Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 03 : Epithalamium

Part II : Oh What a Difference a Day Makes
Chapter Fifteen : Oh! What a Tangled Web We Weave--

25 October 2003 (continued)

11:30 am

Scabbers, hidden in a dark corner, listened to Avery and Lucius, dismayed at Moony's unresponsiveness and Snape's condition physically as well as the growing distance in the man's eyes.

Beyond what the others' thought, he'd hated Snape as a young man; how could he not? Snape's life at Hogwarts had been the mirror reflecting his own fate should he ever lose the regard of the Marauders. And in the secret depths of his soul where not even he would go, he'd despised them almost as much as he'd hated Snape, for if the Slytherin was the glass, the Marauders, with their breezy confidence and easy acceptance of him, had been the chains binding him in front of it. Only Moony had dimly understood the conflict within him. He'd known this when he'd see the rare glimmers of panic in the werewolf's eyes whenever he'd thought he'd said or done something to earn their displeasure, their rejection. Oh yes, James and Sirius had bound the two of them more surely with their fears than with their affections. And they'd both paid for it in full. Peter had seen to that.

He'd feared Snape's strength and cunning as a Death Eater, his seemingly easy entry to Voldemort's good graces and his ability to defy the Dark Lord, which, instead of earning the same humiliating punishments as his own meagre defiances, had only served to bring the Potions master a reluctant respect and a closer place than even he occupied. And later, after Peter's years of enslavement to the shadowy creature the Dark Lord had become, when whispers of Snape's betrayal reached the Dark Lord, he'd sneered at the dignity Snape maintained in the face of Voldemort's retribution. He'd harboured deep resentment at Snape's escape, relatively unscathed, from his servitude to Voldemort.

But more than anything, he envied Snape for finding something approaching a normal life with Harry despite his past, while he himself remained ensnared, living in the shadows, hiding, his life caught in yet another web with another 'master'. He'd thought it would be pleasing to deny Snape the same pleasures denied him, to see him punished for defiling someone pure, someone who would be better off without him. However, after seeing what Avery and Draco had wrought, heard and comprehended the words Avery had uttered, seen how Snape's whole world had collapsed with the news they'd brought, he'd realised he might have been mistaken all this time. And the resulting guilt from that knowledge ate, like a parasite, what little conscience he had remaining.

He looked over at Moony's still form with deep regret, then forced himself to study Snape. This--this was not part of the deal. They were only going to hold him past the date. They were only to rough him up. He made himself count again Snape's wounds, the cuts, the whip marks. He always lost count when his eyes reached his ribs. He couldn't look lower; it was too painful. His whiskers twitched with the stench of blood and other bodily fluids from Snape and Moony filling his augmented senses. One his most hated enemy, the other his most loved friend. He wondered if there really was a difference.

And Harry. The product of James' carnal attentions to his beloved Lily. Her son. Dead. Murdered with yet another betrayal as surely as if he'd wielded the weapon himself, something he'd not been able to stomach in the past. The prophesied son of his former best friends, who haunted his every night in dreams both bitter and dark. Dreams where he could not hide from the loathsome creature he'd become, the pathetic puppet he'd been. Hating them, he still craved their absolution, their approval, knowing it might never come.

Until now. They stood before him now, their eyes full of bewildered reproach. "Why," they wanted to know and for once he had no answer to give them. He could see Snape through Prongs, Moony behind his Lily; he heard their whispered words to him, "Avenge us, avenge them. You have never failed us in this before, you saved our son before--save his lover and our friend, your friend--now. Save Severus. Save Remus. Save yourself."

He couldn't fail them again.

11:50 am

Remus lay spent on the floor, trying to not draw any attention to himself. Every inch of him hurt with the beatings he'd received. More than anything, though, he was confused and numb. Draco and Avery had left a few minutes before, talking about needing some sustenance; they'd left them both unattended.

He was confused because they were not doing to him as they'd done to Severus. The sessions were shorter, less vicious. He knew he'd survive them. And they'd left him loose, supremely confident in his inability to escape; he wasn't quite sure he should be grateful for the minute opportunity that freedom gave him to get them out of here, or if he should be insulted they thought him so weak that he would not even try.

Watching Avery slowly kill Severus had been harder to take than the fists and boots on his own body. It had finally dawned on him after the last session, watching the older Malfoy murmur in Severus' ears, that their intention was to break him. The question now was why.

He ached with the news they'd brought Severus. Harry was dead. Harry the boy and later the man who was like a son to him; the one he'd sworn to protect. The guilt lay heavy on him and he'd almost welcomed the pain of the second beating he'd received. While it wouldn't absolve him, it did, for the moment it lasted, take away the pain inside from which he couldn't escape. 'Harry would be alive if I hadn't run after Peter or even insisted on the mission in the first place. I should have listened to Severus--I've never doubted his instincts before and like the friend he is, he went anyway despite them.' Looking over at Severus, he was appalled anew at his condition--covered in blood, mumbling to himself incoherently, body lax against the bonds. His skin was turning grey in spots, his breathing, when Remus could hear it, was harsh and shallow. Remus was not sure how much longer Severus had, but with the fight gone from him, he knew it couldn't be all that long.

A shadow moving near the back wall caught the corner of his eye and he shifted ever so slightly to see what it was. 'Oh, a bloody rat. Just what we need right now. Probably drawn by the blood.' His eyes widened as the shape shifted and Peter Pettigrew stood at the back table. He picked something up and put it in his pocket. Remus raised himself, intent on killing the bastard.

"Wait, Moony!" Peter held up his hand as he came into the light. He was paler than normal, the hair wispy on his sweaty head. He looked desiccated and Remus almost felt sorry for him--but he still wanted to kill him.

"No, don't move. We've not much time. They'll be back any minute." He stopped a few feet away from Remus and reached into his robes, pulling forth two wands; Remus recognised one of them as his. "Here, take these. Get you both out of here. Hide them quickly!" He placed the wands on the floor and slid them across to Remus who grabbed them and, rolling over slightly, tucked them under his ribs.

"Why, Peter? Why all this?" he gasped, his hand still on the wands. He could hex him if he tried, but he needed the answer more than the revenge.

"To hold him past the date," he answered cryptically. "They knew the date was significant. But this," he gestured at Severus' limp form, "was not part of the deal. I didn't know," he whispered. "And Harry!" His voice was almost a sob. "I never meant--" Remus tensed when he raised his wand and whispered, "Enervate." While Remus felt the surge of energy pulse through him, Peter pointed at the space where Remus hid the wands. "That's for Harry, for my Lily and James and Sirius. May they forgive me." His head shot up and turned, rapt, to the hallway. "I must go--" and he shifted back as the rat. He scuttled over to the door just as Draco opened it, alone. Draco never noticed the rat sliding out of the room into the freedom of the hallway beyond.

Out of habit, Draco kicked Remus, whose feigned unresponsiveness convinced him the werewolf was still unconscious. It really didn't matter much to him. Remus had been decent to him once, even if he was a pansy. He curled his lip at the stench and went to the table in the back, intent on the tools he needed for Snape--he had a score to settle.

Remus breathed a silent sigh of relief; the wands were safe for the moment. Some things never changed, and Draco's inattentiveness to things that did not interest him, was just one of them. It was a flaw Remus had noticed in his time as his teacher. He was quite certain Avery would not have made the same mistake. He bided his time, knowing it would do them no good to get one of their captors if the others were still wandering around; he needed Avery here as well (and Lucius if he could get him) but the other two would do for a start. There were special techniques he had learned years ago for two wands in such a situation, but he would only be able to do it once; he'd not the energy for more. So he waited.

11:55 am

Miraculously, the spot Harry wanted had remained. Reaching it, he and Dobby Apparated back to Hogsmeade and quickly walked from there back to Hogwarts. Harry's thoughts raced ahead of him. 'Lucius was upset by me? By my presence? Why? Why would he care?'

Harry was no closer to answering his own questions when they entered the castle and soon they arrived at the Headmaster's stair. Harry stopped at the gargoyle and calling out, "Haupia," the gargoyle moved aside; the stair started winding up, Harry on the top step, Dobby two behind him.

Dobby had been very quiet since they'd met his old master. He knew the man very well and knew Lucius was not only surprised at seeing Harry Potter, he was incensed at it. He had borne the look he always did when someone thwarted his well-laid plans. Since it didn't happen all that often, it was a rare look to remember well when it did--and run away from when one was able.

When the door opened for him, Harry walked quickly across the room to where Dumbledore sat quietly behind his desk. The old man's hand was raised off his lap, as if to speak, when Harry interrupted him in his urgency. "Albus, I need to talk to you. Something odd is going on."

After a few moments of no response, Harry really looked at him. Taking one glance at the pale skin coated with a fine sheen of sweat, the small, convulsive sips of air, struggling to breathe, between lips of the palest lavender, Harry moved around the desk behind Dumbledore, exclaiming, "Sweet Merlin, Albus!" Without waiting for the old man's head to fall back on his chest, Harry placed his hands on his temples. It took him only a moment to find what he was looking for: a complete blockage in one of the arteries feeding the heart itself. It only took a matter of minutes to carefully clean it out; doing this too fast would surely kill him as quickly as not doing anything at all.

Harry waited a few more minutes to make sure Dumbledore's heart resumed a regular rhythm, taking the time to settle his own. When Albus was breathing easy and relaxed, Harry cast an alarm charm on him that would warn him (or Severus) should Albus get this close again. At least he didn't need the metal ball; Dumbledore had reworked his defences so Harry could get in as needed.

Pulling out as quickly as he went in, he placed a kiss on the top of the old wizard's head as he always did when he finished healing him; it was as much a part of their new ritual as the healing itself. These sessions, while never hidden from anyone, were not spoken of either, something usually between just the two of them, although both Poppy and Severus suspected they were more than just routine checks. No thanks were offered, none were expected; it was always there and always known and kept them on equal footing.

Harry asked him, "How many do you have left?" surmising Albus had taken a failed dose of the Digitalus. "And how many a day are you taking? Please don't minimise it--I expected it to increase over time. If need be, we can increase the dosage so you can get more relief with each one and take fewer of them."

Dumbledore chuckled hoarsely. "Time was I knew when you and your friends were pulling a fast one on me. It's supremely amusing to see the tables turned for once." At Harry's knowing snicker, and comment, "You're redirecting--again," Dumbledore capitulated. "Oh very well. This one was my third today. I am averaging five to six per day as best I can remember, some days less, but never more." He paused, his eyes twinkling again. "There, you young upstart, was that the information you needed?"

"Well, it will do for now." Mildly irritated, Harry said with some asperity, "Dobby, please make sure, once again, that the house-elves KNOW he's not supposed to have the fatty foods." Once he got Dobby's nod, to Albus he said, "That's the third one I've cleaned out for you in as many weeks. If you really must cheat, will you PLEASE let me know when you're again up to five or six a day so I know when I have to go in and clean up? Please, Albus?"

Dumbledore almost sounded contrite. "It's not in my nature to do so, Harry. You and I have had this discussion before." He put his hands on those still on his shoulder. "Very well. If it will ease your mind, I promise." Harry squeezed his hands and then moved away.

Coming back to sit on the other side of the desk, he accepted a cup of tea from Dumbledore. While stirring the milk and sugar in it, Albus asked him, "You came to see me about something other than my continued health? Something 'odd' I believe you said."

Harry had almost forgot in his exasperation with the older man. "Actually, some strange things have happened today and I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."

"If I'm able, yes. What is it?" He hid weary eyes behind the teacup.

The gesture was not lost on Harry. He took a deep calming breath; his stomach felt like it was lighter than air. "Where is Severus right now?"

Dumbledore looked puzzled. "Didn't he leave you a note?"

"No, he did not. I am most vexed with him. So, you know where he is?" Harry was relieved--finally some answers.

"Hmmm, that's odd. He said he would leave a note for you before he left." He looked straight at Harry. "No matter. Severus went on an errand for me; I have no idea where he is right now with it. However, he should be back later this afternoon." He chuckled. "Have no fear, he'll be back in time. He was a bit restless, so I gave him something to occupy his time." He knew he was not lying, not really--all of it was true.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Albus," he said slowly, enunciating every word. "I don't know why, but you are only telling me part of the truth, aren't you?" When he got no response, but a steady calm regard, he continued, "I'm beginning to see why Severus is so wary of you. He left last night, didn't he? He took his weapons with him, Albus. Why would he do that? Where has he gone?" He paused to give Dumbledore a chance to reply. When none came, he continued questioning him. "What is he doing for you? Why does he need them? And tell me, why did Lucius look at me like I was a ghost?" When he still got no answer, he lost all patience, shouting, "Gods, I hate this! Damn you, talk to me!"

Heedless of the consequences, he whipped out of the chair and loomed over Albus' desk, his weight leaning on his hands braced flat on the top. The power shone from him in his anger and the quiet intensity of his voice was more frightening than the shouts of before. "I thought we were done playing games, Albus. I thought we had agreed to the truth. All of it--not partial lies to fit the moment. Hear MY truth well," he spat out. "If Severus comes to any lasting harm--everything I have ever done up to now will be nothing--absolutely nothing compared to what I will do if I lose him because of your--your foolishness."

With one last look, he begged Albus to talk to him. When he said nothing but calmly looked at the passionate young man, all the love he had in him showing in his eyes, Harry turned on his heel with a cry of disgust, calling out, "Come, Dobby," as he stormed out of the room.

Dumbledore sat still a moment, his mind whirling with the import of Harry's words. He willed Moody and Shacklebolt to hurry; with Lucius knowing Harry was alive, he suspected Severus' life was not worth a tin Knut. He would have no reason now not to kill him, not with Harry's growing reputation as a Healer. While it would take some effort, his skill and their handfasting would be sufficient for him to restore the Potions master, even if near death, although he sincerely hoped it would not come to that.

'No, Severus' life has no value any more to Lucius.' His concern and no small fear took their normal route and with little fuss and a lot of guilt, he took the fourth pill.

12:30 pm

Draco found what he was looking for on the back table--a short stout carving knife made entirely of steel, even the haft, which was wrapped in leather for a grip. It would be perfect for what he wanted to do; he knew the tip was honed to a deadly edge because he'd tested it on a plucked hair. Avery was still eating his lunch and this would take but a moment. In fact, it would be so fast, Severus would not even have time to cry out before the deed was done. He took the knife and a dripping wet cloth with him as he left the table.

He made his way to stand in front of Snape. As he looked him up and down, a trickle of conscience, easily suppressed, stung him as his eyes slid down all the welts and cuts and bruises the man's abused body bore. But that was not what interested him, nor was it the low gibberish Snape was muttering under his breath. He ignored them easily and concentrated his attention to the center of the man's chest.

Avery truly was an artist. On either side of Draco's goal were two eyes glaring malevolently at him. The detail, from the feathered brows to the delicate lashes to the dangerous gleam in the carved pupils, was superb. There was an oily evilness about them, and, tracing his finger lightly over the left one, he could feel the leashed dark power in them. He considered their impeccable symmetry a moment, realising his mission would not disturb their perfection; rather it might even enhance it.

He tentatively moved his finger carefully across the dried blood in the center of Snape's breastbone until he found the raised scar he was looking for. With almost gentle care, he used the wet rag to wash the sweat and blood away from the area in question until the skin was reasonably clean and open to his view. There it was; pale and ghostlike in his flesh, a symbol. It looked familiar and he realised the image of the two snakes was the same as the seal on the invitation he'd received a few weeks back to the nuptial reception tomorrow.

He smiled, touching it, feeling the tingle of a different, cleaner power in it. Something personal then. "What's this now, Snape?" he murmured. "Something from Potter? Why did it react when I hit it with the whip? I saw it, you know. I saw where it hit--saw how it incinerated Avery's 'Lady'." He chuckled, lifting the knife. "Well, no more now, my beloved Professor. I am going to make sure it never happens again."

He lightly traced a line around the outside edge of it with the tip of the blade; it bled very little as it was shallow. Draco was merely marking where he intended the final cut. Severus made no sound and didn't move. Smiling again, Draco placed the point of the knife on the line, prepared to start the excision when Severus spoke, lucid for the moment. "Don't, Draco. You'll only hurt yourself."

With a grin and no hesitation, he pressed the knife into the skin down to the bone. As the blood welled bright and hot, the scar silently exploded once more with a flash of light. Draco staggered back with its force, the smoking knife falling to the floor with a loud clatter, his hand singed where the leather had burst into flames. He sat on the floor, rubbing his stinging hand while Severus chuckled softly. "You never did listen to me and look where it's got you. Give it up, Draco. This is one thing at which you won't succeed."

Rubbing his injured hand, Draco said maliciously, "No, I don't think so, Snape. Not this time. I just have to think of a way to lessen its effects." He pondered the problem and time slipped by.

Remus watched and waited.

Harry had no sooner entered their suite of rooms when his chest exploded in white hot agony. 'The Talisman!' he thought, knowing for certain now that Severus was in dire trouble. Without thought, he tried to connect to Severus through the emblem on his chest, but he while he could sense him like one senses fog on one's face, he couldn't make any contact. Thinking hard, he ran into Severus' study, opened the wards, and, rushing into the library, placed his hand on the Talisman set in the table.

At first it waited for the words he needed to speak to ward the Library, but after a moment, Harry's own magic reached into it and added a second purpose to it through its Schema. When he sensed the new properties in it, he cried, "Defendo Maritas!" Like a freight train running full steam through a tunnel, his vision narrowed and then expanded rapidly until he could see out the other side into a blank whiteness, insubstantial but not empty. No, he could feel Severus, could feel him both numb and in pain overlaid with a despair so profound it almost overwhelmed him. He couldn't reach him, couldn't talk to him, but he could feel his weakening resolve, feel the Talisman's waning power as it struggled to protect his lover--Defendo Maritas--as it was adjured to do.

Without thought, but with purpose, he reached as far as his magic would go and he poured as much as it would hold into Severus' flagging Talisman until he could feel it blazing bright once more. For one small instant, he heard "Harry?" in his mind and he caressed it as best he could before it faded into nothing. As the Talisman got stronger, the connection grew weaker until finally, it broke altogether and he was alone, in the library, his hands braced on the tabletop.

He took a deep breath and another, the air filling his lungs a novel thing until his head caught up with the rest of it and he was himself once more.

"Is Harry all right?" Dobby asked, standing by the opening all but forgotten in the excitement. "Can Dobby get Harry anything?"

Harry stumbled out of the library and, after closing the wards, staggered to the chair at Severus' desk. Sitting hard, he gasped, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Water, Dobby. I have a thirst, like I've had nothing to drink for days." As he greedily gulped the water Dobby brought him, he realised the thirst belonged to Severus. "Damn it, Dobby!" he exclaimed. "We have to find him. He's in trouble. I could feel it."

Closing his eyes to Dobby's concern and curiosity, he declared, "Repario Aperio." Within seconds Harry envisioned a fairly well-lit chamber. "There's windows set high in grey stone walls with water dripping over the older mould staining their surfaces. The floor is stone, too, but covered in rust splotches in places. There's an iron door in one of the walls to the left of the windows; it's closed fast--with a bolt shot into the metal frame. But I can't see anyone--I never can. I think it's the nature of the spell." He opened his eyes and giving a frustrated grunt, he hung his head, crying, "Damn it. I don't know where that is. He could be anywhere. Hell, he could even be here for all I can tell."

Dobby swallowed. He thought back to his former Master and the look of hatred on his face when he'd seen Harry. He took his courage in his hands. "Dobby thinks Master Malfoy has Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry looked at him sharply. "Why would you think that, Dobby?"

"Dobby knows of no one who hates Professor Snape more than his former Master Malfoy. Before Dobby was free, Master Malfoy often plotted to hurt Professor Snape before Harry killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"If he has Severus, would you know where they would keep him?" Harry asked him intently. "And more importantly," he asked gently, "would you be willing to take me there?"

Dobby regarded this man who had saved him from a lifetime of slavery and abuse by tricking his former master into something as simple as giving him a sock. He'd seen Harry's bravery constantly in his time with him and his compassion when he healed. He knew his wrath and his laughter and his generosity. He, like everyone else, seemed incapable of denying him anything. "Dobby will take Harry to the secret rooms. They are exactly as you described. If Professor Snape is there, Harry and Dobby will find him. If Dobby is wrong, Harry and Dobby can leave quickly."

Harry put his hand on Dobby's head. "Thank you. A look is all I ask for. Give me a minute to get my things together and we can go."

Dobby nodded, still unsure this was the right thing to do, but knew Harry would not rest until he saw the Professor was not there with his own two eyes.

Draco was concentrating so hard on his plan, he missed the brief glow from Severus' chest as the Talisman there absorbed Harry's power. Severus' head came up, mystified as he felt stronger, lighter, warmer. 'Harry?' he called in his mind. 'Harry are you there?' For one instant, he thought he could feel his lover's caress until hopelessness crashed down on him once more. His mind retreated from this new torture, the one where he actually could feel someone who was dead. He hung his head and willed himself to die.

Having set a course of action, Draco rose from the floor in an easy movement and approached Severus again. He muttered a protection spell for his hands and a holding spell to keep him from being thrown. He approached Severus and this time his knife was so swift, he managed a quarter of the cut before he was flung hard into the far wall by the augmented power of the Talisman. He slumped, unconscious, to the floor, the white-hot knife seared into his palm and fingers clattering away from him as he fell.

Remus debated whether he should get up now and get them out of there, since Draco had so obligingly knocked himself unconscious, but a sixth sense warned him to stay still. Instead, he moved the wands under his ribs to a place under his arm where they could not be seen, but he could get to them rapidly. He had been steadily getting stronger the more he rested and they left him alone, although he knew he would need a huge surge of adrenaline to overcome the stiffness of abused muscles long unused.

His heart kicked into overdrive given who opened the door and entered the cell not a moment later.

TBC