Author's Note: Thanks again to my beta, Sarah! Also, thanks to the mods, for all their hard work in getting the site up and running smoothly, and for accepting the chapters of this story so fast.
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night dent
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.
Harry stood in his invisibility cloak in the middle of the street, staring up at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He dreaded the thought of going inside, and wondered why Ursula had told him to go there in the first place. Slowly, he headed up the walk and stopped in front of the door. Of course, there was no doorknob, and he for a moment he thought he would not be able to enter. Then, as he reached for the silver knocker, the door swung open as if pulled by an invisible hand.
Carefully tiptoeing through the hall past Mrs. Black’s portrait, Harry went upstairs towards the drawing room. Once inside he scanned the bookshelves for a book he had seen once before; a history of the pure-blooded families of England. He had decided just then to do a little background check on Ursula Hardwick, since he was still wary of having a former Slytherin knowing what he was up to. Harry pulled ‘Nature’s Nobility’ from the shelf, and sat down to read.
He flipped through the pages, and found the Hardwick family tree. Scanning the page, he saw Ursula at the very bottom, then his eyes moved upwards to her parents and grandparents. He paused as he saw the name ‘Harold Hardwick’, and looked at his three children with a gasp. The eldest sibling, Rodney, had, of course, gone on to become Ursula’s grandfather, but that was not what Harry was shocked about. Rodney’s two sisters, Damara and Elena, had married men with the surnames of Prince and Potter, respectively, and their children and grandchildren were listed in shorthand beneath. Harry’s father, Ursula, and Snape had the same great-grandfather.
Harry slammed the book shut in disgust. The very idea was laughable; surely he could not really be related to the person he loathed so much, the one who had tormented and belittled him for years? Plus, Dumbledore had said that the Dursleys were Harry’s only living relatives; if the book was truthful, why had he not been sent to live with Ursula, or, heaven forbid, Snape? He crammed the book into his backpack, threw his invisibility cloak over his head, and stormed out of the house before Disapparating.
As he reappeared in the heart of London, close to St. Mungo’s, he realised he had no idea how to get to Wyvern Road. Luckily, there was a small bookshop on the corner near where he was standing, and he decided to go in and ask for directions. Slipping between a gap in the buildings to remove his cloak, Harry flattened his fringe over his scar and removed his glasses, for lack of a better disguise. He knew better than to enter St. Mungo’s or the Ministry, too many people recognized his face.
He entered the bookshop, and a small bell tinkled. “Good afternoon, young man,” a grandmotherly old woman greeted from behind the steamy romance novel she was reading. “May I help you find anything?”
“Er, yes, actually. I’m trying to find a street called Wyvern Road, do you have a map?”
The old woman put down her book. “Wyvern Road, did you say? Certainly, I’ll tell you how to get there from here, but it’s really not a good place for someone as young as yourself to be.”
“Er“ why is that?”
“Funny things happen there, murders and such. Some people reckon the street’s haunted, but most people won’t set foot near it anyway. I’d recommend you steer clear of it as well, lad.”
Harry stared at her. “Well, um, I don’t believe in ghosts, and I’ve been there before. My auntie lives there, and she hasn’t seen anything weird yet,” he lied.
“If you say so. Very well, then, Wyvern Road is located as far north as you can go within the city, next to Bainbridge Drive. There’s a bus that goes there, number forty-two I think. Take care,” she said, as Harry thanked her and hurried out of the shop.
Take the bus? Yeah right, Harry thought, sneaking into an alley and untying the Firebolt strapped to his back. He held out his wand. “Point me,” he said, and the wand pointed him north. Mounting his broom, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and took off towards Wyvern Road.
A short while later, Harry touched down near the outskirts of the city. He found Bainbridge Drive, and walked a short distance to the beginning of Wyvern Road. His first impression was that the woman in the bookshop did not know what she was talking about. Wyvern Road was bright and friendly-looking, and was most certainly not derelict. The houses were grand and well-kept, though most were as old as the Black mansion. Harry approached number seven, a large red-brick home with stately white marble columns on either side of the double doors. Several plastic flamingos were stuck randomly throughout the front garden, and the lawn was dotted with toadstools and weeds. Smirking to himself as he thought of his uncle’s carefully manicured lawn, he reached out and pressed the doorbell.
No sooner had his finger left the button than the doors flew open and Ursula pulled Harry inside. “So you found the place easily enough?” she asked, shutting the door behind them with a flick of her wand.
“Yeah. I asked a woman for directions, but she told me this street was run-down and haunted. Is it bewitched like Hogwarts?”
Ursula nodded. “Yes. Keeps most Muggles far away, that’s for sure. Still, I’ve taken precautions to make my house look very Muggle-like, just to avoid certain wizards finding it. Anyway, come in, come in, I’ve just made some tea.”
Harry followed her to the kitchen, and had the sudden impression that it was exactly the sort of kitchen he liked best; slightly cluttered, well-worn and well-loved, with the scent of something bubbling on the stove. It had none of the sterility and coldness of Aunt Petunia’s kitchen, but was reminiscent of the homey kitchen at the Burrow.
Ursula passed him a cup of tea, and leaned against the counter as she sipped from her own mug. “I didn’t expect you to show up, to be honest. What kept you so long, anyway? Find anything useful?”
Harry was suddenly reminded of why he had stormed out of his house in the first place. “Well, I found something when I was looking in the bookshelf,” he said, and pulled the heavy book of family trees from his backpack. “I wanted to“ look up something about my dad, he was a pure-blood,” he added, hoping that the excuse was not too transparent. Ursula nodded, and peered at the title of the book. “Anyway, I found your family tree too,” Harry said, opening the book to the dog-eared page showing the Hardwick family. “You, me, and Snape are related.”
Ursula took the book out of his hands. “Is that so? Well, that’s hardly surprising. Nearly all the pure-blooded families are interrelated. Out of the three families, though, my family is the only one that stayed pure, as they liked to remind me. You wouldn’t believe what they said when they found out I was dating a Muggle-born boy in my fourth year.” She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s why I never got married, just to spite them and stop the bloodline for good.”
“I think you’re missing the point here,” Harry said, interrupting her musings. “I was told that my only living relatives were my aunt and cousin, and now I find out that I’m some sort of cousin of that murdering, lying traitor!”
Ursula suddenly slammed the book shut. “Potter, settle down. Being distantly related to someone doesn’t mean you have to like them; look at the Malfoys and the Weasleys. Like I said, all the pureblood families have connections to each other somehow, but it doesn’t matter! And as for me, if you’re wondering why no one ever told you we were distant cousins, it’s because I didn’t even know myself. I doubt any of us knew.” She sat down at the table, and waved her hand at the empty chair across from her. “Sit down.”
He sat, his anger slowly melting away. “Now, Potter, is there anything else you’d like to get off your chest?” Ursula asked him. “Part of being a good Auror is learning to question everything, to seek out as much knowledge as you can from those who are willing to share their wisdom with you.”
Harry watched her for a moment. Her statement had sounded remarkably like something Dumbledore would have said. Then, he thought of something he was curious about. “What do you know about Snape? And why do you always call him by his first name?”
“There’s very little that I don’t know about Severus. I call him by his first name because for many years, we were very close friends.” When Harry merely gaped at her, she rolled her eyes and continued. “When I was in my third year, Dumbledore became Headmaster, and a young boy named Severus Snape became a Slytherin. I was a fairly good student, especially when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Naturally, with people like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black around, for a Slytherin to be interested in resisting Dark magic was pretty rare. Dumbledore noticed this peculiar trait. He suggested that I begin tutoring some of the younger students, in order to keep them from going bad.”
Harry looked at her skeptically; obviously she had failed. “Soon enough, I was having things thrown at me by a foul-mouthed eleven-year-old. That changed pretty quickly, however. One day, I caught Sirius Black stuffing Severus headfirst into a suit of armour, and I used one of my homegrown hexes on him. Black spent the rest of the day in the hospital wing with curly pink hair and a nose the size of a bowling ball.” She laughed, while Harry gave a feeble, halfhearted chuckle. “After that, Severus came to me and said, ‘Please teach me how to do that.’ I told him that he’d have to smarten up first, and surprisingly enough, he did. Listened to every word I said, worked very hard on his homework, and never swore at me again.”
“How much did you teach him?” Harry asked warily, wondering if Ursula was responsible for making Snape so powerful.
“Loads. He was always brilliant at using curses and hexes, but not as good at repelling them.” She noticed the expression on Harry’s face. “I can tell you don’t like him very much, Potter, you aren’t making any effort to conceal that.”
“Why should I? I hate him, it’s thanks to him that Voldemort killed my parents, not to mention the fact that he killed Dumbledore right in front of me!” Harry replied incredulously. “Naturally, I can’t just sit here and listen to you reminisce about your school days together.”
Ursula raised an eyebrow at him. “I am perfectly aware of what Severus has done. Don’t you dare think for one second that I don’t miss Dumbledore, Potter, because you would be wrong. You aren’t the only one in the world affected by his death, nor are you the only person he cared about,” she snapped. “I don’t have the time or patience to sit here and deal with your trivial teenage tantrums.”
Harry said nothing; he merely stared into his teacup, thinking how Ursula had gone from being friendly and helpful to very Snape-like in a matter of minutes. Ursula stood up, and walked out of the room. When she came back, she was carrying a shallow basin carved from what appeared to be obsidian, resting on a wrought silver stand. “Is that a“"
"Pensieve, yes.” Ursula replied, setting it down on the table and placing several silvery strands of thought into it. “A gift from my grandmother. I thought it would be easier to show you some things rather than tell you, since you have an unfortunate habit of interrupting me.”
“Sorry,” Harry replied, and moved over to see what she had put in the Pensieve.
“You won’t need any narration from me, I’m sure by now you’ll recognize everyone in these memories,” Ursula explained, pushing the basin towards him. “Pay close attention, and don’t get distracted.”
“Why would I get“"
"Remember, I went to school at the same time as your parents. If they show up at any point, resist the urge to follow them.”
Harry nodded, and leaned closer to the surface of the swirling thoughts. He felt the familiar sensation of being drawn into the memories, and landed in a seat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
“Ooh, ickle firsties! I’m gonna make their lives a living hell!” a young Bellatrix Black sneered, watching the group of scared-looking first-years being Sorted. Harry craned his neck to watch, looking up just in time to see Sirius with the Sorting Hat on his head.
“Hey, Bella, isn’t that your cousin?” Narcissa asked from beside her sister. The hat suddenly shouted ‘GRYFFINDOR!’ and Bellatrix and her friends booed and hissed.
A few seats down, Harry noticed a third-year with wavy black hair and blue eyes. She kept throwing looks of deepest loathing at the Black sisters, which they returned. Harry moved down to where she was sitting just as Lucius Malfoy, a seventh-year with a “Head Boy” badge pinned to his robes, swooped down next to Ursula. “Watch yourself, Hardwick. Bella’s planning to hex you after the feast.”
“What? Why would you tell me“?” Ursula replied, whirling around, but Malfoy had already moved on, and was talking to a troll-like boy who looked eerily like Goyle.
The Sorting Hat had moved on to ‘P’, and Harry watched with a grin as his father was placed in Gryffindor. Soon the hat had reached ‘S’, and Harry’s stomach lurched as a scrawny boy with long, black hair approached the stool. McGonagall placed the hat on Snape’s head, and Harry noticed that the boy was muttering something to himself, his eyes tightly closed. The Sorting Hat was taking a rather long time, but finally it shouted ‘SLYTHERIN!’ and Snape scuttled over to the house table, sitting at the very end.
“Snape? What kind of name is that?” Harry heard Bellatrix sneer. Slowly, the memory began to fade into blackness, and when things became clear once more, Harry found himself standing in the Slytherin common room. Ursula was sitting by the fireplace, looking over an essay as Snape watched her nervously.
“It’s not bad, but you’ve got to work on your spelling. Have you been practicing the Disarming Spell?” Ursula asked.
“Expelliarmus!” Snape shouted, waving his wand and knocking a candelabra off the mantle.
Ursula coughed, and replaced the candelabra with a flick of her wand. “That’s...that’s a good start. You wouldn’t actually learn this one until second year, anyway, so maybe it’s too advanced...”
“No, I can do it, I did it yesterday and it worked!” Snape protested.
She smirked at him; Harry could tell instantly where Snape had picked up his mannerisms. “Fine, try again. Don’t wave your arm so much, point directly at the target. Watch me, I’ll show you.” Ursula turned around, scanning the room. With an evil grin, she said “Expelliarmus!” and Bellatrix shrieked as her wand went flying.
Bellatrix marched over to where they were sitting, an angry expression on her face. “Think you’re funny, do you, Hardwick?” she snarled, grabbing Ursula by the front of her robes.
“Well, yeah, I guess I do,” Ursula replied tartly. The memory began to fade, and next Harry found himself in Dumbledore’s office, perched on the edge of the desk. Dumbledore was standing over Snape and Ursula, who kneeled on the floor with their right hands interlocked. The headmaster looked uncertainly at them for a moment, as if he was hesitant to proceed. Something fiery came out of the tip of his wand, and wrapped itself around their hands. Harry suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and was pulled backwards out of the Pensieve.
He looked up at the adult Ursula who was standing over him. “I think that’s about enough.”
“Why did Malfoy help you? You know, in the first memory I saw?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“Oh, that. Nothing important, really. I think he used to fancy me, although he was betrothed to Narcissa already. Seemed I’d make a better wife than that silly cow. However, he left Hogwarts at the end of that year, and I was glad to be rid of him.”
Harry’s mind raced. “He fancied you? I didn’t think Lucius Malfoy was capable of human emotion.”
“Oh, he wasn’t, really,” Ursula replied. “He was just looking for a bit of action on the side, and naturally I refused. Disgusting git...I’ve never been so glad to see someone locked in Azkaban.”
“What was that last one all about? The memory from Dumbledore’s office, he was doing some kind of magic.”
“Ah, yes, the Unbreakable Vow. Had I known then how difficult it would have made my life, I would’ve never agreed to it. You see, Dumbledore wanted me to keep an eye on Severus. I had my suspicions already, knowing that he often received owls from people I definitely didn’t trust, like Lucius Malfoy and Walden Macnair. Severus refused to take the vow at first, but after some persuasion, he agreed.”
“What was the vow you took?”
“We both agreed that from that point on, neither of us could tell a lie to the other without putting our lives at stake. The consequence for breaking the Unbreakable Vow is death, Potter.”
“So...if Snape lied to you, he would die?”
“And vice versa, yes. Because of that vow, I was able to discover that he became a Death Eater, and later I found out whose side he was truly on. Severus has been avoiding me for years, trying his hardest to escape me and the vow, because I could bring about his ruin.”
Harry let out a low whistle. Snape’s whole existence was an intricate web of lies and deceit, and if Ursula found him, everything would come crashing down. He felt a sort of vindictive pleasure at this thought, a feeling he had never experienced before. “We have to find him,” he told her, more determined than ever.