Tuesday, February 24
Harry raced from the office, where the floo deposited him, to his bedroom. He passed Cissa on the stairs and flew past her without acknowledging her surprise or her greeting.
He had Timmy's soul inside of him.
He didn't know if it was shock, or disgust, fueling it, but his mind seemed relieved to build his brick barriers sky high. Harry mentally pushed on them himself, testing their strength, and felt satisfied that they were currently as strong as could be.
Just because Timmy's soul was inside him didn't mean that Timmy's voice could be.
Harry's wardrobe opened itself as he ran to it, his magic leaking from his pores and eager to do his bidding before he even asked it to. Harry grabbed the heavy stone basin from the top shelf and pulled a memory out of his mind.
It was his thirteenth birthday.
He thought Sirius Black was the worst thing out to get him.
And he thought he had been mad then, as Snape tried to tell him.
God, he wished he could go back and live in that moment forever.
Harry concentrated as he removed the memory and placed the shining silver strand in to the stone pensieve.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies....
Harry had heard it before, but he never dissected it as he tried to do now. Some of the fog in his mind had been blocked out by his hefty barriers; it tried to pour back in though, so he kept clearing his mind so he could concentrate. He listened to the prophecy as he did so, over and over, memorizing every syllable that was spoken.
"Either must d-die at the hand of the other," he murmured, "for neither can l-live while the other survives."
Harry sat back and noticed his trembling hands, shaking as quickly as his heart beat. He idly grabbed the cigarettes and lighter from his pocket and repeated that single line.
"Either must d-die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... so..." Harry blew smoke out between his lips, a steady and even stream, and tapped the floor irritably while his brow was furrowed. "So can we only die if we k-kill each other? If he lives forever, will I l-live forever too? Can I die, if he d-doesn't kill me?"
Harry considered all the times he should have died, could have slipped away to death so easily.
When he lived with the Dursley's, cold neglect and constant starvation threatening to shut down his organs.
Dodging knives and gang warfare on the streets and in the shelters, lucky as he never wound up in a body bag or an unmarked grave like so many other street kids.
Quirrell.
The basilisk.
The fall from the sky when the dementors came to his quidditch match.
The dragon.
Timmy in the graveyard.
Timmy in Hogsmeade.
Azkaban.
Harry inhaled on the cigarette and imagined that the smoke he blew out was the fog in his head.
Those events had all happened, he was certain of it. None of those brushes with death were dreams.
There were a dozen times when Harry should have died. He hadn't though. Because he was a survivor, because he was surviving.
"Snape said I'm a survivor," Harry mused quietly. "'Survivor'."
So Timmy was living because Harry was surviving.
Because... because he was carrying around Timmy's soul.
Inside of him.
Harry rushed to the loo, the contents of his stomach heaving, and threw up until he felt sweaty and shaky, but relatively empty.
And then Harry did something he'd never done before. He stole a few bottles of liquor from Snape's cabinets, got absolutely blackout drunk by himself, and threw a tantrum in his room so badly that he was sure Cissa's house-elves would be looking for a new place to reside.
Fred arrived back home from work, rather confused to find Harry passed out on the floor.
***
"Rise and shine, Harry, darlin."
"Haaaaaaarry."
"Oooh, darlin."
Harry grumbled and threw a pillow rather randomly, hoping it would strike whatever was making that god awful noise.
"Oh my loveeeee."
"Fuck off."
"I have a potion for what I'm pretty sure is a spiffing headache and a terrible hangover."
Harry groaned and rolled over, surprised to feel himself in his bed. "Time izzit?"
"Nearly noon."
"What?" Harry sat up quickly then groaned again at the aching dizziness in his head. "Fuck me."
"I know I'm a passionate lover, but finding you passed out in a puddle of puke didn't exactly turn me on, darlin."
Harry lifted his head from his hands and glared harshly at Fred. Fred was standing beside the bed, dressed in a pair of jeans and a jumper, with a potions vial in one hand and a cup of what smelled like coffee in the other.
"Here," Fred grinned and handed Harry the potion. "Tastes terrible, but works instantly."
"Ta," Harry muttered. He quickly swallowed the thick liquid and made a face. It did taste terrible, like raw fish. Fred handed him the coffee as the effects were kicking in.
"Rough night?" Fred asked, perching on the side of the bed as Harry sipped the coffee.
"Fuckin t-terrible," Harry muttered darkly as it all came rushing back.
He felt a block of ice suddenly settle inside his stomach as Fred's ring sent off a sparkle of light.
Oh.
That hurt.
"Drink up," Fred told him, spurring Harry from his swirling thoughts. "We have big plans today."
"Do we?" Harry asked, tilting his head curiously. "I th-think I'm supposed to go to-to class."
"Nope." Fred smiled brightly. "I talked to Snape last night and Sirius this morning. You, my love, have been excused from classes for next two weeks."
Harry took a sip of the coffee and blinked. "Why??"
Fred shrugged. "Snape said you should take some time to enjoy yourself and Sirius said 'I told him not to come back just yet, but that kid doesn't listen'," he laughed. "And I've hired Johnny to cover me at the shop, so you're stuck with me for two weeks, Potter."
The ice in Harry's stomach melted as it clenched tightly.
"Yeah," he said faintly, the words 'destroy the host' floating in his brain. "T-two weeks sounds brill, Fred."
And they had been brill.
Mostly.
Fred insisted on flying every day, so they journeyed to Spinner's End and made use of the enchanted quidditch pitch there. Harry was peeved to discover that his flying skills had gotten shoddy, earning him a fair few broken bones, and he flew all the harder for it.
He'd done a victorious barrel roll across the sky when he finally succeeding in getting the snitch before Fred after a week of working on it.
They went and saw Bill and Fleur at their seaside cottage. Fleur pointed out trails in the cliffs that they could hike and told them to come out during sunrise to 'see eet in all eet's splendor'. When they did go there one morning, Fred practically dragging Harry in his nightclothes still, it had been a pretty sight to see.
"Where do you want to live, when it's just us?" Fred asked as they dangled their legs over the cliff and watched the sun rise.
Harry watched the way the warm orange glow of the sun cast lights on Fred, making him appear as if he were made of sunshine himself. "Anywhere," he said softly. "Anywhere with you."
"And a huge yard to teach our godson how to play quidditch?" Fred grinned.
Harry forced a laugh that sounded as hollow as his chest did. "Yeah, sure."
Would he even get to meet his godson?
They also had dinner with Fred's mum and Charlie quite a few times.
Molly (who insisted that if Harry was going to marry Fred, he couldn't call her 'ma'am' anymore) seemed to make it her goal to fatten Harry up as much as she could. She tsk'd and clucked at his poor appetite and kept serving him increasingly large plates of food until she was satisfied he was 'up to weight'.
"Now, Fred tells me that you two are thinking of getting married this summer?" she asked one night.
The block of ice moved from Harry's stomach to his chest. "Yes ma— Molly," he said softly. "This summer."
Molly began discussing wedding plans every minute of every meal after that while Charlie gave Harry sympathetic looks and Harry slowly died inside.
Would he be destroyed before then? Would it be cruel to marry Fred when he knew he was going to die? They had only been engaged when Harry thought he died the first time, but now? When he knew he carried a fragment of Timmy's soul in him- would it be cruel?
Harry also spent a few quiet evenings with Cissa while Fred and Lucius argued over a never ending list of topics. Cissa insisted that the two of them were actually quite fond of each other, as they were the only three occupants in the house while Harry and the others were gone, but she ignored them as she worked with Harry. Cissa, apparently, was as good of an occlumens as Snape himself was, and she patiently helped Harry to build up his barriers.
"It would be easier if you weren't poisoning your body while we worked," she said, wrinkling her nose daintily at the cigarette in Harry's hand. "Clear body, clear mind."
Harry held his hand out, showing the current lack of tremors. "I'm f-fine."
"Say it slowly," Cissa said, harping on his speech as she couldn't truthfully complain about his mental shields now that he had began to get them back in working order. "Take your time when you speak and the stammer will fade." She tapped the side of her head with a manicured nail. "It is not a physical problem, but mental."
Harry scowled and purposefully blew a bit of smoke in her direction. "I am fiiiiine," he said slowly. "Thank youuuu."
Cissa summoned Harry's cigarette and stubbed it out. "You are disgusting," she sniffed.
Harry laughed and missed the soft look Fred sent him from his seat across the room.
It wasn't perfect. Harry still felt fog fill his mind at random moments, insisting that he had died and was haunting his house now. He still woke Fred up at night with his kicking and crying. He still checked for dementors or ghosts before entering a room.
He also felt a lot like this was everything he'd ever wanted, and his worst nightmare come true, which left Fred confused when Harry would clam up on his mood swings.
Harry wouldn't tell him about the horcrux. He couldn't. He knew he was essentially doing to Fred what Snape did to him, but Harry didn't want to see the never dulling light of joy in Fred's eyes to dim when he realized Harry was doomed to die.
Which, Harry realized, may have been why Snape didn't want to tell Harry either. It wasn't a great excuse, but Harry reluctantly could see why he'd waited.
Die or let Timmy live.
It was the question that plagued him in the quiet moments.
By the end of Harry's allotted two weeks, he felt almost like a new person. Or, at a minimum, like a person who hadn't been to Azkaban.
"I'll see you for Easter?" Fred asked him the afternoon he was due back at Hogwarts.
Harry tried to push his grief away as he nodded. "Yeah, Easter," he said. He could guarantee that much. He wouldn't let Dumbledore or any ghost kill him, he wouldn't let himself be destroyed, before Easter.
Die or live with Timmy's soul forever?
"Love you," Harry told Fred, feeling a strong wave of déjà vu as he once more stepped up to the floo. He carefully cleared the fog from his mind and clenched his hands over and over.
Fred abruptly wrapped Harry in his arms and kissed him until Harry had to pull away, breathless.
"I love you," Fred said, the truth of his words in his eyes. "Be safe."
Harry averted his eyes as he nodded slightly. "I'll try," he said. "Might kill your sister though, she kept calling me Prison Potter."
Fred chuckled, "Crazy girl. I'll have mum talk with her, shall I?"
Harry weighed his options quickly. Having Molly admonish Ginny on his behalf would be embarrassing, but Harry didn't fancy going back to Azkaban either, and he was sure now that he wasn't a ghost or inferi anymore (only a horcrux) that he might hurt her despite his best efforts.
"Probably for the best," he said lightly. "Thanks, Fred."
"For what?"
Harry leaned up and kissed him chastely. "For being you, I guess."
Fred gave Harry such a bright smile that he wondered if he could print a photo from a memory. If so, he would. And he'd carry it to his death.
Live your life with Timmy's soul, or die to kill him?
That wasn't the only question Harry had, but it was a big one.
When Harry floo'd back to Hogwarts, directly to Snape's quarters, he calmly sat down on his sofa and waited for Snape to arrive and sit in one of the matching chairs.
Harry immediately tilted his head at him. "How the fuck am I supposed to 'vanquish the Dark Lord' if I'm meant to die before he can be killed?"
That had been Harry's task before he die— Harry pinched his wrist with his nails as hard as he could, keeping the fog away —before he went to Azkaban. He was going to kill Timmy.
Harry felt a presence, calm, dark, soothing, brush against his mind, and he forced it out with a harsh snarl at Snape. "Stay out of my head," he snapped.
Snape folded his hands together on his lap and gave Harry a small smirk while his eyes glittered with what looked like mischief and danger. "Just checking," he said.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well? How am I supposed to fuckin vanquish him if he can't die while I survive, Snape? How?"
"You kill Albus Dumbledore."
Harry had no idea how the two things were related, but he scoffed. "And go back to Azkaban? No."
Snape looked caught off guard by Harry's immediate refusal. He rallied himself quickly though. "Albus' death would mean your survival," he said imploringly.
Harry shrugged and picked at his cuticles. "Brill, you kill him then."
"It has to be you," Snape insisted. "Harry, you need his wand."
Harry snapped his fingers and summoned a pain relieving potion. He spun his finger in a lazy circle and made it twirl in the air. Then he slowly pointed towards Snape's desk and the bottle followed his instructions.
"Don't reckon I do," Harry smirked.
Snape scowled, but there was a spark of joy in his eyes at Harry's cheek. "Arrogant brat," he scoffed. He pushed the bottle out from in front of him and gave Harry a scorching look. "You need his wand to see you as its owner. And then you can master Death."
"Master death," Harry repeated slowly.
His broken insanity had been contagious after all.
"Snape, that's mad," Harry told him. "You can't- can't master death."
"You can and you will," Snape said confidently. "The master of Death needs only three items of immense magical power: Death's invisibility cloak, which you have. The resurrection stone, which I have and will be giving to you. And the Elder Wand, which Albus has."
Harry laughed humorlessly. "Death's invisibility cloak? The resurrection stone? Where'd you get this shit from? A fuckin storybook?"
Snape didn't blush, but his eyelid did tick just a little and Harry howled with mocking laughter.
"You did!" he cried. "Seriously?" Harry shook his head at him. "You're desperate," he sneered. "'Marked for death', that's what Dumbledore told Barty." Harry twisted the knife a little harder, "Either I die or Timmy lives long enough to kill you all. Your life or mine, Snape, you don't get both."
"Yours," Snape said immediately. "I will always choose yours. I would present myself for death right now if it meant you lived to see adulthood, Harry. Fortunately, I believe we can both live to see the end of Voldemort."
"By mastering death?" Harry said, his anger and hurt dissipating at the simply spoken word 'yours'. "Snape, that's mad. My cloak didn't belong to 'Death', it was my dads. And I- I can't kill Dumbledore. I'll go back, and I can't. Please, Snape, I can't go back."
"You won't," Snape said, soothing Harry's increasingly desperate rant. "If it comes down to a question of his death, we will flee. I will never allow you to go back, do you understand?"
"No," Harry said, because he didn't. "I don't understand a damn thing. This feels fake, but-" Harry pinched his wrist hard enough that he accidentally tore off a small piece of skin "-it isn't a dream, it's just you, being fucking crazy."
"It isn't crazy," Snape snapped. "It is your salvation, Harry, and I would thank you to at least hear me out."
"Ten minutes," Harry said flatly. "You lied to me for months, but I can tell it's important to you," for some ungodly reason, "so I'll listen for ten minutes then I'm leaving."
"How gracious," Snape sneered. He coughed lightly and tapped his desk with his wand. It took less than a minute for a tea tray with various little snacks to arrive. "Eat, drink, and listen."
Harry rolled his eyes and poured them both a cup of tea, mildly pleased that the shaking in his hands didn't spill a single drop.
Then he did just what Snape said: he ate a few biscuits, he drank three cups of tea, he went to the loo once because he drank so much tea, and he listened.
He listened to a story from a book of children's stories.
He listened to Snape trace ancestry back hundreds of years—
Was he cousins with Timmy?!
Disturbing.
He listened as Snape described how other invisibility cloaks eventually waned in their power, but not Harry's.
How there was a stone that could bring back the image of a loved one lost to death, but only temporarily and never truly human.
And he heard how Dumbledore defeated Grindewald and Tonks risked her own freedom to discover that Dumbledore won a wand in the duel- a wand made of elder wood with a thestral core.
An unbeatable wand.
Harry couldn't lie, not to himself; Snape spun a covetable idea. Harry with the power to hide from death, Harry with a stone to bring back people he lost, and Harry with a wand that inspired fear and respect.
But Harry didn't hear anything about those items making him immune to death.
And he had to die to get Timmy's soul out of him.
"That... sounds like something," Harry said once Snape finished. "I dunno though... what if I just used that red rock? Wouldn't it work?"
"No," Snape said simply, offering no further explanation. "I have scoured every bit of research, every piece of lore, and this is it, Harry. Master of Death, this is how you stay alive."
Harry picked at the sore he created on his wrist and shrugged one shoulder. "Or I die," he said.
Snape slammed his hand on the desk, jolting Harry from his thoughts. "You will live," Snape hissed. "You will do this and live."
"So," Harry tried not to laugh, "you expect me to kill Dumbledore, steal his wand. Then find a damn magic stone. Then what? Someone stabs me in the forehead?"
"We will decide that together when the time comes," Snape said smoothly, brushing aside the most important step here. "And I... I have it." Snape sounded nervous now, on an unknown edge. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a stone- small, uneven, black, with an odd marking scratched on the surface. "I thought, perhaps, you might like to use it, as it is now yours." He cleared his throat and placed the stone gently on the desk. "I should not have kept the horcrux from you, and I thought perhaps this could count as my apology. Though, credit where credit is due, it was Barty who found the stone."
"What?" Snape had never said anything so mad in his life. Had Harry's madness been contagious? Like people said his 'lack of proper morals' were? "You want me to bring back a ghost?" Harry could feel a sheen of sweat break out on his forehead and he twisted the skin on his wrist harshly to keep the fog in his mind at bay. He couldn't let the fog back in, it eroded his mental barriers and Timmy didn't need anything else inside him. "That's sick, Snape," he said. "Fuckin sick."
Snape pushed the stone towards him. "I thought you may like to speak with your mother."
The stone was all Harry could see as his breath came quickly.
"You said you wanted me to live," Harry said with a small gasp. "She'll kill me. She'll kill me. She'll—"
"She won't." Snape sounded so sure, so confident.
"Why? Because you love her?" Harry sneered, suddenly wanting to hurt Snape as much as this offer hurt him. "Tonks let me get arrested. Lily will kill me. I think maybe you've got crap taste in women."
Snape didn't rise to the bait; he kept his face passive and his hands folded calmly on the desktop. "You are more wrong than you could possibly imagine," he said. "I could wax poetic about how much your mother surely loves you- the boy who inspired her patronus, the boy she died for- or you could simply hear it from her."
"YOU'RE WRONG!" Harry yelled. He lunged to his feet and grabbed the stone in his hand, intent on throwing it at the wall. He cocked his hand back, his eyes on Snape's. Snape didn't blink, he didn't look angry- he looked sad. And that knocked the sudden fury out of Harry. "You're wrong," he repeated, dropping his hand to his side with the stone still clenched inside it.
Snape stood up and slowly came around the desk. He put his hand on Harry's should. "Turn it three times and think of her. I will be in my office. You may have all the privacy you need."
Harry's heart went wild when Snape stepped out of the room, closing the door softly. He opened his hand and looked at the stone on his scarred palm. For something so heinously dangerous, it looked innocent.
Harry turned it over once.
It won't work.
He turned it over twice.
If it does, she'll kill him.
He closed his eyes and turned it a third time.
He didn't have to see to sense her presence.
"Harry?"
Her voice was soft, a little husky, it was perfect and Harry wanted to hear it again.
He never wanted to hear it again.
"Harry? Baby?"
She stepped closer, he could tell, and he opened his eyes.
Oh God.
He'd never made such a mistake as he did by turning that stone a third time.
Their eyes met and it was agony. To have her look at him, even in her wraith-like appearance, hurt worse than any curse, any hex, any bullet, or any knife could.
Harry stared at her while fighting hard to keep from crying in shame, crying in despair, or crying in remorse.
Lily Potter was beautiful. She looked precisely as she'd been memorialized; beautiful, amazing, kind. Even with her washed out, nearly grey, appearance, Harry could tell they had the exact same eyes. In fact, Harry thought they had quite a bit of similar facial features. Their eye shape, their nose, the curve above their top lip. Harry probably got his jaw from his dad, but most of the rest seemed to come straight from her.
She kind of looked like the twenty year old version of what a child between Harry and Susan would look like.
And every moment that Harry looked at her had him sinking lower and lower.
How dare he survive while she died?
What type of magic deemed Harry, with his broken mind, his broken ideas, and his broken personality, more important than her?
She was perfect and he was dust.
"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "My son."
Harry moved his eyes to his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, so pathetically quietly. "I'm so sorry."
He could feel her coming closer, he could see her approaching him through the topmost of his vision, and he stayed where he was.
If she killed him, so be it.
Harry was meant to die anyway; even Snape said that Harry had to die. Snape just thought that Harry could master death and come back to life. But if Lily Potter wanted to kill him, then she'd bloody well earned the right, hadn't she?
She stopped moving, just in front of him. Harry kept his eyes on the stone in his hands. He felt a shock go through him when her hand, cold, not quite solid, touched his head.
"Don't ever apologize, not to me," she said. Her voice was soft, but passionate. "I can't believe you're my son."
Harry's lips twisted. "Because I'm a monster?"
"Because you're amazing."
Harry snapped his head up to look at her. She didn't look like she was mocking him. She didn't look like she was plotting his murder in her head.
"Why would you say that?" he asked her. "You- I- everyone says you were perfect; smart, sweet, kind. I'm not."
He was smart enough.
He was strong in a lot of ways.
But he was a monster.
He was dust.
Lily's lips curled up and her eyes glimmered with amusement. "Harry, my sweet boy, I was far from perfect. I was stubborn. I was judgmental and hypocritical. I made mistakes. I only did three good- no, three great things in my life."
Harry tilted his head to the side and lifted a brow at her, silently asking the question he wanted to know.
"I married your father."
According to Sirius, that wasn't much of an accomplishment on her part.
"I defied Voldemort three times before dying on my feet by his hand."
Harry certainly wasn't going to brag, but he was pretty sure he'd topped that number already and he was four years younger than she'd been when she died.
"Dying is easy," Harry croaked. "Snape said so."
"He wasn't wrong, necessarily," Lily said, tears pooling in her almost colorless eyes. "But knowing that dying meant that I'd have to give you up? That I wouldn't get to watch you grow up and raise you? That was the hardest thing I've ever done."
Maybe she didn't realize that it was a lot harder on Harry to lose her than it was for her to lose him. "What's the third one?" he asked.
She slid her hand from the top of Harry's head to his cheek. "And I created you," she whispered. "My greatest achievement."
"That's mad," Harry said, his voice hushed like hers despite their privacy. "You don't even know me."
"I know everything about you," she said. She smiled gently and traced his cheek bones with her thumb. "I've watched you your whole life. I've seen your struggles, your accomplishments, your tears, your laughter."
"Then you know," Harry said flatly, his chest aching with the realization. "You know who I am, what I am. You died for this? For me to have this life? What a fuckin waste."
"A waste?" Lily sounded surprised. "Harry, I'm so proud of you. All the things you've been through, times when I cried thinking my poor boy was done for, and you got through them? You're amazing."
Harry didn't want to see the reverent and loving look on her face to change, but she needed to know the truth.
"I've killed people," he said coolly, snapping his mask in place. If she was going to despise him, he didn't want to hear praise beforehand. "A lot of people. More than Snape."
"I would have killed them all with my bare hands if I had been there," Lily said immediately with a fire in her eyes. The pressure of her hand on his face never changed though. "I would have killed hundreds more. I would have killed Petunia and Vernon and even Dudley. I would have killed that boy from the shelter and the man in the alley. You have no idea, Harry. I would top even Voldemort's body count. You must get your self-restraint from your father," she grinned.
Harry scoffed. "You don't mean that," he said. "Shacklebolt and Moody say I'm a curse; the next Dark Lord."
"Imagine that, my son, the next Dark Lord," Lily said with a playful smile. "I'm so proud."
Harry knocked her hand off his face. He felt a fierce desire to make her understand that she died for a worthless cause. She should be glaring and snarling at him, not smiling and joking. "I've been to prison."
Lily rolled her eyes, as if that meant nothing. "You were innocent."
"But not really," Harry said quickly. "I just didn't get caught before."
"You got an Order of Merlin," Lily said. "You're not exactly subtle, sweetheart."
"People are afraid of me," Harry sneered. "People hate me."
"Because they're idiots," Lily sniffed haughtily. "If that little toerag Finnigan were here, I'd curse him myself."
Harry had to fight hard to keep from laughing as he imagined himself telling Finnigan that his mom doesn't like him.
"I've done drugs," Harry said with a cocky lilt to his tone. "I smoke. And I steal Snape's liquor all the time."
"I've done harder drugs than you," Lily said, actually laughing at him. "Remus and I used to smoke behind the caretakers hut when we were students. And if Sev didn't want you to get in to his liquor then perhaps he would ward it better."
"I AM NOT A GOOD PERSON!" Harry screamed, furious for reasons he couldn't identify. "YOU SHOULD HATE ME! YOU SHOULD WANT ME DEAD FOR WASTING YOUR SACRIFICE! What happened to perfect Lily Evans, Saint Lily Potter?!"
"She died," Lily said simply. She stepped closer to Harry and slowly reached out to put her hand on his arm. "People have a terrible habit of forgetting your flaws when you die. And who's going to talk badly about me to my orphaned son, hmm?"
"People talk bad about James to me," Harry challenged her. "He was a bully and a prat and used his gang to beat up on Snape."
"He was," Lily agreed easily while she stroked his arm. "Then he grew up a bit. And I'm glad you've taught Remus the error of his ways. I think you could probably give Sirius a little more hell than you have so far, but you did drag him to group therapy with Sev, so maybe that was torture enough."
"James would hate me," Harry said. He stuck his chin out stubbornly. "He hated Snape. And Snape made me his heir and calls me his son."
"Oh he doesn't hate Sev anymore," Lily laughed lightly. "Of course he hated him then, James and I both had a very black and white view of the world. If Sev used dark spells, then he must be dark and terrible. But we were wrong, and, besides, it's quite difficult to hate someone so dedicated to someone you love dearly."
"You don't love me," Harry scoffed. "You don't even know me."
"I know you love me," Lily said softly. "I know you're terrified of me. I know you think I hate you, but you'd really like it if I didn't."
"I don't even know you, suppose that means I don't love you either," Harry lied. "You're not even real. You're just a ghost, like I used to be."
Lily squeezed his arm and smiled warmly, just like how Cissa smiled at Draco and Amelia used to smile at Susan. "You do love me," she said. "But you're so terrified to love people because you expect them to throw you away. And it would hurt worse to be thrown away by someone you loved than by someone you didn't, right?"
"I already have a mind healer, I don't need a second one," Harry drawled in the coldest tone he could.
"And now you're pushing me away because when I leave it would be easier if I left while you were mad at me."
"Quit that," Harry snapped. He wrenched his arm from her grasp and backed away from her again. "You don't know that."
"I do." Lily gave him another warm smile with a searching look in her eyes before she slowly sank down to the floor. "Will you come sit with me? Please, Harry? I don't know how long we'll have and I can't bear to not spend every second beside you."
Harry clenched the stone in his hands tightly until he could feel it cutting in to his skin.
He liked the idea of bleeding on this stone that's causing him such pain.
Then he inhaled, counted to five, exhaled. He imagined all the fog in his brain leaving through his mouth in a thin stream. And then he moved on quiet and confident feet over to her side and sank down cross-legged on the floor beside her.
They turned, nearly at the same time, and stared in each other's faces. Nobody had told him before, but she was rather short. Even from a sitting position, they were nearly the same height.
"You're so handsome," Lily smiled sadly. She lifted her hand and gently traced the scar on the side of Harry's face, causing a shudder to go down his back at the soft gesture. "So smart, and so brave."
Harry held the stone tightly in his right hand and caught her hand in his left and moved it to his lap. "Tell me about you," he said abruptly.
"Me?" Lily laughed and Harry could have listened to it all day; forever really. It was just the kind of warm musical laughter that he imagined she'd have.
Harry had a mad desire to drain the blood out of his body and replace it with her laughter.
"What do you want to know?" Lily asked.
He meant to ask her about her likes and dislikes, her hobbies, her friends. But when he opened his mouth, "Is it hard to die?" is what came out.
Lily's hand squeezed his. "Does it hurt? No. Is it hard to leave your friends and your family? It's the hardest thing in the world. And you're not allowed to die for approximately one hundred and eleven years, or else you are grounded mister."
Harry let out a huff of a laugh. He clenched his fingers on the stone, then unclenched them. "Snape says I won't..."
"But you don't believe him?" Lily asked quietly. "You think he's wrong?"
Harry sighed and looked up to the ceiling. He tried to sort out the mess inside his head. "I think it seems like bullshit," he finally said. He turned his head towards her now, quirking a curious brow. "What d'you think?"
"I think... I think that if anyone could find a way for you to live, it would be you and Severus," Lily said seriously. "Perhaps Fred and Susan too, I adore them."
Harry unwillingly laughed again and this time it was he who squeezed her hand. "They're the best," he agreed.
She turned her face down towards their hands and her lips trembled even as she smiled. She reached over and traced Harry's ring. "I wanted to be there, you know. I- I always thought I would be. I thought you'd bring someone home and I'd be a real twat and claim they weren't good enough. 'For my Harry? Bah!' And- and now..." She sniffled, but she didn't cry. "Now you're going to marry your Prince Charming and I'll never get to threaten him in person."
"Snape and Susan threaten him quite a bit," Harry said, trying to return the levity to their conversation. "I reckon Fred's a bit terrified of Snape, even though he gives him cheek all the time."
His weak joke worked and it got Lily to laugh once more.
Harry was going to pour this memory in to a vial so he could always have it, then he could play the sound of her laughter over and over, like he did the Led Zepplin disc Snape once bought him.
"Your father is going to be such a miserable sod when I go back," Lily told him in a conspiratorial tone; a tone he could have heard growing up. They could have whispered secrets at night over tea and biscuits. They would have had inside jokes and secret codes and all sorts of silly things between them.
Harry would have loved her. Harry would have done anything to make her laugh with him.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because, silly boy, I got to have this time with you," Lily said. "He's going to be so terribly jealous. I think he always hoped you'd be as stuck up his arse as he was with his father." She ran her free hand through Harry's hair. "I'm going to tell him that I'm your favorite. It'll kill him."
"I- I just..." Harry hadn't even considered his dad when he turned the stone over and over. He'd only thought of the one person he feared more than anything- the one person whose words could either repair dust or drive him to deaths doorstep.
"Shh, you don't need to explain anything." Lily continued the soothing stroking of his hair while he clung desperately to her other hand. "Do you know how often I hear people call you 'James' son'? This is simply payback."
"Petty," Harry grinned, reassured by her words.
"Oh you have no idea," Lily laughed once more. "Others might not tell you of my flaws, but I was far from perfect."
Harry listened eagerly as she spoke. She talked about her pettiness, her ability to hold grudges long past their expiration date. She told him about her vanity, not as bad as his father's, apparently, but bad enough that she skipped classes once because of a pimple on her nose. She told him about her hot temper, her inability to hold her tongue, her hatred to lose anything, no matter how insignificant it may be, and her embarrassing love of the spotlight.
"You were never destined to be behind the scenes," she joked. "Between James and I, you were born to be a Drama King."
Harry would have dug the knife in his own throat if it meant he never had to leave her. But when the sunlight had disappeared, the shadows overtook the room, Lily sighed despondently.
She tugged Harry to his feet and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Don't ever think I would be ashamed of you," she whispered. "Harry, I'm so incredibly proud of you. You aren't broken, you're perfect." She pulled him back and the sight of her smile swam through Harry's tears. "I could never hate you. I am always rooting for you, always, no matter what."
"Don't leave me," Harry desperately said. "Please? Please stay with me?"
"I'll never truly leave you, I'll simply be rooting you on from above," Lily said. She leaned in and kissed Harry's forehead just as he'd always dreamt that a mother would do for him. "I love you so much."
Harry dropped the stone while her lips were on his forehead.
"I love you, mum," he whispered to the empty room.
Harry took a few minutes to collect himself. He washed his face and stared in his eyes, her eyes, for a long time.
When he went to find Snape, he felt a long-lost sense of fire ignite inside of him. He stepped in Snape's office with his head held high, and his hands steady by his side. He silenced the room and sat calmly in front of Snape's desk.
"How do we kill Dumbledore?"