Author's Note: No, your eyes are not deceiving you. It's me. Hope you enjoy this one. I've missed writing like you can't even believe.
Chapter 12: A Time to Yield
Harry was the first to zero in on the slump-shouldered intruder. Snape's eyes followed his to the door. Harry ducked his chin, his face burning as he wondered how much of that conversation had been overhead. He swiped his nose with the back of his wrist.
Professor Lupin straightened up the slightest bit, drawing in air through his nostrils at being discovered. The foil-wrapped chocolate bar slipped out of his fingers and clattered to the ground. He hurriedly stooped to pick it up, somehow dropping it again before finally snagging a hold of it.
Harry flicked his gaze up at Snape, sensing fire in the black eyes that were obstructed through his curtain of matching hair.
A soft clearing of a throat. "I've only just got your note a few moments ago," Lupin spoke carefully. "I came as soon as I could."
Snape didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Harry, how…" Lupin coughed again. "How did you—"
"Go to your dormitory."
Harry blinked, surprised at the sudden address. Especially since Snape wasn't even looking at him.
Professor Lupin's eyes, soft yet nervous, flickered between them.
"Why?" Harry piped up, managing to alternate between frowning at the back of Snape's head and eyeballing Lupin in a questioning way—that is, until Snape whipped around, stealing Harry's undivided attention.
The glare he received was enough to knock him flat on the table. Harry dipped his chin again.
"It was my fault, Severus," Professor Lupin offered in haste. The wrapper crinkled loudly in the echoing silence of the dungeon. "Had I known beforehand that Dementors had been ordered to Diagon Alley, I never would have—I mean, I certainly would have considered—"
"You considered nothing, as usual," Snape sneered in response, still eyeing Harry sharply. "Your dormitory," he repeated quietly, raising his brow with resolution. "Now."
Slowly, Harry slid to the edge of the table, his arms and legs still rather shaky, his skin still moist with perspiration.
Professor Lupin stepped forward. "Here, I've brought this." He held on to his bar of chocolate with both hands as if preparing to offer it. "He should have some…"
"He has."
Harry felt inches tall, as though he had shrunk with the discomfort, stuck in the middle of this. His stomach tightened with guilt, seeing as he was the cause, too.
Once again, the chocolate hung by Lupin's thigh, precarious in his weak grip.
Snape gave a quick jerk of his head toward the exit, his gaze still cool as marble, still pinned on Harry. He wouldn't be repeating himself again; that was for certain. Tampering with Snape's temper would be radioactive…
But Harry still had to try.
He shook his head, speaking in a muffled voice, "But it wasn't his fault, Professor; it was mine."
Ice crackled in Snape's stare.
"You…" Harry swallowed. "You even said—"
"I've given you an order," Snape muttered, for only Harry to hear. "Defying me now after our discussion would be unwise. Go."
"But—" Harry wetted his lips, searching for the words to make Snape understand. "But it wasn't—"
Hearing no more, Snape lifted Harry under the armpits and deposited him on his feet, cutting off his lame attempt at an explanation.
Red-faced, Harry set his jaw but allowed himself be prodded toward the door.
Lupin held out the chocolate as they passed, looking rather embarrassed himself. Harry reached out to take it, but Snape snatched it out of Lupin's hand first, handing it to Harry before placing both hands on his shoulders and steering him through the exit like he always did.
This time, though, Harry did pull away; he strode up the ramped corridor without so much as a glance back. It was one thing to look like a baby in front of Snape, but in front of another teacher—
"Hey!" Something cinched Harry around the waist, dragging him back. His trainers squeaked against the floor until he bumped into a solid mass of…
Oh, bugger.
A hand caught Harry's chin, and then he found himself gazing up into the darkness of Snape's upside-down nostrils.
"A bit early in the afternoon for dramatics." The too-big nostrils flared even more.
"I…I was going," Harry said nimbly.
"Yes," Snape affirmed. "You will. And you'll do it without fuss, will you not?"
It is rather difficult to pull any other face than a bug-eyed one when someone has your chin in a vice. But Harry found himself trying anyway.
"You're always sending me away…"
"I'm sending you to rest," Snape corrected, still holding fast to Harry's chin. "Most boys your age would be in the mental ward at St. Mungo's after an encounter with a Dementor."
Harry frowned. "Where's that?"
"Go." Snape released Harry's chin as he gestured vaguely down the corridor.
"It really wasn't his fault—I told him you wouldn't mind."
Snape stared at him.
"He said I should ask for your permission."
Snape remained frozen, but somehow, his eyes seemed to grow dark. Strange, almost. He swallowed. "To bed with you."
Harry chewed on his lip.
A single, authoritative nod. "Go on."
Snape waited until Harry started moving before sweeping his robes around and stalking back towards the classroom.
Rounding the corner, Harry mumbled the password and stepped inside the Common Room. He fell into a leather armchair in front of the cold fireplace, slouching down as far as he could without sliding off the cushion. Pondering the general unfairness of everything, he fingered the softening bar of chocolate and then tossed it onto the nearest table.
It was funny. Less than ten minutes ago, he was silently scorning Professor Lupin for suggesting they go to Diagon Alley, and now, Harry was feeling sorry for him. His eyes, like Snape's, were difficult to look at today. But in a different way.
Then there was Snape.
One minute he considered Harry mature enough to learn about Dementors and Sirius Black, and the next, Snape was shoving him out of a conversation that most certainly was going to involve him.
Harry's skin prickled with gooseflesh; he forced his mind to stray from that memory, from the cold, damp nausea that had engulfed him. Snape had been right—they were horribly foul creatures. Turns out, Snape was right about loads of things. Why did it always take hours for Harry to realize this?
He chewed on his lip in thought. The longer he sat, the more he realized how much he was at fault. If only he had stayed in the book shop with Professor Lupin…
If only you'd waited for Snape.
Harry made a face. If only Snape had taken him along to Ireland…
And then, somewhere in the deep recesses of his conscience: if only you had listened better, maybe he'd've taken you.
Toeing the end of the low, gleaming black table in front of him with his trainer, Harry waited until the renewed heat in his cheeks diminished to pinpricks of lingering shame.
There was only one thing to do.
Harry pushed himself out of the armchair, giving himself a brief moment to rehearse his plea for Lupin's clemency as he gazed at the charred logs that lay in the hearth. But his mind was rather blank, and now, in the near-silence, he was having a difficult time shrugging off thoughts of the choking cold. The smell of rotting skin.
Scratching his fingernails through his hair, Harry let his eyes travel wearily around the room as he mused, pondering the degree of punishment he'd have to endure for leaving the dormitory, until he spotted an open book, lying patiently on his corner desk. The desk where his breakfast and lunch were always waiting on him.
The desk that Snape always transfigured into a dinner table around half-past five, large enough for two plates. Every day. For the first time in a while, Harry hadn't even questioned such expectancy. It felt nice.
It felt normal.
Dropping his hand to his side, Harry cast a fleeting glance toward the door that led to the Dungeon corridor. He walked slowly over to his desk and gazed down at the book: Wednesday, July 28. The slots from noon downward remained blank.
Harry pressed his lips together. Snape wasn't interested in his explanations this afternoon—that much was obvious. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had done all he could do, aside from storming back into the classroom and getting inevitably clobbered in the end.
Sighing, he picked up his quill.
Several minutes later, having exchanged his jeans for pajama bottoms, Harry lay buried under the warmth of his comforter, his glasses folded on the night table, waiting for sleep to overtake him; sleep that floated over him like fog.
Snape must have added the Draught of Peace to his cup of chocolate; either that or or throwing up on Snape's shoes must have knackered Harry out more than he realized. Pleasant, senseless images drifted through Harry's mind. Feathers floating in Professor Flitwick's classroom. Hermione's front teeth. A great black dog scratching its ear. Snape reading a novel in the lamplight.
Harry breathed evenly.
Snape wasn't going to kill Lupin. Dumbledore would kill Snape if that happened, and then where would that leave Harry?
No, Snape would be sitting in his chair by the fire when Harry woke up, just like the book would be there, open to the correct page, with Harry's penned message in the correct timeslot:
Potter, Harry
3:03 p.m. - ?
Dormitory
P.S. Wake me up before dinner.
It felt nice to know that Snape would.
Remus cleared his throat for the third time. "I had no idea of the lengths the Ministry would go to…Diagon Alley is a populated area…"
The coldness in Severus' eyes accompanied his sneer with familiar ease.
Remus removed his hands from his pockets and smoothed down the front of his robes. Shifting among the silence, he crossed his arms over his chest and then let them fall. He cleared his throat a fourth time. "Where did you find him?"
Not even a twitch of a lip.
"Severus," Remus began quietly, his eyes trained on the floor, "Albus consented after I'd sent him word—"
"Of course he did." Severus narrowed his gaze. "I would expect nothing less from the two great conspirers—clever, as you believe you are…and were."
A startled pause. Strands of graying hair fell over Lupin's brow as he lifted his head. "This wasn't a conspiracy in the least."
"But it is so very like you, isn't it, Lupin?" Severus continued, his voice soft and smirking. "To escape at the slightest whim, leaving everyone suspicious. Tell me, do you still find the castle a bit too domesticated for your liking?
"Severus…"
"Thought Potter's boy would follow you around like the rest of them?"
"Of course not," Lupin said quietly. "That was nearly two decades ago, Severus, we were only children then—"
"Weren't we all." The strange gleam returned to Severus' black stare, and then he flicked his eyes away.
Lupin wetted his lips in the awkward silence. He cleared his throat again. "I never would have taken Harry off the grounds had I known he was to remain here. It's not my place."
"Neither…" Severus said slowly, "…is this school, Lupin. I trust you don't need me to remind you of that."
Orange shadows twitched on the wall, the oily wicks crackling in the flames.
Lupin blinked several times, rubbed a spot on his forehead with a knuckle; he pushed back his fringe only to let it fall into his eyes. He glanced at Severus, receiving nothing in return, and then nodded once, a jerk of his chin. "Sorry," Lupin muttered, almost to himself. Tucking his hands into the deep pockets of his washed-out robes, Remus Lupin turned and walked out of the Potions classroom.
It was several minutes before Severus returned to his quarters. When he did, he found himself gazing vaguely into the rekindled fireplace, fingering the end of his wand without really feeling it. The foil wrapping of the uneaten chocolate glittered in the dull light from the small afternoon fire.
Removing his outer robes, Severus laid the garment over his desk. As he lit the few lanterns that were mounted on the wall, he spotted Harry's book, open, for once, to the correct page. Severus glanced down at the still-drying ink. He ran his thumb over the letters, accidentally smudging the fine print.
Dinner, indeed. Severus rolled his eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips. He had been almost positive he would find the boy slumped over on the sofa, having intended to wait up for him, refusing to rest.
Wonders never cease.
The two drops of the Draught of Peace that Severus had slipped into Harry's cocoa would have him sleeping for four hours at least.
Tiny new flames sparked to life on the warming logs as Severus sat down at Harry's desk. The tabletop was too low—the chair too high. Potter-sized.
The boy was too small for his age; surprisingly unlike his father, who had been one of the tallest in their year.
Allowing one long sigh to escape, Severus pressed two fingers to his temple and stared, thinking. If only he wouldn't think.
If only he couldn't.
Severus remained that way for a while, his legs wedged beneath Harry's desk, until the clock chimed the new hour.
"You were supposed to wake me."
"I did."
Harry frowned, squinting sleepily behind smudged spectacles. "No, you didn't…"
Splat.
Harry flinched as Snape dropped a heavy stack of volumes on top of the pile already on the floor. He was kneeling, almost squatting, in the middle of the rug, sorting through mountains of drab-colored books—the dull gold bindings nearly matched the color of the pages.
It was a bizarre sight, Snape crouched on the floor, as he usually towered several heads above Harry.
Suddenly Snape glanced up, tossing his hair back. "You are correct," Snape said, stone-faced. "I'm lying to you." He bent back to his work.
Harry stood there, his stomach pressed against the back of the sofa, waiting for the cobwebs to clear from his head. He felt as if he could have slept all night. "What was for dinner?"
Snape paused again; this time, though, he eyed Harry as though he had pink hair and feathers. "It's seven o'clock."
Harry shrugged. "So?"
"So," Snape replied, tossing an ugly green volume in a pile of books that looked as though they'd grown mold, "I highly doubt waiting on dinner would have left me famished."
Rounding the arm of the sofa, Harry scratched at his scar and plopped down on one of the leather cushions. Perhaps that meant Snape had waited for him. Harry was still too groggy to decipher his professor's obliqueness.
"Well?"
Harry was still scratching. "Well, what?"
Snape sighed. His hair hung in his face, as it always did when he was absorbed in something, but Harry could almost sense the sour, hook-nosed expression. "Are you hungry?" Snape asked slowly—more slowly than necessary.
"Er…" Another shrug. "I guess."
Snape snapped his fingers and pointed towards the table.
As Harry moved to sit in his usual chair, he spotted his schedule book, still open. The blank spaces from this afternoon glared at him, admonished him, Professor McGonagall style: stiff and silent.
Harry scooted sideways into his seat and closed the book.
Brushing his hands together, Snape stood, still eyeing the volumes he hadn't yet touched.
"Professor?"
"Mm."
Harry licked his lips, pushed against the binding with his thumb, sliding his book towards the corner of the table. What did you say to Professor Lupin? Harry wanted to ask. Instead, he opted for picking at a loosening thread stitched into the crevice; he chose the safer question. For now.
"What are you looking for?"
Snape didn't respond right away. He was still glowering down at the mess he'd created.
Harry was just getting ready to ask again, when Snape grumbled under his breath, straightening up regally, giving each cuff of his shirt a crisp tug. "A book."
Leaning his shoulders and head against the nearby wall, Harry almost rolled his eyes. "I could've guessed that. Which book?"
"A book," Snape said silkily, raising a single brow as he stepped over a small, multicolored hill, "that is not here. Obviously. Sit properly."
Harry did.
Snape reached down and tugged Harry's chair out from the wall. He repeated the process with the small table and his own chair. Settling across from Harry, Snape used his wand to silently levitate the book onto one of the shelves across the room. And then he tapped the middle of the table twice.
A large portion of shepherd's pie appeared on Harry's plate, steaming up his glasses.
"Carrots and peas," Harry noted the cooked vegetables interspersed among the beef, before taking three large gulps of his milk.
Snape pursed his lips. "Shall I request a third?"
Harry swallowed, breathing heavily from the long sips. "If you want," he said with a shrug. "I've always liked vegetables."
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Snape studied him. "Hm," he murmured.
Harry took another long drag of his milk. Snape must have thought he was sucking up, since, technically, he wasn't entirely off the hook from this afternoon. Harry had barely been handed a punishment, after all.
"I'm serious," Harry promised, smiling a little—the first smile he hadn't had to force all day.
Snape raised his eyebrows in vague acknowledgement and took a bite of his dinner.
Harry speared a carrot, eating half of it as he watched his professor. Now was as good a time as any. "What did Professor Lupin say?"
Swallowing a mouthful of ice water, Snape took his time crumpling his napkin into his fist. "That," he said, forking up more pie, "is not your concern."
"Why not?"
Another swallow. "You were not there."
Harry bit the rest of his carrot off his fork, chewing rather unenthusiastically. "I could have been. You made me leave."
"Harry."
Snape waited until he had Harry's full attention—eye-contact and all; he held Harry's eyes with his own, a squirm-worthy stare. "The matter is closed. Not another word about it."
Unbidden, Harry dropped his gaze.
"Is that clear?"
Harry stuck his fork into his potatoes. He nodded.
Clinks of forks against plates were the only sounds in the room for a long moment.
"One question," Harry said quietly, swallowing his mouthful, "and then I won't say anything else…."
A pause. Snape lowered his fork.
Harry took that as permission to speak. But suddenly, he found his face warming. He sank the side of his fork into his shepherd's pie. "Is he angry with me?"
Still, for a while, Snape said nothing—only sighed through his nose. "Of course not."
Harry peeked up a bit. Snape had resumed eating.
"That would make him more of a fool than I suspected."
Twisting his own fork, Harry gave Snape a half-smile that he couldn't see. "Thanks for trying to wake me."
Snape waved away the gratitude as he sipped his water. He nodded towards Harry's plate. "Finish your meal."
Harry scooped up a forkful.
"The vegetables you so adore…"
Chewing, Harry smiled all the way this time, careful to keep his mouth closed.
Yes, it was definitely good to be normal.
True to his word, Snape didn't speak of Professor Lupin or Dementors or anything that had gone on in Diagon Alley for the rest of the evening, which meant he also hadn't spoken of any consequences where Harry was concerned. So for the good of self-preservation, Harry kept his questions to himself.
Snape had resumed his book rifling after dinner. This time, however, Harry joined him, sitting cross-legged on the rug as he flipped through the heavy, musty volumes that smelt of dust and made his nose run.
"Why don't we make these potions in our class?" Harry wondered while perusing instructions for concocting liquid luck.
Leaning over to see what Harry had found, Snape grunted distractedly. "You will."
"When?"
"When you reach N.E.W.T. level in Potions."
Harry thumbed through a few more pages that detailed complicated instructions for wicked-sounding potions. "Is that seventh year?"
"Mm," Snape affirmed.
Harry paused. "You think I'll pass through that far?"
"Perhaps…"
Thinking about this, Harry declared, "I've got better marks than first year."
"You began reading your text—"
"You made me."
"—and you refrained from gabbing with your knot-headed friend."
"You threatened to glue my lips together…"
Snape smirked. "Your point?"
Shrugging, Harry resumed flipping pages until he hit the index. "Don't have one, really."
"You rarely do…"
Harry ignored this; he tossed The Guide to Exceptional Potion-Making onto the closest pile. "Can I help?"
"No," Snape said, and then noticing Harry's slightly crestfallen expression, he amended, "what I'm looking for is not here."
"Oh. Did you try Summoning it?"
Pushing a strand of hair out of his face, Snape gave Harry a look that was solely his. "I tend to search regardless."
That was certainly easy to believe. Snape was thorough in everything he did.
Harry pushed himself up from the ground and moved to the sofa.
Snape followed shortly after, replacing all books in their proper spots with a lazy wave of his wand.
"Potter?"
Harry recognized the sober tone as Snape's way of prompting an important request. Sitting cross-legged on his cushion, he gazed up at his professor. "Yes, sir?"
Lowering himself onto the far side of the sofa, Snape rested both palms on his knees. A line formed between his brows as he looked at Harry. "Are you aware of what happens when one is confronted by a Dementor?"
Harry frowned. "I thought we weren't talking about this…"
"I made the rule, I suppose I can bend it," Snape said smoothly. "Are you aware?" he repeated.
Harry felt the beginnings of a healthy blush rise from his neck to his cheeks. He had been rather content playing this game—the game where everything foul was forgotten; he'd been an expert at playing such games at the Dursleys. "Well, yeah," Harry mumbled, staring at his feet. "I guess you pass out…"
"No," Snape said, shaking his head; he squeezed his chin in thought. "You do not. Not usually."
"Oh." Harry's face felt as though it had been scalded. "Was I awake, then?"
Again, Snape shook his head. "You were out cold for a few seconds. You stirred when I woke you, though you'd spoken a bit in your delusion."
This was getting worse and worse. Harry didn't know what to say. After all, he'd just been informed that he was the weakest tosser on the planet. A tosser who talked in his sleep…
"What did you hear, Potter?"
Harry drew his knees up, poking at the cushion with his big toe. "What did I say?" he muttered, still embarrassed.
"Stop."
"I'm not doing anything…"
"No." Snape closed his eyes briefly. "You said 'stop'."
"I did?"
Snape nodded. "What did you hear?"
A pause. "Screaming."
Snape's Adam's Apple bobbed in his throat. "Whose?"
Harry shrugged.
"You don't know?"
"Look," Harry said, rather chafed over the whole subject, "I already know I'm weak when it comes to Dementors, so why do we have to—"
"It isn't weakness that causes such a reaction, Potter," Snape cut in; he was leaning forward now, his eyes intense. "Memories do. Horrid ones." He swallowed again. "Nightmares."
"But everyone has nightmares…"
"Not living ones."
Harry dipped his chin. "Ron has dreams where spiders are biting his feet. I doubt he'd pass out."
"Some do."
"Like who?"
Snape stared at him for a long moment, his eyes glassed over a bit, as he seemed to be thinking of something. And then, abruptly, the black became as clear as night. "Was it your relatives you heard?"
"Like Uncle Vernon?"
"Mm."
Tilting his head, Harry drew his eyebrows together. "No," he said slowly. "It was a lady."
Snape pursed his lips. His eyes regained their glossy look, reflecting the weak flames licking out from between the logs in the fireplace.
"I couldn't really tell, though," Harry continued, "with all the barking. I think I just wanted the screaming to stop."
"Barking," Snape repeated, still gazing into the hearth.
"Yeah," Harry replied. "The same dog."
Snapping out of his momentary daze, Snape peered at Harry strangely. "What dog?"
Harry clenched his teeth against a yawn. "The one I told you about."
"It can't be the same one," Snape reasoned. "Diagon Alley is in London."
"It had the same eyes…"
Snape considered this, and then, clearing his throat, said, "I'll need to return to London tomorrow; I need to find what I've wasted hours searching for tonight."
"Diagon Alley?" Harry wondered.
"No."
"Knockturn Alley?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "You believe I would invite you along to Knockturn Alley?"
Harry's eyes grew wide. "I get to come with you?"
"There is no sense in leaving you here….obviously."
Harry wasn't sure whether to be offended or elated. So he chose the latter. "Where are we going, then?"
"You shall see. Tell me about this dog…"
TBC…
You will not be waiting another five months for an update; that was bad...very bad. Come to think of it, so is my job. Blame that.
Here's to hoping I still have some readers left! ;-)
