Severus Snape paced the length of Dumbledore's make-shift office agitatedly, his thin lips pulled into a furious scowl meant for the manipulative old fool. How dare he try to excuse that... that despicable thing! The girl was tortured mentally and psychically both and that dim-witted excuse of a back-stabbing friend expected her to just get over it and get back to normal. 'As if that was ever so simple.' He thought bitterly.
"She was held there for two bloody weeks, Albus! Two bloody weeks with Bellatrix Lestrange for company. Don't belittle that fact for the sake of an immature boy who can't even realize his own mistakes."
"As you have said Severus, it was a mistake on Mr. Weasley's part, not a-"
"His bloody mistake, though we both know it was no such thing, could have cost the girl her very life, Albus. It would have of, if not for a stroke of sheer luck on our part. It still befuddles me how she managed to escape the Malfoy manor all on her own. So tell me, what are you going to do about Weasley, dear friend?" He fervently hoped for something painful and lasting.
Dumbledore's usually calm and friendly expression has slipped from its place and was replaced with a stony mask of indifference.
"You know very well Severus, that Mr. Weasley's part in Harry's life is imperative for his emotional well-being. They're the best of friends, after all. Surely, you can see how devastating the lack of said friendship could prove to be, especially in Harry's case."
"OH and Miss Grenger is what, exactly? A walking and talking encyclopedia favored only when poor Mr. Potter needs his homework done for him? But let's not forget Albus. She's also quite handy when it comes to saving Potter's pathetic life and getting him out of mortal perish." The double spy sneered in earnest.
"But who really cares about such nonsensical things as Mr. Potter's continual life-span. After all, it's far more convenient all around to ally your golden boy with Mr. Weasley , who might I remind you, is such a consistent and loyal boy, never turning his back on dear Harry whenever something doesn't strike his fancy, never encouraging him on his dangerous and foolhardy adventures, and oh, he's so studious and bright! Merlin forbids anybody dares to call that boy judgmental, as well. A true pillar of support and understanding, indeed. So yes, yes Albus! I quite agree with you there. Mr. Weasley is much more important and contributive to Potter's well-being than Miss Grenger, who, might I remind you in your old age, is now permanently scared because of her loyalty to Potter, but foremost, because Weasley let some Death Eater whore manipulate him into leading Miss Grenger into a trap."
Dumbledore took a breath, his pale lips parted to form words, but Severus wasn't quite done yet. "Why won't you see reason, Albus? He practical handed her to them on a silver platter. He's a danger to the whole of Order. He's even a danger to your precious Potter!" He spat.
With his teeth bared and whole frame shaking with suppressed rage at the constant injustice coming from the headmaster, Professor Severus Snape made quite a sight.
If Harry were to later on reflect upon that night, he would have undoubtedly came to the conclusion that it was exactly that image, of his most hated potions Master so moved, which spurred him into action. He gripped his yew wand tightly and took a shuddering and much needed breath, as at some point during this enlightening conversation he forgot to draw it in. Harry acted quickly, as both Snape and Dumbledore had finally noticed his presence under the Invisibility cloak.
"Kretcher, take me to Ron." Said elf, although reluctantly, obeyed at once. With a snap of small greenish fingers Harry Potter was apparated. He found himself in Grimlaud place's kitchen, unnoticed by both Molly and Ron, who were busy with an argument of their own.
"-seeking attention!" Ron shouted at his mother, his face blotchy red and twisted with jealousy.
"Ronald Weasley! You should be ashamed of yourself!" The Weasley matriarch shouted as well, seemingly at end's wit. „I won't believe that poor girl would want to get abducted to bring-!-"
"She ruined everything, mom! Everything! It should have been about me-" Ron seemed to be working himself into an angry rant, but Harry knew he had to act fast; Snape and Dumbledore were surely looking for him by now. And although he would have certainly loved to hear what Ron had to say, time was pressing. He raised his arm, pointed, and shouted with inner will and deep intention to uncover this whole bloody mess.
"Legilimens!"
Ron sneaking off with his cloak to a nearby muggle village. He can't stand it back there. It's always Harry this or Harry that. Or better yet, -Oh, Miss Grenger, you're so brilliant!-, -Oh, Miss Grenger, your research is invaluable! -Oh, Miss Grenger that or Miss Grenger this!-. Bloody insufferable, that's what she is.
He wanders about and gets bored. Nothing happens. He goes back.
It's a week later. Ron is sneaking off again. This time he's got a plan. It's not like anyone will notice he's gone, anyway. And he's right, nobody notices for weeks. He keeps sneaking off. He's fallen into a pattern. He gets to the village and discretely shrugs off the cloak, a practiced glamour charm already firmly in place. He is not stupid, after all. He goes straight to the local pub. His charmed visage gets him a lot of attention from the ladies. Ron loves it, even though they're fawning not over copper and blue and freckles, but over a dark mysterious man in his mid-twenties, with high cheek bones and even darker smoldering eyes with curling eyelashes. He's been practicing it for ages.
He stays for two maybe three hours at most. Then he goes back, pleased beyond believe with himself because the ladies always ask him to come back. Secretly, he gets a kick off from acting snobbish and posh.
Then one day when Ron enters what he came to call his pub, there she is. Sitting at his usual booth. Ron's mind struggles to comprehend her 'wet-dream' beauty, but in the end he just gives up and stumbles to the bar. With two drinks in hand he squares his wide shoulders and struts up to the girl, no, to the woman. Before Ron can sit down the woman is up. She looks him up and down and then settles on his eyes. A satisfied smirk curls her painted lips.
"So it's true what they say. You're hot." She licks her lips and takes the drinks out of Ron's hands. Before Ron can comprehend what is really going on his virginity is a distant memory. His thoughts filled with ample curves and loud praises of his capabilities.
They keep meeting. Miss Samantha Mallory is apparently a squib. What a pleasant surprise. She is aware of the current going ons in the wizarding word via her cousin, who unfortunately attends Drumstag so Ron can't know him. What a shame.
After two weeks Ron is in love. Samantha is such a great girl. He feels as if they are meant to be. She is also very perceptive. She can feel that something is bothering her darling. Ron trusts her, besides, she loves him too, he's sure of that. She wouldn't betray him.
And do he confides in her.
She is very understanding; his love, and even devises a plan to show that frizzy-haired bitch what she's losing. Ron just has to bring that wench to the village, or better yet, that dense patch of trees will work even better. She'll see the beautiful woman that Samantha is and her clear adoration for Ron and that'll show her for sure! She'll know then that Ron is now forever out of her reach and regret disregarding him in favor of Harry bloody Potter.
Ron agrees with her plan. After all, what could possibly go wrong with it? It's just a harmless plot to show Hermione up her holier than thou nose.
Even luck agrees with him on that apparently, as three days later Ron offers to accompany Hermione for additional protection on her trip to gather local herbs for a few bases she is brewing for Snape for some more complicated healing potions and creams. Everything is arranged accordingly. Safety measures are in place and the two of them march off with strict orders not to go any further than they're supposed to.
It goes surprisingly ease.
When Hermione is bent over some plant Ron confundes her and sends a quick patronus to Samantha. Hermione falls face first into the greenery, but Ron pulls her up at once.
"Come on, we have to run now!" Ron tells her urgently. Hermione is confused, but her brain seems to realize the necessity in Ron's voice and she follows her friend as fast as she can. When the fog of confusion lifts from her brain enough to notice something is not quite right, it's already too late. She looks at Ron's smug face and a deep confused frown mares her own.
"Ron, what's going on? Where are we?" She inquires slowly.
"Oh, I just wanted you to meet someone."
"You, you what?" Hermione asks him, not understanding.
Ron waves at a bunch of trees and Hermione seems floored when a woman emerges from them, but Ron is even more surprised when six men in black cloaks and masks follow right behind her.
"Sa-Sammy?" Ron stutters, a cold sweat gathers at his brow. He's so shocked it doesn't even occur to him to take out his wand, to run, to do anything at all. He just stands there.
Sammy doesn't acknowledge Ron though; she turns to one of the Death Eater and jerks her chin in his direction. "There you go. Ronald Weasley and the mudblood, as per our deal."
"Yes, excellent. The Dark Lord will be pleased with you, cousin." The man drawls.
Ron draws in a shocked breath when he recognizes the blonde-white hair of Lucius Malfoy. He sputters and attempts to draw his wand, but another Death Eater disarms him before he can even point it properly, he notices that he has summoned Hermione's wand as well.
Malfoy turns to him and it looks like he's about to say something, but another Death Eater calls out to him at that moment. "Lucius, we have specific orders, my friend."
"Yes, yes. Time is of the essence." Malfoy gives a put-upon sigh. He casts a silent spell then and Ron falls down into a sprawled mess of liquefied bones.
The whole confrontation takes not even a minute.
From his fallen position all Ron can see are Hermione's shoes. Numbly, he notes that she is yet to react at all.
"Miss Grenger," The other Death Eater who spoke earlier to Malfoy is talking now. "It would be in your best interest to come with us willingly."
Ron thinks the curse thrown at him must have impaired his hearing as well.
"Oh, yes, of course. Might I inquire first by which way shall we be traveling, though? I am terrified of heights, you see, so broom-flight would be highly inadvisable. I'm very adept at apparation, though."
There is a stretch of deep silence as the men all look at each other. Surely, they must have expected something different than this upper-middle class inquiry. Miss Mellory must have grown tired of the silence as with a toss of her blonde hair she marches up to Hermione. Ron saw her falter mid step and then heard her huff of laughter.
"She's high!" She informs the gathering. A moment later Malfoy joins her side, a few steps away from Hermione.
"My, my... Her pupils are indeed enlarged. ...How fortunate."
"Miss Grenger, we shall of course accommodate to your needs. Will side-along be acceptable to you?" Ron can hear the evil smirk oozing from his sickly amused voice.
Hermione steps from one foot to another. "Certainly, Lord Malfoy. It would be much appreciated."
"Wait, aren't you going to take him as well?" Sammy interrupts them.
"No, we've no use for a useless blood-traitor like him."
Whatever happened next, Harry can only guess, as he is forcibly pushed out from Ron's mind by Dumbledore a minute or so later.
He doesn't care though, as he has seen enough in his opinion. The headmaster is speaking to him now, probably trying to do damage control, Harry thinks bitterly, but he turns to Snape abruptly and ignores Ron, who has slumped to the floor in exhaustion. There is one more mater he needs to attend to.
"An orange-ish plant, with very regular leaves shaped like arrows, its rots are covered in purple slime. What does it do and what are its uses?"
"It's very common to any magical forests in this area. It can cause many symptoms depending on specific circumstances, like the time it was harvested or how it came into contact with the organism. It's mostly used for creating healing salves for infected cuts if brewed correctly." Snape recites in his most professional lecture voice.
"And if someone were to fall face first into such a plant during day-time, around zenith?" Harry can suspect already, but he wants to be sure.
"Hallucination, a very specific feeling of everything being rightful, followed by nausea, rashes and irrational behavior. Is there a point to this, Mr. Potter?" Snape sneers at him like he always does; full of contempt and malice, but Harry notices the light of satisfaction in his eyes. Finally, at least, someone connects the dots.
"Yes." He answers curtly. He then turns to Dumbledore and tries not to feel intimidated.
"Why have you lied about what happened with Ron and Hermione, professor? Why did you support Ron's lies?" He hears Molly's gasp and feels sorry for her, but it's nothing compared to his feelings for Ron at this moment.
"Harry, please, try to see the bigger picture here, my boy. I did what had to be done, for the greater good. What you need right now is support from these you hold dear so you don't lose yourself in the darkness surrounding you. Miss Grenger right now needs support herself; she's too weak to lend you strength you so desperately need. While Ronald might have made a mista-"
Dumbledore was beseeching him with his blue eyes, he appeared sorrowful, but Harry noted the twinkle in his eyes was ever present; ready to scheme, plot and manipulate. He felt betrayed. The feeling was hot and cold at the same time, his face was pale and he felt shivers running down his spine. He was also so very, very angry. But even more so hurt.
Why? Why must he always be manipulated? Why him? Why can't people just stop lying to him? For God's sake, it was his bloody life! His own! Didn't he deserve to know the truth? What right did Dumbledore have to make decisions for him? Decisions he was very much capable of making on his bloody own. As if Dumbledore had any right to it. He was his own person, damn it!
And Hermione… oh God, Hermione! A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He was going to be sick, oh god, so sick! How could he? How could he do that to her? Doubt her, when she needed him the most. Her, who always stood by him no matter what; always supported him, never wavered from his side. She always believed him, always believed in him. Even when she disagreed with him, she still always had his back. He could always count on her with everything. Always by his side. Always ready to take authority in his stead, when he wasn't ready to face his responsibilities. From doing his fucking homework to saving him from a bunch of snatchers when he was foolish enough to venture out on a fucking picking with Ron and dragging her along!
He still remembers it perfectly. They were laid out on a blanket on a patch of grass. It was supposed to be a day free from work, free from stress. Him and Ron were playing a game of muggle chess and Hermione was reading some book. She wasn't relaxed though. Her posture was tense and strung. Her lips were pulled into a fierce scowl, a residue from a spat between her and Ron. He was telling her to pull that stick out of her ass and she replaying that she might do so if he stops foolishly exposing them to mortal danger with his even more foolish escapades, only relenting when Harry intervened that he could use some time away from the Head Quarters.
And what happens not even twenty minutes later? Mortal danger, that's what happens. The food they sneaked out of the kitchen has gotten cold and Ron casts a warming charm on it without a thought. There are hooks of apparation everywhere in a second. Too fast even for Harry to blink. But Hermione is already on her feet, casting Protego around the three of them. She shouts at Ron to grab Harry and then her, but Ron is trying to take out his wand with shaking hands. Harry reacts and grabs Ron instead, taking hold of his arm. "Hermione!" He screams when a nasty, bone melting spell is aimed their way, but the shimmering blue of their shield holds if only barely. Harry tugs on Hermione's left hand in silent askance. She doesn't spare him a glance. All her attention is concentrated on the three men trying to take down their shield. A bead of perspiration gathers on her brow. She raises her wand arm higher and then sweeps it down in a sharp arch ending with a loop. Blinding light explodes and only then Hermione spares him a glance. She takes hold of his hand and then of Ron's and spins them out of there in a moment's notice.
She apparates the three of them at the cost of two toes of her left foot, they've gotten splinched.
All this has taken two minutes. Two bloody minutes. She didn't speak to them for a month afterwards. Harry didn't press for forgiveness, he was too ashamed. Too ashamed of his own inability and of his own foolhardiness.
And now? Now again, he has failed her. A bone-deep loathing overcomes him then. Loathing for himself, for Dumbledore, for Ron, for Voldemort, but most of all, for himself. Wasn't he supposed to be the hero? The one to save everyone? And yet, he couldn't even keep one person safe, so let's not even talk about saving anyone. He has to face the truth, however awful it may be. Without Hermione to guide him, he was lost. What good was sheer power and a knack for fighting if he was hopeless in the bigger picture?
It's as she once told him, "You're not going to win the war by overpowering all your enemies in a duel, Harry. When it comes down to it, you and Voldemort are going to have to face off, you know that, but how are you going to accomplish that if you're dead? Killed off in a cross-fire by a bunch of snatchers and a few Order members because you just had to step in. I understand that you were badly ambushed and you had the advantage of surprise while being hidden under your cloak, but Harry, if you wanted to help, there were far better and safer options for you to do so. And none of them involves you jumping out from under your cloak, for God's sake." She looked close to tears, frustrated, furious and worried all at once.
"I get it, I really do, that you feel like you have to personally save every each person, but Harry, sometimes we have to pick our battles. You have to own up to the responsibility that has been forced upon your shoulders, Harry, and I'm sorry to tell you this because I know how it's going to make you feel, but you need to know this. These men and women, they are fully aware that they're risking their own lives during those relocations, but they do it to protect you. They're fully aware of what you are unwilling to realize. Your life is far more important than any other. They know that, they accept that, and so should you."
The lecture tasted bitter to him then and still was, and it was quite some time before he came to terms with it. Now though, he had an epiphany. His life was not more important than that of other's, because on his own, he was useless.