Harry Potter and the Rising Phoenix | By : TallyHo Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 7223 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
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. |
Thank you for your
reviews. This chapter is UN-Beta’d, so ye be warned! The wait can be blamed upon a great many
things, but I thank you for not sending me hate-mail and all that nice stuff.
Charlie Weasley wasn’t
used to getting a full night of sleep.
In fact, he was so used to seeing the transition from night to day that
when he woke up after dawn the first day Hogwarts started for the students, he
was severely confused. It took him a few
deep breaths and perplexed blinking before he realized that he’d slept straight
through the hours of darkness, uninterrupted.
Staying up two days
straight wasn’t abnormal, not when his part in the war was bound to his
presence on the front lines, responding to every emergency that required his
being there, which was depressingly large in number. He was thoroughly surprised that he’d managed
to make it to the Hogwarts Express to greet the First Years with Hagrid the
previous day. Even though he’d promised
to go with the half-giant, he’d expected something to pop up. Even Hagrid seemed amazed to see him trotting
down from Hogsmead towards the train.
But, blessedly,
everything had gone smoothly. Not a
single student had tried to sneak off to see the battle-hardened Mages who
camped on Hogwarts’ ground when not in the Forbidden
Forest. There hadn’t been one hiccup to any of
Mcgonagall’s well-thought-out plans.
He’d gone to bed that night with the completely foreign feeling of
contentment.
The feeling lasted
right up until the following morning, when he rolled out of bed and looked at
the stripe of the outside world that managed to get through his tent flaps,
obscured by an ominous shadow of someone approaching. He took in a breath, released it, drew
another, got up and opened the flap fully with a single swipe of his arm,
seriousness etched upon his features.
Hermione Granger stood behind it, one hand raised as if to pull back the
entrance herself. She blinked at him,
then coughed self-consciously and dropped her arm to her side.
“Something’s
happened up at the school,” she began, looking over her shoulder at the
castle. Charlie swore darkly before she
could finish, grabbed his cloak and swung it over his disheveled robes,
checking his wand’s readiness with a quick, sparkling wave, and exiting the
tent smoothly. He motioned for her to
follow as he made his way towards Hogwarts.
“Really, Charlie,
you should hear me out before going up there,” she said exasperatedly, running
a hand over her mousy hair and sighing.
“A new student’s retrieved the Sorting Hat. And Fawkes.”
Charlie stumbled
in his pace, caught himself and turned to face her, incredulity written blatantly
on his expression.
“I know,” she waved
off any of his comments before he could make them. “I know what it sounds like, but that is what
happened. He waltzed into the Great Hall
and just… brought them with him.”
She shook her
head, eyes closing as she moved her hand to cover them.
“Well,” he
replied, knowing how stressed she’d become over the years and knowing also that
the turn of events wouldn’t help her any.
He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Did Mcgonagall have a fit?”
Hermione
half-laughed, half-snorted, then dropped her hand once more. The gesture seemed suited for the broken,
hardened spirit she’d become, as much as Charlie hated to think it.
“Nearly. But that’s not the half of it,” another
sigh. “Professor Snape claimed the boy
for Slytherin after the Sorting Hat had gone through the other First Years. The other Heads of Houses would’ve argued,
but the Hat agreed. Very
loudly. It’s become quite noisy
since last I saw it. Says it’s going to
take a ‘more active role in Hogwarts now.’
Won’t leave the boy’s head, can you believe it?”
“No,” Charlie said
with a small chuckle, gently patting her shoulder and grinning. “But I’ll take your word for it. So who’s this new student?”
Hermione
hesitated, dropped her gaze to the ground and rose her hand up to cover her
eyes again.
“Gale Diggory,”
she said, voice tear-choked. “And God help us, Charlie… he looks just like
Harry.”
Gale stood in
front of the floor-to-ceiling window, leaning his hands on the cold sill,
narrowed eyes scanning the ground below.
He remembered rolling green hills, remembered the Quidditch pitch in all
its glory off to his left. What he saw
at that moment was something utterly different.
An endless field
of tents reminded him forcibly of the Quidditch World Cup. They took over the land surrounding Hogwarts
like sickly pale scales. A few witches
and wizards scampered in the long, delicate ribbons of dark emerald space
between them, but he knew where most of them were; inside the Forbidden
Forest, which was now as serene and
still as if a war were not centered within it.
As if it too were remembering what it once was and choosing to ignore what
it had become.
Gale shrugged off
the thought harshly, turning away from the window. But what he then faced was something far
worse than a blight to his memory.
Severus glared down at him, arms folded over his
chest. He certainly hadn’t changed. His nose, so suited for sneers and harsh
glares, Gale remembered quite clearly. The
hard, set mouth just begged to be pulled into a smirk. Those striking coal eyes belonged to no other in
the world.
Gale’s breath
shuddered within his chest, forcing a small whimper from the pit of his stomach. He almost strangled himself trying to choke
it off.
Severus arched a single, liquid-black eyebrow.
“Diggory,” it was
a purr and it was sinful to hear. For
the briefest of moments Gale was Harry, and Harry wondered why Severus had just called him neither by his name nor
something fondly derogative.
But that lasted as
long as half a heartbeat, and Gale snapped back to
attention.
“Yes,
sir?”
“Would you take
off that ridiculous hat?” Severus glared at the
Sorting Hat, which glared right back.
Gale looked up at the tattered rim bordering the top of his vision.
“I promised I
wouldn’t,” he said softly, truthfully, and felt an echo of the Hat’s smugness
in his head. Severus
released a long-suffered sigh and fixed his inky dark eyes again upon Gale.
“I suppose you
promised something equally brainless to the Phoenix?”
he gestured with a nod of his head towards Fawkes,
who was perched on the desk beside Gale’s green and silver four-poster.
“No. But he’ll do what he pleases,” Gale valiantly
kept his voice casual, shrugged, then found a spot off to his right that he
could pretend was very fascinating while Severus
studied him.
“Then you’ll just
have to tell me how you retrieved both… artifacts… in their presence,” he sneered. God, how Gale had missed that sneer, and not
realized it until that moment. He didn’t
even have to be looking at the Potions Master to know its sharp undertone.
How could he deny Severus something? Anything? How could he
hold back whatever his past lover requested of him… when the last time he’d
done so, it had been the thing he died regretting most of all?
Even more than not
killing Voldemort.
“No,” he
whispered, trembling as the word unsheathed claws and ripped at his heart in
terrible fury. “No,” more strongly now,
eyes turning to the raven-haired man in an echo of the fierceness that raged
within him.
“No?” repeated in
a hiss, barely audible, which doubled Gale’s shudders immediately. “What do you mean, no?”
Gale thought of
several witty little comebacks that would have certainly earned him a good few
hexes, but wisely kept his mouth shut, instead shaking his head and returning
his concentration to the window. Fawkes warbled lightly, puffing his feathers up at Severus’ tone.
The Potions
Professor swung his heated eyes to the phoenix, then back to Gale, before
turning on his heel and sweeping from the room without another word. Gale released a breath he hadn’t realized
he’d been holding.
“At least one
thing hasn’t changed since last I visited outside the Headmaster’s office,” the
Hat’s acerbic murmur garnered a reluctant, cheerless smirk from Gale’s thin
lips.
“This would be
easier if he had changed,” Gale murmured in reply, leaning back on the sill and
tucking the tapered fingers of his right hand against his lips in
thoughtfulness. “Much
easier.”
The Hat said
nothing, but Gale thought he felt disapproval coming from the folds of
velveteen leather against his ears.
The meeting room
hadn’t an inch to spare for the Potions Master when he arrived, and Hermione quickly
proposed to leave the conference, for after all she had very little to do with
the problem at hand. Snape scoffed from
the doorway.
“Don’t bother,
Professor. The boy told me nothing and I’ve
little enough interest in a discussion about it.”
He was gone from
the room, leaving an uncomfortable air of futility with the occupants. Charlie sighed loudly and stood up from his
chair.
“Let’s get all the
facts straight then, and we’ll figure out what should be done about all this,”
he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his wand against his shoulder,
hazel eyes grave. “Gale Diggory managed
to open Dumbledore’s office and retrieve the Sorting Hat and Fawkes, something no one has been able to accomplish. Neither of them wish
to leave his side, apparently. It’s been mentioned to me,” he sent a slightly
apologetic glance to Hermione, quick enough so that no one else noticed, “that
he has a resemblance to… to Harry Potter.”
A few people
nodded their heads austerely, some furrowed their eyebrows, and a small group
in the back whispered excitedly to each other.
When Charlie fixed them with a stare, one lion-hearted witch piped up.
“We should
consider the possibility of Polyjuice or some
look-alike spell-”
Hermione cut her
off quickly with a text book recitation.
“There is neither
spell nor potion that allows a living person to resemble another subject who is
deceased. Not without dire consequences involved. Diggory merely has some similar facial features
to… well. Anyway.
We can hardly hold it against the boy. What we do need is to find out just what he’s
capable of, and put it to good use.”
“Indeed!” Flitwick agreed squeakily, and distracted Charlie from
considering Hermione’s carefully blank face.
“I’ve got just the charm to tell where his strengths lie.”
“We do not need a
charm, silly man,” Professor Kasumi of Divination, her endless waves of ebony
hair trailing like streamers down her back, curled her fingers around her
delicate teacup and blew gently upon the steam that rose from within it. “A simple reading of his palm will tell me
far more than your magic will.”
Flitwick frowned but another voice spoke up before he could
retort.
“Why not try both?”
Hermione’s voice
of reason left the crowd hushed.
“Each Professor
here knows his or her subject like no other.
If the boy’s special in any sense, his aptitude in the tests we provide
should show just what he can be used for.”
That was widely
agreed upon, except for Charlie’s furrowed eyebrows.
“Well now, it’s
obvious that he’s special. Wouldn’t have opened Dumbledore’s office if he wasn’t. But he is
a boy. Why not just place him in
normal classes and see if he excels that way?”
“You heard
Professor Snape, Charlie,” Hermione reminded him quietly. “Diggory didn’t tell him anything. Obviously getting results is going to take a
little more force than what our classes provide.”
Charlie turned his
head away and didn’t answer.
“It’s settled
then,” Mcgonagall spoke up for the first time from her seat. “Will all Professors kindly create a test
designed to test the power levels of a boy that is presumably well versed in
magic? That is all. Charlie, Hermione… if you
would stay and speak with me for a moment?”
The large group
filed out, talking in various volumes.
Hermione and Charlie took up seats beside the Headmistress.
“This boy is special,” Mcgonagall said lowly, once
the room had emptied. “I’d like you both
to overlook the tests. Don’t worry about
your schedules, I’ll take care of everything. Make sure that Diggory isn’t hiding anything
that could potentially harm Hogwarts.
Thank you.”
They left, both
remembering times when the matronly older woman had a side that was soft and
affectionate. War and death had made
such a thing useless and dangerous in the Headmistress. In everyone. And now a young student was subject to the never-ending
suspiciousness usually reserved for the most dangerous of enemies. Their thoughts split then with Charlie
regretting how fast innocence was lost nowadays, and Hermione regretting the
now lost time she had to research reincarnation.
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