Close To Truth

The next few days passed in a blur for Harry. So much was happening in the Wizarding World it was all the D.A. could do to keep track.

Diagon Alley had reopened, and although the wizards and witches who shopped there were constantly on edge and conducted their business quickly, it seemed to Harry as if the shops had never been more full. Fred had given permission for Lee, Sally-Ann and Susan to reopen Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, and in no time some of the other D.A. members were drafted into helping when products began flying off the shelves. Fred and George’s Shield Hats, already a popular item, had sold out the first day they’d reopened. Harry had a few D.A. members who were particularly good at Shield Charms make more in the evenings (Fred gratefully paid them for it), and each time they sold every single one the following day.

There were numerous reports of Death Eater attacks and Dementor sightings, but none were anywhere near Diagon Alley. Harry heard from Minerva that a dozen Dementors has approached the grounds at Hogwarts, but she and Mad-Eye Moody had driven them away with Patronuses, killing several in the process. Harry was impressed that Moody and Minerva had such apparently strong Patroni. When teaching Harry how to make one, Lupin had suggested that even a strong Patronus was usually only capable of repelling dementors, not killing them.

George didn’t recover quite as fast as Fred from the hex they’d been hit with; Fred told the Healers that George had gotten in front of him and taken most of the hex full-on. Luna was visiting him every day, and didn’t seem disturbed when George, still a bit delirious, mistook her for the Fat Lady and said he’d forgotten the password. The Healers insisted that George was recovering well, and that his delusions were to be expected; Lee seemed to think it was quite funny, and commented that George had been delusional as long as Lee had known him.

Fred was released from St. Mungo’s a few days later. Angelina helped him to the House of Black and led him straight to Hermione and Ron’s room, where they’d been meeting with Harry and Ginny. Fred then proceeded to tell them what he’d seen and heard Scrimgeour doing while Fred had been laid up St. Mungo’s.

“He’s pulling a Fudge is what he’s doing,” Fred had said to Harry. “About you, I mean; he’s decided that you’re just bad news and you’re trying to undermine him. But he’s being smarter about it than Fudge was, and he’s going after people who’re associated with you.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed furiously. “What did he do?”

“Well, last night he tried to order the Medi-Witch to let him force-feed me and George Veritaserum,” Fred told them grimly. “Lucky for me the Medi-Witch wouldn’t have any of it; you should’ve seen her, she looked like Hagrid’s little sister. Scrimgeour left when she threatened to throw him out and report his behavior to the Daily Prophet.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think he’s going to stop there. You better see if Tonks can get a look from inside the Ministry, because Dad might be next.”

Harry had immediately contacted Tonks, who’d then gone to the Ministry on a pretense to see if she could confirm what they feared. It didn’t take her long to find out they were right—Scrimgeour had apparently attempted to dismiss Mr. Weasley. It hadn’t worked, fortunately. Mr. Weasley had gone to the Wizengamot and they agreed with him that the dismissal had been unfounded, and unanimously overturned it. So Scrimgeour had gone after another, more vulnerable target: Percy, who’d defended Ron to the Aurors against Scrimgeour after Ron had beaten Scrimgeour senseless. Scrimgeour couldn’t legitimately fire Percy either, so he demoted him all the way back to his first post, in the Department for International Magical Cooperation.

Much to everyone’s shock, Percy hadn’t protested his demotion. He’d quietly packed up his office and headed back to the tiny cubicle he’d first sat at, all without a word. Harry wondered if Percy was trying, in his own backward way, to admit that he’d been in the wrong standing against his family.

“Part of all this is because Scrimgeour is scared,” Hermione said knowingly to Harry as they, Ginny and Ron sat in the conference room five days after the attack at the MacMillan mansion. “The Ministry keeps losing ground against the Death Eaters, and Scrimgeour doesn’t know how to beat them. He’s decided to blame everything on you, as Fudge did with Dumbledore. But Scrimgeour’s too smart to make the same mistakes as Fudge, so he’s coming after you sideways by attacking the people you care for.”

“But is there anything we can really do about it?” Ginny asked as Harry nodded. “Scrimgeour could still arrest Harry on a fake charge; we could get it overturned, but if he sent Harry to Azkaban in the meantime…”

Harry shuddered. From the descriptions of Azkaban he’d heard from Hagrid and Sirius, it sounded horrible, even without the Dementors. Plus, there were a lot of prisoners in Azkaban who’d love the chance to get their hands on Harry Potter. “Maybe we could distract him somehow,” Harry suggested. “Get him thinking about something else so he doesn’t have time to harass me. But I’m not sure how…”

“He should be focusing on fighting Voldemort,” Ginny said darkly. “Why is it that they keep appointing Ministers who can’t get their priorities straight? If Fudge had just—”

“Distract him?” Ron said abruptly. “Hey, I know how to do that!”

“Oh?” Harry said, trying not to look skeptical. “How’s that?”

“Scrimgeour’s really nervous about his public image, right?” Ron said. “He knows what happened to Fudge and doesn’t want to lose his job the same way. So how about we get Rita Skeeter to write a bunch of articles on how bad a job he’s doing?”

A grin slowly crept onto Harry’s face as he considered what the results of those articles would be. Ginny’s expression was almost identical, and even Hermione looked quite satisfied with the idea. “That’s brilliant, Ron,” Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “I’ll send an owl to Rita right away. I bet she’ll love the chance to really drag someone like Scrimgeour through the mud.”

“Be sure to tell Rita to be as blunt and unforgiving as possible,” Hermione suggested. “This isn’t the time for subtle undermining like the Prophet did to you all Fifth year – we want charges and accusations against Scrimgeour that are borderline slanderous.”

Harry nodded, quite happy with the idea. “Harry, you said there was something specific you wanted to talk about?” Ginny prompted.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, getting up and walking over to their magically sealed chest. He opened it, pulled out a box and placed it on the table. “Remember this?” he asked.

The box was a smaller version of the chest it had been in, roughly a foot across. Hermione had found it upon searching the chest the first time, and they’d been unable to open it no matter what they tried. Eventually it had been placed back in the chest and subsequently forgotten. “I think we need to try harder to get this open,” Harry said.

“Hermione, where exactly in the chest did you find this?” Ginny asked, studying the box.

“It was in the compartment with general information about Voldemort and Horcruxes,” Hermione answered. “There really wasn’t anything to indicate what might be inside it—the other information in that compartment wasn’t in any particular order, and this was at the very bottom.”

They all tried a few more ideas to open the chest, but just as before it wouldn’t budge. “Okay,” Harry said finally, clearly frustrated, “we’ll just keep trying. I have a hunch there’s something really important inside. I’m going to leave it here on the table, and any time you have a new idea for opening it, give it a try.”

The others agreed, and Harry closed the larger chest and resealed it. “I guess that’s it for now,” he said, heading for the door.

“Harry, is there anything you have to do right this moment?” Hermione asked. Harry shook his head. “Well then, wouldn’t this be a good time for us to watch the memories that Peter Pettigrew gave you?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. He’d been deliberately trying to avoid bringing up the memories; he didn’t want to watch them. Part of him desperately wanted to cling to his hatred of the man who’d betrayed his parents, who’d taken his blood to resurrect Voldemort. The memories represented the end of that hatred, and he hadn’t wanted to face them. “Er…I really should send that owl to Rita…”

“C’mon, Harry, we’re all together now,” Ron said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Harry glanced over at Ginny; she was watching him carefully, apparently the only one who’d noticed he was struggling with himself. He hesitated a bit longer before letting go of the doorknob. “All right,” he said.

Ginny retrieved the two crystal vases they’d stored the memories in while Harry brought out the basin he’d turned into a makeshift Pensieve. Ginny took the one she’d labeled ‘War’ and poured the silvery memory into the Pensieve.

After a moment in which no one moved, Hermione said a bit impatiently “Well I’ll do it then, shall I?” Not waiting for an answer, she placed the tip of her wand in the Pensieve and said “Memorius Displicare.”

The silver mist boiled up and began to take form, but before everything had become clear they heard what sounded like a far-off conversation. “Can you make that out?” Ron whispered, but Hermione waved him into silence as the image solidified. They saw a cramped, narrow staircase, barely illuminated by a single candle at the head of the stairs. At the bottom, Pettigrew stood with his ear pressed to a door, listening to the murmur of voices that to Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were still indecipherable. Before they had the chance to try and look around the door swung open abruptly; Pettigrew stood frozen as Snape’s voice murmured lazily “As you have clearly realized, Wormtail, we have guests.”

Peter stepped out into the room; the four of them peeked out, and were shocked to see Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, both dressed in hooded robes, standing with Snape. Harry felt a wave of nausea, remembering that Bellatrix was no longer alive… or even intact. “Narcissa!” Peter said, simpering, “and Bellatrix! How charming—”

“Wormtail will get us drinks, if you like,” Snape said. “And then he will return to his bedroom.”

They watched Snape bully Pettigrew a bit more, and followed Pettigrew as he went into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine for the others. Then he ran back into the stairwell, shutting the door behind him. But rather than retreating up the stairs, Pettigrew pressed his ear to the door again, listening.

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all leaned in close, trying to make out what the three on the other side of the door were saying. Pettigrew could apparently hear them, but he may have had better hearing due to spending eleven years as a rat. They strained their ears, trying to pick out the words…

BANG! All four of them jumped, but not half as much as Pettigrew, who squealed in fear and scampered up the stairs; clearly one of the others—probably Snape—hadn’t wanted to be overheard. Pettigrew halted at the top of the stairs, rubbing his ears and muttering to himself.

“Harry!” Hermione hissed. “Harry, freeze the memory!”

Harry started and quickly drew his wand. Just as Wormtail was scowling down the stairs, Harry said “Memorius Freosan!”

Ron looked startled when the memory halted; “I didn’t know you could do that,” he said, peering at Pettigrew’s frozen expression.

“It’s not hard, but I’ve never bothered before,” Harry told him. “But Hermione, you were right to remind me. I think I see why Worm- why Pettigrew chose this memory. Something big is going to happen here—or already did, I guess.” He peered at the image. “That’s the same house we saw in the first memory Snape gave us about Pettigrew. When do you think this happened?”

“Let’s talk about that before we unfreeze the memory,” Hermione suggested. “There’s so much information already!”

“Like what?” Ron asked.

“Well,” Hermione said, “Snape said ‘We have guests.’ That means he and Pettigrew were living there. It’s definitely not Hogwarts, and it couldn’t be a place Pettigrew owned since he was a fugitive, so I’d say it’s probably where Snape lives during summer holidays. And Bellatrix isn’t in Azkaban, so it must be last summer, a year ago.”

“I think that was backed up when Snape said ‘I was under the impression that the Dark Lord placed you here to assist me’,” Ginny added, and the others nodded. “Also, Snape ordered Pettigrew to get Snape, Narcissa and Bellatrix drinks, but none for himself—in fact he ordered Pettigrew to go back upstairs, and then probably scared him away again with that noise. So Snape, Bellatrix and Narcissa are about to have a conversation they don’t want anyone overhearing.”

“Not even Voldemort,” Harry said. “Pettigrew was placed there by Voldemort, and the other three intentionally excluded him…I think whatever they’re about to say, they want to keep between themselves.” He frowned in frustration at Pettigrew. “But if we can’t hear anything, what good does it do us?”

“Something else must be about to happen,” Ron decided, studying the image. “Maybe Pettigrew can hear them all the way from upstairs because of his Animagus form? Rats have great hearing…”

“Maybe Pettigrew thought that since he could hear them, we would be able to as well,” Hermione offered. “Although really, they can’t have said anything too critical yet. But if Pettigrew has already run away, how are we supposed to hear more?”

“We’ll just have to go on,” Harry said. “Maybe Pettigrew has another place to listen from or something.” The others agreed, so Harry unfroze the memory.

Pettigrew stood muttering for a few seconds longer, and then walked off quickly down the hall. Right when he got to the end of the hall the perspective began shifting all at once; “What’s going on?” Hermione exclaimed. “Is the memory…defective?”

“No,” Ron gasped. “He’s turning into a rat!”

Ron was right; within seconds they were seeing everything from a few inches off the floor, and Pettigrew was a rat. Moving more decisively than a normal rat, Pettigrew scurried to a hole in the wall no larger than an apple, and squeezed his way through it.

It was incredibly disorienting seeing the world from a rat’s perspective; Pettigrew climbed his way through the walls, peeking out of holes every so often to make sure he was headed the right way. The cramped surroundings and sharp movements made everyone watching turn their eyes away at least once until their head stopped spinning.

In no more than thirty seconds Pettigrew emerged from the wall through a cracked vent beneath an armoire. The murmur of voices grew in volume until he poked his nose out, and they could hear everything that Snape, Bellatrix and Narcissa said.

“…when the Dark Lord was reborn?” Bellatrix spat at Snape. “Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord?” she continued, confirming their guess about the approximate date of the memory. “And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?”

Harry’s fists clenched on the edge of the table. He was burning to know the answers to that last question as well. Snape had spent six years making his life hell, but why, if he’d been serving Voldemort, didn’t he simply eliminate Harry during fifth or sixth year? He was certainly powerful enough to have done so, and clever enough to have made it seem like an accident, or that blame was due elsewhere.

Snape smiled smugly and began to answer Bellatrix; she’d apparently demanded several more answers before Pettigrew had arrived, which Snape gave cannily and systematically. Harry watched Bellatrix grow more doubtful in her indignation with each of Snape’s calm responses. He listened carefully to each answer and realized something that Bellatrix apparently didn’t—that Snape’s answers were crafted things, as though he’d written them out and memorized them beforehand. Snape was a good enough actor that in the heat of the moment Bellatrix didn’t notice, but Harry certainly did; the answers were too perfect, and countered Bellatrix’s accusations too completely. What does that mean, though? Harry pondered as Snape told Bellatrix the tale of the Philosopher’s Stone from his perspective. Is he lying to protect himself, or his knowledge of the Order? Or is it some scheme of Voldemort’s to dupe Bellatrix?

“The Dark Lord’s initial displeasure at my lateness vanished entirely, I assure you, when I explained that I remained faithful, although Dumbledore thought I was his man,” Snape said, and the phrase Dumbledore’s man jump-started Harry’s memory. “Yes, the Dark Lord thought that I had left him forever, but he was wrong.” Harry recognized the second phrase as well, from Voldemort’s speech to his Death Eaters after his resurrection: One of you has left me forever.

Bellatrix grew defensive under Snape’s carefully constructed responses that made him out to be far more useful to Voldemort than her. She grew especially fierce when he chastised her for failing to acquire the prophecy when all they faced were “six teenagers.”

“They were joined, as you very well know, by half the Order before long,” Bellatrix snarled; Harry thought she was exaggerating a bit, and was impressed against his will at how Snape has turned the argument around on her. “And, while we are on the subject of the Order, you still claim you cannot reveal the whereabouts of their headquarters, don’t you?”

Harry didn’t listen closely to Snape’s blasé response, knowing what it would be. He did however, mouth a fervent Thank you! that they’d managed to recast the Fidelius Charm the moment they’d re-occupied the House of Black; the second Dumbledore had died, the previous Charm on the house had vanished, making it completely vulnerable.

Harry’s face darkened and he ground his teeth when Snape toasted Bellatrix for finishing off Sirius; without taking her eyes from the memory, Ginny reached over, took Harry’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You are avoiding my last question, Snape,” Bellatrix snapped. “Harry Potter. You could have killed him at any point in the past five years. You have not done it. Why?”

“Yeah,” Harry growled, unable to stop himself. “You sure as hell didn’t hesitate to kill Dumbledore the second you could!”

“Harry, shh!” Hermione hissed, and Harry settled back down.

“Have you not understood me?” Snape asked rhetorically, his tone making it clear he felt he was suffering a fool. “It was only Dumbledore’s protection that was keeping me out of Azkaban! Do you disagree that murdering his favorite student might have turned him against me?” Harry snorted at the sarcastic barb.

“But there was more to it than that. I should remind you that when Potter first arrived at Hogwarts there were still many stories circulating about him, rumors that he himself was a great Dark wizard—” This time Ginny snorted—“which was how he had survived the Dark Lord’s attack. Indeed, many of the Dark Lord’s old followers thought Potter might be a standard around which we could all rally once more.”

They all thought I would be the next Voldemort? Harry thought incredulously as Snape went on. That’s just stupid! Just because I grew up with Muggles I hated, and beat Voldemort when I was one… He stopped that train of thought before it went too far.

“And through all this we are supposed to believe that Dumbledore has never suspected you?” Bellatrix demanded. “He has no idea of your true allegiance, he trusts you implicitly still?” Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all perked their ears up at that—they’d been wondering for years why Dumbledore really trusted Snape.

“I have played my part well,” Snape replied. “And you overlook Dumbledore’s greatest weakness: He has to believe the best of people.”

Harry slumped as Snape told Bellatrix that Dumbledore had grown old and weak, and was newly injured (by his attempt to destroy the ring Horcrux). Dumbledore was just naïve, he thought dejectedly. There wasn’t any more to it; he thought the best of people, and it ended up killing him.

Bellatrix had finally fallen silent, so Snape turned his attention to Narcissa, who’d been seated silently on the couch the entire time. “Now… you came to ask me for help, Narcissa?”

Harry was a bit surprised to see open emotion from Narcissa when she mentioned Lucius was in Azkaban. But the thought was driven away when she said “The Dark Lord has forbidden me to speak of it. He wishes none to know of the plan.” Plan? Harry thought, his heartbeat accelerating. What plan?

There was more blatant posturing from Bellatrix, countered by more subtle posturing from Snape. “It so happens I know of the plan,” he said. “I am one of the few the Dark Lord has told.”

“But what is it?” Harry hissed, and Hermione smacked his arm and muttered “Shh!” again.

“But what help do you require, Narcissa?” Snape asked in a surprisingly soft voice. “If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all.”

“Severus,” Narcissa whispered, beginning to cry again. “My son…my only son…”

Draco, Harry realized, and Bellatrix confirmed it. They’re talking about Draco’s orders to kill Dumbledore!

“Why, Severus?” Narcissa asked. “Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius’ mistake, I know it!”

Vengeance? Harry thought curiously while Narcissa pleaded with Snape to help her. Does she mean—revenge?

“I cannot pretend the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius,” Snape told her. “Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain.” That’s right, Harry thought triumphantly. He was stopped by six teenagers.

“Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge!” Narcissa choked out. “He does not want him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!”

Snape only confirmed Narcissa’s fear, causing Narcissa to collapse to the floor, sobbing. Bellatrix didn’t help by insisting that Narcissa should be proud. Is that true? Harry wondered. Was Draco supposed to be a sacrifice to atone for Lucius’ mistake? And if so…why in Merlin’s name would he go along with it?

Snape proffered Narcissa a glass of wine to calm her, and she managed to take a shaky sip. “It might be possible…for me to help Draco,” Snape said hesitantly.

Harry’s eyes widened just as Narcissa’s and Bellatrix’s did. Is this it? Harry thought amazedly. Are we about to see—?

“Severus, will you swear it?” Narcissa asked fiercely. “Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?”

Ron inhaled a sharp breath, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Harry didn’t blame him. Snape was silent and unreadable as Bellatrix began dismissing him, saying he was just “slithering out of action” and would never make such a commitment…

“Certainly, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow,” Snape said quietly. “Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder.”

The four friends watched in shock while Snape and Narcissa arranged themselves, right hands clasped, and Bellatrix, looking utterly gobsmacked, touched the tip of her wand to their linked hands. He’s not going to do it, not really, Harry told himself. He’ll find some Slytherin way out of it.

“Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes?” Narcissa asked solemnly.

“I will,” Snape answered, and a thin flame erupted from Bellatrix’s wand and encircled their hands. Well okay, but that’s pretty vague, Harry thought. He didn’t say he’d help, just ‘watch over’…

“And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?”

“I will.”

Um. That’s a bit less vague—

“And should it prove necessary…if it seems like Draco will fail…will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?”

Everyone held their breath; there was no room to maneuver within that promise. Snape couldn’t possibly—

“I will,” said Snape.

Harry just stared unblinking as the fiery cords bound Snape’s hand to Narcissa’s; the fire seemed to sink into their skin, until it disappeared.

Bellatrix stepped back, removing her wand from the clasped hands. Her foot came down right in front of Pettigrew, who was startled and scampered into the vent and back into the walls. Apparently deciding he’d risked enough, Pettigrew headed back through the walls towards the upstairs corridor.

Hermione extended her wand, which shook a bit, and muttered “Memorius Stuppare.” The memory dissolved back into the Pensieve, leaving the four friends staring across the table at each other, unsure what to say.

“Er,” Harry said finally, “do you know if that’s what an Unbreakable Vow really looks like…?”

“It is,” Ron said. “When Fred and George almost did it to me when I was five, they got as far as the first promise, so I had one of those fiery ropes around my hand when Dad caught us. It looked just like that.”

“It followed the exact pattern I’d read about,” Hermione added. “Three questions, each one has to be answered with a yes. Then the bonds sink into the hands, magically embedding the Vow into the two participant’s lives. Once it reaches that point, they have to follow through—”

“Or die,” Harry finished. “Hermione, do you remember what Hagrid told us last year, right after Ron had been poisoned? He said that he’d overheard Snape and Dumbledore arguing. They were arguing about the Unbreakable Vow, it had to be; Snape told Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was telling him he had to go on with it.”

“But why would Snape tell Dumbledore about that?” Ron asked.

“Maybe he thought Dumbledore could break the Vow,” Ginny suggested. “Maybe he only made it because he thought Dumbledore could break it, and he was upset when Dumbledore couldn’t.”

“But that makes no sense,” Hermione protested. “Snape’s clever enough to know that an Unbreakable Vow would live up to its name; Dumbledore was powerful, but he couldn’t do everything.” She frowned in thought. “Hagrid said he heard Snape say he ‘didn’t want to do it any more’. What could he have meant by that?”

“Maybe he still meant the Unbreakable Vow,” Harry said. “He didn’t want to be forced to protect Draco. I saw him talking with Draco the night of Slughorn’s Christmas party; they were furious with each other. Snape mentioned the Unbreakable Vow then, too. Maybe Snape was just angry at being forced to play nursemaid to Draco.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. Snape was under an Unbreakable Vow when he showed up on the tower the night—that night. He’d vowed to kill Dumbledore if Draco couldn’t. He had to kill Dumbledore, or die himself.”

They all pondered that for a while. “Okay, but so what?” Ron said. “Snape was working for Voldemort…he would’ve wanted to kill Dumbledore anyway, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “The best thing for Snape to do, from Voldemort’s point of view, would be to maintain his cover and keep on as a spy—we just saw Snape say as much to Bellatrix Lestrange. There were other Death Eaters there that could have killed Dumbledore if Snape hadn’t arrived, and Snape’s cover would have been intact. He was forced to do it. I think he wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“Well okay, that makes sense…but again, so what?” Ron demanded. “Snape wouldn’t have saved Dumbledore either, even if he’d had the chance! Just because he was forced to do it instead of doing it by choice doesn’t make him really a good guy!”

“No, it doesn’t, Ron,” Harry agreed. “But that night…Snape seemed really angry and disgusted, just before he did it. I thought at first it was just that he was disgusted at Draco for not killing Dumbledore himself. But Dumbledore was the one person I ever saw Snape actually show real respect to. Maybe there was more to it.”

Ron gaped at Harry. “You’re defending that greasy git?”

“No!” Harry protested fiercely. “I just think that there’s something more we’re missing! Maybe Snape was angry for being forced into it. Or maybe he was just angry at being forced into anything against his will. Or maybe he was angry at himself for doing the Vow in the first place. Whatever it was, it just doesn’t seem as simple as we thought anymore.”

“There’s something else too, Harry,” Ginny said. “This is the best proof yet that Draco was really forced to try and kill Dumbledore. We’d suspected, but we just heard verification from Narcissa Malfoy’s own lips. This memory, along with what Draco said that night and what you learned from Moaning Myrtle, pretty solidly confirms that Draco was only going after Dumbledore because Voldemort was forcing him to as punishment for Lucius Malfoy’s failure to retrieve the prophecy. Draco knew that Voldemort would kill him and probably his family if he failed. I’m sure he did it partly to get revenge on you, too, but he never would have if not for the threat looming over him and his parents.”

Harry nodded. “I noticed that too. Draco’s a nasty, spiteful prat, but he’s not a killer— kind of like Pansy. I think once he saw for real what following Voldemort meant he wanted to back out, but didn’t because he had to protect his parents. Narcissa’s probably still being held over his head.”

“Pansy was right about Draco,” Hermione said. “She’s given up everything to help him. Harry, we have to do something for him!”

“We can’t do anything, not now,” Harry reminded her again. “We don’t even know where Draco is! And we can’t very well kidnap Narcissa and hold her captive—even if we did it to protect her, Draco would be in even greater danger. We’re just going to have to keep our ears open for any hint of Draco’s whereabouts and maybe we’ll get lucky.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “There’s something else I noticed, and I don’t know if it’s important, but…when Snape said that he’d been faithful to Voldemort the whole time, he added ‘although Dumbledore thought I was his man’. It sounds an awful lot like ‘Dumbledore’s man’, which is what Scrimgeour keeps calling me.”

“We heard that somewhere else, too, Harry,” Ginny said. “In the first of Snape’s memories about Pettigrew. Voldemort said that you would never join him because you’re ‘too much Dumbledore’s man’.”

Harry stared at her. “Bloody hell, you’re right,” he said. “I forgot.”

“Of course, you always have been very much on Dumbledore’s side, Harry, and followed his path,” Hermione pointed out. “It could simply be a coincidence, and that really is a good phrase to describe it.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry said. “But now Voldemort, Snape and Scrimgeour have all said it. Let’s just keep out ears open, okay? In came someone else says it; a few more times and it might not be coincidence.” The others nodded their agreement. “Did anyone see anything else important in the memory?”

“I dunno how important it was, but…I was kind of surprised to see Narcissa Malfoy so worried about Draco,” Ron said. “I always thought she had her emotions magically removed.”

“Yes, that was rather surprising,” Hermione agreed emphatically. “She seemed more upset about Draco than about her own husband being locked away in Azkaban. It might be important if we end up in a position to bargain for the Malfoys’ safety. Draco won’t be satisfied if Narcissa is in danger, and vice versa.”

“There’s something else,” Ginny said, staring blankly at the box on the table. “Snape told Bellatrix that Voldemort had asked all of her suspicious questions, and had been satisfied with the answers. But how would that be possible, if Snape was really working for Dumbledore? Voldemort’s a great Legilimens, he would definitely have noticed that sort of thought, and I doubt that Snape was a good enough Occlumens to keep him out.”

No one had an answer to Ginny’s puzzle; it certainly seemed like no one could serve Voldemort and harbor traitorous thoughts. “I don’t know,” Harry muttered finally. “He probably was all the way bad. Not that I care about sodding Snape, but I just…I’d just like to think that Dumbledore knew something we didn’t—that he wasn’t so blindly trusting. Otherwise, it makes me frightened to trust anyone he did.”

“Trusting anyone is frightening, Harry,” Ginny said softly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He smiled a bit weakly. “At least I know there’re a few people I can trust without hesitation.” Hermione smiled back, and Ron blushed.

Harry siphoned the memory back into the crystal vase. He was going to put the Pensieve away when Ginny stopped him. “Harry, don’t you want to see what the other memory was? Pettigrew said it was for you, not the war.”

Harry sat down with a thump as Hermione tipped the second memory into the Pensive. “What do you think he meant by that, anyway?” Ron asked. “I mean, the ‘for you’ part?”

“No idea,” Harry mumbled. In a hurry to get it over with, he reached out with his wand; “Memorius Displicare.”

The memory solidified quickly, and Harry wondered distractedly if it was because the memory had been more sharp in Pettigrew’s mind. But any speculation was driven from his mind when he heard an unmistakable noise, and a familiar voice say “Strong lungs on the runt. Kept you up last night, did he?”

All four of the Marauders and Lily Potter were in what was clearly a room in St. Mungo’s. Lily was lying in a bed with James perched beside her, and she was holding… “The runt, as you call him, has been behaving wonderfully, unlike some others I could mention who should know better,” Lily retorted to Sirius, who’d obviously been the first speaker. Her voice was exactly as Harry had heard it in his dreams, and when she’d appeared out of Voldemort’s wand; soft, rich and full of humor.

Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but stopped when Remus placed a hand softly on his shoulder. “Down, boy,” Remus said sotto voce. Sirius bared his teeth at Remus and growled, but got no response beyond a benign smile.

James was leaning over his wife and looking down critically at the baby Harry. “Bugger me, I think he got my ears,” he said eventually.

“James Potter, mind your language!” Lily exclaimed, but she was grinning.

“Why? It’s not like he can understand me yet!” James protested.

“I’d prefer you’d not be in the habit of swearing in front of my son,” Lily said haughtily.

“Our son,” James corrected her. His eyes seemed to sparkle a bit. “Our son. Bloody h— er, Merlin’s beard. I wish mum and dad were still here to see this. They’d never have believed it. Hell—I mean, who would have believed it?”

“Not me,” Peter said, speaking up for the first time. “I wondered whether…Well, whether you two ever stopped arguing long enough to…”

He trailed off, but it was enough to make Sirius and Remus roar with laughter at the indignant look on James’ face, and the amused one on Lily’s. “Ho!” Sirius crowed. “Wormtail, I knew if you studied under me long enough you’d develop a sense of humor!”

“Is that what you call it?” James muttered. “I thought it was being a bloody berk. Keep your voice down, you upset him!”

Little Harry was crying, but Lily cooed to him until he calmed down again. “All right, who’s first?” she asked the room in general. “The sooner you’ve all held him, the sooner you’ll leave us alone to rest.”

Sirius looked terrified at the prospect of holding a little baby. “Oh no, not me,” he said, waving his hands. “He’s already got his dad’s sense of humor, I can tell; the second I touch him he’ll be spitting up, and these are my best robes!”

Lily rolled her eyes and looked at James. “Remind me again why I agreed to let him be Harry’s godfather?”

“You were delirious after giving birth,” James replied, completely straight-faced.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Lily replied thoughtfully. “I’ll have to remember that the next time you so much as touch me.”

James was struck dumb by that comment, and Sirius hid a snicker behind his hand. Remus was struggling to keep a straight face, and losing. “Lily,” Peter said shyly, “I’ll hold him a bit, if it’s all right…?”

Lily nodded, and Peter stepped forward. She showed him where to support the head, and in a moment Peter was staring down into little Harry’s curious face. “Merlin,” Peter breathed, seeming completely awed by what he saw. He looked up and smiled hugely the new parents. “He’s beautiful, Lily. He has your eyes, you know.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Lily said warmly, smiling. “You’re much more of a gentleman than these brats, who haven’t grown up any since Hogwarts—and I include my husband in that,” she added, smirking at James, who stuck out his tongue and made thbthbthb noises, possibly at little Harry and possibly at his wife.

Peter was cooing to little Harry, who seemed fascinated by the strange sounds and odd expressions. “Excellent, Wormtail can be your nanny,” Sirius said brightly. “Small, unobtrusive, and turns into a chew-toy on command—”

Sirius never finished his sentence since Lily snagged a handful of flowers from a vase next to her bed and heaved them at him; he took them full in the face and was left spluttering, staring incredulously at Lily as if he simply wouldn’t comprehend her doing what she’d just done.

The image faded away, but the sound of laughter and playful banter lingered slightly after. Finally the memory had settled completely back into the Pensieve, leaving behind silence. “Huh,” said Ron finally. “I don’t get it. What was the point of…” Ron turned to look at Harry and his words died on his lips. Harry was still staring at the space where the image had been; his face was streaked with tears

Ron stood and lifted Hermione, and carried her to the door and out of the room, shutting the door behind them to leave Harry and Ginny alone. Ginny got up and went behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his chest and holding him tightly while he cried.