So. What shall I say? I'm very bad with updates, partially because I have around 8 ongoing stories up. Bad planning. Oh well. Enjoy.
Chapter 3: Private Matters
Ron and Hermione were waiting when he returned from the hidden library. They were obviously concerned, but tactfully declined to comment on his absence. They simply enfolded him in a moment's silent company, then moved away and began working. Ron had a lot to catch up on. Harry did too, but seeing as how the war was going to kill him, he couldn't work up the strength to care. He was dog-tired, unrelieved by the nap he'd taken in Ravenclaw's study. He went back to his dorm, and collapsed, insensible.
He woke late the next day. Very late. One o' clock in the afternoon. And it wasn't Ron who woke him, as it usually would have been. It was the Headmaster.
"Harry, my boy? Are you there?" His voice rumbled through Gryffindor tower. Blinking, Harry struggled to find its source. "Harry, if you're hearing me, come to the fire." Oh. Right. The fire. Firecall. Harry wasn't really awake just yet.
"Sir?" he asked, stumbling down to the commonroom. At least he was dressed, though after having been slept in, the robes weren't the freshest. He didn't even want to think what his hair was like. "Sir, what is it?"
"Harry, you must come to Grimmauld Place immediately! Step through the fire! The Floo is only open temporarily, so please hurry!"
Without bothering to hear the rest, Harry moved to the fire. Dumbledore retreated to allow him room to pass, and Harry more or less fell through onto the living room floor of Order HQ. Shaking his head to clear the soot from his hair, and the fuzz from his thoughts, he stood up. Dumbledore moved to his side immediately, grabbing hold of his arm and holding him up while they moved into the kitchen, where most of the Order was gathered in a frantic crowd around a lone figure. Snape.
All confusion fled in an instant, and Harry was in the midst of them before Dumbledore even realised he'd moved. He bulled his way through to stand in front of his wayward teacher, fierce interrogation in his face. "What the hell happened?"
The babble stopped as if cut off with a knife. Mad Eye stepped forward. "We were just getting the snake's report on his summoning last night, Mr Potter. He claims Voldemort called him on a private matter, and that it's none of the Order's business. He's shut up like a clam, as you can see." The Auror stopped momentarily to glare ominously at the spy, which Snape responded likewise to, with considerable enthusiasm. "We were wondering if you had any insight into what he's not saying, through your ... connection ... to the Dark Lord. Mr Potter?"
Harry ignored them, staring straight at Snape. "Private matter, sir? Would that mean what I think it does?" Alastor growled, but both ignored him.
"I don't know, Mr Potter. I wasn't aware you actually had thoughts. Given your penchant for reckless action, I assumed actually thinking was not something you did on a regular basis," Snape sneered. Harry watched the sweat bead on his face with strain.
"It's never wise to assume anything, sir. You told me that. How bad, sir?"
"What are you talking about, Mr Potter?"
"I'm talking about your injuries. How badly did he punish you for not taking the opportunity to kill me in the Forbidden Forest?" Merlin, could nobody else see the man was in pain? He looked about ready to collapse on the spot! And they thought now was a good time to harrass him?
Snape stared at him in silence for a moment. "Not everything centers around you, Mr Potter. But Merlin forbid you should actually realise that. Typical of you to think that a private matter between myself and Voldemort should revolve around you. Really!"
Harry was undetered. "So ... It wasn't, then? Sir?" And he raised his own eyebrow in such an exact imitation of the Professor's expression that whatever Snape had been about to snarl died in his throat. For a long stretch, they simply watched each other, each daring the other to back down. The Order grew silent around them.
It was Snape who lowered his eyes first, something that shook Harry severely. He wouldn't back down unless he was badly hurt, or exhausted. "I see Granger may finally be rubbing off on you, Potter. Perceptive, aren't we?" Severus growled wearily. "It is nothing I can't handle. A minor demonstration of displeasure, nothing more. It will pass soon."
Harry snorted. "You're a champion liar, sir. Guess that's why he hasn't killed you. You look about ready to keel over. Cruciatus? Don't answer that. I can see it. Been there, done that. Looks bad enough. Your knees are shaking." Snape straightened furiously, mastering the tremors in a burst of angry will. His brows drew down in rage.
"My knees are none of your business, Mr Potter! Kindly take your sympathies, and your roving eyes, elsewhere! I'm no freakshow for you to stare at! A private matter means just that. Private. It really has nothing to do with you, Gryffindor! Now get out of my way!" He tried to stride away, but Moody got in his way, and Molly, ready to berate him for yelling at Harry. He wheeled away from them, turning to escape, and his weakened knees gave out. He started to crumble.
Harry murmured a rapid stiffening charm, straightening the wayward limbs before the man toppled, or even swayed much. Nobody noticed the narrowly averted collapse, much to Snape's obvious relief. Tall and foreboding as ever, the potions master towered over his rescuer, glaring. Harry glared right back. It was that or smirk, and the latter probably wasn't a safe option right then.
"I will speak to you later, Mr Potter," Severus hissed, before turning his formidable glower on the Headmaster. "If you are satisfied, Albus, I should like to return to my quarters sometime before the next millennium!" Albus nodded hurriedly. "Thank you!" Was all his spy snarled as he swept out.
Harry waited a tactful moment, then drew Dumbledore's attention back to himself. "Sir? May I return too? If you've gotten what you need?"
Dumbledore started. "Oh. Of course, my boy. You go ahead. You go."
Harry didn't even wait for the distracted man to finish. He slipped through the Floo almost on the heels of his Professor, landing behind him on a deep blue carpet. Shaking himself again, he realised that he'd followed Snape to his private quarters, just before the Floo closed behind them.
Snape staggered, and crumpled forward onto his much-abused knees. Panting, he turned to face Harry.
"Well, fancy seeing you here, Mr Potter. Do help yourself to some tea. I'll just ... collapse, if you don't mind." And he did, slipping onto his side while his mind went off to la-la-land. Harry was at his side in an instant.
"Dammit, sir! Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn! Letting them badger you, when it's this bad! Shit! Where do you keep healing potions around here? You have to have them, knowing you. But you probably have much more nasty stuff too, and I'm not going to be responsible for poisoning you with your own stock!" He paused in his tirade. "Though that would have a certain poetic justice about it."
"Glad .. to see .. you care, Mr Potter," Severus panted, voice muffled by the carpet. Harry hurriedly pulled the man's head up off the floor, and into his lap. It was the only elevated place handy. "And I'm proud .. to see your .. Slytherin side showing. You'd .. have made a good .. addition to our house. Bugger. Not so .. healthy as I .. thought. Eh, Harry?"
Harry snorted desperately. "You think? I've seen healthier corpses!" Which was sadly the truth. At least Avada'ed people looked peaceful. Severus looked like he was literally forcing himself to keep breathing. "If this is minor, I'd hate to see a major punishment!"
Snape was silent for a while, and Harry thought he'd said something wrong. Then the spy's onyx eyes met his. "I hope you never have to, Harry," he said softy. "But for us, such hopes are a wasted exercise, are they not? Don't worry. I've handled far worse before, and undoubtedly will again. A couple of bouts of the Torture Curse are nothing much, anymore."
"How much is a 'couple of bouts'?" Harry asked, biting his lip. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Severus shrugged, a difficult thing to accomplish lying down.
"Not more than thrice. Only about two minutes each. My nerves are just a bit shook, over the years, is all. My knees," and here he smiled mockingly, "aren't quite what they used to be. Guess I'm getting old."
"Yeah. You look it," Harry joked, still biting his lower lip. "You got a bed here somewhere, sir? Only I think you probably should lie down."
Severus shook his head. "I sleep in the chair," he murmured, gesturing towards a healthy sized armchair that looked like it could hold Grawp comfortably. "Don't ask," he admonished. Harry shrugged. He'd no intention of prying. Contrary to popular belief, he did have some respect for other's secrets. He simply charmed the supine man over to the chair, and laid him in it. Then he settled himself on the thick rug at its foot.
"I'm staying," he stated, in a tone that brooked no arguement. Snape shrugged again, and slipped away. It was the most sudden, and curiously peaceful, slide into sleep Harry had ever seen. Sighing, he made himself comfy. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Well? Thought I'd liven things up a bit. How're we doing so far, Ladies & Gents? Leave a note, please, and tell me.
