Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 03 : Epithalamium

Part II : Oh What a Difference a Day Makes
Chapter Thirteen : The Big Uneasy

25 October 2003 (continued)

7:30 am

Groggy did not even begin to describe the confused state of mind Harry experienced when he first cracked his eyes open to the sunlight streaming into the bedchamber. Befuddled, addled, cloudy, foggy--they were all the same when the eyes worked fine and the brain refused to function at the same speed. He lay there, vision aimlessly tracking across the canopy above. His mind finally caught up to the fact that he was alive, breathing, and evidently in one piece, judging that he could now enumerate his body parts; they were no longer disconnected from his senses.

Actual thought occurred a few minutes later when he realised a normal morning ritual was sorely missing and, with a start, he looked to the side and saw the empty side of the bed next to him. Well, almost. There was a rather large lump under the covers near where his lover should have been. But no Severus. Dealing with his mysteries one at a time, he decided to investigate the lump first since it was closer. He gingerly peeled back the covers and was a bit surprised to see Horatio coiled up asleep in the bed with him. At least he thought he was asleep. It was hard to tell when the snake's eyes were always open.

But he was motionless. 'Odd that. Even asleep, Horatio is rarely still.' He hesitantly put out a hand and touched the black and white coils, expecting a startled hiss of welcome. When he got no response, he ran his finger over the pointed head saying, [Horatio? Wakesss up, Horatio. Are you sssleeping?] Horatio was very warm to the touch, his skin pliable, but he didn't move or speak. Harry shivered in the cold of the room. 'Perhaps the spell failed on the warming pillow and he got too cold last night? Went into hibernation? It is an awfully long hike from the sitting room to here if you're freezing. I don't think he's dead. That would be too terrible to contemplate today of all days.'

Today? Why today?

"Damn, it's my wedding day!" Energised, Harry jumped out of the bed. The snake still hadn't moved, but given that he was warm and pliable and of good colour, Harry didn't worry too much about him. Thinking he'd been comfortable under them before, he carefully placed the covers back on the snake and placed a warming spell over the spot so he wouldn't get cold, never noticing the injuries hidden within his coils. [Pleasssant dreamsss, Horatio. I will ssseesss you when you wakesss.]

The snake now at the back of his mind, he put on his slippers and dressing gown against the heavy chill, admiring the dawning sunshine outside. A short spell later and the fire in the grate was burning merrily, a pleasant complement to his mood. He grinned, thinking of last night and the not-so-subtle revenge the Potions master had exacted on the Healer for daring to 'replace' his desk. Given that the last thing he remembered was snuggling close to his lover afterwards in a haze of satiation, he could only assume he'd slept the night through. The more he thought on it, the more convinced he was that Severus had probably got out of bed after he was asleep to go wandering the castle. Since this answered a dim memory, whether of last night or of any other numerous nights before, he knew not, but he felt some relief that part of the mystery was solved.

However, it was only half of it. While Harry knew he was a heavy sleeper (especially after such a fitting 'punishment' Severus had seen fit to mete out) and that he normally would not awaken should Severus leave on one of his night-time jaunts, the man always returned no later than dawn, and he almost always woke him up, usually very early so they would have time to 'play' before rising to go about their respective schedules. And now that he thought about it, he suspected Severus had not been back to sleep at all. Harry couldn't see him tolerating Horatio's presence in their bed, no matter how much he liked the snake. That Severus, on this day of all days, had deviated so far from their normal routine was a bit of a shock, and it worried him a bit.

Not that he was, by any means, panicked--he'd had no foreshadowing of disaster, no undisturbed sleep, and oh! the day was so fine. He rummaged through the wardrobe getting his clothes for the day as the flames started to thaw the room nicely. A niggle of unease teased the back of his mind when he noticed Severus' heavy cloak was gone, but it had been unseasonably cold last night. Something else seemed to be missing, but he couldn't quite figure out what at the moment. He shook his head ruefully; this was not the time to let his spooked imagination get the best of him. Pulling out his clothes, he laid them neatly on the bed, careful not to place any on Horatio and went to the loo to finally relieve himself. Afterwards, a quick trip to the bath confirmed Severus' absence. He was starting to get annoyed.

He wandered into the sitting room and lit the fire there as well; Severus wasn't here either, nor could he see him in his study. Curious, he bent down and put his hand on Horatio's warming pillow and was surprised to feel it still warm and snug. Looking around the room and then spotting the mouse hole and droppings on the far side, he mused out loud, "Silly snake, went after a late-night snack and got too far from your warm bed, did you? Well, the bedchamber IS closer than the pillow from there. Must have been freezing in here. Poor thing, you must have run out of energy about the time you crawled under the covers. You know, Severus is right about you--you are a greedy gut."

Shaking his head about the whole strange situation and dismissing it, he looked at the mantel. It was empty. "Gods bless it, Sev! When are you going to remember to leave a note when you go out like this?" He pulled in his sense of their handfasting and tried to find his truant partner. They'd had very limited success doing this, but he was irate enough and concerned enough now that it just might work. He hunted a few minutes but couldn't sense him. Assuming another normal failure to communicate, he clicked his tongue in annoyance and went into the bathroom--he would ask Dobby later if Severus was in his lab.

In the shower, he began to relax again and started thinking about the ceremony to be held later this evening. He wasn't sure he could stay in his skin for that length of time. He was going over the things he had to do today when a sudden thought started him laughing. "All right, Harry. Admit it--you're an idiot. Of course Severus wouldn't be here. Poppy threatened him with gods know what if we saw each other the day of the wedding. That's why he left last night." He sighed. "I guess that's why he didn't leave a note, either; he assumed I would remember--silly man--he should know better by now."

Feeling much better, Harry rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. As he towelled himself dry, he wondered for the hundredth time what Severus had written for his Epithalamium. He remembered the many nights Severus had sequestered himself in his study, the quill flying, parchment balls all around his desk on the floor. Cally'd had a grand time batting his wasted efforts around the room. His own had not fared much better and they'd had a few days where they'd either growl at each other all evening or have some of the best raw and needy sex they'd ever experienced--fast and hard to take the edge off. He shrugged, supposing it was better than trying to agree on a common work; they just thought too differently. Although, he had to admit, the co-written Assimilation Vows had been a breeze--he'd just nodded his head at most of what Severus had written; he was the Latin scholar after all. Then he'd found 'his room' and, with Cerise's and Hermione's help, it had gone much better until night before last, he'd finally finished it.

'Well, it's done now. The guests are invited, the Room of Requirement ready, refreshments are probably being made right now, and we got the type of nuptials we wanted--plain and simple. Well, almost simple. The Rite of the Ceremony itself is too long and complicated to merit that term.' It had taken him a long time to memorise the words he'd written and found himself tweaking them every time he practiced them, usually in the shower or bath--if he was alone, which wasn't often.

He wasn't all that nervous either, now that he knew where Severus was--or wasn't. No, he was more concerned about the reception they'd let Dumbledore plan without them. Severus had not wanted to become involved in the Headmaster's plans. For himself, he would have volunteered to help, if only to keep an eye on what the old bugger could get up to, but after some thought he had done as Severus wished. Now he wasn't at all sure that had been one of their better ideas.

Fastening the last clasp on his robes, he called Dobby and asked him for a bit of breakfast before they left to go to Diagon Alley to pick up the last thing left undone in the preparations--the gifts for the participants in the ceremony itself. Shortly after the handfasting, he and Severus had adopted the image on the gold glyph they each bore as their personal seal. After much debate with "The Girls", they'd decided to use the seal on the gifts: a folded frame with a Wizarding photo of them both, one the guests could open and display or (as Severus caustically pointed out) could throw in a drawer and forget. Harry had dryly retorted that if Severus was so offended by it, he could always show them his better robe-lifting side, although he wasn't sure the world was ready for another 'Moony'. He'd rather liked the retribution that remark had earned him.

Mr. Langley, the goldsmith, had made the small filigree seals for them from a mould he had cast for his records, Colin had taken their picture, and Mrs. Pendergast had fashioned the frames out of purplewood and assembled them, the seal embedded on the inside blank face next to the photograph. He'd received an Owl yesterday that they were ready. He'd told Poppy he would take care of it--he would need something useful to occupy himself in any event and this got him out of the castle for a while. 'Oh, and I need to remember the 'party favours' for the reception tomorrow night, whatever those are, that Poppy asked us to pick up while we're out.'

Dobby brought his breakfast with little fuss, and Harry ate quickly while the house-elf patiently waited for him to finish, sitting quietly in the other chair. They had come to an understanding over the years and Dobby often went with Harry when he was working. He was now more Harry's house-elf than Hogwarts', and while Harry paid his entire salary, he also knew he could never buy the loyalty and unswerving devotion the house-elf still showed him for his freedom. He'd taught Dobby many things, the first being to stop calling him "Harry Potter", the second recognising when Harry needed or wanted silence.

Dobby was also aware of Dumbledore's condition. "Has Harry and Professor Snape finished the new potion for the headmaster, sir?" he asked when Harry was mopping up the eggs with his toast.

"Yes, Dobby. We finished it day before yesterday. You'll need to give the bottle and the box of pills to Madam Pomfrey on Monday. They are in the usual place," Harry replied, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

"Dobby will be honoured to give them to Madam Pomfrey, sir." Finished with the meal, Harry went to get his outer cloak while Dobby whisked the plate away.

"Ready, Dobby?" he asked, looking down at the house-elf with affection.

"Dobby is ready, sir. Where does Harry wish to go first?" Dobby asked as they walked out the door.

"Diagon Alley, I'm thinking," he replied, closing the door behind them.

8:15 am

Severus' first sight was Remus' still, crumpled body on the flagged floor, lying naked in his blood and other fluids. 'He's entirely too thin,' was Severus' first irrelevant thought followed by his second, more practical, 'I hope he doesn't drown in it.' He tried to assess the damage with his eyes. Bruised and battered, Remus had been beaten badly, but, by the looks of it, he would eventually be all right. 'He should be coming around soon.' He glanced around the square plain room; the windows set high in the stone walls gave just enough light to illuminate the area where there were stationed.

Then he forgot all about it as the previously deferred pain squeezed from behind his eyeballs and exploded through his whole body. Only by clamping his jaw so tight it made a new ache of its own, was he able to hold in the involuntary scream threatening to violently emerge unchecked. A heavy grunt forced past his lips measured his initial success.

Eventually he controlled it, pulled it back inside him bit by bit; he'd take his victories one at a time. Sternly curbing the impulse to mewl like an infant when he finally got it to tolerable levels, he made himself assess his situation--constant vigilance as Moody was wont to say. He first noticed he was still tethered, standing, between the two posts. He was freezing, the stone floor beneath his numb feet icy; he could feel it all the way up his legs as cramps seized his lower body trying to keep him warm. 'The first signs of hypothermia--lovely.' His arms, if they were down, would be leaden weights, the skin and muscle cold as his heart laboured to get life-warming blood to the extremities stretched by his head.

'Well, at least that leaves more blood for my brain. Not that I know what to do with it at the moment.' He listened hard. He could hear Remus' laboured breathing, could see it puff irregularly out of his open mouth with each exhalation. 'Must have broken some ribs.' He could hear his own breathing, harsh in the otherwise-silent, deserted dungeon chamber, the cold burning his lungs with each breath, his own plume of frost thin as his body strove to warm the frigid air. 'I've been here before--this is one of the hidden chambers beneath Malfoy Manor.'

He waited and mused that unoccupied time in situations like these was usually intentional--a time for the victim to anticipate the next punishment, to truly feel the hopelessness and solitude, to wear the future like a hair shirt. He knew he was supposed to be contemplating what Avery was going to do next, building the fear to the point that he would be pudding when his tormentor returned. Severus snorted. Since when did he do anything they expected him to do? So instead, he thought of his last memories of Harry before he'd left--the tousled hair on clean white cases, the pillow his nose was buried in, the sleepy lust in his brilliant eyes, the sleep warmth of his body. It helped make the pain go away, helped him focus on something other than the growing discomfort from his position, threatening to release the other pain he knew he could not hold back forever. He wanted, no, needed, to hold that pain at bay until a time he could curl into a ball and writhe to release at least bits of it and howl his growing agony in a place where no one would comment or laugh if he did so.

The door opened. Avery closed it behind him before going over to Remus, prodding him with his boot. Remus didn't respond to the swift kick in the ribs that followed, which would have been excruciating had he been awake. Without looking at Severus, he said, "Your friend was rather boring, you know--only lasted an hour or so before he lost consciousness--even an Enervate spell didn't work. Perhaps it's the werewolf in him." He turned back to Severus and walked to the side as he said with great humour, "Now you, my friend, are another story altogether."

He was now behind Severus, who could hear him fussing with things that clinked at the back table as he called out, "Delicious daggers, by the by--good heft, nice grips, supreme balance, not that I wouldn't expect anything less out of a precise person such as yourself. Good poison on them, too--it's such a shame I'm not allowed to kill you. I'd use these on you instead of my tired old blades. It would be interesting to see how much you twitched before the end."

He set a stool on the floor a few feet away so they could see each other clearly. "I'd ask you to sit, but--" he started laughing as he hooked a strop to his belt and laid two worn, but excellent knives on the floor next to him. He started running the flat edge of the third on the thick leather at an angle, honing the already razor-sharp edges. He asked conversationally, as if they were in the parlour, "So how are you, Snape? Feeling better, I hope? Ready to go at it again?"

"I've been better, 'Linny'," Severus stated in the same tone of voice, his voice hoarse and raw. "I seem to have caught some cold, though."

The wheezing chuckle was loud in the room. "You always were a bastard, 'Sevvie'. But, you know what? I always liked you for it. Give no quarter, take no quarter. It was always a pleasure to see how far I could push you, how much I had to make you bleed to make you scream." He started on the second knife. "You never failed me, either. Your skill with those daggers you learned from my hands. Both before and after I used them on you. Stubborn prick. I almost hated to see you fall. So full of dark promise. I'll wager Voldemort fucked you up bad." He tested the edge. Satisfied he started on the third knife.

"No, Lucius did that all by himself." Severus was having a hard time breathing with his numb hands over his head.

Avery looked thoughtful a moment. "Yeah, I can see that--but if he didn't do it then, he's determined to do it now." He shook his head. "Poor bastard--I almost feel sorry for you. You'll wish I'd used those pretty little daggers of yours on you before this day is through."

Severus was silent for a while, the sound of metal on leather the only words between them. "You know, I never thanked you, Avery."

The knife stopped on the strop. He tested the edge on his thumb. It was ready. He stood in front of Severus. "Thank me? For what?"

Severus drew in as much as air as he could. "For making me--strong--for testing--my resolve--for making me--so--bloody angry--I found--it in me--to focus--years of my--life on your--destruction--Ahhh--gods damn you!"

Avery had made the first small cut while he'd been speaking. A short stroke made in the fleshy part of Severus' chest right to the side of the Talisman scar, which he seemed unable to see. He paused and looked at Severus hard and then started chuckling. "Pretty useless if you ask me," he observed, "I'm still alive."

Severus chuckled wickedly. "My life is still young."

"Well, yes, there is that, but it seems like a lot of words to me, Professor, seeing you're there," he gestured to Severus' bonds, "and I'm here." He wheezed loudly as he continued in the same mocking voice, "Getting a little harder to breathe there, my friend?" He poised the knife for the next cut. "Let's see if I can't help you hold it. I have a little surprise planned for you--can't have anyone we know healing this, now can we?"

He started the next cut slightly above the previous one, saying, "Let there be pain--Chalah." Severus strained against the bonds recognising the ancient Sumerian word and what Avery was about to do. He fought the momentary panic until he remembered he probably wouldn't survive this in any event, so no lasting harm could be done.

Severus knew Avery was waiting for the full import to sink in. "Yes, my friend, I'm going to MARK you. A little present from a mutual acquaintance of ours. Don't worry, I'll make sure they're pretty. I AM an artist, you know." He cackled as he prepared his knives on the stool, which he had Transfigured into a small table. He removed his shirt and Transfigured it into a small brazier, which he set by the knives; a quick spell set it alight, and the white hot coals within warmed and distorted the air around it.

Avery sighed in satisfaction. "While it was nice chatting with you, Professor, play-time's over; it's time to do some serious work," he muttered, pulling the first knife off of the table.

Severus gasped against the pain of the knife slicing through the top of the skin. Avery knew better than to cut muscle and sinew. If he did, his victims couldn't twitch and move any more and that would 'take all the fun out of it'.

"Feel the fear--Charadah." Cut after short cut ran agony through him.

"Know only hate--Satam." It felt like Avery was cutting in almost the same place each time, but Severus knew he was making a small picture in his skin.

"Mark the horror--Zalaphah." He'd seen this done to several Death Eaters as punishment--usually as a means to track them, once the ancient words were set.

Occasionally, Severus almost blacked out when Avery used a red-hot edge to seal a slice he needed to work on further but was never allowed complete unconsciousness as Avery would revive him each time.

Time stood still for Severus.

"Live in despair--Ya'ash." Avery concentrated.

"Love is punishment--Anash." One cut after another.

"Cry in endless sadness--Roa." The coals hissed.

"See only darkness--Chashekah." His brow furrowed as he slid the knives precisely in his canvas.

"Live in grief--Morah." The wand setting the Dark Magic burned almost as much as the knives.

"Scream in anguish--Raphah." He connected lines with short shallow cuts.

"Bring only destruction--Chebel." Almost through the skin, but not quite all the way through.

"Taste only bitterness--Morrah." A fall of blood followed the knives in their wake.

"Dream of loss--Chata'." Avery switched knives almost as often as he switched the words making his cunning spell.

"Wake in weariness--Mattala'ah."

After a small eternity, he stood back, admiring his handiwork, a satisfied smile on his lips. "There now, first half done. You look a little done in there, Severus. Can't have you falling asleep on me, now can I? Enervate!"

He went to the back of the room. Hearing water sloshing and a loud slurping sound, Severus was reminded he'd had no water since his capture and was suddenly filled with a deep desperate thirst made worse when Avery returned to stand in front of him, water dripping from his face and leering mouth. "Oh, I forgot to bring you some water, Severus! Well, no time for it now--no rest for the weary and all that rot--I must get back to work."

Severus glared at him and bit back the words he was about to utter, deciding he needed to conserve what little energy he had--the spell was beginning to take its toll and it was all he could do not to fall prey to the words Avery had uttered with each cut.

He was almost finished with the drawing on the other side of Severus' chest when Maldy opened the door, a chill draft following him into the room. A shadow in the hallway beyond the door was very still; no one noticed his presence, nor that the door had been left open.

"The Master told Maldy to come down here to tell Avery the package was delivered successfully."

"Oh? That's nice," he said abstractedly, distracted by the last cut made with a spoken, "Sow the seeds of discontent--Mar." He straightened and wiped the knife on his trousers as he'd done after each of the cuts; the leg was as bloody as his hands. "Now, what was that? Successful, you say?" As he turned towards him, the manic gleam in his feral eyes sent a shiver of apprehension through Severus, his skin stippling as much from the frigid air as the tone of Avery's voice.

"Cold, my boy? Not as cold as your boy." He waited for his words to sink in. When he saw the dawning comprehension on Severus' face, he started laughing cruelly. "Dead, Severus. Deceased. Cold. Strolling through Elysium. Gone. Harry Potter is dead."

Severus struggled against the bonds holding him fast, twisting the fetters terribly into his flesh in his desperate attempt to escape the malignant words coming out of Avery's fiendish mouth. He screamed hoarsely at him, "No, NO! Harry is safe in Hogwarts. I left him there myself. Safe and warm." Severus shook with the effort to keep the panic at bay.

Avery pushed his hateful face near and hissed, spittle flying into his captive's face, "Safe, Severus? I think not. Warm? He's cold dead. Betrayed by a house-elf. Our house-elf. The one area Dumbledore never guards--the outside passage for the house-elves. Harry is dead, long live Severus!" His howls of laughter filled the chamber as he stepped back.

Panting with the effort and his deep dismay, he thought, 'Dumbledore promised to keep him safe. Albus has never broken a promise to me--he promised to keep Harry safe.' He repeated the mantra in his head--it was almost enough to cover Avery's wild cackle and scorching chant over and over: "Harry is dead; your precious boy is gone." He looked deep within him and could find nothing to tell him Harry was really gone. The handfasting bond was still there. He could feel it. Surely he wouldn't feel it if Harry was dead, would he? Wouldn't he have felt the severing? He closed his eyes against the new pain, one from which he couldn't hide.

It was what the shadow was waiting for. He slid into the room silently, and positioned himself right behind Severus, out of his sight. A pale hand slid from the back to hold a small vial in front of his nose. The thumb popped the seal and a thin black vapour wafted out of it, immediately inhaled by Severus. The shadow waited. A thin sheen of sweat formed on Severus' forehead; he was primed.

A new, hissing whisper insinuated itself through his head, overriding his thoughts. "You're too far away, Severus; you'll never know him again. The bond will always be in you, incomplete. You'll always feel him, even when he's not there. Always in your head, but never to touch again. You can't hear him this far. He died without you. Died with your face in his mind as the last light faded. He died with your name unspoken on his lips, Severus. And you never knew, you never will know. Always in your mind, but never in your arms. Gone away, Severus..." The litany continued unbroken.

A type of delirium slowly seeped through him. He sagged against the bonds, the thoughts of hope in his head walking beside those whispering despair in his ear; the soft, sibilant sounds became a part of him--would take over for as long as he himself did not believe in his own worth, would crowd out the hope until only the despair remained. Lucius' soft voice trailed off watching the gradual transition from sanity into madness. How long it would last was anyone's guess, but it was beautiful to watch, nonetheless.

Severus sank deeper into his mind and his thoughts spiralled in an endless tunnel of darkening shadows. 'Always in my head but never to touch again. Died with my face in his mind as the last light faded. Always on my mind, but never in my arms. I'm too far away--I'll never know him again. I'll always feel him, even when he's not there...'

8:22 am

It is too hot. And too dark for the day. It is heavy. Heavy on me. Must gets out. The lump in the middle of Harry's bed started to move, at first with little heaves and pushes until it flattened into a longer line. Within seconds, Horatio's pointed head urgently poked out from under the covers, his tongue flicking, testing the air. The room was empty, but he could hear voices from the other room. Tasting again, it was Harry and the Small Noisy One named Dobby. They are too far away to hear me. I must go to them. He wiggled his way out from under the heavy covers and lay still, recovering, in the edge of a sun-spot dappling the bed.

He was hot. Too hot, the extra heat making him almost as sluggish had he been too cold. He stretched his full length across the duvet allowing some of the heat to dissipate from his skin. As he cooled, he remembered. The little snake had a potent juices--mades me sleepy. The Small One with the Bad Smell is long gone. Harry is all right. I am not hungry; the little snake was filling. I needs to be doing something. What do I needs to be doing? He coiled, his temperature still too high, but he felt an urgency to move off the bed. He'd slid no more than a few inches when he felt the vibration of the outside door to the rooms closing. In the ensuing silence, he flicked his tongue. While their smell lingered, Harry and the Small Noisy One were gone.

Slithering to the edge, he looked down at the floor trying to find a place to slide down, but there was nothing in sight. The table nearby was of the same height, but slick compared to the nubbly texture of the cover he lay on, and there was nothing for him to wrap his tail around to hold onto. He tipped his head over the edge and slid tight down the side of the bed, hoping to get enough length to be able to touch the floor. He'd almost made it when his leverage failed him and with a solid thud, the back end of him hit the carpet next to the bed.

Ow! I hates that when that happens. Silly people with their high things--they should keep things low and easy. He snaked his way into the sitting room; the sight of the rubbish pail reminded him of the thing he needed to do. Needs to get the Yellow Square. Harry needs the Yellow Square the Master left for him. But Harry is not here. He slid over to the can and raising to his highest free height; his eyes just barely cleared the top. The sides flared out from the bottom so he couldn't climb it. He pushed the top with his nose; it wouldn't budge. He gave the equivalent of a snake shrug. It is too high. Must go in from the top.

This was easy; he had a lot of practice getting from the floor, to the chair, across the empty space to the table top. He looked over the edge of the side table on which he was coiled; he was staring right at the crumpled wad of the Yellow Square the Small Bad One had thrown from the Fire Place into The Place Where the Rats Sometimes Hide. It wasn't even too far away.

Wrapping his tail around the leg of the table, he cautiously slid out into the free air, his body extended from the end. Carefully, oh so carefully, he lowered his body down into the can. He had a free edge of the parchment in his mouth when he felt his tail unwrapped from the leg and flipped up. Like a skater across ice, his whole length slid across the waxed wood surface and, before he knew it, he was in the trash can, nose first, his tail waving in the air above him.

"Bad Horatio! Winky knows Horatio knows better than to go in the garbage." The house-elf stood over the pail shaking her finger at the helpless snake. "Teach Horatio a lesson, Winky will! Bad Horatio! Stay out of the garbage!"

[Bad Small One, Bad Winky tipping me into the can when I am only trying to helpsss the Massster. I do NOT go in the garbage unlesss there isss food there. The ratsss essspecially like to hide in it.]

"Horatio should not hiss at Winky. Winky is going to leave Horatio there if Horatio doesn't stop hissing."

If a snake could roll its eyes, Horatio would have done so. Stupid Winky. Now whats? I cannot go backwards. I cannot slide forwards. I'm stuck. He could hear her move off and make the bed while he struggled to right himself in the can. It was slow going, but eventually, about the time he heard her pop out of the chambers, he managed to upend himself by flipping and coiling at the same time. It meant he had made himself into a loose knot in the middle, but there was no helping it.

He'd never let go of the parchment. His jaws locked about it, he raised himself, but since he was sitting on top of a squashed pile of paper inside, he was much higher. Within seconds after his head's foray over the top, the whole can tipped over, spilling papers and a very upset snake out onto the hearth rug. The first thing he did was thread through his own coils to get rid of the knot.

I have to find Harry and give him the Yellow Square. Where would he be? Horatio had no idea, but decided, I must go see the White One. I know how to get to his space with all the mice. He will know how to find Harry. With purpose, he left the room.

TBC