Trafficking in Magic

by Icarus

The cavern was strangely dark and cold. Water slapped the boats against their moorings, a dull clatter that echoed under Hogwarts castle. Harry didn't bother to light any of the torches, but it felt strange to be here, alone, at this hour. Usually there was still a fading sunset glazing the surface of the lake, with Snape hovering, well - before it had seemed threateningly, but now Harry felt he was naked without Snape's dark protection at his back. At least by now Harry knew the way to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest. No doubt Snape was waiting for him for their class. Harry was late. It was after seven already.

Harry stepped into the boat, holding the dinner roll in his mouth as he maneuvered the oars into their locks. He didn't have Snape's Propulsion Spell, so he was forced to row. But he decided he could take his time as he crossed, and eat on the way. He was late anyway. Harry pushed the boat off into the dark. Faint wisps of mist clung to the cavern walls. Harry awkwardly used an oar to push the boat off a tree stump that stared out of the water, its vestigial branches reaching like claws. Past it, was open water.

Now to keep an eye out for sea monsters, Harry thought, biting into his roll. He fumbled the oar back into place.

His supper finished, Harry began to row, keeping his eyes peeled all about him. A slimy black tentacle skimmed the surface of the lake near the boat. Harry heard the slosh of a slight wake. Then something scraped the bottom of the boat, where nothing ought to have been. Harry froze, his wand out. A long moment passed. The boat rocked gently from Harry's sudden movement. But the lake remained still, and whatever it was didn't trouble him further. Nonetheless, Harry rowed faster, and wished he'd eaten while he was still on shore.

Harry tied the moorings, gratefully climbing out of the boat, but more grateful still that Snape would be with him on the return trip. Harry had never noticed how dangerous just coming here was, not when he had Snape available to guard him. Snape had made him feel like a blundering idiot every time he wandered into some trap, but actually, it was bloody dangerous in the Forbidden Forest after nightfall. Snape only made it appear easy. Harry adjusted his cloak about his shoulders, and followed the familiar winding path to the clearing, where he and Snape practiced the Dark Arts.

None of the usual traps sprang on Harry as he cautiously followed the path. Perhaps Snape had disarmed them. Here and there, however, Harry noticed a splash of some silvery liquid on the leaves and the ground. It reminded him of unicorn blood, something he hadn't seen since his first year at Hogwarts. But on closer inspection, it was darker, more grayish, the color of quicksilver, writhing slightly. It looked alive. Harry didn't touch it, and carefully walked around. Years at Hogwarts had taught him some caution with strange magic. And this was stranger than much he had seen.

There was a large splattering at the edge of the clearing, and a silvery moon-like glow ahead. Harry parted the leaves on the edge of the clearing and stopped. Cold.

Professor Severus Snape stood with his back to Harry, rigidly black against a silver glow that spread from the cauldron before him. A thick viscous liquid bubbled in it, without any fire under the cauldron that Harry could see, unless the fire was the same color as the glow. The liquid occasionally reached out of the cauldron, only to fall back. A glowing mist steamed about Snape, a vaporous silver cloud.

"You are late." Snape bit off the short syllables coolly. But his voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the cauldron as though it bore careful watching. Harry imagined it would.

Harry stepped into the clearing, carefully edging around the silver-gray quicksilver splash.

"Be careful not to step on it. It is highly poisonous, and rather malignant. It fought me all the way here. I can keep it at Hogwarts, but what we're about to attempt of course…."

Snape's voice remained that eerily focused calm. Harry wondered what he meant by 'fought,' though he was unsurprised the liquid was dangerous. It sure acted dangerous. But Snape was still talking.

"I don't know why I missed it, Harry. But it is painfully obvious to me now: I made our class too easy, I tried to explain mere theory," Snape said. "All without showing you the real thing."

Easy? Harry's eyes widened at the thought. Snape's presence should have been reassuring, but his mood seemed strange. Talkative. Not like him at all. Harry stayed near the far edge of the clearing.

"Naturally, it didn't work. I should never have listened to Dumbledore's warnings. Go slowly, he said, be careful, Severus. But you are like me, Harry. In more ways than one. If it is too easy: you simply get bored. You have not been trying. And that is my entirely my fault, for being so blind as to not see why."

Not trying? Like Snape? Harry's mind wasn't quite grasping this. They both had black hair, but there the similarities ended. Unless Snape played Quidditch.

"It has been like teaching music, through lecturing you about the notes. Essays. Simple spells. When the beauty of the Dark Arts is the challenge, the very danger of it! It is the sharpest tool. One unwise move, Harry - " Snape gave a short derisive laugh, " - there's good reason there are no incompetent Dark Wizards. The fools do us all the favor of weeding themselves out."

Weird shadows, silvery and liquid, played about Snape's face.

"You see, Harry, after my father's death I experimented with my grandfather's books. My grandfather had taught me some, before he was killed by a misguided Auror. Not every Dark Wizard gave a brass Knut for Voldemort. My grandfather was a Scientist," Snape glowered at the cauldron.

"I leveled entire rooms in our house by my experiments, my mistakes. Accidents I barely crawled away from alive, alone in that rotting manor; I doubtless would not have survived were it not for the house elf."

A bit of the silver liquid on the ground reached for Harry. He edged away, deeper into the clearing, paying more attention to the quicksilver liquid than Snape's speech. Snape didn't seem to notice.

"But I learned, however slowly, without him, Harry. Things that even Voldemort doesn't know. My grandfather's research. And a little of my own. Voldemort has miscalculated if he thinks Dumbledore would not let me teach you. Books are merely a starting place, a crutch for those who don't dare go further. This," Snape indicated the silver glow, "is my own."

"Come," Snape said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes, something like Ron with the Book of Eros.

Harry stepped forward with trepidation, keeping a careful watch on the grabbing quicksilver behind them, which Snape ignored, his eyes only the cauldron.

"I did all the preparations. It starts with a simple levitation spell. Just follow my lead, Harry," Snape said evenly.

He touched the liquid with his wand, and it followed like a fountain, a rippling banner into the air, suddenly sparkling and marvelous. Harry had never considered levitating a liquid before.

"…. don't let it touch anything you don't want it to," Snape said smoothly.

Harry tried it. The quicksilver liquid sprang up easily with a touch, trembling in what felt like a breeze, though Harry knew there was no wind.

"You'll want to have it all suspended in the air, before you start the incantation. Beautiful, isn't it? It's malleable. And deadly. It can maim. It can destroy. Or trap. Depending on the shape you choose for it."

The liquid pooled in flashing silvery drops. It was difficult to control, Harry discovered. He found that instead of holding up one fluttering line of the stuff like Snape, it broke apart. He was trying to hold up a dozen, then a hundred, then a thousand gleaming drops, all around him.

"…. now the gathering incantation, repeat after me…."

Harry's concentration shook with the effort of keeping it all up in the air. He started losing control, one or two drops sagged to the earth. He struggled to force them back up, and others floated too close to him. It didn't look right, but he was completely absorbed in keeping it away from him and in the air.

"Now swirl the liquid over your head like a whip - this is one of the easiest shapes. Now! Incendio!"

The banner lit like a blaze over Snape's head. Snape's black eyes mirrored the quicksilver flame, entranced and glorying in its beauty.

Harry tried gamely, but only a little at the end of his wand followed his lead. The rest floated around him like autumn milkweed.

"Incendio!" Harry imitated Snape as best he could.

On the other side of the sudden blue-white blaze, he saw Snape's head turn in shock.

Harry stirred in the darkness. No. Not quite darkness. There was a faint bluish light… that came from… from… himself. Harry heard a moan. Then he recognized it was his own voice. St. Elmo's fire ran lazily up and down Harry's arms. Strange. He watched it dance, slowly, lighting the bed slightly.

"Don't move, Harry," commanded an urgent, concerned voice, distantly familiar.

But Harry couldn't help shake his head and wonder where he was. He tried to sit up - and the light increased and ran like water down his arms, as he heard someone race to his side. Peculiar -

"Harry - !" Snape said. But there was a jolt and a flash.

Harry woke again, to the sound of voices. It was daylight. He was under a black duvet. The sheets… felt like silk. The room about him was unfamiliar. High ceilings. White walls. The furniture was all of dark wood. Through the doorway he could see a small kitchenette. That looked promising. Harry was suddenly hungry. He could now make out Professor Snape's voice, though he couldn't hear who he was talking to.

"He is indisposed. As am I. Yes, of course he's all right! We are merely working on these special classes of his. Yes, they are going well - or they were until you interrupted, to just 'drop by.' He can catch up on his other homework later. Good day to you!"

Harry heard the door slam. So these must be Snape's quarters, Harry thought idly. Nice. Somehow he expected something creepy, stuffed spiders for cushions maybe, Goya prints, decorative electric chair perhaps? But this was positively normal, elegant even.

He didn't care what got rid of the visitors, only that they went away. He was so tired.

Harry looked down at his arms. There was no more blue fire he noticed with relief. And he no longer felt like a thirty-watt light bulb. Pretty as it was, it had not been a comfortable feeling, watching yourself glow in the dark. He shut his eyes and sleep won over hunger.

What seemed like only moments later, Harry felt a firm weight settle on the bed next to him. He opened heavy eyes and murmured a protest. Snape, he saw, was wrapped in a dark robe, his black hair hung in lank strands on his face. He looked even more haggard than usual, dark circles and lines etched in his face, as though he hadn't slept in some time.

"Busybody. McGonagall's been sniffing around," Snape scowled. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders and helped him to sit up. In his hands was a bowl of something steaming that smelled wonderful. "Here. It's been a day and a half. You have to eat something. I've Sealed the quarters, in case Minerva tries to push my welcome. That leaves out the house elves. You will have to suffer through my cooking. Tell me if you are too weak to hold it up, and I will spoon feed you if I must. But you will not spill on my duvet!"

The stew was excellent, however. Harry managed not to spill any, as he didn't like the idea being fed like a baby by Severus Snape. Harry was nearly through the bowl when a thought occurred to him.

"Have you eaten?"

Snape snorted. "I will. There hasn't been much time. I did not fancy your becoming a cinder in my bed."

Harry stopped mid-bite.

"Indeed. It was a near thing. We are quite fortunate, Harry, that I had nearly the same 'accident' years ago. Otherwise I would not have known how to tend you." Snape took his empty bowl and set it down. He gazed directly into Harry's eyes, as if to impress the lesson on him.

"Harry, listen to me: while this is partially my fault, I should have been watching - " Harry could see that admission was a bitter taste for Snape. " - you must have complete control in Dark Magic! Not a whisker, not a hair can be out of place! The Dark Arts… cannot be undone. They are not like the simple little school hexes you've hitherto learned. For those, there are always counter charms, if not twenty such. But the Dark Magic, it is too extreme for counterspells. It is permanent. Like walking off a cliff. The best one can do is repair the damage."

Harry looked at his hands, noticing for the first time the spider web of criss-crossing bluish scars that ran over his skin. It looked as though he had been sliced to ribbons. He pushed up his sleeve urgently - realizing now he was in a black satin nightshirt, probably Snape's - and saw the scars were all over his arms, his chest… everywhere.

"They are looking much better. Now." Snape said wryly. "But no, you are not quite your usual pretty sight. It will require a couple more days to heal, I believe. I can stall Minerva for at least that long." Snape scanned him, and his eyes settled briefly on his chest. Harry realized his nightshirt was open, and buttoned it with a blush.

Harry felt suddenly very tired, as if merely eating had taken all of his energy. His head drifted back to the pillow. He heard rather than saw Snape stand and pick up his bowl, and walk across the room; heard the charm as Snape conjured a cot, blankets and some pillows. A last thought occurred to Harry as he drifted off to sleep… Snape, you have really screwed up this time, haven't you?

He didn't think he had said it aloud, but Snape answered.

"Yes. Do me this one favor, and live. I owe Dumbledore a great deal, and I'd rather not repay it by losing him his famous Harry Potter."

Finis. Next: 'In the Lair of the Snape.'