Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Chapter Three : Walking a Fine Line
Warnings: This story is very dark and contains details of a pregnancy gone bad as well as a graphic description of a Gobbelworm birth. If you are sensitive to this type of situation, please read no further as it is not my intent to distress you.
Part I : The Sanction of the Victim
12 February 2023 (Continued)
"Severus, I'm all done in." Rising unsteadily from the chair in Snape's office, Harry yawned hugely, his eyes tearing. "Sorry. I'm off to bed. I know I said I'd help with the paperwork, but I can't keep my eyes open much longer."
Severus finished locking the glass-door cabinet, in which he secured a gold orb stand, before walking over to Harry. He slid his arms around the slender waist while Harry was in mid-stretch, arms high over his head and back arched. "I'm the one who should be sorry. Are you all right?" Severus ran his hands up his husband's back by way of further apology, kneading a tight muscle bunched below one shoulder. Dipping his head, he slowly chased his lips down Harry's outstretched neck, lingering at the strong steady pulse point at its base. "Is that better?" he murmured, straightening. "I hate making you tense up like this."
Harry's arms came down heavily across Severus' shoulders, his eyes slitted in contentment; he purred as the muscles in his back loosened under Severus' expert ministrations. "Mmmm. Feels good." He raised up slightly and took Severus' lips lightly in what started as a playful kiss that soon turned serious as Severus' needy guilt absorbed the wordless absolution Harry so generously gave him.
His voice low, Harry soothed, "I'm all right. Couldn't be helped. And I remembered more than I ever thought possible; you've always been clever that way." Harry kissed him again. "I love your mouth," he whispered, "and all the things you don't say with it." He pulled back and grinned. "Can't decide which I prefer, your mouth or your hands or your voice--unless it's all of them, of course--on me--at once."
Severus knew Harry was just teasing; there was no arousal pressing against him, nor were his own fires kindled; they were both too weary for such things. His burden lightened by the forgiving banter, Severus evaded the bright understanding in Harry's eyes by pulling him into his arms. Like snuggling into a familiar warm blanket on a cold night, Severus relished the contentment surrounding him. Their embrace intimate and close, Severus did his best to give the same back to him, to make him feel secure and loved in return.
Considering the Legilimency ordeal Harry had just endured, such mutual comfort was sorely needed. It made no difference that Harry had all but bullied him into employing it, their mutual proscription was so deep-seated, so fundamental to their relationship, he'd hated every invasive moment of it.
And as he'd feared, the lengthy session had been brutal despite Harry's cooperation. Perversely, the hazy memory stubbornly resisted his first delicate probings, requiring ever greater and more forceful manipulations before finally surrendering to some semblance of order and clarity. There had been several desperate moments when he'd wanted to end it, his own mind rebelling against the mortifying violation, but Harry's innate ruthlessness unexpectedly held him captive, inexorably refusing them even the smallest respite from their endeavour.
Well, it was done now and recorded, but Harry's heart-rending cries of pain and despair would haunt him forever.
Harry curled his head onto his chest. Severus carded gentle fingers through the soft mop of hair and laid his lips against it, murmuring, "It's been too long; I was clumsy. Does your head still hurt?"
He barely heard Harry's reply, muffled as it was against his robes. "Not really. A small sip of your potion on the bedside table should take care of it just fine."
Severus was loathe to let him go, but his urgent concern made him loosen his hold and step back enough to gently frame Harry's face with his hands, his eyes searching the calm visage for any lingering outward signs of damage. He could see a glint of mild impatience at his fussing in Harry's shadowed eyes, but other than a persistent paleness he seemed fine; there was no hint of the previous pain in his face.
Harry turned his face and kissed the palm of Severus' left hand, taking it and the other hand in his own, his thumbs stroking the tops lightly. "I'm the healer, remember? I'm all right, love. I just need to sleep," he remarked. "Now give me a kiss and I'm off to bed." He dropped one of Severus' hands to cover another jaw-cracking yawn. "Hrrgh. Sorry." He sighed. "So attractive. Must've looked like Saganth inhaling a rat."
Severus chuckled, tenderly wiping off some lingering yawn-tears with his thumbs. "If that was an example of his eating abilities, then I'd say he's graduated to goats." He kissed Harry lightly on the lips. "Will you humour me and take a dose of Dreamless tonight as well? It will be a while before I can join you and I'd work easier knowing you won't be assaulted by what we recalled tonight."
Capitulating gracefully, Harry put his hand on Severus' arm saying, "All right, I'll take a draught, but you're responsible for waking me up tomorrow morning--tea only, mind you." He pointed a finger at him. "Vast quantities of tea, please. I hate your counterpotion--it tastes worse than my mouth in the morning." He grimaced, then grinned unrepentantly.
Severus rolled his eyes. "Would you like crumpets with that, sir?" he asked with a mock bow.
Harry laughed. "No, toast and marmalade will be adequate after the first pot. Now, good night," he finished, giving him a chaste kiss and a firm hug. He smoothed the sleeves of Severus' robe, touched his cheek briefly, and was on his way to the door before Severus could utter another word, calling to Sleave coiled with Saganth by the fire. Bending down, he touched his hand to the floor and the little golden snake quickly climbed up under the cuff of his robe.
He watched Harry's progress with relief, and as soon as the door snicked closed behind him, Severus let his shoulders slump with his own exhaustion. "No rest for the weary--or the wicked in my case, Saganth. Time for the paperwork and the sooner I get to it, the sooner I can go to bed, too." He stretched, bones cracking, his gaping yawn making up for all the ones he'd suppressed earlier in the evening. He moved across the room, gathering from the file room all the forms he still needed to complete. He was so tired, but this needed to be delivered first thing in the morning and he wanted to compose a transcript from the visual record in the memory globes.
Saganth hissed at him from his place by the fire. "I wish I knew what you were saying, but if you're remarking about bloody bureaucrats and their fornicating triplicate, you'd be spot on."
Settling at the head conference table, he made short work of the transmittals then began to carefully record Harry's experience. As the scene coldly unfolded under his pen, he marvelled again at Harry's skill in keeping eight assailants at bay (even if some were much younger with little battle experience) while minimizing the injuries to those around him. Gratifyingly, Severus could name five of them now, all former students ranging in age from twenty to thirty four, none of whom Harry knew very well; the other three he'd not seen beyond the flash of wand Schema.
Looking at the names he'd just written, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Lance Veni and his shadow, the mastodonic William Plens, had been a part of the assault; he'd always thought 'His Slyness' another Draco-in-training. That Veni, heir to a vast empire founded in the darkest shadows of Knockturn Alley, had apparently led it, did strike him as odd. However, if Lucius' aim was to make it look like a 'harmless' idle-rich-boys' peccadillo gone bad, then perhaps the other participants, all young men of wealthy Slytherin lineage, made a twisted, albeit brilliant sort of sense.
Laying the pen down, he sighed. Twenty years it had taken him and two additional Heads of House to raise the Slytherins' image from the wreckage left by the Dark Lord. Many others from the three remaining houses had been as much involved with Voldemort, yet no one seemed to remember that small detail. Was it Slytherin's fate to always be typecast as the villains? Shaking his head, he filed the rumination away for later debate and resumed his account.
Finally finished, he reread the transcript, making a few minor adjustments to clarify what he'd seen; overall it was an accurate account of Harry's altercation at the station. Ever-increasing in number, these violent incursions against the Muggles caused alarm; perhaps Kingsley and Arthur could add insights to help them stop the conflicts he knew were forthcoming in the near future. He concentrated on ridding himself of the resulting grimness--before he took it to bed with him.
Yawning repeatedly, he called Dobby. When the blinking house-elf appeared with a pop, Severus bit back a laugh, noting the bright blue striped nightshirt and mismatched socks Dobby wore--one lime, the other peach--his head topped by a cherry red sleep cap set crookedly over his dishevelled tufts of wispy white hair. Severus solemnly handed the sheaf of papers and two memory globes over to him. "Dobby, I'm sorry to wake you, but I need these delivered to Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Minister first thing tomorrow morning."
Dobby swallowed a yawn while the items he'd been given disappeared with another pop. "Dobby will deliver the Director's to his office. Does Professor Snape want Dobby to deliver the Minister's at his home or at his office?"
"Hmmm. Good question." He paused, giving it some thought. Arthur's children were long gone from home now; it would be just him and Molly. Severus knew Arthur would show her as well, seeing that she was another member of the Order; he trusted both of their opinions. "Besides keeping it from prying eyes at the Ministry, it will save time in the long run if you deliver it to his home. Just be sure they've had time for their first cup of tea before you arrive. Molly would never forgive me for dumping this on them without the benefit of caffeine and I have no desire to be on the receiving end of one of her Howlers."
Dobby deadpanned, "And Dobby does not want to be on this side should Professor Snape get one of Mrs. Weasley's Howlers because of Dobby."
Severus did laugh then. "I always knew you were a wise elf. Thank you, Dobby, and good night." He was about to dismiss the elf, when he remembered. "Oh! Dobby, I almost forgot. Could you please have the house-elves make sure that Harry is up no later than 8:00 am. Have a large pot of tea ready to hand, followed by some toast and marmalade and a second, smaller pot when he's finished with the first."
Dobby stared at him mischievously. "Is Professor Snape going to be at the Head Table or does the Professor want Dobby to bring the Professor breakfast in bed, too?"
"Cheeky elf! No, 'the Professor' will be dining in the Great Hall--as usual. Harry's had a difficult evening and I made him take a sleeping draught. As he'll refuse the counterpotion, I wish you luck waking him."
"Dobby will ask the snakes to help Dobby wake Harry. The snakes always succeed."
Severus chuckled. "I said wake him, not give him heart failure. Now take your saucy self back to Blinky."
Dobby gave a little smile and a bow before disappearing with his normal soft pop.
Gods, he was tired. "All right, Saganth. Time for us to be off to bed as well." When he didn't hear an answering hiss, he looked around the fireplace and, not seeing the snake, muttered, "Bugger me. Now, I'm talking to an empty room. At least when he's here I look like I'm holding a rational conversation, even if it is a bit one-sided." Shrugging, he was about to douse the lights when he noticed the Pensieve sitting out on the polished slate top of the sideboard under the windows.
"Damn, I forgot about that," he said aloud. Resigned to the delay, he sighed. "I should secure it before I go." He went over to the locked cabinets by the fire circle and, opening the right one, pocketed his wand as he quickly stepped to the sideboard. Eyeing the almost full Pensieve, the shining memories swirling lazily in the magelight, Severus relentlessly squashed the temptation to discover what events had wrought such changes in Harry once he'd removed them. Firm in his resolve not to peek, he carefully picked up the Pensieve, holding it at an angle so he couldn't see the full face of the surface. The contents sloshing gently, he waited until it settled before slowly making his way over to the open cabinet, his eyes never leaving the liquidy, yet clouded, substance where it met the sides of the dark bowl to make sure it didn't spill.
A half-heard, sharp hiss his only warning that he was in trouble, his foot came down on Saganth moving unseen from the seating area to join him. As soon as his weight settled partially on the soft body, he jerked his foot up and away, but it was too late; Saganth was already hopelessly tangled in his feet. Falling hard to the stone floor, he knocked the breath out of him, the Pensieve flying up out of his hands as pain exploded in his head and back. Struggling to hold onto consciousness, a splash of warm liquid hit him full in the face an instant before the heavy stone Pensieve landed on his chest, bruising the sternum and shattering a rib on the rebound.
Gasping now as much from the agonising injury as the lack of air, Severus found himself unable to stop the rushing disorientation as he fell into one of Harry's memories.
Saganth lay still on the floor at his feet.
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"Magister Potter?" The deferential healer, speaking almost in a whisper, was hunched over as if protecting himself, his balding head bobbing slightly as he shifted from foot to foot. He waited a long moment before calling out again, a little louder, but still quietly, "Magister Potter? A moment of your time, if you please." He sighed in resignation as Harry raised a hand indicating he should wait a moment more, his eyes, sans the spectacles of old, scanning the parchment he held.
Severus was in Harry's spartan old office at St. Bartholomew's, which he was in the habit of calling St. Bartie's, a Wizarding teaching hospital just north of York. He was wearing the mark of his profession: heavy red robes--brand new, too, from the looks of them--opened over faded blue jeans, a tatty yellow long-sleeve shirt, and worn grey trainers which had once been white. Severus smiled affectionately when he saw the shirt; they'd discarded it shortly after he'd torn it off his lover when Harry had unexpectedly come home early one afternoon long ago. Horny as hell, he'd been without his wand--he couldn't remember now why--but impatiently shredding the garment to get to the delights underneath had seemed like a good idea at the time. And he didn't recall Harry complaining about the loss of the shirt, either.
Severus found the whole scene surreal because Harry didn't have an office at St. Bartie's anymore, hadn't ever since he'd opened his offices in London. What he was seeing must have taken place right before the move, for he remembered Harry grousing about having to buy the robes for his new position as an instructor there. His hair, free of any silver, confirmed the time frame; Severus was seeing something from nearly a decade ago and he briefly wondered why Harry had felt the need to remove the memory before their session this evening.
His attention was drawn back to the scene in front of him when Harry raised his head from the document he was reading, a slight frown marring his forehead. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Jed, but I had to go over these progress notes before I visit Mrs. Riley."
The older healer wrung his hands in distress. "Actually, sir, the director would like to see you right away. He asked me to take care of Mrs. Riley in your stead."
Harry huffed noisily and stood, straightening his robes where they'd twisted in the chair. Obviously annoyed, he reached out and placed his hand on Jed's thin shoulder. "What does the bugger want now? More 'paperwork' I forgot? Another donation? Damn, I am so tired of his little 'summons' while you get stuck with all the work."
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what he wants, he just said not to keep him waiting. I did try and warn you."
Harry gave his shoulder a squeeze and then dropped his hand, a rueful smile on his face. "I know you did. Buck up, Jed, you might even get to your real patients later. Here's the Riley woman's chart; I know you'll do fine."
A pleased smile lit the healer's otherwise gloomy face; Severus could see Harry's confidence in him made all the difference in the man's manner and bearing. Gone was the subservient little toad and, if one didn't see the timid side as well, one could well believe him competent. In fact, Severus knew he was, for Jed worked steadily in Harry's clinic even now. Severus shook his head; Harry always had been quicker to see a person's good side than he ever did. He supposed he should be grateful--where would they be if Harry hadn't noticed his?
He watched them exchange a few more comments about 'Mrs. Riley' as Harry passed the patient on to the other Healer. Leaving Jed with more encouragement, Harry walked down a long, straight corridor of chipped white linoleum with dull grey walls devoid of any ornamentation. Hurrying to beat the closing doors, Severus followed Harry into the middle lift of a bank of three and they rode six levels up to the third floor. Severus hadn't realised Harry's old office was in the second sub-basement; he just remembered Harry had disliked it, remarking once that 'A full tin of biscuits has more room.' Considering how tightly a box of Harry's favourite lemon creams was packed, it hadn't recommended it any.
When the creaking lift doors finally opened, they entered a wholly different world filled with dark panelling, thick plush carpets, expensive artwork, and antique furniture. Harry's moue of distaste at such an ostentatious display, after traversing such mean poverty elsewhere, mirrored his own. Turning to the left from obvious habit, Harry strode deeper into the building, down another corridor with panelled doors on either side. The further they travelled, the more wealthy the trappings became until they arrived at a large open area with a domed skylight and a huge half circle desk elevated so that the pert, young witch sitting there could look down on any visitors.
She immediately sat to attention when Harry entered the area; her calculating glance, Severus supposed, could be considered flirtatious if he were a man interested in such things. Harry grinned at her and drew breath to say something, but he never got to finish because she cooed loudly, "Oooo, Magister Potter! He's expecting you." She leaned over the edge of the desk and Severus snorted when Harry lifted a brow at the cleavage displayed not more than an arm's span from his face. Her face avid, she said confidentially, "And he's really brassed-off that you're late. Didn't Jed tell you to hurry?"
"Yes, he did--told me to come at once, but you know how I am." He waved his hands at two doors, one on either side of her desk. "Now Gretchen, tell me--conference room or his office? We mustn't keep him waiting further."
She pouted and sat back in her seat saying, "In his office. You'll have to get past the old battle-axe, though."
Harry chuckled. "I'm sure I will." Without further exchange, Harry moved to the left side of the reception counter, ignoring Gretchen. Judging from the way her eyes followed Harry, Severus guessed she found his husband attractive. He never really thought of things that way--how others perceived Harry's looks. Severus thought him quite fine and it always took him by surprise when others, especially females, sought Harry's attention--even when they knew he was married to another man. He supposed it was the challenge of the thing.
He didn't have any more time to speculate on it because Harry had already opened the door, quickly entering a sumptuous office. The smell of fine leather and beeswax assailed his nose the moment he followed. Done in tasteful greens and creams, the waiting room furniture was Muggle and old. An Old Master painting dominated the wall behind the secretary, an elderly woman with her hair rolled into a severe bun; she looked like an Albus-aged McGonagall. Severus had to laugh. It seemed that Harry had stolen his secretary for the clinic (and soon to be his secretary) from the hospital's Director. Sheila MacDermott--a highly efficient witch even to this day and completely devoted to Harry.
Harry went behind the desk, put a hand on her shoulder and, bending down, kissed her cheek. "How is the 'old battle-axe' feeling this morning?" he asked her with a grin.
"She feels like hexing a certain young bint in the front lobby," she replied with a straight face. "Merlin, I wish he'd start hiring them for their head instead of his."
Harry threw his head back and laughed, his shoulders moving in his mirth. "Ah, Sheila, you know much I love you. Any idea what the old sod wants from me--this time?"
Her face suddenly serious, she leaned over to him, saying so quietly Severus had to step closer to hear, "I don't know, but he's in a right snit and the Owls have been flying since last night. It's something important, though; he's been jumpy all morning. Near snapped my head off earlier when--"
She stopped, stood quickly, and was around the desk at the office door handle saying, "Right this way, Magister Potter, he's expecting you," just as the door popped open and a balding, middle aged man barked, "Sheila, are you sure you told Jed--" When he spied Harry, his face hardened as he said, "Oh, it's you, Potter. Come on in, then, there's no time to waste."
Harry looked back at Sheila as he followed the director into his office, giving her a huge wink before going through the opening. After one admiring glance at her wicked smile, Severus hastily followed.
By the time he entered, the director, fussing with his starchy, dark blue robes was already seated behind his massive desk. As a connoisseur of antiques, Severus was impressed at the quality of the heavy Italian baroque piece. He also knew this particular style, from the early 1700's, had been popular with the Nazis; very few had been recovered after the war and he wondered how Colch had managed to get his hands on such a fine, but probably illegal bit of the past. The high-backed, ornate chair Harry had settled in was of the same period; from the way he was wriggling, it was less comfortable than it looked. Or, given that Sleave emerged, growling softly, from under the folded cuff of Harry's robe to lay her head on the back of his hand, perhaps Harry was just restive.
"We've no time to waste," Colch began without preamble. "Our client will be arriving any minute and I want to make sure we're there to greet the family and the consultant they've brought."
"Client?" Harry asked. "You mean patient?" While he was examining a short, squat armoire behind the director, Severus looked up sharply; Harry's tone precisely matched his wary expression.
In an off-handed manner belying his previous urgency, Colch said breezily, "Client, patient, what's the difference? They've paid for the privilege of privacy and specifically asked for you. The fee is quite handsome for both your work and your discretion."
"Me? They want me? For what?" Harry asked. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Even now my skills are not that well known, and certainly not publicly, so why me? Or did you suggest it?"
Colch held up his hands in protest. "No, no, I said nothing. They were, however, quite specific about it being you; they asked for you by name. Seems the consultant they have knows your reputation; I suppose he's the one who suggested you."
Relaxing a bit, Harry asked reasonably, "Who is he?"
"Haven't a clue, but they've assured me he's a 'specialist' of some renown," Colch said rapidly, perhaps too so; Severus stood close to him, studying his face.
Eyeing the single trickle of sweat trailing down the director's temple, Severus thought, 'He's lying.' Judging from the barely disguised disgust Harry levelled at the man, he thought the same thing, and Severus was filled with the odd, almost burning sensation of Harry detecting a lie. He'd known Harry's haphazard empathic abilities gave him some advantage in matters of this kind at times, but he'd never actually experienced it.
"'Specialist'," Harry stated flatly. The uneasiness emanated from Harry in almost palpable waves. "What kind of 'specialist'?" he asked abruptly. "Healer or other?" Severus could almost hear his side thought, 'And did it wear a Dark Mark at some time or other?'
Looking at the grandfather clock standing in the back corner of the room behind Harry, Colch said, "I assure you, they didn't say, but I'm quite certain he is as they say he is or they wouldn't have retained him." He stood from his chair. "Now, we must be off if we're to get there in time. Come with me."
"Hold on, Colch. I want some answers," Harry insisted, a small smile on his lips at the grimace the director made when Harry used his bare surname. "Just who is this 'client'? And what's wrong with the patient? It just won't do for me to walk into this totally unprepared. Are there charts? A history at least?"
"I've little information, Magister Potter," he said, the name a sneer on his lips. "Afraid you won't be up to snuff, sir?"
Harry laughed. "Hardly. Nice try, though. I'll go nowhere until I have more information, Colch." He folded his arms and sat back in the chair. Severus almost cheered and then remembered they couldn't see him.
The director looked to the side, obviously undecided. Finally he said, reluctantly, "All I know is that it's a woman, around 25 years of age who's unconscious and having some difficulties with a pregnancy after she was cursed; they fear for both her and the babe. The curse has been broken; they want you to stabilise her. The family has requested their name be withheld for privacy's sake and I've agreed, but I can assure you they're an old and esteemed line." He sighed. "Satisfied?"
Harry's face was a study of weary confusion. "No, but if it is as you say, I don't see how I can help them. I have little to no practical experience with prenatal cases." This was news to Severus; he knew Harry had worked on several cases, but when he thought about it, they were all in the last ten years. Perhaps this had been one of his first and that's why he'd removed the memory; perhaps this was one of his losses, or maybe the client was exactly as Colch had described her--of good family and in trouble.
Colch held up his hands as if defending himself. "I know, I know. And I told them that," he said placatingly. "Evidently the babe is the responsibility of the 'specialist'; they want you to take care of the mother. You have worked in tandem before, yes?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, I have. But that does not mean I will work with no further information."
Triumphant, Colch declared, "While I was trying to avoid it, must I remind you of your contract with this establishment? I don't believe you have many options here."
Harry grimaced, his shoulders slumping as he stood. "Only ten more days, Colch. Then I am free of you." He cocked his head when Colch chuckled softly, invoking the terms of their 'contract' with a muttered spell. "Well, it seems I've no choice but to help." The 'damn you' was implied, but left unspoken. Severus could understand this very well. Even now Harry hated to work blind and, given what he did and the risks he took, Severus agreed he should at least be given the choice.
Severus had suspected at the time that the compulsion to work under contracts, more than anything else, was why Harry had gone out on his own; this potential misuse of his talents and the twisting of what was probably an innocent agreement just confirmed it. Harry's skills were not a right to be bestowed upon just anyone who wanted it. After all, it was more than his life at stake and Severus knew Harry was ever mindful of the consequences should he fail. The whole situation was making him as nervous as Harry obviously was, although he was couching it well in seeming reluctance.
Beaming, Colch said, "Good. I'm glad we finally understand each other. It may be ten days, as you say, but that's ten days from now and until then..." He let the threat hang in the air between them. "Now, let's be off. We're very late." He moved away from the desk at a brisk pace, Harry following slower. When they passed through MacDermott's lair, he barely registered the worried look she threw him.
Severus knew exactly how she felt.
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To be continued...