The Birthday Present
By excessivelyperky
Rowling: Her pitch, her Snitch, her Quaffle. I'm just refereeing this time.
Author's note: this chapter contains unpleasant and graphic potion reactions, a Death Eater meeting, and Snape trying to make Draco think. Harry discovers that the Muggle world can also be violent. A quick list of reasons why Snape may appear a little OOC—he's not around Harry or any of the rest of the Trio. Longbottom is not melting cauldrons. He's been made aware of radical consequences should he lose his temper (yes, Dumbledore only discussed his relationship with Harry Potter, but Snape, in his infinite paranoia, is worried about any display of temper). Also, several branches and a good deal of glassware have died as a result of repressed anger. Hope that clears things up.
Chapter 14: Toxic Shock
Severus SnapeSeverus Snape grimaced as he sat in the infirmary and looked at the little bottles lined up on the table in front of him. Madam Pomfrey had carefully arranged them so that the detoxicants were in one group, while the potions to counter the side effects were in another. He'd read the instructions over and over, and hated the whole idea. "What is the point?" he said out loud.
Poppy sat on the other side of the table. "Because we do not know the future, Severus," she said gently. "The war could last several more years, or it could be over tomorrow. Either way you could still be alive. I know you've read the prognosis by now, even though I hid it in the back of your file. That sort of poisoning seems like a very unpleasant way to die. It has probably been so long since you were entirely well that you've forgotten what it's like."
"So now I have to feel even worse."'
"You don't have to do without the other potions, Severus. That's a choice you're making for yourself. In fact, I wish I could have you on those by themselves for a month before you start this regime to build you up. Have you eaten today?"
"A bite or two." He hadn't been able to do more than push his food around since that wretched meeting a few days ago, not even the fish and chips they made the way he liked in Knockturn Alley.
"Then you had better have something now. The instructions say that the detoxicant must be taken with food in the stomach." Poppy summoned one of the house elves, who disappeared again and came back with a pasty and a glass of pumpkin juice. "Don't bolt it. We have plenty of time." She sipped her tea quietly and didn't say anything.
Snape grudgingly obeyed. A good thing he was used to forcing himself to eat and drink. This new potion regime would destroy what little appetite he had left. He slowly got the food and juice down, waited to make sure the meal would stay, then took the first dose after the mediwitch measured it out.
It tasted foul. At first he was certain the liquid would bounce right back. Ought to name the potion Lupin's revenge, he thought. But this wasn't the first time he'd fought his stomach. Eventually both he and Poppy were reasonably certain everything he'd consumed was going to remain inside him.
After a few minutes, he said, "I might as well get back to brewing."
Pomfrey looked down at the instructions. "You ought to start sweating in about half an hour. I thought you'd want to bathe and change afterwards. I know you can manage for yourself, but I want to check up on you this first time."
Sweating wasn't the only thing that could occur in a half hour, he recalled from the list of possible reactions. Severus knew it was useless to protest. Poppy had started keeping an extra set of clothes for him up here last year so he could be healed and then dress properly before having to deal with the school again.
They passed the time rereading the instructions, swapping pages as required, as both waited for any kind of reaction. After a bit Snape felt a wave of heat go through him, and found himself drenched in sweat. Poppy took a sample for a baseline analysis.
He went to the bath connected to the infirmary after that, drew the water, and lay the sodden garments down for the house elves. I'll need to warn them to be careful when handling them, he thought, though he understood that his clothes and linen were usually laundered separately from the rest of the school's anyway.
It felt odd to bathe during the middle of the day, but it was certainly better than letting the muck dry on his skin and clothes. He kept the dip a brief one, though. He still had a great deal of work to do before the potions regime made him to ill to brew. So far it hadn't been too bad, but he suspected there would be a cumulative affect or the Swiss wouldn't have developed the potions for the side effects in the first place.
Once dressed again, he went back to Poppy's office and thanked her. "It's not too bad right now," he said. "If this is all it's going to do, I shouldn't worry."
"We'll see in a couple of weeks how you're feeling then," she said, relief written on her face. "I'll have Dobby bring them by, along with a snack to eat first. You'll need to take this potion twice a day. If you change your mind about the others, you'll need the appetite increaser in the morning, the mood enhancer at noon, and the sedative in the evening. Each time you take the detoxicant, you'll probably sweat enough to have to change, so I'll let the house elves know about the increased laundry requirement."
He nodded glumly. It was just as well he'd gone to Knockturn Alley yesterday to order the extra wands for those dunderheads of his. A pity that the blank ones already available had been so shoddy. Suddenly his belly rumbled, and he barely got into the lav quickly enough to avoid soiling himself. Oh, yes, he thought to himself. Sub paragraph four, line fifteen. I was really hoping to avoid this side effect.
Snape came back to Poppy's office feeling wrung out. Madam Pomfrey had him sit down and slowly drink more juice. "Maybe you'd better lie down for a little bit," she said. "I think you'd better stay here for the rest of the evening."
He shook his head. "You know I'm supposed to eat in the Great Hall once a day, and I've missed both breakfast and lunch there already." Then he felt more cramps and went back to the facilities. There was less this time, though he thought he'd emptied himself before.
When he came back, Poppy shook her head. "It won't be today. I'll tell the Headmaster myself that you're in no state to go anywhere. I must admit, I am really quite proud of you. I know you'd prefer not to see anyone after the kind of conversation you had with him, but you have made such an effort not to hide this time."
"I wish you hadn't said anything about it." It was much easier if he could pretend it hadn't happened.
"The more often you talk about it, the easier it will get, dear," the mediwitch said gently. "I'll drop it for now, but I just wanted you to know that I noticed. It is hard for you, and I wish more people would realize it."
He let his hair fall down in front of his face again. Oh, how he wished he could stop doing that! Madam Pomfrey only meant to help. But part of him was glad that someone cared enough to realize that he was trying to do what people wanted of him. He usually felt that they were more than happy to see the back of him, the way they'd been at 12 Grimmauld Place last year. It was odd to realize that this wasn't true of everyone, though Dumbledore would probably feel better without him around for a while.
Snape picked up the instruction papers. "There's—there's the part where it talks about this reaction," he said, his voice shaking.
Poppy smiled at him and looked where he pointed. She became more sober. "You'll need a small dose of the sedative whether you like it or not till you adjust to the detoxicant, or have it stepped down to where you can tolerate it better. I'll contact the Swiss this evening about it."
Severus would have argued with her, but he was already on his way back to the lavatory. This time there was almost nothing, but his guts cramped so much that he knew getting far from a toilet was a bad idea.
When he returned to the office, Pomfrey had already measured out some of the sedative. He grudgingly took it. His twisting bowels rapidly settled down and he felt overwhelmingly sleepy. He would rather lie down in his own bed, but wasn't given a choice as she got him into a patient gown. And I'm supposed to have two doses of that each day? He closed his eyes once he was in a bed. Maybe Lowenstein was right about staying in residence. Maybe I should just stop this idiotic program now and not waste any more time on it.
He wasn't sure how long he slept, though he was vaguely aware when Poppy gave him another, smaller dose of the first potion along with a spoonful of the sedative. The combination allowed him to sleep without bolting for the toilet.
It was dark when he awoke. His left arm felt as if it were on fire. Snape stumbled out of the infirmary bed and looked for his clothes. The Mark hadn't burned like this since he'd taken on too many apprentices. He dressed quickly, wobbled down to the dungeons to fetch his Death Eater gear, and headed out towards the Forbidden Forest. Madam Hooch had a point. He could have gone much faster to an Apparation point on a broom, with less effort.
He arrived at another anonymous dell. Snape wondered which Death Eater was in charge of setting the ever-present bonfire. He walked up past it to his apprentices, knowing he was dreadfully tardy. He knelt before the Dark Lord, though he knew it wouldn't help much. "My lord," he said.
"You are late," Voldemort hissed. Nagini lay coiled by his side, obviously soaking up the warmth from the fire. Lestrange and Pettigrew stood to one side, each one with an apprentice.
"Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon."
"You know the punishment!"
Snape prepared himself as much as possible for the hex. Bella stepped forward, her wand up already. "Crucio!" she shouted.
He fell, unable to withstand the agony that tore at his bones and muscles. The remnants of the sedative kept him curiously calm mentally despite the pain. One of the apprentices, Goyle he believed, pulled him away from the fire as his convulsions almost sent him into the flames. Don't do that, you mustn't do that, he thought, though he couldn't help being grateful that someone cared enough to keep him from greater injury.
"Enough," said the Dark Lord. Lestrange stopped, but Snape couldn't get up. His muscles twitched a little while after the agony left them, and then went entirely limp. "Apprentices, you may raise him up if he cannot stand," Voldemort said after it became apparent what the problem was. "Bella, perhaps you were a bit over-enthusiastic."
"My lord, I gave him no worse than I did that Muggle at the last meeting."
Riddle's eyes flashed red. "I shall speak with you later," he said. He turned his attention to Snape, now upright but supported by Crabbe on one side and Goyle on the other, while Draco pulled out a vial. The Potions Master shook his head. He dare not mix something unknown with the witch's brew now inside him.
"Have the practice wands been obtained?" asked the Dark Lord.
"Not yet, my lord," Severus said in a whisper. "They were ordered yesterday from a supplier in Knockturn Alley." His belly cramped again, though it had nothing in it.
"Why didn't you get a dozen of the standard blank ones?" Pettigrew asked.
"Their cores were worthless," Snape said. He'd been able to tell that as soon as he'd touched the ones the proprietor had offered. Amazing the fellow had had so many…but then, denizens of Knockturn Alley did not trust Ollivander not to report their purchases to the Ministry, and times were becoming dangerous again. Fortunately he had a tiny bit of wand-gift from his father's grandmother, who had been an Ollivander. "I gave him a week to find something better." He had been tempted to buy the useless wands, but it would have become clear how bad they were the first time the apprentices tried to use them.
"This meeting is a waste of time, then," Voldemort said angrily. "Notify me as soon as the wands are ready."
We must still be in Britain for them to matter, Snape thought, who had expected more practice casting Unforgivables tonight. After a few moments he could stand on his own. He quietly reassured the Slytherins that he was all right before they were sent back, though he didn't know how he was going to find the strength to Apparate back to the Forbidden Forest on his own. No doubt both Bella and Wormtail would enjoy watching him beg for help.
"Stay for a moment, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, while sending the other two Death Eaters and their apprentices away. Snape tried to ignore the jealous looks that Lestrange and Pettigrew sent him. Any special attention, even punishment, merited jealousy from others here.
Since he wasn't going anywhere as it was, Snape bore the prospect of an additional chat with Voldemort with resignation. He went to his knees and bowed his head. "What is your will, my lord?"
Nagini wound her coils around him once again and sniffed him. She hissed, licked his face, and withdrew. Then she looped herself around Voldemort's arm and rubbed her head along the Dark Lord's left ear. He nodded as if the snake was giving him a message. Perhaps she was.
"Why didn't you tell me you were ill, Severus?" Riddle asked.
"That is no excuse, my lord. I was weak enough to need a sedative after the first dose of the potion the Institut compounded for me. The detoxicant reacted badly with my digestive system. Fortunately your summons woke me, though I was late. As for the wands, I will contact the supplier tomorrow and try to speed his delivery." He was still trembling, but didn't feel the pain of the Cruciatus the way he normally would. The remains of the potions kept him detached. Detached…what a kindly word, what a kindly way to feel.
Not even Voldemort's hand stroking his hair bothered him the way it ought to. "A pity your brewing has almost ruined these raven wings," The Dark Lord mused. "One hopes your hair will become the way it was when you were younger with this treatment. I shall not summon you for a week, perhaps two. Your apprentices can learn from Bella or Pettigrew."
"I would rather see to their training myself, my lord."
"I know. I think you may be a bit too protective of them. A few sessions without your hovering presence shan't do them any harm. Let us hope these Swiss do not accidentally poison you in their effort to heal you."
"I have the same hope, my lord." Snape wondered how he was going to rise from his knees when he was finally given permission.
"I apologize for letting Bella have her head this evening, but she does wonder what we speak about in these private chats." Voldemort moved closer to the fire and warmed his leathery, inhuman hands at it. "She'll be pleased you have been weakened, of course. So will Wormtail, though he'll hide it better. I must maintain a balance among the few mature followers I have outside of Azkaban. Now Nagini and I must depart. Rest as long as you wish till you're strong enough to Apparate without splinching." The Dark Lord and the snake disappeared.
Snape struggled to get to his feet, only to feel as if he were going to fall once he stood. He pulled out his wand and made a sloppy job of transfiguring some wood and moss into a chair. McGonagall would have taken points from Slytherin if he'd ever done this badly in her class when he'd been a student. Yet the chair held under his weight, and it was certainly more comfortable than the ground.
He dare not stay too long, though. If any Aurors came upon the site looking for Death Eaters, he would almost certainly be pulled in for questioning. How long it would take the Headmaster to get him out of the Ministry's clutches this time was anybody's guess.
Severus rested in the 'chair' for only a few minutes. His bowels seemed calm for now. This meeting had accomplished nothing, except possibly to appease Lestrange and Pettigrew with watching him flop around on the ground. What fun it must be to try to keep such people in line, he thought. Not to mention me. No doubt the Dark Lord and the Headmaster could compare notes on 'how to manage a Snape'.
As much as he would normally look forward to a week or so without worrying about a summons, he couldn't possibly leave his Slytherins to the tender mercies of the other two Death Eaters. He frowned. From the Dark Lord's words and from what he had seen, the remaining numbers of active members was low. Were there separate meetings that didn't include the new apprentices or himself? Severus sighed, and levered himself out of the chair. He was able to stand without shaking much now, though Apparating would take a lot out of him. He returned the chair to its natural state, then concentrated on a spot in the Forbidden Forest not far from Hagrid's hut.
Snape landed in there all in one piece, but that was the best that could be said. He collapsed on the ground and his muscles shook without him being able to control them. Severus didn't understand it. He'd never been quite so ill after what was really a mild Crucio before. No doubt the interaction of the detoxicant, the sedative, and the curse was causing this. He groaned with disgust when his belly cramped again and he was unable to keep from voiding. Fortunately, he didn't have much to get rid of.
He kept trying to get up, only to have his body betray him. The remnants of the potion kept him relatively calm under the circumstances—at least till he heard heavy steps nearby that weren't Hagrid's. By the sound the creature was two-legged.
Then he found himself being lifted in two huge hands. "Still bones. No meat," Grawp said. "You smell funny."
No doubt he did, between Nagini's embrace, the potions, and his illness. As they approached the groundskeeper's hut, Snape allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness.
Madam PomfreyPoppy went to Dumbledore's office as soon as she was certain that Snape was asleep. She was let in quickly and told Albus, "I need to use the Floo to contact Magister Lowenstein or one of his researchers. Severus has had a bad reaction to the first dose of the detoxicant."
The Headmaster looked worried. "How bad?"
She sat across from him. "He kept it down, though it was a near thing, but that didn't stop everything from trying to come out the other end. He didn't even argue when I made him take a half-dose of the sedative and put him to bed. A bed rather close to the lavatory, I might add. I don't know if I ought to give him a second dose at all, at least not tonight, till I talk to someone there at the clinic."
"Dear me. I'm very sorry to hear that. We can both talk to one of them."
Albus managed a connection to the Institut fairly quickly. Lowenstein appeared and didn't seem surprised to hear about Snape's trouble. "This is why a potions maker at his level needs to be in residence," the Swiss wizard said. "The dosage obviously needs to be adjusted. I was given the sense that there is some urgency to his treatment, but if he cannot tolerate the detoxicant at this level, then the treatment will take as long as it takes. Give him only a half-dose later tonight, along with more sedative. He should start the other potions first thing tomorrow morning for the other side effects. In a week the sedative will not make him so sleepy, though for now it is good that it does. I can still find him a place here if you change your mind, Headmaster."
Poppy noticed that Dumbledore shook his head, probably not for the first time. She jumped into the conversation before the two men started a long debate. "Thank you, Magister," she said. "He had some bee in his bonnet about shortening the treatment time by not taking anything but the detoxicant, but perhaps this will help change his mind."
"He must be an interesting patient, Madam Pomfrey," Lowenstein said.
"Oh, yes," she said. "That has always been true." She listened to the Swiss wizard's recommendations and took notes. Of course, Severus was perfectly capable of throwing them into a cocked hat if he pleased. Maybe it was a good thing that illness had kept him from arguing tonight.
The Headmaster broke the connection. Poppy sighed. "I know it's not possible, but Severus really needs to be at the clinic for the full course. He couldn't manage his schedule last year. How will we survive this coming year if we keep adding more to his plate?"
"I don't know." Albus looked tired and sad. "He's been training Winky to help, and I hope he continues with that. He's going to have to start brewing the Wolfsbane Potion soon as well, since Lupin will be here in just a couple of weeks. Perhaps putting him on this regimen was a bad idea after all."
Pomfrey bowed her head, thinking how she'd led Remus out to the Shrieking Shack each month when he'd been a student, and then had healed the boy of the exhaustion and pain from each transformation. The potion had helped him a great deal when he'd taught here, when he'd remembered to take it. "Severus can't go on like this, Headmaster. He has to have this treatment. You showed me all those old papers on Brewers' Bog and even you had to admit that he fit the profile. It's just as well he's beginning this before school starts. By then we might have a better routine worked out. But we have to help him through this." It worried her that he hadn't argued with her. That wasn't like the dour Potions Master at all. He was only this compliant when he was ill enough to go to St. Mungo's, not that he would, of course.
"So what do you recommend?" Dumbledore asked.
"He should go to the clinic and stay there for the next six months," she snapped, then forced herself to calm down. "But I suppose there are all sorts of reasons that he can't. Those poor students of his can't be left to those…those others, if nothing else. As for tonight, I'll do what Lowenstein said and give Snape only half a dose of the detoxicant, along with more of the sedative. He might be better tomorrow after a full night's sleep. I'll try the same amount of the first potion split up into smaller batches and given more often, along with the sedative. I may just give him the others for the side effects along with the sedative while he's too groggy to object."
"Do as you see fit," the Headmaster said. "I know he's in good hands."
She stood up, and was surprised when Dumbledore didn't follow her. "I'll let you know how he's doing," she said.
"Please do," Albus said. "When you get time, you and I need to talk about his care. I—we need to manage things better."
"I'm not going to argue with that," she said crisply, and left. It was odd that the Headmaster wasn't going to look in on the Potions Master when Severus was this ill. Maybe he still feels guilty about how he reacted to Severus the other night! He ought to!
Snape was still asleep, the way he'd been when she'd left. A quick sniff told that he hadn't voided since she'd left, and a wand-scan gave her assurance that he wasn't going to wake up soon. Pomfrey glanced at a clock. In three hours she'd give him the next set of potions, then retire to bed herself.
She gently brushed the hair off his face. Oh, Severus, if only you could believe that people did care for you. Even in sleep he flinched a little at her touch. But people have told you before that they loved you, only to do horrible things to you. No wonder you have a hard time thinking anybody is telling the truth about that.
Pomfrey decided to update her files for the coming year, but left her office door open so she could catch any change in sound. Fortunately it was warm enough to allow her to leave the windows open as well. All too soon the brief summer would be gone, and she'd have to use venting spells of her own to keep the infirmary air from getting as bad as the dungeons.
The time passed quickly. Poppy elevated Snape, woke him a little, and gave him the last potions for the night. She waited a half-hour to make sure he wasn't going to have untoward consequences again, and was reassured by his resounding snores. She closed the windows, made sure Severus had enough covers, and went to bed. She'd start him on the appetite enhancer first thing in the morning.
Albus Dumbledore
Dumbledore sat at his desk, knowing he ought to visit the infirmary. He'd seen the reproach in Poppy's eyes, both a few days ago and this evening. He had to remain objective.
It had been a mistake to force this treatment on Snape. It was too late to back out now, though, without occasioning protests from the Swiss or from the mediwitch. I thought this was going to be a rebuilding year, as the Muggles put it. I thought the Order was going to have more time. Then again, if Riddle really does decide to keep out of the public eye, the Order will have a hard time convincing anyone that he's still a menace.
His heart ached. Pomfrey wouldn't be the only one to accuse him of abandoning Severus just when the Potions Master needed help the most. But Malachite was right. He needed to keep his relationship with the Slytherin more professional. I do need to speak with the Ministry and get rid of some of those idiotic legal restrictions. Neither Snape nor I need to fill out a report every time he leaves Hogwarts, nor should he be forced to give me an accounting of any funds he's earned from his potions outside of his teaching salary. I have been using those strings, and that should stop.
Malachite was also right about keeping his successor more fully informed. Dumbledore stood as McGonagall swept into the room. "Ah, Minerva," he said. "I hope you're prepared for a long night."
She smiled grimly, and flourished her stack of paper. "We all want to think we're going to live forever," she said. She brought out a quill and a fresh bottle of ink.
They both sat down. "I must agree, though it looks like Marchbanks is going to manage it without the Stone. But I would be a fool to assume that about myself." Albus pulled out a number of papers from a drawer he normally kept locked, and began the long process of telling Minerva everything. That included what he'd recently learned from Severus, both at the most recent Death Eater meeting, and how he had gathered his information last year. McGonagall said nothing and had a blank look on her face, but the way she scratched the paper as she took notes spoke volumes.
It was quite late when they finished. In fact, the sky was beginning to grow lighter. "Dear Merlin," Minerva said. "No wonder you were glad to leave the school to Umbridge last year. How are you going to find time for what must be done?"
"I don't know," Albus said. "Yet two heads are better than one. I am going to depend a great deal more on you this year than in the past. I am making mistakes that I should not, especially with Severus. He trusts you a great deal. I suspect he trusts you now more than he does me."
"I stood by and let the Marauders make cats-meat of him, too," she said quietly.
"But you tried to discipline them. I undercut that several times, just as I have with Harry. It's so easy for us to let Snape and Filch be the ones to hand out detentions, isn't it?"
"I've taken points from the Trio before and I will again," Minerva snapped.
"I know. Maybe that's one of the reasons Snape trusts you more than he does me." His sweet Minerva strongly believed in justice. "If only Severus believed in the system enough to take points from his own."
McGonagall grimaced. "Not as long as Mr. Potter is at the school. I do the same thing as you do now. I gave the boy and his friends hundreds of points to make up for those taken by Snape when Harry was all set to hex Mr. Malfoy. I didn't see all that went on before, of course, but I'm certain that Draco had pulled something to deserve it." Then she wiped her eyes. "But we believed that about Severus, too."
"Unfortunately, the Malfoy boy really is like that. Even Snape will admit it if you ask him politely. But he's blindly protective of his godson."
"Of course, we're never like that for our Gryffindors," Minerva said. "I actually encouraged the Weasley twins when I could not bear that woman any longer. I…I encouraged Peeves!"
Albus held his tongue. He'd heard about the incident with the chandelier, but decided that giving Minerva points for 'it unscrews the other way' would be taken wrong, somehow. "As you can see, we have a lot to do. At least Lupin will actually teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"True. And I have always liked him. Snape seems fairly resigned to his arrival. But then, he has to be, doesn't he?"
"I know, Minerva, I know. I hope those Swiss know what they're doing. I am going to ask Madam Pomfrey to watch Severus more closely, and to warn us when we are asking too much of him. She, at least, never played favorites."
McGonagall stood up. "Good. Well, I shall sleep on all this, read my notes when I wake up, and start making lists. Albus, you are the dearest man in creation, but there are times I could hit you with a sack of your own lemon drops for your lack of organization."
"Good. I need help," he sadly admitted, and pushed himself up to his feet to see her off.
He should go to bed. He really should. Instead, he wearily walked down the hall, around the corner, and up some stairs to the infirmary. I keep telling myself to be more detached, and here I am about to hover over him again. With luck Severus would be sleeping without any nightmares.
In fact…he was tempted to use this quiet time to finally go after that hex. He would sleep easier himself knowing he'd finally done what he should.
The infirmary was empty. Madam Pomfrey's door was closed, which meant she had retired to her quarters for the night, while the door to the lavatory was open. The bed was somewhat rumpled, but its occupant had escaped. Albus couldn't help smiling. Severus must be feeling better. This wasn't the first time he had left without bothering to check with Poppy.
Dumbledore absent-mindedly straightened the covers and gazed out the window. He couldn't blame the man. The beds here were closer to student-size, barely long enough for the tall Potions Master, and narrow as well. Poppy usually remembered to transfigure them larger, but not always. If Snape was ill enough to stay here, he wasn't in good enough shape to transfigure anything. On a whim, he stretched the bed out in both directions and charmed the mattress to be softer.
Then he spotted two large figures coming across the grass from the direction of Hagrid's hut in the predawn light. How odd! He wasn't used to seeing the half-giant dwarfed by anyone. That was strange. Grawp never left the forest. And if that was Hagrid's brother, he was carrying something dark over one shoulder.
Or someone. As they got closer, Albus saw long legs covered by dark trousers. His heart froze as he realized what must have happened. He went to Pomfrey's door and softly knocked on it. "Poppy," he said quietly, "Poppy, you must wake up now."
He heard movement on the other side of the door and waited. She opened it and appeared in night-robe and slippers. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"Just very tired. But your patient was called away last night. He's being brought back now." The others had disappeared from sight of the window, but he knew they were on their way. "I think Grawp was carrying him, and Hagrid was showing him the way." Dumbledore hoped there wouldn't be a next time when their newest resident would have to know this, but his heart knew better.
Poppy disappeared again and came out fully dressed. "Albus, sit down. You won't help by standing there till you collapse as well. Better yet, lie down over here. You can see what I'm doing and still get some rest. I can manage this."
Dumbledore obeyed. Soon a knock sounded at the door. Hagrid came through it with Snape in his arms, while Grawp waited outside. "M' brother found him out in the woods not long ago, Poppy, and brought him to me. I thought he could rest in the hut for a bit, but then he started shaking. I can't get him to wake up, and he smells like he's been sick."
"Thank you," said Pomfrey, who looked calm and serene. "Lay him down here." She rapidly raised a magical barrier around the side of the bed as Snape went into convulsions and would have toppled to the floor without it.
Dumbledore lay still as Poppy chanted a quick Stupefy that held the Potions Master still. She then ran her wand over to diagnose what was wrong.
"Are you all right, Headmaster?" Hagrid asked anxiously.
"Yes, but apparently I'm up too late and Poppy didn't have time to send me to my own bed yet," Albus said. "I'm glad your brother was looking out for Snape. Tell him he did well. In fact, I'll tell him myself the next time I see him. Severus will be all right now that Madam Pomfrey is taking care of him." He wished he were so certain.
The half-giant looked down at the floor, muttered his thanks through his beard, and shuffled back out. By the time Dumbledore was able to see the other bed again, Snape was already in a gown and smelt better. Poppy quickly put some blankets over her patient and put a Warming Charm on the cloth.
"What's wrong?" Albus was afraid he could guess.
"He was probably summoned while I was asleep. The pain likely woke him up. At best guess, he's had a Crucio put on him. I hate to Stupefy him, but convulsions can tear the muscles even worse than the original curse. When he wakes up, we'll learn more. I want to get more liquids down him then, too. Judging by the feel of his skin, he's a bit dehydrated. I'll take the spell off in an hour and see if his muscles are rested enough."
"Has he ever reacted like this before?" This was as bad as in the last days of the first Voldemort War. Dumbledore remembered how the Longbottom couple had looked when they were brought to St. Mungo's. Snape had also taken damage, but was younger then and had healed faster. Moody had used other means than spells to get the Potions Master's attention while the young wizard had been in Azkaban. But Albus knew there was only so much that human flesh could endure.
Poppy smoothed Snape's hair. "Not like this. But then, he was able to take the potion he developed for it last year. A good thing he found something, too, Mr. Potter would have been in much worse shape at the end of his fourth year without it. I can't give Severus any other potion till the ones I've given him already have worn off. I wish Lowenstein would hurry with that list he promised me of compatible substances. As it is, I don't know all the interactions. I suspect you don't want to ask Lowenstein how his potions affect someone under Crucio."
"You're right," he said. He didn't get up just yet; one thing he had learned in a long life was never to argue with a mediwitch when she had a wand in her hand. "Let's see how this works out first. At least this time he'll have to listen to you when you prescribe bed rest."
"And so will you," she said. "You can't keep these kind of hours at your age, and neither can McGonagall at hers. That reminds me, she should have another helping of that potion Severus developed for her." Poppy rummaged in a cupboard, and closed the lid sharply as she obviously didn't find it. "She must have had the last of it when she came in a few days ago. I hope she sleeps most of today. You, too," she added. "And no, you are not toddling off to your own bed, you are staying right here till I think you should get up. I swear, you're just as bad as Severus that way!"
The Headmaster accepted an extra blanket and glumly wished he'd transfigured this bed larger and softer, too. He wanted to stay awake to find out if Severus was going to be all right, but his eyes closed of their own accord. By the time he awoke, it was near noon. After allowing one of the house elves to serve him a late breakfast in bed, he managed to convince Poppy that he was strong enough to make his escape.
"Don't worry," she said just as he was at the door. "The Stupefy worked. Severus is weak, but should recover completely. This time."
Albus sighed with relief. He wasn't as detached as he thought. "I'm glad he's in your hands, Poppy," he said. Better hers than mine.
Severus SnapeHe woke up in the same bed he'd been put in before, judging by the familiar cracks in the ceiling. This time it was wider, a bit softer, and with the shimmer of a magical guard around the side. He had no strength at all, and was barely able to raise his head as Poppy walked into his line of sight and helped him drink some water. They both waited to make sure it didn't bounce. "You were summoned, weren't you?" she asked.
He nodded, then lay his head back. Even that little effort tired him.
"How bad was the Crucio? Let's use the number system from 1 to 10 again."
"Three," he whispered.
"Really? I would have thought it much worse. You went into spasms like I've never seen except with the really bad ones."
"It felt strange," he said, his voice coming back a little. "Hurt, but didn't matter. Potions and curse together?"
"Perhaps that's it," she said. "The sedative might keep you from being able to resist the spell, while making it easier to tolerate mentally." The mediwitch looked thoughtful. "I spoke with the Magister last night after the first dose. Till they can formulate a milder version of the detoxicant, you're to have only a half-dose of it along with the sedative. You need to start on the other potions for the side effects as well." Poppy peered down at him. "And don't give me that stubborn face. You saw what happened without the sedative. But you aren't getting any potions till you get something to eat. It's soup for you this afternoon."
"That late?" he said. "Talk to Headmaster." Even though the meeting had been a waste of time, nobody knew that but him. Well, and Moody by now. The Order didn't have as much intrigue between individual members as the Death Eaters did, but some days it tried.
"Can it wait till you've eaten a little bit?"
"Better now. Get it over with."
"All right," said Poppy, "but I won't let him stay long. I hope it's a short report." She helped him drink some more water, then summoned a house elf and asked him to fetch the Headmaster first, then go to the kitchens and bring up a bowl of thick soup. Snape closed his eyes and waited.
"Severus?"
He opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore standing by the bed. "Not much happened last night," he said. "Disciplined for being late. Dark Lord angry because the practice wands weren't ready. Accepted my excuse that cores were bad. Probably will check with my supplier. Will find out that's exactly what I said about the blanks on hand. We must have been in Britain, or it shouldn't have mattered. No practice. Dark Lord kept me back, pretends to fuss over me. Said Lestrange and Wormtail are upset over private meetings. Thinks he wants them that way. He said I won'tbe summoned for a week or so because of this new regime. But my apprentices probably will."
The Headmaster's expression didn't change during any of this recital. The old wizard nodded gravely. "Is there some way to warn them?"
"I don't know. It helps to be in the Slytherin Common Room if I use the Mark," Snape said. This apparent detachment on Dumbledore's part was actually helping. It had been foolish of him to hope for comfort last time, or some assurance that he wasn't as vile in soul as he was in looks. It was easy to accept that their relationship wasn't what he'd once imagined it was.
"I will have you taken there tomorrow if you cannot get there under your own power," the Headmaster said.
"Thank you. Oh. He says few mature followers outside of prison. Don 't know if true." Snape was too tired to say much more.
"Sleep if you can," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly, then left the room.
By that time Pomfrey had the soup and fed him. He managed about a quarter of the small bowl before his stomach clenched. He shook his head, and hoped he wouldn't vomit on her.
"I'll put a Warming Charm on it and you can have some more later. Part of this is my fault. After talking with Lowenstein I gave you a half-dose more of the detoxicant with a full one of the sedative."
"You didn't know…summons," he said, hoping she'd understand. Fortunately Poppy was intelligent enough to figure out what he meant nearly all the time. He ought to be thankful that she was here, and not one of the hard-faced harridans at St. Mungo's who had given him the bare minimum of care when he'd left Azkaban, and that grudgingly. He really ought to be kinder to her, and not fuss quite so much.
"But we do now." She ruffled his hair. Fortunately he was too weary to flinch. "Rest."
He obeyed that command and closed his eyes.
Snape felt much better the next day. He gagged down the little food his stomach would allow, and even let Pomfrey give him the detoxicant and the sedative, though he balked at the others. "Let me adjust to these other potions first, Poppy," he said gently when she offered him the appetite enhancer just after breakfast. "All of them combined will really put me flat on my back. Just ask Minerva what she thinks of the effects of the one I've made up for her." Normally he would have thrown a tantrum, but he owed the mediwitch better behavior.
"That actually makes sense," the older woman said. "That's probably why the clinic wants you in residence anyway. I hate to think what would happen if you were summoned again while you were adjusting."
"So do I," he said wryly. Severus dressed with only a little help from Dobby and was able to walk without help to the Slytherin Common Room. His muscles ached, but the Crucio had actually been a fairly light one as the residual pain wasn't nearly as much as he'd expected without being able to take the proper potion for it. Pomfrey had done well to stupefy him, though the idea behind it still bothered him somewhat. He hated being that helpless. But if he couldn't trust Pomfrey, he was out of luck. Perhaps that ought to be part of the standard treatment for the Cruciatus, he thought, especially if the potion isn't available or can't be used for other reasons. That spell might even help with the mental distress of a really bad one, since the mind of the victim was allowed to rest during the worst of the physical after-effects. He'd have to talk to Poppy about that this summer. There were effects from the Stupefy spell itself if used too many times, but if anyone underwent Crucio to that degree, that would be the least of their problems.
He shuffled into the Slytherin Common Room and settled himself on the couch closest to the pillar. The upholstery smelled faintly of spilled tea, not-quite-removed sticky candy, and just a touch of sweat from snogging sessions over the years.
Snape touched his Mark with his wand. For some reason he couldn't reach his apprentices today. The acrid taste of the detoxicant mixed with the sweeter one of the sedative in the back of his throat told him the probable reason. He kept trying anyway, till a severe headache warned him that he needed to stop. He finally gave up and went to his own quarters. Dobby had left the fire going; even though it was full summer, the dungeons were chill in contract and Severus welcomed the warmth for once as he wearily sat in the chair closest to the hearth. Perhaps the Dark Lord had meant it when he'd said the apprentices were on their own for a week or so. Was there some way Voldemort could interfere or block the master-to-apprentice link?
He contemplated going to bed and letting Dobby bring him any food or potions he might require. Surely the Headmaster wouldn't ask him to go up to the Great Hall or go out for a walk when he felt like this.
Then Draco's head appeared in the flames. "Professor, are you all right?"
Snape could kick himself. He'd been concentrating so hard on contacting the children through the Mark that he hadn't thought of more mundane means. "Better than I was," he said. "If you recall, I went to the clinic in Switzerland to be tested. They decided I required a regimen, and I started the first dose on the day we were summoned. That, and your aunt's curse, was not a good combination. I hope you realize that you, and probably the rest, will have to suffer a Crucio or two for the sake of discipline."
Young Malfoy looked dismayed. Understandably so. "Is…is that really necessary?"
"That is not for you to decide. Since you are my apprentice, I would normally be the one to determine that. However, I am currently not as powerful as I wish I were. In fact, you and the others may well be ordered to discipline me someday, should I displease the Dark Lord."
"But you weren't that late!"
"That has nothing to do with it. The Dark Lord must balance the factions in our group, especially when it is as small as it is now. Mrs. Lestrange and Mr. Pettigrew are more valuable to him now than we are, and must have that acknowledged from time to time. You sound like a Gryffindor, Draco. Surely you know that justice or fairness have nothing to do with power." Oh, this was better than he dared to hope! The boy might actually think about this situation instead of blindly following his father. It was worth taking a Crucio or two to teach that lesson.
His godson looked mulish. "It's still not right," he said softly.
Perhaps you should have thought of this before you took the Mark, you dunderhead! "It is the path that the Dark Lord has chosen to our goal. I might add that it would be well to keep dangerous thoughts out of any meetings."
"It's still not right. None of it," Draco said in a whisper.
"Especially that one," Snape said tartly. "Anything but public loyalty is extremely perilous. I suggest you might want to talk things over with Mr. Zabini if you persist in believing that mistakes have been made." He chose his words carefully. "I also suggest that such conversations be held away from portraits, ghosts, and house elves."
"I've got a new broom I want to show off…"
Snape hid a smile. "I'm certain you do. Mr. Zabini, as you know, may wish to practice keeping the Quaffle away from a goal to improve his percentage as Keeper. If you wish to assist him, I'm certain he'll be grateful. Also, you and the others may be summoned to the next meeting without me. I suggest that all of you present a united front should that occur. One or more of you may be disciplined anyway to show me that I cannot protect you, but try not to give the Dark Lord an excuse. There is much more to serving him than torturing helpless Muggles or watching them be slaughtered."
Draco looked terrified now. Good. "I…I owled Father about what happened. They let him answer a lot more quickly than I thought they would. He said you must have deserved it somehow. But you didn't! You weren't that late. And it wouldn't do any good for us to get bad practice wands. Even I know it's hard to get unregistered ones, especially as many as we need."
Keep going, little dragon. Keep wondering what else Lucius is wrong about. Snape struggled not to show how proud he was of the boy. "Your father is a strong supporter of the Dark Lord," he said. "He is rarely disciplined. In fact, he is often chosen to give reminders to those who require them." He watched the silent conflict in his godson's face for a few minutes, then offered a brief escape from the dilemma. "Don't forget about your studies, either. If Mr. Zabini is there, he may be interested in the Wolfsbane Potion as well. He did quite well, and will be in the advanced class this year along with you."
Draco nodded. "Are you going to have to take more of these new potions?"
"For the next several months. It was the clinic's opinion and someone could squeeze my liver and find out what was in my storage cabinet just from that. I am not enjoying the process so far, as their medication is not pleasant."
The boy made a face. "Mother stopped there just after you left, and said one of the younger wizards there told her that they wanted you to stay for the treatment because it's so hard. When I tried to Floo you yesterday, Madam Pomfrey told me that you were really sick and couldn't talk to anyone. How are you, sir? I mean really."
"Well enough to remind you to look at the packets and book I sent you."
"As if I'm ever going to need it. I mean, besides the bet. Mother told me about that, too."
Snape spoke seriously. "It could all go away, Draco. The Ministry would like nothing better than to strip your family bare, the way it did mine, though I will have to admit that my parents were not especially prudent in the management of what they had left. You could have the responsibility of looking after your mother with no funds to do it with. Unless you are Obliviated, the skills you learn here at Hogwarts are yours forever. They may be all you have if things go wrong. Naturally I would remember my obligation to your family, but I might not be available either."
"I could end up as poor as the Weasleys!" Draco said with real horror on his face.
"Perhaps worse. No matter what, there are a lot of them and they stick together."
"Except Percy," the boy said with a sneer.
"Are you sure that his wish to serve the Dark Lord isn't based on a hidden wish to keep his family safe by siding with the winner? Malfoys have certainly divided their families before in times of turmoil. Remember, your grandfather had several cousins who supported Grindelwald. Were they there to conquer, or to look after family interests?"
His godson looked thoughtful. Two ideas in one day. That must hurt! Snape mused.
Then Draco said, "It'd have to look like he'd broken with them, wouldn't it? Just like Mother entertains people from the Ministry and swears she had no idea what Father was up to. Maybe Weasley isn't as stupid as he looks."
"I don't think any of them are," Snape said, though he still wondered about the youngest boy, chess prodigy or not. "It is always foolish to underestimate an enemy, or more to the point, a possibly ally." He closed his eyes for just a moment. He was so tired of all these games.
"Professor?" Draco's voice was anxious.
Snape opened his eyes again. Surely he hadn't drifted off so quickly. But for just this once he allowed his face to show how much love he felt for his idiot godson. "Yes?"
Young Malfoy's voice was gentle now. "I'm so sorry. You're still really sick and I'm keeping you from getting any rest. I'll have a talk with Zabini in the next couple of days. Is there anything Mother can send from the Manor that might help?"
"No, but thank you. Dobby watches over me as if I were Lucius."
"I miss him," Draco said. "He was always Father's elf, but he took care of me, too. I'm glad he hasn't forgotten that you're part of the family. I'll let Mother know that you need your rest. She'll probably send a basket. I'll tell the other apprentices about the meetings. Well, except Edgecombe and Weasley, of course."
"Tell them if you can," Snape said, gambling. "Neither one has the most diligent sponsor. Miss Edgecombe, in particular, will wish for guidance during the next school year. It would be unfortunate for her to suffer from Madam Lestrange's neglect."
His godson threw back his head and laughed, so much like his father in that moment that it nearly broke Severus' heart. "Of course I will! Oh, godfather, this is beautiful. How can my aunt and Wormtail complain if you're only helping them?"
"Don't worry, they'll find a way," Snape said. "We must be careful, and not appear to steal their apprentices. We must only be humble and wish to serve."
"And everyone will blame you for looking so weak on the potions," Draco said. "Oh, sir, please get better soon. If you can think of this when you're ill, how much better can you do when you're not?"
"If this regime works the way it's supposed to, then…with any luck at all, nobody will find out. At least not till it's far too late."
"I bow to your superior strategy, professor." His godson sketched one in the flames. "But I had best go and do as you wish. I don't know how well I can manage humble, but I promise to give it a try." Draco left the fire, laughter still in his eyes.
Severus lay back in the chair and tried to summon enough strength to get back to bed. Then he felt the small yet muscular arm of a determined house elf. Dobby helped him up, though standing so quickly made him feel faint. Somehow the elf kept him upright despite the disparity in size and propelled him towards the bedroom.
"There, there, Master Severus, you'll sleep better in your own bed. I de-lumped the mattress myself when you were gone. When are you getting a new one?"
The inane chatter distracted him, and he soon found himself in a nightshirt and under the covers in a bed that was big enough to stretch out properly. As a child in Knockturn Alley, he'd made do with a narrow pallet with a thin, hard mattress nearly flattened by age. At Malfoy Manor he was allotted a comfortable boy's bed little better than a servant's, though he'd spent more time than he'd wanted in Lucius' luxurious room. But he had never dared to sleep there. Here at Hogwarts he'd been astounded by the appointments both in his bedchamber and in the bathroom. He'd seen what a prefect's lavatory looked like when Lucius had been his protector, of course, but even those were nothing like the opulence of the bathroom here.
He supposed Dobby was right about the mattress, as it was the one that had come with the room when he'd first gotten here. He'd never bothered to change it, though, since the house elves kept the linen clean, and lumps were nothing. This was a bed he'd never had to share with anyone, and for that reason alone he would cherish it.
Severus sighed and allowed himself to relax. The pain in his muscles from the Crucio was fading rapidly, and his eyes closed. There had been no dreams with the sedative. No doubt he'd soon become habituated and the nightmares would come back, but not today.
Harry Potter
The Olympics began, and Harry forgot everything else for a short while. It felt strange to sit with the Dursleys down in the parlor and actually be a part of things as they watched the tape-delayed opening ceremonies. He reassured himself that nothing had happened, since the Muggles were showing it, and that he didn't have to worry about the Dark Mark rising over the stadium the way it had over the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Uncle Vernon had a lot of nasty comments over the lack of coordination and the gaps between the countries marching in, but Harry was amazed at how many nations there were and that everyone was lined up properly to begin with. Aunt Petunia wondered out loud about them having paper doves instead of real ones. Since Harry had spent the last Olympics up in his room with bars on the window, he had no basis for comparison. In fact, this was the first time he had seen the opening ceremonies at all.
It did shock Harry when he watched Muhammed Ali light the Olympic flame. The fighter, so magnificent in his prime, was only a shell of his former self. Even his eyes lacked the brilliance they'd shown in the earlier fights that Harry had watched on video.
A newer recorder soon appeared in the household that let Harry tape any boxing coverage that was run during the day. Aunt Petunia even went through the newspaper and underlined anything that mentioned boxing. Dudley showed him how to set the timer so the machine would come on to the right channel if Harry had to work outside. In fact, he and Dudley went jogging together sometimes during the day, though probably not as often as they should. Harry imagined what Mad-Eye was saying to the other Aurors about trying to keep up and not having any Muggles notice. In fact, he once spotted Shacklebolt in Muggle athletic gear sweating like anything pretending to be a fellow runner. Tonks took to showing up at odd times with a stopwatch and shaking her head sadly. Dudley would flush red and increase his speed.
At the gym, there was talk of nothing else but how the Brits were doing in the medal count. The Yanks and the Russians were dueling for the top spot of course, though the Chinese were doing unexpectedly well, but the UK was holding its own pretty well given the difference in total population, at least that was Mr. Banks' opinion. The coach's tape that showed the men's coxless pairs getting the gold in rowing nearly got worn to death.
One morning Harry asked permission to turn on the telly during breakfast, just so he could add up the latest tally from the night before as soon as possible. Aunt Petunia was putting on her 'no' face when the telephone rang. Uncle Vernon grumbled as she answered it.
Her face turned white, she thanked the caller, and put the handset down. "Turn on the telly, Harry," she said grimly.
He did so. What was wrong?
They quickly found out. Harry let his food go cold as people ran and screamed in Olympic Park in Atlanta. It was an old nightmare come back alive as far as he was concerned. His face flushed as he heard one of the upper windows explode as he waited for the Dark Mark to appear.
But it didn't. They interviewed a Muggle security guard who had gotten a bragging phone call and gotten as many people away from danger as he could. But it hadn't been enough. Nobody was sure how many had been hurt and how many killed at this point. In fact, there was talk of canceling the rest of the Olympics altogether.
Uncle Vernon stood up. "Well, I still need to go to work. Harry, clean up that glass. You are not to watch any more of this nonsense for the rest of the day. Dudley, you're to make sure he doesn't."
"Aren't you going to blame any of it on us freaks?" Harry said bitterly, then panicked. He knew better than to mouth off like that.
"I wish I could, lad, but this was going on before you were born. Us 'Muggles' can manage some very nasty things on our own. You might ask your coach about the 1972 Olympics in Munich." Uncle Vernon blinked. Harry was amazed. He could tell his uncle was truly frightened. "If this were a gangster movie, I would tell you to go start up the car instead of me," his uncle said with grim humor. "But there is work to be done, and I daresay I'll need to do it while everyone else is maundering about whether the Yanks will panic and cancel everything."
Once he was gone, Petunia had him clean up the kitchen while she and Dudley went to the parlor to watch the telly. "Don't come in here," she said clearly, as if for the benefit of invisible listeners. "All your chores today will be in the front garden, though. Those weeds are gaining on the rest quite fiercely. I expect them to be gone by noon, if possible. Go clean up the glass first, though. That could be dangerous."
He realized what she was up to as she 'accidentally' left the parlor window open and the sound a bit up on the telly. It was easier to listen to the commentary, actually, than to have to watch the terror on the faces of the people who'd been inside the Park that late at night.
Harry calmed down a little with the weeding. Things turned out bad, but not as bad as people had thought at the very beginning. There was talk of the Munich Olympics and the terrible things that had happened to the Israeli team. I thought the Muggle world was safe, Harry mused. I thought that was where my aunt and uncle bored each other to death and Dudley played Harry-Hunting whenever he was bored, too. Bad things only happened in movies. But it's real. It's always been real. Even if I left Hogwarts and the Wizarding World just to get away from Voldemort, I could get blown up by a Muggle bomb just for being in the wrong place, or end up in the Army and get sent to some horrible desert somewhere, the way Dudley's friend Piers said his older brother did the year before I went to Hogwarts. Strange how he was remembering all this now. He hadn't paid as much attention to the Muggle news as he thought, because he'd been looking so hard to find out what the wizards and witches were doing. When he'd been in regular school, before Hogwarts, some elderly locals had come in to talk about what happened to Surrey in the Blitz. Even more often, he'd overhead war movies with their blasting weapons and screams from the wounded. Maybe the Muggles aren't as helpless as everybody else in the Wizarding World thinks they are. Maybe I ought to write Hermione and ask her. She probably knows a lot more about it than I do.
He realized, then, that at least one person had died in this bombing, and several had been injured. A few people had been turned upside down during the Quidditch Cup in his fourth year, but nothing more than that, but that had been enough to get everyone quite upset. The TriWizard Tournament had been riskier, but even then less blood had been shed than during almost every night on the Muggle news. His relatives would think the Ministry Raid nothing much at all, in terms of numbers.
Funny. He'd always thought of this other world as far safer. Even Arthur Weasley, who liked Muggles, spoke of them as if they were helpless. Maybe it would serve Voldemort right if he did have to fight them! Harry thought. Even if electricity and electronics didn't work well, a bomb dropped from thirty thousand feet could be guided to the right spot well out of the reach of anyone who wanted to Imperio the pilot. The explosives could be stopped, he supposed, but the casing and all would still make a pretty big hole anywhere it landed.
Was the Order protecting the Wizarding World from the Muggles as well as from Voldemort? How do you fight and win a war while hiding it from everyone else?
That night, Uncle Vernon allowed both Harry and Dudley to go to the gym. "I hope all you lads have a good talk and get over this," he said, clearly thinking of the price of a new window.
Harry ducked his head. "Sorry, sir."
"We've been through worse," Vernon said morosely. "I still have neighbors asking if they really saw a flying car some years back. I've always told them it was a film company trying out a new special effect and they'd got the wrong address. We won't even talk about that horrible little green person. House elf, indeed. More like one of those nasty gremlins Pet and I saw in a cinema. I suppose I ought to be lucky it was just a window. I feel some days as if I'm in that silly Amityville movie. The contractors just laugh when they hear my stories any more."
"Didn't know it was that bad, sir," Harry said, meek for once.
"Get in the car. You, too, Dudley. Your aunt and I could use a bit of quiet."
Instead of pairing off and sparring at the gym, they all sat together and had a long talk. Many of the boys had horrible stories of relatives caught in the London Underground or in some other disaster, including IRA bombings and shootings. My parents were murdered, Harry thought. But here he thought he'd best go with the story of them dying in a car crash. Once more he saw the green flash of the death-spell and the high, chilling laughter of Voldemort. Duds sat next to him all during the talk, though, instead of with the older boys.
"I remember the Dementor," his cousin said in a whisper.
"What did you see?" Harry asked.
"Mum and Dad trying to fight off nasty blokes in black robes and silver masks," Dudley said in a quiet voice. "Dad falling over dead. Mum in the kitchen, and a lot of knives flying…"
"Oh. Sorry to ask," he said.
"Nah. Just glad you got it off me. Why'd you go spare this morning?"
"I told you about Cedric dying. It was a tournament like the Olympics. I saw it." Harry heard the high voice saying, "Kill the spare," again. "It was my fault." Just like Sirius Black's death. "This last year, I thought I was going to rescue somebody, only he died, too, trying to rescue me because I wouldn't listen to anybody. I have to stop being stupid."
"Good luck!" Dudley snorted.
Harry laughed, a little. For once he knew his cousin didn't mean it the way it sounded. Then everyone perked up as Mr. Banks announced that the U.S. Olympic committee had decided that the Games would go on after all. That brought a ragged cheer from all the boys. "Now," he said, "You've sat around idle for long enough. Go show those punching bags that you haven't given up either!"
Harry was glad to do so. Maybe the more he worked out, the less glass would break.
Further Author's Note: From what I recall, the marching-in of the nations at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics was awkward at best, with extra gaps. As for the paper doves, I blame it all on Jeff Foxworthy (US comedian). As soon as the IOC had chosen Atlanta, he added to his routine a bit about some good ol' boys sitting out in the parking lot with shotguns. Apparently some officials actually took him seriously, as there were paper doves being held on wires and waved around by a couple of youth groups, instead of the real doves released in previous ceremonies. (I highly recommend Jeff Foxworthy, by the way. Let's just say I know some of those people, even though I live in the Pacific Northwest).