Suicide Pact by RhiannanT

Chapter One

There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forwards the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

“Quick, quick, through the barrier,” said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency. “Harry had better go first, with-”

She looked inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nodded briefly, seized Harry's upper arm, and attempted to steer him toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

“I can walk, thanks,” said Harry irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror's grip. He pushed his trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring his silent companion, and found himself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over the crowd.

Hermione and the Weasleys joined him within seconds. Without waiting to consult his grim-faced Auror, Harry motioned to Ron and Hermione to follow him up the platform, looking for an empty compartment.

“We can't, Harry,” said Hermione, looking apologetic. “Ron and I've got to go to the prefects' carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” said Harry.

He watched as Hermione and Ron hurried off, pursued by Mrs. Weasley saying her last goodbyes.

“You'd better hurry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley told him.

Harry gave him a slight smile. “Yeah, I guess I'd better. Thanks. And thanks for having me,” he remembered.

“Sure, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said. “You know you are welcome at any time.”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry said, putting an artificial warmth into his voice. Finally free to leave, Harry pulled his trunk quickly to find an empty compartment. Hopefully if he got settled quickly, and looked busy enough, nobody would bother him. It had worked so far. He'd overheard Molly admonishing Ron to 'give him some space' once, and she always made sure he ate well, but otherwise the Weasleys had left him alone for a month with only a couple of confused glances. Hermione, for her part, had been delighted with his sudden studiousness, and only bothered him in order to find him supplementary texts that might help add depth to his summer assignments. He'd finished those after only a week, but with Hermione's contributions and a trip to Diagon Alley for his sixth-year textbooks, he'd had plenty to do. Sometimes, she'd just set up her own projects next to his, and he'd found he didn't mind even as he began to suspect that she realized some of what was going on.

He was starting to hate any other contact. He understood Molly's quiet worry; Lupin's attempts to get him to talk; the good intentions of everyone in and out of the Burrow, but it only made his life harder. All he wanted to do was study, read, occupy his brain so he couldn't think. The Weasleys were sweet, but they wouldn't let him do that. And every time they talked to him, he had to smile, laugh, talk, until his jaw hurt with it. It had gotten to the point that he missed Privet Drive, where nobody gave a damn if he lived or died and he could just be himself, without pretending. Why the fuck do people expect me to be happy?

Smiling bitterly, Harry settled down in an entirely empty compartment and remembered. A Portkey made from part of the saccharine statue in the Ministry building had brought him to Dumbledore's office, and he'd settled, staring out the window at the Quiddich stadium. Sirius had appeared there, once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play. He'd probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been. Harry had never asked him.

“There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,” Dumbledore had said to his back. “On the contrary....the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.”

He'd flipped, then, Harry remembered with a wince. Shouted and thrown things around. There was nothing strong in the way he'd felt and acted. Pain like that crippled you, and he couldn't afford it. Not with the whole wizarding world counting on him to be their 'Savior.' Dumbledore was right about one thing, though: some types of pain were good. He felt more awake, focused, after his uncle slapped him than any other time, and he found himself baiting the man. One blow, and he could settle down and work for the rest of the day. Pain kept him sharp, so maybe nobody else would die. He could cope with that. It even felt good, sometimes.

“Harry!” someone said, pushing open the door to his compartment.

Fuck. “Neville!” Harry greeted just as enthusiastically. “How was your summer?”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Come on, Ron, Harry thought in frustration, watching as his friend tried and failed to cast a wordless charm. It's about focus, not will. That tended to be Ron's problem, though – he threw his heart into a thing, but his ability to focus that will into a specific intention was limited. Like I'm so much better. It had taken him several days over the summer to master this particular skill. Then again, without his uncle around he'd been restless.

“Pathetic, Weasley,” Snape said, appearing in front of the two of them and sneering his disdain. “Here- let me show you-”

He was fast, whipping around and turning his wand on Harry before he could blink. Harry's hand had been loose on his wand, but somehow the spell went off just fine anyway, and Harry was surprised to see Snape knocked off-balance by his shield spell.

“Do you remember me telling you that we are practicing nonverbal Protego, Potter?”

Woops. Trust Snape to be angry that Harry had used a more complex shielding spell than the one designated. It was the last one Harry had practiced while at the Weasleys, and so he had more experience with it nonverbally then he did with Protego.

“Yes,” Harry said lightly, reveling in the strange and sudden realization that he did not fear Snape anymore. Hated him, quite possibly, but as he'd discovered with his uncle that summer, the man was just not scary if you didn't care what he did to you. It was kind of nice to finally have somebody to let loose with, actually. Vernon was probably better – he was far more likely to actually lose his temper than Snape was – but at least Snape was someone he didn't have to be nice to.

“Yes, sir,” Snape insisted.

Harry smiled mockingly. “There is no need to call me 'sir', Professor,” he enunciated carefully.

The class snickered. Snape's face tightened, and Harry felt his heart rate speed up just a tad, waiting for a blow that he knew wouldn't come. The man might be willing to betray him to the Dark Lord – maybe – but he wouldn't hit him in public.

“Detention, tonight, my office,” Snape said, calm despite the anger in his face. “I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter...not even 'the Chosen one'.”

“That's a real surprise,” Harry said, grinning recklessly as he baited the man. “I'd really thought you would make an exception for me. I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. You could be sympathetic.”

The class went from snickering to outright laughing, but Snape just sneered and turned his back to return to teaching the class.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“That was brilliant, Harry!” chortled Ron, once they were safely on their way to break a short while later.

“You really shouldn't have said it,” said Hermione, frowning at Ron, then Harry. “What made you?”

“He did jinx me,” Harry pointed out. “And anyway I'm sick of kowtowing to the man all the time.”

Hermione frowned. “It's not like we've got a choice, Harry,” she pointed out. “He'd love to expel you even more than give you detention.”

“He can't expel me, Hermione,” Harry answered her. “I'd be dead in two days, the prophesy would be fulfilled, and then they'd need somebody else to kill the Dark Lord.”

“That's not-”

“It's perfectly fair, Hermione,” Harry interrupted her. “If it's fair for Dumbledore to not fire Snape because he's his spy, then it's fair for him to not expel me because I'm his cannon fodder.”

“Harry!” Hermione said, shocked.

“Harry! Hey, Harry!” someone called.

Harry looked around, and saw Jack Sloper running up to him, holding a roll of parchment.

“For you,” the other boy panted when he got to him. “Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Harry answered, hoping to put the boy off for long enough for him to talk to Katie Bell. He'd never asked to be Captain, and he didn't want it. “I'll let you know.” Opening the parchment, Harry ignored Sloper in favor of reading the parchment, which proved to be from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry, it said,

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school. Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore.

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

Oh yeah, Harry remembered. My cannon fodder lessons. Fabulous.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

First, though, he had Potions, because he was going to be an Auror. Right. But McGonagall would've found it weird, if he hadn't gone.

He didn't have the book, of course, but slimy Slughorn had extras. The one he gave Harry had scribbles all over the margins, but Harry didn't bother to try and read them. The most interesting thing about the class was the pitched battle between Malfoy and Hermione to see who could win the coveted Felix Felicis, so-called “Bottled Luck.” Somehow luck didn't seem particularly relevant to his life, though Malfoy seemed seriously pissed when Hermione won.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Harry walked up to Snape's door and knocked without hesitation. He heard Snape moving around inside before the door opened and Snape sneered out at him.

“Potter,” Snape stated with a light tone of surprise. “On time, for once.”

“Professor,” Harry answered, walking past him into his office and sitting at the school desk Snape kept there. The desk was already set up with parchment and writing supplies, and Snape just waved his wand briefly before sitting down at his own desk.

“Lines, Potter,” he said dismissively as writing appeared at the top of a sheet of parchment. “And be silent. I do not have the time to supervise a child.”

Harry grit his teeth slightly before letting it go. “How many times, sir?” he asked, perfectly polite.

“I believe you are capable of reading, Potter,” Snape answered without looking up. “It is written in small words.”

Finally Harry looked down and read what Snape had written at the top of the first sheet of parchment.

I will be polite and respectful to my betters. 500x

Harry smiled just a bit, not yet prepared to let it go. “How do you spell respectful, Professor?” he asked seriously, forcing his smile away.

Snape looked up, a look of intense irritation on his face. “Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. Write.”

Harry grinned wider, and started to write.

1. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

2. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

3. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

Dumbledore couldn't be more wrong, Harry reflected. His greatest strength was not in feeling pain, but quite the opposite. There was a lot of power in not having anything to lose. And it was fun, finally being able to blatantly defy people like Vernon and Snape. The last year or so of your life should be fun, shouldn't it? His greatest strength was in not feeling much at all.

Pain's good, too, though, he thought, as the the repetitive lines brought up memories of other lines he'd written. Nothing seemed to clear his head as well. Certainly, while writing lines in Umbrage's office, he'd never thought about anything else. Somehow the pain in his hands had led to a complete, comfortable blankness in his head.

I wonder what happened to the quills. Certainly Umbrage hadn't had the chance to pack them up.

12. I will not tell – whoops. He crossed it out. 12. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters. It was kind of hard to remember to spell it wrong, actually. His fingers wanted to write it correctly.

13. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

14. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

He couldn't ask Dobby, he realized. The little elf hated the dark arts, and he would be horrified that Harry even knew what a blood quill was. Now Kreatur, on the other hand-

18. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

19. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

Somehow the idea of writing things into his own skin was appealing. I'm a bit fucked up, he realized without dismay.

22. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

23. I will be polite and respectefull to my betters.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Snape stared down at Harry's lines, and Harry could see his jaw tighten.

“I take it, Potter,” he spat without looking up, “that you think yourself terribly clever.”

“Not really,” Harry said honestly. It was nice to be honest. “Mostly it's amusing to piss you off and know that there isn't shit you can do about it.”

Snape looked up abruptly, meeting Harry's eyes, and Harry realized he'd startled him. I'm so clever, he thought ironically. “What?” he asked the man, tone and expression cocky. “Hadn't figured it out, yet? Dumbledore can't expel me any more than he can fire you. I'm as free to be obnoxious as you are.”

Rather than yelling as Harry'd expected, though, the man simply studied him, anger showing only in his eyes. Harry just stared back, and without warning Snape waved a hand, sending what spell Harry didn't know or care. He had at least as much time to block as he had in class, but this time they were in private. Harry stood his ground and let the blow connect, unable to stifle a gasp and a wince as the powerful stinging hex took him in the chest. It hurt fully as much as any of Vernon's blows, and Harry felt something in him welcome it, take it and use it. Finally.

When he recovered, he found Snape staring at him in clear shock. “You know how to block, Potter,” he said finally.

“You were too fast for me,” Harry lied blatantly, meeting Snape's eyes without trouble. It was very unlikely that Harry actually could block fast enough if Snape didn't want him to. Snape was a master duelist. Clearly the man had actually intended him to block this time. But how fast the man was capable of casting mattered little if Harry really didn't care if his blows connected.

Harry watched with interest as a muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. “We both know that you are better than that, Potter. You demonstrated it this afternoon.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I thought I was nothing but a nasty little boy who thinks the rules beneath me,” he said, taking great satisfaction from the words. “The spell in class wasn't skill, it was sheer arrogance.”

“You allowed me to hit you, Potter,” Snape said angrily.

Harry smiled nastily. “You hit me, Professor,” he answered.

To his surprise, Snape actually seemed at a loss for words for a second, before finally speaking in a carefully controlled cadence. “You are dismissed, Potter.”

“What?” Harry asked, confused.

“I said you are dismissed, Potter!” Snape told him, suddenly furious. “Are you too thick to understand the words? Get out!”

Disconcerted – he'd expected Snape to be angry, but not that angry - Harry grabbed up his bookbag and left.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”

He'd written it down the summer before, during a brief period between him caring too much about Sirius' death to care about any prophesy, and the point where he'd stopped caring about much of anything. For some reason, his encounter with Snape and his own thoughts on “caring” had reminded him of it, and he'd pulled it out. At some point, he would need to kill the Dark Lord, or be killed himself. He snorted lightly. At least once I'm dead, somebody else'll be able to kill him. Maybe he shouldn't worry so much.

Almost startled at his own thought, Harry froze. Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. If Voldemort killed him...then he could be killed. He'd be mortal. Dumbledore could kill him. Anybody could kill him. As long as Harry and Voldemort both survived, they were immortal to any other curses. Dumbledore thought that that meant that Harry had to kill Voldemort. But that was close to impossible – Voldemort had at least fifty years of experience on him, “power the Dark Lord knew not” or no. But if Voldemort killed him...perhaps the “power he knew not” was simply the willingness to die.

Do I really not care? That much?

Did it matter? If he studied hard, learned, trained, then eventually, someday, best-case-scenario, he'd kill the Dark Lord. And in the meantime, the Dark Lord would be coming after him, and Dumbledore's people would be dropping like flies trying to protect him, and others just because they were around.

But if Voldemort could be killed by anyone? Dumbledore could stage a raid, kill him, and the Death Eaters would have no leader. He was experiencing the beginnings of the second war that the creature had caused. Two wars more than thirty years apart, and the dickhead was still alive. And countless others were dead. His mother, then his father, then Sirius, all dead because they'd tried to protect Harry. Cedric, just because he'd touched the same cup Harry had at the same time. And countless others, who died simply because they were in the way. Nearby. Voldemort or his followers were bored. Eventually, those people would be more Order members; his classmates and teachers. Dumbledore himself? What if Dumbledore died, before Voldemort did? The light would be down a leader, and Harry knew better than to think he could provide that.

No way he was worth all that. He could've loved his life and it wouldn't be worth another war. If he didn't care about dying, so much the better. Once Hermione and Ron were dead, he'd have very little to live for. And they'd die, too, if he lived much longer. They would follow him, and as such they would die. Better that he died first, wasn't it? If he died...Voldemort could die. And then maybe nobody else would.

He snorted a little. Or, alternately, I could write a letter to Voldemort explaining things, and we could both live forever while Voldemort tore the world down but left me carefully alone.

So he needed to die. At Voldemort's hands. Without Voldemort suspecting anything. He didn't know that half of the prophesy, but if Harry just showed up at his doorstep saying “kill me, please,” he might just figure it out. So...he had to make it look like he'd come by accident, or been captured.

And he couldn't let Dumbledore suspect anything, either. He was almost certain the headmaster would prevent him, rather than helping him. The almost was a painful truth. Certainly Snape could attest to the fact that Dumbledore didn't always make decisions based on sentimentality. Either that or he secretly detests the man, too.

So he needed someone who'd know how to find the Dark Lord, but wouldn't care if Harry died, and wouldn't give Voldemort reason to suspect a trick. A cooperative Order member, or a Death Eater. But even if an Order member told Harry how to find Voldemort, Harry would have a hell of a time explaining to Voldemort how he just 'wandered in' to get himself killed. Oh no sir, I'm not bait. I just really am that stupid and unlucky.

So...a Death Eater. But how to just “stumble into” a Death Eater without leaving Hogwarts? Surely Lucius Malfoy could help him out, but the man would have to drag him off the grounds to apparate, and he wasn't that stupid. And he's in prison. Right. That's a problem, too.

Lucius Malfoy, maybe Narcissa, too, Bellatrix Lestrange, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott...and a whole bunch he didn't know and didn't have any way to access. The last person in the world he wanted to capture him was Bellatrix, and he wasn't likely to just “run into” her, either. Narcissa, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were Hogwarts parents. Presumably they'd come to the school at some point. And have the same problem Lucius would. There was no way a known Death Eater could get into the school, 'capture' him, and get out again without being caught. If there had been, they'd've done it already.Damn.

Back to Order members, then. Maybe they'd at least have some ideas.

An Order member, who won't just rat me out to Dumbledore, though? They were all either too loyal to Dumbledore not to tell him, or cared too much for Harry. Both, really, he acknowledged. And everyone who cared for him died, sooner or later. Die, trying to keep him alive, when he was going to die anyway. He needed someone who didn't care.

Suddenly Harry shook his head. I am an idiot. Snape. Of course, Snape. A Death Eater who could reasonably escape the school with Harry without Dumbledore staging a rescue, and an Order member who would be willing to see Harry die. The man's spy position would even be strengthened by it.

If he really is spying for Dumbledore, and not Voldemort, anyway. But then, if he wasn't, handing Harry over to Voldemort would go some steps towards convincing Dumbledore of that. It was a win-win.

He just needed to convince Snape. Shouldn't be hard, really. Me dead, him in good with Voldemort? What's not to like? Except, if he was for Voldemort, then how could he convince him that he'd come quietly, without convincing him that something was up?

Easy, he realized immediately. Oh, Snape, he killed my parents. He killed Cedric! I have to kill him! And once again, Snape in good with the Dark Lord, Harry dead: Death Eater or spy, that made for a very good day for Severus Snape.

No time like the present, he realized. The last thing he wanted was time to think about it further.

Agenda for the Day: Class, homework, detention, death by Snake Face. Let's do this.