Genre: Fan Fiction, Spiritual/Drama
Current Chapter: 2 - A New Quest
Chapter Word Count: 2,676
Total Story Word Count: 4,901
Summary: Two years after the Final Battle, Harry Potter receives an unexpected and rather unwanted letter amidst his already tumultuous life. He embarks upon a new quest, this time a more deeply interpersonal one as he blazes a trail down what's left of Severus Snape's memory lane. Is he truly ready for his parents', or more accurately, Severus Snape's history?
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II
A New Quest
GRIMMAULD Place was dead quiet when Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the large drawing room. The late afternoon sun was filtering through the shuttered windows and Harry could see dust motes floating like dainty, dreamy snowflakes in and out of the rays of light.
“Kreacher?” he asked aloud, but not too loudly for the silence was grating on him like a foreboding shadow (that and he still had not yet removed the portrait of Sirius’ mother). Looking around his inherited home, he realized he hadn’t been here in days (or maybe weeks?), usually spending what free time he did have these days with Ginny (when she also had time away from practices and games) at The Burrow, which was always bustling with warmth, action and good food, unlike here.
Suddenly there was a little pop! and his wizened house-elf stood hunched before him. He was wrinklier, looking more like a pile of old than ever, his garb was his usual tattered and dirtied potato-sack-loin-cloth getup but with the addition of Regulus Black’s locket hanging from his neck, swinging softly like a pendulum from the house-elf’s recent Apparition.
“Master has returned,” the stooped and gnarled creature before him said, giving him a wily look.
“Yes, but unfortunately only for a short while again. I’ll be needing provisions for a week - I’m going away...on...business...a business holiday. Can you manage that? Please?” Harry waited for Kreacher to take action. When the house elf continued to stare at him, unmoving, Harry began to feel both a wee bit agitated and anxious. “Kreacher, did you hear me?”
“Kreacher does not agree with Master’s request,” the elf croaked out while nodding his head.
“What? Why?”
Kreacher grinned. “Kreacher thinks it better to pack two weeks of provisions - Master asked Kreacher a week and a half ago to prepare his things to be gone one week but Master was gone for longer and Kreacher wondered how Master was eating. Kreacher doesn’t like being lied to. Kreacher will pack things for two weeks plus some extra, just in case.” And with that, the house elf Disapparated and Harry could hear commotion in the kitchen.
“Well,” said Harry, “alright then.” Then he himself Disapparated to his own room. Once there, a cozy, solitary little room, he went straight for his sock drawer in the ornately carved ancient rosewood dresser, complete with the Black family crest.
It wasn’t as if he was particularly fond of the crest itself or anything but more of the combined craftsmanship and functionality of the thing itself - it was a beautiful piece of art that just happened to function as a magical dresser.
So knowing, somehow, that he needed the vial of Snape’s memories before he even set foot in Spinner’s End, Harry automatically reached for the back of the sock drawer, which had opened at the mere thought of opening it. He grasped those ugly, coarse, grey socks (given him by Aunt Petunia for Christmas all those years ago) and pulled them out, unwrapping them gingerly over the still open drawer. The little cork-stoppered vial fell into his open palm and it sent shivers up and down his spine. It was cold, like it had been kept over ice and it felt immensely heavy. Really, Harry himself felt immensely heavy. Yet, at the same time, Harry felt exhilarated.
He thought that he was through with adventuring after defeating Voldemort, which had been quite a relief to him then. But as time wore on, Harry began to miss those dangerous escapades. He had tried to quell that wanderlust by immersing himself as an Auror in the shenanigans of the Ministry, but that, though, just seemed to consume his time more than anything and Harry had distinctly noticed himself becoming more and more reclusive and withdrawn as his need for adventuring wasn’t satisfied. It was beginning to wear on his relationships, especially with Ginny.
Actually, now that he thought about it, staring at that chilly vial of swirling pearlessence, Harry realized that all his unrest really began while lobbying for Severus Snape’s portrait to be hung in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. He recalled thinking then, I vehemently defend this man above all outward reason and yet, in my very bones, I still hate him.
Harry had said as much to Ron and Hermione today (but it felt like days ago) and while admitting it openly (finally) did lighten the load a bit, it was still no less true, especially now.
Harry continued to stare at the vial resting in his palm.
He could pay a visit to dear old Hogwarts and demand an explanation from Snape’s portrait - he had succeeded in having the portrait hung there - but he had never spoken to it and rather wanted to keep it that way.
Besides, a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time said somewhere inside himself, besides, you wouldn’t want to cut corners in a quest.
I do know a thing or two about quests, Harry thought with a little smile.
Suddenly his exhilaration mounted and took off. His hand closed around the vial. Deja vu-like memories of catching Snitches flashed in his mind and suddenly Harry felt a blissful sense of purpose, of direction; the dawning of a new quest. And he thought, This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Kreacher appeared with a pop that startled Harry out of his reverie. He quickly pocketed the vial, storing it with the other quest items - Snape’s letter and the envelope with the key to the last house on Spinner’s End.
“Kreacher has finished packing Master’s food,” the old house elf croaked out, levitating a large satchel down to the ground.
“Thanks, Kreacher.” Harry thought his own voice sounded rather frog-like; it certainly was very dry.
Kreacher wobbled forward a few paces to the middle of the room and clapped his gnarly hands above his head. Everywhere in the room that Harry stored his articles of clothing opened up and out flew all of Harry’s wearables - he couldn’t say there was much (the rest were probably at the Burrow in Ginny’s room) but Harry honestly didn’t think he’d be gone an entire week; quest it was, but how long could viewing some leftover memories really take?
“Kreacher, don’t worry about the amount of clothes - that will do, really. Thank you.” Harry found an old school satchel under the bed and shoved all his clothes into it.
Kreacher just stood there, looking rather miffed with his skinny arms akimbo.
Ready (and rather antsy) to leave, Harry was about to dismiss Kreacher when Harry caught sight of Regulus Black’s locket around Kreacher’s neck. An inspiration seized him suddenly.
“Kreacher, did Master Regulus know a fellow Slytherin and half-blood by the name of Severus Snape?”
“Oh, Kreacher knew Mister Severus, yes - a right snake was he. Mistress could never make up her delicate mind about that particular snake, oh no.” Kreacher took a seat on the floor. Harry joined him.
“Snape was sometimes here when Grimmauld Place was so graciously allowed use by the Order, but did he ever come here before then, like when he and Master Regulus were at Hogwarts, perhaps? I know this is kind of difficult territory for you to talk about, but can you try to remember?” Harry asked. Part of him felt that this was a waste of time and he just needed to be going on to Spinner’s End, but he truly, in his heart, felt that Kreacher had something of significance to say on this matter.
Kreacher nodded his head. “Sure, sure - Mister Severus came ‘round for a few holidays while Master was at school. It tormented Sirius, the nasty curr, so much that Mistress let the dirty half-blood stay in her beloved home. He stayed in this room, actually, while he visited - it was the closest guest room to Master Regulus’ room. When he did stay here during the days of the Order, which was quite infrequently, he used this room, same as he did when he was younger.”
“This same room?” Harry asked, incredulous, wary. Kreacher nodded. Harry looked around his chosen bedroom with a kind of newfound interest. He had been drawn to this particular room for some reason but he certainly would not have chosen it purely out of an unconscious connection to Snape...wouldn’t he? Gross. Harry had to cut his musings short as his house elf began speaking again.
“Kreacher was a better spy than Mister Severus - Kreacher would often spy on him - of course Kreacher would, Mister Severus was a half-blood in Mistresses’ home - Kreacher came to know much about the venomous snake.” There was a mischievous grin on Kreacher’s wrinkly face that was mildly unsettling to Harry, but also quite intriguing.
Harry ventured forth with another question. “What did Kreacher find out about Snape?”
Kreacher’s grin became rather nasty and insidious and Harry felt his stomach drop in anticipation.
“Nasty, nasty man. Mister Severus the snake was very active at night. Always sneaking or slithering around the grounds with one of those nasty Muggle smoke sticks they put in their mouths, he was. Many nasty habits, and they all came out at night. He’d hide his personal material under the bed - there’s a loose floorboard under there. Kreacher found all sorts of pictures and letters and other trinkets that were intimately special to Mister Severus.”
Harry jumped up and moved next to his bed. He lifted the bed skirt and peered beneath it. “Are those things Snape left still here?”
Kreacher stood up as well. “No,” he said. Harry sighed, crestfallen. This was a waste of time. But then Kreacher said, “Kreacher has those things elsewhere.”
“Really?” Harry jumped up for the second time. “Kreacher, can you bring those things to me? Anything and everything that he left?”
The ancient creature nodded his head, Disapparated, and in no more than thirty seconds’ time, Apparated back into the bedroom, a small paper sack in his hands.
“Mister Severus was always looking for these things, especially in the days of the Order. Tore the place apart like a wild dog, looking for these. Couldn’t even prove Kreacher had them. But anyone not a pureblood had to give something to the Black residence if they were to stay in the Noble House of Black. Since Mister Severus is dead, Kreacher has no use for these anymore.” The elf handed the small bag to Harry.
Harry decided not to comment on nor chastise the elf for stealing trinkets - it was the creature’s habit (but he had also relinquished the cherished objects). And what was more important was that Harry had some more clues to add to his current stash in his jacket pocket. With trembling hands, Harry opened the paper parcel and removed the small stack of parchment and photos. He could still feel a small weight in the bag but decided that he would investigate whatever was left in there after looking through the photos and letters. Harry set the bag on his lap for safekeeping and turned over the first thing on top of the stack in his hands.
Harry’s heart gave an electrifying jolt.
He was staring at a Muggle photograph of his mother, who could not have been older than thirteen. She was smiling from laughter, her freckled nose wrinkled in endearing mirth, wind stirring her fiery red hair - even though the photograph did not move, there was an overwhelming sense of movement and life captured. It was a beautiful photograph. He didn’t want to stop looking at it.
Eventually he did and set it down on the floor next to his leg. Harry turned his attention to the stack in his hands again. There was scrawled, in girlish, bubbly writing, “Best Friends Forever.” It had to be his mother’s handwriting. Harry turned it over.
It was another Muggle photograph, this one showing both his mother and Severus Snape. They were very young, probably about ten or just nearing eleven. His mother was beaming brightly with her little red head leaning towards Snape, whom she had her arms around. Snape’s head was bowed, his oil-black hair throwing half of his face into shadow, but he had a genuine-looking little half smile on his lips and one arm slung over Lily (the other one was shoved in the pocket of his large, heavy coat).
While the first photograph had filled him with a kind of sorrowful joy, this second one filled Harry with a very strange, twisting-of-the-gut feeling. In this photograph, Harry could tell that the two children deeply cared for one another and were virtually inseparable (he had a similar Wizard photograph of himself, Ron, and Hermione). Yet the two children in this photo were as different as night and day. How did Snape and his mother become friends, and such close friends? Harry had wondered that since he had seen the memories right after Snape’s death. He set the photo on the floor with the other one and turned over the next thing on the stack.
It was a folded bit of parchment, addressed to “Sev”, clearly a letter.
For some reason, Harry got this sick feeling in his stomach holding this letter. He could feel there was something folded between the sheaves of parchment; another photograph, perhaps.
“That’s one the filthy half-blood only took out at night,” sneered Kreacher in his bullfrog voice, seeming to sense Harry’s hesitation.
That made Harry not want to open the letter even more. Yet he did. The folded parchment came apart slowly, in patches, as if something sticky had been spilled on the inside. His insides squirmed even more. He finally opened the letter to its whole and indeed there was a picture inside.
He didn’t look at this one for very long - it was his about-fourteen-year-old mother in a very modern-looking two-piece swimsuit. He caught snippets of the letter - too bad you didn’t come to the sea with me like I asked you too, I’ve included a photo of my new swimsuit; I think it’s rather mature - so Petunia hates it! - that just jostled his sick feeling uncomfortably so he didn’t even read it all the way through.
Utterly disgusted beyond any tangible reason, Harry quickly folded the photo back within the letter, stacked the remaining things in his hands on top of the photographs on the floor and shoved them into his pocket with the other things from Snape.
Who’s supposed to be dead, not sending people on wild goose chases.
Perhaps he should ignore this altogether.
What did he need to see any more of Snape’s life and memories for?
Hadn’t he seen and done enough?
“No - this is only another part.”
“What is, Master?”
Apparently Harry had said that aloud. He found himself unable to hold back his thoughts. “I’ve been dallying around the bloody Ministry, ignoring my loved ones, walling myself off even from myself all because I haven’t had a direction since the War, which messed me up enough as it was! And Snape - of all people! - has the...the audacity to send me down his messed-up memory lane probably knowing full well that I’m just dying to have another crazy adventure...
“You know what? Fine! I’ll go to Snape’s stupid house! I’ve nothing better to do anyway.”
Red-faced, Harry stood up. He gathered his things - the sack of food and his satchel of meager clothes - and faced his house elf.
The creature was grinning.
“What’s so funny?” blurted Harry.
“Good luck at the Prince’s abode, Master,” Kreacher said.
That sent chills down Harry’s spine, for sure. Not wanting to know how his house elf knew Snape was related to the Princes, he spun around and stormed out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door whereupon he Apparated right out of the front walkway and on to Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.
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