LOST PERSPECTIVE 7
PAYBACK TIME
By Bellegeste
A/N: here's today's installment. Another short one, but there's actually quite a lot going on in this chapter if you read in between the lines.
Silverthreads: if you want a longer chapter, hang on until chapter 16. That's very long! LOL (Actually it's the one-shot that this story grew from).
Chapter 5: DUMBLEDORE'S DIAGNOSIS
If Dumbledore was surprised, or even alarmed, by the unexpected appearance of Snape, Harry and Hermione in his sitting room in the early hours of Boxing Day morning, he did not show it. One might easily make the mistake of believing it to be a regular occurrence. And yet he set aside his Christmas cocoa, and left it half-finished, cooling to brown-skinned undrinkability; while that other night-cap - the long, soft, pointed, brushed-cotton version, in stripy grey with the purple pom-pom – slipped from his silvery hair and lay forgotten and unheeded on the rug.
Fawkes, however, emitted a piercing screech, neck feathers fluffing. From his perch he surveyed the humans with a distrustful, glittering, aristocratic eye, disapproving of the night-time disturbance. Several of the portraits gave a bleary yawn, taking in the unusual scene, and settled back in their frames for a spot of seasonal eavesdropping.
"My goodness! Whatever can have happened? Is everything all right? Well, sit down now you're here… Can I offer anyone a Sherbet Comfit? Or cocoa? Let me build up the fire - it's none too warm in here… I was under the impression that visiting hours were over," Dumbledore commented mildly, wondering which of the three would be the one to offer an explanation. He was anticipating a cursory 'Forgive the intrusion, Headmaster' from Severus, but the Potions master was grimly taciturn.
"Is it not more customary for the – er – visitors to come to the hospital, rather than vice versa?"
Each of them seemed to be waiting for the other to speak, listening for their cue.
Unruffled perhaps, but not unobservant, Dumbledore registered new undertones of harmony and discord within the trio - a chorus of tension; solo preoccupations. He noted the girl's anxious hand on Severus' arm, guiding him to an armchair; the evidence of recent injury; the general air of exhaustion; the relief on the two students' faces as they flopped down, dumping their concerns at his feet like heavy bags of shopping.
"Severus, you're hurt."
"It's nothing, Headmaster. Superficial scratches."
"Nonetheless, let me look."
With a fine delicacy of touch, he tilted the Potion master's head up a little, examining his neck. The tell-tale traces of the attempted strangulation were fading but still visible.
"Despicable!" Anger lines creased the old wizard's brow. "Severus, who did this to you?"
Snape sighed; Hermione looked uncomfortable. Harry exclaimed heatedly,
"It was a Death Eater! I almost caught him. I'd got him cornered, but he Disapparated - " Who was going to say he hadn't?
"An unforeseen development. Most unfortunate." Dumbledore was listening to Harry, his expression grave, but his attention did not waver from Snape's scarred face. "Shut your eyes now," he murmured, stroking his thumb lightly down the length of each of the remaining wounds that the Potion had missed. "There. That should do, until Poppy can take a proper look."
Snape submitted wordlessly to the Headmaster's ministrations, too drained to protest. Hermione was touched to witness this moment of unguarded acquiescence. She felt oddly like an anthropologist at the discovery of a hitherto unrecorded species.
"Your Healer appears to have opted for an aggressively proactive treatment," remarked Dumbledore dryly, observing the rapidly and recently healed marks. The blue eyes had made their own independent diagnosis of the situation. Snape did not correct him.
"Healer!" Hermione, on the other hand, thought it was time Dumbledore was set straight on a few facts. "He wouldn't -"
A silent veto flashed from Snape's eyes and she choked on the betrayal of confidence. To a casual onlooker, Snape might have been inclining his head to swing a stray strand of hair out of his face, but to Hermione the gesture was loaded with prohibition. She had seen Harry, on occasions, recoil from that stare as from a physical blow, and now she too felt its coercive force like a slap to the cheek. He might as well have shouted out loud, 'I alone shall decide when, how and to whom I shall divulge the details of tonight's attack." She did not agree, and yet she widened her eyes in assent. The pressure of his leaning head had left its impression in her loyalties - if he wanted to make light of what he had endured, it was up to him.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Oh, nothing, Professor Dumbledore." She shrank back into her chair, puzzled both by Snape's reproof and her own meek acceptance of it.
"Harry's arrival disturbed the assailant," Snape said deliberately, "before any serious damage was inflicted." He challenged them to contradict him.
This then was the version of events for public consumption, heavily censored and abridged – but for whose benefit? Why should Snape want to protect Harry or the Headmaster or anyone from the truth? He could have been killed tonight - shouldn't they know that?
"You have had a lucky escape then, Severus," Dumbledore gave an appropriate reply, with every appearance of sincerity.
Oh, for Merlin's sake! He doesn't believe a word of it - why doesn't he just say so? Hermione felt at a distinct disadvantage here - it seemed that Snape and Dumbledore were playing by some esoteric, adult, wizard rules; a code to which she was not privy. Bluff and counter-bluff.
With a wistful glance in the direction of his mug of cold cocoa, the old wizard settled himself back comfortably in his chair, pondering his next move. He pulled his dressing gown more tightly round him, tucking the long, purple and gold folds about his legs. There followed what Hermione could only assume was what is meant by a 'pregnant pause'… In the stillness, she became increasingly aware of the numerous clockwork gadgets and assorted enchanted devices in the round room, softly whirring, variously ticking. It's like waiting for a pronouncement from the Oracle…
"Ah, Miss Granger - my Portkey, if you would be so kind." Less than Delphic, Dumbledore held out his hand for the woollen sock - a Black Watch tartan design. "It would be as well to reunite it with its fellow, before I forget. They were a present from Professor McGonagall this time last year. One can never have too many socks!"
Hermione was only too glad to pass back the spelled garment. It was a convenient choice, she conceded, pulling it out of her pocket, but she couldn't help wishing that Dumbledore had Charmed something a little less personal - his kettle again, or a tea-pot, for example, or a coin or a badge. And, if he had to use a sock, why risk one of a pair? She'd bet he had a draw full of odd socks (doesn't everyone?), each yearning to acquire a new status and raison d'être as a functioning Portkey.
She sensed Dumbledore's questioning gaze upon her, but she felt herself unable to construct an answer that might not be – here she glanced tentatively over at Snape - incriminating. Now that they were all safe, the exhaustion had settled on her like a deep snowfall, blanketing her responses, muffling her thoughts in a sensory white-out.
Harry too was overcome by an immense tiredness. Was he fated never again to get a decent night's sleep? It certainly felt that way. He'd been trying to concentrate on what Dumbledore was saying, but, as the warmth of the re-lit fire stole through the room it was quilting his consciousness, bedding-down his brain in its softly padded glow…
"So then, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? If it were merely a question of delivering my Christmas gift in person, it could, I dare say, have waited until tomorrow… Which of you would care to explain what has been going on?" Professor Dumbledore asked finally, the query directed at each of them in turn. Harry gave himself a little shake and blinked. The sooner they got the questions out of the way, the sooner they could all get to sleep.
"Hermione woke me up," he began…
X X X
"…and so we used the Portkey. And here we are," he concluded.
"Indeed you are, my boy."
Dumbledore summoned his most avuncular smile, inwardly marvelling at their collective talent for omission and abbreviation and, if he were not much mistaken, deliberate obfuscation.
"And it's time the two of you - all of you - were in bed. There is not much we can do at this time of night. Given that the culprit escaped and will be long gone, I see little point in alerting the Ministry at this hour. I doubt if Cornelius would appreciate a Floo message right now. Oh, Harry, if you can endeavour to remain awake for a few more minutes, I have an errand for you. If you and Hermione could stop by the Owlery and send an owl to Madam Pomfrey, requesting her immediate return…"
"Waste of time. Don't bother," growled Snape.
"I'll be the judge of that, Severus. Off you both go then - the professor and I have matters to discuss. Don't worry, Hermione, I shall not detain him for long…"
Dumbledore watched as the two students set off down the spiral staircase, waiting until the change in the quality of their footsteps reassured him that they were in the corridor and heading away. Then he shut the door.
"You've frightened that girl, Severus," he observed.
"Too squeamish by half," replied Snape, dismissively.
"And Harry?"
"Is everything a Gryffindor should be - and less."
"Oh, I think we can allow the boy the occasional creative flourish - a touch of bravado never hurt anybody. So, he's embellished his story a little, has he? He only wants you to be proud of him."
"Pack of lies!" Snape snorted.
"So tell me the truth."
The bowed head lifted a fraction and Dumbledore found himself drawn into the depths of Snape's gaze, into blackness, into those two dark tunnels with no light at their end.
"You recognised your assailant, didn't you Severus?"
End of Chapter. So, what's going on? Any theories yet?
Next chapter: AVOIDANCE TACTICS. What is Snape hiding from Dumbledore?