Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10063130.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      Multi, Gen
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Harry_Potter, Pansy_Parkinson
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Heterosexual_Sex, Out_of_Character, Sexual_Content,
      Alternate_Universe, Angst, Tragedy, Drama, First_Time, Hurt/Comfort,
      Mystery, Suspense
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-01-24 Completed: 2008-03-23 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 11807
****** Family Connect ******
by Iivanainen [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     Albus Dumbledore always was a meddlesome old man, but to Harry,
     bringing him his sister in any but blood would never be forgotten; A
     tale about a great friendship in times of war where everything you’ve
     always taken for granted are revaluated.. Prequel to coming stories
     (!)
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
***** Chapter One *****
Disclaimer: Nothing is owned by me, if that was the case, probably everything
would’ve happened differently. But, such is the case that J.K Rowling created
them, and therefore this complete universe belongs to her.
So, my new little project –lol- This little fic holds a special place in my
heart as I wrote it all directly out of the little muscle-thingy we depend on
to live. I wrote it when all I really wanted was to crawl in to a corner and
cry.
It’s a series to which this is the first story of, I think, five or six. This
is to develop the universe I will be working in for many months to come.
I will not come with millions of warning before hand, flame me all you want but
do it in a serious way. What I will warn about though, is Slash in the coming
stories. This first one will be Het (surprise surprise) but Slash will come.
Hundred thousands of thanks to DarQuing for more things that I care to count
but one of them is Beta’ing this story.
(Oh and this happens after OotP. Please disregard HBP and DH Completely)
-,,-
Harry Potter was, once again, stuck at Privet Drive over the summer. Only this
time he kind of knew why; because of the Blood Protection created, unknowingly,
by his the night his mother died. Died, Harry thought, she was only one of many
more. His father, Cedric and Sirius had been the others who were killed from
just being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Voldemort tried to attack
him in one way or another.
Ron, Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Ginny had been others who had been severely hurt
injured in incidents in his First, Second and Fifth year. All of the injuries
had been sustained in his Fifth even if it was not the first time. Sirius had
been the one to be permanently lost in the last attack a few weeks ago in the
Department of Mysteries. A basically useless attack executed for the one and
only reason to get a hold of a Prophecy that might tell if Harry could be
killed or not. Harry snorted; it certainly hadn’t stopped Voldemort from trying
in the past.
The teen didn’t exactly know how he felt about Dumbledore. Harry couldn’t
really blame the grandfatherly man, but he could’ve informed Harry of the
Prophecy after the incident at the Graveyard. Sure, Harry had been a mess back
then but surely it would’ve been better with just one emotional blow at only
one occasion than several new ones every time he had recovered mostly from the
last?
But, he thought again, now it’s too late. What had been done had been done and
was now impossible to change. Everyone made mistakes, especially during the
pressure of a looming war. Harry and Dumbledore, even Sirius, had both made
them.
The doorbell rang from downstairs. Harry sighed heavily knowing it was
Dumbledore. The headmaster had written the day before requesting a dinner, of
all things, the day after. ‘The day after’ had quickly turned to today.
Vernon had not been at all pleased but had eventually agreed after,
surprisingly, Petunia’s insistence. Since then Petunia had been very busy
cleaning out the house and cooking. Harry had even been left for his own
devices for once. Of course, none of this left a very happy Vernon, or Dudley,
but Harry didn’t really care at the moment.
He lazily straightened out his clothes and went downstairs.
“Boy!” Petunia called from the kitchen, “Get the door.”
Harry did so, and as assumed, Dumbledore was standing there. He wore a much
less noticeable set of robes today, in brownish colours.
“Good evening, my boy,” the man greeted happily. Harry heard a distinctive
snort from behind Dumbledore following that statement. This, of course, left
Harry quite puzzled.
“Good evening, sir,“ he replied, “Aunt Petunia is nearly done with dinner, I
think.”
“Excellent,“ Dumbledore said but then his cheery aura faded a little, “I do
hope there is enough for one more guest.” He stepped aside to allow Harry to
see the other figure. Behind him stood a blonde girl in sleek black robes.
“Pansy Parkinson,“ Harry exclaimed incredulously, “Professor, why is Parkinson
here?” he asked his mentor. The girl looked a little distressed but it was only
noticeable if you looked closely.
“Miss Parkinson accompanied me on my little trip,“ was the man’s response, “Now
though, I do believe it’s time you let us in.”
Harry stepped out of the doorway, “Uh, of course, sir.”
The newcomers walked inside the overly normal house. Harry glared weakly at the
witch, but her expression remained the same. Not an ounce of distaste of being
in a Muggle house or worse as the situation was, in the Boy Who Lived’s Muggle
house. There’s something fishy going on, he thought, and I’m going to find out
what, and why.
-,.,-
“A splendid dinner, my dear Petunia,“ Dumbledore praised the Muggle. He then
Levitated the fancy silverware to the sink and charmed it clean. Dudley threw
frightened glances at his father who himself tried hard not to be intimidated
by the old wizard. Or at least not show it.
“I think it's time you explained the presence of the other freak?” he sneered
instead. Parkinson looked outraged at that statement. She turned to Dumbledore
who gently shook his head at her. Harry saw this in clear surprise, since when
did Slytherins follow Dumbledore’s directions?
“Yes, I do believe it’s time I explained the presence of my little guest,“ the
man said, “Let us adjourn to the sitting room, shall we?” not waiting for an
answer, he left the table and moved to the other room. Parkinson quietly, and a
little sadly Harry noticed, followed.
Vernon glared at Harry, who shrugged in response. The whale man did not look
happy as he threw down his napkin and stomped after the old man. Harry followed
him, and his wife and child followed shortly after Harry.
In the sitting room they found Dumbledore sitting in a conjured slightly pink
armchair. Parkinson pressed herself into the corner of the newly conjured two-
seat sofa in the same design as the armchair. Harry sat down in the other
corner of the sofa while looking warily at the witch. The Dursleys chose their
own three-seat couch.
In silence, Dumbledore conjured six porcelain cups and a teapot there as well.
With the same suspicion as all evening, Harry poured a generous amount of sugar
in his lemon tea. As did Dumbledore. No one else even touched his or her drink.
“I realise that Miss Parkinson’s presence is discomforting for you all and that
you would like an explanation. But first, I need to deal with what actually
brought me here.”
The man took a deep breath, “It’s crucial that Harry is allowed to call this
place home as the war has been made official once and for all. Petunia, in the
letter I sent with Harry 15 years ago, I explained the reason to why and I do
believe I reminded you a year ago. Harry will stay here for about one to two
weeks more after this week, after that he will be moved to another location.”
Harry didn’t quite know how to feel that the man talked over his head and not
to him. What he did know though, was that he was excited that he only had less
than two weeks left. After that he would surely get to go and celebrate the
rest of summer with the Weasleys. After a quick count, he found that he would
be spending his sixteenth birthday there.
Petunia nodded thoughtfully at him, “I think I can go along with that.”
Vernon was about to protest when Dumbledore held up his hand, causing the
Muggle to quiet down, “Mr Dursley, it’s only a few weeks. Not even that.”
The whale man glared, but said nothing.
“Now, to the second reason as to why I’m here,“ he turned to Harry, “As
important information was moved from Grimmauld Place, we found Sirius’s will.”
Harry temporarily froze, but tried to remain calm, “Go on,“ he urged gently.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, “Sirius left everything to you; Grimmauld, the
money, other estates and artefacts, the name. You are now officially the Black
Heir and you can, if you so desire, assume the title of Lord Black, as well as
Lord Potter, on your sixteenth birthday.”
Parkinson gasped at Harry’s side, “What?!” she exclaimed, “But the Blacks, oh
my, Potter and Black are a single line now aren’t they?”
The headmaster nodded, “Indeed, Potter and Black are now the same, quite a
formidable force politically, don’t you agree Miss Parkinson?”
The witch glanced at Harry’s scar, “Yes, sir, Potter-Black would have more
influence, money, knowledge, history than even the Malfoys have ever had.”
“Money, you say?” Vernon eyed Harry suspiciously.
“Yes, but none of it is in his disposal until he turns 16. With the titles as
Lord, he is considered an adult despite his young age,“ Dumbledore winked at
him.
Harry’s face lit up, “Does this mean I think it means?”
The headmaster nodded, albeit a little sadly, “Yes it does, my boy, yes it
does. I think Miss Parkinson can explain a little more. Which leads us to my
third concern,“ he turned to Aunt Petunia, “It is also crucial that Miss
Parkinson is allowed to stay here.”
“Here?!” Parkinson and Petunia exclaimed, “But Mr Dumbledore, Potter is enough,
you promised only Potter,“ Petunia continued.
“And you said I was only to come because Privet Drive was on the way,“
Parkinson put in.
“There is no way the other little.. thing is allowed to stay, Dumbledore, I
refuse it,“ Vernon stated while he crossed his arms and glared at Dumbledore.
Harry himself had no idea what was going on and Dudley looked with fear at
Parkinson.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Miss Parkinson, a most trusted friend of mine will be
here soon and pick them up. We only need to set up a new safe house for them to
live in. We are at war and both Harry’s and Miss Parkinson’s safety is very
much on the line. Number 4, Privet Drive is right now the safest place in
Britain after Hogwarts, “ Dumbledore addressed their concerns.
“Out of the question, I refuse,“ Vernon stated once more.
Petunia, however, looked a little more uncertain, “How can my house be that
safe?”
“I explained that in my letter, “ he stated simply.
The woman nodded, “And this blood safety extends to her?“ she gestured to the
blonde girl next to Harry.
“In some ways it does, yes,“ Dumbledore looked at her sternly, “I beg of you,
Petunia, to let her stay the short time period we need.”
Petunia looked warily to Vernon who noticed the short glance, “Out of the
question, simply out..”
“She can stay,“ Petunia said to Dumbledore, “It will keep her safe?”
“Yes, I thank you profusely.” The old man took out something from his pocket
and enlarged it back to its original size. Harry quickly noticed that it was a
trunk. Parkinson was really staying, he thought.
“Professor?” he said, “Why is Parkinson’s life in danger?” He saw out of the
corner of his eyes that the witch tensed even further.
“That, my dear Harry, is something only Miss Parkinson can tell you,“ he
replied gently.
“Why?” Parkinson protested
“Because talking of what has happened can sometimes help you deal with it, and
I think Harry can help you more if you explained the situation at hand by
yourself.”
She looked close to tears, but eventually she huffed out a short ‘fine’.
“Now, about sleeping arrangements,“ Dumbledore started, but was cut off by
Vernon stating that he wouldn’t spare another room. Harry sighed, so the
argument was on. The magical teens just watched on as the adults argued. Harry
knew this was not something that would make Vernon happy. No, after a quick
glance at the pulsating purple vein Vernon sported when furious, Harry
definitely knew this didn’t make Vernon happy.
Surprisingly, Petunia kept on arguing that if Parkinson was safe at Privet
Drive, she would be allowed to stay. Dudley stayed out of the almost-fight,
eyeing Parkinson with both fear and something else. The girl in question didn’t
say anything more.
Eventually it was settled that Dumbledore would conjure another bed and
Parkinson would share Harry’s room. Shock after shock in that night, and Harry
was too tired to argue and so, it seemed, was Parkinson.
The night continued with Dumbledore conjuring the bed while looking sadly at
the impersonal room. In that precious moment Harry knew Dumbledore was sorry
for the pain he had caused Harry. He also knew the man was really trying his
best to make sure Harry had a childhood even if placing him with the Dursleys
was a mistake. He threw a glance at Parkinson and saw that she looked as sad as
she had when she arrived. Something must have happened to the girl to change
her mind of whatever she had believed. And now Dumbledore was trying to help
her.
Harry looked back at Dumbledore who was now in the middle of rearranging the
furniture already in place in his small room. “I’ll try “ he said, “I’ll try,“
he said again more quietly.
Dumbledore smiled sadly, “That’s all I ask, my boy, is to try.”
-,.,-
Firstly I would like to say that I have around 6-8 chapters written, and I will
be posting them once a week, probably every Thursday.
I would also greatly appreciate your input and response to it, so please
review.
Love, Iivanainen
***** Chapter Two *****

Author's notes: Albus Dumbledore always was a meddlesome old man, but to Harry,
bringing him his sister in any but blood would never be forgotten; A tale about
a great friendship in times of war where everything you’ve always taken for
granted are revaluated..
===============================================================================
Hello again, so, yesterday I said I would update once a week, but now I noticed
I had 10 chapters finished, so I’ll give you one more. Then, maybe, just maybe
you’ll get 2 chapters a week, I’m not sure. It depends on how much I feel up to
writing in the next few weeks.
Thanks once again to DarQuing for Everything. Thanks, and cookies, also to
those who reviewed :)
-,,-
“..how you could let the freak stay, Petunia,“ Vernon snarled the following
morning. Harry heard him from the kitchen as he was making his way downstairs
for breakfast. Parkinson was walking quietly behind him.
“Their world is at war, Vernon, “ Petunia’s voice exclaimed, “It doesn’t take
much intelligence to figure out that girl is a victim of that war. She stays,
and that’s the end of it.”
“I didn’t know you care about their filthy world.”
“My sister was a part of their world. My nephew is a part of their world.”
“I thought you despised your sister.”
“I..” her voice faltered, “She will always be my sister, my only wish was that
it didn’t take me over 20 years to figure that out, “ Petunia said then, more
confident. Harry gasped loudly, Petunia had admitted to loving his mother to
Uncle Vernon! Parkinson looked surprised at his actions but didn’t say a word,
much like she hadn’t since Dumbledore left last night.
Apparently, the Muggles had heard them as Vernon said suddenly, “This
conversation is not over, Petunia, and you’ll do well in remember that.”
“I assure you, I won’t.”
“Good,“ he said in an icy voice before booming out, “Dudley, come on, we’re
leaving for the day!”
Harry moved out of the way in the stairs when he heard the heavy steps from his
cousin coming from upstairs, the blonde girl followed. Soon enough, the younger
whale was downstairs, and once again, he looked at the young witch in both fear
and something else. She glared at him and he jumped away as if electrocuted.
Harry would’ve laughed had it been any other situation.
The two whales left through the front door after one last glare at the magical
teens from Vernon.
Parkinson looked strangely at Harry. He didn’t know how to react so he settled
on a simple shrug, which seemed to satisfy her. The two walked through the hall
to the kitchen.
There, they found Petunia at the stove cooking for once, “Aunt Petunia?” Harry
asked carefully.
“Just sit down and eat, would you?” she said without much heat. Clearly she was
saddened by something. This put Harry on edge, as he had never seen his aunt
like this, never in his 15 years living there.
The kitchen table was set for five, but two weren’t there so something had
obviously been said in the argument that had occurred earlier that morning.
Aunt Petunia came to the table and put a few strips of fried bacon and an egg
each on their tables then went back to the sink. Parkinson carefully, and
slowly, ate of the food while Harry looked incredulously at his aunt doing the
dishes.
“By the way, I never caught your name. Parkinson was it?” Petunia asked
suddenly, now looking at the blonde girl.
“Yes, Parkinson, “ she replied quietly, “Pansy Parkinson.”
“Nice to meet you, “ Petunia said politely, “My name is Petunia Dursley,
formerly Evans. I’m Harry’s aunt.”
“Likewise.”
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked again.
“Yes?”
“Why are you being so.. so..?” He had trouble finding the right word.
“Nice? Polite? Kind? Less evil? I don’t know,” she said sadly, “I honestly
don’t know,” she added in a whispered tone.
Silence. Harry finally started eating while he looked curiously at his aunt who
leaned against a white cupboard with her hand further back against the door.
Her left hand was softly fingering the golden necklace she had worn since
before Harry could even remember.
“I know who sent you that howler,“ he said to start a conversation. Perhaps it
was stupid to even try, but it seemed his aunt was troubled by something. And a
gut instinct told him it had to do with magic and Lily Potter.
“I gathered he told you then,“ the woman stated, “You finally got the answer to
the question you were so persistent in asking me last summer.”
Harry nodded, “Have you exchanged letters often?”
“Sometimes,“ she replied, “Mr Dumbledore has.. explained some things when it
comes to you, Harry.”
“About Voldemort?” he asked. Parkinson choked on something. Both Harry and
Petunia looked worriedly at the girl for some reason, but she stroked her neck
and got whatever had stuck loose again.
“Yes, about Voldemort, “ Petunia answered.
After that, the rest of the breakfast was spent in silence.
-,.,-
On Thursday, two days after Parkinson’s arrival, Harry got a letter from
Hermione.
Hi Harry!
How is the summer so far? I hope you’re all right.
I was a little saddened when Ron wrote and told me
that you wouldn’t be spending the rest of the summer
at the Burrow. Well, mostly for Ron. I’m staying with
with my parents the rest of the summer. Now that
Voldemort’s return is officially out, I feel that family
is all the more important and I decided to stay and spend
as much time as possible with them. I know Ron feels the
same and therefore wants you there. But now you’re not.
We’ll see each other on September 1st though.
Take care, we love you.
Hermione
Harry smiled sadly as he read the short note. He missed them a lot. What had
caught his interest was the fact that he wasn’t supposed to go to the Burrow,
so where would he go? Hogwarts? Grimmauld? Somewhere else? And what was he
supposed to do? Train? Study? The questions were too many for short few
answers. Harry supposed he had to wait, but patience was not something he'd
born with a lot of.
“Friends,“ Parkinson’s whisper brought him out of his musings. The girl had not
spoken since Dumbledore dropped her off unless spoken to and she deemed it
important enough to answer. Which was not often. Now he saw her glancing at the
letter Hedwig had brought him.
The girl sighed, “Like they’ll care when they find out anyway, “ she whispered
to herself again before turning back to her book.
Harry watched her closely for while more before starting on the reply to
Hermione.
-,.,-
On Friday Parkinson had still not spoken. Everything felt surreal to Harry.
Parkinson, Malfoy’s girlfriend, was living at Harry’s house and had yet to say
something nasty. Aunt Petunia was actually nice for once. Uncle Vernon and
Dudley left every morning and returned late at night; Harry had no idea where
they went. They weren’t even home for mealtimes.
The three still around at Privet Drive were having a quiet dinner in the
kitchen. The TV was buzzing in the background just to take off some of the
awkward silence filling the perfect home. Something was different about tonight
though, as Harry was about to notice.
“..And lastly we have received reports that mass murderer Sirius Black has been
shot down in open gunfire. The police say that the criminal was caught in a
safe house just outside London. He refused to give up..”
Harry tuned it out then. He didn’t want to hear more about Sirius’s death, no
matter if it was the right story or not. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that lucky.
“Sirius Black, wasn’t he..?” Petunia asked.
“My Godfather, “ he replied simply.
“He’s dead?”
“I thought that was obvious as I’m now the new Black Heir,“ Harry snapped but
regretted it immediately, “I’m sorry, I just..” he trailed off. “Yes, he’s
dead, “ he then finished.
“How did he die?” Parkinson asked carefully. Harry turned to his right and
looked at her in surprise. She just shrugged.
“He fell through the Veil at the Ministry,” he answered politely, “I thought
you would’ve known.”
She looked a bit hurt, “Well I didn’t. Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters,“
she snapped.
“I never said you were.”
“Not outright,“ Parkinson cried out and pushed out the chair before escaping
the kitchen in a hurry. Harry followed suit and ran after her. When he reached
his room that he shared with the girl, he found her deeply buried under the bed
covers. The fabric was shaking and it was evident that she was crying.
“I’m sorry?” he asked her gently. The ‘What did I do?’ was left hanging. He got
no reply so instead he grabbed a bunch of clothes and left the room to take a
shower. Many events through the evening scared his remaining hunger away.
-,.,-
So, someone asked me about Family Trait. I won’t bother you with the excuse
here, but chapter 25 for Family Trait is on the way. I got stuck writing it,
and eventually gave up and sent it to a friend who is now writing the last
scene. Further explanations at the bottom of that chapter.
Now, about the names (Family Connect and Family Trait) they have no meaning
with each other, it just happened that way. I gave you more of the story, so I
hope you’ll like it, review if you do, or even if you don’t. I gave you
permission to flame, but in a serious way !
Love, Iivanainen
***** Chapter Three *****

Author's notes: Albus Dumbledore always was a meddlesome old man, but to Harry,
bringing him his sister in any but blood would never be forgotten; A tale about
a great friendship in times of war where everything you’ve always taken for
granted are revaluated..
===============================================================================
Hello, once again^^
It’s 20 minutes past midnight here, so technically, it’s Thursday, so new
chapter.
Thanxx for the reviews, I love them as always. :)
Thank you also to DarQuing, my friend who agreed to Beta this as well, and for
putting up with my insane ramblings.
On with the chapter..
-,,-
Saturday passed rather uneventful. Parkinson seemed more down than usual,
Petunia was quiet in thought, Vernon and Dudley was mysteriously gone. It was
at night that things changed drastically.
Harry woke up to a piercing scream filling his room. An extremely quick glance
at his alarm clock told him it was way past midnight. The scream came from the
other bed in the room. Parkinson, he thought. Moments after the scream she laid
softly crying clutching her pillow. It was clear that she way awake. Her teary,
deep blue eyes shone in the soft moon light coming from the half open window.
Hedwig was surprisingly still perched on the desk, hooting softly.
Harry left his bed. Not knowing how to help the poor girl, he just sat down on
the edge of her bed. The hard wood edges cut into his arse but in that moment,
he didn’t really care.
“Shh,“ he hushed softly, “It’s just a nightmare, “ he said and hoped that was
the case. Sobbing harshly the girl nodded slightly. She turned her death grip
on the pillow to his arm. Harry bit back the pain spiralling up his arm.
Parkinson was more important now for some reason.
They stayed like that for a few moments before she spoke softly, “Why am I
here, Potter? Why am I safe here?” she whispered. Her voice was harsh from the
earlier scream.
“Because..” he started but failed, “Because my mother died for me, her blood
protects me.” Harry didn’t know how to explain a scenario he didn’t know about.
He didn’t know her side, her views, her ideas, her wants, where her parents
were, why she was there in the first place. He just didn’t know.
She nodded to herself again, “Because You-Know-Who killed her, and you
survived. Your aunt protects you,“ she whispered again.
“Yeah,“ he agreed.
“You ignored the first question,“ she stated moments later. He was surprised
she even remembered in the state she was in.
“I don’t know why,“ he replied gently.
She sighed, “No, you don’t.”
Some time later, minutes or hours, Harry didn’t know, but eventually she sat up
and leaned against the wall. Gently she pulled Harry with her. He followed her
silent request. Wordlessly she wrapped one of her two blankets around them and
snuggled closer to him, seeking support. Again, they waited in silence just
sitting there. Her sobbing had slowed down long ago, now tears flowed freely
down her cheeks without any sounds or movements.
Parkinson took a deep breath and began, “They came little over a week ago, I
think. Revenge. They kill every Slytherin not willing to join. They came, late
at night. Around five or six of them. Father duelled them, Mother helped him. I
stayed covered as I had been told. Father had contacted the Order after they
approached. The Order came. The Death Eaters were taken out easily after that.
We packed, and left the same night. Mother wanted me to go with them, into
hiding but I have two years of schooling left. I didn’t want to leave.
Dumbledore promised me a safe place for all of us, but at separate locations,“
she explained and Harry listened attentively.
“I haven’t seen them since Monday. I don’t know where they are. I know nothing
other than that they might be safe. It’s funny, or not, that Dumbledore placed
me here.”
“Why?” he asked quietly.
She laughed in an equally quiet volume, but there was no humour, “We’re both
Half Bloods, alike in so many ways yet still so different. Dumbledore thinks
you can help me, for sure, that you can understand. Maybe you can, maybe you
can’t. I don’t know, I haven’t taken the time to get to know you properly to
make an image.”
Harry stayed silent for a while, just looking at the flickering of white light
in the room. The wind outside had picked up blowing life in some leaves
outside. It left shadows on the other side of the glass. That light, and the
sound of the wind was relaxing. Easy to think in for some reason, made his mind
clearer to process the new information it had just been given. Speaking of
which..
“You said we’re both Half Bloods?” The girl leaned more against him, with her
head against his shoulder.
She yawned before answering, “Yes, we are,“ she said then added, “In the exact
same way.”
Harry nodded and waited yet another while before trying to untangle himself
from the girl, “Good night,“ he whispered to her.
She grabbed his arm again, efficiently holding him in place, “No, stay.”
“Why do you trust me?” he asked suddenly.
The girl smiled a little in the dancing moonlight, “Because I think you can
understand.”
So Harry stayed.
-,.,-
Harry looked down on a sleeping Parkinson in his lap. She had traces left of
dried tears still on her cheeks. Harry tried to brush them away but they were
stuck. It would probably need water to wet them and wash them away again. So he
settled on gently stroking her hair. Something had happened during the night to
make them connect. He felt sorry for the girl and he understood Dumbledore’s
reasoning to place her at Privet Drive. Harry could understand her, at least
somewhat.
He had woken up around ten minutes ago when the sun decided to show its
beautiful face through the still open window. Hedwig had left during the night;
Harry had heard her just before he fell asleep. He fell asleep sitting with the
girl leaning against his side. In her relaxed state of sleeping she had fallen
down softly with her head in Harry’s lap. Short after that Harry had fallen
asleep himself.
Harry knew this was supposed to be wrong; Parkinson wouldn’t do something like
this. She should still be at Malfoy’s side, part of Umbridge’s little group
terrorising him, one of the nasty little Slytherins who didn’t waste a chance
to pick on him. But she wasn’t, instead she was peacefully asleep with him in
his aunt's house.
A few more minutes went by before Harry felt the mattress move as she tried to
get her right arm up from under her. He had thought it had to be uncomfortable
sleeping like that, but hadn’t really done anything against it, afraid he’d
wake her up. Parkinson eventually gave up and just rolled to the side so she
lay on her back.
Looking up at Harry, she spoke softly, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
She shrugged before sitting up and turning to face Harry again, “For.. I don’t
know. Everything?”
Harry nodded, “You're welcome. We should get dressed and go downstairs,“ he
said, changing the subject.
“We should,“ she agreed.
-,.,-
The next day, Harry got another letter. The little piece of parchment came with
Pig, so Harry assumed it was from Ron. And he was right.
Hi, mate
Hermione told me you didn’t know you
weren’t going here for the rest of the summer.
Do you know where you’re going? I asked
dad, but he doesn’t answer. So I know he knows
something at least, but won't say anything.
Wherever you’re going we can contact you, so
it’ll be fine. I think. Mum is worried that you
don’t eat properly. She’s been badgering me
like crazy about it. So, please eat whatever you can.
Ginny says hello, and the twins. And well, everyone.
Take care
Ron
Once again he caught Parkinson starring at the letter in his hand. She looked
almost longingly at it, and sadly. Every time Harry looked at her deep blue
eyes, he saw sadness. But he now knew why, she was worried abut her parents.
They sat almost identically in their beds: with their backs against the wall
and knees pushed up against their stomach slightly. Parkinson had a book in her
lap though, while Harry had a sketch-pad and some pencils for drawing. And now
the letter as well. She continued to look at the letter, while he looked at
her. Eventually she turned back to her book.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She looked up again, this time at him, “No, just.. Was it from Granger or
Weasley?”
“Ron,“ he answered.
“I wish I had friends like that, who cared nothing about blood. But,“ she
paused, “Now that I think about it, I only have one I can actually call a true
friend. Of course, he cares about blood as well.”
“Malfoy?”
Parkinson nodded, “Draco, surprisingly, he's my friend. Slytherins don’t
generally have true friends, but he’s mine and I’m his. But when he finds out
about my mother, he’ll.. give that up.”
“Is he really a friend then?” he questioned carefully. Every question was asked
carefully between them at the rare times that it was even asked in the first
place.
“Yes, he is,“ she sighed, “But blood is very important. I don’t think he’ll
stay when he finds out I’m not pure and that I have been lying about it,“ she
explained.
“I’ve never understood why bloods is so important,“ Harry said and shook his
head slightly.
“Honestly,“ she began, “I don’t either, but to them it holds a certain pride to
be pure so it matters to Draco. But it doesn’t to Weasley and Granger.”
“Yeah, a Blood Traitor, a Muggleborn and a Half Blood tend to do that,“ he
joked a little.
Parkinson didn’t say anything more. But Harry was somewhat happy that they had
had a decent conversation anyway. And he learned a lot from the few words they
exchanged. Once again he settled back and wrote a reply.
-,.,-
“What are you doing?” Parkinson asked suddenly on Monday. Harry looked up in
surprise. Their places were the same as every other day in the past week.
“I’m drawing, “ he answered.
Her eyes lit up a little, “May I see?”
“Uhm, “ he replied, “Sure.”
The girl jumped off her bed and walked the short metre or two to Harry’s and
sat down next to him, pressed between the bedside-desk and himself.
Not sure of what to do, he showed her the picture he’d been working on for a
couple of days. It was nothing much, just a black and white sketch of Hagrid’s
hut and the forest in the background. It also had a unicorn standing peacefully
amongst the trees. Its white glow was illuminated in the moonlight the best
Harry could achieve in greyscale. He’d gotten the idea when he sat watching the
dancing shadows while holding the girl sitting beside him.
She gasped slightly, “This is beautiful. You should be an artist.” Parkinson
looked directly at him, “You know, my father taught me the spells to make
paintings move ages ago. I can teach you later if you’d like.”
Harry smiled, “Yes, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,“ she murmured quietly while softly stroking her fingers over
the unicorn.
-,.,-
First thing, this story is very open plot-wise so far, even when I have half of
it written already. But it is a series, and this is just the first instalment
(is that word the correct one?) of at least 4 more. So anything you want to
read, let me know and I’ll see what I can do so fit it in. The further the
story goes, the more clear will the plot be so this offer is open until such
time as the final story in the series is complete.
The story will also be in Harry’s POV mostly, along with a few others
occasionally. Any events you want to see, or read in another POV, Let me know
and I might write a Side-Story.
Also, let me know what you think, even flames if written properly.
Thanxx
Love, Iivanainen
***** Chapter Four *****

Author's notes: Albus Dumbledore always was a meddlesome old man, but to Harry,
bringing him his sister in any but blood would never be forgotten; A tale about
a great friendship in times of war where everything you’ve always taken for
granted are revaluated..
===============================================================================
Hey there ;)
I’m not very patient, so I’m updating now anyway. And well, I like Wednesdays :
)
Thanks for the reviews :D
Thanks also to DarQuing who is my Beta :)
Enough nagging..
-,,-
On Tuesday, Harry was surprised to find Vernon and Dudley at breakfast when he
walked down. Parkinson walked in silence after him as usual. She only spoke to
him, and that was in his room and not very often.
“It’s been a week, what are you still doing here?” Vernon barked at them as
they entered the kitchen. Pieces of half-chewed eggs flew out of his mouth.
Thankfully, none of it hit Harry or Parkinson. It just disgusted the food still
on his plate further.
“He said a week or two, Uncle Vernon,“ Harry answered politely, “I’m sure
someone will come in a few days.”
“No, he said a week, and a week was what I agreed to. Now out!” the whale
called. Parkinson tensed slightly at his side, probably at the prospect of not
being safe.
“Vernon!” Petunia called from her place at the sink, “The boy is right, they
will stay.”
“So you take their side, woman, I should’ve known,“ he glared at his wife, “I
should’ve known you’d pick your freak of a sister.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side,“ the woman countered, “I’m merely trying to keep
two children safe.”
“They’re freaks; the world would be a better place without them.”
“They’re human beings; their lives are worth as much as yours and mine.”
Vernon roughly pushed his chair back and struggled his fat arse out of it
before marching around the table to his wife. Harry saw fear in her eyes. He
also saw her discreetly grabbing a hold of a kitchen knife behind her back.
That was the last he saw of her before the whale covered his view.
Everyone in the kitchen heard his next words spoken in a dangerously low tone,
“You will not compare me with those filthy animals, woman.”
“Vernon, leave this house,“ she whimpered.
“You listen to me? You will not ever do that again,“ the whale continued.
“Leave this house.”
They were silent for a while. Harry looked in shock at their behaviour.
Parkinson looked in slight fear. And Dudley.. Dudley was eating and watching
the TV as if this was an ordinary occurrence. Harry was ready to be sick at his
cousin’s nonchalant way of his father’s threats to his mother.
“Fine, “ Vernon spat eventually, “I wouldn’t want to spend another minute in an
infected house anyway. Dudley, come, we’re leaving.” The man walked out of the
kitchen and his son dutifully followed. Not a minute later they heard the front
door thrown closed.
Aunt Petunia let go of a breath she’d been holding but didn’t release the knife
until several moments after they heard the car drive away. She leaned further
against the sink and once again fingered gently with the necklace around her
neck. Her head was bent back and her eyes closed.
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry asked softly.
She turned her head to him and opened her eyes, “My marriage has not been good
for many years,“ she stated simply, “Now eat or leave the kitchen.”
Harry understood the under meaning in that simple sentence, and apparently, his
aunt had chosen her sister and therefore her nephew. He felt sorry for the poor
woman, for what Vernon could’ve put her through during the years that their
marriage ‘had not been good’.
“I’d rather not eat,“ he said truthfully, “But I’ll stay anyway.”
Petunia nodded but said nothing.
-,.,-
Early in the morning after the small scene in the kitchen brought forward
another nightmare. When he heard the scream, Harry jumped out of his bed and
went to Parkinson’s. He sat down and gently rubbed her back as she lay there
clutching the pillow again. She was awake; the scream from herself must’ve
woken her once more.
The window was open again, and Harry got an idea, “Focus on the wind, it’ll
help you calm down,“ he said soothingly to the distressed girl. She nodded a
little and her teary eyes looked at the window.
“Does it help?” Harry asked quietly after a few minutes. She nodded again. “Do
you want to talk about it?”
She laid quiet for a while, “I was reminded by your.. uncle,“ she whispered
harshly.
“Anyone would be,“ he replied. Vernon was quite like Voldemort, only in
reverse.
Harry stayed and rubbed her back in soothing circles before he felt she would
manage on her own. But when he tried to move away, she grabbed his arm again,
“Stay, please,“ she begged.
Harry closed his eyes for the fraction of a second before he opened them again.
He had no idea how to do this. He was not used to it, but he tried his best so
he lay down on his back. The sad girl curled up at his side with her head on
his chest and sighed contently.
-,.,-
“I repeat, you really should be an artist, “ Parkinson stated from her spot
next to Harry. She had self-invited herself to share his bed and watch him draw
while she read.
“Maybe,“ he muttered.
“Seriously, you should. This is detailed and you capture beauty like I’ve never
seen anyone do before, “ she half-exclaimed. “Have you been drawing a lot?” she
asked.
“Yeah,“ he answered, “When I was growing up here, there’s not much to do.”
“I understand that. And I’m glad I brought novels with me.”
So it was novels she read, Harry thought. “Oh yeah? What are they called?”
“It’s a series by Jean M. Auel, “ the girl explained and showed him the purple
cover. ‘The Valley of Horses’ he read under a sketched drawing of three horses,
of those only one was coloured in soft brown. The author’s name was in large
letters above the horses.
Parkinson opened the cover and in neat letters written in blue ink was the text
‘Happy Birthday my beloved Sophia.’. He looked at the girl as she traced the
small letters with her left hand.
“My father gave the books to my mother on her last birthday. Mother lent them
to me once she was done reading them. I never got around to actually read the
series, but now.. She loves these books, and I feel closer to her when holding
something she loves,“ she explained sadly.
“They’ll make it, I’m sure of it,“ he said, trying to soothe her fears.
“I hope so..” she whispered. Harry looked at her sad face as continued to trace
her father’s words. Shortly after, a small teardrop fell its way to the
yellowish inside of the cover. He brought his hand to her cheeks and wiped away
another one on its way down her pale cheek.
After that small gesture, she turned to him, “Are we friends?”
He smiled a little at her, “I’d like to think so.” Harry was surprised by his
own words but didn’t regret them. The short incidents throughout her stay at
Privet Drive had somehow brought them together.
“Then call me Pansy, and I’ll call you Harry,“ she stated, smiling a little
herself.
-,.,-
The books Pansy reads are an actual series my mother read when I started
writing this and well, I read a little of them and liked what little I did read
so of course Pansy reads them. They are 5 books in the series now, but back in
1996, there were only 4 and the book Pansy reads now, is the second.
Enough nagging, but I’d like to remind you that this is pretty open story which
is in need of more plot so please feel free to give your input. One thing I’d
like to ask, in the future stories, there will be slash, any suggestions for
pairing? (For Harry)
Let me know what you think, good or bad.
Love, Iivanainen
***** Chapter Five *****

Author's notes: Albus Dumbledore always was a meddlesome old man, but to Harry,
bringing him his sister in any but blood would never be forgotten; A tale about
a great friendship in times of war where everything you’ve always taken for
granted are revaluated..
===============================================================================
Hello Darlings :) I have to be honest with you, I like Wednesdays better than
Thursdays ;)
Thanks for the reviews :D Thanks also to DarQuing for the editing of this
chapter and every other chapter in about every story I’m writing/have written :
)
On with the show..
-,,-
“..you playing her all along?” Harry heard his aunt’s angry voice from the
hall. It was the second time in little over a week that he and Pansy walked in
on an argument.
“It’s not the time to discuss my relation with Lily at this moment.” He froze
when he heard his Potions Professor respond. They knew each other, he wondered?
A glance at Pansy showed that she had no idea either, even though Harry didn’t
think so in the first place. Harry hurried down the stairs.
He somewhat heard his aunt saying something but ignored it, “You knew my
mother?” he asked Snape, “Sir?” he then added.
“Yes, he did,“ Petunia answered instead of the man. But the glare Snape sent
her shut her up.
“That, Mr Potter, “ he began, “Is none of your concern. Pack your bags, both of
you; we’ll be leaving as soon as possible.”
“But,“ Harry tried to protest.
“Now, Mr. Potter, Miss Parkinson,“ he snapped and they hurried to obey. Through
the walls and the floor Harry could faintly hear that they were still arguing.
About my mother, Harry thought somewhat angrily. His emotions shone through in
the way he literally threw down the few belongings he’d taken out of his trunk.
Pansy watched him closely but didn’t comment. She had only taken out her books
and clothes when needed. Everything else was already neatly packed.
When he was done he sat down on his bed in frustration. Pansy sat down next to
him and gently put her hand on his shoulder, “You okay?” she asked softly.
“No,“ he muttered back, “But I will be, eventually,“ added though he wasn’t so
sure. Pansy seemed satisfied. He stood up and grabbed Hedwig’s cage with the
beautiful snowy owl inside before taking his trunk in the other and left the
room. Pansy followed.
Downstairs the fight, if you could call it that, had ended. Petunia glared at
Snape who didn’t waste the opportunity to glare back. “Professor, where are we
going?” Harry asked politely.
“Safe house, by Portkey,“ the man answered and held out an empty glass vial he
muttered something to it and it started glowing faint blue, “It’ll will
activate in 30 seconds so I suggest touching it, Mr Potter.”
Harry did so, as did Pansy. Petunia looked with narrowed eyes at Snape, but she
did nothing.
“Good bye for now, Aunt Petunia,“ Harry called to her, choosing his words
carefully as to not signing off the property as home and therefore ridding it
of its wards. Just after he felt the pull behind his navel and the three were
on their way to an as yet unknown place to Harry.
-,.,-
Later in the evening found Harry sitting peacefully in the small staircase
leading from the porch of the house to the wild garden behind it. He was trying
to copy the sunset over the nearby forest and the glistening yellow light in
the otherwise green pond some distance away from him. Wherever the house was
placed, there was still some wind. And now, it was blowing softly through the
long grass surrounding the lonely property in the middle of nowhere.
His hands moved smoothly over the white paper, scratching out a few lines to
make out the contour to what he hoped would be a beautiful image. Occasionally
he took a sip of the rapidly cooling tea in the cup next to him. He was so
immersed in drawing he forgot about it.
It was peaceful wherever they were, not another human being as far as the eye
could see. Which suited Harry and Pansy as they were effectively in hiding now.
Only Snape and Dumbledore knew they were even there, and they lived alone. Of
course, Snape was supposed to come over every day to train Harry, and Pansy
should she wish it.
Harry sighed contently as he stilled in his movements just taking in their
surroundings.
“Look what I found,“ Pansy said happily from behind him. Harry turned around to
see her. The girl had decided to check out the small cottage there were to live
in during the reminder of the summer. She held up a semi-large wooden box with
golden inscriptions of some kind. He wasn’t able to read the circling text.
“What is it?” he asked. She sat down next to him on the stairs and placed the
box in her lap.
“This is something every Pureblood family has at least one of,“ she stated and
opened the box. In it were hundreds of pencils in every colour someone could
ever imagine. Each and every one was sharpened to perfection as they laid in
perfect colour coordination.
“Wow,“ Harry breathed.
“It’s perfect for you, Harry, it’s even yours by birth right.”
“It is?” he inquired in surprise. Pansy closed the box again and used her hand
to trace one of the beautifully carved words. Harry read it; it said ‘Potter’.
“Yes, so this house must belong to someone close to the Potters. Someone who
could give this to you at your sixteenth birthday as this box is a family
Heirloom given from father to son,“ she explained.
Harry put down his sketchpad at his feet and took the box from the girl. He
stroked the shiny golden-brown wood and the circling letters in pure gold.
“See,“ she pointed to a place amongst the gold, “It says James Potter, and
underneath..”
“Harry Potter,“ Harry finished for her. He looked at the other names. There
were enough of them to cover several centuries. “I have a family, a history,“
he said in astonishment.
Their eyes met and he spoke again, “They may be gone, but there’re things left
from them meant for me.”
Pansy nodded, “That’s what I like about Pureblood traditions, these Heirlooms
going down generations.”
Harry smiled and sat in silence, taking in the last warmth of the sun and just
looking at the different amazing colours in the, once again, opened box.
“Does your family have them?” Harry asked her suddenly.
“The Potters is a Lord line while the Parkinsons is not. We have less of them,
but we have some,“ she answered smiling, “The colour box is one of them. It’s
funny, Father taught me the spells when he caught me playing with our box. He
told me to be careful with the pencils, but I was allowed to draw anyway. I was
never good at it, but as a child, it was just fun drawing unimportant things
and making them come to life.”
Harry happily laughed a little at that, happy she could finally speak of her
father with a smile on her face. It was funny, as she had said, that Dumbledore
placed her with him, did the man know they would connect in the way they had?
Was it his intention by doing so? Giving her a friend who didn't care about
blood purity? Yes, he thought and smiled.
-,.,-
Harry was truly mesmerized by the view the pair had from the porch. And he had
insisted on eating lunch sitting at the small table secluded behind the
banister. There were also two chairs; perfect for them. Pansy had not objected
to this and now they were sitting there eating a baguette each with ham, cheese
and a bit of lettuce.
Snape had yet to show for the day, but Harry wasn’t worried. The man had told
them that he might need an extra day to get the supplies he needed. Of course
he’d not been so polite when informing them.
Harry took a sip of the cold orange juice they’d found in the small
refrigerator. It wet down the bread in his mouth making it easier to swallow.
Pansy brought his attention back to the skies, “Isn’t that your owl?” she said
and pointed to a small object coming closer to them. As they watched they
eventually saw the forms of wings, and Hedwig’s white feathers. The owl had
left the previous day for Hermione who had no owl of her own.
“Yeah,“ he confirmed, “Hedwig.”
“I’ve seen her for many years, how long have you had her?” the girl asked
before taking a bit of her baguette.
“I got her as a birthday present before First year, “ Harry answered her,
“Hagrid bought her for me on my first trip to Diagon Alley.”
“I got a kitten for my eleventh birthday, Luna. She was pure white Norwegian
Forest Cat,“ Pansy told him.
“Oh, did you bring her to Hogwarts?”
The girl nodded and watched the snowy owl who sat on the back of Harry’s chair,
“Yes, I did. Every year.”
“Where is she now?” he asked carefully before pulling out a piece of ham and
giving it to Hedwig.
“With Professor McGonagall I think, so I get to see her again on September
1st,“ she replied before changing the subject, “Who is it from?”
Harry untied the letter and looked at the front. He would recognise those neat,
and extremely small, words anywhere. “Hermione,“ he answered.
“Does she know about me?”
Harry bit his lip trying to come up with an answer; he didn't want to be rude
to the girl.
Pansy smiled at him, “It’s okay. You didn’t know how I came to you and such.
And I.. rather you didn’t tell her. Letters can be easily intercepted.”
He relaxed and nodded before reading the short letter. It said pretty much the
same as before, and a lot of well wishes from wherever he was.
-,.,-
So, cookies for everyone who figures out whose house they are at. Cookies also
to everyone who comes forward with a Great idea for the oncoming plot. I think
(!) I’ve got this story covered, (which will be around 20 chapters btw) but the
rest, as I’ve said before, I want suggestions for, okay?
I think that’s it for now. Read and Review ;)
Thanxx :)
Love, Iivanainen
***** Chapter Six *****
Hi everyone yet again ;) This chapter is pretty short, but they all are ‘cause
I like them that way for a reason. I don’t know if the following stories will
be written in the same way.
Thanks for all the reviews, I save each and everyone of them and put them over
my bed so I have something nice to see while trying to sleep. Keep this
important information in the front of your minds when you’re done reading ;)
Thanks also to DarQuing for beta’ing this :D
On with it then..
-,,-
Harry stopped his movements doing the dished when he heard a chair behind him
squeak in protest as someone sat down. He turned around and saw a blonde girl
with said hair in a tussled ponytail and pyjama-pants and an ordinary white top
sitting lazily leaning against the back of the old chair.
“Anymore clues as to who owns this house?” he asked Pansy.
She shook her head, “No Potter or Black Heirlooms, no belongings indicating an
owner on this floor, “ she said smirking a bit.
“What do you mean?” he said. There was only one floor in the small house. It
roomed a small kitchen, a small bathroom containing a toilet, a washbasin and a
simple shower, a living room connected to the kitchen and a bedroom of which
Harry and Pansy shared.
“What I mean is that this house has a basement.”
“It has?” he asked in surprise.
She nodded excitedly, “I found a hidden door behind that large poster with a
map over Britain. It has more locks than I cared to count, both Magical and
Muggle.”
“Show me, “ he said in a rush and dried the water and foam of his hands before
following the girl.
In the living room was a tattered sofa with two seats, a matching in armchair
in dirty beige, a TV that didn’t work and lots and lots of shelves, boxes and
the like spaced out around the room. Most of it was empty, some of it magically
locked for some reason, or contained books of various sorts. As it was all
placed after the walls, it left a rather big open space in the middle of the
house with red carpeting competing against all the dull brownish colours.
The poster Pansy was speaking of was supposed to be in the corner between the
sofa and the armchair, but the girl had apparently taken it down. And behind it
was a robust, dark brown door in some kind of heavy metal with different kinds
of locks scattered around at all places efficiently locking the door.
“It’s locked at the moment, “ Pansy stated, “I’m curious about what’s in the
basement though.”
“And that way you will stay, Miss Parkinson.” Both teens jumped at the voice
behind them. Although the door was only a few metres away, neither had heard
the Potions Master open it.
“Good morning, Professor Snape,“ the girl said politely.
“Likewise,“ he drawled. Snape was dressed in the normal black robes snapping at
this side when he stalked away in rapid pace. Harry followed him into the
kitchen area.
The man carefully laid out a few pieces of wrapped, black, linen on the table
before taking out a few books, enlarging them and putting them beside the
pieces of fabric.
“Sit,“ he commanded. They did so, beside each other while he stood at the other
side. Behind the man Harry could see the small mountain of foam in the sink.
“This,“ Snape continued and held up one of the linens and unwrapped it, “Is a
dagger. You will learn to use it,“ he said to Harry. Harry watched the silvery
blade shine in the light of the sun. The light spread around the room, leaving
small sun-cats on the white, dirty walls.
“But you said..” Pansy protested.
“If it’s so your desire, Miss Parkinson, I will teach you as well, “ he
answered the girl.
“Daggers kill, “ Harry stated.
Snape nodded, “How observant of you, Mr Potter, daggers do kill when used in
that particular way.”
“Death Eaters use them?” he asked stupidly, “I mean, I thought they were
Muggle..”
“Death Eaters do use them as you so eloquently stated, they kill. They also
cause a lot of pain. However, daggers are not used in battle, which is the way
you will be taught, “ the man paused.
“Daggers are a Muggle weapon and many wizards and witches don’t know they can
be used in fighting. The Dark Lord also refuses to use them as such. Ceremonial
daggers are often used in some rituals to draw the blood though.”
Harry unconsciously rubbed the hideous scar on his arm, a reminder of such a
ritual. Snape noticed his small action, “Like a resurrection,“ he said, “Now,
choose one you feel comfortable with.”
-,.,-
Later in the evening, Harry laid on his stomach, covered in a thick blanked in
the two-seat couch. He had a pillow under his chest to rise up a little, making
it easier to draw while lying down. The new picture he’d started on was a still
life of the daggers Harry and Pansy had chosen.
He drew then crossed over each other. The outlines were finished, the blades,
his was like a small sword with identical sides and Pansy’s was a spiralled
stiletto. Both of them were like a Christian cross with the shorter, vertical
piece of metal separating an equally short handle and the longer blade. Harry’s
was in emerald porcelain with an oval where the metal was shown. Pansy’s was
purple, like an amethyst, and polished wood.
The weapons were dangerous, clearly as both of them had cut themselves several
times handling them throughout the day, but at the same time oddly beautiful
and they had a pull inside Harry, almost forcing him to preserve their
mysterious beauty on paper. He was now trying to colour them in their
respective emerald and amethyst shades using the pencils in the Potter box.
The girl, and also his roommate, was curled up in the armchair, also in a
warming and comforting blanket. In her left hand was a book; Harry assumed it
was the third of the four books in the series as she’d been finished with the
second yesterday. She was nervously running the nails on her right hand over
her bottom lip while her eyes were rapidly moving over the text.
Normally they would’ve sat out on the porch, but the wind had picked up further
since yesterday. Rain had also starting dripping down from the dark skies
around noon and now thunder and lightning broke them around them in the wide-
open space. The rain could be heard smattering on top of the fragile roof.
Snape had, in his nasty ways, assured them that the entire house was warded
against all Muggle violence, including much of the force of nature. Still,
Harry was a little worried despite the calming ways of the storm around him.
Chaos around him had the amazing effect to sooth his own chaos, like now.
And he needed it after the day he’d had. After choosing their daggers, which
Harry was pretty sure were not Snape’s, they had been taught the correct ways
of holding them. They had also been told to pick the way they preferred the
best; Harry had chosen the way laying the handle in his open palm, curling his
middle and index finger around the short vertical line of the cross shape on
either side of the blade with the other two fingers holding the handle in
place. He also felt more secure in holding it in his left hand.
Pansy had chosen a more simple way of holding hers with her all of her fingers
curled around the amethyst-coloured wood with the stiletto-blade point away
from her thumb, in her right hand.
After that, Snape had shown them several ways to easily move his arm, and
efficiently cutting through the outer fabric of his conjured dummy. Harry had
been worried, once more, about killing.
“You’re not fighting to kill your opponent, Mr. Potter, merely weaken them with
many shallow cuts to then give you the opportunity to stun him or her,“ the man
had said then, calming Harry down slightly.
Still, Harry liked the daggers better on display for him to draw. But he had to
admit, slicing through the dummy in his still clumsy, unused way had felt good.
He was almost looking forward to learning more; more advanced moves and the
like, to then let out his suppressed aggressions and frustrations on the dummy
still in their living room for extra training.
-,.,-
So, Once again, cookies for everyone who figure out the owner of the house :
D Also, I BEG of you, come with suggestions. The more plot I have, the more I
like writing it and that minimizes (spelling?) the risk of delays. I’m just
saying ;)
ALSO, I saw Sweeney Todd today :D Awesome movie, PERFECT for my personality. I
love the beauty of daggers in That way –smiles- Enough of my insane ramblings..
(BTW, This Was a hint)
Review if you want a happy Iivanainen and I’ll “see” you next week, kay?
***** Chapter Seven *****
Long time no see, eh? Well, simple reason, a lot of things in my life has
changed.. (this is a time in my life where it sucks to be an author as I’m too
confused to remember what I’m writing, but oh well) and I actually LOST the
chapters already done for this one.. I had a friend helping me find them
though.. I’m not good with computers and I had accidentally moved over half of
my files to some tricky little place –grins- but here it is..
Thanks for the reviews :D and to DarQuing for the usual Beta’ing :)
-,.,-
Harry was automatically out of bed when he heard the scream followed by a sound
as if something heavy fell to the floor. He bolted out through the open door to
the bedroom. He’d left it open in a case like this as he’d left Pansy sleeping
in the armchair. Now though, it was obvious she was asleep.
He found her sitting with her back against the bottom of the armchair with her
knees tucked up against her chest. She looked as if vibrating in her shakings.
Harry moved carefully over to her and sat down not a decimetre away from the
crying girl. The effect was immediate as she turned to her right and hung on to
Harry as if on the verge of death.
Wrapping his arms around her small form, he started softly rocking her from
side to side, hushing soothingly in her ear. The quivers eventually calmed down
as did the sobbing. Harry still felt the wet, warm tears running from her
cheeks down to his shoulder though.
It was right after a loud thunder she let go a little. Harry wiped a tear away
for her cheeks. “Ready to go back to sleep?” he whispered softly. She nodded so
he stood up, pulling her with her. Her legs trembled from sitting on her knees
for a while so he led her the short way to the bedroom.
Harry now knew better than letting her sleep alone in her bed so he helped her
down in his bed where the covers were already pulled away. He laid down on her
back beside her and she curled up at his side like he was a major stuffed
animal soothing a small child. Looking at her face he saw the wet canals
running from her lightning up in the bright, white light filling the room
occasionally.
“What do you, when you dream?” he whispered to her.
“I see,“ she took a deep breath, “I see my parents failing to hold back the
Death Eaters,“ she whispered back.
Harry felt sorry for the girl, who wouldn’t? Her parents were in great danger
and the only thing saving them would be their ability to hide. But mistakes
were easily made, and people could be easily found so what were their chances
of surviving this soon-to be, if not yet already, brutal war? No, he mentally
shook his head; he refused to think like that.
He noticed the blonde girl looking at his eyes. “Dementors are said to be the
epitome of fear,“ she started, in a hushed tone, “Boggarts show us what we fear
deepest of all.”
Harry nodded a little, but let her speak.
“Your boggart is a Dementor, what do you see when they’re near?” she asked and
Harry tensed. A memory was brought back to the forefront of his mind. He tried
hard forgetting exactly that and he didn’t want to speak of it but neither
could he deny Pansy honesty when she so clearly had given it to him.
“I see my parents’ death, especially my mother,“ he replied sadly. Her mouth
turned to an ‘o’ shape, she clearly hadn’t expected that, but she didn’t
comment.
“Snape was her friend, I’m sure of it,“ she said instead.
“How come?” he whispered back to her in the darkness.
“The necklace your aunt used to touch all the time, Snape has one just like it.
And they certainly aren’t friends, so it leaves only one option left..” The
answer was left hanging, but Harry understood.
-,.,-
The pair was rudely awoken by harsh knock on the door. “Get up!“ Snape’s voice
came screaming through the door. Harry groaned as he stretched his muscles and
yawned in his bed. He heard the other bed squeak as Pansy did the same as he
sat up. His body protested as he did so.
“Bloody evil,“ he muttered.
“Likewise,“ Pansy agreed and sat up herself.
“You or me first?” Harry asked her.
“You go ahead, I showered last night, which you didn’t and I can smell that
from over here.” Harry laughed at that before pulling his trunk out from under
the bed, grabbing a few items. He then left for one of the two doors in the
bedroom. One led to the living room, the other the bathroom. Out of the corner
of his eyes he saw Pansy going out the other.
The shower was over quickly as was everything he needed to do. He got dressed
in Dudley’s enormous sweatpants and sleeveless top in the scarlet red of the
Gryffindor it signified.
In the kitchen area he found Snape leaning against the wall, waiting and Pansy
lazily buttering a sandwich at the table. Despite lack of hunger so early,
Harry sat down and took out a piece of bread in the now empty bag.
“You’re out?” Snape asked them.
Pansy nodded, “In bread, and milk and such things needed for breakfast. We
still have plenty left for lunch and dinner.”
“I shall bring you a refilling tomorrow then,“ he stated, “Anything else?”
The girl blushed slightly, “Yes,“ she murmured behind a glass of pumpkin juice.
“How fast do you need them and what kind?”
“Four days, tampons,“ she replied. Harry’s eyes widened slightly, he’d
forgotten girls had that once a month. He was also surprised at easy she could
tell, forgetting about the blush, and the neutral way Snape acted. Had it been
Harry, Snape would’ve ridiculed him for sure.
The man gave her a curt nod, “I assume you’re on the potion and want that as
well? As well as pain-relieving?”
“Yes, both,” she said, “Thank you.”
“Save it for another,“ the Potions Master told her, and turned to Harry, “Do
you need any potions?”
“No, sir,“ he replied. He didn’t have any Voldemort-infused headaches any
longer, and those he got he could deal with.
“Every time you run out of something, write it down on a list. I don’t trust
either of you to remember and I’m most certainly sure there’s at least
something more you need which you haven’t informed me off,” He threw a quick
glance out the glass door to the porch, “It’s sunny and the wind is still for
once. We shall train outside.”
Harry looked forward to the practice now, despite the pains in his body from
moving his limbs in ways he wasn’t used to. The girl sitting beside him had
kindly informed Harry that she’d seen the necklace during training if Snape
moved a particular way. So, seeing the necklace for himself had become his
number one mission now. Even more so than finding out about the owner of the
house.
-,.,-
I remember laughing like crazy when I wrote this part over months ago now. Poor
Pansy, asking Severus for tampons. I so don’t want to do that myself –grins-
Also, there is a hint in this on what’s to come ;) Review please :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!