Bloodline | Harry Potter x Reader [DISCONTINUED]

Third Year~Chapter Eight

Third Person POV

Harry didn't have a very clear idea of how he had managed to get back into the Honeydukes cellar, through the tunnel and into the castle once more. All he knew was that the return trip seemed to take no time at all, and that he hardly noticed what he was doing, because his head was still pounding with the conversation he had just heard.

Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr Weasley, Cornelius Fudge ... why hadn't anyone ever mentioned the fact that Harry's parents had died because their best friend had betrayed them?

(Y/N) hadn't spoken since she, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Three Broomsticks. She was too preoccupied with the thoughts that were racing through her mind. What she was wondering most was why her father had decided to keep it a secret. Did he think that she wouldn't handle the information well? If that was the case, he was definitely right.

Ron and Hermione watched Harry and (Y/N) nervously all through dinner, not daring to talk about what they'd overheard, because Percy was sitting close by them. When they went upstairs to the crowded common room, it was to find Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits.

Harry, who didn't want Fred and George asking him whether he'd reached Hogsmeade or not, sneaked quietly up to the boys dormitory. (Y/N) went up to her own dormitory and headed straight for her bedside cabinet. She pushed her books aside and quickly found what she was looking for – the leather-bound photo album she had brought with her from home, which was full of pictures of her mother and father. She sat down on her bed, drew the hangings around her, and started turning the pages, searching, until ...

She stopped on a picture of her parents' wedding day. There was a younger version of her father waving up at her, beaming. There was her mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with her dad. Nearby was another couple. A man who had untidy black hair standing up in all directions, strongly reminding (Y/N) of one of her best friends. His arm was around a red-haired woman who had the same green, almond-shaped eyes as Harry. There was the best man, Remus Lupin, standing next to (F/N), looking much younger and happier. And there ... that must be him, between the pairs. One of their best friends ... (Y/N) had never given him a thought before.

If she hadn't known it was the same person, she would never have guessed it was Black in this old photograph. His face wasn't sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the three people next to him? Did he realise he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years which would make him unrecognisable?

But the Dementors don't affect him, (Y/N) thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. He doesn't have to hear my mum screaming if they get too close –

(Y/N) slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into her cabinet, took off her robes and got into bed, making sure the hangings were hiding her from view.

The dormitory door opened.

'(Y/N)?' said Hermione's voice uncertainly.

But (Y/N) lay still, pretending to be asleep.

In the boy's dormitory, Harry lay awake in his bed. A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through him like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from his own album over his eyes.

He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. He could hear (though he had no idea what Black's voice might sound like) a low, excited mutter. 'It has happened, my Lord ... the Potters and (L/N)s have made me their Secret Keeper ...' And then came another voice, laughing shrilly, the same laugh that Harry heard inside his head whenever the Dementors drew near ...