Note: Part 6, Evening's Freedom, will become chapter 8, as well as remain a one-shot. Readers are missing vital information without it and coming to the wrong conclusions after, Morning After. I didn't realize how much it needed to be a part of the narrative. I'm waiting until the next chapter is ready because readers will think there is a new chapter when I insert it. Thank you.
Present Day. Gelderland Holland, The Grey Estate.
Draco kept waking up to look at his charmed watch. It's deceptive face remained black, signaling that Harry was still asleep. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Just to make himself feel better, he got up, took Iece from her bed, and placed her beside him. At what point, she'd become his barometer for security, he didn't know. He only knew that if he could see her, if she was happy, then nothing could be as bad as it seemed. If the watch was his connection to Harry's state of mind, then she was a more powerful one. Watching her squirm her way closer and closer to him, he knew he was still in for a rough night with her knees and feet digging into his side, like she was trying to burrow her way into him. It made him wonder what it must've been like for Harry to carry her inside his body. How do women do that? How could anyone do that? By morning, she'd practically be on his chest and he'd have no memory of her settling there. She gave him the answer. Call Harry at first light. Give him a chance to rest. He had quidditch practice today, so that was probably his anxiousness reaching out to Draco, ruining his sleep.
At sunrise, Harry didn't answer his phone. When Jipsy presented herself, to bathe and feed Iece, Draco called the desk at Harry's hotel. He didn't want to be a clucking hen about it, but Harry needed looking after and apparating to him defeated the purpose of their time apart. Fussing over him sent the wrong message. They had to get used to being apart. Functioning like they were connected at the hip for the past two years, had fostered a codependency that Draco scorned. He didn't know why entirely, he just knew that if anything happened to Harry, and it could, he had to be prepared to take his sister and to stand on his own. That meant learning to be okay when Harry wasn't around. Learning to get what he needed from other sources. Harry had monopolized his whole life. Not on purpose, and not without his consent, but it still made Draco fear how much he relied on Harry to simply be available to him at all times.
On the phone, the clerk told him, "I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter isn't answering his phone. Would you like to leave a message for him?"
Draco gritted his teeth. "Look, is there anyway you can send someone to his room? Knock on his door and make sure he's okay? It's not like him not to answer."
"Well of course, we can accommodate that request."
"Thank you. Whomever you send, give Mr. Potter the message to call me right away."
"Absolutely, sir."
He hung up and waited, deciding that a muggle walk to Harry's room should take no longer than ten minutes tops, providing the desk clerk dropped everything right then or delegated the task to someone who would. When fifteen minutes passed without a callback, Draco snatched up his phone. It rang in his hand.
"Hello? Harry?"
"Mr. Malfoy, this is the lobby of the O'Hair Plaza, returning your call. Apologies that it took so long. I'm afraid something has happened. Our maid discovered Mr. Potter on his bathroom floor. Emergency services has been notified and he's being taken to the nearest medical facility right away."
"What? Is he hurt? Is he conscious?"
"We were able to rouse him. We saw no injuries. There's a member of the medical staff looking him over now."
Draco held the phone between both hands and looked at it. He took a deep breath. He knew the train was a bad omen, not just an accident. It was the war all over again. Could Harry not go one freaking week without getting himself injured or killed, or inflicting major drama upon them all? He couldn't take it anymore.
"Thank you, I'll be right there."
As soon as he'd hung up, Draco looked at his watch, snatched it off his arm and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The charm hadn't worked. It hadn't notified him that Harry was in trouble, not like it had with the train. Even then, the raised alarm had not been enough to get to Harry before disaster struck. Or to send him help. And if he had appeared, something Draco was still kicking himself for not being quick enough on, he'd have gone up in flames too. Would they have found his body, mysteriously rescued among all the others, or would no one ever know he'd apparated and disintegrated in the next instance, along with seventy-one people? And what would happen to Iece? What then? At best, the watch was a stupid security blanket.
He was too disgusted with it to put it back on immediately. There were times when it had been useful, but it had certainly let him down today. He was shaking as he tried to calm himself and not overreact. His brain raced and he had to keep wiping fucking tears away to rummage through his contacts and find the information he needed. This had to be done before he saw Harry. The pain was just what he needed to light a fire under his ass. Another day was not guaranteed to him or Harry. He'd make it legal before the sun set today. His will, his finances, would all reflect his wishes.
If something happened to him and Harry, Iece needed a home. A good one. Since he couldn't turn to his own family, and no one else could be trusted, he looked at the two residents he'd have to visit before he even went to see Harry. He had to make them take her. He'd beg them if he had to. This was no time for pride. Someone was trying to kill Harry and the odds were going to win out someday. Iece couldn't go unprotected. No matter what he felt about them, Ron was an auror and his father Headed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. They were experts in magical security.
Today, he had to swallow his pride. He had to ask his first and second options to take Iece in if something happens to him and Harry. They were the only suitable witches he could think of, and the Universe wasn't exactly raining support and help down upon him. He'd lost touch with his friends after the trials, and he wasn't sure if they could ever look at his sister the way the other two had. It was too much to ask of anyone. But he had the right to ask the people Harry respected the most. And to hell with them, his sister was worth it and she needed looking after. Jipsy would be sent with her.
The two names on his list stared back at him. Hermione Grainger and Molly Weasley. He told himself, as he dialed the first number, that it wasn't a betrayal against his family. It wasn't a betrayal to his father. It was like the earth opening up and swallowing a mother, who uses the last of her strength to throw her child to the nearest survivor. Anyone, even his father, could forgive him for that. If something was going to happen to Harry, then likely it was going to happen to him too.
"Hello?"
Hermione's voice made him falter. He wiped his eyes and pushed forward. "This is Draco. We need to talk."
***
Fucking goblins.
Harry didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was back in a hospital bed. But he swore, as soon as he could feel his body, he'd be on a quidditch field smacking the fuck out of bludger. He'd been recruited to play seeker, to give the crowds what they wanted, but this setback had him so furious he needed something to abuse. If he's missed another practice, somewhere, somehow, a goblin was going to pay.
Daylight seared his vision. It sliced through his sight until shapes and patterns confirmed a beige hospital room with a city horizon. Edinburgh. Shit.
Pressure in his head felt like a hangover and everything from his chest down, hurt without him moving it. He knew he shouldn't blame it on the goblins, but his visit to them inspired exactly the residue from his childhood fears that had him fighting to wake up from a nightmare all night long. Hours and hours. It shouldn't even be possible to fight that long without waking up. The battle for his life had been real. He could've died expending that much energy, in that much pain, for that duration. Since he couldn't remember who he was fighting or what they'd done to him, he blamed it on the goblins. His anger didn't know where else to go.
Yesterday, Todrick had looked at the tin, then down at his blank board. "Mr. Potter, it says here that these are indeed the remains of — "
"Of Severus Snape. I know."
"Then why would you pay for extra services? The contents were verified at the time of registration. Do you suspect a breech?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I know that this box does contain something of Snape. But not his body."
"Surely, the Ministry is better qualified to investigate such matters. Why are you making this request?"
"Because I need answers. I'm a client asking for a service. Will you help me?"
He knew he would meet with resistance. After he'd asked for the analysis that would reveal the true remains, Todrick had put down his tablet, folded his hands, and had given Harry the most sobering smile. Full of teeth. "Mr. Potter, do not waste your gold on such tests. We at Gringotts, assure you that our procedures are Ministry Compliant and such a privacy clause, one that actually hides the identity of a deceased wizard, would be illegal and of no interest to us."
It was out of Harry's lips before he could stop it. "Griphook bent the law in hopes of getting his treasure. How do I know there aren't others who would do the same?"
Todrick's eyebrows went down, pointing his displeasure. Harry quickly added, "All I'm saying is, I have a reason to request it. Don't act like I don't. Snape was a powerful wizard. It's possible that he possessed something more valuable than gold that would get his information concealed for him."
Todrick's voice was rough. "Are you accusing Gringotts of accepting bribes to aid in deceiving the entire magical world that Severus Snape is dead? That is beyond arrogant, even for you. While you are no doubt very reverent when it comes to matters of your fallen teacher and hero, we at Gringotts adhere to professionalism. We do not give in to sentiment and we will not allow you to insult our ethics."
Harry shook his head. This was getting out of hand. "Look, I don't mean to insult you, I just want a simple test."
"It's a rather complicated test and it requires Goblin magic."
"Which is why I'm doing my best to appeal to you. Do you think I wanted to come back here and open up this wound? I know I'm not welcomed here. Believe me, I don't want to show my face anymore than you want to see it. I agree, let's keep it professional. I'm just asking you to please help me put my fears to rest."
Todrick held his tongue for a moment. Something ignited behind his eyes as he produced another chair out of thin air and sat down across from Harry. It was considerably taller and gave him the height needed to look at Harry at eye level.
"Mr. Potter, you wouldn't ask for this test unless you believed your request was founded on the truth. You already believe your own suspicions. If we perform the test, we risk two things. If the truth deviates in anyway from our registry, we will have to report our findings to the Ministry. That means it will go public. That means your precious teacher will be hunted. If he has paid for a privacy clause, do you want to risk that? The other risk is Gringott's magic. When we draft life-binding contracts, especially those concerning privacy, all perfectly legal as you say, the price isn't gold. It's magic. A wizard awarded the Ministry's approval to protect himself by means of a fake demise would have to bypass all regulations by signing over a bit of his magic. That investment keeps it binding."
Harry blinked. "I didn't think that was possible." If it were, why weren't thieves stealing magic all the time?
Todrick continued. "If we were to give you the information you seek, we would in effect, betray the magic and the contract and all the oaths taken. Our magic would pay this wizard recompense and our overall potency would suffer. We never compromise that. We keep our establishment at its highest security and integrity through such magic. Were we to let it slip, our entire trust hierarchy would be compromised. We simply cannot give you the test that you've asked for."
That was absurd. He couldn't quite argue with the logic of it, but it was still a convoluted way of saying, "we have our reasons" without telling him anything helpful.
"What if I can pay with magic? What if I can pay twice as much as the loss that you would incur? I don't know how you quantify magic, but if Goblins are keeping score, then that would have to protect you. And you wouldn't even have to tell me if Snape was still alive. Just tell me who's in this box."
Todrick looked at Harry as if he'd just committed a grave error too serious for words.
Harry didn't fall for his poker face. "How 'bout it? Is my blood magic enough for you?"
Maybe the goblins had some method for taking magic from a wizard without taking his blood. But the only way Harry had ever heard of, had ever experienced, was being bled by Voldemort. That answered his question as to why thieves didn't go around stealing people's magic. It wasn't exactly a lucrative business. That was considered a dark act. Unless of course, he volunteered it. Then it was just crazy, deviant, and tantamount to wizarding suicide.
He leaned forward. "I'm Harry Potter. I killed Voldemort. My magic has to be worth something to Gringotts."
Todrick folded his arms. "Your blood would indeed be a valuable acquisition. I cannot make the decision alone. My superiors must vote on this matter. Do you understand what you're offering? You are willing to sign over one blood-pint of your magic? While your blood would be useless to those without knowledge, we goblins have the means to extract your power from it. This is a transference of magical power. It will lie within our assets and be used as we see fit. Is the answer that you seek really worth it?"
"If we're not breaking any laws, then yes."
"Wizards do not gamble with their magic for a reason. None knows where they really get it from or how much they have, let along if any can be spared. Those of you who live day to day on your magic, should not risk the loss of it in any measure."
Harry shrugged. "It's life. As long as I'm alive, I'll have my magic. It's like energy and sleep. If you exhaust yourself, you get more. Always. Isn't that how it works?"
Todrick's smile became sad. "For you. Apparently. You are young and don't believe you can ever lose your magic. That means you must have an abundance. But I assure you, all wizards cannot say the same."
"So let's do it."
Todrick tapped discreetly onto his pad for another minute or two. It occurred to Harry that he was having a discussion with his colleagues and every word between himself and Harry was being scrutinized for legal ramifications.
They were soon joined by several others. One of them questioned Harry again and explained the details of the transaction. As he spoke, another looked over the contract that was writing and amending itself according to the discussion, making sure the agreement was being translated accurately. And the third was a wizard, who brought a tray of instruments that were stocked with medical-grade supplies for preserving his blood.
Harry paid for the right to insert stipulations, overriding the goblins' ability to use it any way they wanted. Everyone paused when he asked for this service, as if they hadn't counted him smart enough to realize that he could. "My blood," he told the contract, "can only be used for good. To help someone, or to keep the bank secure." He knew his descriptive skills were lacking, but when he said good, he meant it with the same strength needed to use an effective killing curse. It was binding and he had nothing to worry about.
It was done in seconds. The medical wizard healed Harry's punctured vein and took his prized pouch with him when he left the room. It took thirty minutes more for Harry to get the answer he wanted.
As promised, Todrick stood before him with the analysis results. "Our tests have confirmed that the ashes registered under the identity of Mr. Severus Snape, do indeed belong to the former teacher. However, there is a ninety-five percent disparage between what we can trace of that wizard's magic, and what is collected in your tin. It seems the signature wand of Mr. Snape was cremated with the body and correctly identified. The wand is his, but the body is not."
Harry's heart slammed into his chest. Before he could ask, Todrick volunteered the information. "The body in question belongs to the wizard Roger Rhode, reported by his family as missing since the attack on Hogwarts. Mr. Rhode has been wanted for questioning by the Ministry since allegations preceding the war. They are still searching for him. We are obligated to inform the Ministry of this discrepancy in our records so that they can lay all further inquiries of his whereabouts to rest."
Did that still mean they had to also report Snape? Harry gripped the edge of the table and kept his voice low. "Certainly. Report it. But that doesn't disprove anything, right? We're not aurors. I mean, Snape's body is still lost. I'll give you another pint to agree with me on that. I believe it's called a privacy oath and you don't take gold for it."
After his visit to Gringotts, he went straight to the tour's lodgings in Edinbourgh. His bags were already waiting for him in his room. It was after midnight and he used the executive pass given to him weeks ago, to let himself into the underground quidditch locker rooms, and onto the field to practice. Standard brooms and equipment were locked in a cages. The league had made it illegal to use anything more powerful than a Firebolt or a Spetter Cast, the German-American equivalent. Players had to rely on their magic for hardcore speeds and maneuvers. And even though he had the field to himself, he planned on using drills he'd created with spelled balls, to keep his reflexes quick and his eyes sharp. They were no-thinking, dodge and strike tactics, since he had no say in any strategy. He focussed on being fast and accurate.
Being alone in the night sky, should've felt wonderful. Stadium lights were up, and the empty seats kilometers below, gave him a sense of expectation. The night was clear and the temperature perfect. All he wanted to do was work up a sweat until he exhausted himself. Make it grueling. Then he could say he tried to get his head back into the game. It wasn't easy, not after finding his arm and making deals with goblins. He should've known there would be bad dreams.
He ran maneuvers with the balls until he felt good about his timing. It was 1:30 am when he put the equipment away and drug himself into his shower. As he lay in bed, he could hear Draco chastising him for making such a rash decision. 'Your blood, Harry. You actually paid goblins in blood? Without legal representation of any kind?'
He didn't have to be told how stupid it was. He had just wanted that information so damned much. He knew, to his shame, he'd totally become the arrogant git he was sometimes accused of being. He had looked that goblin in the eye and bragged about killing Voldemort. But he would've said anything to know whose ashes were in that box. To hell with anyone who didn't walk in his shoes and didn't have to make the decisions he had to make. All he did was use the hand dealt to him. People use what they have. If people wanted to judge him and hold him to some stupid standard, then screw them. Who was with him when Snape died? Who else was holding Snape in his arms that night, looking into those dimming eyes? No one, that's who. He'd done his damndest and he had a right to use his magic any way he wanted to get answers for himself. If it came back to bite him, he'd just take care of that too. Now to figure out what he needed to do.
He fought such thoughts off, right up to sleep. He gave in to gut-crushing exhaustion and the inability to wake when he felt pain. Whatever had happened, whatever his body went through, not being able to stop it, was pain. He had to tell himself that because he remembered pleasure. He remembered that weird, sinking, wet feeling, like liquid opium filling up his cock and spreading up his abdomen to every limb. For a little while, it had felt great. The best, even. He hadn't felt like that since he and Draco experienced that first time together. Exciting warmth and expectation, not just arousal.
The more it had gone on, the more Harry realized he hadn't known what was happening or why, or who. Someone's hands were definitely on him, but they didn't feel like solid hands. He couldn't explain it. And the more he couldn't explain it, the more he knew it was wrong. It had felt too good, until it hadn't felt like his body anymore. His body became strange to him. A stranger's body. His body couldn't possibly have sensations like that. It didn't make sense until… Until it put him back at the Malfoy home and that man, that monster…
He had wanted to wake up. He had wanted it to stop. It hadn't. It intensified to something stronger and he was suddenly imprisoned in energy that did what it wanted to his body. He'd had no say. And after a while, he'd had no coherency. He felt like he'd even blacked out, lost sight of everything off and on, while his body operated on pure mechanics. When he woke up on the bathroom floor, he was a mess. He did remember the desperate desire to not let anyone see him that way, and to clean himself up no matter what. There'd been too much evidence of something sordid going on, and he only prayed that the hotel staff wouldn't sell the details. He couldn't help it that his body had done that.
Now, awake, he couldn't be sure what had really happened. How much of it belonged to last night, or how much of it belonged to two years ago? No matter what happened, his mind had the power to turn multiple greedy goblins into one giant Lucius Malfoy. He was stuck with that nightmare.
"Well you just can't stay out of trouble." Avi interrupted his thoughts.
Harry looked up. He tried to smile at him. His heart wasn't in it. "I can't stay here."
"Has anyone explained to you what happened? Harry, I'm sorry, this is too serious to let you go so quickly. You just got here."
"I have practice in two hours. I can't miss it a second time."
"Your teammates will understand."
"I signed a commitment. I can't let them down."
"You've had a stroke, Harry."
The next words out of Harry's mouth never made it.
Avi held up his hands. "Don't panic. I don't mean to alarm you. As severe as that diagnosis is, as serious, your body is recuperating at an incredible rate. Your magic really is something."
Harry's mouth hung open. "A stroke?"
"I know, you probably think you're too young and too healthy. But it is related to the existing damage I've already seen in your nervous system. When they admitted you," he looked at his notes, "a Docter Covington performed the diagnostics. My findings support his. Sometime over in the morning, you experienced broken blood vessels in the frontal and temporal lobes of your brain. He didn't expect you to wake up, not without considerable motor loss. But we've been monitoring you and every thirty minutes your body restructures five percent of the tissue damage. This is extremely positive."
"I had a stroke?"
"I think you're going to be fine. This would've incapacitated or even killed a non-magical person. I have a theory that whoever restored your body after the train incident, also gave you impeccable regenerative abilities."
He tried to listen to the rest, but his mind wasn't having it. When Avi talked about convulsions and temporal illusions as his brain hemorrhaged, Harry felt his eyes well up. He could actually have a nightmare so bad that his body had a stroke? He risked being paralyzed or even crippled because he couldn't handle what was done to him and it was all catching up? Had the goblins stressed him out that much?
"We have to keep you for observation. We've never seen anyone recover this quickly, but there are still concerns. Just play it safe and be a good patient for at least another forty-eight hours. We've sent word to Draco. He's on his way -"
"I can't take another hospital. Or lying flat on my back. Just let me attend practice. You can monitor me from my hotel room, right? You can trace my vitals and what-not. If I pass out, you'll know it. I'm becoming a liability for this tour."
Instead of reprimanding him, Avi looked at him squarely. He reached into his back pocket and removed a rolled up paper. He flattened it and placed it on Harry's lap.
On the cover of The Daily Prophet, a blurred photo showed Harry sprawled in his T-shirt and shorts across black and white tiles. His head lay wedged between the toilet and the bathtub. The caption read, Harry Collapses! In it, badged hotel staff watched as ambulatory crew fitted him with a breathing mask and checked him over.
"That edition is two hours old. It hit the stands faster than news of Voldemort's death. Your team is not expecting you to show up for practice. Trust me."
The shock of seeing himself displayed in such an undignified manner, was too much to digest. Rage smoldered, then ignited behind his eyes. His stomach hardened into concrete and it sank deeper into his bowels.
"Now Harry, I'm only showing you that because you need to take treatment seriously. This is not a fly-by recovery. Stay here and let us take proper care of you. You don't have to prove yourself to your teammates, to the Ministry, or to anyone. You have a little girl who needs you to be as healthy as you can be. This is not the time to take up any challenges."
Avi was right, but the blow to Harry's pride kept him reeling far beyond Avi's reach.
"What I will do, is give you something to help you settle. To make it easier to stay in bed. I imagine you must have all kinds of pressures contributing to your lack of rest."
Harry said nothing. He wished he could say that he couldn't believe a reputable paper would run such tabloid melodrama, but he was too angry to manage that. Only he knew what his body had gone through, and to have it plastered in full color for the whole world to gawk at, was the same as being at Lucius' mercy that horrible night two years ago. It put him back in that space. He swore, he'd never let anything make him feel that helpless again.
The eyes he turned to Avi, were the eyes of a legendary eleven year-old boy. "It's the nightmares. They'll come back. If you make sure I can sleep without dreaming, I should be able to rest. Even when you release me, I'll need the strongest you've got."
Avi's smile seemed to say, if this is what keeps you in bed, then done. "I'll write you that prescription right now. When you get out of here, you can't drink while taking it and we'll have to step you off of it in a few months. But we'll get you through this."
Harry nodded. He let Avi check him over and waited for the mediwizard to make good on his promise. The potion he prescribed came in the form of a dark green pill. He let Avi witness him taking it and settled back onto his pillow. By the time anyone came to check on him again, his bed was empty.
Scrubs were easy enough to steal. He wasn't a prisoner and his legs could still carry him downstairs to a taxi. He didn't have the strength to apparate or to hide his appearance. So what if the paper got another assaulting shot of him looking like an overdosed cliché. He already felt there was nothing else for his pride to lose. He could sue, but that would only feed the frenzy that wanted more photos like that. At the front desk, he got strange looks and actually had to threaten to walk out if the nurse attempted to call his doctor and get permission again. "I had a stroke, I still have free will." He checked himself out and made his way to the quidditch field. He had a commitment to keep.
Please review! :-)
A/N: Harry's stroke is a direct result from events in Evening's Freedom. It has nothing to do with goblins. I'm creating a bit of a puzzle here and some readers need help.
Notes:
A/N: SPOILER!: If I get my way, this is going to be a long story, so I can't get into the hurry I was in with the other Unbearable stories. If you're taking this journey with me, you can handle this spoiler and you deserve some information. If you don't want to know what's going on beneath the words, don't read this.
The relationships in this story are going to be turned on their heads for a while, but that's only because Harry and Draco have a lot of healing to do. I see them as being committed, but they can't really meet each other in a stable way until some side roads and unfinished business is taken care of. Iece is their center of gravity right now. Harry and Draco are a dedicated couple, whether that's clear to them or not. But they are absolutely reckless in their approach to heal the sexual relationship that Lucius stunted. Snape will actually, through no conscious effort, be the one to inspire their healing as Harry is inspired to heal him. Ash is caught in the middle of it because Snape would be totally invisible behind the scenes if it weren't for him. I don't think we'll hear Snape's viewpoint again until Harry forces it from him.
