Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"The Ministry For Magic"
He was working on the sex thing. He was not very good at it, and didn't think he was enjoying it as much as he was supposed to. Clearly, he was doing something wrong.
The first girl he had had sex with was Marie. She was this brown-haired girl who lived in Hogsmeade. She had beautiful doe-like eyes, and an amazing smile. She was really too pretty to have been interested in plain old Harry, which was a key point; she had just wanted to sleep with the Golden Boy, she had pointedly told him the next morning. He hadn't expected a declaration of love, or a relationship, but the memory was still a sour one for that reason.
The second girl had been a Muggle with short golden hair. Meredith had been visiting London with her university for the summer. As she hadn't known Harry was the Boy Who Lived, he had been able to relax, knowing she liked him for him. However, it had been difficult to keep his secret and after two weeks, she went back home with her fellow students.
Since then, he had experimented with a couple more girls, but could never make it work. They weren't enjoying themselves, and he didn't enjoy himself. There was so much anxiety surrounding whether he was doing it right that it just wasn't worth it to keep trying. It was like trying to stuff a deflated football into a keyhole, unless he shut his eyes and forced himself to visualise something a little more stimulating.
He wasn't an idiot. He had considered the idea that, although he could recognise a pretty girl, he was not attracted to them. Perhaps he needed to explore his options with blokes. However, that was easier said than done. Homosexuality was frowned upon in wizarding society, because of the procreation issue. As two men or two women could not have children, it was a problem when it came preserving the pureblood line. Logically, that would begin to change now that the war had ended, but the world wasn't very logical.
With that said, he couldn't really imagine making it happen. He didn't have a solid idea of what happened when men had sex. He had thumbed through PlayWizard a few times, but could only find moving pictures of girls. He had found a few books in the library, but had left in a hurry when Madame Pince had approached him. They were not exactly books he could check out without a healthy amount of shame.
He wasn't even sure it mattered. It didn't feel good to know people were using you for your celebrity status. If his biggest problem was that he was heralded as the world's most eligible bachelor, then he needed to reevaluate. It felt petty to complain that he felt as though he was being used by people, as people had much bigger problems than that.
For example, Snape was actually being used in the most terrible ways possible. Any other Death Eater, Harry wouldn't go to such lengths to rescue, but Snape had put in a solid effort to help kill Voldemort. It seemed he spent the majority of his life in a hellish atmosphere. He had been willing to give up everything in order to accomplish the task before them, and it was thanks to him that things had turned out the way things did. He wasn't a hero in the traditional sense, but Harry was starting to realise how brave the man was.
And so Harry would focus his efforts on helping others, rather than sorting out his sex life. He had lived ten whole years hardly knowing what love was, and had gone nearly eighteen years before ever having sex. He could go longer.
Weston had made their plans to find Snape much more complicated. It was now a transnational plan, which Harry didn't appreciate. It involved cultures he didn't understand, languages he didn't know, and efforts that were far beyond he had ever imagined his goal required.
The Ministry for Magic was supposed to have a file on Snape that detailed his status and sales history. Presumably, that file would say who his current owner was, and would provide them with an address. It was unfortunate that the file was only accessible by Ministry officials and Snape's owners, as that would make it difficult for Harry to see. Not even Snape, whom the file concerned, would be allowed to see it, as he did not have that right.
It was impossible to keep up with all the laws surrounding slavery. It was safe to assume that a slave did not have any rights to do anything - breathe, eat, urinate - without permission from its master, and then work from there. Every day, Harry found out that a slave lacked yet another basic right; it was not surprising to him that a slave's records, such as birth certificates, could be withheld from them.
The plan was to skive off all their classes to go to the Ministry. They would find Kingsley and obtain a pass to visit level four, the Department for the Regulation and Contol of Magical Creatures, the Being Diviision. From there, they would talk to the right people until they got the information they needed.
Hopefully it would only take a few hours. Harry had his bag packed, and was already planning how he would get to Germany by sundown.
McGonagall, however, was not pleased with the plan. "Absolutely not. I will not allow you two to go tramping off to London on a school day."
As "eighth-years", they had far more priviledges than most students. They were able to leave some evenings and all weekends, for example. They could not, however, skip classes without ermission from their Head of House.
The lines in McGonagall's face were tight, and she seemed to be restraining herself from an outburst at the very idea of students asking permission to leave for a day. However, it was not as if Harry was going to make a practise out of it.
Asking, that was.
"Look, Professor, we wouldn't normally ask, except this is very important. We're just going to the Ministry and back; we'll be back before curfew. It's important." He looked at McGonagall pleadingly through his glasses. "It's something I that have to do. It's not as if we'll get lost. Last year, I learned the Ministry's layout inside and out."
McGonagall stared at the two of them for a long time. Harry could just imagine what was running through her head. It likely had something to do with 'the poor boy has been through so much. He is just trying to help poor Severus...' and something that went along the lines of 'Potter has to have an adventure at this time every year, doesn't he?'
"Mr. Weasley, I hardly see why you have to accompany Potter," she said, finally.
"Er, well..." Ron stuttered. "I'm his sidekick, you see? A hero never goes anywhere without his sidekick. It's kind of like... protection. Bodyguard. I'm his body guard." He drew himself up importantly, which was hardly necessary since he was already so much taller and broader than Harry.
McGonagall turned to Harry. "Is this necessary, Potter? I am sure you could just owl Minister Shacklebolt and-"
Harry shook his head. "It's going to involve going through files and asking a bunch of people for different stuff. Hermione has already gotten the plan entirely drawn out. We don't want to distract Kingsley from his job or anything." Actually, it had more to do with the fact that they could get more accomplished without Kingsley in the way than with.
The Headmistress did not seem convinced. "Potter, why are you doing this?"
That was a question he hadn't anticipated. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."
"Why are you so determined to help Severus?" Her eyes narrowed underneath her spectacles. "I was not under the impression that the two of you were very close."
"We're... er... not." Harry admitted. "He sent me a letter asking for my help, you know. I told you about that. I have to help him, Professor. I... I have to."
"Have you ever considered the idea that that letter could be a trap?" She asked pointedly. "I know Severus very well, and have since he was a small child. If he were to code something like that, I am sure it would be in a more sophisticated manner."
"Except..." Harry said slowly, "except that the letter was addressed to me. We all know how Snape thinks of me. He needed to make it simple, so that I'd notice it."
"I suppose I cannot remind you to call him 'Professor Snape' now," she said wearily, sitting down in her chair behind the desk. Her eyes conveyed her age. She looked up at Harry. "Potter, I cannot describe what I saw at that auction, but I promise you that Severus is no longer the man we once knew. He is gone."
"Gone?" Harry repeated, tonelessly. What could the woman possibly mean by gone? They knew he was gone; they'd known that for months! That's what Harry was trying to do; he was trying to find him!
"Potter, he was not there. Physically, yes, he was, but not in here." She tapped her forehead. "He seemed nearly oblivious to his surroundings, as if he barely remembered who I was, as if he were scared of me. I do not know what happened to him, or what curses they've placed on him, but at this point, it would be even more cruel to try to-"
"What about here?" Ron spoke up finally, putting his hand on his chest, over his heart. "Even if he has gone round the twist, Professor, with all due respect, we can't just leave him. He need tender loving care, as Mum likes to call it. Even if he is terrified of us, at least he'll be safe. Leaving him crazy with people who control every move he makes... come on, Professor. What happened to Gryffindor honour? Loyalty? He needs help, and as long as we're able, why not? It can only help."
Harry gaped at Ron, not knowing whether to ask him if he were on Polyjuice or give him a bone-breaking hug. He hadn't expected Ron to ever make such a speech in his life, and especially not in Snape's defence. It was too bad Hermione was off taking her Arithmancy quiz; she would have been so proud.
McGonagall seemed equally as surprised, but she quickly recovered. "You know, Lucius Malfoy stopped by a few weeks ago."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What'd he want?"
"He seemed to know we were searching for Severus. He came and begged me not to bother, that Severus was like a little brother to him, and that the best thing we could do for him was to let Severus die in peace. He said that he had been through enough pain."
"That sounds like a Slytherin thing to do." Ron muttered, but Harry's elbowed him to get him to shut up. That actually made a lot of sense. If someone was in a huge amount of physical pain, it would be kinder to let them die instead of trying to keep them alive, in some circumstances.
"I have to admit, he has a point." McGonagall shook her head. "Nearly the entire Order has given up, except for your family, Weasley, of course. It seems only right to-"
"To what, Professor?" Harry asked. "To let him suffer? Because I've heard a lot about Snape being in mental and emotional pain, but no one mentioned that he was physically dying here." He did not mention the sexual abuse he knew Snape had suffered. He had kept that to himself. If he couldn't get Snape out, at least people could have their last memory of Snape be someone who defended himself until several Aurors got the best of him.
She looked up at Harry. Harry could see tears threatening to spill over. "We've failed him, Harry." She said, using his given name for one of the first times. "We failed him."
Harry shook his head. "We haven't failed him until we've given up, Professor, and we won't, ever."
Harry felt a shudder run through him as they walked down the long corridor to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. He couldn't help but think of all these halls had given him in the not-quite eight years that he had known about the wizarding world.
"Hey, mate; it's okay." Ron's deep voice comforted Harry quietly and discreetly as they walked. He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're just here to see Kingsley. No wild goose chases, no death... just Kingsley."
Harry smiled and nodded. He really was lucky to have such caring friends. "Yeah, I know." He cleared his throat and Ron dropped his hand. "So the plan is to go to Kingsley's office first, and ask him for badges that will let us in most places in the Beings Division."
"Right." Ron returned as they turned a sharp corner. "Then we go to that floor and ask for a name that Kingsley will probably give us. Someone that could help us find what we're looking for." He paused as a gaggle of nuns passed through, who were clearly lost. "All we need to know is the name of Snape's owner, right, Harry?"
Harry nodded, looking down at the piece of parchment with Hermione's simple instructions clearly written on it. She hadn't seen the need for all of them to go to the Ministry, but she made them promise to owl her straight-away should anything unusual happen or worthwhile happen.
"Excuse me." Ron came up behind a man who came up no taller than Ron's hip. "Can you tell me where to find the Minister's office?"
The little man opened his mouth, an astounding deep voice coming out. "You're right in front of it, blockhead."
Ron turned crimson. "Thanks.".
Harry put his arm on Ron's elbow. "Um... okay. So we just... knock?"
They knocked on the large oak door, which swung open. It revealed a simple room with beige walls, simple carpet, with a desk in the middle. It was covered in letters and parchment. A young woman sat at the desk, furiously writing with a quill.
"Excuse me." Harry said. "Er... Is the Minister in?"
"He's busy." She snapped at Harry.
He exchanged glances with Ron, who shrugged. "Well, can you tell him we stopped by then?"
She waved her hand in the air, as if she couldn't care less.
You have to say something! Anything! You need to see Kingsley! "The thing is, you see, is that I'm a friend of his, and-"
"You and everyone else, lummox," she said, easily. "Do you know how many people I get in here, day after day, requesting to see the Minister?"
Ron appeared to not be able to take it anymore. "But he's Harry Potter!"
The secretary scoffed. "As if I haven't heard that one every day of the-" she glanced up, appearing to intend on returning to her work, but the gaze stuck. "Merlin's beard, it is! Oh, Mr. Potter! Forgive me for my behaviour! I thought you were-"
"It's all right, it's all right." Harry assured her. The lean woman stood at at least six feet, which caused her to tower over Harry by a good many inches.
The woman began smoothing her hair back, and batting her eyes. "Mr. Potter, I cannot tell you how much I've wanted to meet you. You're-"
"Have you something in your eye?" Harry asked, cocking his head to see her eyes better.
Ron nudged Harry hard in the ribs, while the woman laughed a fake laugh. "Oh, you are the funny one, Mr. Potter. You can call me Melanie."
Harry nodded awkwardly. "Melanie. Well... is the Minister in?"
Her dazed expression fell, and she nodded. "Through that door." She said quietly, pointing to a door in her office that had not been there moments ago.
"Thanks." Harry smiled hesitantly as he went for the door, Ron at his side.
Melanie breathed a dramatic sigh as they went through the Minister's office.
"Merlin's beard, Harry, you get all the girls!" Ron enthused as they shut the door behind them. "Did you see her? She was practically falling over herself to meet you!"
"Really? I didn't notice." Harry said absently, looking around the empty office for the big black Order member. Where is he? There's his desk, his chair... the plaque on the desk that says Kingsley Shacklebolt – Minister for Magic... where is he?
"And what was that? 'Have you something in your eye'?" Ron laughed in amusement. "Harry, she was batting her eyes at you! She was trying to get you to notice her!"
"Huh?" Harry asked, concluding that perhaps Kingsley was out for an early luncheon.
Ron shook his head. "Harry, if you want to find a proper girlfriend, you're going to have to pay more attention."
"Hmm." Was all Harry felt like saying in reply. He was well-aware of his "girl problems", but he could hardly let himself focus on that right now. He could always set aside some "Harry time" for later. Now was the time to help someone else.
That seemed to happen a lot.
"Hey, you reckon she tricked us?" Ron asked, just now seeming to notice that Kingsley wasn't there. He picked up a paperweight and turned it over in his hands. "Maybe this isn't Kingsley's office. Maybe it's really-"
"No, it's Kingsley's office." Harry said. "It's got to be. Maybe-"
"Well, Harry! Ron! What a surprise." Kingsley's voice bellowed behind them.
The two teens whirled around to see the Minister and Order member standing behind them, in front of the fireplace, dusting ash off his robes. He had come in through the Floo.
"Sorry for barging in uninvited, Kingsley," Harry said somewhat sheepishly. "We were kind of in a hurry to find you."
Kingsley's eyes narrowed. "Really? What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" Harry and Ron said together.
"Then?" Kingsley raised a brow, sitting at his desk.
"Well, nothing that requires duelling and hexing, least ways." Harry relented, taking a seat opposite Kingsley. Ron slid into the other armchair. "See, we got this letter from Snape yesterday."
"Is that so?" Kingsley folded his hands across his desk, his attention on Harry.
Harry nodded. "Well, I did. And it had a weird code on it that Hermione noticed." He decided not to mention that the letter had been "supposedly" penned by Mr. Weston.
"A weird code?" Kingsley repeated.
"Well, yeah." Ron spoke up, pulling a piece of parchment out of his robes and handing it to Kingsley. It was a version of the letter that Hermione had copied onto another piece of parchment, using a simple spell. "See? All the letters that are incorrectly capitalised spell a message."
"'Please help me. I am sorry. Please'?" He looked over at Harry. "And this letter was addressed to you?"
Harry nodded. "See, Snape and I kind of hate each other. Well, we did hate each other; we might still, but I really want to help him anyway. I kind of think that that's why he said 'sorry'. He's desperate, you know, and needs my help."
"Ginny figured that one out." Ron pointed out needlessly.
Kingsley just ignored Ron. "Because Severus would never ask for help otherwise."
"Well... no." Harry said slowly. "I mean, he's not really the type, you know?"
Kingsley sighed. "I don't believe this letter is from him, Harry."
The green eyes nearly popped out of their skull. "What? What do you mean? It's his handwriting! It's got to be from him!"
The Minister nodded. "But you did not see what I saw, Harry. George Weasley let me look at the memories of both the night before the auction and the actual auction. Severus wasn't-"
"I know, I know. He wasn't the same person as before." Harry rolled his eyes.
"Then you see the implausible quality of your argument."
"No, we don't." Ron intervened again. "That was months ago, and we know he took one of those potions that make you sleep like the dead. Maybe now he has come to a point where he is begging for our help."
"Then how do you explain the letter we got a few weeks ago, telling us that he didn't need our help?"
"Er... Weston told him to write that?"
"Severus has a head on his shoulders, Harry. He wouldn't do something someone told him to do if it would ruin his cause. If someone told you to jump off a cliff, would you?"
Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Would I? I'd most likely be the one leading the way."
Ron snorted, but Kingsley didn't seem to see the humour and truth in the remark. "I am not discounting all possibilities of this letter being from Severus, or someone with Severus' well-being in mind, but I am concerned of why it is addressed to you, of all people. Why would Mr. Weston want to harm you, assuming he had the letter penned with this code?"
Harry toyed with the idea of telling Kingsley that Snape no longer belonged to Weston, but decided against it. That would definitely create problems. Kingsley would trust Weston more than he would an unknown figure.
"He wouldn't," Harry said. "I had a long conversation with him just the other day. He knows that Snape wrote the letter, but he doesn't know about the hidden message." Actually, Harry didn't know if that was true, but saying that Mr. Weston had no knowledge of the letter certainly wouldn't go over well.
"Actually, all Harry and I wanted to do was to go to the fourth level and read through Snape's file. We just need your permission so we can see if we notice something that we hadn't noticed before." Ron said.
"I highly doubt there is anything." Kingsley said. "I looked over the files myself. I promise you, if there were any loopholes, any-"
"I'm Harry Potter." Harry reminded Kingsley. "I always find the loopholes."
"This is ridiculous." Ron muttered as the security guards scanned them outside the Beings Division. "If they didn't spot any weapons on us the last time that they scanned us, or the time before, then why-"
"Shut it, Ron." Harry muttered back as the security guards gave them the clear. "We don't want them to suspect anything of us." Harry said, jerking open the door. "You know security is so much higher after the whole Voldemort thing."
Ron just scoffed. "Right. And why couldn't we just take a piece of lint out of our pockets and transfigure it into a knife if we wanted to hurt someone? Or use the Killing Curse?"
Harry shrugged. "Beats me. When has the Ministry ever made sense?"
"Touché." Ron said. The corridor they were walking down, the area of the Ministry of Magic reserved for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Being Division, was simple. The floor was tiled brown, and the walls a sick pale green. There were brown doors that likely led to offices, or worse, more corridors.
Magical creatures... Harry shook his head. They define humans as creatures. That is just sickening.
He had been told thousands of times since second-year by Hermione how slaves and house-elves were not seen as humans, and were instead viewed as objects that had emotions, but that hadn't meant anything until the whole Snape thing came along. House-elves were one thing, as they had it in their blood to want to serve their Masters. It was second-nature to them, like breathing and magic was to wizards. That didn't make unfair treatment right, of course.
Slaves were a different matter, entirely. They were seen as both wizards and slaves as a breed, like Harry was seen as both a wizard and a human. They were supposed to obey their masters, but they didn't have an innate desire to. It was not at all, in any sense, okay.
"Why don't we stop and ask someone?" Harry spoke, his voice echoing down the hall as they moseyed down the corridor, not really knowing where to go.
Ron blanched. "You think we should? Ask for directions, I mean."
Harry shrugged. "Why not?"
His friend snorted. "Because they might think we're stupid?" At Harry's puzzled look, Ron elaborated. "Men don't ask for directions, Harry."
"You don't think this woman in here will mind if I ask for directions, then?" Harry raised his hand to knock on the door. "Surely she'll understand my lack of knowledge."
Ron seemed to disappear into the wall. "Oh, Merlin, Harry. Don't let her know I'm here, 'kay? She'll think I'm asking for directions, too."
"Come in." A busy voice called.
Harry popped open the door and stuck his head in. "Hallo, miss. I was just wondering-"
"Hold on. Just a minute." The person sitting at the desk pulled their head up from a stack of files. "Oh, hello, Mr. Potter. How may I help you?"
The woman got up and shook hands with Harry, bowing deeply several times. She remained calm in voice, even though she treated Harry like a saviour. Which Hermione said he technically was, even though he didn't feel like it. How was a saviour supposed to feel?
"I am looking for information on a slave." Harry said seriously. He paused, "A human slave. I'm... I'm not really sure where to look, though."
"Oh, of course!" The woman said. "Are you the owner of this slave?"
Harry shook his head. "I hope to be soon, though. It's kind of complicated." He fiddled with the badge pinned to his chest. "Kings- Minister Shacklebolt gave me free reign of the archives, though."
"Well, in that case, you're going to want to talk to Marcel." She pointed back up the hall, from where they just came. "About six doors down, on the left. Just tell him what you told me. He'll probably want to Floo the Minister or his secretary, just to verify your permissions, and you're free to go." She looked down at her shoes. "Mr. Potter, I want to thank you. My... my husband was killed by You-Know-Who, but our children - our two beautiful children - survived. And it's all because of you!" She grasped his hand in thanks.
Harry nodded, turning slightly red at the praise. Regardless of how many times he had this encounter, it never got any easier. "Thank you, miss, but really, it's not necessary. Thank me by helping me get this slave; he's the one who needs some credit."
"Accio Snape, Severus file." Marcel, the Asian man with greying hair that had his wand pointed lazily at a cabinet. The drawer marked 'S' opened slightly and a file came sliding out, the drawer shutting behind it. The folder landed in Marcel's hand.
Marcel eyed Harry and Ron carefully. "I don't know if I should be letting you look at these."
"The Minister said we could," Ron said, shifting slightly.
"I'm well aware." Marcel said. "But do you know how much time I've spent organising these files?"
Well, using magic... three minutes tops. "No sir, but I bet you do a good job at it." Harry said, pushing his fringe back, trying to appear nonchalant. It didn't work.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I know who you are." The man snapped. "And quite frankly, I don't care. These aren't your files to look through."
"Er... you see, this is life-debt stuff." Harry said, trying to tap into his Slytherin skills which were deeply submerged in him. Sometimes they were so deeply in him, he could deny they were there, with the exception of his Parseltongue. "I kind of owe someone a debt, and if I don't get the information I need, I can't fulfil that debt, and-"
"Is it an Unbreakable Vow debt?" Marcel snapped.
Harry flinched slightly, startled by the question. "Um... no, I don't-"
"Then you'll survive." Marcel said coolly.
"He might not." Ron spoke up, causing Marcel and Harry to look at him with a surprise.
The Gryffindor boldly continued. "This person and Harry both have really strong magic. I know normal life-debts don't kill, but Harry's and Sn- this other person's... well, let's just say I'm helping Harry because I don't want to be known as the person who got in the way of the life-debt which ultimately killed Harry Potter."
That was a lie if Harry had ever heard one, but surprisingly, it seemed to help.
Marcel's eyes narrowed. "You realise that the information in this file is highly confidential."
Harry nodded. "Look, I don't want to see anything that has to do with anyone's Gringotts accounts or anything. I just want to see a... debriefing sheet on the slave, really."
"Debriefing sheet?"
"Yeah, you know, what county he lives in, who owns him, how many times he has been sold, if he's still alive..." Harry's voice trailed.
Marcel opened the folder and passed a piece of paper to Harry wordlessly. "Don't wrinkle the parchment."
Name: Severus Tobias Snape
Birth date: January 9th, 1960
Date of enslavement: September 2nd, 1998 (Death Eater)
Languages spoken: English, Latin
Current owner: Christoffer König – Burgdorf, Germany (owned under the name Severus Tobias Snape)
Past owners: Richard Weston, Christina Weston – London, England (owned under the name Severus Tobias Snape)
Nigel Mering – Surrey, England (owned under the name Severus Tobias Mering)
The Ministry for Magic, Britain
ID Number: 73682759378429031960
There was more information on that piece of parchment than Harry expected. Who knew that Snape spoke Latin? Got a 'T' in Divination (though succeeded in every other subject)? Had Italian heritage? That his wand had a core of dragon heartstring, which he bought on July 20th, 1971?
"Look, he is an Animagus. A raven." Harry showed his friend excitedly. He had a fondness for anything and everything to do with Animagi. He hoped to learn how to someday, but had so far never found the time.
"And unregistered, too." Ron pointed to another space on the parchment. "At least until they made him a slave. Reckon he tried to fly away?"
"I don't know." Harry bit his lip. "I wonder how they caught him."
"Slaves are not humans; they can be summoned as easily as a piece of parchment. Namely, the one in your hand." Marcel said impatiently.
"Hold on, we're almost done." Ron scoffed. "His current collar, see there? A Jolt XR 3000? What's that?"
"I don't know if I want to know," Harry said uneasily. "I'm gonna have to get him a collar, right?"
"Unless they sell him with one, yeah. It's the law." Ron said with a shrug. "Reckon we should write some of this down?"
Harry nodded, pulling a spare piece of parchment from his pocket and beginning to write on it. He borrowed a quill from Marcel's desk, which Marcel did not sound like he approved of. What he copied down was simple;
Christoffer König – Burgdorf, Germany.
"Thank you, Mr. Marcel," Harry said, passing the parchment back to the man. "We really appreciate it."
"Is this what you owe a life-debt to?" Marcel asked, looking through the folder in his hands.
Harry nodded, uncomfortably. "Yeah. Why?"
Marcel shrugged. "Ugly thing, isn't he?"
"You've got a picture?" Ron asked, his ginger eyebrows raised.
Harry walked behind Mering and leaned over his shoulder. Sitting in the folder was a snapshot of Snape. He was wearing his customary black robes, kneeling on the floor in a position Harry recognised from one of the many books they had looked through. One of dead submission, with head bowed, knees bent and apart, hands clasped... it made Harry sick to look at.
Marcel picked up the photo and read something on the back of it. "Taken on September 2nd, 1998. The day he became a slave, no?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's the day."
Marcel shrugged. "Well, this is something I can make copies of. Can't hurt. You want it?" He offered the photo to Harry.
The eighteen-year-old backed away, shaking his head. "Er, no thanks. You keep it. Thanks." That said, he bolted out of Marcel's office, feeling as if he were about to hurl.
Harry Potter had seen a lot of things in his lifetime. A lot of blood, a lot of gore, a lot of death. He had known a lot of pain, both physical and emotional, and knew what suffering was. He had dreamed of seeing his Potions professor in many positions, such as six-feet underground or begging Albus Dumbledore for forgiveness for killing him... but never in his life did he dream of seeing Snape so vulnerable.
Seeing such a proud man give up so much... Harry now understood why the Order had made such a fuss about Snape's changed personality at the auction. However, like a true Gryffindor, that only encouraged his efforts to find the man.
Ron caught up with him. "What's wrong, mate? Are you sick?"
He smiled weakly at his concern. "No; I'm just a little unwell, is all."
Time. The continuum of experience in which events pass from the future through the present to the past. A period of time considered as a resource under one's control and sufficient to accomplish something...
Time hardly existed for him. The only time that existed for him was when he was hiding and trying to sleep, or when he was being violated and tortured. There was nothing else. Nothing else existed. Just Pain. Thirst – he had long forgotten about hunger, as his stomach no longer felt like it was going to turn itself out if it did not get food. It felt merely... Empty.
Pain. Thirst. Blood. Darkness. Pain. Fatigue. Fear. Emptiness. Pain. Cold. Sweat. Tears. Pain.
Coming soon in Unwell...
Chapter Twenty-Six: A Feral Prisoner