Blood Magic by GatewayGirl
Summary: Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry safe, but his relatives are expendable. Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry looking like his adoptive father, but it's wearing off. Blood is a bond, but so is the memory of hate -- or love.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Hermione, Remus
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Slytherin!Harry, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Drug use, Neglect, Profanity, Romance/Het, Romance/Slash, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: Blood Magic Universe
Chapters: 84 Completed: Yes Word count: 337748 Read: 759748 Published: 14 Dec 2009 Updated: 14 Jan 2010
Courting Harry by GatewayGirl

Ron woke, frozen in both body and thought. He hugged the covers around him and sorted slowly through his sense of dread, to remember what he had dreamed. He had seen Harry, in a moonlit clearing, with some other people, but surrounded by werewolves. Harry had his broom, but didn't want to leave his companions. In the dream, Ron had known the attacking creatures were werewolves, not natural wolves, though he couldn't remember the differences. These were not Lupin, with Wolfsbane Potion; these were the monsters of childhood tales.

Ron had a fear of bad dreams that went beyond the normal dread. Sometimes his dreams came true, or close to it. He never told anyone this: He didn't want to seem barmy, or a faker like Trelawny, but he knew it. He rationalized that perhaps it was normal -- everyone dreamed every night -- some dreams were bound to be close to right, and he'd remember those ones better. Still, he needed, desperately, to see Harry; to see that he was whole, breathing, and not covered in blood and contagious saliva.

Ron sat up. Moonlight was streaming in the window, but he didn't think the moon was full, yet. Later in the week, perhaps? He stood, unsteadily, and walked to the window. The moon was declining in the sky for tonight, and not yet at full. Two or three days away, he thought.

That meant, he knew, that he didn't need to check on Harry. If the dream came true, it would need to be at a full moon. Despite this reasoned line of thought, the dark fear continued to gnaw at him.

Tentatively, Ron reached for Harry's curtains. He would just peek, he told himself, then he could go back to sleep. Slowly, he lifted the curtain. He couldn't see any of Harry. He lifted it more. Finally, he surrendered to the fear, held out his wand, and called "Lumos." The bed was empty.


Ron waited. He'd thought, after a while, to check the clock, and found it was two a.m.. Shortly before three a.m., he finally heard the soft click of the door being cautiously opened.

Ron lay still. He waited for Harry to reach his bed and extend a hand for the curtains.

"Hi," he said.

Harry froze. "Hi, Ron," he said.

"I had a nightmare about you. You were being attacked by werewolves. I haven't been able to sleep."

"I was just out visiting."

"Okay." Ron took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're okay. I won't tell, or anything."

"Fuck off."

"I mean it," Ron said. "Not even Hermione. I won't."

Harry did not reply.


Harry dragged himself to Potions from sheer will. He combed his hair and washed his face only out of fear of what Draco would do if he did not.

"Are you well?" Draco asked, with surprising concern, when Harry slumped forward onto the tabletop.

"Just tired," Harry replied.

"Up doing something you shouldn't?" Draco asked, his voice laced with a more familiar mocking tone.

"Not much," Harry replied vaguely. He was saved from further questioning by the entrance of Snape. His father looked tired, but not unreasonably so. Harry wondered if he handled it better from experience, or through the assistance of potions.


Harry ignored Ron and Hermione in Defense, and sat with Colin Creevey at lunch. Colin confided in Harry about his campaign to win over Lavender Brown. He said she still didn't like him, but she was starting to like some of his photographs. He thought she might be impressed by his professional potential. After all, a smashing girl like that needed to narrow the field a bit. She couldn't be expected to go out with just anybody. Colin, though, could prove his worth. He was sure of it. Harry nodded, looked sympathetic or encouraging, as the conversational turns demanded, and was inwardly grateful that all this relentless attention was now focused on someone else.


While Harry was walking down to Hagrid's, Hedwig swooped up to him with a letter that appeared to have spent several hours in the Owlry. Harry supposed she had tried to deliver it at breakfast, then just taken it with her when that failed. He praised and petted her, cast a quick cleaning spell on the parchment, and opened it.

Dear Harry,

This is not the letter, just the map. You know what to do.

All hail the mischief mastery of MWP&P!

Fred and George

Harry stared at the message for a bit. The map? There isn't a map! It's a nearly blank-- The thought brought Harry up short. MWP&P -- Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Bloody wonderful.

After glancing around to see that no one was near, he took out his wand and tapped the letter. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The password made him shiver in a way it never had before.

The letter before him shimmered and shifted, and was replaced by a much longer one.

Dear Harry,

Pardon the subterfuge, but your request sounded a bit dodgy. Please tell us how we might obtain the requested items, whether or not they are illegal in that world or ours, whether or not we will get in trouble if found with them at Hogwarts, and who you expect to take them from you. Some idea of fiscal outlay would also be appreciated, so we don't look like simpletons when making the purchase.

We have no objection to supplying contraband, you understand, but we would like to know what precautions to take.

Warm regards,
Gred and Forge

Harry tapped the parchment again. "Mischief managed," he said automatically, and the first letter reasserted itself. He tucked it into his pocket and continued down to Hagrid's place.


Ron and Hermione attempted to speak to him before Care of Magical Creatures. Harry stalked off and partnered with Susan Bones. Hermione focused fiercely on the lesson; Ron spent most of it looking at the muddy grass.

After class, Harry was prepared to push them away, again, but they left quickly and without comment. He stared after them.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked.

Harry looked at her, smiled, and shook his head. "Too bad you're not in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said lightly. "I expect we've been very entertaining, this year."

"Can I help?"

"Thanks, but I can't think of anything you could do."

Still, he let his pace match hers as they walked back to the school. It was nice to have someone beside him. Near the school, she spoke again.

"Have you considered continuing the D.A., Harry? Mother would let me be part of that if it wasn't taught by Professor Lupin."

"Professor Lupin is a good man."

"I know!" Susan protested, frustration clear in her voice. "But my parents have never met any werewolves, and they think I'm just naive."

Harry grinned at her. "And how do they know they've never met a werewolf?" he asked.

Susan coughed. "Er..."

"Perhaps it would be a good supplement. But I'd like to have Dumbledore's permission, and Professor Lupin's. I think he'd understand about staying out of it -- he was disappointed you were kept out of his class and said he hoped you would manage to keep up without it. The D.A. would give you a way to do that." He sighed. "But since I'm not speaking to Hermione, now ...."

"Would you for business? I mean, even if you're not friends, you should be able to work together, right? My mother hates some of her coworkers, but she works with them, anyway. That's something we'll all need to be able to do, in the real world."

"I suppose." Harry shrugged. "Let me talk to the headmaster, okay? I'll let you know."


As Harry didn't have anything else to do, he went immediately to Dumbledore's office. The password was Sugar Quills, and the headmaster was in his office when Harry got there. Fawkes trilled a greeting when Harry entered.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said brightly. "Did you recover from your accident?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry answered. He managed not to add any information. "Sir, I have a question."

Dumbledore looked at him with his customary amusement. "Perhaps you should ask it," he suggested lightly.

Harry restrained both amusement and irritation. "Susan Bones wanted me to restart the DA. Would that be all right with you? If Professor Lupin doesn't mind?"

"Would you want him as an advisor?"

"No, sir. Well, I would," Harry admitted, "but the point is to have training for students who are not allowed to study with him."

Dumbledore nodded soberly. "An unfortunate need, but I recognize it. I would be quite pleased for you to restart the group, Harry. It can be an official student organization, this time."

"Should we change the name?"

Dumbledore smiled. "The D. A.," he mused. "Shall we say 'Defense Association?' Only if someone asks, of course."

Harry grinned. "Good enough." He bit his lip. "Any news on my custody hearing, Professor?"

"No. I will not have any news until after it concludes."

"Am I going with you?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Quite honestly, Harry, it will not be worth missing a day of classes. No one will listen to you. Also, I am concerned about your appearance."

"No one here has said anything."

"True, but they see you every day. Fudge has no intermediate stages to distract him, and news photographs are a greater danger than Fudge. I can put a glamour over you, if he visits, but the council room has wards against such things."

"Oh." Harry took a deep breath. "Fine. Do you really think I'm safe if he becomes my temporary guardian?"

"Fudge is a consummate politician. He will not tip his hand before his position is secure. The most you need fear is embarrassment, and perhaps a stressful visit, or two."

Harry nodded. "All right, then."

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Harry?"

Rather than immediately saying "no" and making good his escape, Harry gave the matter some thought.

"Well, yes, really," he said. "I'm a bit confused about the distinction between Dark Arts and Soul Arts, if there is one. Severus says anything that uses the soul is Dark Arts and dangerous, though some of it is legal, but wouldn't that include the Patronus spell?"

"Severus is young," Dumbledore said complacently. "All of these things are Soul Arts. Properly, the term Dark Arts refers -- or formerly referred -- only to those that were destructive either to the target or the caster. Unfortunately, the second is not always clear. In 1946, the international community met to try to codify which Soul Arts would not be considered Dark Arts. The Patronus Charm was never in question. It requires no negative emotion, has no ill effects on the caster, and merely repels the target. Some other spells were harder to categorize. For example, there are healing spells that leave the caster less able to cause harm. This can be categorized as a 'good' side effect, but if the healer is attacked, it can be distinctly bad. The Fidelius charm, as another example, does not harm the target -- who must be willing, in any case -- but it enhances the caster's trust of him." Dumbledore paused a moment to let Harry absorb this. Harry shuddered.

"In some cases, this can be an ill effect, however we did not consider it sufficiently so to classify the spell as Dark Arts. In a third category are spells such as the Binding Oath. That damages the perceptions of both caster and target, and certainly should have been classified as Dark Arts, but such a classification would have been inconvenient for the lawmakers, so it escaped it."

"But if there are all these exceptions...."

"There are very few exceptions, Harry. At the end, it was less than three percent of the spells we had considered -- but they are, of course, ones you are more likely to have encountered."


When Harry went back to Gryffindor, he didn't see Ron and Hermione in the common room. As soon as he sat, however, they appeared from the stairs and came over to sit in the adjoining chairs.

"Have I not been clear?" Harry asked bitingly. "Fuck off."

Ron spilled out a bag of sweets on the table in front of him -- Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees, ice mice, and some licorice snakes that Harry had never seen before, which writhed convincingly in a fragrant tangle.

"I'm supposed to forgive you for sweets?" Harry asked indignantly.

"I sneaked off the school grounds to get you chocolate," Hermione answered, at a bare whisper. "As penance. I'm sorry. I got carried away with my research; you know I do."

"Even if it means betraying me." Harry said harshly.

"Harry, that's not fair! I know you're hurt, but it's not like you've been honest with us."

"That's not the point," Harry protested.

"It is! If you lie to upset me, you have some responsibility for the consequences! You managed it, didn't you?" she demanded. "You upset me -- you frightened me -- and I did anything I could think of."

"You don't have some intrinsic right to my life!" Harry shouted.

"And I am not your toy!" Hermione yelled back. "Do you understand what you've been putting me through? I missed two points on my Arithmancy quiz last week! My Clarification Potion had the same side effects as everyone else's, because I hadn't done the supplemental reading. I've been spending all my time worrying about you! I don't want to lose you to some stupid thing!"

Harry felt a smidgen of sympathy. Not only had Hermione not got perfect marks on a test, but she hadn't even moaned about it, at the time. Still.... "Perhaps you should have spent some of that time talking to me," he said pointedly.

"Every time I tried, it just went all wrong."

Harry surrendered. "Yeah," he said. "On my end, too."

The rest of the room, he realized, was silent and staring at them.

"All right," he said, deliberately taking a Chocolate Frog from the pile of sweets. "Give me a day to calm down and think it over. We can talk tomorrow, after Quidditch practice."


Harry went up to his dormitory, ate sweets until he felt queasy, and tried to think. Severus wanted him to work on the map. Professor Dumbledore wanted him to revive the D.A.. These things would be far easier with Hermione. Ron didn't matter to his goals as much, but, he found, he wasn't as angry with Ron. Remus thought he shouldn't be so angry with Hermione -- that he had manipulated her in a way that would guarantee ill behavior.

He decided he would offer a truce, though not forgiveness. He needed them as allies; they wanted his company. If he gave them that, he might relax into forgiveness over time, and then they would all be happier.

He thought about Hermione and Ron sneaking into Hogsmeade, and had to laugh. Even if they had gone no further than the cellar of Honeydukes, it was most unlike Hermione.

All of a sudden, he found he wanted to hear Hermione talk about the map. She would speak with that blinkered fascination, as if it was all an academic exercise, and she would make it interesting.

Harry released a Chocolate Frog and grabbed it. He bit off its head and felt it stop squirming. He remembered he had eaten too many sweets, but swallowed, anyway. All right, then. He'd talk to them, and strike a bargain. For the common good.


**********

When Harry swept up the sweets like his due tribute and took them and his books upstairs, the common room's attention narrowed to Hermione and Ron.

"Run away?" Hermione suggested.

"Good idea," Ron agreed.

They left Gryffindor and started down the stairs.

"Do we have someplace to go?" Ron asked.

"I've been thinking," Hermione replied, "and we got so distracted, we never researched that charm -- the one Harry wrote about?" She hoped that Ron picked up on her deliberate vagueness. "We should do that."

Ron nodded. "I think he may have changed more," he said.

Hermione nodded. "Ginny noticed that on Saturday night. I want to know if that's normal, and how long it will go on."

"I want to know who the man was," Ron said fiercely. "If he's still alive, I'll kill him."

"Harry might not like that."

"Don't you think he'll want revenge for his mum?"

"We don't know what happened," Hermione pointed out. "If she was willing, it's not his fault."

"My mum talks about Lily," Ron said stubbornly. "She says Lily was head-over-heels for James. If --"

"We're saying too much," Hermione interrupted, at a fierce whisper. "This is why he isn't supposed to tell us. Quiet, now."

"No one's listening --"

"Probably."

Ron hesitated, and looked up and down the great stairs, with halls branching off them. He bit his lip, then nodded.

"Let's go."


Their library search was hampered by secrecy. Hermione, without the option of asking Madam Pince for direction, built a great pile of hefty grimoires, and cast her Indexing Charm on book after book. Ron, meanwhile, decided to look for pictures of Voldemort, to see if he might be Harry's father.

He went to the archives of the Daily Prophet, and pulled out the first three volumes of 1980 issues. He did not need to search long. The first Sunday paper he reached was headed by

Lord Voldemort Speaks to Pro-PoWCA Rally

The picture underneath showed an intense, serious man leaning off a low platform to extend his hand to the nearest members of a milling, chanting crowd. The people jostled and pushed and stretched to touch him.

"Holy fuck," Ron breathed. Hermione slammed a book shut.

"Ron! What is it with you and Harry, this year?"

"Look," Ron said. "It's Voldemort. In his first body."

He pushed the book over at her. She frowned at the picture. "His hair is curlier than Harry's was," she said, "but his face is a lot like ... James's."

"Forget that!" Ron exclaimed. "Look at that crowd. They're mad for him!"

Hermione snorted. "You didn't think he got all his power from terrorizing people, did you?"

Ron blinked. Hermione sighed. "You did," she guessed.

"Well, yeah."

"Actually, he was very popular. As were most of his proposals."

"So what was powca?"

"I don't know." Hermione scanned the article. "Ah. The 'Protection of Wizarding Culture Act.' This has some details. Um... ban the sale of all Muggle novelties, require six months of cultural education for Muggle-born partners who wish to apply for a marriage license to a wizard or witch, ban Muggle and Muggle-born partners from sole custody, even on a temporary basis, of any child with magical abilities, ban the hiring of Muggle-borns from any position working with children, including, but not limited to, teaching, entertaining, nanny duties, the creation or sale of school texts, children's books--" Hermione's voice, which had been growing higher, finally failed in a squeak. "This is disgusting!" she choked.

Ron had come around the table to look over her shoulder. "They love him," he said. "Look at them push! And he looks so ... so reasonable. Concerned."

"Concerned about people like me talking to wizarding children!"

"Shhh, Hermione. It's over."

"But it's not!"

"But he's not like that, now. If he showed his face at a rally, people would scream and run, and Aurors would descend in droves."

"Would they?" Hermione demanded. She shivered. "I'm not so sure." She sighed and pushed the book away. She whispered a spell to her wand, and used it to write on the desk. "He looks more like Harry used to than like Harry does now."

Ron, who wasn't certain how to make temporary marks with his wand, tore a scrap of parchment. "Perhaps his hair got curly and he overdid straightening it?" he wrote back.

Hermione's first words vanished, and she quickly replaced them with "no, it's the lips and the sides of the face, as well."

"Not Voldemort, then," Ron wrote.

"Good," Hermione answered out loud. "Now I need to get back to work."

Ten minutes before the library closed, Hermione interrupted Ron's horrified perusal of old newspapers. "Help me put these things away," she said.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Later."


A few floors up from the library, she led Ron into an empty room and cast a silencing charm on the door.

"What did you find?" Ron asked. "Would he change that way?"

"I don't know. What I did find out is that the Paternity Charm is blood magic, and it must be cast by the mother. We'll need to look in the Restricted Section."

"Blood magic?" Ron gasped. "But that's Dark Arts! Lily...!"

"Look, we could be wrong about the whole Paternity Charm thing. Perhaps it was just a joke. Or perhaps Lily wasn't as perfect as you think."

"Perhaps Lily wasn't his mother! He might not be Harry Potter at all. He may have been switched for him at birth, to protect the real--"

"Ron!" Hermione bellowed. For a moment, she managed to sound rather like Ron's mother. He fell immediately silent. "Let's stick with simple theories, for now," she said sweetly. "And one at a time."

"All right," Ron agreed.


**********

Harry woke up Thursday morning feeling unusually cheerful. After a moment's reflection, he remembered that he had decided to associate with Ron and Hermione again, but not until the afternoon. He left a Chocolate Frog on Ron's pillow, anyway, and went down to breakfast early. He brought the letter he had written to Fred and George. Sometimes Hedwig showed up angling for treats. If that happened, he would give it to her then, and if not, he'd bring it up to the Owlry before lunch.

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped to review it.

Dear Forge and Gred,

In the Muggle world, I could legally buy these, as I am sixteen. You shouldn't let on that you're getting them for someone else, though, as the shopkeeper may think you are buying them for someone younger than that, which would be illegal.

I don't think they are illegal in the Wizarding world, either. I've been told a reputable apothecary wouldn't sell me that much straight smoking tobacco, but that was presented as a matter of social mores, not law. You'd know better than I would, I suppose.

I don't know of any Hogwarts rule against cigarettes, but Snape took all that I had and told me he'd give me detentions if he caught me with them again, and Hermione disapproves so much that she would probably go fetch him to do it. I doubt you'd get into hot water.

Harry frowned at that, feeling rather strange. If he started smoking, again, he wanted Hermione to know, and to see him, and to know she had lost all influence over him, but it would be unpleasant if Severus found out, and it was likely Hermione would tell, as he had written. He shrugged. He could just keep them in his drawer, for when he decided what he wanted most.

From there, he had written a very detailed description of where and how to purchase cigarettes at the corner shop near Diagon Alley. He had signed the letter with "your good, steady Seeker, Harry" which still made him smile.


Quidditch practice was right after classes, and went well. Harry transfigured a small stick into a hair clip, and pulled his front hair back before heading out onto the pitch. It took him a few tries to get it even. The weather was beautiful with warm sun, a soft breeze, and a flawless, vivid blue sky. Harry smiled spontaneously at Ron, who perked up noticeably in response. Harry arranged drills and gave advice, to compensate for his last, passive practice. Ginny smiled at him.

Afterwards, Ron waited for him in the changing rooms.

"Hermione said she'd be in the library. Shall we go get her?"

Harry nodded. "I should talk to both of you," he said.

"Harry... I really am sorry. I didn't realize it would upset you so much, but now that I think about it, I can understand why it does."

Harry shrugged. "You're treating me like we've always treated anyone we don't trust," he said. "Not that that makes it better. I just feel belatedly ashamed, as well as pissed off."

Ron didn't seem to know what to say to that, but Harry had felt his feelings fall into place as he described them, and it calmed him to be able to explain how he felt. He walked willingly with Ron to the library. He wasn't even too annoyed when the hair clip changed back into a stick, halfway there.


They found Hermione in the archive room, looking at the photographs. Harry flinched when he saw them. He really had intended to tell Severus more about the photographs, but it never came up. Perhaps, he thought, he should just go through them himself and steal the significant ones.

"Oh -- we need to show you pictures!" Ron exclaimed. "We've been putting aside ones of your parents, and of Sirius."

"Thanks," Harry said, "but I'm not really in the mood now. Let's talk and get dinner."

"Can we show you after?" Ron asked.

"That depends."

Ron looked down guiltily and nodded.

"Before we go," Hermione said eagerly, "I figured out who "Sev" is.

Harry froze.

"I found another picture." Hermione pushed it across the table. "Professor Snape -- Severus Snape. Can you believe that?"

Harry and Ron looked down at the picture. In this one the black-haired boy had his face visible, and he was scowling. Between the expression and the nose, it was clearly Severus, but his hair and face were clean. He was scowling at the brown-haired boy, who had a notebook that he was dangling teasingly. Remus darted here and there, evading Severus's attempts to grab the notebook. For a moment, Severus paused and grinned, then his attacks resumed.

"That's Snape?!" Ron asked incredulously.

"It certainly looks like him."

"No it doesn't! And he's playing!"

"I think it does. Oh!" Hermione dropped her voice conspiratorially. "He showed up to class today with his hair clean and brushed. I nearly fainted!"

"Can we go?" Harry asked sharply.

Hermione nodded and put the photo at the back of the pile, then put the box behind the bound copies of the Daily Prophet. Harry noted that it was the 1970-1980 shelf. "Let's go," she said.


Harry led them from the library to an empty classroom. Once they were inside, he warded the door with privacy spells.

"So," Hermione said awkwardly. "Is there a big secret?"

"What?"

"The spells."

"Oh. No, I just do that, now." Harry laughed. "I lock everything, I protect my conversations. Habit."

"Have you decided if you're forgiving us, or not?" Hermione asked shakily.

"I..." Harry spent a moment arranging his words. "I will associate with you --"

"Big of you," Ron said.

"Sorry, but that-- I'll need some time to really forgive you, I think."

"So what can we do?" Hermione demanded.

Harry took a deep breath. "I want to finish part of the map."

"Oh, so you're not above spying," Ron said.

"Unlike certain people, I am not planning to spy on my friends, or even on specific individuals. I want to watch certain places."

"Which ones?"

"The tunnels. The path from Hogsmeade. The grounds between the castle and the forest."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"Well, that's a problem," Hermione said.

"Why?"

"We never figured out how to do outside. I didn't put a lot of time into it -- we've mostly been worrying about locked rooms, and public places, like the library. The Marauders had Peter, you see, and James had the cloak, so they could get Peter into places and James nearby to do the charms. I was thinking of getting a rat and trying to control it, but Ron doesn't want a rat. We need something small and strong, though, that can fit in tight spaces --"

"A ferret," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione looked puzzled for a second, then smiled suddenly. "That's perfect! Ron, we'll get a ferret."

"I am not getting a ferret," Ron said in horror.

"But you have to! I can't keep a second animal -- Lavender would tell! Your roommates won't."

"If somebody locks their room, perhaps you shouldn't map it," Harry said pointedly.

"Some map that would be!" Ron answered in disgust. "The Marauders mapped everything."

"Well I won't have anything to do with it! The defensive perimeter. That's it."

"I'll try to find a way," Hermione promised.

"Let's speak to Remus," Harry said. "After dinner."


"Do you know anything about blood magic?" Hermione asked, as they started down the stairs. Harry stopped short.

"Blood magic?" He stared at her. "Why would you want to know about blood magic?"

"I'll consider that a 'yes,'" Hermione said tartly. "So. Explain it to me."

"Well, it's not a precise term. There are two different things called that. Which one do you want to know about?"

"I don't know."

"Oh," Harry relaxed noticeably. "You saw the term somewhere you didn't expect?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Well, first, it's a term for magic based on kin or ancestry -- 'blood' in the sense of 'pureblood.' Second, and more commonly, it's the collective name for all charms, hexes, and potions that require human blood."

"Those are all Dark Arts, right?"

"No," Harry said firmly. Ron, who had been looking at his feet, snapped his head up at that.

"Yes, they are," he said.

"All potions using human blood are illegal," Harry said. "All charms and hexes using blood of a human other than the caster are illegal. Only about three-quarters of them qualify as Dark Arts, and blood magic, as a classification, was not made illegal until December 1981."

"After Voldemort's fall?" Hermione guessed.

"Right. It was a convenience. A number of items frequently associated with Dark Arts were made illegal at that time, to make it easier to arrest known, but unconvictable, Death Eaters. These restrictions, including blood magic, were part of the 'Dark Arts Components Act' of 1981. It was somewhat effective, but a number of useful spells were thrown out with the bathwater. Dumbledore speculates that the act will be repealed by the time our children are in school, and we'll be being asked about spells our parents knew, but we've never heard of." He hesitated. "Well, not your parents, Hermione, but you know what I mean."

Hermione started back down the stairs. "So at the time you were born, blood magic was legal?"

"Some of it. Of course, a lot of the things you can do with blood, you can also do with other bodily fluids. Ron, there was an item your brothers originally made with blood; I explained to them that they could do it with ... something else." Harry reddened.

"Something you can't tell me about?"

"Something I shouldn't mention in front of Hermione."

"Oh really!" Hermione snapped. "Don't be so childish."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Semen," he said.

Hermione giggled. Ron turned rather green. "Tell me what item," he begged.

"But that's legal, Ron," Harry said cruelly. Hermione giggled more.

"Harry!" Ron insisted. "Tell me!"

"No. What you don't know won't hurt you."


As soon as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Hermione nudged Harry and pointed out Snape. "Doesn't he look good?" she asked Harry. "He still needs to fix the teeth, but...." While she did the same to Ron, Harry watched Severus. He was cleaned up, as much as at the time Harry had requested it. Harry saw him exchange words with Remus. Remus looked amused for a moment, then slumped, again. Harry thought this must be an awfully rough moon.

"He's still ugly," Ron said suddenly. Harry looked over. Ron was glaring at Hermione.

"Well, I think he looks quite good."

"He's still ugly, and he still looks like some sort of foreigner."

Involuntarily, Harry flinched. Hermione met his eyes. For a moment, they just gazed at each other in shared dismay, then Hermione turned on Ron.

"You watch yourself," she said. "If we weren't at dinner, I'd slap you for that."

"What?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"The world does not center on Britain," Hermione said angrily. "If your definition of beauty is 'looks like someone from my home town,' you need to get a clue."

"But you don't look like my sort at all," Ron said, bewildered, "and you look fine."

"Imagine!" Hermione exclaimed. "And me from three shires away!"

Ron looked helplessly at Harry. Harry looked steadily back. "Watch it with the 'foreigners' comments," he advised. "Two of your brothers put up with this every day. Try talking to them."

Ron gave an exasperated shrug. "But he's still ugly," he insisted.


After dinner, they went up to Professor Lupin's rooms. Harry took the lead and knocked. Remus opened the door slowly, and looked at them in surprise.

"Is it important?" he asked.

Harry appraised him quickly. Remus, as he might expect on the night before the full moon, looked tired and slightly ill, but Harry had seen him look worse and welcome visitors.

"We wanted to ask some questions about the map," he said.

Remus frowned. "Come in for a moment," he said. "Please don't get comfortable. I haven't time." As soon as he had shut the door behind them, he asked, "What?""

"I wanted to map the approaches to the castle," Harry said quickly. "The tunnels, the path from Hogsmeade, and the grounds down to the Forbidden Forest."

Remus brightened. "An excellent idea," he said. "Will you map all the tunnels?"

"All the open ones," Harry said.

"Why?" Remus asked.

"Why the tunnels?" Harry puzzled.

"No, why only the open ones!" Hermione guessed. "You think we should mapped the collapsed tunnels, professor?"

Remus beamed. "It would be more thorough."

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "It's easier to excavate a cave-in than to dig a new tunnel."

"Exactly."

"But we haven't worked out how to do outdoors," Hermione said quickly. "I'm certain we're not doing this the way you did it."

"I see." Remus frowned. "Come and speak to me on Monday," he suggested. "I should be feeling better, by then. You have the tunnels to do in the meantime."

"But, Remus...!" Harry complained. Something bumped against the window. Harry saw a flutter of wings in the dark.

"Go now," Remus said. "I can't help you until after the moon." He walked over to the window. "Go!" he insisted. "Please."

Harry, numbly, opened the door. Behind him, he heard the soft hoot of a settling owl. Harry gestured Ron and Hermione out into the hallway, but he glanced back as he moved to close the door behind them. Remus was holding a letter. His eyes were closed tight.


Harry was too preoccupied with concern for Remus to attend to anything else. It was only when they arrived at the doors of the library that he realized he had agreed to return there. Hermione and Ron led him back to the archive room and pulled out the photograph box, then took their collection of Potter photographs from the back of it.

"I think that's your mum," Ron said cheerily, handing the top photo from their stash to Harry.

Harry nodded agreement. Lily, even at fourteen or fifteen, was recognizable. He looked at her fiery hair and smiled.

"If she was wizard-born, I'd think she was related to you, Ron."

"Like we're the only redhead wizards in Britain!" Ron said scornfully. "My parents aren't even related, hardly."

Hermione blinked at him. "Hardly?" she asked.

Harry snorted. "All pureblood wizards in Britain are related, as far as I can tell."

"Six generations back, two ways, but no more than that, because Dad's mum's parents were Irish, see?" Ron said. He spoke quickly, not as if he wanted to avoid the subject, but as if it was so boring and common as to not require more than a sparse outline. Hermione still looked stunned. Harry caught her eye and shook his head, slightly.

"Well there!" he said, instead. "Obviously, we need more foreigners, or more Muggle-borns, or both."

Ron shrugged. "I suppose. I'll look for someone I like who can put up with me. The rest will happen or not."

The reply was so ingenuously wholesome that Harry felt unaccountably ashamed. He covered it by picking up the next photo. It was down by the lake on a windy day. James and Sirius were facing off with wands, while Peter watched eagerly. Remus was also watching, but rather lazily, from the branch of a tree in the background. The duel seemed to be a friendly one. Sirius went down in a tangle of vines, and Remus swung gracefully down from the tree. Harry guessed he was calling a hold, as he came, because James put up his wand and smiled disarmingly at him.

The next picture had James playing with a Snitch, and Harry hurriedly moved on to the next one. Ron frowned and picked up the discarded paragraph.

"I thought this was a cool one. Did you see what he was doing?"

"Yes, I saw," Harry said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "I don't want to see any more of it."

"Harry?" Hermione questioned. "Are you all right?"

Harry looked down at the table, and tried to think what to say. This left him staring at the next picture, in which Lily leaned back into James's arms. They both had foolish, loving smiles. James wasn't fussing with his own hair, now, but stroking hers. Harry liked him a lot better that way.

"I saw him -- my Dad -- doing that in someone's memory, once. With the Snitch, I mean. He was also being cruel to someone who couldn't defend himself. He was bullying to entertain Sirius."

"Saw?" Ron asked. "In a vision?"

"No. A pensieve. And I asked Sirius about it, and he just said they were young."

"I expect that would be upsetting," Hermione said carefully.

Harry nodded. He picked up the next picture. This one was just of Lily. She laughed and spun in the sunlight. An emerald ring glinted on her finger.

A sense of dread settled on Harry. Why had he ever told them the ring was an engagement ring? If they looked at enough of the pictures to realize she hadn't liked James when she was wearing it.... He slipped the picture in his bag. "I'm taking this one."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes I can. I don't think these pictures should be here, anyway. It's not right."

"Harry -- Muggle schools keep books of pictures of their students."

"Yes, but they're Muggle pictures! And the students know they're there. Remus had no idea that first picture had ended up somewhere public."

Ron had picked up the next picture. He put it down without showing it to Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"More of your dad playing with the Snitch." Ron hesitated. "If Sirius said.... Is that why you thought Malfoy might be worthwhile? Because he and Sirius turned out okay?"

Harry kept himself from saying that he didn't know that they had; he didn't remember James, and he'd never seen Sirius with the leeway to behave as he pleased. He shrugged. "That they were alike in a lot of ways. James Potter was Draco Malfoy without Dark Arts and blood bigotry."

Ron snorted. "What's left?"

"Arrogance, vanity..." Harry caught himself and smiled. "Or perhaps we'll say 'self-confidence and charm.' Rich spoiled children who were given everything they wanted, including playmates, and came to school with no idea how to behave outside their fathers' manors." He shrugged. "Sirius, now -- he had worse influences to deal with. Remus seems to have been the good one -- their Hermione, if you will, Hermione -- and I can't help thinking of Peter as a twisted Colin."

"So which of us is your dad and which Sirius?" Ron asked wryly. Harry couldn't help thinking this was the first time they had really talked about Sirius since his death, and it was a very odd conversation for that.

"We don't pair off with them. We were both raised without the benefit or damages of money -- though I, technically, have it, I didn't know. I have reason to be far more of a bastard than I am, so you could pair me with Sirius for that, but he was the muscle in that gang, which I've never been, and, really, you're not either."

Ron nodded grimly. "Miss him?" he asked.

Harry closed his eyes. "Oh god," he breathed.

A hand settled on his arm, and he jerked away, knocking over his chair, before it registered that this was someone being comforting. Hermione, he decided, from the way she sat, frozen with her hand extended. Harry scooped the chair off the ground before it settled from clattering down.

"Sorry!" they said, simultaneously.

"You probably shouldn't touch me when my eyes are closed," Harry added. "I might hex you."

"At least Lupin's back," Ron tried.

Harry shook his head. "I can't -- He's told me not to be alone with him."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione gestured incomprehension.

"Why?" Ron demanded.

"He won't say."

"Does he want ... I mean, is it what we joked about?" Ron asked nervously.

"No, I think it's something about the werewolves."

Hermione extended her hand, then paused. She carefully met Harry's eyes before lowering her hand onto the back of his.

"May I assume that your summer was horrible for more reasons than the Dursleys?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. He desperately wanted to drag her off to somewhere private and tell her everything.

"Yeah," he choked. "I mean ... there were good parts, too, but I can't tell you about those, either." He turned his hand over and gripped hers. "This isn't permanent," he said pleadingly. "I think I can tell you everything after Christmas, at the latest."

"Okay. I'll wait." She looked at him anxiously. "Will you be okay for that long?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "I don't have much choice, so I suppose I'll have to be."

He let go of her hand, and reached for the photographs. "Let's look at more of these."



The End.


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