_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Harry found Hermione holding Ron when he got back to the boys' dormitory. His best friend was crying quietly into Hermione's shoulder, half slumped over the bed. Seamus, Dean, and every other boy in the room were silent, watching without question or complaint (even though it was clear that some of them had been roused from sleep). Hermione looked up at Harry, sadness making her face appear much older than it was. He only shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. A commotion erupted from the stairwell behind him.
"No, Gin, you can't come up here--"
"Shut up and let me through...!"
Ginny Weasley pushed past her twin brothers and into the dormitory without hesitation. Her brown eyes instantly fell on Ron. "What did they want?" she demanded, rushing forward. Harry caught he shoulder as she went past but was thrown off with surprising strength and viciousness. "Ron," she insisted, putting a hand on his arm, "You didn't, did you?" She shook him. "Did you?"
"Gin..." Fred stepped forward anxiously.
"Until July." Ron suddenly raised his head, nearly catching Hermione under the chin. His eyes were red and swollen. "Until bloody wanking July! He'll die in there, damn it! They'll kill him!"
"All right now, Ron, stop it." George glanced at the others in the room quickly. "No one's going to die." Despite his steady words Harry noticed a quivering lump in George's throat. Ginny had sunk to the floor, her lips gone white.
"Come on, fellows. Let's go," said Neville softly. When no one moved he prodded Lee Jordan and repeated in a commanding tone. "Let's go."
Silently, glancing over their shoulders, the other Gryffindors followed Neville out, brushing past Fred and George, who stood as statues. Ron was shaking his head slowly but emphatically, as if trying to wake from a nightmare. "He didn't want me to." He hiccuped, a sound that would have set Harry to laughing any other time. "He looked at me like he was telling me not to. I swear." He looked up at Hermione, then to his sister.
"Oh, now, buck up Ron," said Fred, attempting to be jovial. "'Course he didn't want you to. "
"Bloody Sorting Hat didn't put him into Gryffindor for nothin'," added George. "Big Head that he is.'
"Did they ask...all of you, too?" asked Harry quietly.
Ginny looked up suddenly with an anger that seemed impossible in the shy girl. "Yes." Her teeth were clenched. "All of us still going to Hogwarts. We said no, but they didn't make us look at Percy when they threatened us, bloody rat bast--"
"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione.
Truly Ron's sister, thought Harry dryly. Ron grinned weakly at her.
"Harry's testifying," he said suddenly, pulling back from Hermione and wiping his eyes. "Aren't you?"
Harry felt a lead weight settling in his stomach, sharply aware of all eyes in the room on him. He nodded dumbly, unable to look away from Ron's fierce, pleading expression. The enormous weight of what hinged on his testimony in a summer that seemed so far away yet was approaching too quickly finally came crashing down onto him. He flinched, as though real, overwhelming pressure had been applied to his shoulders. He tried to speak, say something about Dumbledore having instructed him, an assurance that everything would be okay, that he would do his best, but nothing came from his mouth. At last he turned and strode from the dormitory, his friends' concerned words falling on deaf ears, past the other boys in the common room, ignoring the few questions, and let himself out.
"Why, whatever's the matter, dear?" inquired the Fat Lady, looking up from her game of cards with visiting paintings.
Harry pressed the apple on the apple tree and the landscape swung aside. He climbed through the hole and lowered himself onto the top step of the staircase, hearing the picture click shut softly behind him. For a the better part of an hour he sat there, alone atop a narrow spiral, with his head in his hands. For the first time, Harry wanted the tears to come. None came.
For the first time, Harry Potter realized that it would be a long, long time before he could cry again.
He pulled a roll of parchments from his robes. Dumbledore had given it to him, saying simply that it would be wise to know the proceedings of a wizard's trial. From what the Headmaster and McGonagall had said, it did not sound all that different from a Muggle's court of law, but then, Harry had never testified in either, and especially not in front of a split jury that was anything but impartial.
We can only bloody hope that the jury'll be split. Cornelius Fudge still had a good deal of control over the Ministry and would most likely try to control who would be sitting on that jury, but as of late Dumbledore's faction had been gaining strength and momentum. The problem was that power in the rogue section of the Ministry was centered in the very few with the gall to openly defy Fudge. Dumbledore was clearly reluctant to make an enemy of the Minister, but he was no coward. He and the Weasleys were the driving force of resistance among the ranks of bureaucracy, but if Ron's family fell...
Harry had had no idea that they were so important. Up until this year, politics within the magical world seemed distant and vague, even petty. It was a jarring shock to suddenly realize what kind of weapon Voldemort could turn the Ministry of Magic into; worse, that it wouldn't be the first time. And even though everyone in the office had refrained from saying it, it was clear that everyone in the office suspected Fudge might not be the only one running the show.
The Weasleys would be placed under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry found some comfort in this as he unrolled the parchments and whispered, "Lumos."
The reading was incredibly dull, written much in the same style of Hogwarts, A History. It didn't help that Harry was still numb. There were several tactics a witness could use for avoiding a question that interested him, but that was about it. Finally he stood, feeling his legs crack and tingle as blood began to force its way through them, and stepped back out into the real world. No sooner had he closed the landscape painting than did a flurry of movement come flying from him out of the darkness of the hallway. Harry yelled and drew his wand, which was promptly knocked out of his hand by a small ball of feathers that must have been going at fifty kilometers. The reddish owl wheeled back around and landed on Harry's shoulder, its talons digging through his robes. Harry winced, his pulse still racing, and stared at the bird in surprise. "What in the world...?" He held out his arm, and the owl hopped forward onto it. "How did you get in here?" he asked softly, automatically stroking its head. He noticed the envelope tied to one of its legs before realizing how tired the poor thing was.
Convinced that the entire world had been turned inside out, Harry climbed back into the now-empty Gryffindor common room and crept into the boys' dormitory, taking pains not to wake anyone. The small owl hooted softly. "Shh, shh," he soothed. Harry went to Hedwig's vacant cage and urged the owl onto the perch before taking the food and water dishes and refilling them as quietly as he could. As the owl drank thirstily Harry gently untied the letter and opened it, using his body to shield the light of his wand. His heart jumped into his throat. The handwriting was Sirius's, and his message was terse.
Dear Harry,
I hope you're well. The owl is not mine but it is trusted. I cannot send messages directly to the Headmaster, please pass this letter on to him. He will know what to do. Lupin and the others send their regards.
Sirius
Beneath his godfather's signature was a cross within a triangle within a circle. Harry's brow furrowed and he looked up at the red-brown owl, but it had settled on the perch and fallen asleep.
"Harry?" murmured a sleepy but familiar voice. Harry quickly threw the letter onto his bed and turned around. Ron had pulled back his hangings and stuck his head out. Harry's wand illuminated his tousled red hair. His friend blinked slowly. "Watcha doing?"
"Midnight snack," said Harry, glad that his face couldn't be seen in the darkness.
"Oh."
"Get to sleep, Ron."
"I'm sorry 'bout that."
It was Harry's turn to blink. "What?"
"About saying that in front of them. I wasn't thinking...Hermione gave me a talk after you'd gone." Ron grinned weakly but apologetically. Harry could see that his eyes, although no longer red, were tired and and sunken, as they always were after crying. He stood frozen, uncertain of what to say.
"It's all right, Ron." He smiled, but inwardly he was shocked at his steady, reassuring voice. "Everything's going to be all right."
Ron's returning smile was strained. Comforted if not convinced, he murmured a good night and retreated back behind the curtains.
Harry stared at the closed hangings for a long moment. At length he turned and climbed into his own bed, not bother to change, and, tucking Sirius's letter into his robes, settled into the pillow. "Nox."
He fell asleep instantly.
****
Harry started awake with a dreadful sense of urgency. The drapes of the windows had opened of their own accord, flooding the room with pale sunlight. By the empty beds and lack of noise from the common room Harry decided that he must have slept straight into breakfast. On any other Sunday he would have fallen back and slept for another few hours, and he almost did, before he felt Sirius's letter crumple against his side. He leapt out of bed with a soft exclamation. The small red owl blinked slowly and hooted, nipping at the bars of the cage.
Harry couldn't explain his anxiety; something about this note had his stomach in knots. He feared that putting it off his errand until this morning had been too long of a delay. He straightened his robes and rushed a comb through his hair. In his haste he almost missed the slip of parchment on the floor by Ron's bed. The handwriting looked as hurried as Harry was.
Harry,
We let you sleep. Herm and I are in the library.
Get over here, she has an idea.
Harry glanced sourly at the bird, who hooted and fluffed its feathers innocently. "I'd like to know," he muttered. The owl gently bit at the finger he offered. With a sigh Harry adjusted his glasses and set off for the library. He took the way through the landscape to the marble staircase. Perhaps it was slower, but he had heard the wave of returning students and did not want to face the questions he would surely be asked. First, he needed to get Sirius's letter to Dumbledore, then to the library. But not before I find out what in the hell is going on, he thought vehemently, jumping off the last two stairs and crossing the small distance to the silver latch. He pushed down on it without bothering to listen for anyone outside.
He paid for it. As the wall with the suit of armor rumbled aside Harry stepped out and nearly ran into the arms of Professor Snape.
"Sneaking about again, Potter?" snapped the Potions master. Harry jumped backwards, startled, only to feel his shoulders bump against the empty knight. "All students are to be either out on the grounds, in their common rooms, or in the library. Somehow I doubt your memory needs refreshing." Snape smiled nastily, but the usual twisted delight wasn't there. To Harry it seemed that he was forcing himself through a stale routine. He squared his shoulders, annoyed beyond measure with himself.
"I'm running an errand to the Headmaster," he said.
"Indeed?" sneered Snape. "Creeping through the walls to do it?"
Harry clenched his teeth, fighting not to squirm. The strange anxiety in him was growing stronger. His scar tingled, as if the sands of an hourglass were trickling over it. The sudden alarm combined with his impulsiveness broke his self-control. "This is important," he bit out, trying to brush past the Potions master. He stepped forward too hard, too fast, and Snape had to stumbled backwards to keep his balance. Harry froze.
"Have a penchant for assault, don't you, Potter?" Snape's hiss was as cold and deadly as his grip on Harry's shoulder. "We'll see the Headmaster about that, rest assured."
Professor 'Harrison' emerged from the Great Hall at that moment. Harry stiffened. The witch raised her eyebrows at the scene; Snape instantly let go of Harry. "Problem, Professor?" she inquired with icy pleasantness, her gaze lingering on Harry.
"Mr. Potter will be accompanying me to my classroom." Snape's voice was just short of a snarl. Harry glanced between the two, confused by the increased animosity. The Potions master's eyes were filled with utmost distrust, loathing...and fear.
"Ah. What for?"
"Mind your own business, Professor," he snapped. He seemed eager to be out of her company. "Come along, Potter."
Harry swore silently. "I have to see the Headmaster now...!"
"I'll decide what you do and do not have to--"
"Professor--"
"Do not interrupt me...!"
"Professor, it's from Sirius!" his whispered fiercely. Harry's knees went weak a moment later as he realized how lucky he was that no one else was near the staircase, on in the Great Hall. Snape was staring at him in furious shock; a muscle in Rysk's cheek twitched. Harry sensed that he had broken a terribly strong taboo. After a moment of dead silence Rysk stepped forward and held out her hand.
"I'll take care of it, Potter."
He hesitated. Then, slowly, he drew out his godfather's letter and pressed it into her palm. Rysk's fingers closed around it, Snape ushered him away, and Harry was still wondering if he'd done the right thing as he stepped into the dungeons.
****
"Where the bloody hell is he?" muttered Ron, glancing agitatedly at the library door. "Lazy git; we should've woken him."
"Shh," hissed Hermione, waving her hand absently but emphatically, poring over a book. "I think I've got something." Ron subsided into good-natured grumbling, seeming almost his normal self but for the shadows in his eyes. He leaned his elbows onto the table and propped his chin up in his hands. At length he craned his neck, trying to look over Hermione's shoulder without getting up. "Ron!" his girlfriend snapped, then softened her tone. "You're blocking the light."
"Excuse me," groused Ron. Hermione soothed him by laying a hand on his arm for a moment. Ron looked up suddenly, seeing movement at the door. It wasn't Harry, though, it was Professor 'Harrison'. "Hey," he hissed, nudging Hermione, and added quickly before his head was bitten off, "It's Rysk."
Hermione's eyes snapped up. From their corner of the library they had an excellent view of the door, but they themselves were half-hidden behind the bookshelves. As they watched, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher went straight for the Restricted Section. To Ron's surprise, Hermione shot straight up out of her seat. "Herm...?"
"Come on," she murmured, glancing furtively at the librarian, who was thankfully in her office for the time being. Ron had little choice but to follow his girlfriend as she darted around the bookshelves after Rysk. They saw the swirl of her loosely worn robes disappear into the Restricted Section. Hermione motioned silently. Together they carefully peeked through a gap in the books.
Rysk had selected a book rather quickly, which she set on a small desk. It was a dark, forbidding tome with an almost unholy glow that Ron and Hermione could feel even at a distance. They both shivered. Professor 'Harrison' muttered a spell over it, and of its own accord the cover opened. The witch shrugged her robes off before reaching into the pocket of her jeans and unfolding a piece of parchment. Her grey eyes ran over it quickly, then she began to turn the yellowed pages of the book carefully, almost delicately, her brows knitted together.
Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. What is she doing?
****
Harry stood silently, resolved not to be defiant. Defiance would get him no where. He needed to weather Snape, then get to the library as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, it seemed the Potions master had other plans. Without looking at Harry he walked around his desk and sat. For what felt like a long time they stared at each other. At last Harry scuffed his toe against the stone floor and spoke. "When's my detention, Professor?"
Snape's lips thinned, but otherwise his face remained emotionless. "You will be wishing for a detention, Potter, if I ever catch you snooping in my affairs again."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Don't play innocent with me!" snarled Snape, standing up and slamming a hand against the desk. It was a moment before he regained his composure. "Perhaps," he said softly, "you should look into a career of journalism, Potter. You show a knack for research in the library." Harry bit his lip. Snape's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "It was chance, really. Argus Filch made a passing comment. He could hear you clearly through the bookshelves."
Harry took a breath, trying to think of something to say. At last he risked, "So you were trying to make a Memory potion." Snape stiffened. He stared very hard at Harry. Something suddenly clicked in Harry's mind; an important corner of the puzzle was suddenly made clear. "No," he breathed, unmindful of his professor, "no, it's not that, she only thought..."
Snape stepped forward. "She?"
Harry's head snapped up and he met Snape's gaze. "No...no one, sir," he said quickly, unable to think of a more convincing answer. A terrible, almost insane expression had entered the Potions master's face. Harry almost took a step back. "Professor, are you all right?"
"She?" repeated Snape, with deadly deliberateness. His voice was enough to send chills down Harry's spine. His ordeal in the Alpine mountains had been enough to put much of his life into perspective, and very few things remained that could genuinely frighten Harry. Snape was one of those things.
Harry shook his head, staring at the sleeve of the older one's robes, trying to see through to where the ugly brand of the Dark Mark lay hidden beneath the folds, burned forever into pale skin. His mind was racing and his theory was wild and far-fetched, but still Harry was absolutely sure. It had to be right. That had to be why. Professor Snape noticed where his gaze was and, with a chilling snarl, lunged forward so that his hands slammed into the wall on either side of Harry. "OUT WITH IT, POTTER!"
"I don't know anything!" cried Harry, startled. Out of reflex (he reflected later that Professor 'Harrison' would have been proud), he drew his wand, so quickly that it almost seemed to flick into his hand. Snape grabbed his wrist and twisted it away, faster than a Golden Snitch, no doubt out of reflex as well. It all happened within a second. Harry made no move to struggle, still frozen by his unintentional audacity. Then he noticed that Snape was shaking and, surprising both of them, took advantage of the situation. "You overestimated me, Professor." His voice was glacially calm again, although it was the only part of him that was. "I think I know more now than I ever did."
It was true. What had been floating fragments of clues were now forming a clear picture. Snape had been cleared by the Ministry despite his being a Death Eater because he had come over to spy for their side. He had also not been convicted for the murder of two people partially because he had been placed under the Imperious Curse, partially because Dumbledore had pulled strings. Only now did Harry realize that both acquittals were connected: Snape had, after killing so many, finally broken under the guilt of his last crime and defected.
He said all of this to the Potions master in a low, neutral voice. In the silence that followed Snape's cold fingers grew slack about his arm and slid away. For a moment Harry thought that Snape was going to spring forward and try to kill him, that he might have to use his wand after all. Instead the professor turned abruptly away, hiding his face, which had drained of all color. "Get out."
"The only thing I don't understand, sir, is who they were."
"Get out!"
Harry flinched but did not give. "They must have been very important to you."
"Are you deaf, Potter?" hissed Snape, whipping about and staring with intense loathing at him.
"No, sir, but you've said that to me already this year and I think I made a mistake when I listened."
"Ah, yes," he sneered, "you should have stayed and pried directly instead of looking Soulsbane up in a book!"
"No, Professor, I was worried about you." It was true, but Harry wasn't quite sure of it at the moment. Snape could certainly make himself difficult to pity, no matter what his plight.
"A point for inconsistency, Potter. I remember clearly that you told me in no uncertain terms that I disgust you." The Potions master bared his arm and thrust the tattoo forward. Harry winced, but not at the Dark Mark. He clenched his fists and finally swallowed his pride.
"That was...that wasn't...I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean it." He lifted his chin to stare Severus Snape dead in the eye. "I'm sorry."
Snape stumbled back, as if Harry had dealt him a blow.
"I told you already I don't hate you. I don't know why you hate me."
"Yes, you do."
Harry spread his hands helplessly. The firm control had left his voice and he was once again a young wizard, only fifteen years old. "I know what Sirius and..." He trailed off, unable to blame Remus Lupin, unable to name Peter Pettigrew or blemish his father. "I know what they did to you. I'm not them. I'm not...I'm not my father. I can't take the blame." A frustrated breath escaped him. "So I don't understand why you blame me."
"You are hardly blameless," sneered Snape.
Harry's face reddened in anger. "No," he agreed reluctantly, then added fiercely, "But you started it." It was a childish phrase, but it was true.
The Potions master's jaw tightened, but he did not deny it. At last he sat down on a student's desk, suddenly seeming very small with shoulders hunched, despite his imposing height. "I won't even ask how you found out."
Harry blinked, surprised, but hardly displeased. He made a weak attempt at a grin. "Please don't."
"You have to be involved." Snape laughed mirthlessly, angrily. "Every time, the famous Harry Potter is involved, nosing around where he has no business, always coming out unscathed and glorified. Fitting."
His words struck a nerve that had been burned too many times. "Oh, yes," Harry bit out sarcastically, "it's so much fun, being taunted because I have a stupid cut on my head, being pointed at by first years who all think I'm going to kill Voldemort, watching my friends get hurt and killed. I love it, I bask in the glory."
Snape had looked up sharply, face inscrutable. With a poisonous glare Harry turned on his heel and began to stalk out, regretting every word of his apology. Slimy, greasy-haired, arrogant bastard...!
"Potter!"
Harry stopped and glanced sullenly over his shoulder.
"They were my parents." Snape's knuckles were white, clutching at the fabric of his robes, making it clear how deep a cut Harry had prodded at. Harry slowly pivoted about, eyes wide. The Potions master was watching him with queer eagerness. "I tortured them. Slowly. And then I finished it."
"Oh, my God," he breathed. "You didn't...?"
"I did. There." Snape's voice was unsteady, but a sick smile spread over his features. "Isn't that disgusting, Potter?"
Harry stared at him, lost for words. It was obvious what Snape was trying to do, and hardly surprising, but still shocking. He wanted Harry to hate him. The way he was staring at him was unnerving: resentful and wounded, yet triumphant, as if certain of his last, desperate attempt. Harry slowly shook his head, crossing the distance between them and stopping just a meter short. His anger had been wiped away by a wave of incredible pity. "No!" he exclaimed softly. "No, it...it wasn't your fault..." Very hesitantly, he reached out a hand and laid it on Snape's shoulder, much in the same way he had before. Snape flinched away, his expression of victory fading away to something akin to fear. He flinched away.
"Get out," he whispered.
This time, Harry complied. As he pulled the door open he glanced back over his shoulder at Professor Snape, still turned away. "I'm sorry," he said again, helplessly. He stepped out and pushed the door closed, then leaned back against it and ran his hands over his face, overwhelmed. At length he straightened and began to trudge back to the main part of the school.
He had lied. There was one more thing he still did not understand: what did Rysk have to do with any of this?
****
Professor 'Harrison's' shoulders tensed. Both Ron and Hermione caught their breaths, set on edge by the intense look in her eyes. She quickly ran a finger down the page, glanced again at the parchment in her hand, then hissed something over the book. Hermione and Ron caught, "...English." An instant later Rysk paled. She stared in horror at the tome, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other running under a line of text. That hand was trembling. She suddenly looked up at the ceiling, slamming the book shut, causing the two spies to cringe. "Shit." She glanced at her watch. "Fucking gods!" Real fear was in her voice. "Shit!"
Ron recovered in time to jerk a gaping Hermione deeper into the shadows as Rysk blazed past them at full sprint.
