After the tumultous events of the last few chapters, I figured it was time to let things slow down a bit, and give the characters time to breathe a bit. So in this chapter Severus and the Trio, under Poppy's watchful eye, have a little chat, before we return to the big happenings next ch. Enjoy!
Chapter 14: Heart to Heart
How they had managed the return to Grimmauld Place, Severus wasn't quite sure. He'd been to caught up in the emotional backlash to the conflict with Lucius. And it wasn't even over yet. The Grey Council, the ghosts, would need him for Lucius' trial. The Bloody Baron had warned him of that. The thought of it, of having to face that leer again, when it should be over, horrified him. The old reflexes insisted that for disobeying his master, for harming his master, the next time he saw Lucius would be to suffer punishment. He knew what he'd done was right, more than right, and he'd felt the fierce thrill of revenge, but even as he called the Dragon he'd felt in his heart the dread of reprisal. He'd flinched inside, as tormented as the burning figure, as his spell tore into his master. To all intents and purposes he'd killed his master! The lessons pounded into him over and over again, the nameless hovering fear that ruled all his dealings with Lucius, the instincts his continuing survival depended on, all insisted that he was the only one who could suffer from this.
In short, he was afraid. He was afraid in the way only a slave could know fear: a deep, everpresent dread that he was helpless to affect, a driving force in his psyche that he had no control over. He was a fast learner, and over years of torment he'd learned that if there was conflict between him and his master, Lucius would not be the one to lose. He couldn't beat his master. Ever.
He knew fear. It had been the mainstay of his existence for a quarter of a century. He knew fear intimitely, and could deal with it. He could work through it, around it, even with it. But it still shaped his thoughts. It still twisted his gut into a burning knot of dread. It still left him weak and trembling. Seeing Lucius' face had so nearly been too much for him, so nearly made him succumb and bow. That was where the bastard had been wrong. Bringing the others, the children, hadn't weakened him. The opposite, in fact. The thought that they would witness, maybe suffer, Lucius' vengence, had been all that stirred him past that numbing fear into action. The sight of Hermione's terror had enabled him to overcome his own. It had been an entirely selfish reaction to let them come. Alone, he would have bowed.
But he couldn't ignore their fear now. He couldn't ignore the tensions that sprang up between the Trio, couldn't deny his responsibility to help. The fear that now divided them, Hermione's terror of contact, stemmed from him. It was to taunt him that Lucius had taken her. It was because of him that Lucius had hurt her. So he had to help them. He had to help her.
He reached out gently to Poppy, touching her mind softly, just enough to draw her attention. She turned to him, smiling support warring with inate suspicion. She always did know when he planned something not to her liking. And he knew for a fact that staying up when he should be recovering still, poking old wounds, emotional or otherwise, when he should let them lie, was definitely something that would not be to her liking. But she knew as well as he that Hermione's fears could not be left to fester. What must be done, must be done.
'Do you have to be so bloody Gryffindorish?' She huffed at him mentally. He almost laughed aloud. Gryffindorish? That was hardly the way he'd put it. Gryffindors were brave and reckless. He was cowardly and selfish and cautious. He spent almost all his time in constant terror. Hardly what he'd consider Gryffindor traits. But he did have a certain knack for getting into trouble, and that was definitely a Gryffindor thing, if Potter and Longbottom were any indication.
'Oh, stop thinking about it! Just do what you feel you must. I'm warning you though, overexert yourself, and I'm tying you to a bed until you're better! Get it!'
He nodded, carefully disguising the wince at the reference to the tying down. Some memories he would rather she never saw, never heard of, never even thought could exist. She shouldn't see everything he knew.
She scattered the Order around them, deflecting all questions and attempts to talk to them, letting him guide Potter, Weasley and Granger into the kitchen. They followed readily enough, still awed at his 'power' after the Fire Dragon. Hermione was shaky, struggling with her own reaction to seeing Lucius. The other two didn't know how to deal with it. It was obvious that Ron had inherited his mother's instincts to hold and comfort. In the face of Hermione's aversion to touch, he was lost. And Potter, caring and fiercely loyal as he was to his friends, simply had never recieved enough comfort himself to know how to comfort others. They were lost, and straining at each others approaches.
He slid into counseler routine as easily as he slid into brewing. Years as the Sytherin Head of House, dealing with all the hidden fears and abuses that house hid, he'd become quite talented. That was what so many misunderstood about his House. They assumed that Sytherins became 'bad' as a result of the house. They never thought that the learned deceits and cunning developed by abused children could be read by the Hat as Sytherin cunning. They never thought that maybe Salazar, biased and blood-obsessed as he was, had actually thought to bring these children together to help them. Sytherins were bad by definition. No-one thought to ask why. And being constantly under attack, they learned to attack back. His poor children. Fierce and proud and damaged. And never appreciated.
He'd done what he could for them, and taught them to do more for each other. Poppy had told him of The Survivors, of their spread to and adoption of other houses. He'd never felt such sheer pride in all his life. His children, showing all just how strong and good they were. But he wished they were here. He wasn't completely confident of his ability to handle these three. The percieved enimities could be too entrenched. After all, not two days ago they'd been fully prepared to kill him. But he owed it to them to at least try.
Hot chocolate was the first step. People laughed, but it worked. Something about chocolate lifted your spirits. That was why it was used after Dementor attacks. Besides, the act of brewing the perfect pot calmed him down enough to be receptive to the children's problems, and helped him submerge his own fears and worries. He had it down to a science, as precise as any potion.
He got them settled into the armchairs that Molly and Poppy had gathered in this room. They watched them warily over the steaming mugs, save Hermione, who simply stared into her chocolate and shook. He sighed.
'He isn't gone,' he said softly. She looked at him, raw fear and desperate hope in her face. The others glared. 'But he cannot harm you. I know that means bugger all. And it gets worse, because you'll have to see him again.' She flinched visibly, causing Ron to lean halfheartedly towards her. But fear of making things worse kept the redhaired boy from getting up. It was then that the extent of the rift this had opened between them became obvious to Severus.
'The Grey Council, that is the ghost council, will be holding a trial for him,' he explained calmly, tactfully ignoring the byplay. It was vital that she focus on what he was saying, and come out of her private horror. 'He is condemned to stay here as a ghost now, and they have jurisdiction over him. As his ... Master ... I have to be there, and as his ... victim ... so do you. You'll have to give evidence.'
He paused, letting them realised what that would mean. 'You'll have to relive it,' he said softly. She gave a strangled cry, hunching forwards over her chocolate. Her friends leapt up. Swiftly he motioned them back, letting a glimmer of his Death Eater persona show through for a second. It was important that she know they would support her, but she needed to pull through this on her own. She needed to see for herself how to fight her fear.
He turned to Potter and Weasley. 'Do you know what it is to be afraid?' he asked. They looked afronted.
'Of course we do!' Potter exclaimed. 'We're fighting a war! We know more about fear than most people! We have to fight things most people only have nightmares about!'
Here he interupted. 'That's just it. You're fighting them. You can fight.' He watched her lift her head as he went on. 'You don't know fear, because you have never been helpless. You have never faced a foe that you couldn't at least attack, if not defeat. But we have, her and I. And many others. That is the fear that Lucius commands. He takes you when you're helpless, when you can't fight him, and he hurts you.' She was crying softly. He talked on. 'That is fear. The fear that if you let yourself be helpless again, he'll come. That if you close your eyes, his face will be the first thing you see when you open them. That if you let yourself be touched, his hands will be the ones you feel. That if you let another close enough to see you vunerable, they'll hurt you the way he did. That is fear. That is what haunts your friend.'
He looked now at her, coaxing her eyes up with his gaze so she could see him, his sincerity. 'That is what haunts us, yes? That is what we can't escape. But we have to. We have to. He's dead. Here or not, he's still dead. He can't touch us again.' He fought down his own creeping doubts. 'I will make sure of it. The Grey Council will make sure of it. But we have to face him. And more. We have to face his student. In this, Voldemort is his student, not the other way around. Imagine what happened to us, happening to everyone the Dark Lord dislikes. Imagine it happening to your friends. Imagine, if he wins, whole races subjected to this. If we can't face Lucius, how will we help others face the Dark Lord? We have to do this.'
He moved over to crouch beside her chair, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. She flinched, but not as strongly as before. To fight fear, you needed a stronger one to fuel anger. That was why Molly was prehaps the strongest of the Order. Her fear was for others, so she cast aside all worry for herself to help them. That was what Hermione needed. She needed a cause, a reason to face her fear. She needed her friends. She needed Harry and Ron, not to pity her, but to fight with her. She needed their strength to support her, and their weakness to give her a chance to support them. She needed them as he needed Poppy. She had the strength to fight. He'd seen it in her mind, her spirit. She only needed a cause.
She looked at him, face tearstained but jaw firmed, determination glittering in her eyes. She glared proudly at the other two, daring them to pity her. Almost weeping, they stared back. Love was obvious there, lover to lover between her and Ron, friend to friend between her and Harry. He hoped it would be enough to sustain them.
He left them, staggering out of the kitchen towards his room. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He needed a rest. He needed a year or so of rest. It wasn't going to happen. But he could at least try for a night's worth. His vision blurred, black spots floating in front of him. He was weak, far too weak still after his ordeals. He barely noticed the hand that steadied him, only the warmth of her spirit in his mind. He smiled through the exhaustion. She was all the cause he needed, all the support. His Poppy. His love.
She all but carried him up the stairs to the room. He let her, confident that she could handle his pathetic weight. He entertained mildly fuzzy daydreams of chocolate gateaux and desserts, that he could actually stomach. He blearily promised himself that in the unlikely event that he survived the coming war, he'd eat one of Molly's chocolate fudge confections whole.
'Severus, you are such an idiot!' Her exasperated voice in his mind was the last thing he heard as he slipped peacably into sleep for the first time in too long. It was a rather pleasant lullaby, all things considered.
Well? Bit of a slow chapter, but hey. Next up, Lucius gets his just rewards. Looking forward to it. Oh yeah. R&R?