Black Phoenix

Chapter 11

Life begins on the other side of despair.

-Jean-Paul Sartre

It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

-William Blake

"He's moved out," Mina stated calmly. The fire in those black eyes was at once frightening in its intensity and reassuring in affirming the way the man felt for Harry.

"Where?" The voice was deep and soft.

"To a place that is safe for people who have physical challenges—" she began, then abruptly stopped when Severus stepped towards her.

"You have the address, I am sure." His eyes bored into hers and she felt curiously detached for a moment. "You will share that information with me. Write it down."

Mina walked jerkily to her desk and pulled out a piece of note paper. She handed Severus the address after copying it from her small agenda book.

She shook the strange fog out of her head just in time to see the tall man sweep from the office. Her fingers rubbed slowly at an ache that blossomed in her temples.

He was dressed all in black today. Harry would have wanted to know. It was a game of theirs for him to guess what combination of black and other dark shades Severus wore on the days he came for sign lessons. Most of the time, he wore black trousers and conservative dark silk shirts, buttoned at the cuffs and nearly to the top in the front.

Harry asked her once what she thought of the man's looks. She had considered the question very seriously before answering. Severus reminded her of when she was in college; she and her girlfriends had giggled when they saw the hippy art teacher and the history professor out in the courtyard, smoking joints. She described Severus as the way the history professor looked, cool, reserved, and above everyone else. He had long hair, just like the art teacher, but his was tied back instead of flying free. His clothes were neat and painfully proper, instead of like the art teacher's bohemian careless style. But just the same, they were rebels and non-conformists, smoking the illegal weed out in the open during their break between classes. She painted such a vivid picture, one that Harry could easily see as Severus smoking a joint, that Harry almost started laughing out loud every time Severus came by after that.

SSSSSSSS

Harry maneuvered his way through the hothouse, feeling the edges of the hip-high beds. At the end of the row he turned and walked down the next. He could smell the herbs in their pots here, the fragrance reminiscent of Professor Sprout's domain at Hogwarts. Maybe that was why he liked working in the gardens and with the dirt. It was connected through the earth to those simple things that were common in both the Muggle world and the world of magic. Many of the same plants were popular in both cultures.

With his keener sense of feel and smell, Harry had discovered that perhaps Herbology was a favorite study after all. He had read all the Braille typed books that the school had on anything to do with gardening, planting, and harvesting. Mina had helped him get this job at a neighborhood gardening center, and the owner had readily accepted Harry as someone who knew their way around dirt. On their tour through the small facility, Harry had stopped and felt of soil around seedlings, small tree trunks and in pots. He felt of vines, woody stems and leaves, and informed the owner of the need for more water, less fertilizer, and better drainage as they went along. Mina had shown the man how to do plain letter writing in the palm of Harry's hand so that he could tell Harry what he needed to do.

As he stroked the limp leaves of a comfrey grouping, he lamented not being able to recommend dragon dung as a fertilizer. Muggles had an appreciation for what they termed an organic approach to gardening, but he seriously doubted that any of them would appreciate the fine advantages of the manure from a creature they believed was mythical.

But he was content, if not exactly happy. Frowning, he forced his mind away from the thought that he was not really unhappy either. Of course he was happy. How could he not be? He was gainfully employed, even if he was certain that it was a pity employment on the part of the garden center owner. He knew they could find someone who was sighted and could hear what a customer actually wanted when they walked in the door.

However, this was better than sitting in the tiny one room flat Mina had helped him get. He liked the idea that he was on his own and independent. But he hated being alone. The time alone in the apartment gave him too much time to dwell on the past and the friends he lost. It gave him too much space to feel lost in again. At the school, he knew that people were all around. If he bumped someone, they could carry on a conversation with their hands, share a joke, or wonder what was for dinner. There was no one at the apartment. He already knew exactly how many steps there were from the front door to the small sleeper sofa. He knew exactly where the bathroom door was and exactly where the kitchenette was from any beginning point in the room. Mina had stocked the tiny kitchen space with bare essentials so Harry could fix himself simple meals. He could cook now, but it didn't feel worth the effort for just himself. He had organized his closet the way the school had taught him. Each shirt and each pair of pants had a series of tiny safety pins on an inside seam. He could tell by feel which ones coordinated so that he was always dressed neatly. He went to the garden center as early as he could each day. He often beat the owner arriving. In the evening, the owner had to spell 'g-o- h-o-m-e' on Harry's palm to get him to leave. Harry would reluctantly sigh and nod his head, leaving whatever task he had become involved in.

Sometimes, on the way home, he would stop at a kiosk that sold hot sandwiches. The man who operated it would write a conversation into Harry's hand, and Harry would feel less isolated while he stood there and ate his supper. Then Harry would continue on the short distance to his flat where he read from his Braille books for awhile, waiting to feel sleepy enough to go to bed.

On this night, Harry was eating his sandwich when he felt a surge of emotion from the sandwich maker. He tilted his head as he stopped chewing. Fear? Of what, he wondered. Then he felt a hard shove that sent him to his knees, the uneaten part of his sandwich flying away as he caught himself with his hands on the pavement.

Breathing hard, he sat back on his heels, trying to be calm as he waited for whatever was happening. Another hard shove had him down on the ground and rough hands were thrusting into his hip pocket, ripping his wallet away. He tried to rise up and reach for whoever was attacking him and a kick to his head made him fall back to the ground, pain exploding in his temple and where his head hit the pavement again. Another blow to his ribs had him curling up to try and protect his face and stomach from further assault.

Harry could not get his mind wrapped around what was happening. He was being robbed? That was the only explanation he could come up with to explain the beating he was being given, his wallet being taken. He reflexively reached for his wand before remembering that he didn't have one; he had been left without even that bit of security when he was tossed out of the wizarding world.

Whoever was attacking him must have seen the motion he made towards his non-existent wand and the blows rained down even more violently.

The assault suddenly stopped as Harry felt a blast of magic over him. For a moment, he thought he must have wished for magic and therefore dreamed it was present, and then there was another blast.

After a few moments, Harry felt hands on his arms and they were raising him up to sit on the pavement. A hand gave him a sharp shake and when Harry didn't respond, it gripped him hard and pulled him to his feet.

Out loud, he said, "I'm deaf and blind. Whoever you are, I can't see or hear you." He thought he might have done a good job keeping the fear out of his voice, but how was he to know for sure. He waited, his head slowly turning from side to side. He could feel magic in the air, and just knowing that he could was exhilarating, even if he was about to finally be done in by a remnant Death Eater!

The hand began to pull him along and he felt the person walk with a curious gait, a thump on the ground by his feet with each step. After a bit, whoever had hold of him stopped and forced him to sit down. Harry felt a chair under him and he tried not to slump in relief. He could tell that he was still outside, and that was reinforced when his hands were dropped on a table top and a glass of water placed in them. Harry recognized the table surface and the glassware of a little sidewalk café near his apartment.

Raising the glass to his face, he gave it a sniff before drinking deeply. As he sat there, a cloth was pressed into his hand and he felt it become wet with a spell that tingled through his fingers as the cloth swelled with warm water. A hand nudged his hand towards his face and Harry used the wet cloth to wipe his face.

After a few swipes, the cloth was taken from him and he felt it being more effectively used to clean what was probably dirt and blood from his temple and jaw.

He looked towards where he sensed the person sat near him. "Who are you and what do you want?"

HPHPHPHPHP

The blond man glared balefully at the bloodied man sitting there. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't just have turned around and walked the other way. Oh no. He had to go on a stroll though Muggle Liverpool and just happen to come upon a mugging taking place. He had almost turned away with a snort of disdain at how Muggles treated one another.

Then a double take had him recognizing the heap on the ground that the thugs were beating on. His wand was stealthily in his hand as he moved closer. He hid his hex by using the cane to swing at the same time the magic threw one of the men several yards. A brief scuffle and another short blast had the two men scurrying away from Harry and the vendor.

Shaking his head at the sorry heap on the ground, he grabbed hold of a shoulder and pulled him upright. Pain in his leg had him hissing through his teeth at the unaccustomed movements and he gave the cringing black-haired man a shake. "Come on. Get up. I'm not carrying you!"

The vendor had already gotten up. "Thanks. You came along just in time," he said as he righted his cart and began to pick up scattered bits of food and accoutrements.

The rescuer didn't answer with much more than a snarl in his direction as he steered Harry towards a nearby café with a sidewalk table. A waitress had hurried to bring a glass of water when the order was barked to her.

Glancing around, he noted that what little excitement the attack had attracted was settling down. Under the table he conjured a cloth and passed it over to the man beside him before whispering another spell to wet it with warm water. He gave the hand holding it a nudge towards a bloodied face, but after a few ineffectual swipes, he took the cloth himself to make a better job of it.

Harry fixed sightless green eyes in his direction. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Draco Malfoy heaved a sigh and adjusted his stiff leg out to the side. Harry held out his hand, palm up. "If you don't know sign, you can write words one letter at a time on my hand. If I ask a question, give me two taps for yes and do this for no," he explained while demonstrating the proper motions with his other hand.

Draco wasn't sure if he wanted Harry to know it was him. As he contemplated his response, Harry said, "I know you are a wizard. I felt the magic you used to frighten that Muggle away."

Draco mentally cursed. Why was Potter still here in Muggle-land if he could sense magic? He stared at Harry's outstretched hand, unwilling to take it to write out a response on the offered palm.

Harry was frowning now. "You must not be a Death Eater, though I suppose that there must be some who still want me dead. If you were, you'd probably have helped the git who robbed me." If he hoped that his efforts at conversation would get the other wizard to open up, he was disappointed, because Draco reached his decision.

He stood up and motioned to the waitress. When she came over, he said, "Feed him whatever he wants." He handed her a fistful of Muggle currency. "Consider this an advance on a tab."

The girl nodded and Draco ignored her batting eyelashes as he turned away. Behind him, Harry was asking,

"Hello? Are you still there?"

Draco walked away, leaving the girl to write words into the waiting palm of Harry Potter.

DMDMDMDM

Severus turned as his floo activated. There weren't many on his list of admits. Well, actually there were two who could do more than a simple fire call. He didn't expect that Harry had suddenly taken a notion to floo after all this time without magic. So he knew that it must be Draco. Perhaps he had news of his request to visit Lucius in Azkaban.

Draco stepped out onto the hearth, his bearing elegant in spite of his use of the cane and the bad limp. He strode straight to the small bar and helped himself to Firewhiskey.

Severus glared but Draco glared right back.

"Why didn't you tell me Potter was blind and deaf?"

"You didn't ask. You've never cared before when he was injured. I didn't think you would now."

"I don't. I knew he had been badly injured and that he was kept at Hogwarts afterwards. No one knew what his injuries were. Dumbledore kept it all very hushed up."

"It was for his safety and privacy."

"Of course. Everyone was probably panting to know what had become of the precious golden Gryffindor." Draco was fairly snarling as he spoke. The whiskey sloshed out of the glass as he waved his hands around.

Severus plucked the glass out of his fingers and slammed it to the table, spilling the rest. "He was defenseless right afterwards. He needed the protection."

Draco was breathing hard and he turned to the fireplace and leaned on it. "I just wish I had known. Then it wouldn't have been such a shock to see him like that."

Severus stiffened. "You saw him? When?"

He had been going by almost every day to see that Harry was getting out of the flat and going to work. He had been concerned that the younger man was overdoing it, but he looked healthy and rested enough, even if he kept long hours. He had not been there today. This was a day spent in digging through scrolls at the Alexandria Library. The ancient papyrus was warded against further decay, but the dust had still been heavy. He had become immersed in the research, finding himself sidetracked by the ancient lore of wizardry. When he became aware of how late it was, he decided to wait to the following day to Apparate to Liverpool.

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "Didn't I mention it? I suppose not. I went to Liverpool because someone recommended I see the Magical Mystery Tour, something about some obscure Muggle singing group called the Beatles…anyway, I was walking along and what should I happen to see, but a couple of Muggles beating on what I thought was another Muggle and stealing his wallet." He stopped talking and picked up the glass Severus had taken from him. He refilled it and looked over at Severus with a calculating expression. "The lump on the ground was Potter, getting the hell beat out of him."

Severus had been looking supremely bored with Draco's recounting of his day, until that point. His already pale face drained of color. He grabbed Draco's wrist to stop the movement of his hand taking the glass to his lips.

"Harry was hurt? Today? Is he alright?" Without waiting for an answer, he was waving his wand over his robes to transfigure them into clothing that was Muggle style.

Draco set his glass down when he realized that Severus meant to go to Liverpool that very minute.

"He was fine, Severus. He has a black eye and a bruised jaw…and his ribs are probably bruised, come to think of it, But he was sitting at a sidewalk café table when I left him."

Severus looked at Draco for a long moment, and only the sound of his finger joints popping as he clenched his hands into fists broke the silence. Draco finally shook his head in disbelief.

"Merlin, you really care about the little sod. If you care so much, why aren't you with him? What are you doing leaving him on his own?"

Severus rubbed a hand through his long hair and sighed. "He needed to learn how to get along with his disabilities. His magic is gone and he has to be able to function in the Muggle—"

"Hold on! His magic is not gone, Sev. He knew I was there. He even joked about how he guessed I wasn't a Death Eater or I would've helped the thugs, and finished the job."

Severus sat down hard in a chair. "He felt your magical signature?" At Draco's nod, he asked, "He knew it was you?"

"No, he wanted me to write out my responses in his hand, for Merlin's sake! I was a little surprised by it all and I just left to come here. I figured you'd know what was going on and I was ready to ream you out for not telling me." He tilted his head. "You thought his magic was dead?"

"It was gone after the final battle and an attack by Death Eaters in the Infirmary."

"And you doubted that it would come back? Even after the amazing recoveries he always pulled off?"

Severus scowled darkly. "It was gone. After draining his magic a second time, there was enough cause to suspect it might not return." He had a brief expression of sadness and then he straightened. "Albus took him away and placed him in a Muggle School for the Deafblind. It took me months to track him down."

"Is that why you left Hogwarts, then? There were all sorts of rumors and speculations at St. Mungo's"

Severus looked at him, wordlessly asking for further details. "I was blind in one eye, and this whole side of me was a mess," Draco waved his right hand down his left side. "There wasn't much to do except feel sorry for myself and eavesdrop."

He shook his head and sipped the drink. "They said you had left because you were upset that Voldemort had been defeated. I set them straight on that, but they still thought that perhaps you had gone off to start your own Dark Army." He sat back and stretched out the stiffened leg, grimacing as he did so. He glanced up at Severus expectantly as he rubbed the thigh. "So, why did you leave Hogwarts?"

Severus had recovered from his surprise at Harry's magic being back and now he was torn between answering the question Draco just asked, asking about the rampant speculation regarding his activities, and Apparating to Harry in Liverpool.

"Dumbledore refused to tell me where Harry was. He was convinced that Harry belonged in the Muggle realm and I disagreed."

"And yet, after you found him, you left him there." Draco was staring at him, silver eyes challenging him to deny it.

"I wanted to have something for him, the Black Phoenix. After seeing him at the school, believing that he was without any magical ability, I came to think that perhaps Albus had been right. Not about leaving him there, but giving him a way to learn how to cope."

"He obviously has. Now you just have to worry about him being killed by Muggles after managing to make it year after year here."

Severus looked as if he wanted to issue an acid response, but even though his mouth was open, nothing came out.

Draco was settling back to watch the man think about it when Severus surprised him by throwing a robe over his shoulders and striding out the door. By the time he managed to scramble to his feet and limp gracelessly to the yard, Severus was gone.

SSSSSSSS

Harry heated up the soup in a saucepan, feeling as if he needed to eat something so his stomach would settle. He had eaten an order of chips at the sidewalk café, the waitress writing into his hand that his rescuer had left him enough money to order whatever he wanted. He had nibbled at the chips and sipped at a tea through his swollen mouth, but could not fully relax.

Leaving the café, he had hurried home as fast as the bruised ribs would allow. He carefully locked the door after he entered his flat, leaning against it tiredly.

He replayed the incident in his mind, searching for where he had let his guard down, and looking for how he would avoid such a pitfall in the future.

He had sensed the magical signature of his rescuer. It had felt vaguely familiar and he knew that the person was known to him. Why had they left? It reinforced his belief that he had been abandoned after his job had been done. No one needed him anymore. Severus had not bothered to find him, so he must have been satisfied that Harry had learned the basic necessities of survival and he was off the hook.

Then this. He had not thought for a moment that he would ever be in danger from Muggles. He had earned the right to be at peace, hadn't he? He had been tempted to fight back, but without being able to see, he was afraid that he would hit the wrong person, and perhaps hurt or kill a bystander.

He had been stunned to feel the magical signature of the wizard rescuer. It wasn't Severus. He would have known that signature. That thought made him ache with an unnamed longing. He missed feeling that signature. He had been so sure that Severus would come forward and tell him that he was there. He had been sure that he would offer to take him back. That certainty had buoyed him up above the depressive inclination to simply lay down one night and never get up.

He held a hand close to the saucepan, easing the tip of a finger down into the soup to test the temperature. It was hot enough. Turning off the burner, he carried the pan to the small table. Not bothering with a mug or a bowl, he began to spoon the soup directly from the pan to his lips. After only a few slurps, he threw the spoon across the room and followed it with the pan.

Falling to his knees on the floor, he hugged himself with his arms, shaking. He did not know how long he sat huddled there. He felt no need to move. The darkness and the silence was driving him mad. He knew he would not leave the flat again without fear of being assaulted. He feared that he would try to use magic to protect himself and by doing so buy himself another kind of fame in this world; a fame that he did not want any more than he had wanted the kind he had in the wizarding world. He laughed at that thought. What would Muggles do to a poor deaf and blind man who somehow manages to disarm or possibly kill his assailant? It would be a headline. Would the Ministry of Magic rescue him if they got wind of it? Or would they leave him to whatever fate the Muggles decided?

The wave of magic that flooded the flat alerted him that someone had entered it without ringing the bell. He had worn the bracelet device since Mina had rented the flat for him, a bracelet connected to the doorbell. When someone was at the door, they pressed the button, just like any other. But instead of ringing in the flat, the doorbell had been set to a vibration signal that was sent to the bracelet. No one but Mina had ever used it. Harry never had visitors.

In spite of his current wish to cease being, Harry couldn't stop the reflex that had his hands outstretched, the words of a hex on his lips as he instinctively flung out wandless magic.

"Petrificus Totallis!"

He was on his feet, arms extended like antenna as he searched for the magical signature. Arms came around him from behind, securing his hands to his side, rendering them useless. He struggled violently against the body behind him, barely feeling the vibrations in the chest as the person spoke.

Then he froze. He knew this signature, even if it had been weeks since he had felt it. It had been many, many months since he had felt these hands on him.

"Severus—" He could feel his voice breaking in his throat. The emotions of the day were all too strong and this one more was the breaking point. He sagged for a moment and felt Severus's grip relax. When it did, he ripped himself away and turned to face the other man, hands out defensively.

"Get out. This is my –" he could not say the word home. This was not a home. This was a resting place in his day to day existence. It was not in any way a home to him. He cleared his throat and started again.

"What gives you the right to just barge in? Come to make sure I'm being good? Come to ease your conscience that the Boy Who Annoyed The Hell Out Of You is being a proper handicapped Muggle?"

Severus winced at Harry's words. He started to speak and then stopped. He touched one of the outstretched hands, jerking back when Harry started at the contact. Damn. How was he going to even try to begin to explain if Harry wouldn't allow his touch.

Harry was shaking and Severus wanted to step forward. The look on Harry's face stopped him. Beneath the bruising his eyes were wary and his jaw set in tension. Taking a chance, he took one of Harry's hands firmly in his own and quickly opened the palm to sign into it.

"I'm sorry."

The stunned look on Harry's face would have been priceless in another lifetime. Now, it just hurt that he could gobsmack the younger man with those two words.

He let go of the hand and Harry dropped it to his side. Severus took a look around the small flat and noted the new addition of soup splatter and saucepan against the wall. So, Harry had been in a rage even before he got here. Severus wondered if it was the attack by Muggles, or his life in general that had him upset. Either one was enough, he supposed. He reflected on the wandless magic that Harry had thrown out. It was wild and totally out of control, but there was no question that Harry had his magic back.

Now, the question was whether or not Harry would allow Severus to come back into his life when he obviously thought that Severus had not wanted to be in it to start with.

SSSSSSSS

A/N: Well, there they are. I know it's not what most of you want, but give it another chapter or two!

I have to give credit for the idea of Snape resembling a pot-smoking professor… but I lost the PM form whoever I discussed it with! So, I apologize, but the image just would not get out of my head, and I put it into Harry's too!

Thank you for all the lovely and delicious reviews! Miss Muse appreciates them. Here are Hershey's Dark Chocolate Bliss candies for everyone. (They are new and absolutely yummy!)

Thank you logicalquirk, my ever dear beta!