DISCLAIMER: If I actually owned any of these characters, you would not be reading this for free! We all know this is all thanks to JKR!
Harry gaped as he looked uncertainly from Snape to Hermione.
“It really is Veritaserum, Harry,” Hermione whispered from her confined position in the aged armchair, “I’m sure of it.”
“What’s going on?” he rounded on Snape, still struggling uselessly against the ropes that secured him to his chair.
“I have just taken Veritaserum so I can answer any question you have without you fearing that I am betraying you,” Snape answered in a bored tone, pouring himself another Firewhiskey.
“Why?” Harry blurted out, unable to grasp the severity of Snape’s actions.
“Dumbledore was right to trust me, you should know you can trust me as well.”
“Don’t you dare say his name! You killed him! You-”
“No!” Snape screamed in return, rising quickly from the table and toppling the half empty bottle of liquor. “You will not insult me in my own home!”
For the first time, Harry noticed how haggard Snape looked. His sodden robes hung limply on his thinning frame; his face, though always sallow, was sunken and more pallid than usual. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, giving the impression that he hadn’t slept in months.
“If it really is Veritaserum,” Harry began through clenched teeth, “describe your worst memory of Hogwarts to me.” Harry was determined to avenge Hermione’s battered esteem in the process of ensuring the liquid Snape swallowed truly was Veritaserum and not merely transformed before it touched his sickly lips.
Snape’s face twisted unpleasantly as he sat back in his chair and recounted, with vivid detail, the afternoon he spent by lake being mocked by Harry’s father and godfather. Harry’s insides squirmed slightly as Snape neared the end of his story; the liquid definitely was Veritaserum.
“Alright,” Harry murmured, “enough.” Hermione’s widened eyes caught Harry’s; she had never before heard the story.
“Why did you kill Dumbledore?” Harry asked, diverting his eyes to the scuffed hardwood floors.
“Dumbledore made me swear I would uphold an Unforgivable Vow I had made with Draco Malfoy’s mother, Narcissa,” Snape voice came through deadened, defeated. He sank back further into his chair, his features blending with the darkened background of the dimly lit room.
“What did the vow entail?” Harry pressed.
“Draco was given an assignment to complete at Hogwarts. I gave off the impression that I knew what the assignment was, hoping she would slip and give me details.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“The assignment was to kill…Dumbledore,” Harry asked tentatively.
“Yes. The vow was that I would help Draco complete his assignment, if he should not be able to…”
“And he wasn’t,” Harry interrupted, memories of that fateful night flooding his vision. “He couldn’t kill him, so you did.” At the finality of this statement, Hermione shuddered slightly.
“Yes.”
“Well, you should have told him you wouldn’t!” Harry roared, straining uselessly in an attempt to reach Snape. “It should be you who’s dead, not him! You should have refused! You should have-”
“I did.”
Harry’s rant stopped immediately. His throat had suddenly gone very dry.
“What good would it do the Order if I were dead, Potter?” Snape continued with an icy sneer. “Think!” He stood quickly and began pacing the room, his agitation growing with each step. “Dumbledore insisted that you were the key to Voldemort’s defeat. And, try as I may to dissuade him, he wouldn’t hear of your,” he paused to glance coldly over Harry, “inabilities.”
Harry gritted his teeth and locked eyes with his former teacher, unable to verbally retort. Instead, he focused every feeling of mistrust and hatred through his eyes. Unbidden by him, a cold voice rang through his head, deafening him, “Think, Potter! Sacrifices must be made. What is most important?”
Shaking his head violently in attempt to rid it of the unwanted presence, Harry cried out and then bellowed, “Enough!” Hermione was staring at him, wholly unaware of the connection that had just been made, but knowing all the same that something had transpired.
“Why is it important I know this?”
Snape laughed coldly. Harry was thankful he chose to do so aloud, without the use of Legilimency. “It was on Dumbledore’s orders that I killed him. In essence, I was working for the Order when I did that. I have been on the right side of this war, Potter. I can still be of use.”
“You weren’t always on the right side of this war, Snape.” Harry’s being was burning with hatred. His mind flitted back to the night Snape betrayed his parents, the night he signed their death certificates.
“No, I wasn’t,” Snape replied truthfully, without displaying any emotion.
“It was you who relayed that half prophecy to Voldemort, your fault he targeted my Mum and Dad, and me…”
“Yes, it was.” Snape flinched uncomfortably, his gaze diverting from Harry for the first time and seeking out the now empty, shattered bottle on the floor at his feet. “Reparo,” he muttered and the bottle flew into his hands repaired. Nothing could replace the contents, however, and Harry felt Snape was truly sorry he had smashed it earlier.
“Dumbledore told me that one of your greatest regrets was how Voldemort interpreted that prophecy, and who he chose to target based on what it said…”
“It is one of my greatest regrets, that is true,” Snape replied, his silky mannerisms returning.
“Why?” Harry asked, forgetting for a moment he was tied to a chair as he waited, apprehensively, for Snape’s reply.
“Are these the only questions you can think to ask me, Potter?” Snape snapped, irritated. “Useless Hogwarts history and pointless regrets? I can’t confess myself disappointed, I always knew not to expect much of you.”
Harry jaw muscle twitched and clenched uncontrollably. “How can you be of use to us then?” Harry returned, sharply resuming business.
“The Dark Lord has plans developing regarding a Ministry takeover, but he has not forgotten you,” Snape continued, tonelessly. “He wants you under control before he continues. Apparently, he feels your celebrity status may transfer undeserved hope to the masses. He does not know your ineptitude as I do…”
“I will inform you when anything new develops as well as try to reduce the number of attacks on Order members, attacks on others will be…unavoidable…”
“What of the attacks to Surrey, Diagon Alley, the Burrow?” Harry asked, his mind reeling as he remembered the scene Hermione and he were abducted from.
“Those were advances designed to draw you out, Potter,” Snape explained using that infuriating tone Hermione uses when she explains complex concepts as though they were simple mathematics. “I wondered why you didn’t come running when I nearly burned down the street by your aunt and uncle’s home, or partially destroyed the Weasley brats' shop…”
“I was unavoidably detained,” Harry responded through clenched teeth.
“Well, you may have noticed no one was injured in those attacks,” Snape continued, “I convinced the Dark Lord that attacks to those locations would infuriate you and draw you out in the open. The Death Eaters present were mere children. As it was, I had to make sure I found you first. It seems I have.”
Harry glared back in response.
“I want this to end just as much as you do, Potter. It has commanded more years of my life than of yours,” he finished with quietly controlled anger as he crossed the room to approach Harry. With a silent swish of his wand he undid the ropes around Harry’s ankles and wrists.
“I am returning this in a gesture of good faith,” Snape said smoothly as he extended Harry and Hermione’s wands towards Harry’s recently freed hand. “If you need to contact me, use your right wrist.”
Harry glanced down. Carved into the inside of his wrist, above his I must not tell lies scar and directly below the jagged scar he earned the night Voldemort returned to his body, was a new image. A very small mark was now etched into his skin, overlapping lines merged into the shape of an arrowhead.
“Touch it with your wand,” Snape continued in explanation, “the incantation is: Subvenio. Now, I would appreciate you leaving my home.”
Harry rubbed the new etched tattoo on his right wrist, aware of how this new method of communication was far too similar to the method of communication used by the Death Eaters. The thought made his stomach queasy. Rubbing the tingling sensation out of his hands, he awkwardly crossed the room to undo Hermione’s bondage.
“Oh, and Potter,” Snape’s voice rang from the darkened corner of the room as Harry reached the doorknob. His face was indiscernible amongst the shadows. “Learn Occulmency, you truly are terrible at it.”
“Hermione!” Ron shouted from the Burrow’s garden as Harry and Hermione Apparated onto the Burrow’s front door step.
“Harry,” Hermione turned pleadingly towards Harry, “please don’t tell Ron about what Snape asked me. Please…”
“Of course I won’t, Hermione,” Harry offered comfortingly just as Ron reached the pair.
“Hermione,” he murmured as he swept her into an embrace. “Are you alright?”
“Not really, no,” Hermione responded truthfully into Ron’s chest, still under the effects of the Veritaserum she had been forced to swallow.
“Harry! Hermione!” Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Professor McGonagall appeared behind the recently wrenched open front door and dragged them into the kitchen.
“Are you two alright?” Mrs. Weasley asked tentatively as Ginny shifted nervously next to her mother. Harry saw her glance at Ron and Hermione and knew that she wanted exactly what Harry wanted, to fling herself into his arms.
“We’re alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry responded quietly, ignoring his body aching to reach out to Ginny.
“Where were you; what happened?” Ron extracted himself from Hermione’s grip to look into her eyes with worry.
“We were at Snape’s house…” Hermione started, unable to control the words that were coming from her mouth, as she sank wearily into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Snape!” Professor McGonagall gasped. “No.”
“What did he want, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley cut in nervously, sitting across from Hermione and putting her hand on the younger woman’s.
“He wanted to tell us he is still working for the Order,” Harry began, avoiding eye contact with Ginny.
“But he’s not,” Ron started, confused, sinking into the chair next to Hermione’s “he can’t be…”
“He is,” Harry continued heavily, “he took Veritaserum before we began the conversation…”
“He could have faked that!” Ginny said angrily.
“He didn’t,” Harry stated quietly, “he forced Hermione to take some first, to prove…”
“What!” Ron interrupted, infuriated.
“What did he ask?” Professor McGonagall began slowly, “was it anything that the Order…”
“He asked how Ron was,” Hermione’s Veritaserum dose took over before Harry could open his mouth, “he asked whether or not-”
“Langlock,” Harry quickly murmured the incantation, gluing Hermione’s tongue to the roof of her mouth. “She’s still under the effects of the Veritaserum,” he mumbled in excuse. “It wasn’t anything that would endanger anyone, Snape made sure of that.” Harry’s face twisted with disgust.
Hermione glanced up at Harry gratefully before burying her face in her hands, determined not to utter another word.
“Prat,” Ginny muttered, moving behind Hermione.
“Hermione is to go straight to sleep,” Mrs. Weasley began briskly, rising from the table and taking Hermione by the arm. Ron moved to help her towards the stairs.
“Ginny,” Mrs. Weasley gestured for Ron to sit back down, “will you take Hermione to your room?”
“Sure, Mum,” Ginny jumped up to follow Hermione up the stairs.
“Unglue her tongue once you’re safely in your room. And let her fall straight to sleep, young lady,” Mrs. Weasley warned, wagging a finger in Ginny’s direction. “I want you down here in five minutes.”
Hermione smiled appreciatively at Mrs. Weasley’s before disappearing up the stairs.
“Sit down, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley turned on him. “Are you hungry, dear?”
“A little bit,” Harry returned sheepishly, taking Mrs. Weasley’s advice and sinking into a nearby chair.
Over a hastily made lunch, Harry recounted in more detail the conversation he had had with Snape, excluding, as he had promised, the questioning of Hermione. The Burrow, he had learned, had withstood the barrage of attacks with only minimal damage. The Death Eaters that had been Stunned, and later arrested by the Ministry officials that had arrived late on the scene, were only teenagers. One, Professor McGonagall sadly remembered, was Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch captain in Harry’s third year. No one was injured, just as Snape had said, and the reason for the attack was obscure to everyone. Everyone except the people Harry had recounted his conversation to.
“Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley spoke gently to Harry after he had finished his lunch, “why don’t you go take a nap as well?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry replied, stifling a yawn. His body still ached in the places the ropes had been fastened and he couldn’t deny that his recently attained wounds were causing difficulty in his breathing.
Harry awoke to a darkened room and a loud snoring sound issuing from the far corner. He rose and found his way to the staircase, tripping over only one pack of self-shuffling playing cards on his way. A raucous squeal startled Harry as he passed Ginny’s bedroom door on his way downstairs.
“Ginny?” Harry knocked on her door.
“Hello, Harry,” a giggling, red-faced Ginny whispered as she ripped open the door. “I was just testing to see if the Veritaserum had worn off.” Ginny sniggered as she open the door a little wider to reveal an embarrassed looking Hermione sitting on Ginny’s bed. “Apparently, it hasn’t.”
“She did swallow quite a lot,” Harry said appraisingly, looking Hermione over. “You alright, Hermione?”
Hermione nodded in return, blushing furiously.
“It’s like she drank a whole bottle of Firewhiskey,” Ginny laughed in response, “she can’t control a word coming out of her mouth.” Ginny was laughing so hard, Harry wondered how she could be breathing.
“Ginny!” Harry admonished.
“No, it’s alright, Harry,” Hermione returned cheerfully, though her face was still shining. “Ginny and I never get to have these conversations. It’s quite nice actually…”
Ginny stuffed her fist into her mouth in an attempt to ebb her laughter.
“Ginny! How can you take advantage-” Harry started, but Ginny’s eyes were welling with tears of laughter.
“Normally, Ginny has no problem talking about these things. I tend to be a bit more…conservative…”
“Really, Hermione,” Harry began, elbowing his way into the room, “just what things does Ginny have no problem discussing with you?”
Ginny leapt across the room with the agility of a cat as she tackled Hermione unto the bed and covered her mouth. Hermione closed her eyes in embarrassment, realizing what she was about to reveal and having no means to control it.
“Maybe, we should call it a night,” Ginny relented, panting slightly and no longer giggling.
“I just woke up!” Harry exclaimed, leaning against the doorframe.
“I know, you slept all day,” Ginny ribbed, rolling off Hermione and patting the older girl’s arm, “it’s eleven o’clock, everyone else has already gone to sleep!”
Harry shrugged. “I’m still not that tired. I think I’ll go downstairs and just…er…read for a bit,” Harry stated as he closed the door quietly to Ginny’s room. “Goodnight.”
As he shut the door, Harry thought he heard Hermione whisper, “I think he wants you to follow him.” He hoped Ginny thought so as well.
Harry wandered into the Burrow’s garden, his head spinning with thoughts of Ginny and trying to recall when the strength in his decision regarding his relationship with her had begun falter. He stopped at the edge of the overgrown patch, extending his hands to the top of the worn wooden gate. The autumn wind picked up and sent a charred remainder of the oak trees’ foliage whipping past him. He inhaled deeply as he gazed over the pond, which was reflecting the starry sky in its depths.
The recent days had shocked Harry more than he was prepared to admit. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing in keeping Ginny from the war, but here she was today, in the midst of fighting regardless of her relationship status with Harry. He had to admit, he was proud of her. In reality, he wouldn’t have expected anything less. The advice of all the people who surrounded him was floating through his head. Aunt Petunia’s murmured counsel, Lupin’s gentle urgings, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s careful hinting, Hermione’s recent lecture…
He remembered the past few years; he remembered Sirius’s death, and Dumbledore’s. It was horrible to think, but if he had had all the information, if he knew Voldemort was planning to implant false visions into his mind in his fifth year, if he knew Dumbledore’s reasons for trusting Snape, would everything have turned out as it had? Would Sirius still be alive, would Dumbledore? And here he was now, refusing to tell Ginny anything, refusing to include her in any of their plans. Harry felt discomfited for thinking it, but maybe he had been wrong…
“Harry,” Ginny whispered from the open doorway, her silhouette softly outlined with the glow of the Burrow’s kitchen.
“I thought you were going to ‘call it a night,’” Harry teased softly, turning and leaning on the fence.
Ginny shrugged as she made her way slowly through the unkempt grass, wrapping her dressing gown firmly around her as she approached. “Thought you could use some company,” she returned quietly, a soft smile playing on the corners of her mouth.
Ginny silently took her place besides Harry as he turned to face the meadow once more. Harry felt her finger the sleeve of his jumper.
“Oh, Harry,” she murmured, pulling the jumper sleeve up past his forearm. “This is terrible.” Harry hadn’t even noticed the reddened, open areas on his wrists, undoubtedly caused by the ropes Snape had used mercilessly to bind him. “Sanescere,” she whispered and Harry felt both his ankles and wrist warm slightly as the marks disappeared.
“Ginny,” Harry caught her eye, “you are incredible.”
Ginny blushed sincerely as she broke eye contact, gazing once more over the sparkling pond.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Harry began slowly, suddenly feeling his throat constrict. “About what you said on the night of my birthday…” Harry felt Ginny nervously shift by his side, but her head rose slowly and her eyes locked with his.
“And?” she spoke softly.
“And, I think you’re right,” he continued. “You do deserve better…” Harry stopped and leaned straight-armed into the garden’s fence, hanging his head in between his outstretched arms.
“Harry,” Ginny prompted gently, turning to face his profile.
“I just didn’t want to tell you anything that anyone would want to…well, torture you for,” Harry continued, keeping his eyes trained on the muddy ground.
“We’ve been through this before, Harry,” Ginny’s said firmly, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I know, Ginny, it’s just…I’m…confused.”
“Confused about what?”
“You…us…” Harry answered slowly, thoughtfully. He directed his gaze straight ahead, keeping both hands outstretched on the garden wall to steady himself.
“Us?” she prodded gently, her red hair lifting lightly in the breeze. He nodded in return.
“This has been harder than I ever could imagine it being,” Harry responded truthfully, feeling a need to confide in her, a lump rising in his throat. Without having to say it, Harry knew she understood he was talking about their separation. This time is was Ginny who nodded in agreement.
They stood silently for a moment, the calm night air punctuated only by the occasional sound of a bullfrog from the nearby pond. Ginny moved slowly to duck under Harry’s outstretched arms, facing him. Harry could feel her body lightly pressing against his own; he swallowed hard against his throat. Ginny looked into his eyes as she fingered the present she had given him that was now hanging around his neck.
“You know, this is meant to work only if the emotion behind the incantation is genuine,” she said tenderly.
“Ginny…” Harry attempted quietly, realizing that he knew long ago what the charm Ginny had placed on the phoenix bezoar truly meant.
“Harry,” she interrupted, silencing him with a well-placed finger on his lips, “it means I love you.” Ginny spoke without restraint, staring him fixedly in the eye with that hard blazing look Harry had come to admire.
“I love you, too,” he whispered in return, realizing for the first time, he truly returned the feeling. Mirrored in Ginny’s eyes were the same images of frustration, longing, pain, and injustice that he felt burning in his own eyes. Neither could remember who began it, but soon their lips met and they were kissing. It was bittersweet and urgent, full of passion. To Harry, it felt like he had just arrived from a long and painful Apparition, like the invisible bands that were binding him were finally cut loose. As they broke apart, gasping from the intensity and longing of the shared kiss, Harry pulled her into him and held her close, inhaling the sweet fragrances of her hair as he rested his chin on her forehead.
“I can’t do this without you,” he murmured.
“You won’t have to,” she whispered back.
“Oi! What’s this?” Fred and George stood stunned in the doorway to the living room. Harry and Ginny had woken early and met there, eager to continue their reconciliation.
“Good morning,” Harry said sheepishly, disentangling himself from their younger sister.
“A better morning for some, eh Harry?” Fred’s voice was more menacing than Harry hoped he intended.
“Good morning, dears,” Mrs. Weasley appeared, from around the corner, “you’re all up early. Fred and George, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Weasley moved toward the stove to begin breakfast, not noticing the reddened face of Harry, nor the glares of her sons who were standing in the doorframe.
“We are interrupting Harry and Ginny apparently,” George continued, not taking his eyes from Harry.
“What, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked distractedly from the kitchen, wiping her hands on the edge of the apron she had just donned. “Oh, Ginny, dear! Did Harry finally come around?” Mrs. Weasley frowned slightly as she rounded the corner, taking in the sight of the two embarrassed teenagers.
“Yes, Mum,” Ginny mumbled, glaring at her older brothers.
“You knew about this?” George demanded promptly, rounding on his mother.
“We all knew, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said over her shoulder, wheeling to return to the recently started breakfast.
“How come no one told us?” Fred inquired, momentarily forgetting his aggravation with Harry and striding into the kitchen to nick a biscuit.
“We rather hoped Ginny or Harry would inform you,” Mrs. Weasley replied, smacking Fred’s hand away from the biscuits floating towards the kitchen table. “Ron and Hermione have yet to say anything…”
“That we noticed,” George sniggered, his gaze still focused fixedly at Harry.
“Yes, how could you not?” Mrs. Weasley moved to the living room door. “Harry, Ginny, breakfast will be ready soon. Why don’t you two go wake Ron and Hermione?”
“Sure, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry answered quickly, eager to remove himself from the intense stare of the two Weasley brothers.
“How’d that go, mate?” Harry asked a reddened Ron as he and Hermione entered Ron’s bedroom after breakfast. Ginny and Harry had been waiting for the two after Ginny, not so subtly, suggested they finally inform Molly of their change of status.
“Er, well, I suppose,” Ron returned, diverting his eyes.
“I knew we should have told her sooner!” Hermione hissed, eyeing Ron.
“So, she didn’t care you were…erm…living together,” Ginny asked, smirking from the corner.
“You know it’s not like that!” Hermione shot from across the room, casting a dirty look. Ginny laughed heartily.
“We’ve been informed that you two…well…” Ron started uncomfortably.
“Yeah,” Harry grinned sheepishly.
“Right…” Ron nodded. Ginny and Hermione exchanged amused glances.
“Are we going back home today, Harry?” Hermione changed the subject hopefully.
“I think so,” Harry answered, his eyes trained on Ginny. She was leaning on the windowsill, her eyes suddenly cast downward. “When do you have to be back at school, Ginny?”
Her eyes shot up, confused. “Professor McGonagall asked me to return tonight.”
Harry looked towards Hermione, who nodded encouragingly.
“Would you like to…” Harry started tentatively, “…come see the house?” Harry hadn’t told Ginny details of where they had been living, only that they had protected it with the Fidelius Charm. He was more concerned with other, less pressing, matters that morning.
“Oh, Harry!” Ginny shouted, jumping off the windowsill and flinging herself into his arms. “Of course!”
“Good,” he answered over Ron’s embarrassed coughing, “because I have something important I need to ask you to do…”
A/N: Ok! Cliffie break, as I promised! Now, do you all get the Trocair Charm? It extends the power of love from the charm’s caster (Ginny) to the wearer of the object charmed (Harry). Good thing he was wearing it, eh? And, yes, finally…they are back together! Well, that being said, I am having immense difficulty starting up the next chapter…so much so, that I had to begin chapter 11 and 12, which are going quite well, but the writers block for chapter 10 is infuriating! So, bear with me, all will be in soon…I hope! ~Ozma333
Oh, and I don’t really need to say it do I: I love reviews… Thanks in advance and thanks for the patience while I finally got this chapter together! Hope you’re still enjoying it!