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Chapter Four: The Lost Boys

A/N: Sorry if this chapter is terrible. I kind of ran out of steam but I'm writing the next one as we speak. As always, criticism and commentary are appreciated. Sorry for all the OC's, but when you get there, could you imagine a Hufflepuff in this sort of crowd? I don't think so. Enjoy-AO

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Chapter Four

"…inside that boy with its geography of scars, its history of hurt, limbs stuffed with feathers and rags, in what part of the eyes, in what part of the heart, in the cage of the chest where something throbs with both fists and knows only what he knows, inside that body too small to contain the hundred balloons of happiness, the single guitar of grief, is a boy like any other…"

Sandra Cisneros, Salvador Late of Early

-

Snape was gone when Harry awoke, the pale strains of dawn inching across the large bed he slept in. He blearily remembered waking up during separate moments of the night, shaking, sobbing, strong arms holding him, murmuring quiet lullabies and soft validation in his ears. He didn't want to think about the night before, and reached down into where his bags had been placed against the bed. Viridis came trotting from Snape's room into his own, giving Harry a nuzzle at his arm while he reached into a pocket, feeling for bindis.

"God…" he moaned. They had gone through his things and taken all evidence of self-harm out. Giving a shiver, he reached for the communicative journal that sat on a table at his beside. Snape must have pried it out of his hands as he slept. There was no evidence of tampering or breaking so he opened it, whispering the passwords.

It was not unlike Tom Riddle's magical journal, except that it connected each of the Lost Boys to it, able to write messages in it and explain what was going on. Draco had the master book, all of his messages were sent out about meetings and places to go. A message in his signature deep green ink had appeared overnight, bold, in his distinctive, cultured script.

'Meeting has been changed. Ignore any messages you may have gotten. Tonight, the house. Father is having his own meeting. By the way Potter, nice job you did there at Rube's.'

Harry felt shame and bitterness bite at him at Draco's words that were scathing, even now, on the paper. He'd have to leave somehow tonight, the meetings were all late anyway. There would be some way he could get out.

-

Snape had left Harry's room early that morning before sunrise. It was a known fact, not only in the manor, but also with many members of the wizarding community, that Arabella Figg rose with the dawn. However old she may have been, she was still sharp as a whip.

Of course, whenever Snape did want to talk to his aunt, he never could find her. This morning, she was out in the garden. Again.

"Do you ever tire of those plants, my dear Aunt?" The sun was just barely in the sky as Arabella looked up at him from the earth.

"You know very well the answer. I wouldn't be so chiding, Severus, I supply many of your stores from this garden," she called back. That was also true; many of the harder herbs and plant parts came from these very gardens, hard to grow, dangerous as well. How ironic, he often thought, how it mirrored her, hard and dangerous.

"Did you stay with him all night then?" She asked, not even looking up as she trimmed some leaves from a particularly lethal looking harpie-wing plant and placed them in a vial.

"Yes," he sniffed, "I wonder if it would have been better to give him another draught of living death." She looked up at him with flashing eyes.

"Severus, you aren't thinking again. He's got to be waned off of it, he can't be taking those forever. Look what happened, it's obvious he had taken it more then once…" She forced a cork onto the vial and put it in the basket she had, moving onto the more common nightshade.

"That's what worries me," he agreed quietly, watching as she carefully moved away the hearty soil from the pale roots of the plants and clipped a few. "It's a most complex potion to make-,"

"I know that." He rolled his eyes and continued.

"Harry's never shown real interest in the Potions before, and unless with the muggles he's gotten better, had the ingredients, stores, supplies hidden in that room of his, he didn't make it. He was getting it from someone," he rubbed his temples, wishing he could figure out more.

"Who gave it to him?" she asked, not looking up from her work.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be so worried. I don't even carry all the ingredients at school, it would have to be someone with access to them. And someone who could handle it and who knew Harry and could supply it to him…"

"You know better than I do," Arabella sighed, rubbing her hands on her apron, placing the bag of nightshade along with the other plants into the basket. "Any ideas?"

"I have one," Snape said disgustedly, "It's obvious that Lucius has the supplies…although I don't think he'd be so kind to Harry…unless-," he broke off, gasping, pressing on his forearm. Arabella was at his side immediately, looking at him with concern and frustration written in the lines on her face.

"Voldemort again?" She, like Dumbledore, didn't bother to call the dark lord anything but his name. Snape took in a shaky breath, rubbing at his arm as the pain seemed to subside.

"What do you think?" he bit out. "It's going to be at the Manor, I think Lucius said something like Narcissa was leaving tonight for somewhere."

"Why the hell does he care about a trophy wife getting in the way of those things?" Arabella snarled, but pressed the basket into Snape's arms. "For your private stores?" He nodded.

"I'll be going tonight, Aunt. I'll go after I see Albus in Diagon. Make sure Harry doesn't leave…I don't want him getting anything." It was a feeble attempt. Arabella would do whatever she wanted. She only smiled at him as they made their way into the house.

-

They found Harry eating a bowl of fruit in the shiny, steely kitchen. He looked up, eyes still puffy and sitting above dark circles, and gave a nod to them. Arabella made her way to the sink, picking up the vase of roses to water them. There was not awkward, only heavy silence as Harry stared at him with seemingly sullen green eyes. Snape tried to look past them, seeing a slight glimmer of curiosity, of interest.

Harry noticed the change of clothing from before. It was June and Snape was no longer at school. He was wearing casual, dark green khaki's, a snug black shirt fitting him nicely, hair tied back in a simple ponytail. No longer was he the slimy, malevolent Potion's teacher, now to Harry, he was something different.

It unnerved him slightly.

"In an hour or so I will be leaving for errands, I should be gone the most of the day, as well as tonight. I have a dinner meeting," he ignored Arabella's disapproving look, "You'll be alone with my dear aunt, Harry, she will be here, should you need anything. I'll be going to my study." He watched Harry's eyes turn downcast, and for a moment he felt a pang of worry, remorse for leaving the fragile child. However, Arabella nodded at him and he swept from the room.

"Don't worry, Harry, you'll be able to help me. I'm going to be making food, I'm having guests this afternoon and for dinner."

-

Severus left, just as he had said, and Harry had read for a while before going downstairs.

"Why in the world would Albus give him to your nephew, Bel?" This came from a cultured, deep voice in the kitchen.

"Do you doubt him so much? They're good for each other." Arabella sounded indignant. Harry stopped before the entrance to the kitchen, and leaned against the wall, listening. Had her guests come early?

"From what you've said, they don't seem to like each other very much…" the voice said knowingly.

"They're very much alike, although they don't realize it. I think Severus knows it as well, but won't admit it. You know he was the same way as Harry just before…a little after too. I saw it coming a mile away. It took a lot to help him. He's going to have to do the same to Harry, and telling him would be the best thing he could do." There was silence as Harry swam in these words. What had happened to Snape? How could they be alike? There was no comparison…unless…

Arabella came around the corner and saw him, breaking into his thoughts.

"Oh Harry! Bored with reading?" She asked, masking all of what she said before.

"Who were you talking to?" He asked in wonder, coming into the kitchen and sitting at the table. A small, gray cat sat watching him intently. The animal looked very familiar and Harry realized that he had been in the small house across from the Dursleys, when Arabella had been old Mrs. Figg.

"Oh, well…" she faltered and then shook her head, "Forget it. It doesn't matter if I tell you anymore. This is Alexei Hermes Thibault Kant Zhivago. Zhivago, this is Harry Potter." The cat on the countertop raised a paw to him and Harry stood abruptly.

"He's a cat?" he cried. The cat looked annoyed.

"Do you have a problem with that?" the cat said, opening it's mouth as if only to meow. Arabella looked very amused.

"Zhivago is an Auror as well. He helped me keep an eye on you. He was originally an Animagus, but instead of having his privileges revoked, he was forced to stay in this body. He chose to help the ministry."

"Why?" Harry asked, taking the Russian Blue's paw in his hand gently.

"Just a little mix-up, you see. I wasn't really doing anything wrong-," Zhivago offered smoothly.

"He got caught for using magic with theft…using his Animagus powers," Arabella clucked her tongue and smiled nastily. Zhivago spat at her.

"I see." Arabella was picking up a mixing bowl and placed it into Harry's pale hands.

"Would you like to help?" It wasn't really a question as she walked off to take something out of the icebox and Harry looked into the cold bowl, a mixture of some sort of flour, salt, yeast. Zhivago watched, his eyes growing into split slits as she carefully poured half of a bottle of cold water into the bowl and handed him a spoon.

"Stir this until it gets well moistened…" Harry looked quizzically to her, "It's rosewater. Makes my bread better than anyone this side of the Atlantic…" she smirked and sat across from him at the table, grinding a mixture of nuts and spices. Methodically, Harry began to stir the dough, the faint scents relaxing him.

Outside, rain beat against the windows.

-

Harry escaped up to his shared room when Zhivago somehow knew, and then announced, that Severus would be home in a second. The bread was cooling in the comforting kitchen, steam fogging the windows as Arabella sipped at a shot of brandy. She had told Harry the more practical uses of potions, using them to release beneficial substances into cooking when heated or cooled (much like tea) or using them to enhance the flavor of food.

Severus appeared in the foyer, hanging his cloak up and nodding to Alexei.

"I thought you weren't coming back," Arabella intoned as Zhivago preened. Severus gave a sniff and raised an eyebrow.

"I just wanted to confirm everything with you… I saw Antoin at Nightshades. It's definitely happening…now, just keep an eye on Harry, alright?" He grumbled, quickly pulling a less billowing, less formidable looking robe on over his Muggle-looking clothes. Arabella smiled sweetly.

"It's just going to be me, Zhiv over here, Roz and Artemisia…what could go wrong?" Severus only glared and pressed a finger to his forearm before disappearing.

-

The minutes ticked by as Harry tried to pass the time while waiting to make his escape attempt. First he bathed in the deep sunken tub, black marble of course, that he shared with Snape. He obviously knew he didn't have to, the mansion had to have more than three baths, but for some reason he felt he needed to. Scrubbing at his pale skin in lukewarm water, rubbing jasmine scented oil onto his wrists and washing out the grease in his hair before drying off, examining the contours of his bones jutting against his moon skin. It only took an hour and a half so he puttered around the room, limbs shaking or twitching from restlessness and withdrawal. Viridis came up a few times, however left after a chime was heard. Night fell and Harry decided to go downstairs.

He checked the kitchen, the dining room, the cellar, the foyer and the sitting room, finally ending up in the small lounge where Arabella sat languidly on a leather couch, sipping at something. Two women were with her, one he recognized to be Madame Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Arabella gave him a rare smile and the two women turned, Rosmerta the same as always, but the other woman looking as if she were 19 years old.

"Harry, haven't seen you in a while. Severus will not be joining us for dinner tonight…" she frowned slightly, but gestured to the two women who were standing casually, watching him with deep eyes. "No matter. You have probably met Madame Rosmerta, and this is her sister, Artemisia Terrasaid. They are also Aurors," the two women smiled benignly at him and he found the other one, with the young face, studying him with concern. Her eyes were dark and fiery, slivers of shades of colors surrounding her small pupils, but that was the one thing that made her look older.

"You're an Auror?" Harry found himself asking, "How old are you?" She shot a glance to Arabella who rolled her eyes.

"Much older than this Harry…older than your parents, older than Sirius and Lupin. It's a long story…" she chose her words carefully, "How are you?" The other sister, Rosmerta, shot her a glare.

"Fine…" Harry said, detached, "Um, Arabella, may I be excused for dinner tonight? I'm not really that hungry…I'd really just like to rest." Arabella seemed to be reading his thoughts as he said it in a soft voice, trying to sound vulnerable and Artemisia was staring deep into his eyes while Rosmerta looked sadly at him.

"Of course, Harry…If your door is open, I'll make it a point to check on you. If not, sleep well," she dismissed him and he gave a deep nod.

"Thank you. Nice meeting you Miss Rosmerta and Miss Artemisia."

As quickly as possible, he scurried back up the stairs and into the room again. Routinely, efficiently, he changed into a tight, fishnet sleeved black shirt, loose, dark green cargos, and applied thick lines of kohl around his eyes, pulling them back to smudge with a finger. Putting everything else away, he closed the door to give him privacy and pulled the journal out, pressing the emerald again and with an anxious spirit, flashed away.

-

"How did he look, Si?"

"Fuck, I don't want to answer that again. Leave him alone, the poor thing."

"Come on then, you'll tell us, won't you Draco?"

"I didn't see him, I just found out. I told him what would happen, maybe you should take that as a warning…"

"But…but he did it anyway? Does anyone know where he is? I can't believe…"

A laugh, low, snide, bitter.

"Believe it, spoon sucker. Where is he?"

"I told you, I don't know…but I think Si does…"

"I don't know anything…"

"Ooh, pobrecita…nina noche… I think you do…"

"Shut up, Angel, leave it alone. He's supposed to be here, he'll tell you."

"Spoon sucker is right, he's coming soon."

A dark room, large and plush, but dark. Leather and velvet, warm seats and cold skin, a lounge, a sitting room, a haven. Eyes gleamed eerily in the dim light, smoke and incense wafted everywhere, boys lounged on the furniture as "Swan Lake" played in a crackle from a record player. There was a flash momentarily in the middle of the room and all eyes looked up to see Harry standing there, journal in hand. No one said anything, emerald eyes surveyed the room surrounded in thick circles until the record stop. They looked to the ground.

"See, he came," a soft voice said in the silence, the clicking of metal on teeth momentarily stopped. Harry looked into the darkness, muted green light shadowing a gaunt and childish face.

"'Lo, Neville," he murmured and Neville Longbottom nodded quickly, nervously. He had lost a lot of weight between fourth and fifth year, his face still boyish, body thicker than Harry but thinner than normal. A flash, light on metal, as the spoon disappeared again between his lips and another boy stood.

"Come on, Draco, let's get something else on…fuck, Harry wants it, right? Needs to feel at home? Nino Bruja…" a purr, a soft and sultry voice as the boy slunk past him, a finger against his gaunt cheekbone.

"Blaise," Harry bit out, watching as his hips swiveled slightly, androgynous, brown hair falling into his eyes, walking towards the record player. PJ Harvey filled the room and Blaised turned back around, eyes a melty brown that had drawn Harry in, before. They were filled with derision and hunger as they kept on Harry, and Blaise fell back onto a pile of pillows, murmuring Spanish nothings.

Selene was perched on a stool, sipping at a steaming snifter of what looked to be Faery Wings, a mild potion that sent the user into a euphoric state and dropped them into dreamless sleep. Green eyes curious and concerned as Harry turned to see the last pair of eyes that were watching him. There were other Lost Boys in the room, a Slytherin, Montague with blue to almost purple hair and the lightest shade of green eyes, a Ravenclaw, Luna, thick black hair like night and violet changed eyes, others too, Adam, Aris and Billy who sat like three animals, three lovers in the corner, bodies intertwined, all pairs of blue eyes on him.

"Where's Marcus?"

"He's not allowed anymore," a voice filled with barely controlled pain or anger, slightly disdainful, cultured and chiding answered him as pale gray eyes, cold blue seas met his own and a lock of silvery, almost white blonde hair fell into them.

"Am I?"

"You didn't kill yourself…if you don't want to play by the rules, you know what the deal is," Draco said coldly back, "Although I don't know if you deserve anything anymore." Harry sauntered over to him, sitting on a leather lounger and cautiously ran his lips over Draco's neck. The other boy shivered and recoiled.

"Is that why he can't come back? I thought you liked that sort of thing…"

"And I know you do…he didn't play by the rules, which you got dangerously close to…" all eyes were on them as Harry traced his fingers over the barely visible bruises on Draco's neck and slowly peered down his slightly unbuttoned shirt, seeing a large bite mark.

"I'm sorry, Draco…" Harry murmured as he sat on the floor, pulling a cigarrette from a pack on the pillow next to him. More clacking of metal on teeth was heard and Harry knew Neville was sucking again.

"Don't be, I have Blaise now…" Blaises poisonous eyes darted from Harry to Draco.

"Fuck you…" he spat.

"Not yet…" Draco purred back as he sipped at something else.

-

"Do you know what, Severus? I heard Potter almost killed himself…how it would deny Master pleasure…"

1 "Really Lucius…gossip is nothing…"

Severus shivered as he stepped out of the large bathroom after splashing his face with cold water. He was at Lucius' Manor and was about to leave, but felt the need to compose himself. He would bid goodnight and go back home. His feet made no sound on the shiny marble as he passed by some of the bedrooms on the 2nd of the three floors of the house. On the way to the bath, he noticed one of the doors had a magical seal on it, meaning no one could come in.

He was passing it again when he listened carefully and heard Draco's drawl, feeling heartache in the pit of his stomach. Draco never told him at school, or anywhere else, what happened at home, but Severus knew that the boy felt torment hear. He slowed as he passed by.

"You won't believe it even if I told you…"

Snape froze. The voice. Harry's.

"I think I could." Draco's, quiet, distant.

"I'm at Snape's…hell knows why…"

"So you're screwing the teacher? More than you ever did for Malfoy over there…I'm sure he's exactly what you want…just the right amount of pain and- ," Severus felt the blood in his veins freeze and forced himself to continue walking.

Harry had left the house again and was with Draco Malfoy as well as it sounded, others. He couldn't go into the room without providing a major threat to Harry and ignoring all etiquette, he pressed a finger to his forearm and apparated away.

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