Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.
A/N: This story was written for Trinity1228 over at Potions And Snitches for the Fic Exchange. The prompt was having Petunia admit in Harry and Snape's presence that Harry is Snape's son. The story's title comes from the Transformers soundtrack, and the song "No Sacrifice, No Victory" composed by Steve Jablonsky. I decided to make the first chapter a series of crucial flashbacks with the second chapter starting with Trinity's actual request. I hope you enjoy. ;D
Heavy Hearted Moments
With long-flowing beautiful red hair, a green-eyed woman clenches the white sheets painfully in her hands as she release another loud, terrifying scream. She sounds as if someone is murdering her, which judging by the pain in her face doesn't look too far from the truth. He eyes then harden before darting to me. The green orbs accuse me, stating that I am at fault for her current state of agony.
I stare back at the witch, unable to speak. No words I say are going to make her forgive me for what I have done, to her, to everyone. I wish I can take her pain and mold it into something enjoyable. But I know that I am not here for her. She does not wish me to be near her anymore. I have lost that chance, my second in fact.
Her husband's hazel eyes stare at me through his round-rimmed glasses, ever wary of my next move. In fact, the hand not occupied with his wife's is mere inches from his hidden wand that has tormented me for years. So far, he has been civil, the first in a good many years. He has not spoken a word or attempted to hex me yet. However, he is clearly unnerved by my presence here as evident of his feeble attempts to smooth the untidy black hair.
As I hear the witch's pain-filled screams again, I close my eyes and turn away from the scene. I am not wanted here. I am well aware of that. But the relic from our past has demanded they permit me to be here so I am. Neither one can say a word against my presence either unless they wish to anger him. Even though, I know this ordeal shall be the hardest thing I have ever faced, I admit that I am grateful I am allowed in this room for this occasion by his order. I shudder to think of the what-ifs, concerning it.
We have been happy once before, but no longer. She is now, as loath as I admit, with a man who truly deserves her, one who is not myself. He is going to keep her happy, protect her, cherish her, and love her. I cannot do that in my current situation. I can love her, yes, and likely even cherish her, but I can never keep her happy and protect her from the evils of my life. She is with the better man. When she suddenly quiets and a new soft noise enters the world for the first time, I glance back and feel my heart clench at the small, bloodied infant in the matron's arms as she walks towards me. I hold my arms out expectantly, knowing that this is likely going to be the last time I do so.
The babe does not stir as I settle the child in my arms. I stare at this beautiful angel and close my eyes to keep my emotions at bay. One mistake from youth has cost me this. Opening my dark eyes again, I glance down. He is a truly remarkable child. I can see it in his youthful face. Making the most of my time I have left, I rub my finger against his cheek, nearly chuckling when the babe opens his eyes for the first time. Once more, the knife stabs my heart as I notice the lovely green eyes of his mother.
"James will be taking our son now," says the red haired witch as her husband steps towards us.
I quell the urge to respond that he is not this child's father, but I do so just barely. After all, we both know that she says it out of spite. I am not going to give them the satisfaction. I sigh heavily, staring at the child, my child, committing him to my memory so I never forget him.
Hesitantly, I hand the infant over to his new father before I pull back at the last second. I hear the sudden intake of air from her husband and her growling, but I don't care. I press a kiss against my son's forehead, smoothing back his black locks in the process.
"Know that I love you, and that I am sorry, my son," I whisper so no one hears us. I do not wish them to interrupt our private moment. I close my eyes again as my son's tiny fingers wrap around my pinky. "This is for the best, though." I then stand tall again and hand him over with a heavy heart.
"Here we go, Harry," the man says quietly, adjusting his hold on the babe with his back turn from his wife. The man's eyes then catch mine before he slightly inclines his head towards me. Whirling around a second later, he calmly walks back towards the green-eyed witch, who glares daggers at me.
"You will not contact us," she snarls, grabbing the bundled child from her husband. She looks as if she's ready to kill me at any moment, while her husband looks somber. "Do you understand me?"
"Lil," her husband says, clearly outraged as he gives me a surprisingly sympathetic look.
"I don't want to hear you, and I definitely do not want to see you ever."
"I understand," I reply quietly, staring at her without a hint of emotion on my face.
"Good, well, you've had your five minutes." She wraps her arms a little tighter around the child as if she is protecting him from me. "Now get the hell out of here, Severus."
Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave. I deserve this fate. Truly, I do.
A year later, I sit with my head in my hands. I cannot hold back my sobs of grief. I have killed them, both of them. The tears stream down my eyes as I remember holding my son after his birth. I am never going to be able to hold my child in my hands again. Why? What reason can I possibly have to justify this evil that I have brought on them?
A hand then rests gently on my shoulder. I can't just sit here and sob all night. That isn't going to do a bit of good to anyone. I know this. Tears do nothing to heal the soul. And my soul needs more healing than ever before. I draw in a shaky breath and angrily swipe the tears from my eyes before glancing upwards. However, sounds of something eerily familiar near my ear make me glance to it.
"But—what—how?" quietly I ask, glancing at the somber elderly wizard.
"I am unsure," he answers solemnly. "However, I am sure you will find this to be a blessing, though." The man's blue eyes then glance down at the child in his arms. "He really is beautiful."
"So was his mother," I respond, gently grabbing my son from him. I chuckle quietly, the first in a great while, as my son snuggles into my robes.
"If you want, Severus, I can draw up the papers straight away so you and your son can go about your lives without any issues arising later."
Feeling the familiar tightness in my chest, I answer a moment later, "No thank you, sir. Even if the Dark Lord is gone, the others are still around. The Aurors won't be able to capture all of them."
"Have some faith, my boy," he says, giving me that calculating look again.
"I do, Albus. I just don't have faith in others as you do." I then brush my son's fringe back, narrowing my eyes on the lightning bolt mark on his forehead. "Is this a result of a curse?"
"A failed one, it appears," he says, looking thoughtful. "You wish me to carry out her last wish?"
"Yes," I respond, ignoring my heartache. "Black and Lupin are suitable to raise him, even if I wish they weren't. But they will care for him for James." The Marauders are the cause of many things, but they have grown out of their childish ways. At least, I haven't heard of them attacking anyone lately.
Kissing my son's lightning bolt, I once more give him away. But I must—for now.
Sitting at the High Table, I stare out at the four House tables with the second-years through seventh-years. Harry is eleven this year, so I know I am going to be greeted with those green eyes of his. Though, I'm not sure how our meeting is going to go. Harry likely doesn't even remember me.
As the doors open and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor, leads in the conglomerate of first-years, I instantly feel on edge. My heart starts to beat faster as my eyes try to find the raven locks and green eyes of my son. However, I am only left disappointed when I don't find him automatically. He is there. I am sure of it. Dumbledore and likely McGonagall are going to have a coronary if he isn't.
A moment later, when the first-years gather round in front of the platform, Dumbledore stands and does his usual start of the year speech. I of course do my usual, tuning the old man out. Honestly, if I hear that Merlin forsaken idiocy about the Forbidden Forest being forbidden again, I'm going to yell. Of course the Forbidden Forest is forbidden to all students. The damn word is in it.
I then half-listen to the witch as she reads off the list of names. I grimace slightly when I see my godson Draco cockily walking towards the Slytherin table after his Sorting. Clearly, his father has been giving him lessons on how to be a Malfoy. I see that I am going to need to speak with him, so there are no issues. I can only imagine what wise words Lucius imparted on him prior to their leaving.
After some girl is sorted into Hufflepuff, if ever there is a waste of a House it is that one by far, I notice my son in the sea of first-years. Our eyes meet, green and obsidian. Before I even realize what I am doing, I lower my hand as if to shield my wrenching heart from his mother's green accusing eyes that stare back at me.
I cannot believe it, staring at him. He looks the way I did when I was a first-year. What the hell has happened to my son? My eyes then narrow in anger. Instantly, I notice my son's brows furrow in confusion before his hand suddenly comes up to clutch his lightning bolt scar as if my gaze has caused him pain. As my heart beats violently against my hand, it quickly alerts me to what I am doing. I expertly turn my gesture into a simple lowering of my hand like any good Slytherin and look away.
I tune out the other students' Sorting. I shall know soon enough after all which Houses they belong to when they all wander to my dungeons for their first lesson. My ears suddenly perk up as I hear McGonagall call for my son to come forward for his Sorting. I must admit that I am rather anxious. However, I have braced myself enough for this moment to know that if he does end up in Gryffindor, then I'm not going to pitch a fit in the middle of the Great Hall. I of course ignore the attachment of Potter to my son's name. It isn't out of spite that I do this, though, surprisingly. Potter—James took care of my son until his death since I cannot. While he was very much a bastard throughout our years at Hogwarts, James did mellow in his later years. I shall give him that.
I watch my son's Sorting, feeling oddly proud of the boy. Unlike my godson, he is perfectly humble as he approaches. Fear is evident, but he is doing his best to hide it. I grimace in sympathy when he jumps as McGonagall lowers the decrepit-looking hat on him and it comes to life. I remember my own Sorting and how high I had jumped when the thing started talking to me.
"Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat shouts after a couple of minutes.
I just barely hold back my groan. I guess it could've been worse. The boy could've been in Hufflepuff. I watch Harry walk over to the Gryffindor table, and sigh as I see the relief. He clearly believes Slytherins to be the enemy. Well, in a way, he has a point. The majority of the people in Death Eater ranks are Slytherins. Though, this does make me wonder how he is going to take the news that his father is the Head of Slytherin. I then grimace at that thought. I don't even want to think about that day. It feels as if it is never going to come. I've waited eleven years for the threat to pass, and it hasn't yet.
"Sev-Severus," stutters Quirrell next to me.
I glance towards him, doing my best to ignore the disgusting smell coming from his turban. He is staring at me oddly. What am I doing this time? I glance around my persons before glancing up.
"What is it, Quirrell?" I growl.
"Y-you keep st-staring at th-the boy," he replied, glancing towards Harry. "W-why?" he asks.
"Keep your stuttering comments to yourself," I snarl, sneering at him. When he yelps and glances away, I start to eat. I have to be more careful, lest someone discovers I am Harry's true father.
So much has happened this year. During my very first class with my son, I manage to make him hate me for it. I can't be seen as being considerate to Gryffindors or I lose my Snakes' respect. If I lose their respect, then I cannot do my job fully to save them from themselves. Though, I admit. When I see Harry taking notes like any good pupil, I am thrown for a moment. No student has ever done that during my tenure at Hogwarts. Then again, my son isn't like any other student here. He is different thanks to me, his Death Eater father who is also the one responsible for his mother and James' deaths.
Why must I be an ass? I've asked myself that question numerous times, but I only come back to the answer of that it must be done to protect Harry. How long must I debase myself like this and cause further strife between us before I realize that protecting Harry and being his father is the same thing? I then sigh and shake my head. I have to keep us at arms' length, just for now.
"Severus," a frantic voice echoes from the Floo in my office.
My head whips towards the fireplace, and I briskly walk towards it. I nearly groan at the face staring back at me. I should have known it would be her. I open my mouth to be my usual sarcastic, charming git self, only to be cut off.
"You're needed in the Hospital Wing immediately. I can't explain." The witch's face then disappears, leaving my fire to crackle in peace.
I grab a fistful of Floo powder, jumping into the flames and throwing down the powder. I loudly call out my destination of the Hospital Wing as the witch suggested, expecting her to be there waiting. When I arrive a moment later to find her not there, I find myself confused. I, however, push this mystery back and walk into the main area. My eyes narrow on Madam Pomfrey's turned back as she is feverishly working on someone lying on the cot. I catch Dumbledore's blue eyes as he notices my approach. He appears to be worried about something before he glances back down, following Madam Pomfrey's orders. I then see the familiar black locks, peeking around her on the white pillow.
Harry, I think, feeling the wind knocked out of me instantly. I stop in mid step, just staring, unable to move or speak. That's my son. That's my boy.
"Oh, honestly, Severus, get over here and help me," the matron snaps as she waves her wand down Harry's chest. "This doesn't make any sense," she growls before turning around and give me her famous "I am not joking, Mister" look.
I easily comply, not wanting to upset the woman working on my son. Though, I'm not quite sure what she wishes of me. Luckily, she shows me by grabbing my hands and thrusting them on Harry's small chest, just above his heart. It calms me slightly to feel his heart beating under my hands.
"I apologize, madam, but I don't understand," I admit a few seconds later, enjoying the feel of my son's steady heartbeat. He's alive. I have to keep telling myself that, but he's alive.
"Check to see if he has any dark magic surrounding himself," she orders, not taking her eyes off her task. "You are after all our resident Dark Arts aficionado, are you not?"
I want to respond that I'm not, but, well, I am unfortunately. There are hardly any dark arts spells that I do not know about. I quickly draw my wand from my robes, running it down Harry's unconscious form. His aura remains the same white it has always been for the most part, except for one lonely dark spot on his neck. Wait a moment. I've seen this signature before, but where? I try to recall it before scratching my left forearm. It then hits me like a bludger. My heart stops. I know where I recognize it from. I glance towards my black sleeved arm that hides my mark.
"The Dark Lord?" quietly, I ask, glancing towards Dumbledore.
"So it would seem, my boy," Dumbledore replies solemnly.
"How?" snarling, I demand. I don't need to ask where. Harry's rips and tears tell me the where.
"You know how, Severus," he answers, giving me that all-knowing look again.
"Quirrell," I growl. I've had my suspicions about him all year long. I'm not the only one either. More than a few times I've seen that annoying twit Sinistra stare at Quirrell during meals. Well, the meals she attends at least. I then scoff. Of course! She must've been watching the third floor this night and seen Quirrell enter. She must have seen Harry then go down there and alerted someone as she did for me to go to the Hospital Wing. I then stop. Why did she alert me? Does she know? Gritting my teeth, I decide once Harry is in the clear, I'm having a long conversation with my reserve Head of House.
My son still doesn't know that we are related. I can't seem to find the words to say. I have tried. When I meet him down by the lake prior to his leaving, I attempt to tell him. It only comes out as an 'Enjoy your summer, Potter,' though. How do you tell a child that you are his father but that you cannot keep him? All summer long I've pondered this question, hoping an answer comes to me. And all summer long I receive no answer so I wait and ponder more. The answer is going to come to me. I know it is. But as the summer passes by, and once again it is time for the annual Sorting Ceremony, I realize that I've wasted my entire summer without getting a single answer to my query.
Once more, I sit at the High Table, watching students filter into the room. Though, none of them appear to be my son. My eyes then slowly wander over to the table underneath the large crimson banner with the roaring lion. I see the know-it-all's familiar bushy hair, but the usual black hair of my son's along with his best friend's red hair is missing from the table. Where is my son?
Glancing over the Gryffindor table, I notice that out of the Weasley brats, my son's best friend's family, the only redhead missing from the table is my son's friend. Those two dunderheads, and I mean it affectionately of course, aren't stirring up trouble their very first day, are they? I then growl as I notice that the bushy-haired girl, the only one of the Gryffindor trio who is there, is glancing around as puzzled as I am, looking for Harry. However, looking over the other House tables, it doesn't seem as if Harry and his best friend are the only ones missing from the Great Hall. Perhaps something has delayed him.
As the doors open wide again, my eyes dart to them, only to make me feel slightly disappointed when it is only the caretaker, Argus Filch. I turn my attention back to the table, reaching out to grab my glass of wine. Unfortunately, I'm in a rather foul mood, so I toss the wine back as if it is Firewhiskey, which I truly can use a glass of right now.
"Professors, ev'ning," Filch says, attempting to force a smile to his face that is horrifying to behold. Though, that might be because the man looks as if he hasn't been acquainted with a shower in years. His eyes then fall on me. "Sir, I've some students you'd want to speak to in your office just now. Baron's watching them currently."
Something in his eyes makes me pause for a moment. No, he can't be meaning—my heart then drops as I notice the smirk. Standing, I throw down my napkin. My son better have a damn good excuse for his behavior this time. After all, how hard is it to get on a damn train and show up on time?
As I walk past the table to stalk out through the side chamber, a hand suddenly latches onto my forearm directly on top of my hidden mark. I glance towards the person, wanting to take my frustration out on someone. However, I am not about to make a scene in the middle of the Great Hall just because my son and his little fool of a friend can't do the simplest tasks.
"What is it?" I hiss, attempting to yank my arm back.
Locking eyes with mine, a curly-haired witch says, "Listen first, and then react." She then releases her hold on my arm and turns back to carry on her previous conversation.
With my robes billowing in their familiar flair, I briskly walk out of the Great Hall. Just because the damn witch knows now, it doesn't mean that she can tell me how to run my life. Merlin only knows what the boy has done this time. Thankfully, I learn it as Filch pulls the evening edition of the Daily Prophet from his jacket.
"You'd want that, I'd think," he says gruffly, hanging the paper to me.
Still walking briskly, I grab it and glance at the front page. I then stop in mid-step as I catch the headline 'Flying Ford Angelia Mystifies Muggles.' I don't believe it. Which idiot child has done this? I then read that seven Muggles have claimed that they've seen it, flying from the parking lot where I know leads to Platform 9 and ¾.
"Flew the damned thing into the Whomping Willow, they did," Filch muttered. "Don't suppose you have something to patch that up, do you, Professor?"
"I'll see. But I take it that the two waiting for me are Potter and Weasley?" I don't really need to hear his answer. I know in my heart that it is. "Wait a moment before you bring them in, Filch."
I then continue heading towards my office. Turning a corner a moment later, I wave my hand in front of the stone wall, watching the stones slide apart to make a small entryway for me. I walk in and quickly enter my office, reaching my desk and sitting down just as the door opens. Propping up the front page so the little idiots see their handiwork firsthand, I wait. I say nothing as I hear the boys slowly wander in with Filch ordering them to walk faster to my desk.
"You were seen by no less than seven Muggles," I snarl, throwing the paper onto my desk in disgust. "Do you have any idea how serious is this?" I glance at both boys then, taking in their appearance for the first time. Breathing a sigh of relief in my mind a moment later, I am grateful that neither one of the boys appears to be injured. I lean forward slightly to impress upon them the seriousness of their actions. I mean, honestly, flying a car in London in clear sight of thousands if not millions of Muggles. They're lucky their wands are not snapped right now. "You have risked the exposure of our world," I scold. I then add as an afterthought, "Not to mention the damage inflicted upon a Whomping Willow that's been on these grounds since before you were born." When Weasley opens his mouth, I immediately notice Harry's head turn towards his friend as if he knows how foolish it is to argue with me.
"Honestly, Professor Snape, I think it did more damage to use," Weasley says, living true to his Sorting of being a Gryffindor.
"Silence!" angrily, I snap. Both boys jump in response. However, my temper takes over. Standing, I slowly stalk towards them, gripping my desk tightly to keep from throttling both boys. I notice their fear instantly as I approach, but I continue towards them, closing the distance. "I assure you were you in Slytherin and your fate rested with me, the both of you would be on the train home tonight." Well, Harry likely would not join his friend. My son would be with me, receiving my punishment for his foolishness and scaring me half to death again. "As it is—"
"They are not," Dumbledore's gentle voice interrupts.
My head snaps towards him, and I catch McGonagall standing next to him tightly lipped. I stand up fully, keeping my hand closest to the boys on my desk. I should have known that my presence would be noticed from the Great Hall.
"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall," Harry says, glancing at both of them. There is a slight quiver in his voice that I can tell he is attempting to hide.
"Headmaster," I say, finally lifting my hand up and pointing a finger towards the two. "These boys have blungended the decrees of restriction of underage wizardry," I angrily say, not glancing at my son but locking eyes with Dumbledore. I attempt to pass him my thought of how I wish to deal with my son without Weasley being there. He only walks closer, forcing me to lower my arm. "As such—"
"I'm well aware of our bylaws, Severus, having written quite a few of them myself." He then glances over his half-moon spectacles at me, giving me the unspoken response that he can't allow me to be alone with Harry just yet.
I grit my teeth, staring at him. I need to speak with my son. The boy needs to understand that I am not going to tolerate such arrogance. As Dumbledore speaks again, I force my face to relax.
"However, as Head of Gryffindor House, it is for Professor McGonagall to determine appropriate action."
Reading between his words, I sigh as I hear his hidden warning. Sinistra knowing about my relationship to Harry is one thing because she just knows, but McGonagall knowing by my uncharacteristic interest in one of her lions is a totally different animal. Who knows who is going to find out next then?
"We'll go get our stuff then," Weasley glumly says.
"What are you talking about, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall replies, staring at him confused.
"You're going to expel us, aren't you?" Weasley's head hangs dejectedly.
"Not today, Mr. Weasley," she answers.
Both boys glance at each other, their happiness shining through.
"But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to your families tonight, and you will both receive detention," she says.
The boys then glance at me. I narrow my eyes on them in response, especially on Harry. My son is going to have a permanent letter in his file now. Both boys are. I idly wonder if I am going to receive a copy of McGonagall's letter, but I am not going to be heartbroken if I do not. After all, I am here to witness the whole sordid thing. The boys then leave, and I sigh. Can't we just have a normal year here?
I can't believe what has occurred during my son's second year. Seriously, I'm starting to think the boy has a nasty bad luck curse on him. He arrives to school in a Ford Angelia that he and Weasley fly into the Whomping Willow. Then he has the unfortunate luck of speaking to a conjured snake in front of the entire school. For months I hear the rumors of how Harry is the Heir to Slytherin.
I want to respond to the little dunderheads that he is. He is the heir of the Slytherin Head of House. But I know they're not talking about that heir. These rumors only get worse as the year progresses. People actually start to believe all these strange occurrences with the petrified victims are a result of Harry cursing the victims, as if a twelve-year-old has the amount of power required.
Of course if it isn't the rumors that Harry is trying to murder people, then it is the looks people give him. He is treated like an outcast by his peers and some of my coworkers. He is not the enemy, though. Once they worship him, now they shun him. It is no wonder then why the boy and Weasley force Lockhart into saving Weasley's sister when she is taken down into the chamber. Who can my son go to that is not going to look at him with suspicious eyes as if he is the one who has taken her? I do not blame him for going down there with that in mind. However, I do wish that is not the case for all his years. The boy needs someone to be there, and Weasley and Granger can only do so much for him.
Though, all of that is beside the point. Harry is once again safe. Well, as safe as one can be after slaying a basilisk. Honestly, a basilisk, is this a school or a slaughterhouse? Some days, I wonder now. However, I know that Hogwarts really is the best place for him, even though there seems to be danger lurking around every corner.
I stand in front of the statue, waiting at the bottom of the steps to the Headmaster's office. I've finally decided I'm going to ask Dumbledore to draw up the papers. I want custody of my son now. This entire fiasco has caused me to realize how close I came to losing him without him knowing the truth.
As I hear someone walking down the stairs, I draw myself up. However, my eyes narrow on the aristocrat Lucius Malfoy when he comes into my line of sight. I force myself not to react at the man's presence. After all, the threat has not officially passed yet. Lucius being here shows that.
"I do hope that boy is taught a lesson one of these days," Lucius sneers.
"Not as long as Dumbledore is around," I respond, glancing towards the blond.
"Then we shall pray that he is not around long, shall we not?"
"I didn't peg you as a praying man, Lucius," I answer. "If you'll forgive me, I must be on my way." I then start my ascension up the steps, but am stopped by Lucius' cane as it catches my forearm.
"I would just hate to think what would happen if someone believed that being here in this lush position has made you soft, Severus," he drawls, staring at me as if he's trying to figure something out.
"Then we shall thank Merlin that I am not," I reply silkily, holding his gaze. When he pulls back, I respectfully incline my head before walking up the steps, far away from him and that damn cane. The door suddenly opens, and I am standing face to face with my son. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. I have not seen him since earlier in the Hospital Wing. I grimace slightly at the dirt and grime on his clothes. He looks as if he's some street urchin. I then open my mouth to say something, only to find the boy moving past me already. My mouth snaps shut, and I quickly whirl around and follow him.
"Mr. Malfoy," Harry calls out, rushing towards the blond ex-Death Eater and his house elf. "Mr. Malfoy!" he repeats, a bit louder this time.
As Lucius turns, I immediately jump into the shadows, camouflaging myself. My ebony wand is in hand and at the ready for anything Lucius might try with my son. That bastard is not going to hurt my child, and if I have my way, he is never going to hurt his child either.
"I have something of yours," Harry says, holding a worn book in his right hand. My son then thrusts it into Lucius' hand before taking a step back.
"Mine?" Lucius demands. "I don't know what you're talking about." His glare deepens.
"Oh, I think you do, sir," Harry retorts, anger seeping into his words.
I grimace slightly. The boy certainly doesn't have a Slytherin bone in his body. There is no tact. There is no plan, it seems. Perhaps that is the first thing I shall teach him. Well, after we get over that minor detail of him thinking that I hate him.
"I think you slipped the diary into Ginny Weasley's cauldron that day in Diagon Alley."
"You do, do you?" Lucius sneers. His glare is becoming deadlier by the second.
When his hand suddenly moves, it causes me to jerk with a spell halfway already cast. I am not going to stand here and watch that bastard strike my child. However, when he only hands over the diary to his house elf, I relax slightly. Perhaps I have become a bit impulsive with old age. Though, there is nothing wrong with being overly cautious. As Lucius takes a step towards Harry, I take a step towards them, my wand emerging from the shadows.
"Why don't you prove it?" Lucius snarls, a feral look on his face.
Lucius and Harry then stare at each for a few moments. He doesn't seem to be threatening Harry with any violence as he does whenever Draco calls him out on something. When neither one stands down, Lucius then turns and glares down at his house elf.
"Come, Dobby," he snarls before stalking away.
I watch a curious exchange between Harry and the elf. My son seems to be telling it something, but the words are too quiet. My eyes narrow as the elf opens the book before glancing up with big eyes.
"Dobby," Lucius calls out again.
"Master has given Dobby a sock."
"What? I didn't—" Lucius' face falls at the sight of the grey sock in the book.
"Master has presented Dobby with clothes. Dobby is free!" the house elf squeals.
Lucius then whips his wand out of his cane, pointing it at Harry. "You lost me my servant!"
I take a step completely out of the shadows, intending to curse that bastard to hell and back. However, the house elf beats me to it. I am shocked temporarily when Lucius suddenly flies backwards in response to the house elf's rare display of protective magic.
"Your parents were meddlesome fools, too. Mark my words, Potter. One day soon you are going to meet the same sticky end." Lucius then whirls around and rushes out.
I've never been meddlesome. I take offense to that. I then watch Harry and the house elf, sighing in response. He loves too easily. Maybe when he learns the truth I shall experience that too. Knowing my son is safe once again, I walk upstairs. This conversation with Dumbledore is long past due.