A/N: Apologies for the obscene amount of time it's taken me to write this chapter. The next one will, I promise, be more forthcoming.
For my absent Muse, who will have to wait a little longer, I'm afraid, before there's any rampant sex.
She does get a little Egyptian mythology here, though, so she should be grateful for that, at least.
Chapter 6: Something New Every Day
Harry hurried down the staircase to the entrance hall, hoping he'd got up early enough to avoid meeting anyone else. He'd woken at 6:30, and had a quick shower before grabbing his Firebolt and leaving the dormitory as quietly as possible so as not to wake Ron and the others. Now, as he headed out of the doors into the grounds, he knew exactly how he'd spend his day. It was, thankfully, Saturday – although quite how the week had passed so quickly, Harry wasn't sure – and he didn't have to attend any lessons. He was currently heading over to the Quidditch stands. Having missed the last five training sessions, for which he knew Ron would have his blood, he wanted to be able to fly, alone, and at this time in the morning there was guaranteed to be no one in the stands.
He was about to walk into changing rooms when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Folding himself into the shadows under the stands, Harry watched as a dark figure walked out of the Forbidden Forest, something hanging limply in its hands. Squinting, Harry realised it was Snape, carrying some sort of plants. He supposed it made sense – Snape must need to re-stock on ingredients occasionally, and why would he go the Hogsmeade to buy them, when they could be found in the Hogwarts grounds. Remaining hidden in the darkness, Harry watched Snape as he paused by a large grey-leafed bush and produced a silver bladed knife, cutting shoots off the tips of the branches. The early morning light glinted on the blade and Harry realised, to his surprise, that Snape was not wearing his usual high-collared robes. The ones he wore were similarly black and heavy, but they hung open at the neck, loose of collar and sleeve. Harry was shocked as he realised that Snape couldn't dress in his formal robes all the time… in private, whilst sleeping… whilst showering… Blushing and thankful that no one was around to see it, Harry ducked into the changing rooms.
He knew there wasn't really any point in changing into his Quidditch robes, but he realised it might be the last time for a while that he got to wear them, so he slipped them on over his jeans and t-shirt.
Picking up the Firebolt, he strode out of the doors onto the pitch. He sighed, breathing in the clear air. Here, he was complete. Kicking off the ground, he soared into the air like the cork from a champagne bottle. This was something that he would never give up, not even for Snape.
Climbing steadily, Harry looked down and surveyed the Hogwarts grounds, looking out over the Forest to the sunrise. He glanced down and judged the distance between himself and the ground, then lifted his head and closed his eyes. He tightened his grip on the broom and plunged downwards, rocketing towards the ground, gathering speed, with the wind whipping his robes and hair. He was falling, flying, exhilarated. This was what living was for.
Nearing the ground, he pulled up slightly, opening his eyes and preparing to soar away towards the skies. As his toes skimmed the grass, he looked up and nearly fell of the broom. A pair a black eyes glittered at him out of the shadows beneath the stands, watching him.
Harry let the broom continue to rise and turned in the air, slowing down. He looked down quickly, searching the darkness, but Snape had gone.
Floating back down to earth, Harry dismounted. Flying didn't seem to have cleared his head at all. He strode towards the changing rooms, frowning, and realised he was incredibly hungry, not having eaten a proper meal for days.
As he walked into the Hall, he was surprised to find it almost full, even though it was 7:45 on a Saturday morning. Slipping into his seat beside Hermione, he glanced round.
"How come you're up so early?" He asked.
Ron looked up, "It's the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas, remember. We're going to buy presents." His face fell at Harry's blank expression. "We agreed a month ago we'd go together today and get all our shopping done."
Harry sighed inwardly, "Sorry, Ron. I forgot." For some reason, Christmas shopping in Hogsmeade seemed trivial and childish. He, after all, had more important things to do. "I can't go today. I've got loads of work to do."
"But we've only got three weeks until Christmas!" Hermione exclaimed. "And besides, we haven't got much homework this weekend."
"And what could be more important than coming to Hogsmeade with me and 'Mione?" Ron added, only half joking.
"Snape gave me some work to do after that detention." Harry said evasively. "Why don't you two go without me."
Ron looked hurt, "But we agreed we'd go today, all three of us."
"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said, a little exasperated. "But I have to get this work done."
"But when are you going to buy your presents?" Hermione asked.
"I'm here all holiday," Harry said, "You know how long the holidays are - I'll have three weeks after school finishes to get everything. Really, you two go." He swallowed the bit of his toast and stood up. "I've got to get to the library. I'll see you when you get back."
"But -" Ron began, but Harry was already half way across the Hall, leaving his friends looking after his disappearing form, confused and rather hurt.
Harry ran up to the dormitory and grabbed his notebook and quills, and set off again for the library. Ron and Hermione would have fun without him. The two of them were so cosy these days he sometimes wondered why they wanted him to go anywhere with them, anyway.
Reaching the library, he pulled the crumpled note from his pocket and walked through the doors. Madame Pince narrowed her eyes at him as he approached and handed her the piece of paper. She read it and peered up at him suspiciously. She seemed to be trying to find evidence that it was a forgery. "Why do you need to use the restricted section?" She asked.
"I'm doing an assignment for Professor Snape." He remembered Snape's words from the previous night. "I'm sure I'll find what I'm looking for."
"Hmm…" She, disapproval showing clearly in her tone. "Very well. But damage any of the books and you'll be very, very sorry, Potter."
Harry nodded and wondered why he'd never seen the similarity between Pince and Snape before. He turned away and walked towards the restricted section. Finding a table, he put down his book and quills. What exactly was he looking for?
Scanning the shelves, Harry walked around the restricted section, looking for titles which might be useful. Most were decidedly not what he was looking for, with names like Demonic Summoning and Direction. A good number were also, Harry noticed, written in Latin or what appeared to be Greek.
Suddenly, Harry spotted a leather bound volume on a shelf near the floor entitled Invocation of the Shadows – the Art of Slytherin. What had Snape mentioned… 'the Magic of Shadows'? Kneeling, Harry pulled out the book, which was heavier than he'd expected, and walked with it back to his table. Opening it, he blew a thick layer of dust off the first page, which read like a contents page, and skimmed down the list of chapters. The headings meant nothing to him, so he decided that the best place to start would be the beginning. Turning the page, he began to read.
Nut, Mother of the sky and stars, Goddess of the night sky, commands the power of the world. Geb, Father of the mountains and plains, God of the Earth, commands the power of the world. Shu, begot of Ra, God of the sunlight, commands the power of the air. Nun, who begat Ra, God of the waters of chaos, commands the power of water. Ra, father of life, God of the Sun, commands the power of fire. Isis, daughter of Sky and World, Goddess of destiny, commands the power of earth.
Harry re-read the passage twice, but it made no sense to him, and his head was starting to hurt. He supposed that there must be a book somewhere in the library which would tell him exactly who or what these Gods were, but he would press on with this one before he found even more books to confuse himself with. Turning back to the index, he looked down the headings again. At the bottom of this list, a chapter had been added, in a different handwriting: Account of Christabelle Dolohov. This looked more promising. Harry turned the pages quickly and came across the chapter, which was written in the same precise handwriting, onto pages which had been added into the book.
In this year 1842, I, Christabelle Dolohov, hereby lay down an account of my experiences with the Shadows, to be left as a legacy to those blessed with such powers as I have been. I am the third of my kind, the first being Godric Gryffindor, the second being Salazar Slytherin, of whose family I am the last, and of whose inheritance these powers seem to be some part of, along with the gift of Parseltongue.
Harry was now very interested. If this woman was the descendant of Salazar, and she was the 'third of her kind', she must be Tom Riddle's great-grandmother whom Snape had mentioned. He did a quick calculation – she had written this 155 years ago. It looked like it was to be the nearest thing to a modern account that Harry would find.
I am the sole member of my generation in which these powers manifest themselves. My sisters, Mirabelle and Rosaline, died young, before any sign of their abilities had been manifest, and my half-brother, Aeneas Snape, is of my mother's family, and therefore not of Salazar Slytherin's ancestry.
Harry froze. Aeneas Snape. Snape had mentioned ties between their two families, but… Snape was related to Voldemort.
Jumping up, Harry hurried to the shelves again. He knew he'd seen a book somewhere whilst he was looking… Here. Lineages of Slytherin. He took the huge tome back to the table and flicked through. It was full of family trees, which reminded him of the tapestry which had once hung in 12 Grimmauld Place. The trees started in some cases before the Roman conquest, and Harry had to turn to the very back to find what he was looking for. Harry realised that the book was continually being written, dates and names added to the family trees even as he looked down the pages. He found the pages entitled 'Dolohov' and thumbed down the columns, finding what he was looking for at the bottom of the huge page.
Christabelle Dolohov (b.1820, d.1866), married to Nicholas Dolohov (b.1814, d.1872), and sister of Aeneas Snape (b.1815, d.1868).
He followed the lines downwards. A daughter, Anastasja, whose daughter Marilena had a son, Tom.
Flicking back a few pages, he found the tree entitled 'Snape' and located Aeneas Snape. A son, Dimitri, who had a son, Alexander, whose son Septimus had a daughter and two sons – Elysia, Castor, and Severus. Here, the line stopped.
Harry sat back in his chair, looking at the pages before him.
Flicking back through the pages of his notebook, Harry came to the page which held his last, unfinished drawing of Snape. Staring into those eyes, Harry repeated to himself that this man, this Snape, shared blood with Voldmort. He picked up his pen and started to draw absentmindedly, black hair beginning to spill over this Snape's shoulders.
Some hours later, Madame Pince cleared her throat behind him and Harry jumped, snapping the notebook shut. She was too far away to have seen what he was doing, and he hurriedly closed the other books around him.
"It is dinner time, Potter, your friends will have returned from Hogsmeade." Madame Pince said.
"Oh, right." Harry said, not having realised he'd spent so long in the library. He'd not even gone to lunch. There were so many books he'd found that fascinated him. He hadn't even noticed the time pass. Gathering his things quickly, Harry replaced the books on their shelves, trying to prevent Pince from seeing what he'd been looking at. Ignoring her disapproving glare he walked out, holding his notebooks and quills.
As he neared the Hall, he heard the sounds of jollity and laughter, and decided he didn't want to attend the meal, instead backtracking and climbing the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower. What he had read had given him a lot to think about. He went straight up to the dormitory.
There was a Quidditch practice tonight, and he knew he really should go. After all, tonight he actually could. But it wasn't as if the team needed him. It had been decided last year that for Harry to fly during House matches put him in far too conspicuous and unprotected a position, where he would present an easy target to anyone who might wish to harm him. Thus, he had been taken off the team, and replaced by Dennis Creevey as seeker, and Ron as Captain. The team, however, still looked to him as a coach, training them for their matches. But Ron was perfectly capable of leading the team towards a House victory, and it would do him good to be in charge for a change. And Harry really didn't want to go.
He flopped onto his bed and took out his notebook again. He opened on the page of his picture of Snape and selected a quill. He drew the curtains and settled down, his mind turning over the new information, and began to softly shade the hollow of Snape's cheek.
It was some time later when Seamus, Dean and Neville arrived back in the dormitory, and they assumed that Harry was asleep, leaving him in peace. He had placed his notebook and quill in the drawer beside his bed and was lying on his back, eyes closed, thinking back to Snape's words. 'My family have… certain ties to the family of Riddle's mother'.
The door to the dormitory swung open and was slammed shut loudly, to the protests of Seamus and Dean, who were playing gobstones, the loss of their concentration costing Dean the game.
"Nice to see you made it to dinner to spend some time with me and Hermione." Ron said loudly in the direction of Harry's bed. Harry stayed silent, hoping that Ron, too, would believe him to be asleep. "Oh, fine," Ron snarled, "have it your way. Don't bother coming to practice."
Harry heard him stomp off again, and rolled onto his side, staring blankly at the red drapes which surrounded him. There had been three names on that final line of Snapes. Somewhere there existed a brother and a sister… an elder and a younger Snape. What a strange notion, that Snape should have a family. No longer a singular entity, this made him seem more… human.
Harry closed his eyes. The day spent in the library had certainly been invaluable.
Severus Snape was proving to be a man with far more secrets than Harry had ever imagined.