Chapter 2 - A Forced Retreat
The term rolled on. Isolated as the students were at Hogwarts, the mood from outside leached in by measure as the weeks went by. Students joked around less in the corridors between classes, were more likely to be quiet in the evenings, and even more likely to be fighting rather than just arguing.
"The Werters have disappeared," Hermione said, reading the back page of the Prophet as she always did before the other pages now.
"Who are they now?" Ron asked.
"Begonia Werter was . . . is a reporter with the Prophet, which is probably the only reason they mentioned it. It says she and her husband, the noted Turning Tulip breeder went missing while traveling to visit a sick aunt."
Every morning, Harry felt a weight on his chest when these discussions took place. This was his problem more than anyone's. He rubbed his scar as though expecting it to burn any moment. The Occlumency lessons had paid off in the end, he rarely felt anything except very strong fleeting emotions from Voldemort since the end of last year. He forced himself to breath deeply past the constriction on his chest and felt better for it.
Harry frowned at his breakfast, frustrated at being in school when everyone else was risking themselves. Putting seven Death Eaters in Azkaban hadn't slowed down Voldemort very much, Harry thought. Not as much as one would have hoped. He sensed with a gnawing worry that the Order were losing ground. Wizards now seemed to be too willing to opt for the immediately safe option of staying out of the way. In the end they would regret it, but by then it would be too late.
Hermione, Ron and Ginny stayed over with Harry for Christmas break, something Harry was very grateful for. The first day of break they bundled up and walked down to Hogsmeade to see it decked out in wreaths and ribbons. All of them knew they each had last minute shopping to do as well and after warm cocoa, personally steamed by Madame Rosmerta, they split up with embarrassed glances at each other.
After several purchases, Harry strode away from the quill shop when he heard a psst! from the nearby alley. He jogged over and grinned at Ron as he surreptitiously reached into his shopping bag and lifted out a pearl necklace. "What do you think?" he asked nervously.
Harry's eyes went a little wide. "How did you pay for that?" he asked.
"I've been saving and I borrowed a little from Fred and George."
"I think she'll love it." Harry paused. "That is for Hermione, right?" Harry confirmed.
"Yeah, mate," Ron replied as though speaking to an idiot.
"Well, I didn't know. Maybe it was for your mum or something," Harry defended himself.
"Oy. If I got my mum something that expensive she'd kipper me," Ron said. He put the box carefully back in the bag and put his hand knitted mitten back on from where he held it between his knees. "What is it?" Ron said to Harry.
Harry's eyes had glazed over. He stared at the peeling paint of the outside wall of Zonkos. His scar didn't so much burn as radiate pain the way the sun radiates light. "Ron, get out your wand," he said in a daze as he pulled his own out.
"What?"
Harry dropped his voice. "Put down the bag and get out-" An absolute cold washed through him. On automatic, Harry put a heating charm on himself and as Ron's movements slowed, on Ron as well.
"What was that?" Ron asked fearfully.
"I don't know. Keep repeating the heating spell." Harry moved to press himself against the wall of the shop and peek around down the street. It was full of frozen shoppers.
"Ginny!" Ron whispered as he spied the red hair of his sister across the street, frozen as she stared in the window of Honeydukes. Ron took off across the rutted, snowy path to the other side of the street.
"Ron!" Harry whispered urgently and made a grab for his friend, but too late. Harry pressed himself back again, somehow certain which direction danger came from. He watched Ron stagger across the road, hitting himself with his wand as he threw his legs out wide with each step. He heaved his stiff sister over his shoulder and carried her to the alley across the way. He spelled her repeatedly with a heating charm until she collapsed in the snow. Harry hoped that was the right thing for his friend to have done for her.
Harry bent over and pressed his palm to his scar and held back a cry of pain. Finally he managed to straighten and dared glance down the street. From the outskirts of town cloaked, hooded figures moved into the road and headed their way.
"Yeah, just you dare come up here, you bastard," Harry murmured and began prepping spells in his mind. Fury filled Harry then overflowed, making him think he wouldn't need another heating charm. Activity behind him made him spin around with his wand out. On the back narrow path behind the shops, Dumbledore and a few teachers gathered. Harry's shoulders fell in relief. Most of the teachers scattered, apparently with instructions. Harry glanced back down the main street. The Death Eaters were moving stealthily down the road, using frozen wizards and witches for cover as they progressed. Harry turned back to look at the headmaster. Dumbledore pulled a shiny ball from his pocket and handed it to Snape, who palmed it and headed toward Harry. Harry watched the Potions professor approach as he frequently checked the Death Eaters' slow progress with his wand at ready.
"Potter," Snape said from beside him.
Harry turned to him and felt his wrist being enclosed in long fingers. His hand contacted something metal and warm. "No!" Harry shouted as the familiar hook grabbed a hold of his navel and his feet contacted untrampled snow. He jerked back and bumped into a sapling which gave then sprung straight, pushing him aside. "No!" he shouted again, furious this time. "Why the hell did you do that?" he shouted at Snape and growled in anger.
Snape paused a moment before replying. "The Headmaster ordered me to, Potter." He turned and set the portkey in the triple fork of a small tree.
Harry rubbed his scar which had eased considerably although it still throbbed menacingly. "Ron and Ginny needed help!" Harry ranted at him, barely controlling the urge to shift from furious to something more violent.
"Help was fast arriving, Mr. Potter. You can be assured." Snape spoke calmly, which aggravated Harry even as it eased his panic. Snape considered him a long moment before stepping over and grabbing his arm.
"What now?" Harry asked rudely.
That world popped out and another popped in. The snow lay deeper here and the wind blew fiercer as it whipped through the bare brush around them. Snape stepped away and Harry, after a moment's hesitation, followed.
"Can I ask where we are?" Harry said when he finally caught up with his much longer-legged Professor.
"Somewhere I do not expect the Dark Lord to look for you," Snape answered calmly.
Harry followed in silence for over forty-five minutes. Long enough that his short boots had filled with snow and now icy water. Long enough that his rabbit-lined gloves no longer kept the feeling in his fingertips. He felt deaf from the cold wind when the walk through the woods finally ended. Snape stepped onto a two-track and abruptly turned right. He checked back to make sure Harry still hung behind him and picked a trail around a deep drift. Fifty yards on, a clearing revealed a small manor house of sorts with a black wrought iron fence around it.
Harry waited a few steps back as instructed while Snape opened a doorway into what turned out to be several layers of rather complicated spells surrounding the property. He took Harry's shoulders and steered him through the gate with an admonishment to be careful to the sides of him. Harry waited again on the other side as the spells were resealed.
"Is this your house?" Harry asked, his brain finally thawing a little.
"Yes," Snape replied as he stepped briskly past Harry and up the neatly shoveled walk, cleared just up to the gate in the fence.
"Who else is here?" Harry asked, not prepared to meet any more Snapes at this moment.
They reached the front door. "No one." The door handle turned without any further unlocking and Harry followed behind into the dark interior. A curtain beside Harry moved aside and grey-blue outside light filtered into the central hallway. Wrought iron steps rose overhead to the first floor. Snape stepped across the slate to to the far end of the hall. Harry followed after a moment, gazing into the drawing room on the right as he passed. His friends were going to want to hear all about this, he thought, as he tried to take in the details. The drawing room and then the dining room visible through the next doorway were disappointingly completely normal. Harry pulled off his gloves and blew on his fingers as he peered at the long mahogany table and dark blue furnishings.
"This way." Snape's voice interrupted Harry's touring. Harry turned as his teacher stepped down a set of stone stairs set in the floor, the opening protected by yet another iron railing. Harry followed slowly into the darkness, speeding up only when a wall-mounted oil lamp flared yellow to light the way at the bottom.
Harry expected dust and grime down here, but everything was clean and neat. "Who takes care of this place?" Harry asked as he stepped into a narrow room, clearly the kitchen, although it was one out of a museum. Outside light filtered through the small windows near the ceiling on one side.
"The house-elf, of course," Snape replied as he flicked his wand and the neatly prepared kindling and wood in the large cooking hearth ignited.
Harry wasn't a willing member of SPEW, but he wouldn't have defined that as "no one." He kept his comments to himself and moved over to stand before the blazing hearth which was nearly as tall as himself.
Snape removed his cloak, hanging it on a hook on the wall that made up the side of the hearth. He took Harry's damp cloak as well and hung it beside. Harry held his hands out to the radiating warmth of the fire. The long cold walk had left him stiff and tired but the heat chased away the stiffness nicely. Quickly, the fire became too much so he took off his soaked boots and set them beside the hearth bricks and stepped back until his face didn't sting from the heat.
Snape moved around the room, lighting the wall lamps and taking things out. Harry backed up to the roughhewn table and benches on the far end of the room and sat down. It was warm now all the way over here. He rested his chin on his hand and watched his professor take out potatoes, onions, and carrots from the pantry and reduce them to peeled and chopped with just a wave of a wand. They then went into the cauldron on a long arm along with several small bottles of milk and one of cream from an antique icebox. Harry had never before seen an actual icebox. Snape stirred the cauldron with a wooden spoon as he bent over to inspect it.
Harry laughed lightly at this and got a snide, "Something funny?" in response.
"Potato soup potion," Harry commented, trying to control his grin of amusement. Domesticity and Snape were not a combination that had previously seemed possible. Snape didn't reply. He used a double-hooked metal rod to rotate the arm so the cauldron hung over the fire, then he came over and sat on end of the bench opposite Harry, facing the fire.
"How long are we going to be here?" Harry asked.
"Until I receive an all-clear that it is safe to return."
"How will you get that?" Harry asked. Since Dumbledore's comment to him regarding Order communications, Harry had been very curious.
Snape put his hand on his chin as well. "That is not for you to know if you do not already."
"Like anything is," Harry commented bitterly.
A long pause ensued. "The headmaster is adamant that you be protected, Potter," Snape stated in annoyance.
Harry had looked away toward the fire but he now looked back at his professor and studied his hooked-nose profile. "You don't know why, do you?" Harry asked in surprise. That notion shook him a little. Everyone was so in the dark about everything; how could anything ever work out? How could he get help with this when he needed it if no one understood?
Snape continued to stare into the hearth. "My sense, Potter, is that only Dumbledore and Moody know that reason. Since I have not been told, you should not tell me." The last part of this came out quietly but with each word like a hammer strike.
Harry put his forehead on both of his palms as his chest felt too heavy to bear. No wonder Dumbledore hadn't told him the prophecy sooner; he obsessed over it now ever moment his mind wasn't otherwise occupied. Besides the tantalizing aroma of the soup there wasn't anything else to think about other than worrying about his friends in Hogsmeade.
They sat in silence for a long while until Snape stood up and left the room. Harry put his head down on this arms at that point and closed his eyes.
He didn't think he had fallen asleep but the next thing he knew, a bowl of something hot clunked onto the table in front of him. As he sat up, Snape handed him a bone-handled spoon and a cloth. Harry pulled the bowl closer, his stomach complaining painfully as he caught a whiff of the soup and the chopped ham floating on the surface.
"Thank you, sir," Harry said. He waited as Snape stepped over the bench and sat down. He had changed his robe for a dark blue one that Harry had never seen him wear for class. When his Professor started eating, Harry did as well. Each spoonful was boiling hot, requiring a lot of blowing before it was safe. Harry's stomach didn't unclench until he managed to get down half the bowl. "Good soup, sir," Harry remembered to say at that point.
"You sound surprised,' Snape commented with his usual snide. When Harry just shrugged, he went on. "You yourself commented that it is just a kind of potion."
Harry didn't risk any more comments through his two helpings of soup. The light coming in the small windows was fading as he set his bowl in the sink. The sink operated with a chain that connected to a weighted block that closed a carved marble sluice sticking out of the wall. Harry shook his head at the crudeness of it and mulled that without magic this all would be sheer drudgery.
Snape stepping up beside him brought Harry out of his thoughts. "I will show you where you can sleep," he said and walked out.
Harry followed him up the stone steps then up the metal ones, trying to keep his imagination at bay as to why it wasn't yet safe to return. A runner affixed down the middle of the iron staircase deadened the sound of their footsteps. At the first door along the landing, Snape indicated Harry should enter. Harry pushed the heavy door the rest of the way open and stepped into a large bedroom. Someone who liked reds of all kinds had decorated it a long time ago.
Snape hung in the doorway as Harry explored the room. "You may use anything you find. It certainly doesn't matter," he stated coldly and walked away.
Harry stared at the empty doorway a minute before opening the wardrobe. Three dark grey shirts hung there as well as a rather gaudy maroon lounge coat and a white and grey striped nightshirt. Harry took the nightshirt out and headed back down to the cellar where he had seen the toilet and bath.
The toilet was maybe only a hundred years old and therefore the height of modern water closet technology. The bath was a stone basin sunken halfway into the floor like something Caesar might have used. Another sluice led to it from what Harry now realized was a stone cistern built into the back wall of the kitchen hearth. At least that made sense even if cavemen could have constructed it. Harry washed up with a small towel and feeling much better, slipped on the nightshirt and headed back up to the bedroom. The sky was now completely black and the room lit only by the oil lamp by the bed. Exhausted and with nothing better to do, Harry crawled into the high bed and fell asleep.
Harry woke the next morning to a very cold room. Only now did he realize he should have lit the fire in the grate. He pulled out his wand and managed the damper before igniting a fire, all without leaving the warmth of the down duvet. Curling back up to wait for the room to warm, Harry wondered again what might be going on. Certainly Dumbledore, the teachers and other members of the Order quickly repelled the Death Eaters from Hogsmeade. Unable to imagine why they had chosen to attack, he moved on to worrying about Ginny and Hermione and any of the other frozen witches and wizards. Maybe that was what required so much time, getting everyone unspelled again.
Finally when it was warm enough, Harry slid out of bed and over to the wardrobe. His own clothes and robe were gone--he could only assume the house-elf had taken them for a well needed cleaning. The red housecoat looked as garish in the morning light as it had the night before. Frowning, he slipped it on and checked himself in the narrow mirror inside the door of the wardrobe. It didn't look as odd on him as it did on the hanger. He spelled the hem shorter so it didn't drag on the ground and tucked his wand into the very convenient wand pocket beside the lapel.
Feeling a little silly, he put his hands in the large side pockets and leaned back a little to mimic a distinguished, middle-aged person. His left hand encountered something hard and oddly shaped. He pulled it out. It was a silver-plated cat in an elongated pose with an elongated body. He fingered it a long minute before pocketing it again, feeling as though he didn't have the right to remove it even if no one cared he wore the robe.
The scent of breakfast led him back down to the kitchen. Snape gave his mode of dress a sharp once-over, then ignored it. Harry took his same seat at the servant's table and had a plate of baked beans and fried egg set in front of him. Dazed, he watched as a rusted metal box was swung out of the fire and toasted bread removed from it with two slices set on his plate and two on the plate across from him. Lastly, Snape came over with a heavy skillet full of sizzling bacon. He forked two slices out for himself and then the rest for Harry. The soft, noisy strips formed a literal mound on his plate between the beans and the egg.
Harry just stared at it.
Snape returned and sat down and picked up his own fork, then stopped when he spotted Harry's expression or lack thereof. "Potter, is something the matter?" he asked in confusion.
Something felt very wrong, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it, precisely. The bacon smelled really good, making him dizzy with hunger. The notion that Snape, of all people, would automatically treat him better than his aunt and uncle was definitely making him feel odd, but that only seemed to get at the surface emotions swirling in him.
Snape set his fork down and put his chin on his hand. He considered Harry a while. "Potter, I don't think I've ever seen anyone undone by a double portion of bacon before." It could have been a snide comment, but it came out merely factual.
Because he couldn't bear to look up, Harry took his fork and twirled a piece of bacon around the teins. It tasted even better than it smelled. A bite of toast absorbed the oil pooling on his tongue. He noticed again with a twinge that Snape had made several things for him that he wasn't even eating himself. He also noticed that Snape hadn't started eating yet, just watched him closely. The scrutiny made his morning hunger flee faster than eating could have.
Snape finally took a bite of toast. "What is it with you and breakfast?" he asked.
Harry shrugged but it was too obviously a diversion. He piled some beans onto his toast and ate it, careful to keep it level. They were good too.
"The potato soup didn't bring on this reaction," Snape stated as though thinking aloud.
Harry closed his eyes a moment. His Professor clearly wasn't going to let it go and this pursuit of an explanation was too much to take along with everything else he was worried about. Taking a deep breath to loosen his chest, Harry said quietly, "My aunt and uncle used to punish me by not feeding me." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Shame flushed his cheeks. Snape already thought as little of him as Harry ever imagined anyone thinking, this certainly wasn't going to help.
The scent of the bacon as he stabbed another piece on his fork reminded him of tortuous starved mornings of making breakfast when he wasn't allowed to eat any of it.
Snape put his fork down again. "For how long at a time?"
Harry swallowed hard. His mind wanted to not be hungry but his stomach disagreed. "A few days. The longest was supposed to be a week but I passed out, I think, before then." More blood tried to rush to his face and he fought it valiantly.
"Is that legal in the Muggle world?"
Harry blinked at him and shrugged. That had never occurred to him.
"What transgression did you commit to justify such treatment?" Snape asked, still in a factual tone.
Harry thought a moment, scratching his chest and slouching a little more. "Doing magic, I guess," he said, dredging through memories he had left lying for a long time. At Snape's raised brow, he added defensively, "I didn't know what it was."
"Didn't know what what was?" Snape asked.
"Huh?" Harry asked in return, feeling as though he'd lost the thread.
Snape sat back. "I'm sorry, Potter. I thought you just said you didn't know what magic was."
"I didn't know," Harry said, confused and more embarrassed. He had always assumed all the teachers knew that he had grown up not knowing about magic. Maybe Hagrid was the only one and Dumbledore hadn't told anyone else. The topic had never come up directly. "I didn't know about magic until Hagrid came to take me to school."
The Potions professor looked about as stunned as Harry had ever seen him, though maybe not as stunned as when Harry talked to the snake during Dueling Club in second year.
"And your scar was explained to you, how?" Snape asked a little sharply.
"Oh," he said and rubbed it unconsciously. He wished even more that this conversation had never gotten started. "They told me I got it in the car accident that they claimed killed my parents."
His professor rubbed his eyebrow slowly with his fingertips as he took that in. "But they knew better, I presume?"
"Yes. They admitted later they were trying beat magic out of me," Harry added darkly.
Snape stood suddenly and took both plates away. He poured out two coffees from a small, strange silver pot and brought those back. Harry felt relieved to have gotten that out in the open but more uneasy in other ways, as though he had shown Snape an opening he could abuse.
They sipped coffee in silence with only the fire in the hearth making significant noise. Snape stared into his cup. A stained crack ran from the lip almost to the base. He traced it with one long finger. "Did you complain to the headmaster before he sent you back to your relatives for the summer?" Snape sounded curious now.
Harry wanted the topic ended. "He didn't give me any choice. He didn't explain why until later--he told me it was the only place I was safe from Voldemort." Snape flinched and clenched his cup hard a moment. "Sorry," Harry said. He really hadn't meant to name him; he wasn't feeling nearly secure or defiant enough at the moment.
After Snape continued to stare at him as though trying to work that out, Harry explained, "Dumbledore extended the old magic that protected me the last time, but it only works with my aunt."
"That is not part of what you are not supposed to tell me--is it, Potter?"
Harry laughed, a scoff really. "No."
Snape relaxed marginally and finished off his coffee.
"Still no signal?" Harry asked.
"I will tell you immediately when there is," his teacher explained and stood up. "If you feel like reading something there are a number of volumes in the library. Bring your cup if you wish."
Harry stood up and followed his professor out and up to the ground floor. Across the hall from the dining room was a sizable library. Harry set his cup down beside one of the overstuffed chairs and perused the shelves. Of the three books on Quidditch, there was one he had never seen: Quidditch for the Quality. He frowned at the title but took it over to the chair and opened it at random. Snape, who had moved to the writing desk and pulled out a sheaf of parchments, paid no attention to him.
Harry flipped through a few sections of the book and then decided to start at the beginning. The book was clearly a copy his professor had owned in school. The margin had the occasional remark about the text or about someone else. Someone named Boris had also added the occasional note or diagram of a play. The book itself was full of arcane strategy, much more complicated then anything they ever tried to run at school. He wondered idly if Snape would let him borrow it. When he turned the page and found a scrawled note referring to James Potter as an obnoxious jerk, Harry figured he could find another copy.
He glanced surreptitiously at Snape working at the desk, deep in something involving several piles of parchment. He turned back to the book and ran his finger over the scrawled writing. The nib had torn through the page on the "t"s in "Potter." Harry stared at the unfaded India ink, feeling nothing except a kind of hollowness. He turned the page and forced himself to start reading about a play called the Gradient Gorge.
After an hour, Harry traded the book back to the shelf for one on dueling that looked too stodgy to be a schoolbook. He expected at any moment to be called back to Hogwarts. Each hour seemed surprisingly long as a result.
Notes
To snapefan, thanks for pointing out that brain warp word replacement there. A Red Bludger isn't a complete stretch, but not what I was going for.
To Esmerelda Black, adultfanfiction.net seems to be in a state of chaos, some very nice person sent me a rather long list of potential places. I'll have to pick one by chapter 3 :) or risk you all coming through my internet connection at me.
To byron245, well gosh, didn't honestly realize I was doing that well. If the mood strikes, I'll fix it up a bit, but it will still be hanging because the best I can see is figuring out what exactly Harry can be useful for within the Order without putting him at risk. That and resolving his sexual awareness a bit better, which is what I was trying to do with Ginny. Hm, maybe the elements are there and I just didn't execute them satisfactorily. hmmm and hmmm.
To ntamera, this is so snarry it is barbed wire and bear traps.
To xikum, interesting observation, hadn't thought of that. Just found it realistic for Dumbledore to have his own reasons for things, and too bad, that's the way it is going to be.
To Slytherinkid07, length, let's see . . . the draft is 140 pages and it is missing some stuff near the middle (where Harry turns evil and thinks he's a hobbit) and the end (breaking up is hard to do, and how pissed does mcgonagall get when you blackmail her). I'd say 200 pages thereabouts. (Just a little exaggeration on the plot there--just a little)