Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Chapter Three : Walking a Fine Line
Part VI : The Separation Between Light and Dark
13 February 2023 (Continued)
Lunch with Perrin had been tense, but Harry suspected that was more because he'd scolded the boy for not talking to Severus as he'd promised rather than any of the usual flotsam between them. Or so it seemed. Regardless, Perrin had made a concerted effort not to mention his wife and Harry had earnestly endeavoured to pretend Perrin didn't have one. Somehow they'd managed to remain civil long enough to complete a meal without any argument.
"Did it go well?" Sheila asked him as he walked into the front office.
"Well enough," Harry hedged.
"And..."
"And nothing. I told him how disappointed I was. He apologised. We ate lunch."
"You all right?" she asked softly.
Harry shrugged. "Not really, but you already know that." Willing the familiar hurt away, he added with false cheer, "So, anything interesting happen while I was gone?"
Sheila sighed, then said briskly, "We had a Muggle come in about an hour ago." Her raised brow and disdainful sniff told him she thought the man more drunk than ill, but she limited her verbal comments to a tepid, "Jed's seeing to him now." Amused, Harry shrugged at her distaste; wouldn't be the first time and if this were the case, Jed would give the man a sobriety potion and send him on his way.
"Well, I'll leave him to it. I'll be in my office doing charts if he needs me." He didn't give her time to reply; the bright sympathy in her eyes was more than he could bear right now.
Harry made his way down the back hallway to his office after stopping to relieve himself. He'd almost reached the door when Jed burst out of the room across, his curious close-legged scurry reminiscent of a toddler racing for the bog. In passing he hurriedly stammered, "I've stabilized the patient. Late fifties, comatose. He's loaded. More your cuppa than mine." Almost as an afterthought, he tossed out, "I left my notes--" the words cut off as the door to the loo closed and locked behind him.
Harry shook his head at the brevity but, given the normal flux of Jed's nervous bowels, Harry assumed his call of nature urgent and didn't stop him for more details. Belatedly realising all his associate hadn't said, he wished he had, but also knew from long experience that if he tried to ask him anything through the door, Jed wouldn't answer him. Staring at the plain wood surface behind which sat his answers, Harry snorted; while deucedly inconvenient at times, Jed's personal eccentricities were fairly easy to tolerate in light of his competence, although this was not necessarily an opinion his peers shared.
No matter, Jed's usually thorough notes should provide the missing information. Intrigued, Harry crossed into the exam room, glancing quickly at his latest patient, a rag-clad derelict, no different than the hundreds of others he'd observed living on the fringes of Muggle society. Such a waste. Opening his senses, he was almost immediately assaulted by the dark magic clinging to the man like early morning fog on a pond. A nagging familiarity teased this side of his subconscious, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand to wary attention; he should know this.
However, Jed's well-set dampening field, which protected Harry from the many hazards of working blind, also reduced his extrinsic sensitivity. He needed an initial diagnosis before he could proceed. Where was the chart? Perplexed, Harry glanced around the windowless exam room; short of himself, a short sideboard, and the unconscious man lying rigid on a narrow bed, the largish room was empty. Checking the drawer where the chart could have been, he even felt the edges around the top thinking it might have been caught there as it had one time before. But it was empty.
I left my notes... Where? Well, that could be several places, actually. Perhaps, while he'd been on his way to his office, Jed had sent it to Sheila before raising the wards? Considering Jed had no idea when Harry would return, the thought made ironic sense, but since the room's current ward was tuned to Jed, it also meant Harry couldn't just summon it; he'd have to fetch it.
Sighing impatiently, Harry left the patient behind, glaring at the bathroom door as he passed it. Entering the front office, he asked briskly, "Sheila, did Jed send you--?" and stopped, rocking back on his heels. The room was empty as was the small waiting room beyond, visible through a one-way window. Huh? Where was she? Considering she'd been here just a few moments ago, and Jed occupied the only loo, this was odd.
What had only been a vague uneasiness blossomed into fresh urgency. He strode across the office into a small workroom which led into the clinic proper. Halfway across, a flash of cornflower blue--the same shade Sheila had been wearing today--caught his eye from under a nearby closet door. As he tried to open the out-swinging door, the latch stuck; he finally worked the handle by pushing the door into the stop, bracing his body against a heavy weight threatening to pop it open.
"Sheila!" he gasped in dismay as he eased her crumpled body down to the floor. Falling to his haunches, Harry visually assessed her limp form half-in, half-out of the small room lined with shelving beyond. His hand travelling down her spine, followed by a gentle probe through her bound silver hair, revealed no physical injury to speak of. With a minute flick of his fingers, he slowly rolled her over. Quick touches to throat, eyes, and forehead told him she was the victim of a simple stunning spell. He briefly debated waking her but decided it would be safer for her to come 'round on her own.
Thinking furiously, he realised someone must have slipped in, unseen, with the patient. Had to be as Sheila never mentioned two visitors and the clinic's Anti-Apparation wards were set to chime whenever someone entered from either the public or private entrances. A hastily whispered unmasking spell revealed he and Sheila were alone, but a second, broader cast revealed there were five people within the wards--four males, one female. Counting the patient, that left only the intruder. What could he possibly want? They kept no drugs, no interdicted potions to hand. Was he after the patient?
He needed help. Drawing his wand, Harry went to Sheila's desk and hit the panic button Moody had insisted he install when he'd opened the clinic a decade ago; he'd never used it before. Help was supposedly on the way and, as he murmured the cantrip to seal both doors to the office, he hoped the Aurors remembered the passwards. While the clinic's denizens could use them freely, it would prevent any other wizards from entering.
Never one for passivity, he wanted to reconnoitre but also didn't want to leave Sheila. His eyes continuously scanning the room, he cautiously opened the door into the private hallway and called in as normal a voice as he could muster, "Jed! Hurry it up! I need that chart, now." He returned to Sheila's side, and as the minutes ticked by, a creeping dread filled him when Jed failed to appear as he'd expected.
Had something happened to him as well? And where were those damned Aurors?
He couldn't wait any longer. After seeing to Sheila's comfort and safety, he left the office through the public way. The hallway quieter than his own thoughts, he carefully placed each step so as not to disturb the unnatural silence. Approaching the exam room from the other side, he silently released the lock. Easing the door open, he half-expected the interloper blocking his view of the patient. Heart hammering, the syllables of his own 'Stupefy' were almost off his lips when the tall, gaunt figure whirled to face him.
He froze. The cold eyes, now more tawny than topaz, could only belong to one man. Stenman! The gods damn him, it was Stenman. Oozing the same oily urbanity, the man hadn't changed much in the decade since Harry had last seen him in person. Now he understood why the dark magic permeating the homeless man had seemed so familiar; the 'feel' was almost identical to all the other poor souls he'd rescued from Stenman's failed 'experiments' over the ensuing years.
Wands up, they faced each other warily. Harry had survived him once; there would be no second chances in this encounter.
"Well, well. Aren't you the brave little cub?" Stenman drawled, his seeming insouciance belying his taut stance. "I really hadn't expected to see you."
Harry wrinkled his nose as if inhaling a putrid stench. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Stenman raised a brow. "Oh, pardon me; I thought it was fairly obvious." He gestured behind him. "I was merely attending to some inescapable domestic maintenance."
Eyes narrowed dangerously, Harry asked, "What are you babbling about?"
"I see Snape still comprises the thinking half of your partnership." Stenman laughed with open amusement. "Taking out the garbage, Potter. Every success is built on the backs of numerous failures. Regrettably, this one was singularly disastrous. I can ill-afford to have him found now that he is of no further use to me. He won't bother either of us anymore, though, I assure you."
It was a small mistake; Harry moved his eyes to look at his patient. He'd no more traced the ribbon of blood trailing from the man's mouth to a small puddle on the floor when Stenman cursed him. Defence shields up instantly, Harry easily deflected the shouted "Crucio" and, wand sparking, he reflexively retaliated. "Stu--"
"Expelliarmus!"
"No. NO!" The wand wrenched from his hand landed several feet away. Quicker than Harry would have credited, Stenman turned to the threat standing in the doorway. Jed didn't stand a chance as the, "Avada Kedavra," left Stenman's mouth. Action taking over thought, Harry leapt. His remaining defensive shields intercepted the killing curse, knocking it aside as his forward momentum carried him beyond, bowling Jed over into the corridor wall where he slumped unconscious to the floor. Harry fell heavily on his side just inside the door, his head cracking against the metal frame. Dazed, he could only stare at the business end of Stenman's wand.
Damn Jed's misguided heroics, anyway.
"This is most tiresome; I'd thought to have a bit of sport with you, but I think I've changed my mind." Stenman tapped his chin with a long finger. "Decisions, decisions." His mouth twisted into a sneer. "Knowing Snape's penchant for beauty, I'd say you're proof positive that love is truly blind; I think it best not to mar you further. I promise, I won't leave a mark." He raised his wand.
The calculated insults rolling harmlessly off him, time stood still for Harry. Without his wand, his defence shielding would be almost non-existent--certainly not enough to counter a killing curse. He stifled a giggle; Stenman's words, filtered as they were through his sluggish brain, sounded as if they were slogging through a day-old treacle tart. So this was death? What a shame. He couldn't even get comfortable with the floor digging into his hip.
The floor?
With a flash of inspiration, Harry quick-released the metal ball he used to shunt a patient's defensive magic; he didn't need his wand to use this and the Sanos. As Stenman opened his mouth, Harry rolled towards him, his head screaming agony. Grabbing the man's leg, he held it firm against a shin, fervently hoping the sphere's matrix would prove sufficient against the coming spell.
With a small prime of Sanos magic, it worked. Stenman howled his frustration as his curse showered out of the sphere in long arcs of pulsing green energy. More spells rained harmlessly down on him as the sphere drew them out as well. Furious, Stenman kicked Harry in the ribs, then under his jaw. Tasting blood, Harry desperately held on. Blackness squeezed the outside of his vision as the blunt toe of Stenman's boot connected again and again with his temple. He mustn't let go!
At some point, his mind shouted at him to stop, that the curse was neutralised and Stenman could be easily subdued now, but Harry couldn't hear his own reason over the irresistible siren call of his righteous rage. Ignoring his body's painful protests, he redoubled his effort, pushing his will behind the ball's purpose; deprived of the curse, it began to drain Stenman's magic. Jagged streaks of uncontained power crackled like lightning bolts until the very air snapped and sparked with the raw magic filling it.
Soon overwhelmed, the sphere's effectiveness waned. As his adversary sank to one knee with a low moan, Harry smoothly added his full Sanos magic, his hatred of Stenman and all he represented fuelling an overwhelming need for justice and a retribution the 'authorities' had yet to exact.
But he could.
Who would speak for those who could not? Eunice's desiccated body flashed before his eyes, the first victim he'd been unable to save.
No, Harry! Don't draw the line.
He followed the first pathway, the grating Sanos echoing in his head.
Passive observer or empowered retributor? Eunice's daughter stared at him with empty eyes, her frail body too far away for him to save.
Eyesight or line-of-sight magic?
Stop, before it's too late!
As easily as a warm knife through butter, Harry severed the magical ability.
Sacred or profane? A young, anonymous stranger, stripped of her womanhood, lay dying under his hands; he'd been too late to save her.
Voice or compulsion?
You mustn't do this!
Another magical connection shrivelled under his burning intent.
Life or death? A man's life dripped blood in a puddle on the floor; he never even got the chance to save him.
No! Don't cross--
Harry ploughed through the heart of Stenman's power, leaving a ruin in his wake.
Who were the victims?
Gritting his teeth against the blazing backlash of his dark intent, Harry continued to destroy Stenman's magic. Weaker every moment, the wispy strands of energy slithered sluggishly along the floor like tendrils of sparse fog. He searched the remaining shreds of Stenman's power. With one final surge of cacophonous Sanos song, he cut the last of it, inwardly laughing with his victory: the victims were sanctified.
The fluttering pulse of dissipated magic from the sphere stopped with a dreadful finality.
Oh dear gods, what have you done?
Done? He'd finally redeemed them all. This bastard would never hurt anyone again.
Panting, they glared at each other, Stenman slumped to the floor next to Harry. He weakly raised his wand, still desperately grasped in his hand, the gasped, "Avada Kedavra!" sounding more like habit than anything harmful.
Nothing happened.
Stunned, Stenman could only stare. "Stupefy!" he cried hoarsely.
Again, nothing happened.
"No!" Stenman yelled, yanking the ball out of Harry's hands. "What have you done?" he shouted, staggering to his feet. Shaking and banging the sphere against his palm, as if a good knock would return everything he'd lost, he tried several spells, but it was no use; he had no magic anymore, not even for a child's Lumos. "Give it back to me. Give it back!" Stenman almost sobbed incoherently, holding the ball out to Harry like a broken toy.
Harry was beyond thinking, the giddy triumph turning to lead in his chest. What had he done? "I can't," he gasped. "It's truly gone and I can't--." He turned his aching head away to the side and, spitting blood at Stenman's feet, mumbled stubbornly, "And I wouldn't, even if I could."
Harry braced for a physical attack that never came. Wobbling like an infant on his first legs, Stenman wailed his loss and threw the sphere, crashing it into the wall. Flinching at the impact, Harry could only watch as Stenman stumbled out of the room almost tripping over Jed's body blocking the corridor. A few moments after his moving shadow disappeared from Harry's sight, the wards chimed; Stenman had made good his escape out the back door.
Harry rolled on his back. Empty. He was as empty as the dark haze slowly filling his sight. There was nothing left in him; he'd crossed the line and could never go back. He should feel remorse, but it was denied him as was any comfort that he'd done it in self-defence. He knew better. He could have stopped at almost any point, could have summoned his wand and easily bound Stenman before he recovered enough to do him any harm.
But he hadn't. He'd not wanted to stop. He'd wanted to hurt, wanted to harm, wanted to waste the man as much as he'd wasted countless others. He'd wanted Stenman to live with his punishment. He had wanted and that want, that pleasure of hateful fulfilment had satisfied almost as much as the pleasure he derived from loving. Almost, but enough, a taste of what he could have: justice and the pleasure of meting it.
He groaned as the long-ignored quiet voice, so much like Severus', demanded his full attention. Its message was clear: he was a monster, no better than the wizard he'd sought to destroy. Worse in fact, it whispered, for he'd betrayed himself.
And Severus. Oh gods--Severus! How could he face him? How much would Severus hate him for crossing the line? Could their bond sustain them through this?
Where did he go from here? He started chuckling like a madman with his mind's immediate answer. Heal yourself. Get off the floor. See if Jed's all right. Check on Sheila. Clean up the body. Find out why the authorities aren't here yet. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of him. How typically inane: he was sprawled on the floor, possibly blind, he'd just turned someone into a squib, he was probably going to lose his husband, and his mind's only solution was a fucking to-do list. He felt--
What?
--He felt another presence. Hearing nothing, he tried to find it, eyes closed against the filmy haziness still blocking his sight. Ah, there was someone here--close, very close--almost on top of him--someone who did not speak. Maybe he'd not been as thorough as he'd thought? Had Stenman returned? Had he sent someone else? Instinctively gathering the Sanos once again, he released it in broad waves around him, seeking to remove the perceived threat. New pain blossomed in his chest and arms. The floor moved beneath him, buckling as if it wanted to swallow him. His wrists were taken in a death grip as someone he should know but couldn't recall, shouted stridently in his head, "Damn it, Harry, stop!"
He steadily pushed the magic, the grip on his wrists increasing as he heard cries of pain from whoever held him. Glad of his success, he relentlessly continued the pounding Sanos punishment, wanting to harm, wanting to kill whoever had him captive, relishing the weakening cries of agony as he wrenched his treacherous foe's beating heart. Just a few more moments was all he--
An icy wall sliced through his power, the abrupt cessation of his magic leaving him reeling. He heard harsh panting as the haziness receded, his first waking vision that of long dark hair hiding the light, his first waking feel that of a body suspended above him desperately sucking in air. Harry blinked, trying to bring it into focus. Pale as a ghost, Severus' body bound him to the floor, his hands painfully holding his wrists over his head in a death grip. How--?
As sight returned, so did feeling. He hurt. Staggering pain coursed through him, agony he soon realised came from Severus in aching pulses. No, Severus hurt. His senses told him this was the least of it, the small aftershocks of something much larger. Confused, his eyes wandered, seeking the threat to his mate, to him--but he could sense nothing but them.
As feeling returned, so did his sense of place and time. 'Here' was Hogwarts, not the clinic. This floor was the carpet before the fire in Severus' office, not the cold tile in the exam room. Now was this morning, not several days ago. The hands holding him down were real, not a part of the memory still playing in his head. The castle was trembling. Severus was kneeling over him, the tremors running down his body keeping perfect time with the stone rumbles. Little by little they quieted until both were still.
As reality returned, so did blinding awareness. He'd almost killed Severus!
No! Not this! Chaos erupted. Events tumbled into an endless palette of shame as visions and reality and memory swirled into one horrific whole. Draco became Stenman who pushed Eunice into an old man in front of a train while a bloody baby danced around Sheila's crumpled form. Wands flashing fire became spheres spewing magic became verdant copper wildfire became a poison green light shattering Severus' flying body. Formless apologies to them all burst forth, his words falling like so much gibberish even in his own ears. Panicked, he struggled to escape, to leave this place of breathless insanity, certain that if he did not, it would suck him forever into total madness.
A whispering filled his ears, while soothing images filled his mind, slowly replacing the frightening jumble. Kisses. Those were kisses. Gentle kisses caressing his face. Words. That was Severus' voice. The low deep tones replacing the piteous cries of those he'd damned. "Hush, love," washed over him, "lay still," filling him with a fragile peace, "you're fine," slowed it down, "it's all right now," bringing some meaning to sound and order to chaos. "You're home now."
One unsteady breath followed another. He was home?
.:0:. .:0:. .:0:. .:0:.
Severus watched Harry closely through watering eyes. He seemed calm enough now, his eyes staring into nothing. Taking the chance, he released Harry's hands, hands that moments before had been beating furiously against him as his spouse had desperately tried to escape his mind's tumult. He sat back on his heels, wheezing. Turning his head to the side, he coughed violently; the raucous hacking, which threatened to split his head open, finally expelled the blockage making breathing so difficult. Spitting the thick wad of phlegm into the nearby fireplace, he drew one deep breath after another as it sizzled and popped; the last of his physical impediments going up in pale smoke.
Well, almost. Gods, he was sore. And worried. The memory in itself had been almost overwhelming, far worse than he'd expected, but he was more concerned that Harry wasn't recovering from it well. His thoughts whirling like chaff on the wind, he sternly collected them one by one until he was concentrated on one task: finding the cause of Harry's adverse reaction. Was it sensory overload? Disorientation? Or had the memory actually harmed him? With a heavy sigh, he prepared to find out.
"I'd hoped you could avoid this," a quiet, familiar voice said sadly over his head.
Without looking, he replied tersely, "Did you, old man?"
"No, he didn't," another softer voice chimed in.
Startled, Severus looked up at the portrait; Poppy stood in front of Albus, whose gnarled hands lightly kneaded her shoulders.
"And it's never about whether you are enough," she added, "but rather if he is enough."
"I've no time for word games," he snarled.
"Have I ever minced my words to you, Severus?" Poppy asked with unexpected asperity. "You will understand when you need to; I cannot just give them to you if you've not grown enough to accept them." She looked to the side at the other portraits and tilted her head. "And you'll not readily find any answers here."
True--there were too many eyes about. He looked back to Harry as if the answers to his many questions were written on his still-unresponsive face. Glancing back up, he closed his mouth over his scathing rejoinder; the frame stood empty.
Poppy was right; they needed to go home. A quick check eased his mind on one point; Harry's response wasn't due to memory damage. Soon after, when his husband opened his eyes in blatant confusion, Severus dipped his head and touched his lips lightly to Harry's, smiling with what he hoped was encouragement.
"Severus? Why does my head hurt?" Harry whispered. "Where--? I thought I--" Eyes widening, he tried to sit up. "Are you all right?"
Severus silenced Harry's fresh panic with another soft kiss, then helped him to sit. His hands cupping Harry's face, he murmured as if to a small child, "Shh. I'm better; so are you. Let's get us well first and oriented. I confess I'm not at my best right now and neither are you."
He eased back to his knees. When excruciating cramps wracked his muscles he realised that, while it may have saved his life, their bond had done little to prevent collateral damage. A glance at Harry's swollen and bruised wrists and arms confirmed Harry had some as well, and he was suddenly very glad Harry had left Sleave in their quarters. Severus shakily stood, holding out his hand. Struggling, Harry soon followed, both of them swaying in place. Arms wrapped around each other, Severus closed his eyes and Apparated them to their bedchamber.
Severus led a docile Harry to their bed, although he more fell than crawled into it. Turning away from him, Harry curled into a tight ball, his miserable silence ripping through Severus' heart.
Certain that Harry was suffering from Sanos fatigue, Severus opened the bedside drawer; Harry always kept a supply in here. Rummaging through the surprising contents, Severus soon realised this was more than just a repository for his husband's night-time things, it was full of little titbits he would never have thought consequential.
But Harry had.
He sat down hard on the mattress' edge, undone, his own problems momentarily forgot. Remarkably, he'd never gone through Harry's drawer before and, feeling like an interloper in someone else's life, he pulled the contents out one by one. A lock of his own hair tied with a bit of leather, a wooden box with their Orders of Merlin new and untarnished, a small perfect seashell, a pretty rock he remembered Perrin bringing back his first summer in Hana--these and dozens of other small mementos soon filled his lap and the bed around him. Digging around at the side, he pulled out the familiar leather box containing the vials of restorative. Opening it, he plucked out one, and set it on the tabletop.
He was about to return everything when a spot of white caught his attention. Reaching into the far back, he gingerly pulled out a compact bundle of perfectly preserved freesia, clover, and meadow grass tied with a thin red ribbon. Holding it to his nose, its sweet fragrance brought contented memories of the first time he'd made love to his husband surrounded by a gifted spring in the deepest winter, and reminded him that hope can sometimes best the most impossible odds. This was what Harry's collection was all about; those small, everyday things tying them together. As he wondered anew at Harry's capacity to find the good in life, a solid peace filled him along with renewed hope. They would weather this, it would be all right. Setting the bundle next to the restorative, he carefully replaced everything else back in the drawer the way he'd found them.
Studying Harry's colourless face and near-catatonia, he surmised he would need every bit of that hope if he were to reach him; they had a long way to go. But only if they were both recovered. Sliding his arm under his husband's shoulders, he tugged and coaxed him to sit in the circle of his arm. Practised fingers uncapped the vial and in small sips, he managed to get it all down Harry with only a few drops spilled. By small degrees, his still-silent spouse sagged against him, fast asleep. A whispered spell later, he gently laid Harry down. Rolling on his side, Harry blindly groped Severus' side of the bed. Severus smiled; the sight of Harry wrapped around his purloined pillow, nose buried in the middle, was familiar from those mornings he left a sleepy, sated Harry before going to work. While it usually made him feel content, the endearing gesture now produced an unaccustomed flutter through his stomach. He turned his thoughts away from its source; no, he wasn't ready to visit that just yet.
He was smoothing some wayward hair from Harry's face when the cramps hit him, a vivid reminder that he needed to take care of himself as well. His joints only seemed to groan as he hobbled from the bed half-bent from the pain. Uncertain whether he could walk that far again, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the castle, more to the point, the stone itself. Stepping forward, he walked straight through the bedroom wall and into his private potions storeroom several levels away. Raiding his shelves, he downed a strong pain panacea. Feeling every one of his sixty-four years, he leaned heavily against his worktable impatiently willing it to work.
A few minutes later, he called Dobby. The speed with which the house-elf elder appeared matched the alarm in Dobby's eyes.
"No one could get into your office," Dobby said without preamble. "Is everything all right?"
Severus closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness. "It's fine, Dobby. Tell the others it was just a misunderstanding with the castle and not to worry. Also, tell Minerva I have some serious personal business to attend and, until further notice, she and Alastor are in charge; under no circumstances--and I mean that--are we to be disturbed. Even if Voldemort rises from the dead and storms the castle, I want no interruptions. I will explain later."
Dobby nodded, his face clearing of its worry. "And does the headmaster want Dobby to discreetly provide food and drink?"
Severus considered it a moment. "A good idea, but mind you don't accompany it; we may get very--private."
Dobby blushed.
Severus sighed as the house-elder 'popped' away. As an afterthought, he collected in a basket a few more items--another restorative, a calming draught, and an unopened bottle of aged cognac he'd hidden years ago under the worktable for emergencies. He supposed this qualified. Morphing back to his bedchamber through the wall, he set everything on his side table before making a much-needed visit to the loo.
Returning to the bed, he conjured a snifter and, pouring himself two fingers of the fine Remy, set it aside for the moment. Toeing off his shoes, he climbed up on the bed. He'd no more propped himself against the headboard than Harry scooted over and substituted his lap for the pillow, his head snuggling into the muscle the way Mribeth's paws kneaded a cushion before napping. Harry sighed and threw an arm over Severus' thighs, his hand curled around his knee.
Summoning the snifter, Severus sipped the fine cognac; the soft sting as he rolled it in his mouth and the burning as it slid smoothly down his throat made a soothing counterpoint to his ragged thoughts. Drawn to the man resting so trustingly on him, Severus let the dark, wild tendrils of silky hair flow through his fingers. It was hard to reconcile this peaceful slumber to the memory of Harry thrashing on the floor in panic. Difficult to forget his own desperate attempts to stop Harry when the Sanos had ripped through him, making every cell in his body scream in an agony worse than any Cruciatus he'd ever experienced. Almost impossible not to feel once again the faltering of his heart, his lungs labouring to draw in even one more breath.
It had been a near thing, his death.
Nor was it easy to remember that Harry's attack had been blindly directed at an unknown enemy, and Severus sternly reminded himself again that what had just happened to him was by no means similar to what Harry had done to Avery and Draco. And what he did to Stenman? Gods, how utterly magnificent! Severus had always been attracted to power and was certainly no stranger to its abuses, but never had it struck so close to home; never had he faced Harry's full magic as an adversary.
As much as he hated to admit it, using Legilimency to penetrate Harry's memory had not been one of his brighter ideas and a total failure. His second, panicked invasion into Harry's mind had done nothing but make him another element within the memory, an intrusive imbalance to a mind already disoriented and overloaded. The subsequent attack was understandable; Harry had every right to protect himself from something he perceived as a threat, just as he had with Stenman.
Yet it frightened him. Oh, not with what Harry could ultimately do to him; the bond had proven today that Harry couldn't permanently harm him. No, he wondered if he would be sufficient to keep Harry in check as Albus had intended. Was it possible for him to stop so much power? Could he keep Harry from hurting others again? And if not, how was he to protect them both from the Ministry's outrage if they discovered the public's golden boy had committed, with malice, an atrocity as dark as any his husband had perpetrated? Would they accept and forgive the act as self-defence, or would they let their mindless fear of Harry's true power drive them into a course of personal annihilation? Would there be a world wide enough to swallow them from the resulting retribution?
He set the now-empty snifter aside and rested his head back against the headboard, his hand buried in Harry's hair. How had Poppy coped with Albus? Surely she'd faced the same quandaries, the same inner turmoil whenever Albus stepped over the line. Severus knew Albus had used his abilities questionably many times; he'd seen it with his own eyes, the stark ruthlessness a cruelty in itself, made even more heinous for its rarity. And yet, in the long run, Albus was one of the most moral men he'd ever known.
Was it Poppy who'd kept him balanced? How had she pulled Albus back from the abyss intact? How had she protected her husband from his own folly? The burden of her legacy roiled through his mind as he struggled to understand it. Today had brought him a harsh lesson; if Harry was determined, there wasn't much any one person, least of all himself, could do to stop him.
Except Harry himself.
He sat forward abruptly, almost dislodging his sleeping spouse. Poppy's most recent words floated through his memory, and he suddenly understood. Poppy was ever so much weaker magically than Albus and yet she'd managed to hold her own for almost eighty years. How? Because it had never been a matter whether she--her power--was enough; it couldn't be. However, her inner strength and faith in Albus' innate goodness were sufficient to support Albus so that he had the continuing strength to resist. She'd never been Albus' conscience, but through her unconditional love and by being true to herself and their bond, she'd been his foundation.
Crafty old woman; surely he could do the same? Their moral cores similar, surely he could be the mirror reflecting an affirmation of Harry's own deeply held values. However, what if he couldn't? What if Harry crossed the line and never looked back? What if he became irredeemable? He shied away from the thought. Such an occurrence would be worse than death, for his own morality would require him to destroy the one he loved the most.
But that was impossible with their bond. He couldn't harm Harry any more than Harry could harm him. A stalemate, then. No, a balance--between equals; he mustn't denigrate his own abilities, either. The thought made him relax a bit. Poppy again had the answer; he must remain consistent in his beliefs and faith in Harry's goodness.
With this revelation came the comforting realisation that he'd overlooked the most important element--Harry--his husband of twenty years, a man he knew inside and out. A gentle man who'd dedicated his life to helping others, not destroying them. Harry would never harm another without reason and the rare times he'd succumbed to provocation, he'd grieved afterwards--even for Voldemort. This last week he'd felt Harry's conflict, felt his guilt and shame at what he'd done and this, more than anything else, convinced him Harry's fundamental core was still intact. Harry was still the man he loved and cherished.
He slumped back against the headboard in relief and released a heavy sigh. Now if he could only convince Harry this was true.
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He'd not realised how far he'd slipped down the bed until the throes of Harry's nightmare solidly connected with his chest. Instantly awake, Severus caught his flailing limb the third time it made contact and held it fast against him with his arm. As Harry struggled in eerie silence, Severus urgently tried to wake him. He finally resorted to half-laying on him, using his body to keep Harry still. With a jerk and a sharp cry, Harry woke, easily throwing Severus off as he dashed from the bed, running for the bathroom.
Almost a quarter hour passed before Severus began to worry. Resigned, he left the warmth of their bed and knocked on the door. Receiving no response, a quick peek revealed that Harry was in the shower. Guessing he'd been sick, Severus hastily withdrew and went back to bed to wait.
When Harry returned, Severus asked quietly, "Feeling better?"
Harry gave a small nod, but said nothing. His back against a pile of pillows, Severus patiently waited for Harry to crawl in next to him before tucking him under his arm. Harry immediately curled around him, his head snuggled into Severus' chest, his body shaking. Severus held him close, safe inside his arms, a warm and solid and living weight he gladly bore with the greatest relief. Unbidden, the tightly coiled grief he'd held within unwound, its icy tendrils enwrapped him, plaguing him with the visions of what might have been.
Arms folded around his husband as tightly as those desperately holding him back, he suffered again the torment greater than anything Harry had meted, a ravenous despair which had almost consumed him as he'd helplessly watched Stenman point his deadly wand at a defenceless Harry. Stenman would have killed Harry with nary a qualm, would have, with a flippant flick of his wand, ripped from him the only pure part of his soul. Even knowing Harry survived had not erased the wrenching fear and, for a moment, lost again in the memory, he knew in full how unbearable life would be without Harry.
Yet worse than this was the inexorable knowledge that the sharp pain of Harry's death at Stenman's hands would be infinitely preferable to the slow torture of Harry's devolution into someone he should loathe, but could only love. He wanted to pull Harry inside himself, to protect him forever from such folly, a most selfish act if only to keep the demons of his future sorrow at bay. A sorrow so fresh he could almost taste it; the bitter ashes of his possible future filled his mouth and throat, choking the cries of grief he wanted to keen to the heavens.
Harry shifted, moving his body closer. Feather touches to his jaw worked their way up his cheek until warm salty lips met his in a mutual sharing of grief and comfort as faith and understanding flowed between them. An elusive peace filled him as he fell into their bond, fell into Harry, drawing Harry unto himself as well, each protecting the other. He'd forgot he wasn't alone, forgot that if he could sense Harry, he could be felt in return, but Harry reminded him with the gentle touch of hands and mouth and body. Harry had heard and understood his fears and in return gave him the promise that his faith would not be misplaced. So deep was this understanding, they would never speak of it, for the joining of souls knows no words.
Life beat between them when their lips parted. Green eyes held black captive, then closed. Harry curled back into him, back into the haven of his arms. A whispered, "I'm sorry," reached him, but he still couldn't find the words. Instead he pressed his lips to Harry's forehead and pulled him closer. It was enough; they were both enough for now.
Some time later, reality intruded when a small table 'popped' next to them with a tea service and a small plate of sandwiches. With two steaming cups in hand, they sipped reflectively; neither one made a move for the food. While their sharing had been purging in its own way, it still needed to be said where the words could catch the light of day. He needed to get Harry to talk about it and release his guilt. He snorted, sending small ripples across his tea; he suspected that would be as easy as convincing Minerva not to bait Moody.
Harry at least seemed calmer and the bond lay open between them; this was another bit of progress as was his summoning two halves of a sandwich from the plate beside him, handing one to Severus. Taking the hint, Severus set aside his cup and ate the offering quickly while Harry took his at a slower pace.
"Severus, are you all right," Harry asked in a small voice. "Did I--hurt you?"
He stroked Harry' hair. "I'm fine. No lasting harm done; you just lost your perspective of time."
"Pardon?"
Severus studied his guilt-riddled eyes and quickly dismissed the unworthy thought that perhaps this alone would prevent Harry from using his power indiscriminately. "When you took the second memory, you were disoriented and lost the objectivity you'd gained over the ten years separating them. It was as if both had happened on the same day; your hair-trigger reaction was quite understandable and I should have anticipated it better."
Harry pulled away. "How can you be so calm about it?" he exclaimed, his gaze turning puzzled. "Severus, I almost killed you!"
Severus stopped him with a kiss. "It seems to me the only thing you truly did was establish once and for all that you can't cause me lasting harm." He winced, shifting slightly. "Oh, I'll allow it was a bit uncomfortable for a while, but the bond stopped you cold." He shifted again. "Although, you did rattle the castle." He chuckled. "Considering how smug it's been lately, this might not be a bad thing."
Harry looked at him as if he were mad, but said nothing.
Severus decided to jump in with both feet. "I'm more interested with the rest of it; what happened after Stenman left?" Harry stiffened. "I can't help if I don't know," Severus added gently, hoping a recitation of fact would distract Harry from his morose thoughts.
Harry stirred restlessly against him, suddenly setting the sandwich aside.
Severus summoned it back. "Eat. Please. You've suffered a shock."
"Yes, mum," Harry said with unexpected levity.
When Harry finished his bite, he sighed. "You're right." He snuggled into Severus' side, his eyes staring at nothing at all. "Not much sense going through all this if we don't finish it." Pictures of the events that followed began to fill Severus' mind through their bond as Harry dully recited, "I don't know how long I lay there, I was half-blind, but eventually Sheila arrived and revived Jed. While Jed healed me, Sheila covered the body. I didn't have the heart to tell her we shouldn't touch anything; it made me feel better to have the thing covered."
The image of Jed's almost fawning, obsequious behaviour annoyed Severus as it always did, but Harry liked him well enough and he had to trust his judgement in such matters. He wished he wasn't coming with Harry to Hogwarts, though, but if that was the price for having both Harry and Perrin here--
"The Aurors never showed and, when I groused about it, Sheila admitted disconnecting 'that useless thing' several years before when the magic emanating from it kept blistering her leg." He huffed impatiently, the first sign of life from him. "I don't know why she didn't just move it--or herself. Would have saved us all a spot of bother if the Aurors had arrived before I confronted Stenman, but I couldn't chastise her for it; she was doing a fine job of it all by herself."
He took a sip of tea. "I called the Aurors myself; Shacklebolt arrived a few minutes later. I'm not certain why we deserved the attentions of their Director, but at least I knew that if Kingsley said he'd be discreet, I wouldn't see it in the papers the next day." Via the images, Severus watched Shacklebolt secure the site with two other Aurors, hopefully equally closed-mouthed; while they investigated the scene, he commandeered Harry's office. One by one, he questioned them all.
"He released Sheila and Jed. They'd not seen anything and, even though he'd been in the room, Jed couldn't recall--even under Veritaserum--what my 'attacker' looked like other than he had flaming red hair and a big nose. Obviously Stenman was using a disguising charm. I don't know why I did it, but when I overheard Jed's description, I stuck to it and steadfastly maintained I didn't know who the 'intruder' was, either." He laughed mirthlessly. "Shacklebolt believed me; why wouldn't he? The bloody boy-who-lived would never lie to him, now would he?"
Severus reserved comment. When Harry's pictures changed to him locking up the clinic and heading for the station, Severus stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I think I remember it from here," he said gently. Settling deeper into the mattress, he mused, "We'll need to see Kingsley soon, I'm thinking." Harry went still. "Why on earth didn't you tell him the truth?" he asked, the sudden ice in his stomach making it ache.
Harry said nothing for a long while. "I don't know; I suppose partly out of shame. I admire Kingsley and I was afraid he would think less of me."
"Well, he'll certainly 'think less of you' when he discovers you lied to him." Severus replied with regret.
"I have to tell him, don't I?" Assuming the question as rhetorical, Severus didn't bother replying. "How much do I have to tell him?" Harry asked quietly.
Severus replied evenly, "That which is important. The attack, your defence, and what you ultimately did to Stenman."
"I see." Harry stiffened. "What's the punishment for taking someone's magic?"
Severus gave his reply 'quiet' thought; Harry must never know the lengths he would go to protect him. "If it's premeditated," he began cautiously, "the penalty is the same as rape or any other purposeful harm to another: life in Azkaban after being reduced to a squib." As Harry winced, Severus added, "However, a strong case of self-defence could be made in this instance, for which there would be no punishment. But--" he held up his hand "--irrespective of the reasons, how you did it could earn you as severe a penalty should it become publicly known. You've done well to keep your abilities secret."
As Harry drew breath to protest, Severus explained, "Yes, you must let Kingsley know that Stenman was at the clinic and what name he goes by now; as 'The Pet' he's a wanted man, the list of his crimes is so long they need wizarding space to hold them all. Yes, you need to tell him Stenman is now a squib and that 'somehow' you were responsible for it, but perhaps it would be wiser to omit the specifics. It's no lie that you don't know 'how' you do these things, and speculation is far better than actual knowledge. Kingsley is not a stupid man; he'll suspect, but he won't challenge."
Harry sat up. "Surely he'll want to use Veritaserum."
"Harry, you're forgetting; you're impervious to it."
"Oh, right," he said, "but there are other means."
"Yes, there are, and you're looking at one of them. As a Legilimens, I can honestly verify the truth of your statements--even under Veritaserum."
Harry slumped back into Severus. "So many lies," he whispered.
"I think we've had this conversation before," Severus replied solemnly.
"I remember," Harry said forlornly, his voice muffled by Severus' robes. "It wasn't self-defence, you know."
"In the beginning it was."
"True, but I could have stopped," Harry whispered.
"Yes, you could have, but you didn't."
Harry lowered his eyes. "I just wanted to stop him from hurting anyone else."
Inhaling the clean fragrance of balsa, Severus laid his cheek on Harry's head. "I know; for men of good heart, the road to perdition is always paved with good intentions."
"I should have stopped when I had the chance. I should have listened to myself."
Severus sighed heavily. "You have a knack for making this difficult, don't you?"
Frowning, Harry looked up at him. "What?"
"Stenman. Had it been almost anyone but that bastard... I'm torn. On one hand we both know what you did was wrong, but on the other? Damn, it's so difficult..." He paused, squarely facing his own memories. "I've experienced firsthand Stenman's evil as Voldemort's 'Pet'. I've seen what he did to others, the torture, the humiliation, the agony; I can still hear their screams. And in light of his past brutality and all the atrocities he would have committed in the future, I find it extremely difficult to gainsay your actions. Stenman deserved it--every soul-sucking second of it and there is a part of me deeply satisfied with what you did. I think everyone would agree. In fact, I'm quite certain that if I thought on it long enough, I could even justify it and get you an Order of Merlin for it."
Harry gasped, "Severus!"
Severus sighed. "And therein lies the trap for both of us; for no matter how heinous the crimes, it is not ours, nor any one person's place to sit as judge, jury, and executioner--"
"You must hate me for what I did."
Severus snorted. "After all our years together, you could still think this? Come now, I would hope you know me better than that. I could never hate you."
Harry shook his head. "No, this is different. This is like nothing we've shared before because we didn't share it. I did it. Alone. With full knowledge--" Harry stopped and tried to pull away.
Severus held him tight, thinking fast. "Perhaps not. Let's be plain. Full knowledge assumes full thought; unfortunately, the Sanos is not based on thought, it's based on emotion and you've always allowed your passions to dictate how you use all your magic, not just the Sanos."
When Harry opened his mouth to disagree, Severus placed his hand over it. "Patience, Harry." He pulled his hand away and waited. Harry raised a brow. Severus chuckled and continued, "I know, you can't practice the Sanos without emotion. But you also can't practice it with unbridled emotion, either." Harry nodded, understanding filling his face. "This is not the first time you've 'misused' your abilities, but with Avery and Draco, you resisted your baser desires. This time, however, you allowed your hate full rein, the result being that Stenman is now irrevocably a squib. While one could rationalise it and say it's not so grievous because he's still alive, the point is--"
"--I lost control," Harry finished for him, finally voicing his true fear, one that had haunted him for years.
"No one is perfect, love and, for people like us, all we can do is walk the fine line, hoping to keep our balance."
"And if we fall?"
Severus sighed. "It's never easy is it? As long as we feel remorse for what we've done, then redemption is as simple and as hard as not doing it again. The moment you stop questioning your motives, stop caring that you've harmed another, regardless the reason, this is the moment you'll have crossed the fine line forever."
"You'd hate me, then, wouldn't you?"
Severus phrased his answer carefully. "The potential loss of my affections cannot be used as a crutch to avoid your moral responsibilities, Harry." He waited for Harry to digest such a simple and yet bold statement; it was important Harry understand the wherewithal to stop could only come from within himself.
The steely resolve in Severus' eyes chilled Harry to his core. "So I must do this alone?" he asked plaintively, fearing the answer; he couldn't bear it if he lost Severus.
"No, love," Severus replied gently, kissing his forehead. "Together we will help each other. I'm as much at risk of falling as you are, maybe more so; the list of my sins is already long. I've crossed that line more than once. The way in is easy, the way out is paved with the souls of those who paid the penalty of my education."
Mortified, Harry admitted, "Like Stenman. I let the anger, the hate, take over. I hated him with everything I was." He held Severus' gaze and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Severus. For so many things."
At Severus' slow, thoughtful nod, and equally firm, "You have to forgive yourself, you know," Harry dropped his head, looking at his hands resting lax on his lap. Gentle hands took his and held on tightly while warm, moist lips kissed his palms.
Harry slowly raised his face to Severus' loving, concerned eyes. Falling into their tender depths, Harry reconnected with his husband and, feeling a long-awaited peace steal over him, he wondered how he'd ever thought them cold. He basked in the love flowing through him strongly, giving back his own to this man who had never, ever, lost faith in him.
This time he was the one to bestow a serious kiss, their lips meshing perfectly. Clothing spelled to the side, Harry stoked the fire for Severus beneath him. There was something about the bond that required skin as bare and open as their hearts for it to twine them into one. Arms tight around each other, pleasure built upon pleasure and, in a taut moment of perfection, they shared something far beyond the completion of desire. For one infinite instant they were one--one mind, one body, one soul. And then they were two, but the memory remained, strong for when they would need it next.
A while later, still lying comfortably on top of Severus, Harry said with deceptive mildness, "Rose."
Severus half-opened his eyes. "Mmm? What?"
"Eunice's daughter. She needs a name. I'll call her Rose."
"Why Rose?"
Harry tilted his head. "I don't know. It's pretty; she should have a pretty name. All the women in my mother's family had flower names and it's one Malfoy would never choose. And aren't roses supposed to symbolise love?"
Severus considered it. "Red roses mean passion, but white roses mean purity."
"Purity," Harry said thoughtfully, swirling his finger through the hairs on Severus' chest. "That's good. I could use some purity."
Pulling his head back into the pillow, Severus asked sharply, "Why would you say that?"
Harry looked to the side. "Something pure is something clean, undefiled. I need something to wash away what I did; you know, like absolution."
Severus hands framed Harry's face. "Harry, with regards to her, you've done nothing to forgive."
"Perhaps not, but I have to consider the other times I've fallen." Severus said nothing, but Harry knew he still disagreed. "I'll tell you what, I'll forgive myself if you'll forgive yourself."
The hands running random patterns along his back stilled as Severus replied, "What are you talking about?"
Harry sighed, tracing a finger down Severus' cheek. "Did you really think I haven't seen over the years all the nightmares and regrets you still have about your time with Voldemort?" He gave Severus a kiss to take the sting out of his words, even if they were true.
Severus stiffened under him. "That's different," he said soberly. "I actually murdered people, Harry. In cold, premeditated blood. You've done no such thing."
"I think you're forgetting 'His Scaliness', but that's a different matter altogether."
Rolling off Severus, Harry gently tugged, urging Severus to face him. Harry studied his serious expression and kissed him softly before saying quietly, "Aren't our separate transgressions just different sides of the same coin?" Severus nodded warily. "Then why is it you think I'd have an easier time doing it than you?" When Severus looked away without answering, Harry tenderly cupped his face. "I'm no innocent either, love, and my soul has the same value as yours. If I am so deserving of absolution, then so are you."
"Perhaps, but I'm not certain I'm ready for it."
"I understand." Harry said, snuggling his head into the pillow. "And neither am I."
"Hmph. Point taken." Severus rolled over on his back and opened his arms.
"I thought you'd never ask," Harry murmured, lazily moving into 'his' spot.
Severus snorted, "As if you've ever required an invitation?"
Harry chuckled. "No, but sometimes it's nice to be invited."
"I'll keep that in mind," Severus replied, yawning.
Sleep was almost upon them when a melodious chiming filled the room. With a groan, Harry groggily sat up as a pleasant, disembodied female voice softly intoned, "Incoming international message."
Severus touched Harry's arm. "Leave it. Likely it's Ben. I forgot to write him and he probably wants to make certain we're coming for the christening. We'll collect it in the morning."
Harry yawned and stretched before burrowing into the bed's warmth. "No arguments here."
However, they'd barely re-situated themselves when the chime sounded again, followed by the voice stating dispassionately, "International message received. Medical emergency. Please respond."
"Shit," Harry said, throwing off the covers. Striding to the wardrobe, he donned his dressing gown and left the room for the Rotunda's Loquarium. Severus waited; there was no need for both of them to freeze.
A few minutes later, Harry returned. "It's Lahela," he said, rummaging in the wardrobe.
"Ah, hell," Severus exclaimed softly, thinking of the bright little girl who lived in the mountains of Hana. "What happened?"
Harry sighed heavily. "Relapse and a systemic infection."
"Serious?"
"With Leukaemia, everything's serious, but yes, this is particularly dangerous; Joseph wouldn't have called otherwise." He briefly debated a white button-down shirt but chose instead a dark green pullover. "Damn it," he exclaimed, his voice muffled as he worked his head through the polo collar. "I thought we'd fixed this." He pulled on a pair of faded jeans. Tucking in the shirt, he added, "I suppose it wouldn't be a good idea to let the Prime Minister know the formula doesn't always work the first time?"
"Probably not," Severus agreed.
As Harry approached the bed to say goodbye, the guilt stabbed him when he noticed how drained Severus still looked, his eyes shadowed with the same serious thoughts darkening his own. The day's crises, only partially resolved, chafed like wet cloth on skin. This was all his fault, and he regretted leaving Severus here to bear it alone. Then he spied the bundle of freesia on his bedside table. Maybe not? He picked it up from the table and inhaled the scent as he always did whenever he was feeling down. "Come with me?" Harry asked, presenting Severus the flowers.
Severus closed his eyes and held the blossoms to his nose. To Harry's utter, pleased surprise, Severus nodded as he set the bundle on his night table. "You might need an assistant," he said, calmly leaving the bed.
Waiting for him to dress, Harry leaned one shoulder against the other wardrobe. It didn't take long; Severus was a master of the middle-of-the-night summons. They were half-way out the door when Severus stopped and threaded his hand through Harry's hair. Kissing him tenderly, Severus smiled and whispered, "Rose is a fine name."
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FINIS Walking a Fine Line
Hiding Under the Ninth Earth continued in Book Four : A Two-Edged Sword
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While everyone knows the length of time it takes to write a story, what one might not know is that the effort of one's betas can be equally long and arduous, especially for this chapter. Countless mails and comments were written in a lively, philosophical debate concerning the moral issues addressed in this story, much of which had to be set aside for future endeavours. Aseneth and Lydia Lovestruck's personal philosophies are as much a part of this story as my own and for their friendship and honesty, I am most grateful. I am truly blessed.
I Got Tired of Waiting : April 2006
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