Author's note: I don't intend to start replying to reviews individually at the beginning of chapters ('cos that always tends to get out of hand), but I do want to thank my 'regulars' (Silverthreads, Zachiliam, Ezmerelda...) and those of you who e-mail me direct (you know who you are...). I can't tell you how much it means to me when you are all so supportive. I'm really shy about sharing my writing, and I hope this story lives up to your impossibly high expectations. Thanks guys.
Chapter 2 recaps a bit - it seemed important to make it clear at the beginning who knew what, otherwise their different reactions as the story develops would be meaningless. But things do branch out later on, I promise.
LOST PERSPECTIVE III: REPERCUSSIONS
By Bellegeste
CHAPTER 2: HARDLY A HERO'S WELCOME
"Wotcha mate! Beamed back from your 'away mission' then? Crikey, you don't look like you've been tortured - more like you've had a week on Risa!"
Ron was standing at the end of Harry's four-poster, wearing his new purple pyjamas that already seemed several inches too short in the leg, and grinning widely. He had flung aside the bed's curtains, surprised to find them drawn, and had been even more surprised to see Harry, curled up asleep under the eiderdown, as if he had never been away.
"Morning, Ron." Out of habit, Harry reached for his glasses and poked them onto his nose, only to find Ron's cheery face slipping out of focus. He could see better without them. "It's good to be back. You're still on another planet, then? Is there something the matter?" Harry tried to keep his voice steady.
The look on Ron's face was one of mingled concern, curiosity and anticlimax, as though in some strange way he had been cheated.
"You look OK to me," Ron said, grabbing the covers and yanking hard so that Harry was left exposed and chilly on the bare sheets. Ron's disappointed expression reminded Harry of Christmas, when he had ripped into an intriguingly wrapped parcel, only to find another of Mrs Weasley's hand-knitted jumpers.
"But Dumbledore told us you'd been horribly mutilated beyond all recognition, and that you were confined to sick-bay for genetonic replication and DNA re-sequencing," said Ron, still talking in space-speak.
"In English, Ron." Harry was trying to be patient.
"Well, he said you and Snape had been hurt, and that you had been sent somewhere to get better." The truth was clearly not half so appealing.
By this time Dean and Seamus had also woken up and they too appeared, rumpled and crusty-eyed, at the foot of Harry's bed.
"That's a Galleon you'll be owing me then, Thomas," Seamus pronounced, after counting Harry's limbs and finding them present and intact. Ron's graphic fabrication explaining Harry's absence was obviously the accepted version. What odds, he wondered, had they been offering, for him returning with a leg, eye or finger missing?
After the Spartan solitude of his room at Snape Cottage, the boisterous camaraderie of the Gryffindor dorm was comforting. A week ago Harry had not felt resilient enough to face his friends at all, but over the past seven days he had done a lot of thinking and re-evaluating, and he felt stronger, more secure in himself, prepared even to flex the muscles of his new identity.
The others were still examining him quizzically - it was as though the parts of his body were objects on a tray in a game of human anatomical Pelmanism, and the cloth had just been whisked away.
"Definitely somethin' diff'rent... about the hair, wouldn't ya say?" Seamus's fingers were twitching, dying to give a quick, experimental tug at Harry's fringe. "And the nose - I mean, it always was gross, but now..."
Harry had to think quickly. While he had been with Snape he hadn't had to consider his appearance.
"C'mon guys, what is this? What do you expect? I've just been brutally dismembered, right? And - what was it, Ron? - 'biogenically regenerated'! You can't expect me to look identical. So my hair's gone a bit floppy - it's the shock. It'll probably have turned completely white by tomorrow. And my nose got broken, OK? They had to reset it. You wouldn't exactly be looking your best if you'd had to spend a whole week on your own with Snape."
That won him the sympathy vote.
As far as the truth went, Harry was steering a middle course between the cosy 'Snape-is-my-father - he'll save me from big, bad Voldemort' scenario which he had fed to Hermione, and the more accurate, harsher story that Draco knew - the one that, however, omitted to mention the Snape family connection. So long as Malfoy and Hermione never got together to compare notes - and that was hardly likely - Harry reckoned he might just get away with it. In his discussions with Snape they had somehow always managed to skirt round the issue - it was tacitly acknowledged that, sooner or later, they would go public, but neither of them wanted to take the final plunge. Did that make two things on which they actually agreed?
For one excruciating moment, as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry imagined the students were going to give him a standing ovation. There was an awful scraping sound of benches being pushed back, as dozens of bodies squirmed round in their seats to get a glimpse of him making his way to the Gryffindor table. But then he caught the muttered comments as he passed by:
"I told you so!"
"You promised to double it if he wasn't limping..."
"Not even a tooth missing!"
"Not a bruise in sight!"
No, thought Harry to himself, the bruises are all out of sight, under my robes. His ribs were still very tender, and the sore welts on his thighs chafed against his trousers with every step. It was my own stupid fault, he reflected. I should never have gone to the Manor. I shouldn't have disobeyed him.
If his classmates had also been running a Tote on his state of health, they were more tactful about concealing it. They crowded round, genuinely pleased to see him. Harry wished they wouldn't press quite so close, and once or twice he found himself wincing as someone patted him on the back a bit too heartily for comfort. He found himself sitting squashed between Hermione and Ginny, with Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville leaning across the table and the rest of the Gryffindors concertinaed into less than half the usual space as they all craned to hear what he was saying.
"You mean you've been living in the 'Snake-pit' with the greasy git for a whole week - and you're still alive?" Ron was thunder-struck. "Or has he really killed you off and reconstructed a replacement with Polyjuice Potion?" He jabbed Harry's arm, as though that might give some indication of authenticity.
"Ow! That hurt!" exclaimed Harry. It did; there was another huge bruise on his shoulder. "You'll just have to wait an hour for it to wear off, and see if I turn back into Quig."
"Into who?"
Harry had deliberated for a long time over what details of Snape's private life it would be acceptable to disclose. Surely it couldn't hurt to mention that he had a house elf? As he had suspected she would, Hermione positively warbled with approval when he described how Snape employed the elf in spite of his infirmities and idiosyncratic cuisine. She was equally charmed by the idea of Snape using sign language to communicate with the deaf elf; her formerly negative opinion of the Potions master seemed to have taken a radical U-turn.
Harry tried to laugh off the part about Voldemort and the cellar, emphasising the 'gallant Harry to the rescue' angle - anything else would be too painful to discuss heroically in front of his adoring audience. Even so, Hermione's eyes had misted at his description of Snape's injuries.
"Is he alright? Did you look after him?" she whispered, her voice rather too syrupy for Harry's liking. Whatever sickly notion she was entertaining of dramatic, father-son 'bonding' sessions needed to be firmly scotched. He 'humphed' in a non-committal way.
"Because he looks like death-warmed-up this morning," she continued.
They both turned their attention to top table, where Professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall were locked in conversation, their expressions earnest. McGonagall in particular looked shocked; they could see her square-ish spectacles lifting slightly off the bridge of her nose every time she raised her eyebrows. At one point she uttered a sharp gasp of surprise, and Harry saw Snape flick his hair back with a crisp toss of his head, an angry gesture which Harry had come to recognise only too well. Now that Hermione mentioned it, Harry noticed that his father did look a lot worse than when he had seen him last.
He was feeling rather ticked-off with Snape. On what would have been their final day together at Snape Cottage, Harry had come down to find a short note telling him that Snape was otherwise engaged and with instructions to Floo back to Hogwarts alone that evening. It wasn't that Harry minded being on his own; it was just that he had imagined things differently...
Hermione was still harping on about Snape with, it seemed to Harry, quite unnecessary solicitude.
"He was lucky there was no long-term spell damage. When you think of how Lockhart ended up - and that was only one back-firing wand. I read somewhere that a single Cruciatus is the equivalent of being struck by lightning - it can cause all sorts of neurological problems," she said seriously.
"Cascade failure in the neural net! Feedback overload in the positronic matrix!" Ron chipped-in, not solicitous at all.
Hermione glared at him. For days Ron had been driving her to distraction, spreading his insensitive rumours that Snape and Harry would return in a mangled pulp - crippled, bonkers, or both. It had certainly swayed the betting in his favour: he had staked his entire allowance on Harry's escaping unscathed. And the space routine, she sniffed superciliously, had worn thinner than Ron's socks.
"I'm warning you, Ron!" Then she picked-up her theme, "Was he OK last week?"
Harry struggled with the definition of 'OK', chasing it around his plate like a piece of gristle. What, in relation to Snape, constituted 'OK'?
"He was a bit fraught at first..." he ventured.
"Emotion chip malfunction!"
"Right! That's it! I've had enough!" Hermione cracked. "You'll thank me for this one day, Ron." She whipped out her wand and shot it at Ron before he had a chance to run or duck or defend himself. "HICCOBUBBLUS!"
A froth of spangly, pink powder fizzed out of the wand and swirled around Ron's head in a perfumed, pastel cloud. The air was sickly-sweet with the smell of bubblegum. Everyone stared at Ron expectantly. Apart from a fine, rosy dusting around his nostrils, he appeared to have suffered no ill-effects whatsoever. He gave a scathing grunt.
"Huh! Damp squib!"
"Don't let Filch hear you say that," muttered Harry.
"Nice try, Hermione. Oooh, I'm so scared! Is that the best you can do? That's a bit fluffy for you, isn't it? Not up to your usual standard!"
"You'll see," she said, ominously complacent.
The Gryffindor crowd thinned rapidly, having more respect for the pink froth spell than Ron - did they know something he didn't? - and not wishing to chance their luck. Ron himself hung back, reluctant to leave Harry, but keeping well out of Hermione's line of fire. Ginny, in a show of Weasley loyalty, stayed with him, but left shortly to join her latest crush, Terry Boot, who was with Luna Lovegood, Padma Patil and a gang of Ravenclaws, punctually on their way to their first lesson. Soon only the three friends were left at the long table.
"So now you can tell us what really happened," Hermione said.
Harry wanted to check what had been said in his absence before he committed himself to any explanations. 'Can't stroke a Hippogriff without bowing first. It pays to be prepared and cautious' he told himself, then recoiled as he remembered Snape saying almost exactly the same thing. 'I'm even beginning to think like him'. It was not a happy thought.
"Why don't you tell me what's been going on here," he suggested. Hermione obliged.
"We were all frantic with worry. First there was Malfoy saying that you'd been kidnapped by You-Know-Who. We didn't know whether to believe him or not - it might have been some nasty Slytherin scam. But then Professor Snape disappeared too - he tried to rescue you, didn't he Harry ? I just knew he would! See, I've always said Dumbledore was right to trust him. Even before he knew he..."
Harry rolled his eyes towards Ron and shook his head imperceptibly. Hermione understood at once. As she was speaking, Harry felt a sharp, stinging pain and a blow, as though he had taken a direct Bludger to the head. A crusty bread roll, thrown with considerable accuracy and force, had hit him on the left ear. He looked up in time to catch Malfoy's eyes as the Slytherin tilted his blond head in Snape's direction and sliced his finger across his throat in a significant gesture.
Hermione was still talking.
"And then when neither of you came back, everyone started to panic. Dumbledore made an announcement in Hall and said that if anyone had any information we should speak to him. So I went, but I didn't know how much I should tell him. I didn't let on about - you know." Ron was giving her a puzzled look. She rushed on,
"Dumbledore questioned Malfoy for ages. I think he thought he knew more than he was saying. I can see why he might think that - Malfoy didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about you. And I thought you two were friends. Some friend he turned out to be!"
Harry nodded, chewing, as he tried to catch up on his breakfast while someone else was doing the talking. The mouthful of toast lodged in his throat like a dung-bomb as he noticed his father rising abruptly, leaving High Table and bearing down upon him. Harry swallowed dryly, his throat muscles contracting like a python digesting an entire antelope.
"Potter. My office at break. Don't be late." Snape's voice was smooth and impersonal. Then he was gone, striding away down the Hall without a backward glance.
"Hey! Did you see that?" Ron exclaimed hotly, hugely indignant on Harry's behalf. "Don't stand for it, Harry! That's assault! Sue him. You know your rights! Get him dismissed for abuse! He put his hand on your arm!"
"Did he? No, he didn't. I don't think he did," said Harry, deliberately neutral, his shoulder still tingling from the momentary pressure of Snape's touch...
END OF CHAPTER. Next chapter: DIVIDED LOYALTIES. Snape, Harry and Lupin are all unhappy, for various reasons... Has Lupin discovered Harry's secret?
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