hobgoblinn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hobgoblinn) wrote2007-10-18 09:14 pm
hobgoblinn) wrote2007-10-18 09:14 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Lost Boys - 10/14 - The Pensieve
Prologue - Two Dads
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
Part 9 - Spectres of the Past
Title: Lost Boys, 10/14 - The Pensieve
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
snape_after_dh ficathon.
Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lady_clover, rainkatt emmessann and Wee Hob for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Neville and one of the Hufflepuff prefects arrived then and Hermione sent them after a pensieve. Ron glared at Snape, gave Harry the nod that meant I’ll take this one and accompanied them. Harry could hear his questions about Davey’s room begin before the door had quite closed behind them.
Harry stood by the window and looked out over the moonlit lake and grounds below and tried to stifle a yawn. It was getting late, and Harry remembered he hadn’t been to bed for -- this would be the third night in a row, now. He hadn’t sleeping well for quite some time, in fact. He couldn’t remember the content of the nightmares that kept waking him, but something about them was so chilling that he was finding it difficult to bring himself to lie down at all.
Glancing back, he saw Snape had his dark eyes fixed on Davey’s face. The ghost gave brief, but not unkind answers when Rose or Hermione tried to engage him in conversation. Harry tried to remember if he had ever seen a look so unguarded and concerned on that face before. Probably not. Harry shook his head and stifled another yawn.
Neville and Ron returned carrying a rather large pensieve between them. “Wow, where’d you find that?” Harry asked.
“I’ve had one for years, Harry,” Neville replied, helping Ron place it carefully in the center of a bed by the open window. “It doesn’t completely counteract the memory charms they used on me when I was little, but it really helps. Wish I’d had one while I was still a student.”
Memory charms. Harry had studied that, his first year of Auror training. How they had tried to erase the memories of his parents’ torture from the traumatized toddler, only to leave his memory functions damaged nearly beyond repair. Harry felt a deep sadness for his old friend. He heard, as from a distance, Ron and Neville joking about Neville’s abysmal memory-- the rememberal his Grandmother had sent him their first year, his grade on one of their history exams.
“I didn’t know there was a lower grade than Troll,” Ron said.
“There isn’t. Binns made it up. Quite a sense of humor, when you get to know him. And, you know, you’re not 12. Besides, I think you got a D minus on that one yourself, didn’t you?”
Unable to bring himself to join in their lighthearted banter, and with fatigue really beginning to grind him down, Harry found his eyes drawn to the pensieve itself. Everything around him seemed to fade as he gazed into it. The liquid in the basin caught the moonlight in mesmerizing flickers. It wasn’t until he lost his balance leaning toward it, and Ron caught him as he stumbled that Harry was roused from his near stupor. Even then, he had to blink a couple of times to pick up the thread of his old schoolmates’ conversation.
“Of course I’ll stay,” Neville was saying. He was also looking at Snape nervously. As Harry gathered his exhaustion-muddled thoughts, it struck him as funny that while Neville had been a professor at Hogwarts for over a decade, and had built a reputation as a highly respected Herbologist, the sight of the Potions Master could still send him right back to his school days. Harry could relate. He also couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, that last year at Hogwarts, with Snape as headmaster. He swayed a little on his feet and Ron frowned at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Harry replied. He took a deep cleansing breath and focused his mind. “We’re ready here. If you are, Sir.” Harry gave the honorific automatically, a habit from years of dealing with the public. It seemed odd, but in a lot of ways, this Snape was as much a stranger to himself as to any of them. It made it easier, somehow. Harry watched the ghost of his old Potions Master draw near reluctantly, a kind of grim courage on his face. Harry could tell, he really did not want to do this. Losing the last bit of yourself this way, even temporarily-- what must that be like?
Ron returned to Harry’s side after a quick, whispered conversation with his wife and what had looked like a couple of stern words with his daughter. The two Aurors watched as the ghost drew a shimmering wand from the inner pocket of his robes and began to pull what few memories remained to him from his temple.
As the ghost deposited the glowing strands into the Pensieve, Ron leaned toward him a little. “You sure this is gonna work, Mate?”
“It's all we've got.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Ron admitted. Harry watched his partner reach out and put an arm around Hermione as she joined them, an easy, affectionate gesture. Rose was watching avidly from her place at David’s side, no doubt memorizing everything for her own experiments later. His own kids were smart, but he breathed again a sigh of thanks that Rosie was only his niece. He loved her dearly, but the girl was entirely too intelligent for her own good. Much as her mother had been.
The ghost pulled the last strand from his mind and turned impassive eyes on Harry. “There. Are you ready?”
Harry hesitated. He found himself remembering another pensieve, long ago. The day when he had intruded into this man's memories as a boy, looking into his unattended pensieve. His cheeks burned again with the shame of that violation.
But this time was different. Snape was inviting him in. And David needed him. He nodded and stepped resolutely toward the pensieve, then found Ron and Hermione stepping forward as well. He looked blankly at them.
“Well, you don't think we're letting you go alone, do you?” Ron said. “What, you think just because we're back at Hogwarts, you can chuck all that Auror procedure rot right out the window?”
That was exactly what Harry had thought, but to cover it he said quickly, “Um.... Hermione's not an Auror, Ron.”
Ron looked a little sheepish, but at a stern glance from his wife he said, “Yeah, but she's the medical expert. We need her along to make sure we don't miss anything. It'll be like old times, Mate.”
“May I go, too?” Rose asked, with the air of one who knew the answer, but could not help herself. Neville, pulling up a chair next to hers, tried to stifle a grin.
“No.” The response came simultaneously from both parents, Harry, and... Snape. Harry just stared at the ghost. Snape looked uncomfortable, but not repentant.
“A pensieve is much too dangerous for a child,” he said, daring Harry to contradict him.
Harry thought of all the terribly dangerous things he and his friends had done as children, mostly unhindered by the adults who should have been protecting them. But he also recalled one adult, who had been more a hindrance than the others. This man, hateful and sarcastic as he had been. “Yeah,” Harry agreed aloud. He turned to Ron and Hermione. “All right, then. Let's go.”
***
At the bottom of the pensieve, Harry found himself standing beside one ghost, watching as another confronted his small cousin in a deserted corridor. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, as Ron and Hermione glanced over in surprise.
The ghost shrugged. “I was curious.” But his eyes were fixed intently on the scene, dark, glittering eyes that had once been a spy's. Eyes that missed nothing. Harry and the others turned back to watch the scene play out, then the other memories of the ghost’s dealings with David.
When they got to the memory where David had first introduced Rose to Snape, Ron made a strangled noise, and Hermione laid a warning hand on her husband's arm. He subsided, but Harry could tell that a very heated father-daughter talk was in his niece’s future.
When they got to the images of David's past in the Mirror, Harry gave a startled gasp. “Hermione, this might be it. That mirror. It shouldn't be showing him anything like that. It only shows what you desire most.” He turned accusingly to the ghost. “Why would you want Davey's memories?”
Snape looked quite taken aback. “But I don't-- I have never been able to control what this mirror shows me. And I have never desired anything I saw in its glass.” But as he said it, Harry noticed he did not look any of them in the eye. And the expression on the face of the memory ghost gazing raptly into the glass was... hungry. Something about the scenes in the glass called out to him, just as they had to Harry years ago, when he had looked on the faces of his parents for the first time. When he had felt connected to... a family.
Ron asked, “You say this mirror-- it’s locked up? You’ve never shown it to Davey, or talked to him about it?”
“Never.” This time ghost’s reply was emphatic, and he met Ron’s suspicious glare unflinchingly.
Hermione was still watching the scene closely. “But they're not just Davey's memories, Harry-- look there. David's left, but you and Vernon are still there.”
Harry felt a chill run through his veins. “David's the focal point, but-- some of these are my memories. Aren't they?”
The ghost was gaping at him now in open horror. “No,” he whispered. “I cannot be causing this. I do not desire anything. Nor would I harm a student. Especially that boy. I would not.”
Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. “We need to find somebody who knows more about this Mirror,” she said quietly. “I think I know someone who can help us.”
Part 11 - The Headmaster’s Portrait
Part 1 - Visions of the Afterlife
Part 2 - Little Boy Lost
Part 3 - Detention
Part 4 - An Intruder
Part 5 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 1
Part 6 - Conversations with the Dead, Part 2
Part 7 - Another Life
Part 8 - A Sudden Illness
Part 9 - Spectres of the Past
Title: Lost Boys, 10/14 - The Pensieve
Rating: FRT (PG)
Distribution: Sure. Let me know where it’s going. Written for the
snape_after_dh ficathon.Feedback: Makes me write more. Or feel guilty for not writing more. Flames make me toasty.
Thanks to
lady_clover, rainkatt emmessann and Wee Hob for fantastic beta work. Remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else. David Dursley, however, is mine. Please ask before you borrow him.
Neville and one of the Hufflepuff prefects arrived then and Hermione sent them after a pensieve. Ron glared at Snape, gave Harry the nod that meant I’ll take this one and accompanied them. Harry could hear his questions about Davey’s room begin before the door had quite closed behind them.
Harry stood by the window and looked out over the moonlit lake and grounds below and tried to stifle a yawn. It was getting late, and Harry remembered he hadn’t been to bed for -- this would be the third night in a row, now. He hadn’t sleeping well for quite some time, in fact. He couldn’t remember the content of the nightmares that kept waking him, but something about them was so chilling that he was finding it difficult to bring himself to lie down at all.
Glancing back, he saw Snape had his dark eyes fixed on Davey’s face. The ghost gave brief, but not unkind answers when Rose or Hermione tried to engage him in conversation. Harry tried to remember if he had ever seen a look so unguarded and concerned on that face before. Probably not. Harry shook his head and stifled another yawn.
Neville and Ron returned carrying a rather large pensieve between them. “Wow, where’d you find that?” Harry asked.
“I’ve had one for years, Harry,” Neville replied, helping Ron place it carefully in the center of a bed by the open window. “It doesn’t completely counteract the memory charms they used on me when I was little, but it really helps. Wish I’d had one while I was still a student.”
Memory charms. Harry had studied that, his first year of Auror training. How they had tried to erase the memories of his parents’ torture from the traumatized toddler, only to leave his memory functions damaged nearly beyond repair. Harry felt a deep sadness for his old friend. He heard, as from a distance, Ron and Neville joking about Neville’s abysmal memory-- the rememberal his Grandmother had sent him their first year, his grade on one of their history exams.
“I didn’t know there was a lower grade than Troll,” Ron said.
“There isn’t. Binns made it up. Quite a sense of humor, when you get to know him. And, you know, you’re not 12. Besides, I think you got a D minus on that one yourself, didn’t you?”
Unable to bring himself to join in their lighthearted banter, and with fatigue really beginning to grind him down, Harry found his eyes drawn to the pensieve itself. Everything around him seemed to fade as he gazed into it. The liquid in the basin caught the moonlight in mesmerizing flickers. It wasn’t until he lost his balance leaning toward it, and Ron caught him as he stumbled that Harry was roused from his near stupor. Even then, he had to blink a couple of times to pick up the thread of his old schoolmates’ conversation.
“Of course I’ll stay,” Neville was saying. He was also looking at Snape nervously. As Harry gathered his exhaustion-muddled thoughts, it struck him as funny that while Neville had been a professor at Hogwarts for over a decade, and had built a reputation as a highly respected Herbologist, the sight of the Potions Master could still send him right back to his school days. Harry could relate. He also couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, that last year at Hogwarts, with Snape as headmaster. He swayed a little on his feet and Ron frowned at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Harry replied. He took a deep cleansing breath and focused his mind. “We’re ready here. If you are, Sir.” Harry gave the honorific automatically, a habit from years of dealing with the public. It seemed odd, but in a lot of ways, this Snape was as much a stranger to himself as to any of them. It made it easier, somehow. Harry watched the ghost of his old Potions Master draw near reluctantly, a kind of grim courage on his face. Harry could tell, he really did not want to do this. Losing the last bit of yourself this way, even temporarily-- what must that be like?
Ron returned to Harry’s side after a quick, whispered conversation with his wife and what had looked like a couple of stern words with his daughter. The two Aurors watched as the ghost drew a shimmering wand from the inner pocket of his robes and began to pull what few memories remained to him from his temple.
As the ghost deposited the glowing strands into the Pensieve, Ron leaned toward him a little. “You sure this is gonna work, Mate?”
“It's all we've got.”
“Yeah. You’re right,” Ron admitted. Harry watched his partner reach out and put an arm around Hermione as she joined them, an easy, affectionate gesture. Rose was watching avidly from her place at David’s side, no doubt memorizing everything for her own experiments later. His own kids were smart, but he breathed again a sigh of thanks that Rosie was only his niece. He loved her dearly, but the girl was entirely too intelligent for her own good. Much as her mother had been.
The ghost pulled the last strand from his mind and turned impassive eyes on Harry. “There. Are you ready?”
Harry hesitated. He found himself remembering another pensieve, long ago. The day when he had intruded into this man's memories as a boy, looking into his unattended pensieve. His cheeks burned again with the shame of that violation.
But this time was different. Snape was inviting him in. And David needed him. He nodded and stepped resolutely toward the pensieve, then found Ron and Hermione stepping forward as well. He looked blankly at them.
“Well, you don't think we're letting you go alone, do you?” Ron said. “What, you think just because we're back at Hogwarts, you can chuck all that Auror procedure rot right out the window?”
That was exactly what Harry had thought, but to cover it he said quickly, “Um.... Hermione's not an Auror, Ron.”
Ron looked a little sheepish, but at a stern glance from his wife he said, “Yeah, but she's the medical expert. We need her along to make sure we don't miss anything. It'll be like old times, Mate.”
“May I go, too?” Rose asked, with the air of one who knew the answer, but could not help herself. Neville, pulling up a chair next to hers, tried to stifle a grin.
“No.” The response came simultaneously from both parents, Harry, and... Snape. Harry just stared at the ghost. Snape looked uncomfortable, but not repentant.
“A pensieve is much too dangerous for a child,” he said, daring Harry to contradict him.
Harry thought of all the terribly dangerous things he and his friends had done as children, mostly unhindered by the adults who should have been protecting them. But he also recalled one adult, who had been more a hindrance than the others. This man, hateful and sarcastic as he had been. “Yeah,” Harry agreed aloud. He turned to Ron and Hermione. “All right, then. Let's go.”
***
At the bottom of the pensieve, Harry found himself standing beside one ghost, watching as another confronted his small cousin in a deserted corridor. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, as Ron and Hermione glanced over in surprise.
The ghost shrugged. “I was curious.” But his eyes were fixed intently on the scene, dark, glittering eyes that had once been a spy's. Eyes that missed nothing. Harry and the others turned back to watch the scene play out, then the other memories of the ghost’s dealings with David.
When they got to the memory where David had first introduced Rose to Snape, Ron made a strangled noise, and Hermione laid a warning hand on her husband's arm. He subsided, but Harry could tell that a very heated father-daughter talk was in his niece’s future.
When they got to the images of David's past in the Mirror, Harry gave a startled gasp. “Hermione, this might be it. That mirror. It shouldn't be showing him anything like that. It only shows what you desire most.” He turned accusingly to the ghost. “Why would you want Davey's memories?”
Snape looked quite taken aback. “But I don't-- I have never been able to control what this mirror shows me. And I have never desired anything I saw in its glass.” But as he said it, Harry noticed he did not look any of them in the eye. And the expression on the face of the memory ghost gazing raptly into the glass was... hungry. Something about the scenes in the glass called out to him, just as they had to Harry years ago, when he had looked on the faces of his parents for the first time. When he had felt connected to... a family.
Ron asked, “You say this mirror-- it’s locked up? You’ve never shown it to Davey, or talked to him about it?”
“Never.” This time ghost’s reply was emphatic, and he met Ron’s suspicious glare unflinchingly.
Hermione was still watching the scene closely. “But they're not just Davey's memories, Harry-- look there. David's left, but you and Vernon are still there.”
Harry felt a chill run through his veins. “David's the focal point, but-- some of these are my memories. Aren't they?”
The ghost was gaping at him now in open horror. “No,” he whispered. “I cannot be causing this. I do not desire anything. Nor would I harm a student. Especially that boy. I would not.”
Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. “We need to find somebody who knows more about this Mirror,” she said quietly. “I think I know someone who can help us.”
Part 11 - The Headmaster’s Portrait
no subject
Gaaaaah! Poor Snapilcious!
For some reason that bit just made me sad. Having some sort of desire and not being aware of it or realizing that you need it necessarily. It calls to mind how Snape might have been as a student or child, needing attention or some one to give a damn about him for .5 seconds. I dunno, and I'm not properly articulating....but it was sad. I had an emotionary response. So there. {=$
no subject
I also kind of wanted to get across there that Snape is still in the habit of denying that he wants or needs anything-- it seems to be a kind of underpinning for the character.
I'm glad you had this response, and that you shared it. Thanks again for reading and commenting.
no subject