"Interesting doorbell you have there, professor," said Harry with practiced levity; it seemed like a good time to draw attention away from the erumpent in the room. "But I thought you said nobody knows about this place."
Snape's sneer was oddly comforting in its familiarity. "It is a secret, Mr. Potter. However, I had assumed that should I ever be in a situation which called for me to make use of this particular bolt-hole, I would be in need of assistance which was unavailable to me from anywhere else. It was not necessary to share the location of this cottage, but I had to at least create an alarm which would inform a contact that the hippogriff shit had hit the proverbial fan, so to speak. The "doorbell," he gestured to the canvas on the wall, "is linked to a contact who is several miles from here - though he does not know how close he is. If I give him a password, the front door of his house will connect with the door to this cottage. Even if he had magic, he would not be able to leave until I gave my leave, nor will he be able to return again until I re-activate the spell."
Malfoy was beginning to look as tired as Harry felt. "Even if… You're telling us that you might be about to entrust our safety to a squib? Have you gone mad? Have I gone mad!?"
Harry watched the potions master carefully. The man was staring at the framed parchment with his jaw clenched and his eyes tight. He had the look of a man who had had a hard day to top-off a hard life. It was the look of a poker player who had bet high, held his cards close to his chest and now had to show his hand. There were no more plays to be made and the dealer had palmed the aces. Harry actually saw the moment that Severus Snape decided to lay his cards on the table. The man looked at Harry as he responded to Malfoy. "My contact isn't a squib; he is a muggle, and now that Albus Dumbledore has proven himself false, he is perhaps at the top of the list of those I deign to trust. As even you can imagine, Potter, that list is short."
Malfoy sputtered, "A muggle!?"
Harry sighed and frowned into the fire for a long time. Somewhere in the back of his tired mind, a closeted voice wondered if Snape included him anywhere on that list. But no. Even if it was possible to trust someone you disdained - hated even - this latest episode in the shit-show which was Harry's life had probably put paid to that. This was all Harry's fault, after all. He should have let Snape leave the infirmary when Dumbledore asked him to; he should have feigned old hate and told Malfoy to fuck off along with Ron and Hermione; he should have told Luna that he was sure he'd seen a crumple-horned snorcack wandering around the great hall.
A bubble seemed to be expanding in his chest.
He should never have come back to Hogwarts. He should have put an end to it all far away from anyone else. Instead, he'd been selfish - Snape would probably call it arrogance - and decided he deserved answers. He had wanted to look into Dumbledore's eyes and see if that twinkle held any truth at all. He wanted witnesses to see that he went out with a bang and not a whimper. And he'd ended up dragging another three lives into the shit. On top of that, Snape wanted to involve another person - a wandless, defenceless muggle, no less.
The bubble grew bigger. Harry could feel it swelling behind his lungs, making it hard to breathe. It seemed like a vacuum around his heart. Squeezing.
"Stop, Harry. Hush those voices. They lie." Luna's voice was soft and her thumb was cool as she stroked a tear from his cheek. He hadn't realised he was crying. He hadn't cried since… no, best not think about that quite yet.
Harry took a shaky breath, removed his glasses and brushed an oversized sleeve over his eyes. When his vision was clear again, he saw that Luna was knelt in front of him. Behind her, Malfoy was looking anywhere but at him and Snape was frowning - probably irritated at what he'd see as the Golden Boy's pathetic self-pity. "Sorry," he muttered.
"What for?" asked Luna, for all the world sounding genuinely puzzled and politely curious.
"I'm sorry I've dragged you into my shit," Harry said honestly. He looked back to the fire; it was easier than meeting any of their eyes. "You tried to help and this is what you get: a bawling freak and the wrath of the greatest wizard of the age. I'm sorry I came back. It was selfish, and I'm sorry for that, too. I'm sorry for a lot of things."
Luna took one of Harry's hands in her own and squeezed it. "I though the wrackspurts were all gone, but your brain still seems a bit fuzzy. They're making you think you have to apologise for being sad and for Headmaster Dumbledore's actions."
Harry sighed. Luna didn't understand. None of this would have happened if he'd stayed away.
"Mr. Potter," said Snape, his voice full of impatience. "You seem - once again - to be suffering under the delusion that the entire wizarding world spins upon the axis of your every action. Might I remind you that it was, in fact, I who brought us here?"
A moment ago, the man's face had seemed about to open. Harry had thought they were on the cusp of some kind of understanding. Now, however, the old enmity seemed to have fallen back into the lines of the man's face. Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't have if I hadn't-"
"Hadn't what, Mr. Potter? Hadn't made us aware that Albus Dumbledore had lost his wits?" Harry could see the man settling into the familiar stride of his customary loathing. Snape stood and began to pace as he continued. "If ignorance is such bliss, then should we all subject ourselves to Obliviation, after all? Would you come with us or is it only the Chosen One who deserves to have his mind free from violation?"
Snape was towering over him now. Harry wanted to stand and fight back. He wanted to kick and scream and tell the bastard just how un-fucking-fair he was being. He wanted to spit in the git's face and leave his bitter meanness far behind him. But the bubble was a vice now and it was all Harry could do to remember how to breathe. He felt his body cringe and shrink away from the angry words, the looming body, the feeling of being weak, bad, (violated - that's what he said - that's what you are - violated - violated - violated) and somehow unclean. He closed his eyes and turned his head, his body acting instinctively to take the blow which it expected to come.
It was through a numbing fog of resigned expectation that he heard Draco Malfoy address the potions master with something like outrage in his voice. "For Salazar's sake, Severus, stop it! Look at him!"
But by then, the bubble, the vacuum, the vice had had him in its grip for too long. His lungs hurt, lights prickled painfully behind his eyelids, and he was grateful for the comfort of lost consciousness.
Draco Malfoy watched Lovegood cover Potter with a blanket and then stroke an unkempt length of fringe back from the boy's thin face. Pomfrey had cast a few cleansing charms on him, but Harry still needed a proper bath and clean clothes.
"It's best we let him rest," whispered the girl, as she got to her feet.
Draco nodded before turning to scowl at his godfather. He loved and trusted the man more than anyone else in the world, but there were times when he felt like shaking the bloody git. "What the bloody hell was that?" His voice was more of a hiss than a whisper.
The prickly bastard had the decency to look slightly ashamed. His tone, however, was unapologetic. "The boy needed a reminder that his is not the only life upheaved by Albus' betrayal."
"No," disagreed Draco, "I think it's you who needs a reminder. I asked you to help a boy who has been beaten, half-starved and, as you so-very-fucking-gently reminded him, violated."
Snape's pale skin turned chalky at that, and Draco groaned. Apparently, it was accidental salt that Severus had just rubbed into Harry's wounds. "Merlin's breath, Severus. For a man who throws out the word "dunderhead" more often than the rest of us blink, this particular faux pas was rather monumental."
Snape fell into his seat and ran his hands back through his hair. It was an unusual expression of unease from the man, but Draco's disappointment was too sharp to be dulled or softened yet. "There's still blood on his clothes and he looked about ready to retch every time he shifted in his seat! Lovegood tells us he meant to fucking off himself and as far as I can tell, you might think the world better off if he'd managed it! If that was you helping, then it was badly bloody done."
Draco saw that barb hit home and his godfather seemed to forget his momentary contrition. "A few hours ago, it seemed like you'd willingly tie a noose for him yourself," scowled the potions master.
Well, that stung. His godfather must have realised as much as the sneer fell somewhat.
Draco swallowed back his hurt. "Yes, well… a few hours ago you told me I wasn't quite the bastard my father wants me to be. I chose to believe you."
Severus finally seemed to sag a little. After several long moments he finally nodded tersely. "I…" He faltered, gathered himself, and tried again. "I am unused to…" Another false start. Another steadying breath. "I find myself… troubled by recent events."
Draco shook his head and crossed his arms. "Not good enough," he said.
Severus seemed to realise that Draco was not going to let him off the hook easily and the boy watched his godfather struggle to find his words. When Severus finally did speak, his voice was quiet and hesitating. "I do not enjoy being wrong, Draco."
For a long moment, Draco thought the man might need more prompting, but then the weary man continued on his own. "My mistakes have, in the past, led to my having more than a man's fair share of sins for which to atone. Today I have discovered myself to have been wrong about many things, and in putting my faith in Albus Dumbledore, I may have more sins still than any one soul should ever bear. It is knowledge which I am finding… difficult to accept. I lashed out. Will you accept my apology?"
Draco blinked. That was more honesty than he had been expecting. He nodded and let his arms fall to his sides before collapsing back onto the couch beside Luna Lovegood.
The girl had watched the entire exchange with her usual almost-detachment, but now seemed to be almost smiling. "It's good that you're ready to say the things that usually hide underneath your words," she whispered. "It's a very Slytherin habit, that. Harry won't hear the things you mean, only what you say and what he thinks you think of him. The man can talk to snakes but slithery softness slips away from him. Only the hurt of fangs catches and sticks."
Draco looked from the girl to his godfather and then back again. "Are you addressing me or Severus?" he asked.
The girl was definitely smiling now. "Yes," was her only answer.
Draco only had it in him to stare blankly at her for a few seconds. She was a puzzle, this one. Talking about talking plainly in the most befuddling fashion. It was either irony or madness, but he was frankly too exhausted for either so he turned to his godfather instead. "What now?" he asked.
Severus Snape pointed his wand at the parchment on the wall.
Alarm deactivation password: 10NAWR30
I'll key you into the cottage in the morning.
Bring chest and food. Contact nobody.
S
"Now, Draco, we try to get some rest," said Severus. "Tomorrow is going to be a trying day, I suspect."
Draco frowned. "Can we really afford to delay?" he asked. "Dumbledore probably isn't stroking his beard and sucking on sherbet lemons right now, Severus. Don't you think we should be coming up with some kind of a plan?"
"A plan is only as strong as the mind that makes it, Draco, and tonight my mind is weary." Severus Snape sighed, stood and cast Levicorpus on the unconscious Harry Potter. Before he left the room with the Gryffindor, he looked steadily at Draco and Lovegood. "I shall transfigure an extra bed in the guest room, presently. Get some rest. Contact nobody, stay inside and cast no magic."
With that, Severus left. Draco felt something close to panic clawing at his throat until a much softer grip suddenly held his arm. He turned and met the gentle eyes of the girl beside him.
"Shall I make some tea?" she asked him. "Or shall I see if there are any fimafengs about which might know where Professor Snape hides his whiskey?"
After the trials of the day, Draco was shocked by the very small but genuine laugh that escaped him at that. "Perhaps you're a clever Ravenclaw after all, Lovegood," he said, and surprised himself again by patting her hand.
The girl smiled, not the ubiquitous dreamy tilt of her lips, but an almost mischievous grin which showed a few even-white teeth and added a glimmer to her eyes. "Yes I am," she agreed. "And you can call me Luna."
Severus Snape pulled back the blankets of the master bed and gently lowered the boy onto it. In sleep, Harry Potter's face was neither unlined nor untroubled. At just sixteen, there were dark shadows under his eyes and even a few fine lines at their corners. There was a more definite crease between his dark eyebrows and a hardness to the line of the boy's jaw.
A boy no longer, the potions master thought, as he pulled the blankets over the thin body. The young man's hands were still clasped around a mangled bundle of newspaper-wrapped chips. Even unconscious he clung to the food, and Severus could not bring himself to banish the package. Instead, he gently uncurled Potter's fingers and placed the leftovers on the simple bedside table. The young man whimpered at the loss.
"Hush," muttered Severus, and Potter seemed to relax somewhat. It seemed the lad was more amenable to instruction when he was unconscious.
You're being a git, Sev, said the voice of an old friend in the corner of his mind.
Severus Snape new there was little reason in arguing with a memory, so he did not. Instead, he settled into the comfortable chair beside the bed, emptied his mind, and hoped sleep would not be long in coming.
The hope, as so many of his hopes had ever been, was in vain.
