Fairytale Of Home by Livia Ethelind

It made him real. That was what Harry had concluded during the night. His father had always been a source of some comfort, a faded picture in Harry's mind which he from time to time would pull out and look at when he was particularly dissatisfied with life. Harry had liked James because Snape didn't. Of course after realizing that asking his mother questions always made her cry he had stopped trying that tactic but as Harry bitterly remembered there was a time where he had wanted Snape to be his father or at least close to, a time he had tried to win the man's affection and when he found he could not, the image of James began to truly take form. Harry would mention him around Snape when he could – because he knew Snape hated that. Perhaps at one time his openly expressed affection for his dead father was meant to cause some form of jealousy or change in Snape but rather quickly it had become just another stick to poke the beast with whenever Harry felt justified in doing so. But meeting professor Lupin, a man who not only knew him and loved him but wanted to talk about him too – that made him real.

As Harry woke up the following morning he had trouble remembering when exactly he had finally fallen asleep. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday but wrapped up in his bedcover and still snoozing was Ron. Harry rubbed his eyes carefully as he sat up in the bed. It had to be rather early since none of his dorm mates had risen yet. He shuffled along to the bathroom and splashed some water in his face to chase away the last tiredness in his eyes. These were the sort of moments he usually loved. When the castle was asleep and everything was so quiet and peaceful.

You look very like him, you know. Harry stared into the mirror. Had he really yelled at Snape like that? At home he knew what he might expect but here? He'd said he never wanted to see the man again – and he didn't. But Harry had no clue what he wanted instead. Yes, yes he did. He wanted his mother. Was Snape going to tell her what he had said? But what if Snape said he couldn't come back and see her? Harry shuddered involuntarily and grabbed the sink unsure if he was going to be sick or just wasn't properly awake yet. If he never saw his stepfather again then he couldn't go back to the bleak house, he reasoned. And he would never see his mother ever again and she would be there with her and there would be nothing Harry could do! Was there anyway he could convince his mother to come away with him? He sighed. She'd would either call him silly or if he told her all she might get really ill again.

Harry eventually disappeared into the shower as he believed he heard Neville stirring in the dormitory. The remains of the curse had been visible for quite some time after its removal but even though it was gone now, Harry still preferred to shower alone. As soon as they were as presentable as you could expect 11-year old boys to be, they all headed downstairs for breakfast. ”Hey,” Ron said tryingly as they neared the entrance to the great hall. ”Are you alright now? You know... After?”

”Yeah..” Harry replied. ”But... I think I might be in trouble.” He honestly had no idea why he was telling Ron this now but then he recalled how his best friend had not left his side yesterday despite Harry never revealing the cause of his woes. ”I might get a detention,” Harry shrugged. That was always a possibility and therefore half true.

”You might, mate. McGonagall is looking at you,” Ron observed as they sat down in front of Hermione who had clearly been up early.

”Huh?” Harry said, looking up from the orange he was peeling and as he did he instantly locked eyes with his Head of House. She was saying something to Lupin and Flitwick but of course Harry couldn't hear. Still, her eyes remained fixed on him. That was when he noticed it wasn't just McGonagall. Flitwick, Lupin and Sprout were all looking at him. Some form of hushed conversation was going on at the head table and the mood up there seemed tense.

”The Headmaster must be out,” observed Hermione. Indeed his seat was empty. Snape's was too – and Madam Hooch's as well though Harry did not really perceive that as out of the ordinary. ”What the hell did you do? Blow up a tower or something?” Ron mumbled. ”It's probably nothing,” Hermione said. ”Ron! Honestly! It's probably just the usual, you know? Otherwise they would have said something!” Harry bowed his head. Their conversation was beginning to alert those around him and the last thing he wanted was to attract additional attention. ”Pass me the toast, Ron?” he simply said, indicating – at least to Hermione, that he didn't want to talk about it. The buzzing of conversation continued around them. Had Snape said something? Harry's blood ran cold. Had Snape said to Dumbledore that Harry couldn't come back home again? He finished a large glass of pumpkin juice in a matters of seconds, already nervous. He wouldn't do that, would he? Hermione passed him a bowl of plums and Harry held it, just starring at it. What was he going to do? A moment later he dropped the bowl, causing the plums to roll across the table when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder.

”Mr Potter,” said a rather gloomy voice. Harry instantly looked up at his Head of House as Hermione and Neville scrambled to pick up the plums. ”Your presence here is not required. Follow me,” she nodded. Ron had to nudge Harry to stand up. There was something... off about the way McGonagall looked at him. And he couldn't help but notice everyone's eyes upon him as she lead him out of the great hall – knowing full well what it looked like. The heavy doors closed behind them, shutting away the noise of the great hall and sending a thump echoing through the entrance hall. ”Harry, why don't we go to my office?” Professor McGonagall said.

He had seen a quite a bit of it over the last few months and every time he had been here he had been uncomfortable with it. He cautiously seated himself in the chair and glanced out the window through which he had burst on his broom not so terribly long ago. That was the day they found out. She had been pretty cross with him then too until Madam Pomfrey told her about... the thing. ”Professor,” Harry began as McGonagall seemed to be attempting to open a tin. Am I not allowed to eat in the great hall? Is it because I yelled at a teacher? To someone else the questions Harry was too nervous to ask might seem silly but you were not told you were always at fault throughout most of your life without a part of you believing it to be true.

”Harry..” McGonagall waved him off, finally opening the tin with surprisingly shaky hands. ”Would you like a biscuit?” She said holding out the tin. Having not finished his breakfast Harry ignored his inclination to say 'No thanks' and accepted one. ”Professor?” He said quietly, the strange look in McGonagall's eyes unnerving him and then he realized what it was. She was lost for words. His Head of House never was! She was always in control, stern and quick witted. There was a strange look in her eyes now and was she trembling slightly or was Harry imagining it? Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

”I don't understand,” she began slowly. ”Why you are here. But I want you to know... I'm here for you no matter what you feel you need right now.”

Why he was here? Wasn't he supposed to be? ”Professor? You told me to come here?” Harry replied in confusion. The confusion was mirrored in the professors. Just then the door flew open and professor Lupin entered with surprising vivacity, holding a letter. ”It just arrived! The Headmaster says he isn't fit to...” he announced trailing off when he saw Harry there. McGonagall was already on her feet and had her nose in the letter she swiftly snatched from Lupin.

”Oh dear,” she said to no one at all, her voice sorrowful. ”So he's not..” Lupin glanced over at Harry and whispered something to McGonagall which Harry did not manage to catch but as it were he was already terribly unnerved. ”No,” said McGonagall, shaking her head at her colleague who nodded slowly and left, closing the door behind him.

”Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” she continued turning to the small boy. ”I thought you knew but he hasn't been..” Harry was frozen with fear and it emptied his mind. He could not even think up possible nightmares. In that moment he was nothing but that one emotion. And yet, in a strange way Harry would often theorize about later on in his life – he knew. He knew then and there and if Harry could not feel his heart still thundering in his chest he would have sworn it had stopped beating altogether.

”Harry, early this morning your mother... She passed away. I'm so sorry, I...”

But Harry did not hear anything beyond that as the professors' words hit him like steel hammers, knocking the air right out of him. There was no way to accurately describe what Harry felt as a black bottomless hole opened up inside of him, swallowing him from the inside.

”No,” escaped his lips although Harry made no conscious decision to say it.

”I can only imagine what you must feel, Harry. We here for you. And... It's only natural if..” As McGonagall struggled to find the words, Harry abruptly rose and bolted for the door. ”Your lying! She's not... She's not..!” But when he opened the door he ran straight into professor Lupin who had been waiting outside. Harry did not think. He could only feel and the moment after the collision he wrapped his arms around the professor, sobbing into his scruffy suit. He did not even take any notice of Lupin crouching down and holding him as he shock with sorrow or professor McGonagall awkwardly placing a hand on his shoulder. ”I want to go home,” where the only recognizable words Harry spoke.

It was professor McGonagall who eventually took him. Harry let her. It his fault. If only he had never flown through that window they would never have found out and if they had never known that would never have reached Aoife and his mother wouldn't be... The moment they stepped out of the floo-connected fireplace in the parlor of Prince Manor, he would have faceplanted if it was not for McGonagall holding him up as he was barely making any effort to stand upright as it was. The professor did not move and for the first time since hearing the news, Harry glanced up at her.

His Head of House was looking around the room, her expression hard and her eyes sorrowful. Harry realized that of course McGonagall had no idea where to go from here as she had never – at least to Harry's knowledge, been there before. It was so terribly odd to be there now. It felt like Harry was in a dream, a very very awful dream. Everything in the room was in its place as if the entirety of Harry's world had not just imploded. Suddenly a woman entered the room. Lizette's eyes were red and her cheeks still wet. She glared at the two of them as if they had disturbed her before she sank into a nearby chair. The hurt Harry felt at the sight of a woman who got to spend not only more time with his mother than he arguably did but also had been there in her final hours got him moving and he ran out the room with the professor in short pursuit.

There was only one thing on his mind: Lily – He had to see his mother! And there was only one place he could imagine her to be. He reached the first floor and went straight to the door of the Summer Room which was slightly ajar as usual – as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Indeed, Harry halfway expected to see Lily look up from her drawings and send him a surprised smile when he entered. He paused. There she was.

She was lying on her bed, dressed in her nightgown as if asleep. The curtains were partly closed, leaving her face in shadow although Harry could easily see how terribly skinny and pale she was. He stared at her, not making a sound nor noticing the two other people in the room. On a chair by Lily's side sat a man wrapped in black, holding her hand but he seemed to be so still and so much part of the darkness he was not noteworthy. As Professor McGonagall reached the first floor somewhere behind him a hand lightly touched Harry's shoulder.

”Go to her, my boy. It's alright,” said the Headmaster gently and guided Harry towards the still form of his mother. Harry slowly reached out and his fingertips graced her leg. He instantly withdrew them. She was so cold. Like a block of ice. Harry shook his head and stared at her briefly he fell across her, grabbing her arms and trying to pull her up. ”Mum? Mum! Wake up! Please wake up! Mum? Don't do this! It's not funny. Mum!” But then there was movement next to him and the silent shadow-man grabbed his hands from behind pulling him off Lily's body. She fell back onto the bed limp and unresponsive. Harry sobbed and struggled against Snape as the man pulled him against his chest, trapping Harry there with his arms. Shortly Harry ceased his kicking and scratching and just hung there holding on to the person who was supporting him – not caring who that person was.

They stayed like this for a while – Harry was not keeping track of time. It was not until his sobs and cries had died down to quiet whimpering that he even noticed the silent adult holding him was shaking too. ”Severus, please. You must eat,” said Dumbledore behind them.

”I can't...” Snape whispered just above Harry, his voice raspy and faint. Harry twisted around in the 'embrace' he was in and pounded his fists into his stepfather's chest. Snape looked likes he had not slept for a week and smelled like it too but Harry took no notice of that. ”Why?!” he cried. ”Why didn't you tell me?” In truth Harry did not know whether he would have been happier knowing it was coming but the only thing inside him more horrible then his sorrow was the guilt of knowing he had been the cause of this. He needed to be angry and he needed someone to blame and Snape was nearer him than Aoife.

To his surprise Snape did not fight him back but simply let him hit him. ”Harry, come along, please. We'll find some tea,” said McGonagall who was clearly both emotional and confused by something. Harry did not stop until McGonagall pulled him away from Snape but not before the man all but whispered: ”I wanted... I tried.”

”Severus, my boy, you've been sitting there all night and I for one one would like a nice cup of tea and perhaps a scone. I quite insist on your company as our host. Please walk on your own I don't want to have to make you,” said the Headmaster gently. Snape sighed and slowly got up. Harry clung to McGonagall as they made their way to the Lizette-free dining room where Brin was already serving the tea. Harry resentfully noted that he looked very unaffected by the death of his mistress. The adults sat down by the table in silence – Snape hunched at the table end looking very much like a raven, his nose sticking out of his black curtain of hair. ”Harry, sit down. I'll take you back up again before we return to Hogwarts. Snape made some sort of sound but no one took any notice of it. ”I'm not going,” said Harry defiantly. ”I want to stay with mum.”

”Harry,” his Head of House sighed. ”I don't see any problem with him remaining,” Dumbledore added but McGonagall gave him a stern look. ”I will have to return to Hogwarts myself shortly,” Dumbledore continued. ”I've instructed Madam Prince to see that Severus eats.” Harry could not think of tea and scones at a time like this nor was he content to sit here quietly like Snape was so instead he backed away from the table. ”I... I'm going to go to my room a little,” he lied. McGonagall looked like she was about to object but the Headmaster waved him on his way before she could voice her thoughts. Of course Harry went straight for the Summer Room but to his frustration he found the door locked. How could they? It was his mother! He shook the doorknob several times before he gave up and went where he had pretended to be heading his – his room. Now, compared with the dorm at Hogwarts it looked so bare and sad but it matched Harry's feeling well. He slammed the door and buried his face in the pillow there.

He woke up at noon much to his own surprise. Exhausted, he had cried himself to sleep. He suddenly felt awfully cold, having slept in his clothes on top on the bed and sat up from the warm imprint of his sleeping form. On his old desk there was a small tray with a glass of milk and some sort of bun. ”Orla?” Harry whispered but no reply came from anywhere in the small room. He did not touch the bun but he did allow himself a few sips of milk before carefully opening the door and walking down the steps no longer caring about the creaking. Where were the adults? The house seemed very quiet as he reached the staircase. Where they still in the dining room? Had Dumbledore left? He slowly began to make his way down the stairs. He found he did not like the solitude one bit. He reached the first floor, noticing several flower bouquets in the entrance hall below and intended to walk down to the dining room and investigate when he suddenly heard a creak in the floorboards.

He spun around and froze. The door to the Summer Room was wide open and someone was standing there in the doorway. Cold black eyes, silvery hair in a tight bun and a long dark grey gown. In Madam Aoife's hand was a small blue velvet bag which Harry knew contained one of his mother's silver bracelets. The moment her eyes detected he had noticed it, it disappeared into a pocket. Harry knew he should be afraid and he probably was terrified - but the fury within the small boy as he stood face to face with her after such a long time was too powerful. ”Put that back!” he snapped. ”That's mum's! You can't have it!”

Aoife glared at him. ”It needs polishing so shut up, you stupid boy. Don't presume to give me orders.” She moved to get past him but Harry, filled with either nerve or stupidity, blocked her path. ”Give it here! You can't touch her things! You murderer!” he cried, not realizing what a terrible mistake he had just made until the moment Aoife pounced on him!