Unwelcome Burdens
De Amore Et Bello
Chapter 5
🍺⚡💥
Previously on De Amore Et Bello:
“I recognise a fellow warrior when I see one, Mr Vasaio. Fighting never truly leaves our bones, does it?” Flitwick stares at him, small smile playing about his lips. Harry stills before a similar smile graces his face.
“No, no it doesn’t.” He says, more so whispers it. “You are a magnificent dueller, Professor Flitwick.”
“As I am sure you are. If better.” Filius winks at him and leaves, heading to the Staff table where he laughs at something the Care of Magical Creatures teacher says. Harry turns back to the table, the gobsmacked students staring at him with wide eyes. His friends are barely paying attention, used to the strange events occurring around Harry. Fred’s back to sleeping on his shoulder, snorting every now and then and George’s head is in his arms.
“Something on my face?” Harry asks, touching his jaw. The students dart their eyes away, hastening to go back to normal. Harry snickers and starts eating, mind preparing for the inevitable event of Dumbledore trying to force his way into their crafted plan. But this time, this time he’d be ready. This time he wouldn’t crumble.
After all, he wasn’t just an abused, touch-starved, attention-revelling eleven year old boy who’d do anything he could to fit in. He wasn’t Harry Potter anymore.
He was Harry Vasaio now.
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Wednesday, September 4th, 1977
Harry sitting in the library, reading through the book on Unspeakable time turners, jotting down notes on a small piece of parchment with one of the sugar quills Charlie had gifted him this morning after breakfast. There’s not a lot of information in the book since Unspeakable’s are rather tight lipped about what they do anyway, so the whole thing is a vague overlay of what they’re like.
They’re bigger for one. They stick to people that are important to time and history. With the way Harry had defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort twice and much of his life revolved around changes in history, what with more laws being put out, changing how things worked in the wizarding world, it’s safe to say he was an important person in time. The dials twist to go back to any time, whether it’s ten years into the past, a hundred, a thousand. It differs depending on where the time turner thinks it’s more essential to go. Which leads him to think time turners have minds of their own. The last thing, all Unspeakable time turners are connected, they trade energy between all of them. As soon as the Unspeakable time turner left the Ministry, stuck on Harry’s back, it gave it that boost in order to go back in time, coupled with the fact it was surrounded by powerful wizards and a cottage that was swimming in magic due to the wards, it had enough energy to fuel the mechanism to go back. As soon as Harry touched it, the dial turned on its own.
It didn’t matter that he didn’t twist it on its own. Just a touch. That’s all it needed to be able to go back.
Sighing softly, Harry cast a drying spell on the ink and rolls the parchment up, shoving it in his bag, along with the book before standing and heading over to the Ancient Runes section, grabbing a number of books. He starts with the ones for beginners; he hadn’t been there to properly study the runes but had seen glimpses of Granger’s works and snuck a look at some of her books. He figures starting at the beginning is a good way to gauge the subject as a whole.
Heading back to his table, he takes a seat and open the first book, spreading it open and grabbing his quill, rolling out a spare piece of parchment, using a spell to flatten it. He starts writing important things he can find, checking the time with a quick tempus to see that forty minutes have passed and there’s only twenty minutes of his free period left. He had lunch soon, so he’d probably go get a bite to eat, something soft and easy on the stomach before coming back.
When he does just that, eating some soup and some buttery bread, he comes back to find Remus sitting where his Ancient Runes are stack in a book. Looking up guiltily, Remus sends him a sheepish smile. “I saw you sitting here. You left your books, came to sit here otherwise Madam Pince would just put them back. Sorry, I can leave if you want?”
“No, stay.” Remus settles back, still looking guilty. Harry sighs, sitting opposite the sandy-haired male and pulling out everything he needs. They settle into a rhythm, both doing their separate works, quills scratching against parchment until there’s a sudden loll. Remus hesitates before placing his quill down. “Outside of the Potions classroom, when you were talking about … what happened with Snape, was it really that bad? That serious?”
Harry sighs through his nose, placing his own quill down and corking his vial of ink. He can tell this is going to take them a while. “If Severus was an heir of a Noble house, Sirius and James could be expelled or rotting in Azkaban for at least six months with that stunt.” Remus goes white as a ghost. His scar come forth, making him look even more rugged.
“I … I—really?” Remus’s voice is hushed, trembling. Harry nods.
“And what I heard; they didn’t even get in trouble for it. No detention, no points off. Dumbledore did absolutely nothing and considering his favouritism of Gryffindor’s, it’s expected. Instead, Severus got a weeks’ worth of detention for calling Evans a mudblood. Which, fair enough but for everything else? In my eyes, Severus is justified for hating all your guts.” Remus lowers his warm eyes, running a hand through his hair.
“You don’t know what Snape has done to us.”
“Other than existing? Being Evans friend? Even more of a friend than she is. What the hell has he done to you? Became a Slytherin? Get your fucking head out of your ass, Lupin, you should know of all people that looks don’t mean bloody anything. So it’s not his hair, it’s not his face, what is it? Is it for existing?” Harry prods. Remus glances up.
“What do you mean me of all people?” He says, looking suspicious. Harry sighs through his nose before gesturing to Remus’s face.
“I meant your scars, Lupin. I imagined people talked about them before your friends stepped in to protect you, even if it was out of view from you.” Remus’s face turns thoughtful, and he nods, looking back down at the table. “You’re friends may be good friends to you but to me? They’re good friends but shitty people. Unless they get down on their knees and beg for Severus’s forgiveness along with every single Slytherin they’ve bullied in the name of ‘pranks’ then they’re always going to be shitty people. You included.” Remus’s eyes go wide, skin paling as his lips shape words.
“I haven’t—haven’t done anything—”
“Watching is just as bad as doing. Next time step in and tell them to back the fuck off, otherwise all you’re doing is being as bad as they are, if not worse.” Harry slams his book open and elects to ignore Remus, not that it’s needed as Sirius turns up, glancing at him before grinning at Remus.
“Moony, time for lunch—I looked everywhere for you and then I thought where else would Remus Lupin go? To the library of course—Remus, Moony, you alright? You look pale.” Sirius takes in his shaking hands and then way he keeps glancing at Harry then at Sirius, looking even more horrified. “What the hell did you do to him?” Sirius growls, hand snapping out and grabbing Harry’s collar, jerking him to his feet. Harry makes a surprised noise, his ink going sprawling across the table. Luckily it’s not on his work.
“I did nothing. I told him the truth about your pranks, Black.” Harry hisses. “I told him that if Severus wanted, you and Potter could be in Azkaban rotting there for six months.” Sirius drains of colour, and he lets Harry go. Harry spells the ink back into the pot, lifting it up and corking it, spelling it clean. He spells his ink dry on his parchment and rolls it up, slamming it into his bag. He flicks his wand, and the books shoot back into their respective places.
“Next time, don’t fucking touch me.” Harry snarls back, glaring at Sirius as he stomps away, leaving the library and the two males behind. His neck tingles from where Sirius had brushed bare skin. Shivering a little, he adjusts his bag and stomps his way down to the Great Hall, over to where Charlie is sitting at the Hufflepuff table. He sits down and buries his face in Charlie’s shoulder, the male not faltering in the conversation he’s having with Amelia Bones, just pats his head softly.
Here, he can at least hide from the world for a while.
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Thursday, September 5th, 1977
Draco’s sitting on the grass, nearest to the lake, just on the edge, close enough to dip his feet into the water, soft cold liquid lapping at his feet. His shoes and socks are a few feet behind him, and his trouser legs bunched up to his knees as his stares at the ripples in the middle, where the Great Squid is probably swimming around. Sunlight shines onto his face when he closes his eyes and dips his head back, warming the expanse of his pale neck that’s on display.
Footsteps fall next to him and despite himself, despite how much he wants to deny it, he knows who’s stopped next to him. His presence is one he couldn’t miss, couldn’t truly forget. “Always loved water. My mother used to complain that I’d scream and scream when the house elves lifted me out of the water.”
“House elves?” Severus settles down besides him, tucking his legs underneath him instead of out like Draco.
Draco hums. “Pureblood. Came from a long line of proud wizards justifying their hatred of anyone they deemed lesser. I understood it, course I did, muggleborns don’t understand just what we went through back in the day because by the time they come into this world, everything’s handed to them on a silver platter. They don’t understand the struggle, the—the—” Draco stops and clenches his eyes even tighter shut. Severus shifts.
“But yeah, pureblood. We had loads of house elves, I never had to lift a finger. I grew an ego over it. Thought I was better than I was. But then I met Harry, we were enemies … sort of like you and Potter.” Severus scoffs a little at the reference, still bitter about the incident. Draco can’t blame him. “He opened my eyes to things. And then my parents got into trouble, went away in my fathers case to prison. My mother—she was murdered by light wizards. Harry found out, took me in, nursed me back to health when I fell ill. He went from my nemesis to my friend to my brother in naught but a few weeks.”
Severus releases a low breath.
“He’s good. One of the good ones.”
“He is.” Draco laughs wetly and lets his head dip to the side, until his cheek touches the cloth on Severus’s shoulder. Severus tenses before he relaxes in seconds. “I can’t be like him. I can’t be good.”
“You can, you can be. You just have to fight for it.” Severus whispers. Draco laughs once more and turns his face up, looking up at Severus through his eyelashes.
“Looking at you, I couldn’t imagine you saying something that. You have layers, Severus Snape, hidden layers.” Draco breathes. Severus’s eyes flicker down to his lips before up to his eyes, as if guilty for thinking of something between them in the vulnerable moment Draco’s having. Draco leans in without realising it and Severus does the same. Their lips brush and Draco presses in harder, closing his eyes.
Draco moves, shifting forward, causing Severus to gasp. Whimpering softly, Draco submits to the dark-haired male, letting his back hit the grass as Severus conjoins their lips once more, swinging his legs over Draco’s, straddling his hips. His lips part and a breathy exhale releases him when Severus’ tongue slips inside, wet, and heady.
Severus tugs back, eyes snapping open before he scrambles upwards. His eyes are wild, wide with shock. “Sorry—I’m sorry—” He stumbles back and takes a few steps back. Draco pants, eyes opening to see Severus’s hair in disarray around his head from where Draco had slid his hands through the strands.
“Severus—” Severus turns around, grabbing his bag before rushing away. Draco’s lips wobble before he brings his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead to his knees. “Oh no—oh no.” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as tears well in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks.
He fears for himself, fears for Severus, fears for what’s brewing between them.
Fears he’s just ruined it all from caving into his deepest desires.
🍺⚡💥
Friday, September 6th, 1977
Reading and doing his homework whilst he was walking wasn’t Fred’s brightest idea, but he was running late on time, and he wanted to get it out of the way so he could focus on their Gringotts visit on the weekend and everything that entailed afterwards. For he was sure that the meeting would lead to their plan being upgraded and expanded on. They’d end up either in a Gringotts room discussing with the goblins on their plans and how Dumbledore factored into it, or they’d be in the RoR once more with the chalk board coming up with plans.
He's just got his answer to the second to last question when someone smashes into him, going sprawling. Fred lets out a sound, a yelp, as he hits the floor. He knows he’s going to have a bruise on his ass. Looking to the person he’s smashes into, he opens his mouth to ask if the persons okay and sees Cyrus Malfoy gasping on the floor, scrambling to put his stuff back in his bag. Cyrus looks up, eyelashes fluttering and stifles a groan when he sees Fred.
“Honestly, why is it always you? Didn’t you have enough fun harassing me last time?” Cyrus demands, grabbing his books and letting out a sound like a sob when he sees it’s completely covered in ink. It seems he was carrying two ink vials in his bag and they’d both broken on impact. He chokes on a laugh and presses a hand to his cheek, hiding his face. “Of course, of course this happens to me? Can’t you just leave me alone?” Cyrus growls.
“Wrong twin, darling.” Cyrus gapes at him before his cheeks go pink.
“Of course it is. When I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.” It’s silent for a moment before Fred reaches for the books, placing a hand on Cyrus’s. It’s smooth and soft to the touch, slightly cold. Cyrus shivers. “Sorry.” Cyrus whispers. Fred shakes his head.
“Nothing to be sorry for. We all have bad days.” Fred soothes. He takes the book from Cyrus’s grip, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wand. Cyrus tenses. “Relax, darling. Let me help. It’s my fault your stuff is in this state in the first place.” Fred spells the ink back into the vials, repairing them without thought. He frowns thoughtfully before opening the books, seeing that the writing it fine, if a little smudged in places. “Is this what they looked like before?”
Cyrus takes a peek before flushing. “Uh, yeah. I’m left-handed so the ink smudges sometimes.” He grumbles, taking the book back. Fred cleans the bag and works through the other books, happy there’s such a small amount. If there was more, he’d be working at this for a while. Cyrus accepts each book and shoves them into his bag, grabbing the ink vials.
“Why don’t you get a quill made for left-handed people?” Fred asks, standing, holding out a hand. Cyrus hesitates before taking it, immediately looking at the ground as he shuffles his feet.
“Uh, well, they’re … expensive? And I don’t have … enough money to be spending it on things like that.” He murmured. Fred has to breathe in and out three times to still his anger that surges at that. Belladonna Malfoy is a bitch of a woman and to cut off family like that, even if it was due to an affair. The child has done nothing but be born. To be so bitter that you give the child barely enough money to live … it’s cruel. It’s being far too bitter to live a life for Fred’s liking.
“Okay.” Fred hums. Cyrus looks up at him then through his eyelashes. They’re slightly wet from tears of frustration he’d shed before realising it was a completely different twin.
“Just like that? Not going to ask anything?”
Fred shakes his head. “It’s not any of my business. But well … if it’s your parents that’re not giving you enough then—well, they don’t deserve you.” Cyrus’s cheeks go pink at the statement Fred issues so nonchalantly. “And you deserve better than that. So, yeah, not going to pry because it’s none of my business. I know all too well of having bitchy parents. My mother was a piece of work.”
“H-How so?” Cyrus asks as he takes a step forward, walking in the direction of the library. Fred grabs his bag and his parchment and quill; happy he though to buy a self-inking one. He had no need for a bottle of ink. In addition, no spilling, no breakage, no unnecessary smudging. Cyrus bites his lip after he’s registered what he’s said. “Uh, sorry, it’s none of my business—”
“No, you’re fine.” Fred smiles warmly at him. Cyrus goes pink, head whipping around to face the hallway. Fred sees that the males ears have gone red, startingly clear due to the white of his hair. The red-head thinks it’s undeniably attractive and adorable. “My parents got married just because they had Bill. My father didn’t love my mother, she … uh, drugged him with a love potion for six months. By the time he got cleansed as his family noticed something wrong with him, it was too late, and my mother was pregnant with child. Dad married her. We didn’t find out until later, but my mother kept drugging him with love potions until she got a baby girl. It took six tries. She had seven children by then.”
“She always loved her two youngest more than she loved us. Me and George were troublemakers, used to drive everyone up the wall because we wanted a bit of attention. Bill, Charlie, and Percy gave it to us as did my father, but we weren’t doing well financially, and he had to work a lot. My mother didn’t, said she was looking after us but really she’d just drop us off at our Great Aunt and take Ron and Ginny, the youngest’s, shopping and spoil them. We were sworn to secrecy, made a vow. Of course, we didn’t know what it was then.” Cyrus’s mouth drops open.
“Is she insane? A vow with a child?”
“That was our mother for you. Dad was different though, soft … loving. He adored us all, though sometimes he couldn’t stand the youngest. Our mother took him off the love potions when he got really sick and couldn’t go to work for three weeks. He was close to going to St Mungo’s for it and she didn’t continue in fear of him going and getting caught.” Cyrus’s lips thin.
“Stupid cow.” He grumbles. Fred laughs airily.
“Yeah, she was. Anyway, mother didn’t like us. She liked us even less when we dropped out of school for a while and decided we wanted a joke shop. She had some rather strong words for us and kept us locked in the house for a while. Harry though, found out and got us out with the help of Draco and our older brothers. Dad found out and went ballistic on our mother, but she stunned him and force-fed him the love potion again. Just like that, our dad was lost to us again. We completely cut ourselves off. But yeah, I’m filled with knowledge on how parents can be bitchy.” Cyrus’s lips thin, gnawing on the bottom for a long moment.
“She’s not my mother … step mother? I don’t know. She lets me live there but it’s only because father made her. She reminds me daily how much she hates me. But … I … can’t blame her?” He shrugs his shoulders a little. “I’m the product of an affair, a bastard born out of wedlock, you know? It’s no wonder she hates me, I’m the creation of the love between a stranger and her husband. And we don’t even know who my other parent is so I could be a half-blood which is infamously worse than being a pureblood product of an affair.” Cyrus chuckles bitterly. Fred stops, reaching out for Cyrus’s wrist. Cyrus pauses and glances at him before looking at his shoes.
“It’s not your fault. Sins of the parent aren’t supposed to be taken out on their children. You’re innocent in this. You don’t deserve the way she’s treating you, okay?” Cyrus blinks up at him wetly. Fred smiles at him. “Repeat after me. I am not my father.”
“I am not my father.” Cyrus whispers, not blinking lest the tears fall.
“I do not deserve the punishment of my father’s sins.”
Cyrus blinks. The tears still don’t fall. “I do not deserve the punishment of my father’s sins.”
“I am worthy of love. I do not need the love of those that hurt me.”
“I am worthy of love. I do not need the love of those that hurt me.” Cyrus squeezes his eyes shut. They wet his eyelashes. Even crying, close to tears, Fred thinks Cyrus still looks more beautiful than anyone he’s seen before.
“Now all of it. I am not my father. I do not deserve the punishment of my father’s sins. I am worthy of love. I do not need the love of those that hurt me.”
“I am not my father. I do not deserve the punishment of my father’s sins. I am worthy of love. I do not need the love of those that hurt me.” Cyrus’s voice is barely a whisper, like a breath lost in the breeze. Fred frowns.
“Louder. Stronger. It’s the truth, darling, you have to believe it. Even if you don’t want to, even if you think you don’t deserve it, these words are the truth. Tell me. Again.” Cyrus whimpers before nodding. When he opens his eyes, they’re waging an eternal war and filled with salty tears. They slip down his cheeks as his lips tremble. But when he speaks, his voice is stronger, filled with more conviction.
“I am not my father. I do not deserve the punishment of my father’s sins. I am worthy of love. I do not need the love of those that hurt me.” The last word makes Cyrus’s voice cracks. Fred hands come up slowly and wipes away Cyrus’s tears, bringing him close and pressing a chaste kiss to Cyrus’s forehead that makes the male shudder, fingers flying forward to grasp at Fred’s shirt. Fred pulls back but doesn’t go too far, collecting Cyrus in a hug. The male’s considerably shorter than him and it’s easy to tuck him into his embrace, feeling the wisps of breath against his collarbone. His chin presses against Cyrus’s hair, soft and sleek. “Thank you.” Cyrus whispers.
“You don’t need to thank me, darling. It’s the truth.” Fred pulls back, pressing another kiss to Cyrus’s forehead. Cyrus’s eyes fall shut and when he pulls back, leaving his embrace, Cyrus doesn’t open his eyes. Fred smiles softly, hand coming up to caress Cyrus’s cheek, indulging in what he wants before their precious bubble could break. “See you later, darling.” He whispers, kissing Cyrus on the cheek before turning and walking away.
Before he turns the corner, he glances over his shoulder. Cyrus’s eyes are still closed though his fingertips are brushing where Fred kissed him, small smile upturning the corner of his lips. Fred’s heart feels warm and whole as he turns the corner, seconds before Cyrus’s eyelashes flutter and open, staring at an empty corridor.