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Dark Gods In The Blood	By : Hayseed Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3951 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: Fixed a minor
snafu in Chapters 15 and 17 -- I completely forgot that James was somehow Head
Boy and not a prefect at the same time.
I�d gotten it into my head that you couldn�t be Head Boy (or Girl, for
that matter) without being a prefect first but am absolutely willing to admit
that I could be very, very wrong.
Anyway. This has been brought up
to canon now and Remus� rightful position as fifth-year prefect has been
restored. Thanks to the reviewer that
pointed out my error.

Currently Albus Dumbledore is the forerunner in the little �Who
Killed Harry Potter?� Contest, with Alice Potter coming in as a surprisingly
close second. The only thing I�m going
to say is to keep in mind that we�ve got twelve chapters to go yet (after this
one), so it�s still anyone�s game.

Summary: A wandering
student comes home, a broken man pays his penance, and a gruesome murder is
both more and less than it seems. Some
paths to self-discovery have more twists and turns than others.

Rating: R, for
intermittent dark themes, violence, and language

Disclaimer: Nothing
you read here (save the plot and bits of the text itself) belongs to me. Harry Potter and his cronies are the
property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros. (and someone else, probably, but not
me). All chapter headings are properly
credited to their sources.

Dark Gods in the Blood

by: Hayseed (hayseed_42@hotmail.com)

Chapter Eighteen

These
round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they

were expressive and puzzling, striking and
disturbing ... They

would have
been even more impressive, those heads on the

stakes, if
their faces had not been turned to the house.

-- Joseph Conrad,
Heart of Darkness

�It�s so nice to finally
speak with you, Severus,� Dr. Cuthrell said silkily. �I was so disappointed
when you missed our last appointment.�

He did not speak. It was not necessary.

�I did get a chance to
speak with Professor Dumbledore again, though,� he continued. �I expressed my concern at your lack of
progress.�

His eyes flashed.

�He seems to think that
you have made a few forward steps since
we last spoke.� Cuthrell�s voice
expressed his disbelief at such an idea.
�Which brings me to what I hoped we could discuss in our session today
...�

With a lazy wave of his
wand, Cuthrell released the Petrificus Totalus charm the orderlies had placed
on Severus to bring him up to the office.
Severus stayed on the floor -- the door, of course, was locked.

Cuthrell leaned over his
desk, steepling his fingers under his chin.
�The inestimable Hermione Granger.
She�s come to visit you no less than six times in the past two months. By all accounts, you two have spoken
freely.�

Severus blinked once,
slowly. And your point is ...?

�I do not care what it is
that you speak about, Severus.�

Liar. He smirked.
A small quirk of the lips that communicated volumes.

�But I am curious about
how you feel. Tell me, Severus -- what does Hermione Granger make you
feel?� His bright, earnest tone was
belied by the warning of an attack in his gaze. s"> Large and round and mesmerizing, Cuthrell�s eyes reminded Severus
rather of a cat his father kept in the shop to kill mice -- the cat would
patiently wait, stalking its prey, begging it with its eyes to approach before
leaping in for the kill.

He smiled inwardly,
deciding it might be entertaining to play Cuthrell�s game for a bit. �Like basking in the sunshine of her love,�
he said dryly.

Of course, the irony of
such a ludicrous statement eluded the therapist completely, and he began
scribbling excitedly on the parchment beneath his quill. �You�re in love with her?� he asked swiftly.

The mental grin widened,
approaching a Cheshire cat�s in extent.
Severus finally stood and seated himself in one of Cuthrell�s
chairs. �Oh, yes,� he said, flat and
deadpan. �Ever since I first laid eyes
on her all those years ago.� If he�d
been able to bring himself to it, he would have fluttered his eyelashes, just
to see what sort of response he could provoke.

The quill slowed and
Cuthrell�s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
�She couldn�t have been more than eleven when you first saw her,� he
said.

�All the same ...� he
trailed off, stifling a laugh as the psychologist�s eyes widened to epic
proportions.

Cuthrell cleared his
throat self-importantly, laying his quill on the blotter. �Now, Severus ...� he began in what Severus
was certain was meant to be a placating tone.
�Severus, I can�t help you if you won�t let me.�

Thank bloody Jesus and Merlin and Buddha you�ll never
help me, he thought to himself as the young
man�s face split into a horrifyingly charming smile.

�I spoke to a few people
about Hermione Granger,� Cuthrell continued into the silence, apparently
deciding that a change in tactics was necessary. �She�s proven rather difficult to gather information on. But I have managed to discern that she was,
indeed, one of your students.�

Severus� eyebrow
lifted. How particularly difficult for you ...

�More importantly, it
seems, according to several of my sources, that she was a Gryffindor at the
same time as the famous Harry Potter.�
He paused here, ostensibly to gauge Severus� reaction.

Severus tried not to
move, but Cuthrell settled back in his chair, seemingly pleased at what he�d been
able to gather.

�I also have it on good
authority that you and Harry Potter notoriously did not get along.�

Exhaling sharply, he
glared at Cuthrell as if to say, Is that all, then?

�Did you know that Harry
Potter is dead?� Cuthrell pounced, something like delight in his voice.

�I was made aware of that
fact,� he replied carefully, deciding then and there that he would not say
another word to this man today.

With a frown, he shuffled
a few papers around on his desk.
Severus rather suspected he�d wanted to shock him with that news. Possibly make what he called a breakthrough with it.
�There�s a connection there, Severus.
You, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and his death. I want to know what it is.�

He was quiet. He would not speak.

Seconds ticked into long
minutes as they stared at each other.
It seemed as if Cuthrell was not going to break the silence either.

A cuckoo sounded the
hour. Ten in the morning. Severus wondered why Cuthrell would put
something as incongruous as a cuckoo clock in his otherwise modern, clinical
office. He blinked at the sound.

Cuthrell heaved a
long-suffering sigh and Severus wrinkled his nose at him. �It seems as if our hour is up,
Severus. I hope you have a nice day.� He flapped his wrist at the door and the
lock clicked. �By the by, Severus ...�

He jerked his attention
away from the doorknob long enough to regard him questioningly.

�The clock was a
graduation gift from my grandmother. I
know you were wondering ...� He laughed
merrily as Severus� scowl deepened.

--
-- -- -- --

It was raining
again. Some time in between being
Petrified leaving breakfast and being interrogated -- offered therapy, that is
-- by Cuthrell, the rain had started.

Severus laid his hand on
the window, feeling the cold seep through to his fingertips. Summer was passing. If he squinted, he could imagine that the
leaves hanging limply off the nearby trees might be changing color.

He did not have his
common room to himself today -- Old Jack had flung himself into a chair across
the room and was currently staring at a space on the floor as if it was about
to open up and allow escape. But he did
not, of course, speak, and so Severus did not pay him any attention, choosing
instead to continue looking out his customary window.

A thought struck him.

Unless he missed his
count, today was Thursday.

Granger would come today.

She usually came on
Thursdays.

He wondered what he could
possibly have to say to her. Or what
she would have to say to him. Inwardly,
Severus sighed.

�You over there,� an
ancient sounding voice croaked. �You --
boy!�

With a start, Severus
whirled around to see Old Jack watching him.
Perhaps his sigh hadn�t been as inward as he�d thought. He was, in fact, so stunned that he found
himself actually replying. �Beg
pardon?�

Old Jack grinned,
revealing a handful of missing teeth.
Severus immediately wished he would stop. �You sound like your world�s about to come to an end, there,
lad.�

�I thought you didn�t
talk.� His voice was reproachful, but
the curiosity behind the implicit question was genuine.

�I thought you didn�t
either,� Old Jack said with a small snort, finally (thankfully) putting his
cracked old teeth away behind his lips.
�I should be honored you�re gracing me with your words.�

�Like,� S,� Severus said,
cocking his head in a sarcastic nod.

Old Jack laughed. �Oh, I speak well enough, my boy. Just not to many. I find that silence adds to my mystique.�

�Mystique?� he echoed
carefully.

There went that
positively awful smile again. Severus
made a mental vow to floss as often as they�d let him. �I�m particularly fond of the rumor
circulating that I�m an old Death Eater,� he said with a conspiratorial
wink. �One so crazy that You-Know-Who
himself had me committed.�

Severus let out a bark of
laughter. �You�re no Death Eater.�

�What makes you say
that?� Old Jack asked, contriving to look hurt.

Here, he gave him a
shark�s grin of his own. �Because I was,� he said confidently. �And I�d remember you.�

To his credit, Old Jack
only blinked about twice. �You were a Death Eater?�

�I was.�

Jack tucked his hands
behind his head and jerked his head in a cocky nod. �I�ll have to watch out for you, then.�

�See that you do.� But there was no bite to his words.

Watching him carefully
for a good while, Old Jack suddenly leaned forward in his chair and put his
elbows on his knees. �Well ... aren�t
you going to ask me why I�m really
here?�

�Did you want me to?� Severus
asked politely.

�Our conversation had
gotten off to a rather promising start.�

�Well, then.� He waved his hand in what he hoped was a
prompting manner. �Go on, then. I imagine you�re going to tell me that
you�re some harmless old crank whose son had him slapped in the loony bin
without cause to get at his fortune.
Please tell me you double-crossed him and left it all to your
half-blind, lame cat.�

�Oh, no,� Old Jack
said. �Not that. Have you ever read that old Muggle book
where they talk about how you know whether or not you�re crazy?** I can�t remember the title off the top of my
head.�p>

�I�m certain you�re about
to tell me what I need to know about it.�

Jack laughed again and
slapped one of his knees. �Why didn�t I
talk to you before, boy?�

�The book?� Severus
asked, trying to mask his impatience with an air of boredom.

�Oh yes.� He cleared his throat and crossed a leg
neatly over his knee. �Well, the book
said that if you think you�re crazy, there�s no way that you actually can be,
because only a truly sane person would ever wonder whether or not he
wasn�t. So you can never actually
truthfully claim to be insane.�

He rolled his eyes. �Are you reaching a pertinent point?�

�I only wonder if I�m not
sane sometimes,� Jack admitted. �And
when they�ve got me locked up in my little room, or when my damned therapist is
patiently explaining something to me with as many big words as he can think of,
I�m certain I�m the most rational person in this god-forsaken building. But then ... then things get fuzzy.�

�Fuzzy?�

�You know ...� he said
with a sideways glance. �The lights get
all bendy and I can hear the birds. And
that�s when I know they�re coming.�

�They?� Severus echoed,
beginning to feel uncomfortable. �Who?�

�Them. They whisper in my mind and they tell me
they can make the birds go away, but I can�t believe them. Dr. Penderghast says I mustn�t, or he�ll put
needles in my arms again. So when it
gets fuzzy, I try very hard not to move.
But sometimes I do. And I don�t
mean to, you see.�

Severus resisted the urge
to move away from Old Jack as well as he could, only shifting slightly in his
chair.

The glint in his eyes
slowly faded. �So ... tell me. Am I crazy?�

Most assuredly, Severus
thought to himself. �We probably all
are,� he grumbled.

�That�s the spirit!� Old
Jack cried. �Tell me, do you play
chess?�

--
-- -- -- --

The chess sets were
warded so that the pieces did not speak and were permanently attached to the
boards, which were in turn attached to the floor. You had to actually touch each piece and then tap the space you
wanted it to move to. To be honest,
Severus actually preferred this version of the game -- the chess set he�d had
as a child chattered something awful and he usually played with a Silencing
Charm enabled anyway.

This meant, though, that
he and Old Jack played in relative silence, heads bent over the board in
concentration.

One of Jack�s knights was
currently wriggling its way through Severus� pieces, and his mind was racing as
he stared at the board, his former strategy now unraveled as he bent his
thought on destroying the annoying knight.

Both their heads snapped
to attention as the door to the common room swung open. One of the orderlies stepped into the room
and smiled at them. �Getting along, are
we?�

n stn style='font-style:normal'>

Neither of them spoke.

She frowned. �Well ... Severus, you have a visitor
waiting for you. Just thought you�d
like to know.�

Old Jack waggled his
eyebrows at him in a rather disturbing gesture. In reply, Severus scowled, tipping his king over and admitting
defeat. Perhaps some other day, then.

Granger must be here.

He walked down the
hallway briskly, bare feet slapping against the tiles as he moved. The doorknob was absolutely frigid under his
fingers -- he twisted it to open the door.

Albus smiled up at him
from his position at the table. �Ah
...� he said warmly. �Good morning,
Severus.�

He almost turned around
and walked back out. The only thing
that kept him from doing so was Cuthrell -- he didn�t want to be confined to
his room again. As it was, then, he
slouched into the room and slumped into the other chair, waiting for Albus to
begin his usual prattle.

It did not take
long. �I�m glad to see you are well,
Severus,� he said. �I�m sorry I wasn�t
here yesterday, but I had a meeting I couldn�t get out of. And Minerva sends her regards, as always.�

Snorting, Severus gave
him a stony stare. I bet she does.

Albus� eyes
narrowed. �Of course she does.
She cares about you, Severus.�

His nostrils flared. Was he actually using Legilimency?

�I�m not poking in your
mind, Severus,� he said with a deep sigh.
�It�s written all over your face.
But I would have thought that such an accomplished Occlumens as yourself
would be able to tell immediately that I wasn�t in your mind.�

He did not speak and his
lips thinned to a nearly imperceptible line.
Albus knew as well as he did how that stung.

Albus recoiled
instantly. �I�m sorry, my boy,� he said. �I didn�t mean to --� He caught himself and offered Severus an
apologetic smile. �I spend more time
apologizing to you than anyone else, you know that?�

A corner of his mouth
twitched.

�As I was saying, then,�
he said in an attempt at joviality. �You�d
be proud of me, Severus. At my last
meeting with our esteemed Minister, I lost my temper, called him an �old goat,�
and stormed out. Minerva is of the
opinion that I should apologize, but I cannot see why I ought to. He�s still trying to bring the Order under
his control -- he doesn�t like a private entity with the sort of reach that we
have existing without some sort of governmental regulations. If he wasn�t so insistent that he be the official liaison, I might be more willing to
listen. Kingsley Shacklebolt, for
example, or even young Ronald Weasley would be excellent choices.�

Severus quirked an
eyebrow.

�You�re correct, of
course, Severus. It doesn�t hurt
matters that both Shacklebolt and Weasley are already informally affiliated
with the Order,� Albus admitted. �But
you cannot fault an old man for wanting to make his bed as comfortably as
possible.�

I certainly can, he
thought darkly.

He chuckled at Severus�
belligerent expression. �I cannot
deceive you, can I, boy? It appears as if your Miss Granger has
caught on to me as well.�

His eyes widened at the
�your.�

�Come, now, Severus. You can�t treat Hermione as you do and then not expect me to remark on it. Why, even your doctor, that wonderful Jake Cuthrell, who�s made so much progress with you, has commented.�

He snorted.

�I daresay that
Hermione�s as baffled by you as the rest of us,� Albus said with a small
smile. �I spoke with her a few nights
ago, incidentally. She�s staying at
young Weasley�s flat for a while, I think.
They always were such close
friends ...�

Severus willed his
expression not to change as Albus leaned forward, obviously trying to see how
his words affected him.

�Anyway ... she seems to
be the same sweet child I remember from her time at Hogwarts in so many ways.�

Not enough of them,
Severus thought, remembering her almost clatilating gaze as she watched him.

�It�s such a shame that
she was gone for so long,� he continued thoughtfully. �But she did make it back for the funeral. Harry�s funeral. I know she told you about Harry, Severus.�

He bowed his head,
neither confirming nor denying Albus� words, knowing it was not necessary.

�I confess, I rather
wondered about your reaction to the news,� he admitted. �Harry�s death came as such a shock to us
all, but I am well aware of the ... emotions ... between the two of you.�

Closing his eyes,
Potter�s face, soured with a glare, flashed in his mind.

�It was a senseless
tragedy. And it preys on me,
Severus. I think it preys on all of us. No one should have to die like that.�

Split open and bled to death,
he remembered Granger saying. Like
an animal.

Probably not,
though. Most animals did not die, as he
suspected Potter did -- as he knew most people under such circumstances would
have -- most animals did not die weeping.

Only man.

Potter�s glare resonated
through braibrain again -- a glare through a bloodstained and tear-streaked
face.

Albus gave him a shrewd
look. �I wonder, Severus ... does it
prey on you?�

Of course not! he wanted
to cry. Shout it to the heavens. Why would he care what happened to Potter, a
stupid, willful boy who hadn�t known what to do with the life he�d been handed? Of course not.

Like an animal.

He could not meet Albus�
eyes.

�I think, Severus, that I
ought to take my leave,� Albus said carefully, chair scraping as he stood. �Oh, and I almost forgot. I brought you something -- Jake Cuthrell
said he had no objections.� Seemingly
carelessly, he tossed something on the table -- it hit with a loud thud.

Severus glanced
down. The Daily Prophet. Albus had brought him a newspaper. He felt tears prickle shamefully in his
eyes.

�Good day, Severus.�

Watching him shuffle
away, Severus let Albus get nearly out the door before he spoke.

�Thank you, Uncle Albus,�
he whispered.

Albus did not reply, but
his shoulders straightened as he walked off.

--
-- -- -- --

Severus did not want to
read the entire paper at once. His
first newspaper in five years.

The experience needed to
be savored.

And so he allowed himself
to read the first page as he walked back to his room, bypassing the common
room. Hiding it under his mattress, he
promised himself a second page after luncheon.

His willpower flagged, however,
and he actually read two pages right
after lunch. Even the stupid society
column caught his eye -- he scanned it eagerly, drinking in the details of
Draco Malfoy�s last dinner party as if they were written in elegant verse.

The world had indeed
moved on, then. Children had been born,
people had been married, and people had died.
It was only within the sterile institution walls that time seemed to be
stopped.

Severus could not resist
and after forcing himself to sit in a common room for an hour, he all but ran
back to his room, tore the paper out from under his mattress, and began reading
it as if his life depended on it, tracing over each word lovingly with his
eyes.

It was with great
sadness, then, that he reached the back page.
The obituaries. A section of the
paper he remembered skipping in his other lifetime -- he dealt with death
enough that he did not want to read about it.

But now he wanted to
imprint every single word on his memory, so he devoured the obituary page as he
had every other one in the newspaper.

Mrs. Agnes Rascoe, aged
one hundred ninety-eight. Died at St.
Mungo�s. Survived by numerous children,
grandchildren, all the way through great-great-grandchildren.

Mr. Flavius Hamilton,
forty-eight. Freak manticore incident. Wife, two boys, and a girl.

Mr. Alistair Bones,
thirty-nine. Died at home. A wife and a son.

Died at home.

Severus wondered what
that meant.

He realized with a start
that Hermione Granger had not come to see him today.

-- -- --
-- --

**Footnote -- The book
Old Jack is talking about is, of course, Joseph Heller�s Catch-22.

-- -- --
-- --
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Dark Gods In The Blood