Author's Note:

First of all, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, nor does T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land, and I'm not making a profit off of either. Secondly, I extend my earnest gratitude to my betta, Amanda. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Out of The Dead Land

One

When Severus went to retrieve Harry Potter from his relatives, the night was hot and clinging. The houses on Privet Drive stood like quiescent soldiers in their uniform rows, lawns strictly controlled and gardens manicured with precise discipline. It was something of a surprise to hear all of the typical night-sounds of a muggle residential street: traffic from a distant highway, wind through the leaves of pathetic plant life, and cricket song. It was also a surprise that Privet Drive would tolerate chaos of any kind, even if it should come in the guise of a six-legged arthropod. To keep his irritation in check Severus sped up, focusing more intently than necessary on the numbered placards nailed to each mailbox. He scowled at number 16 so hard that it probably would have melted to slag had it been a metal with a slightly lower melting point.

There were others who might have come to fetch Potter, who had been available even. Albus certainly knew how he felt about the boy … it wasn't as if he had been subtle about it. At first Severus had wondered if he was being punished for baiting Arthur Weasley the last time the Order convened. Then he caught the look in the old man's eye (that look). So Albus had handed down his orders, popped a lemon drop into his mouth, and Severus was stalking his way down Privet Drive fifteen minutes later.

Number 14. Number 12. Number 10.

Severus didn't bother concealing his presence on the street, considering it an effort that wasn't worth the bother anymore. This would be the last time Potter saw his muggle relatives for a long while (a time likely measured in years as opposed to months), due to some mysterious edict of the Dumbledorian variety. Next time Potter saw his relatives the war would likely be over—whether he survived long enough to return was another matter entirely.

Number 8. Number 6.

The headmaster only said to hurry along, and Severus assumed that the brat's cover had been blown, that Potter was about to be discovered or that the blood wards were failing. He didn't like assuming. Assuming was often the prelude to death in times like these, but when the old headmaster had that particular look to him (if it were a potion it would be one part smugness, one part amusement, two parts triumph, and four parts benevolent manipulation) there was no point in asking questions because those would likely earn you another cup of too-sweet tea and a second round of circuitous conversation.

Number 4. Severus turned sharply and angled up the front walk towards the door.

If the neighborhood was under surveillance it would be difficult to leave without being seen by anyone, especially since the wards that protected the house would fall as soon as Potter passed beyond their reach. And then his loyalty would be questioned, tested. Voldemort could subject him to Veritaserum, or instruct him to kill someone close to Albus, up to and including Albus himself. The old fool could lose his spy, Severus could lose his life … what was the man thinking? Perhaps, then, it wasn't an immediate threat. Perhaps the wards would simply be weakened in a few days when the boy came of age and Albus intended to remove him as a precautionary measure. Still … Kingsley and Moody were more than equipped to handle that dubious pleasure, or that bumbling junior auror that Moody was training — Nymphadora Tonks. As Aurors, at least they had the resources to call in their coworkers if things should go pear-shaped. Severus had … a wand. And a Dark Mark, which should have prevented him from entering the wards anyway if they were still standing.

Severus hammered a few times on the door with his fist, ignoring the doorbell with the kind of disdain he reserved only for the most ridiculously unnecessary things.

Perhaps Albus had finally decided to stop coddling the boy and expected Severus to give him an alternate education. Perhaps he had been waiting for Potter to come of age, so he wouldn't feel guilty teaching a child dark magic — or allowing Severus to, rather. Not that Potter would willingly have him. Occlumency lessons were quite the success story after all, weren't they?

No one was coming to the door, and so he raised his fist to knock again, impatiently deciding to blow the door off its hinges if no one came after this knock. If he thought about it, he would repair it on the way out. But he wasn't left musing over it for long. His hand only made it part-way to the door before it was yanked open a crack and a short, broad man with no neck and a blue bathrobe peered out at him with squinty, suspicious eyes.

"What the ruddy hell …" The man trailed off as he paused to take in Severus' attire, his little eyes sweeping down the other man's frame with gathering horror. The hall light was on behind him, and Severus could see Harry hovering some distance behind, half-way down the stairs, his face pale and anxious like he was ready to bolt for his wand (which wasn't in his hand, the stupid boy). Had he expected Death Eaters to knock politely if they came calling? "You have the wrong house. Get off my porch, Freak."

That drew his attention. "I beg your pardon?" Though it didn't sound like he was begging. In fact, he rather sounded like he planned to make someone else beg.

"You heard. I don't want any more of your kind anywhere near my family." Vernon was doing his best to puff himself up, but the action wasn't entirely successful. He managed to look a little wider, but he was still a head and a half shorter than Severus … and unarmed. Mostly he looked like an indignant blueberry, if such a thing could exist. Severus felt his fingers twitch, whether subconsciously seeking his wand or itching to apply them to Vernon's bull-like neck was unclear. Meanwhile, Potter was clearly showing signs of mortification, his cheeks demonstrating that they knew how to blush several different shades of pale red in rapid succession. He looked like he was dreading something, having backed up a step or two and angling for a better view of both combatants.

"I'm here for Harry Potter. The rest of your family means little to me. Very little." It wasn't a very good threat — likely not obvious enough for Dursley to catch — but Harry caught it, and he looked concerned enough for both of them.

"There is no one here by that name."

Severus turned his full attention to the young wizard and raised a mocking eyebrow. "Is this true? Are you not Harry James Potter?"

The boy was so busy opening and closing his mouth that he missed his opportunity to reply. The Dursley patriarch had turned on him, spitting vitriol. "I told you to stay put, Boy! Now look what you've done!"

"Uncle Vernon, he's a professor from my school. He's … um … just, please let me talk to him. Only for a second." Had Severus ever heard Potter say 'please' before? Had he ever heard him sound quite that desperate? The boy's eyes were tracing the distance between the two men fearfully. Back and forth. Back and forth. It was a little disconcerting, really, to see him so off balance.

"Shut it, Boy! Look, I don't care who you're supposed to be, because you're leaving. Now." The man moved to close the door, but Severus was quicker, wedging a slim dragon hide boot in between the door and its frame.

"If you possessed a modicum of intelligence, you would let me in immediately. I have business to attend to with your nephew and I will not be thwarted."

"Then it will wait until term starts. I'll not have you place one toe over my threshold." Actually half his foot was technically on the threshold already, but no one pointed it out.

Severus rolled his eyes, more than frustrated enough to pull his wand on the idiot man. He noted the slight widening of Potter's eyes at the gesture, but cut him off with a viciously uttered, "Petrificus totalis" before the boy could so much as open his mouth to protest. Vernon teetered briefly and toppled sideways into the wall with an oddly satisfying thunk before hitting the floor, his eyes wide and staring. Severus stepped over him with the cool demeanor of someone who frequently petrified his students' muggle uncles and then stepped over them to gain entrance into their house. "Stop gawping, Potter, and go fetch your things. The Headmaster has ordered me to deliver you back to Hogwarts, where you will spend the remainder of the summer." What kind of a look was that? Hope? Disbelief? Curiosity? The boy wasted little time, whatever it was, turning to dart back up the stairs so quickly that he tripped over himself and had to put a hand down to keep his balance.

Severus followed at a more sedate pace, finding Potter's other relatives huddled together at the head of the stairs. Petunia—her hair in rollers— had her arms were wrapped around her son, who had the peculiar look of an elephant seal to him. As he came into view the elephant seal gave a startled squeak and waddled hastily off to his room, clutching his behind in a most absurd fashion and shooting Severus fearful glances over his shoulder as he went. Meanwhile, Petunia had her back against the wall and was clearly torn between trying to edge past him to see to her husband downstairs and make sure he didn't turn her son into the animal which he so resembled. Potter was at the end of the hall, opening the door to the last room, which was separated from his cousin's room by a narrow bathroom. This room had six different locks on the outside and a curious flap-like contraption at the bottom. Severus poked his toe through it experimentally when the boy wasn't looking. He had a short stint in Azkaban after the first fall of Voldemort and he thought he recognized the design, crude as this one was, and he felt his eyebrows threatening to creep up his forehead.

"Potter. Is this for food delivery?"

"Well I don't own a cat, do I?" Severus wasn't sure that made sense, but didn't care to make his ignorance known by asking. The boy held himself tensely, even as he moved around tossing things into his trunk. Severus held in a wince when the books went in, barely managing to twist the expression into a sneer instead. When the small wardrobe had been emptied, the room was suddenly bare of everything that might identify the room as Potter's except for the empty owl cage by the window, which had bars on the outside of it.

"Your owl?"

"I sent her to the Weasleys at the start of the summer." The boy's voice was muffled, as he'd just climbed under the narrow, cot-like bed. There was an odd scraping noise, then wood being set down on wood, some shuffling, then more scraping. When the boy emerged he held the unmistakable bundle of fabric—an invisibility cloak—a piece of ragged parchment and a small rucksack, into which he tipped the other two items before adding the lot to his trunk and closing the lid. "I'm ready."

Severus shrunk the trunk to the size of a matchbox and tucked it into his pocket with a toy-sized birdcage, following the boy out and watching him closely. Potter seemed determined not to look at the assortment of locks and latches on the door as he passed, as though he could keep his most hated professor from noticing too if he just denied their existence. He poked his head into the hallway before allowing the rest of him to follow, more out of habit than anything else. Petunia wasn't where they left her, and the door to the elephant seal's room was now closed. They could hear Petunia wailing downstairs and Severus figured she'd found her husband.

"Professor … is something wrong?" Potter asked him on the stairs, turning to look over his shoulder at the man. His voice was hesitant, probably expecting some kind of rebuke for asking. Severus looked into the anxious green eyes and saw concern there that should belong to someone else. He sighed, flicking his eyes briefly towards the ceiling.

"You know as much as I do, Potter. Perhaps if you quit dwaddling you could ask the Headmaster yourself."

Petunia turned watery eyes on them when they reached the foot of the stairs and huddled up like a frightened rodent, her hand frozen on Vernon's rigid cheek where she'd been patting it. Severus ignored them both, calmly stepping over the man again to reach the door. Potter edged warily around his feet instead.

"Shouldn't you —"

"It will wear off within forty eight hours. Consider it an opportunity for some much needed reflection."

Harry spared a last glance for his hapless uncle, who was staring at the pair of them them blankly, his face frozen midway through a change of expression: anger to fear. It wasn't particularly flattering. "Sorry," he mumbled to his aunt before he shuffled out. Severus closed the door on the sight with the satisfied air of a person congratulating themselves for a job well done and went ahead of Harry, certain that the boy would never move if he wasn't there to tell him to. For his part, Harry decided that Snape was either ignorant or heedless of the difficult pace he set with his longer stride, but the latter was more likely. After all, Harry had never known an ignorant Severus Snape. So he said nothing and jogged to catch up, trying to prolong the awkward silence if only to spare himself the venom.

Harry didn't ask where they were walking to and Severus didn't tell him. He wanted to know why it was Snape and not Lupin or Moody or Tonks, but he didn't ask that either. Surely the entire Order wasn't busy at the same time … unless something had happened. Harry crinkled his nose unhappily at the thought, unconsciously picking up his pace to walk alongside the professor, whose cloak endeavored to tangle about his legs as though it borrowed some of it's owner's vindictiveness and aimed to trip him. He wanted to know why they weren't being more careful, weren't sticking to the shadows like he'd always been forced to do before. There was no one about, of course, but that didn't mean people weren't watching … Then he noticed how closely Snape's hand hovered to his opposite wrist and figured there was a wand hidden there. He didn't know where the man kept it, hadn't seen him put it away after he petrified Vernon. The man was a bastard, but he was a well-trained bastard, and it both unnerved and soothed Harry to see the man so watchful. They may have a target painted across their backs in neon, but at least Severus harbored no illusions about it.

When they did finally stop, it was seemingly at random because they were still standing in the middle of the deserted street. Their location didn't seem special in any way, or any different from the number of other places along the street behind them that they passed over in favor of this one. Harry looked around as though he expected to see something important. He wouldn't — the reason was invisible. They had simply reached the edge of the anti-apparation wards that formed a one hundred yard perimeter around number 4, Privet Drive. Severus reached over and clasped the boy's shoulder with his unyielding fingers, yanking him closer for the purpose of executing a side-along apparation. Harry took a breath and held it, knowing what apparation felt like and bracing himself against the unwelcome sensation of being stuffed through a channel that was too small to accommodate him. The force sucked them together and Harry found with some dismay that he could not twist away from the sharp hip which seemed determined to puncture his abdomen. And then, before he could worry much about it, he was shoved away roughly and toppling backwards into —

Sand.

For a moment, all he could feel was disbelief. There was no desert in Scotland or anywhere near it, he was sure. And yet, the ground beneath his hands was as dry and cracked and lifeless as any desert Harry might imagine. Fear twisting his gut, Harry jerked his head up to look at the man who brought them here, ready to demand an explanation, but the words died in his throat once he saw the look on the professor's face. He was staring at the scene around them, slack-jawed, too stunned to do so much as draw the wand that was right up his sleeve. It was bright here, but there didn't appear to be a sun, and there was no heat like he would expect from a desert. The air did not move and it had no scent, not of minerals or rock or the fresh odor of wild spaces. Even the sky seemed dead, lacking color or depth, though it sometimes rippled a little if one looked closely enough.

"Good afternoon."

Severus whipped around so fast that it would have impressed Harry if he hadn't been preoccupied with clambering to his feet and turning to face the owner of that voice. She was short in stature, and so pale she might have been an apparition if she weren't so solid, with large silver eyes and long, silvery tresses pulled back in the style one might find on a coin from ancient Greece, and it gave the vague impression of being insubstantial. Her clothes too were white, elegant, but simple — an ancient Greek style peplos and himation. She was very pretty in an eerie way, in a way that wasn't quite human and wasn't quite touchable—she was simultaneously the most gorgeous thing he ever laid eyes on and the most terrifying. Beneath the layers of cloth, her bare feet didn't quite touch the ground enough to bear her weight, but the tips of her bare toes brushed it. Harry stared at them helplessly, wondering.

"Is this what you seek, Severus Snape?" She held each hand so her palms faced the sky and a wand appeared in each, hovering an inch or so above her skin with the tips pointing upward. Harry noted that Severus went very still and Harry recognized instantly that one of the wands was his own … even though his had been in his trunk when they left, shrunken with the rest of his belongings. He wasn't as familiar with the other, but judging by Snape's reaction it had to be his.

"When did you get those?" The man's tone was clipped with tension and furious.

"I've always had them," she answered simply, smiling benevolently at the resulting look on his face. "It's true. I do not lie."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Harry looked to Severus for confirmation, as though he expected the man to back him up for once in his life, unlikely as it was. His expression was closed, but his mind was whirling. It had to be whirling. Harry's was.

"My, Harry Potter, you must have heard a lot of stupid things."

Snape snorted quietly, and even if there was no humor in it Harry refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment. The older man didn't seem willing to ask her anything else, content as he was to stand back and wait for the truth to reveal itself. Harry figured it must be the spy in him and deemed it necessary to do the questioning himself.

"Where is this?" Harry's voice quavered, though the reason behind it was unclear. It might have been fear, or frustration, or the remains of an adrenaline high. "And what are you?"

"That's very perceptive of you, Harry Potter, for indeed I am a 'what' and not a 'who.' Although what I am precisely is something I doubt you could understand." She raised a hand to stop the angry retort before it could exist. "As for where we are. This is the Wasteland, and I am its creator."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Could use a little work."

"Potter!" Severus hissed, taking a step towards the boy before stopping himself. He ran a hand through his lank hair and held it clenched in a fist behind his head, pulling on it sharply. "If you get us killed because of your stupid —"

"I wasn't the one who apparated us here, was I?"

"I've been apparating to Hogwarts for longer than you've been alive, Boy," Severus snarled. "I know the coordinates, and there was no mistake."

"Your Professor is correct, Harry Potter. The coordinates he apparated to were the correct ones … or would have been if I hadn't interfered. I do apologize for startling you both." The girl's voice was placid and lilting … a lot like Luna's was actually. And by the sound of it she was just as barmy.

"Why would you bring us here? Do you work for Voldemort?" This came from Harry, who was looking at her so defiantly that Severus actually worried about her reaction to his rudeness, though he needn't have. The young woman only smiled. It was genuine, but definitely held its secrets.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you why you both are here without giving away the answer you need to find for yourself. No, I don't do favors for your Voldemort." Harry wrinkled his nose at the idea of Voldemort being his. "For you, he doesn't exist anymore … nor does Hogwarts or magic or the planet Earth for now. I can reconstruct it and return you to your proper place and time, but first you need to tell me something." The girl focused completely on Harry then, pinning him with an unblinking stare. "Your professor said something important to you right after you left your muggle relative's house. Can you remember it?—No? Too bad. That memory is your only chance, the last shred of hope you have of leaving the Wastelend. Else you'll wander here forever."

"No, that's impossible!" Harry waved his hands as though he were trying to signal an aircraft. "It's impossible. We were completely silent until we got here!"

"He is correct. I'm sure I didn't say anything."

The woman was beginning to look amused. "I assure you, you did. You're still thinking of existence as a linear thing, something that is set in stone once it has already been experienced. You may not recall saying anything, but right now you were never there at all. It hasn't happened yet, and at the same time it has already happened, because I know how this will end. What you will say and what you said are one in the same in this place."

"I don't understand." Harry's voice was approaching plaintive, and Severus sincerely hoped it wouldn't graduate to hysterical. He never did know how to deal with hysterics.

"You don't need to understand for it to be true. Remember your task and you will come out of this with something you didn't have before. Call it a gift."

Potter was shaking his head, doing what the mind did best when it failed to fully understand something terrifying. "This isn't real."

"I know you don't believe that, Harry Potter. Your professor does though. I can see him thinking it as we speak. He is trying to unravel the magic behind this and dispel the illusion. He has known too much treachery in his lifetime to accept things exactly as they are. But I promise you both that right now this is the only thing that is or ever has been real. For now the rest is all in your heads. I'll be around."

And they were alone.

- to be continued -