothing else."

"I can’t...I can’t believe I’m hearing this." Harry scraped his chair back and rose, dragging his fingers back through his mussed curls. "I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I can’t believe it." His hands slammed down on the tabletop mere feet from Dumbledore, so hard the teacups rattled. The silence could be cut with a knife and Harry’s voice rang loud and true. "I was seventeen years old. I wasn’t a child–I understood, probably more than any of you can ever imagine. None of you, none of you," he spit out, "have a connection to Voldemort like I do. None of you can ever bloody imagine what it’s like to know that not only is your life not your own, but neither is your mind. And yet you still did it." His voice held a note of disbelief. "You still let his Slytherins do that to me. You still let me get close to him, you still encouraged it."

"Harry, we simply could not tell you. Think of how you were then," Dumbledore said, his old eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. They looked dull now, and lifeless. "Think about how you might have reacted if I told you to leave Hogwarts and the Wizarding world. Think how you might have reacted if I asked you to find someplace else and to never contact any of us again."

"I would have told you to fuck off!"

"Precisely," Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry looked momentarily stunned, but recovered quickly enough. "Fine. I had to leave. I get that now, I understand that–as horrible as it is, I understand. But how could you let Snape hurt me like that? How could you all turn on me like you did?" His eyes were sparkling now and Severus looked away from the scene to study his potion stained hands. "How could you let him do that?"

Dumbledore’s voice was choked–Severus had never heard it like that, never, not even when so many of his own students died in the battle during Harry’s sixth year. Not even when Seamus Finnigan died in his arms, not even when the old man had wept like a child over the battlefield littered with his student’s bodies. "Because you were hardened, Harry. You had seen so much. Nothing hurt you, nothing fazed you, nothing moved you. Life had simply ceased for you."

Severus looked up in time to see Harry’s body tremble. "So you used what you could."

"Yes. We used what we could." Dumbledore turned a heartbroken look towards Severus, who was all too aware of the misery he must have been radiating. "Professor Snape was chosen, Harry, and did his job to the best of his ability."

"Chosen?" He turned his eyes to Severus, and back again to the Headmaster.

"Don’t sound so surprised, Potter," Severus snapped.

Harry’s hands were clenching in fury on the tabletop, but Severus gave him credit for staying calm. "What did you do?"

"Mr. Malfoy and I formulated a plan, a flawless plan. The staff, Lupin, your friends, they all knew," Severus glared at Granger and Weasley, who glanced down with guilt. "They were able to help us when we thought you would not let go. We had to drive you away. We had to make sure you would never willingly return, that you would never consider it, never contact anyone that would give Voldemort clues where you were. With each mile of distance, with each thought of hatred, the link grew weaker and weaker, on Voldemort’s end.

"Because certain members of the Order of the Phoenix, as misguided as they were, cared for you, Potter," Severus said, a little more harshly than he’d intended. "it was the only choice at the time, to send you as far away as we possibly could or to kill you. We could not tell you for fear of the Dark Lord finding out, and we could not let him take over your body, not with the power that resides in you. We all agreed to the plan, Potter. It was the only way to keep you safe, and more importantly: alive."

Silence fell and dragged, Harry’s eyes flickering, putting it all together. "Why did you send for me?"

Dumbledore’s kind blue eyes, empty and exhausted, regarded Harry from across the table sadly. "Several reasons. For over a year now Voldemort has been gathering his forces. He is mere months away from launching a full scale attack on the wizarding world. Despite all that has occurred, the prophecy that Madame Trelawney gave us so many years ago still stands firm. There is no one who can kill him but you, Harry."

"Then my job...it’s all been a sham, hasn’t it?"

"Don’t be ridiculous," Minerva snapped. Harry’s eyes fell to her, shocked. "I cannot recall a better Defense teacher, not even Remus Lupin. It was time for you to come home, Potter. If you had been older when all of this happened, perhaps you would have dealt with it and understood–and you must try to understand now."

Silence fell. The only sound in the house was the dull creaking of the upper floors, the crackling of the fire, and Harry’s own harsh, trembling breathing. No one moved–no one dared even breathe. Severus felt as if his heart would flop out of his chest after it stopped beating. Harry’s pain and confusion was tangible in the air, as if Severus could reach out and touch it. It hurt him more than he could possibly express to see Potter so totally destroyed by what had been said.

That was, until the brat spoke.

"Why did you look for me, Professor?"

Merlin.

Why had he looked for him? How many ways could Severus answer that? In the deepest corner of his cold, dead heart, Severus wanted to see understanding in Harry’s eyes, to know that while he may never be forgiven, at least his actions were understood. He wanted Harry to know that while he had done it, he loathed himself for it. He wanted the boy to find some kind of comfort in Severus’ own misery, something to anchor Harry, to show him that though he had been dealt terrible cards, he was still worthy of love and affection. That it had not been done in cruelty, but in love.

He wanted it, in that moment, so badly that he could taste it. He had never wanted anything more than for Harry to simply understand.

"I looked for you for purely selfish reasons, Mr. Potter," Severus murmured, unable to look at Dumbledore’s eyes, which he knew were not surprised but dismayed.

"Did you know?" Harry’s flashing eyes moved to Dumbledore’s face. "Did you know he looked for me?"

Albus gently inclined his head. "I did."

Deep in the dark parts of Severus’ heart the betrayal, angry and thick, swallowed him from the inside out.

"Why didn’t you stop him? If you knew where I was all along?"

Dumbledore didn’t answer, simply looking at Severus with kindness in his eyes, love but also, strangely, hope. "Because Severus is a very complex man, and the things that drive him cannot be changed, no matter of my influence on him. I used that drive to keep him from making a mistake he might have if he had no hope."

Yes. Used indeed. Severus had been manipulated for so long that it almost didn’t matter to him anymore. His life had so long been claimed by others that when the rare feeling of vulnerability and rape came to him, he pushed it away uncomfortably. His life had been taken by these two men, both of whom loved him in their own ways. Men who would not blink twice should he die, men who would not honor him-- men who used him. Men who had willingly taken him as slave and whore to do their bidding.

Fuck toy to one and mind fuck to the other.

Harry’s eyes widened and those eyes, those damned eyes, Lily’s eyes, bored through his own. "You looked for me because you fell into your own trap, didn’t you?"

"This is not the place to speak about it."

"Oh, I think it is," Harry answered, his green eyes flashing in a pale face. "You fell for your own game and you fell in love with me. You didn’t think you would, you tried not to–I know it. You tried to distance yourself, because sometimes it felt like you were there, and other times you weren’t. I knew something was wrong when you almost refused the pin I gave you, and when you disappeared after the Goodbye Feast for hours. You were here, talking to all of them, weren’t you?" Harry asked, looking around the table with betrayal written all over his ashen face. "Were you asking them which position would be best to make sure my humiliation would send me running?"

"Harry–"

"No, really, I’d like to know." Harry spoke over Dumbledore, the only person Severus had ever seen who had the nerve to do so. "I’d like to know if you all discussed my apparently limitless submission."

"Severus, you must. You must, you know this," Dumbledore’s voice was heavy. "It’s the only way we know he will live. If he stays here, he will not. You understand this, I know you do." His warm arms came around Severus’ shoulders, and he felt the sobs that had built in his throat muffle into Dumbledore’s robes. "Be strong, Severus. I will be here, after. My boy...you are such a good man and you do not see it."

"We did not discuss it, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, eyes downcast. "I trust Severus Snape."

"Well I don’t, obviously. You just didn’t want to know, did you? Can’t manage to picture me laying on Snape’s bed with my legs spread, waiting for him to fuck me, can you?" Pure hate flashed in Harry’s eyes. "Why else did you send me away? You said there were two reasons."

Dumbledore stopped, eyes flickering over Minerva and Severus after that outburst, and though Severus felt as if he’d choke on his adams apple, he met the old man’s eyes head on. "There is also another reason. I have not been entirely truthful, though not by my own choice."

Severus looked from the chain in Dumbledore’s hand to the man’s eyes and instantly said, "You knew."

"Indeed. I knew." Dumbledore lifted the chain and the red hued stone caught the flickering firelight in it’s deep depths. "It is a very, very long story, most of which occurred long before any of you were born." He sighed quietly. "Tom Riddle was always interested in the Sorcerer’s Stone. From the first time he heard of it and my involvement with it he wanted to have a piece of his own. The temptation only grew worse when in his seventh year, Professor Heartstring, the Potions Mistress, refused to take him on as a tyro. He was fanatical about his ideas and had become a danger to the school.

"As I knew he would, a few short years after ending here at Hogwarts he went on to study necromancy and alchemy under great masters all over Europe. I kept an eye on Tom and in return he loathed me more than I could possibly ever explain. The hatred in his heart for me, the man who had prevented his path from being paved the way he wanted, was indistinguishable from the hate he felt for his Muggle father. He hated me; hated the relationship I had with Nicholas Flamel, hated that I could handle such a jewel as the Sorcerer’s Stone and not be tempted by the riches it promised."

Dumbledore sighed. "It was only a matter of time, Harry, before he realized what I had told you as a little boy was not the information he wanted. I told you that Nicholas Flamel and I had destroyed the stone and he had set his affairs in order. What I did not tell you that it was one of four that were in existence."

Dumbledore’s eyes never wavered. "When he probed your mind in your fifth year I knew he had seen the bit of information I had given you and knew I had lied. The other pieces had yet to fall into place–I had time. There are two stones left in existence." Dumbledore raised the chain with the stone on it. "This one, which holds only a fraction of the power a stone of this nature usually does, and a second one that Nicholas and I set the Fidelius Charm on and hid from the world. A flawed stone we could never tame. We hid its secret inside the both of us."

Dumbledore nodded to himself, looking down at the stone lying on the table and smiled quietly. "Nicholas was a brilliant man, a good man, but even he was mortal in the end. Though we had sworn on this charm, I knew Nicholas was not being entirely truthful with me. I was certain he told his granddaughter of our findings and had made her his Secret Keeper before we cast the Fidelius. What he refused to realize was that his granddaughter had been a secret supporter of Lord Voldemort for many years.

"I knew this would happen and it was only a matter of time before all was revealed–I did what any logical wizard does in a situation such as that," Dumbledore murmured. "I destroyed the first stone, which belonged to me and was the twin of Nicholas'. It was to much of a temptation for those who would want to steal it and do horrible things with it. Nicholas refused to do the same to his until Voldemort almost took both the stone and Harry’s life. It was the last stone destroyed." He looked down at the pendant in his hand. "The two remaining stones are too flawed and unstable to destroy. The smaller of the two was molded into this pendant in the early twenties, and the other, the most powerful and dangerous of all four, was hidden away from the world where no one would ever know where to look for it. I placed my own spells on the flawed stone, spells that no one but one wizard could ever break."

Merlin. Merlin. Severus listened, half stunned, scowling at his fingers. Of course. Of course, it all made perfect sense. "And the Dark Lord is after it, " Severus muttered. "Typical of him."

"Ah, yes. But you see, this is not the whole story, not by any regard."

"Then what is the whole story, Headmaster?" Harry interupted, voice a snarl. "Why didn’t Voldemort just ask his Death Eaters to find the stone for him? Why the cat and mouse game?"

"Because of the charm I put on the stone. Life, Harry, has a way of working itself out when you least expect it," Dumbledore murmured, almost to himself. "As I said, all those years ago before any of you were born, I put a charm on the flawed stone; a charm so intricate that only one person could ever break it, and only when it was a time of great need and they had the...key, if you will." He lifted the red stone on the chain again, looking at it for a moment.

"Kingsley’s death was our first warning of what was to come. I knew at once, after he was murdered during the manhunt for Flannery Higgins, that Voldemort was closing in," Dumbledore said. "Tom, you see, is much too intelligent for his own good." His eyes turned to Harry. "He is arrogant in his power, and it will ultimately be his downfall."

"No, I’ll be his downfall," Harry snapped, eyes flashing. "I’ll fulfill your prophecy, and I’ll die doing it."

Dumbledore shook his head carefully. "No. The hidden piece of the Sorcerer’s Stone will help you."

"What?"

"Only you are able to get the hidden piece of the Sorcerer’s Stone and wield it against Voldemort," Dumbledore said.

There was a silence for several long moments, where Harry went through an array of emotions that, at any other time, would have been desperately amusing. Confusion..understanding...horror.

"No."

Dumbledore inclined his head gently. "You are the heir of Gryffindor, Harry, just as your father was before you, and his father before him."

"No."

"Yes." Dumbledore’s gaze was unrelenting. "How else do you explain your uncanny ability to escape the Heir of Slytherin’s grasp at every turn? Survive his curses? The sword you pulled from the hat in your second year, and even the way you chose it, above any other weapon, to take with you into battle with Voldemort? Harry, you are the Heir of Godric Gryffindor. Only you can recover the flawed stone, only you can save our world from Voldemort’s return." He waited for Harry to speak, but when he didn’t, as if still digesting the words, Dumbledore continued. "We are a step ahead of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, a place where I wish to stay. It’s a race against time, Harry–Voldemort knows you have power that which he can only imagine and it will only be a matter of time before he launches his strike against our world."

Quiet fell over the room, but only for a moment. Harry’s mouth gaped, trembling, and Severus felt as if, at any moment, his heart would stop beating. "You said...that he used me. Three months after I killed him. How did he use me?" Harry asked.

At that, Severus spoke up. "Do you remember in your seventh year when the Wart Cap draft exploded?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with it?"

"Everything." Severus fell silent for a moment. "It was what spurred this entire mission, Potter, why we knew we had to send you away. The proof that Voldemort was still very much alive, waiting to strike. When you were hit with the potion, when you were mindless with pain, Voldemort's essence was able, for a few moments, to use your body–a channel, if you will. He cast a spell through you, Potter, one we did not recognize until it was too late.

"Do you remember my asking you what you had been screaming? We did not know what it was until Professor Flitwick was able to locate it in a book of spells of the Medieval era. It required the blood of the bonded, agony, free will. One of the only wizards to have ever used it was a witch, Morgan le Fay, which was in part why it was so difficult to find–the spell books used by Morgana were all burned during the Goblin Rebellions of the sixteenth century. It is very likely Voldemort had the book in his possession at some point in one of his many archaic libraries." He paused. "The spell accounted for your mind’s deterioration, your frequent brooding spells, Voldemort’s control of you and why you were so open to my manipulation." Severus pulled out his wand and cast a Flagrate spell, transfiguring his wand tip into a magical quill.

He wrote on the air, in sparkling green letters, hoc socius mei, cogo mi iuvenesco.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked quietly.

"‘He who shares my blood, brings to me life uncompromised.’"

The screams were treacherous. Lying under him as the potions exploded around them, children running, cauldrons and fire and pain. The screams. They peeled the skin from Severus’ face, made the snakes in his belly clench, sent a frisson of fear down his spine and up into his cheeks. White eyes, pale face, burning skin aflame. Blood gurgling and bubbling at Harry’s lips, coming from his eyes, his ears, his nose.

The table fell silent and the green letters blazed out of existence. The quiet could be sliced with a knife, and Harry’s hand visibly trembled.

Instead of that knife, Severus used harsh, sharp words. "You see now, why we had to make sure you were safe, Potter? Why I took you as my tyro, to make sure you knew everything I could push into your mind about Defense Against the Dark Arts and potion making? Why I taught you how to make so many poisons, and taught you so many defense spells? And later, why I had to make sure you would leave and never return? Voldemort knows you can bring him a power so great it will eclipse all things. Within you, boy, lies power so magnificent, so treacherous, so dangerous, it could kill us all with a blink of an eye. Within you lies what Voldemort craves as a plant craves sunlight. With the Stone..." Severus shuddered. "He would be invincible. Our world, and the Muggle world, would fall into ruin."

"We were treading a fine line, Harry. We knew that you had to be able to defend yourself, but we also had to balance what you were taught with the fact that everything you had come to learn could be easily turned against us. In the end, we decided to lay our trust in you." There was silence again, but just for a moment before Dumbledore spoke again. "We had to trust you, because what we taught you then would not only protect you after you were sent away, but would serve you well in later times to find work." Another pause, and Dumbledore’s voice was curiously tight. "Only those who the stone belongs to may go to find the other pieces of it. Harry, this of course means you, as you were the last to own it, but it also means Severus, because he was a tyro many years ago and if I remember, wore this particular charm everywhere he went for the entire time he had it." He hesitated. "Do you remember many years ago Harry, when I told you that death and passing into the beyond is nothing but another big adventure?"

Harry only nodded, obviously unable to speak.

"What I told you is true, from a certain point of view. You're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on how we look at things. You see, Harry, death and the beyond are closer than we can imagine--strange and wondrous and something even we wizards do not understand.

"In knowing this unforeseeable balance, Harry, I hid it where no one would ever think to seek it." Dumbledore paused for a long moment, as if looking for his words, and finally, finally, spoke.

"I hid it in death, Harry."

Chapter 11  

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