A/N: Chapter warnings for; blood, violence, torture, explicit language, character injury.
*As much as we love this franchise, the characters and what each stand for, and will continue finishing this series and other projects, we in no way condone J. K.R. regarding her vulgarity and offensive view towards the Transgender community.
We in no way support her words or ideas, we're living in the twenty-first century. Not the 1500s.
We shouldn't hurt other people with our words, nor actions, in any way. Please be kind to each other, and choose the people who influence you wisely.
Next update on 10th October, Saturday.
Chapter Seventeen
"war is a slippery slope.
what would you do,
becomes,
what will you do,
becomes,
my god, what have you done?"
you meant so well. (Anonymous)
…
Lucius considered privacy a delicacy these days, the same way he had considered his father's company as such as a young boy, since he barely got to meet the man as a youth, and even later on as an adult.
Privacy within the confines of his own house was hard to come by these days and Lucius used every spare moment while holding his breath. The notion was ridiculously condescending. Every hidden corner he glanced at, there was something gazing back at him. It made him somewhat glad that Narcissa didn't live to see these days.
Once he had made sure that he was truly alone, the rest came easy.
The first five minutes were always vital, in every task imaginable, Lucius knew that once they were managed, then the rest of the task was easily determined. And as Rosier, that slimy wriggling creature, had manhandled his son and Potter down to the dungeons, Lucius was left alone in his office once again, and he hadn't wasted any time. He swiftly walked back to his desk, leaned his cane against the chair and opened the second left drawer. The golden quill lay innocuously, rolling as the drawer was opened. He had taken it and snatched the parchment he was attempting to write a letter upon only a few minutes prior to the entire mess. He had kept the words brief and simple;
Those you seek are in our possession only for a short amount of time. Assistance is required shall one take the risk.
Then he had rolled the parchment into an extremely thin roll, shrunk it to the size of his thumb and then slid it into the open nook of the golden quill. Sufficiently hidden out of sight.
Just as nonchalantly as before, even as his mind pressed down on him to mind the ticking seconds and Rosier's hands on his son, Lucius walked to his fireplace, and the floo flared. He dropped the golden quill into the flame while whispering the location.
Only one other person knew the significance of that quill and knew that Lucius would never willingly part with such a precious gift from his beloved wife.
He was counting on that. On fulfilling the last thing his Narcissa has asked of him.
'Protect our dragon, my love. Promise me,'
He wished he knew the hidden meaning behind those words before he came to know why she would make him promise such a thing.
For the first time in a very long while, Lucius felt good about doing the right thing.
##
Nothing happens.
Not at first, anyway. Harry sits in a clipped silence, holding his breath and waiting for a sharp cracking sound for almost a full minute before he slumps down.
"Twinky, please," he tries again, this is his only hope. He has nothing to treat Draco with, and it could be hours before anyone comes down for another round. Harry knows that logically, this should work. He has called on Dobby many times before- although as a free elf- but every bone in his body is telling him that this has to work. Including the forest. The forest has to be right.
Just as the third-minute passes and Harry's slumped down next to Draco, he hears a subdued crack, he peels one eye open and stares at the empty dark corner with bated breath. He hadn't imagined that noise.
"Mr. Harry Potter sir has to be very quiet," a squeaky voice says from the opposite side of the cell and Harry scrambles to sit up. There she stands, eerily quiet and wringing her hands.
"Twinky I need your help," Harry furiously whispers as he quietly crawls his way to the timid house elf. "Draco, your master-"
"Twinky knows sir, Harry Potter, must really keep his voice down,"
"You need to help him, he's really hurt and he has a fever. He'll die, Twinky."
Twinky's huge eyes dart to Draco and back to Harry, the wringing hands get more frantic.
"Master has allowed Twinky to look over Master Draco," she quietly says, so quietly in fact that Harry can barely hear her. "Master has allowed Twinky to come even though she is not allowed."
"Master?" Harry purses his lips. That has to be Lucius Malfoy. Of course, he wouldn't let his son die. "He sent you?"
Twinky shakes her head vigorously and comes to stand near Draco's head, meekly inspecting the boy's sweat coated face as she wrestles with her pillowcase. "Twinky hears Mr. Harry Potter sir calling and Twinky goes to Master, for permission! And Master says that to help if Young Master is being in danger or Young Harry Potter is dying."
That's interesting, Harry thinks, but pushes the thoughts aside to deal with them later at a better time and place. "Draco needs help, Twinky. I need water, lots of water and… um a rag, and anything that could reduce his fever. Could you get me those things?"
Twinkly looks extremely unsure. "Twinky doesn't know. She checks with Master now, if Master tells Twinky to help, she will,"
"Alright, thank you, Twinky."
Twinky disappears and Harry sags down once more. Lately, it takes so much effort to stay upright, and Harry would much rather lie down, with his eyes closed and his mind not concerned by anything. He wants the luxury of laying around and doing nothing, but with Draco's condition and his own predicament, he doubts he'll ever get to have such a thing.
She returns once another full minute passes, balancing a small basin in her hands with a long rag thrown over the bowl, she approaches the boys and puts the basin down with meticulous care.
"Master says this is all Harry Potter sir is allowed to have, and Twinky is to retrieve the basin and rag in two hours time before Mistress Bella arrives. Master says to give Harry Potter a child's dose of fever reducing potion," she hands Harry the gleaming red vial and steps back, throwing a forlorn glance down at Draco. But Harry isn't following her gaze, and is instead watching the measly amount of potion rolling inside the vial. It's pathetic. Not even nearly enough for a child.
"Why a low dose?" Harry asks the timid elf and she vehemently starts shaking her head.
"Twinky does not know, Sir," she stammers out and Harry nods, carefully, meticulously lowering the vial on the ground. He doesn't want to break the vial by accident. For some reason, he doesn't seem to be able to get his hands to stop shaking.
It's quite hard for him to comprehend, it's as if his body is trying to contain an inner earthquake that would cause havoc if unleashed. Harry wishes it to unleash, if only the tremors would cease.
Slowly, and without looking at the hateful sight of his hands, Harry reaches for the rag and dips it in the bowl.
"You can leave now." He dismisses the elf. "Thank you Twinky."
The crack that resounds in the cell is almost inaudible. Harry doesn't care anyway. His sole attention is focused on Draco.
"You really helped me out there," He tells the unconscious boy as he dabs his face clean, cringing at the thin trails of scabbed blood that have formed tendrils on Draco's face, the source of the infection. "Or I did. Not sure what the deal with the forest thing was all about."
Harry washes them away, and dispassionately watches as blood lazily starts bubbling out of the inflamed wound. He really should have asked for a disinfectant, while he was at it.
He doesn't dare call Twinky again, this had to do for now. Just thinking about this makes Harry's hands tremble harder, because maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't be treating Draco at all. Maybe this death would be more merciful than the one awaiting them once Voldemort returned.
Harry clenches his freaking hands, and breathes. Just breathes for a moment.
This could be the most peaceful equivalent of a death Draco Malfoy could get. He's running a high fever, so he's probably not even registering the pain, it would be just like falling asleep. Harry could just...leave it untreated. Let nature take its course. Or even aid it in the way.
It sickens him. The mere idea sickens him and Harry wants to cry. He doesn't, he keeps cleaning the wound and pointedly starts thinking about something else.
The forest.
The forest is new. Refreshingly so. Harry had no idea that his mind could be expanded across such new realms before, create something so magical, and yet out of place. He needs to explore it more, once he has the time. If he gets to have the time that is.
Draco's forehead seems fractionally cooler once Harry has washed the wound and dabbed his chest. With minimal difficulty, he also forces the vial of fever reducing potion down Draco's throat. However little it might help, it's still help, and Harry isn't about to be ungrateful.
Harry is not a killer, he thinks some time later, as he's gazing down at his pink tinted hands. He's no murderer, and he is incredibly selfish. Draco Malfoy has to live. He saved Harry's life, Harry is the reason he's here now. Harry won't let Draco die, not like this, in a prison cell.
Twinky returns, only an hour later to take the bowl away with a quiet apology, and Harry lets her. He's sprawled next to Draco, his eyes drooping with exhaustion and his limbs shaking in earnest in spite of his apathetic mood.
He stays there, on the floor, with his cheek leaned onto the gravelly ground and the tips of his fingers brushing against Draco's wrist, as if just checking the other boy's pulse. In reality, Harry is analysing his temperature, but is too tired to get up and put the back of his hand on the boy's forehead every time. It's too much effort, and Harry is ashamed to admit that even harboring the idea of getting up from this position is actually tearing him up.
He's really tired.
'You did well, kiddo,' Harry doesn't feel deserving of that sort of validation, coming from himself no less, but he's too worn out to argue, so he just lays there and wishes for a break. A place shrouded in absolute darkness, with no sound or sight, or movement. Just him floating around with no worries.
Harry is kind of counting on such a fate if he happens to befall to Voldemort's wand. Or Bellatrix's torture. Whichever comes first, a tiny part of Harry is ready for it.
Until then, he's just going to lie there, and do absolutely nothing.
Of course, that's not the way the world works, not the way the wheel turns, because Harry cannot take a fucking break, and this new asshole is late to the game.
The man enters the cell with a sick grin on his face and certain gleam in his eyes and Harry lets his eyes close. Time to get some crispy nerves.
He wrinkles his nose at himself for the vulgar imagery, and then all he knows is pain, once again.
##
As Severus strides towards his personal quarters, he has a scowl firmly in place to divert anyone, student or teacher alike, from approaching him.
The golden quill, the one from a magical golden quail, despite its size and its featherweight quality in his robe pocket, is a constant reminder of what he has to do today. The Dark Lord returns tonight after the sun has set.
He doesn't have much time.
Albus had relieved him of his duties as a spy; which just went to show how grave the entire ordeal was. Not that it needed any confirmation for Severus's sake. In fact, he might be one of the only people who would understand the delicacy, and sensitivity of this situation. This is running away from a broken dam, the surge of the flood.
Severus has to outrun time.
Much needs to be done, in such a short amount of time, and not a single thing could be overlooked in the process but one... They still couldn't do anything about that pink toad.
She's certainly not helping things. Two days have gone since Potter and Draco's absence and Dolores had not even once addressed their absence. The contrast between her, and the panicking staff was entirely comical at first, and merely pathetic once Potter's friends started getting really worried. Weasley had a detention with her now, if Severus is not mistaken. For blowing up at her in her class, apparently, Granger hadn't shown up to two of her classes along with the red headed boy.
Minerva had not been pleased, but not entirely enraged at the two either.
With another order member gone from the school… Severus shakes his head, cutting the thought midway as it was forming. He has to focus now.
He doesn't pause as he strides towards the fireplace, grabs a fistful of floo powder and changes his teaching robes for the death eater garb. He takes a deep breath, as he does nearly every time before a mission. This might be his last.
Either in his career. Or his life. Severus, while unabashedly confident in his abilities, as a dueler, and a Slytherin, really has no qualms about the odds of failure stacked against him. Of course, all might end well if he goes according to the carefully crafted plan.
Severus abhors uncertainty.
He nods at himself once more before throwing the powder in the roaring fire, he says, his voice as flat and emotionless as his face, "Malfoy Manor!"
He steps out of the fireplace, dusting himself off, barely glances around the study as his eyes land on the figure sitting behind the desk. Lucius' cane is resting against his chair and he has two wands in his lap as he stares at Severus impassively.
"Lucius," Severus says, staring into his eyes.
"Severus."
Severus waits, stoic still even as his mind screams at him to hurry, body pulled taut, even though he keeps his stance deceptively casual. Lucius breaks the silence, stands up, moving towards Severus.
"I found Potter's." He says, holding the two wands in his hand. Severus stares for a moment, before inclining his head, he takes the offered wands and puts them away.
"I'll be up as soon as possible, make sure you are ready." Severus swallows, continuing, "Accommodations have been made, you can join us." Although, he knows already what the answer is going to be.
Lucius just gives him a rueful smile, which vanishes as soon as it had come. "Go."
On the way to the dungeons, Severus doesn't encounter any other Death Eaters and doesn't know if he should be relieved or suspicious. He settles for suspicion and asserts more confidence into his stride even as he remains cautious.
He reaches the lower levels, near the cellar door, and that's when he starts hearing the screaming. It is only with pragmatic practice years in the making that he doesn't let his steps falter.
He pushes the iron gates open at once, enters the narrow corridor and walks towards the cell where the shrieks are coming from. Long and drawn out, hoarse and almost gone. It's a sound he knows well.
He stares at Nott as Potter twitches on the floor. Draco is slumped over against the wall, his eyes closed, shirt bloody and face mauled, and Severus's heart skips a beat. But then he sees his chest rising and falling, and Severus himself almost slumps in relief, before catching himself.
Nott is about to cast another Cruciatus on the boy, his hand is raised and Severus quickly enters the cell, "Nott."
Nott startles, before lowering his wand and looking at Severus. "Snape, what are you doing here?"
"What are you?" Severus shoots back. Potter's breath is loud and raspy.
Nott's face sours, "What do you want?"
This time, even as he feels sickened to the core, he bares his teeth in a smile he knows isn't pretty, "Same as you."
Nott's face clears, "Ah, heard you didn't like the Potter brat-"
"I loathe him." Severus cuts in, keeping his voice devoid of any feelings Nott might pick up on.
"Of course, but I had just started-"
"Leave, Nott." Severus takes vindictive pleasure in seeing Nott's scowl as he is interrupted again. There is relief too, if he'd just started, there is a possibility that Potter might not be completely incapacitated.
"But…" Severus fixes Nott with a glare that is worthy of reducing seventh years to tears. Nott merely huffs and turns around, grumbling as he exits the cell. Severus wants to sigh in relief, to take a breather, because everything could be undone with the slightest mistake. But everything can also be undone with the slightest delay, and he doesn't have much time.
He kneels down beside Potter, who is still except for the tremors that wrack his body, eyes half-lidded as he stares at Severus in stark terror and… determination. "Potter, can you hear me?" he murmurs.
Potter's trembling hands are clenching and unclenching, and he is actually glaring at Severus. If the situation weren't as horrific as it is, Severus would have found it amusing. He doesn't answer.
Severus's voice is more urgent as he continues, "Potter, we need to get out of here. Stop being difficult. Can you stand?"
Potter lets out a sound that may have been a huff or a gasp, and plants his hands solidly against the floor, before starting to push himself up. When Severus puts a hand between his shoulders to help him up, the boy flinches away so violently he almost falls over again. Severus has not done this in a long time. Rescuing tortured victims. He should have anticipated this, instead of rebuking himself though, he just purses his lips and simply helps Potter sit up.
Potter promptly collapses back on the floor.
Severus resists the urge to close his eyes, and pulls out a vial of pepper up potion from his robes. It's not ideal, at all, but it'll have to do. Keeping Potter alive is more important than thinking about the repercussions of potion use and its effects on Potter's damaged body.
Severus still cringes as he puts the vial at Potter's lips and wraps one of the boy's hands around it, "Drink up, Potter. It's a pepper up. We don't have time."
A bit of the potion dribbles down his cheeks and Severus is just about to spell it directly into his stomach when Potter's grip tightens on it and his head lifts up a fraction. Severus nods.
"Get your bearings." Severus gets up and makes his way over to Draco, who hasn't opened his eyes once. After a moment, he can feel Potter's stare on them as he tries to rouse Draco, as he lightly pats his cheek. He's burning up. Severus has a fever reducer, he pulls it out and quickly nudges Draco's mouth.
"What're yuh doing?" Potter's sharp but slightly slurring voice comes from behind him, where he is now on his hands and knees, trying to stand.
"Making sure no one dies,"
"Stop," Potter is blindly grappling for some sort of support to lean his weight upon, and Severus has no time to sneer at his foolishness. He was just getting the living daylight tortured out of him, and here he is trying to stand?
Gryffindors.
"Settle down," he says as he presses the back of his hand to Draco's glistening forehead. He's too warm for comfort. Severus has to take care of that after he has gotten the boys out of here. For now, a mild fever reducer would do.
"How long has he been like this?"
"What?" Potter blinks.
"How long has he been feverish?"
Potter hesitates, and Severus has to resist rolling his eyes, then he answers, "I don't know," he looks so terribly lost. Severus cannot stop seeing Alice Longbottom in his place. "A day? I don't know. I don't-"
There's a pause, Potter struggles to breathe rightly, "I found out… sometime ago. I don't know the time,"
Of course he wouldn't. Psychological torture has already begun taking effect. A classic method too, Severus should have predicted this beforehand.
No matter, Draco seems stable enough for now.
"I don't have anything else for you at the moment," he stands and turns to face a glaring Potter.
"Why-" Potter's lip curls. "Why are you helping us?" The boy looks so genuinely confused that Severus is almost offended.
The boy knows who he is. He knows that Severus works for Dumbledore and he still dares question him right this second? The torture must have gotten to his head.
"Do you rather I help you now, or not at all," Severus snaps.
"You're one of them,"
Severus grits his teeth, and contains the urge to growl. Potter has been tortured, for two straight days, Severus is not going to snap at him right after. "We really don't have time for this, Potter." he says instead. "Just for once in your life, listen to me without asking incessant questions. I will answer each and every one of them once we're out of here, we have a very limited time slot and if you keep-"
"You were there. When she killed… Draco's mom. You were there, and you did nothing."
Severus stills.
"How do you know that?" Severus knows for certain that Draco would never divulge that information to another living soul. Much less Potter.
The boy crosses his arms for dramatic effect, but he's shaking too badly to impose a threatening image. "It doesn't matter." he says. "I just do. Draco begged you and you did nothing. I don't trust you." he adds that last bit as an afterthought.
Severus feels his eyebrows rise on impulse. "Draco?" he repeats, a bit startled at the casual way Potter throws his godson's name around. Just two months ago they were at each other's throats, and now they were on first name basis? Well, Potter is, by the looks of things.
Torture bonding.
Severus huffs, figures. "Leave the interrogation for later,"
"Hmm?" Potter has started swaying a little on his feet and looks seconds away from collapsing. Severus shakes his head, he has to hurry.
"Potter, there are always other factors to be considered, now, if you don't have a death wish, come here." Potter's still looking at him suspiciously, and without his glasses, Severus can clearly see his wide and slightly glazed over eyes.
When the boy starts tipping over, Severus acts on instinct and catches him by his arms, but the boy cries out in pain and stumbles back. Severus winces, there is probably a lot of nerve damage if Bellatrix got her hands on him.
Severus doesn't let his thoughts regarding Potter sink deeper in his mind. Doesn't let the thought of permanent damage, and singed nerve endings and the ambiguity of the boy's mental state hinder his detailed, very, prominently time oriented plan. They need to leave. Now.
He pulls Potter, as gently but as hurriedly as he can manage and leans him against the wall, then crouches down to retrieve a mumbling Draco.
"Can you walk by yourself?" he asks, and holds Draco upright by his waist, throwing one of the boy's lanky arms over his neck as he holds his wand in his other hand.
"What if it's a trap?" Potter asks but is following him out of the cell, nonetheless. Staggering, but more or less upright.
"Would you really rather stay and find out?"
Draco's mumbling gets louder-a rather disjointed monologue about bees-, and as they finally move out of the cell that Severus locks with a flick of his wand, his eyes flutter at the crude light hanging above them in the damp hallway.
"Listen very carefully Potter, I'm only going over this once. We'll run to the stairs. We enter the study and head straight to the floo. If Draco and I don't make it, you are under explicit orders to floo to the headquarters. But if we are together, then I'll take charge. If I say 'run'. You run. You don't linger or look back or more people die. Do you understand?"
"Okay," he sounds more alert now.
"No. Tell me that you understand."
"I understand, sir." Severus looks Potter in the eyes, staring until he is sure that the boy actually understood. Then huffing in satisfaction, he starts hauling Draco alongside.
"Stay behind me," then they're on the move, their steps quietly clicking against the stones as they stride to the stairs at the end of the corridor. No one else should be there, prior to his departure from the study Lucius promised to keep an eye out so Severus is mildly optimistic that they won't run into much trouble.
Potter is wheezing behind him, and a small part of Severus feels severely sorry that the boy is being forced to run in this state, but he doesn't voice his thoughts. They cannot afford the smallest mistake, as long as Potter is conscious then he can run.
Draco groans, but tries to assist in the run, he looked confused before, but one affirmative order from Potter over his shoulder prompted Draco to blindly let Severus guide them through the maze of corridors to the main stairs leading up to the Manor. Severus doesn't show much reaction to that other than raising his eyebrows. How much bonding have they had in two days?
By the time they make it up the stairs, Potter's almost ready to collapse, but thankfully Draco looks passably alert and is supporting his own weight, and partially Potter's, Severus ignores the glances they both throw at him and assesses the surrounding area. They have half a story to go to reach the main hall that leads to the study.
Severus can hear a few people, from above, but doesn't let his body freeze in terror. He knows how to proceed if worse comes to worst and also, Lucius had promised him to keep everyone cleared. They also have the element of surprise.
"There are people," Potter whispers.
"Hush, Potter."
"Severus," Draco turns to him, his eyes narrowed. Severus reads the silent question without missing a beat. 'Are we getting out alive?'
Severus doesn't dare nod his head, neither does he shake it, instead he throws a meaningful glance at a disoriented Potter and Draco scowls.
Severus trusts Draco to carry out the rescue mission if he himself is taken out. The chances of his godson getting Potter to safety was marginally more than Potter willingly running himself. He could take Potter somewhere safe, maybe the Villa in south France, or the boat house in Yorkshire.
He lets Draco choose if it came up. He wouldn't live to know it anyway.
Potter is the main priority. Albus had made that very clear, and to be quite frank, Severus doesn't blame him, Draco might by the snarky look on his face, but Severus doesn't. He is a grown man with more than a decade of double agency filling up his resume. He is fully aware of the risks and of Potter's importance. It is imperative that Potter gets out alive. Although, not blaming Albus didn't mean it was an easy fact to swallow.
"Just a little bit more," Draco whispers to Potter as they're heavily leaning against the wall. Severus watches from the corner of his eyes as Nott rounds the end of the corridor, leaving it vacant. There is no one else on the main levels but Lucius, them and Nott. Bella isn't even in the manor, and that's a blessing on itself.
"Hush," Severus snaps at them again and firmly ushers Draco-and by extension Potter- down the dimly lit hall, decorated with ornate, antique vases, one of them Severus fondly remembers as Narcissa's favorite, and a few scattered portraits, that are all empty now. Lucius has taken care of everything, it seems.
As they round the last corner towards Lucius' study, Severus sees him. He is standing by the doorway, cane in hand, and his hair in a loose ponytail, he looks strangely poised as he meets Draco's eyes and then nods at Severus. He has a bundle of cloth draped over this other arm.
"We don't have much time," he says.
"I know." Severus gently pushes the boys into the empty study. Wordlessly, Lucius hands a pair of glasses to Potter, who looks taken aback, and with a brief glance at Severus, reaches out with a shaking hand to take them, warily regarding Lucius.
"Father," Draco's voice is quiet, but Potter still seems to startle a little. Lucius finally turns his gaze towards his son, completely ignoring Potter.
"My little dragon," Lucius sounds brittle, but with a soft smile, a smile Severus hadn't seen on his face in several years. The words make something clench in Severus' heart as he thinks about Narcissa.
Draco just stares at his father. "Don't do it." He is shivering, almost worse than Potter.
Lucius' smile doesn't falter, even as he takes in Draco's appearance. He steps forward and Draco flinches, it makes Lucius pause. Severus notices Potter tensing up where he is leaning against the wall.
Lucius takes another step forward and reaches out; this time, slowly. Draco is tensed as Lucius drapes what Severus recognises as his school robes around his shivering shoulders. Draco is starting to sway when Lucius puts a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Make me proud, Draco. You are a Malfoy. I will never expect anything less of you."
Severus knows this is an important moment, that he should probably give them their time, but he can't ignore the fact that they are running on a deadline, that they're still in enemy territory.
"Father," the crack in Draco's voice stops Severus from telling them to hurry up.
"Your mother and I are very proud of you. Always will be." Then Lucius turns to Severus.
"Keep them safe," he says.
"Now, isn't that tear jerking?" a foreign voice drawls. Rosier's eyes are narrowed and his wand lazily points to Lucius as he leans against the fireplace, his other hand dusting off soot. It's because of years of experience as both a Death Eater and a spy that Severus keeps from letting out a litany of profanities from his mouth. Potter has no such reservations as he stumbles back, almost plopping to the floor before steadying himself against the wall.
A smirk curls across Rosier's lips. "Bad seeds," the man shrugs. "That should be it. The seeds of a traitor, the womb of a traitor… I mean there's only so much you can hope for. CRUCIO!"
"Severus, now!" Lucius's voice cuts through the air as he ducks, his cane clattering to the floor as he whips his wand out. Severus quickly darts about, grabbing Draco by his arm and pushing him towards the fireplace while Lucius sends a curse after Rosier, making him dive away.
"Bombarda!"
"Tarantallegra!"
"Confringo!" Severus casts a quick non-verbal shield around Draco as he sprints across the room towards Potter, who is now on the floor from the resulting explosion from Rosier's spell.
"You filthy blood traitor!" Rosier yells, a trickle of blood trailing down his mouth as he makes a slashing motion with his wand. Lucius levitates a chair in front of him, which breaks down in half.
Severus grasps Potter's elbow and helps him off the ground, quickly casting a knee reversing hex at Rosier, who stumbles and falls to the ground in a heap, his legs bent at a disturbing angle. His yell is loud as he casts the Killing Curse towards them, but in his rage, his aim is off.
The noise is loud. And the door blasts open as Nott and Avery stand there, red faced and panting.
"Go, Severus!" Lucius yells, he casts a shield around himself to evade Avery's curse. Another blasting curse from Rosier, who is now getting up on his feet again, makes the whole room shake as the table is split apart. Draco staggers backwards, his head knocking against the fireplace as he grasps at its edges.
"Nokuran Plango!" Severus watches in horror as Nott's curse grazes Draco on the shoulder. There is a moment of stillness before Draco roars in pain, Lucius is thrown off balance, wildly glancing at his son over his shoulder whilst trying to take Nott down in the same instance. Draco crumples down as blood spreads across his shirt and robe at an alarming rate.
"No!" Potter screams, lunging towards Draco, who is now on his knees. Severus acts quickly, casting a Levicorpus on Nott's advancing form that was advancing on Lucius, and cringing as the man hollers profanities, he dangles in the air upside down.
Severus reaches Draco just in time to see the large clock in the wall explode in a shower of sparks and splinters. He doesn't dare look back at Lucius, still occupied by Rosier and Avery as he shoves Draco and Potter into the fireplace. He hears Rosier's bellow just as he throws in a handful of floo powder and intones, in as clear a voice as he can, "Salamander's Enclave!"
And whirling they go.
##
Salamander's enclave is a bit of a running joke in the Order. One that Severus himself never quite found funny. The cottage itself is absolutely useless, not even used as a hiding route, rather a small shabby cabin, etched underneath a big rock that eerily resembled a crouched salamander from afar, and that was if one were looking for it, hence its name.
Severus, once they arrive at the rundown cottage, doesn't waste even a second, ignores Potter crouching over an alarmingly unconscious Draco and rips out his portkey from the inner pocket of his robes.
"Portus!" He hisses and then instead of dragging Potter, crouches by the boys, wordlessly holding out the golden feather and grasping Draco's uninjured shoulder in a tight unflinching grasp with his other hand.
Potter's finger closes around the quill, and only a beat later, they're pulled by their navels, disappearing on the spot once again.
##
Upon reaching their intended destination, Potter starts retching on the ground, although, impressively enough he doesn't propel his innards on the floor, and, surprisingly, pulls himself together pretty quickly, he crawls the short distance towards Draco. His pupils are blown wide and his hands flutter over Draco's body in panicked gestures. Severus panics just by looking at Potter. The boy exudes pure distress.
"Potter," Severus says, himself a little breathless.
"He's bleeding, I cannot-" Severus can't deal with a hysterical teenager right now, he needs to act quickly.
"Help me get him to the couch, NOW!"
Potter scrambles to his feet, trembling all over, violently shaking as he holds onto Draco's legs and Severus lifts him from his waist. Together, they quickly transfer a bleeding Draco to the worn, red sofa. The fabric is immediately stained black upon making contact with the blonde.
"There's running water in the kitchen. Go and fill up a bowl, fast."
Potter runs. Actually turns back and runs around the unventured cottage in search of said kitchen. Severus starts peeling off Draco's robe, and then his shirt, wincing at the claw like marks across his torso but focusing on his shoulder. There's so much blood that he can't even make out the wound.
Merlin and Circe damn Greyback. Damn him to the nine depths of hell for doing this to Narcissa's son, to Severus' godson.
Draco is going to be devastated, once he wakes up.
Potter returns in record time.
"I have the water," it's terribly sloshing on the sides as Potter's unsteady hands lower the bowl next to Severus.
"Listen to me very carefully, Potter," he says as he starts to furiously dab the blood away with the wet flannel Potter had already dipped in the bowl. He cannot afford to use direct magic on it, too risky. Nott played them dirty, of course that babbling dweeb wasn't known for his intelligence, but using such a dark curse in proximity to Potter while being aware of the boy's importance to the dark lord spoke of a new low.
Well, the curse didn't hit Harry Potter. It got to his godson.
"This wound won't just heal with a spell or a healing salve, do you hear me?" He snaps.
"After I treat him now, it won't be over for him. You need to keep an eye on the wound, at all times, at all times, do you hear me?" Severus doesn't look up from his work as he speaks, and it's an effort to keep his own hands steady. The adrenaline rush is tapering down.
"I do," Potter says, wringing his hands nervously, "Is he going to be okay?"
Severus isn't completely sure, but Potter doesn't need to know that. "I'll treat him now, and then return with more supplies later. I do not know when that would be, and I cannot stay long for now. So until then, you're responsible for him."
"But I-" Severus finally looks up to see Potter's wide eyes staring back at him.
"This location is discreet," he tries to sound soothing. Torture victim. Potter is a torture victim, fragile mentality, all that deranged details that Severus could care less about. He should care now. "No one knows of it, no one ever will. You will never, listen very carefully, never step outside the wards, no further than a hundred yards around the cottage. You'll step out and you will be found sooner than you can say the word 'snitch'."
"Okay," Potter says, his voice soft as he goes back to staring at Draco. Draco groans a little, slightly shifts. The wind chime tinkles away in the background. Severus can't bring himself to even feel irritated by it right now.
"I don't have anything to treat your condition for now, the bathroom cabinet is stocked with some essentials, don't be sparse while using it on yourself or Draco, this curse is as painful as it gets, at least until the effects have somewhat worn off." Severus presses another clean rag to Draco's shoulder, pulling out a vial of Pain Reliever with his other hand, "You need to stay hydrated yourself, don't handle heavy weight, and avoid highly stressful situations. Which you will have to anyway." He spells the potion directly in Draco's stomach before replacing the now bloody rag with another, this one soaked in some disinfectant.
When Potter doesn't respond for a while, Severus looks back at him. The boy is quiet and staring at his hands. Tremors run through his whole body like a muggle electrical current, and Potter is abashedly helpless in controlling them.
Severus has seen Crucio victims before, hundreds of times, throughout his youth and onward. The degree varies, from Mad-Eye Moody's twitching eye to Frank Longbottom's constant seizures. Potter is dangerously tipping toward the latter.
"Is it permanent?" his small voice tugs at Severus, and he itches to lie. But he can't, not now, not about this.
"I'm sorry, Potter. It will get easier with time."
"There's nothing for it," Potter says as he clenches his hand into fists and shoves them behind his back.
It strikes Severus once more, how young Potter is in the face of something like this. The boy is embarrassed of being tortured. Of surviving Bellatrix Lestrange. He's just a boy.
"The most I, or anyone for that matter, could give you at this stage is nerve soothing agents," Severus hesitates, wondering if he really needs to tell Potter this, but then the boy looks up at him with those eyes, looking so stoic even as he trembles, even as his eyes betray his fear. All he sees for a beat is Lily's eyes, staring at him across the room in an order meeting, a fussy baby on her lap, she was furiously determined. Afraid and determined at once.
Severus pushes the image away and continues, "Which might temporarily provide relief, but eventually wears off after the consumer gains immunity to the ingredients. The tremors wear off a little after some time, though. Some types of magic… aren't reversible. This is one of the many reasons why the cruciatus curse is, well, an unforgivable."
Potter nods, his eyes fixate on the ground, and Severus has to bite back a sigh as he summons a roll of gauze from the first aid cabinet. Potter needs to come to terms with this in his own time, and Severus needs to make sure Draco is stable before leaving. He's still on a time limit here. He presses a fresh square of cloth, this one soaked in disinfectant too, against the ugly looking wound, he starts wrapping it up.
The injury looks like a wound from a splinching accident that caught an infection. It was designed to repel magical healing methods, that's the genius infused element. Severus has seen this curse used only once before, on a muggle middle aged man, years ago. He didn't survive the encounter.
The best Severus can do right now is keep another actual infection out, while also counteracting the effects of the curse which causes blood poisoning on top of everything else. He pulls out the advanced brew of dittany that he had perfected throughout the years and hands four full vials to Potter.
"Put exactly seven drops of this in two cupfuls of water and soak a cloth in it. Apply it to his wound every three hours, change his bandages as soon as they soak through, and give him half a vial of fever reducing potion if his fever spikes up again, he's stable now. Do you understand me Potter?" he starts working on disinfecting the claw cuts on his torso and face.
Severus doesn't want to think about Draco's reaction to the cut that will scar his face, running down from below his right eye down to his jaw. It isn't subtle.
"I'm not sure?" Potter's voice is timid, as if expecting to be yelled at. Severus sighs. He keeps forgetting to be gentle with the boy. He avoids Potter's eyes and summons a muggle style paper and pen.
"I'm writing it down." He says slowly, "I brought your wand and the other belongs to Draco. There's no way to contact me, the floo doesn't work in the fireplace. The kitchen is stocked, any ingredients that you might need is provided for at least five or six months. I or someone from the order will most definitely drop in before then. Do you understand me?" Severus folds the paper in two and holds it out for Potter.
Then as an afterthought, he hands in the wands in his pocket over as well. "Do you understand, Potter?"
Potter frowns a little at the unfamiliar wand before taking them with a nod, "Okay, yes. Yeah, I get it."
"You will be safe here." Severus says. He stands, vanishing the tattered remains of Draco's shirt and casts a Scourgify on the robe, repairing the damage too. Narcissa had bought him the school robes, if Severus isn't mistaken. Draco would want it intact. The fabric fuses back together, almost effortlessly, which is to be expected, since the curse only ever affects the flesh with any vigour. Which is a lot.
"Thank you, for saving us and you know…" Potter grimaces, he's still on the floor, "Sorry for blaming you, and cussing at you,"
"You didn't cuss," Severus quirks a brow.
Potter winces. "I did, a lot. It was in my head though, but it still counts."
"Apology accepted." Severus does his best not to smirk.
"Mr. Malfoy-"
"Trust me, Potter," the smirk is gone now, "You don't want to know what becomes of him." Severus doesn't want to, either. He and Lucius were good friends, they had history together. His loss would leave its mark on Severus. "Neither does Draco. He has already lost enough."
"I know." Potter swallows, and Severus nods, smoothing out the wrinkles on his own robes.
"Goodbye sir,"
"Farewell, Potter." Severus turns away, unable to bear the sight of Potter's trembling form any longer.