A/N: Chapter warnings for; explicit language, torture, vaguely referenced/implied necrophilia.
Next update on 5th March, Friday.
We were absolutely amazed by the great response we got for the last chapter. Thanks lots and lots to our Beta Amar, and also, we sure had our fun with the characters and sets with this chapter. Hoping it gets the desired effect!
Chapter Twenty Seven: Rat In The Maze
A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside the maze.
_Margaret Atwood
...
Severus apparates to the location he and Albus had been occupying since their… untimely departure from Hogwarts, feeling different.
The exterior of the cottage is pleasantly quaint, with neatly painted bricks and a smoking chimney, surrounded by trees. It even has a gravel road leading to the doorway, and tomato shrubs under its windows in the garden.
Severus usually doesn't get to see the exterior of their hideout.
He doesn't have the time to observe anything too closely, as he rushes to the door and knocks. It's near sunset, but this simply cannot wait another minute. He knocks once more and hears shuffling from inside the cottage, the locks shift and the door opens a nudge, "Severus."
The potion master clears his throat. "Yes, Albus, the code word is 'violet', I need to discuss something with you at once," he pauses for a beat, "It's about Potter."
The door remains ajar and Severus knows the man's wand is pointed at him on the other side. Even though it's routine by now, it doesn't fail to spark irritation."I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I made sure, my boy, would you?"
Severus easily deflects the frustration, "Of course not."
"What colour was the raven lady's dress in the painting that hung in my office the night you came to me?"
"Washed out grey, she had blonde coiled hair, and babbled nonsense about her lost lover in war whom she never got to bury," he still remembers the way her cries resonated with his own pleas to save Lily's life. He remembers her, afterwards, the night Lily died. He is not fond of recalling the past. "Now let me in, this is urgent."
Albus steps aside and Severus strides in, taking in the floral wallpapers and ancient-looking plates hanging onto the walls. A narrow hallway leads to the sitting-room, there's a framed butterfly collection glass on the mantle that's leaned against the wall. Severus stands near the fireplace and waits for Albus to join him, the old man is in a comfortable set of light blue robes adorned with gold, glittering jewels. He never understood that sense of fashion.
Maybe the man turned to it as a coping mechanism and just never stopped.
"Well? Anything you care to eat or drink, Severus?" Albus pleasantly asks, pocketing his wand, "Tea and honey perhaps? You look a bit peeved."
The man takes a seat but doesn't offer Severus to do the same, he knows that Severus wouldn't have taken the offer anyway. "As you know, I went to the shell cottage," Severus starts, "Potter was on the verge of death, thankfully for all of us, I got there just in time."
Per instructed. Obviously, Albus wouldn't have let him stay away from Potter for this long if he thought the poison would cause permanent damage. He had Severus prepare potions for the wounded in the attack, because he knew Potter's chance of death wouldn't be infallible, but slim enough to give them time.
Sometimes Severus hated the way he could agree with Albus prioritizing lives.
"He is recovering then?" Albus asks, taking a seat himself at one of the armchairs, levitating a kettle and two cups, despite Severus's refusal.
Recovering. Is he? Well, Severus isn't quite sure.
He presses his lips together in a thin line, then slowly nods. That one had been a close call, a fifteen-minute delay and Potter would have perished on the bathroom floor. It feels as if it happened ages ago.
Albus' plan literally lacked fifteen minutes to fail. Either it was a close call, or exactly according to the plan.
"He is well," he says. The weight of his words feel numb. Because this didn't matter, nothing ever mattered or will matter anymore in comparison to what he saw in Potter's head.
"I also found out that Umbridge most likely acquired the poison from the Dark Lord's personal supplies," he might as well tell him now, "I had brewed him a batch long ago, my own supplies are untouched and our… mutual friend assured me that her supply had not been compromised, as well."
"I see," Albus nods as the kettle pours tea into one of the purple coloured cups, they're handcrafted, Severus notices their small imperfections, "Are there any other brews in his possession that we should be worried about, Severus?"
"Not that I recall," he draws his eyes away from the cup, "I've already divulged the list of poisons I've made for him since my service, he hasn't requested anything else in a while, but that's not what I'm here to talk about," he sounds impatient. As he should. On one hand, he doesn't want to rush Albus in his brief report, and on the other, despite his occlumency skills, his mind is still reeling with everything he saw in Potter's.
"No, I suppose not."
Then Albus just waits. His eyes piercing into Severus' and simply regarding them. It's time now.
"I told Potter about his connection to the Dark Lord," he starts, "and how to prepare oneself to learn Occlumency, I entered his mind, to prepare him for the groundwork of his shields…" Severus crosses his arms over his chest, "It wasn't what I expected."
Albus tilts his head to the side, "Explain."
How could he put those things in words? Severus has a hard time remembering half of it.
"I had to…preform the Connell assessment on Potter,"
No outward reaction from the old man. Just a hum in acknowledgement.
"Why did you feel the need to do that?"
Severus can't mess with Potter's health. So he has to tell the truth, the whole truth.
"I'm not sure whether it's the torture or Potter's mind has always been like this but… not only did all his memories seem altered in some bizarre way, his mind was hostile."
The kettle tilts on the coffee table, "It was actively hostile towards me, there were apparitions, trying to kill me, Albus." Even though he keeps his expression as passive as possible, his fingers dig into his arms.
"But that's not possible," Albus frowns, and looks only mildly surprised.
Severus feels the entire exchange to be quite underwhelming.
Does Albus remember exactly what branch of people were put through the Connell assessment? The same kind that are in St. Mungo's now.
"The mind is not supposed to fight back, precisely because the outer layers are unsheathed, they're just memories and vignettes, and memories aren't interactive but his mind wasn't like that. The memories I saw, I kept appearing in… I have no word for it." The image of Sirius black running at him sends a thrill through him and he quickly clears it from his mind.
Albus drinks from his cup, "Was Harry aware of this at any conscious level?"
He seemed more than aware, but not in control whatsoever.
"It… seemed so. On some level. He interacted with one of the apparitions attacking me, inside his mind. They were also…- dimensions, just worlds within worlds with their own characters and environments, I had never seen anything like it. It felt like fabricated material," Severus grits his teeth in frustration at his inability to put it in words.
He has never been so scared to be inside a mind before. How does Potter live with himself? The answer frightens him.
Albus, at least, is finally starting to look appropriately concerned about the situation, "Are you telling me that you couldn't see any true memories?"
"No, headmaster," Severus sighs, "I'm saying that I couldn't tell the difference between a memory and a fabricated one. Not most of them anyway. Also, I've never been pursued by an apparition who wants to throttle me before either."
"Whose apparition was following you, Severus? Were there several?"
"Black." Severus' hand tightens around the wand in his sleeve almost subconsciously, "Black was following me, he tried to strangle me, tried to drown me. He was trying to shove me out of Potter's head."
Be objective.
"An interactive defence mechanism?" Albus raises an eyebrow, "Interesting."
"Why don't you say it for what it is, Albus?" The tea is starting to cool on the table, neglected.
"The boy is clearly in possession of his mental faculties," Albus states idly.
"Yet," Severus says, taking a deep breath so he doesn't raise his voice at Albus' lack of a reaction, "Have you seen any sane person with that mind structure? I was able to feel things, physically, in his head!" He had actually checked himself over for injuries after leaving Shell Cottage.
That doesn't happen. That never happens.
"But this could mean-"
"Are you even listening to me? The boy had foreign beings in his head, his memories weren't linear, I couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what wasn't. You wouldn't be able to either, I'm willing to bet my life on it, Albus. That boy needs examination, by mind healers!"
"Why would he Severus?" Albus answers back calmly, as if Severus is just a child throwing a tantrum, "Don't you see? This is already the best defence the boy could have had against Tom. If you were disoriented and confused, chances are that he will be as well. This is splendidly working out in our favour."
No. No, it's not. Severus has the distinct impression that he is being part of a horrendous moment. The moment Albus chooses the war over someone's life.
"And what of Potter's loose sanity?" He sneers, he just can't help himself anymore, "He was tortured for two whole days by Bellatrix, I hope I don't have to remind you of what her victims look like after mere hours." His voice is hissing by the end. Does Albus truly care so little about his precious golden boy?
Albus gazes at him with that look in his eyes. As if he knows. Because of course he does.
"There are dark corners in that boy's mind, Albus," he says it with spite, almost inclined to derive a reaction out of that old man, more so than actually discussing Potter's distressing condition.
Albus, to his inner, deranged satisfaction, seems to actually perk up at his last words, sitting up straighter, as if Severus had just said yes to 'lemon drops' or something equally bizarre. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he answers, he distantly feels his heart skipping a beat, "there was a place in Potter's mind, it felt like a… a void. I don't know how to describe it." He's coming to hate this lack of articulation, the lack of knowledge or words that present an accurate representation of Potter's disarray. "That was when I got out. It was unlike anything else I'd seen even in Potter's head. Worse than absolute darkness," Severus says, and the description feels wholly inadequate.
Albus hums, stroking his chin and doesn't say anything for so long that Severus almost grows uncomfortable at his silence. "Did it, in any way, feel sentient?"
Severus feels a chill at the thought of that void being sentient, at all, but he'd been too disoriented at the time to pay attention to anything other than the sheer malice of it, "I wasn't there long enough to notice. Although, Potter's whole mind felt sentient. Even the memories that shouldn't be."
Albus nods and returns to the silence.
Severus is starting to get agitated, after some initial intrigue, Albus really isn't showing as much concern about the matter as he should, especially where the fate of the wizarding world's chosen one is concerned. He repeats himself, "The boy needs mind healers."
"Is he responsive to your inquiries?"
"Yes," Severus narrows his eyes, he knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it.
"Is he talking coherently? Able to take care of his own bodily needs and functions?"
"Yes. Yes, he is," Severus keeps his voice flat, and he knows the old man hears it.
"Then I don't see an issue here, Severus. Harry Potter always defies expectations. He is not just any other being, quite an extraordinary one indeed. I'm not surprised his mind rose to the occasion."
"Rose to the occasion," he repeats, incredulous, "He's just a boy," Severus had been the one who'd seen the boy shaking, who's seen him flinching and who's seen just how terrified he'd been that day at Malfoy Manor.
"No. Not just any boy, Severus. You saw it first-hand today yourself."
"I know what I saw, and what I saw was anything but profitable. I have been practising Occlumency for over thirteen years, Legilimency for even longer and in those years this is the first time that I feared for my life," his hand tightens around the wand, "His mind is broken," he declares.
"Just because something is different doesn't mean it's broken or not functional, Severus. I have been doing this before you were even born—"
"Have you seen anything like this then?" Severus cuts in, not willing to let Albus make him seem like a small inconvenience, "Let me give you a little push, is this what you saw when you looked into Alice Longbottom's head?"
Albus remains silent, and Severus knows he has a point. He was there, he and Albus and Sirius Black, when they discovered the Longbottoms in their home, the child crying in the closet, and Frank and Alice giggling on the floor, smeared with their own blood.
Albus had looked into her mind, never to look into her eyes again.
"Each mind is structured differently but there are still logical standards to be met." He says now, resisting a sigh, "Potter is dangerous."
"The thing about double-edged blades, Severus, is that they strike the enemy with no regards or hesitations. Harry needs this, and I believe it would be for the better in the long run."
Better for whom is the question here. Severus has found, throughout the years, that the lines always blur when one is in Albus' company. Not the lines between the light side and the dark, but rather, the extent to which a person can be used in order to serve their side.
Severus himself is the product of Albus' wavering morality. He's just lucky enough, so far, to be the good outcome of a bad situation.
Potter is a fragile, fifteen year old boy, with a hero complex. Easily impressionable, driven and executed.
"Double-edged blades pose a very literal meaning, Albus." He hates the way the words don't seem sincere.
He means them, truly does, but the truth rings in his ears. Potter can put an end to what would take thousands of innocent lives.
So what if he's insane. Well, no that's not the right argument. The right argument is, would Severus care about Potter at all, if his godson wasn't in his company?
He would. But as Lily's child.
His soul has become jaded over the years to casualties. This is starting to feel like another one. Severus knows Albus played a big part in that feeling.
"I think this discussion is over, Severus," Albus says, an edge of finality creeping into his voice, "Do you think that there is any need for Occlumency with these new revelations?"
Severus stares at the other man for a beat, then says, "Not necessarily. You cannot build a fortress around a fortress. I think it's safe to assume that the dark lord wouldn't be able to marr Potter beyond what I already saw."
"I will need the exact memories, if you will. There's a vial in that coffee table drawer to your right."
Severus gives a nod to Albus and walks over to the drawer, pulling out one of the several glass vials stored there. He still thinks Albus is making a mistake, that he's being too aloof about the situation. That this double-edged blade is going to cut them more than it's going to cut the Dark Lord.
"Any luck with your own personal mission, Albus?" he asks instead.
"I'm embarrassed by the answer you will receive, Severus. I have searched this house top to bottom over a dozen times since my arrival, I'm somewhat bemused."
Severus snorts, "Because of the fruitless search?"
"Because I'm being played by a dead man, and losing. That's the thing about brilliant minds, my boy, their wit lives on long after they're gone. It might sound silly, but I feel as if the cottage is laughing at me, mocking me instead of its late owner."
"Rightfully so, he was an odd man," Severus says as he presses the tip of his wand to his temple and tries not to shudder at the unsettling memories.
"Reminds you of anyone, that you might know, Severus?"
Not really, Severus barely knew the man. He'd seen him around, of course, a bit of a wallflower. He stuck to corners, avoided eye contact, and unnecessary chitchat. If he had lived longer, Severus would have tolerated his company.
"He has nothing on Potter," Severus scoffs. Potter is a whole new brand of bizarre and peculiar and odd. He doesn't think Potter reminds him of anyone. "I wish you luck in your search, I have confidence that you will be able to out-wit a dead man at some point, you have something he has no longer… Time."
"I will drink to that, Severus," Albus says and picks up his long cold tea, before putting it down and continuing, "I had another request."
"Of what kind?" Severus narrows his eyes. Albus has been making absurd requests as of late, and Severus, who had always respected the man's wisdom, is starting to question his sanity. Not only had his pursuit in this house been fruitless, but they've also been unable to glean information on a number of other matters.
It's just one casualty after another.
"I need you to hand my personal diary and books to Harry whilst he resides in the cottage, the content of said documents can only be read and understood by him, it is vital that he becomes aware of the things that have been mentioned, are of utmost importance," Albus says, and Severus straightens up further with a scowl.
"Consuming and keeping secret information?" Severus says, putting away the vial so he doesn't accidentally shatter it, "Albus you seem to be forgetting the fact that Granger isn't there with him. You're entirely too optimistic about Potter's intelligence."
"On the contrary, I believe that Harry needs this information to survive. More than ever now. I know you've felt the ripples as well, Severus."
"Obscure words beguile you, Albus," Severus says, although he understands perfectly. Things are moving, and they're moving faster than ever. Losing some of the most valuable members of his inner circle might have prompted the Dark Lord to act faster, or maybe it had always been underway.
Severus never found out.
"You know the man you serve. He's moving, far too quickly for us to do anything but damage control. We have no idea what he has planned, but let's agree that it's a cause for grievance," Albus' fingers tap lightly on the table as he speaks.
"And you believe Potter can crack the code," Severus sneers, "do you?" The boy isn't nearly sane enough to handle himself, how does Albus expect him to solve this when Albus and Severus together couldn't?
"I believe Harry has a peculiar way of surviving," Albus gives him a faint smile, "And that instinct is what drives him to success. That's one of his best qualities."
Survival is one thing, staying sane is another, Severus wants to say. But he knows it's futile. "And what of my godson?"
"What about him?"
Severus has a hard time censoring the words that he wants to come out of his mouth. Sometimes, even the fewest words are too much for Albus. And too much knowledge gleans the cruel streak of war strategy in the old man's head.
Severus loves his godson, he will not let Draco die in a game no one is allowed to win. He is not a tool in the shed, or a hay in a heap. He is the heir of a prestigious family line. And he is Severus'.
"Do you just expect him to tag along?" He drawls, feigns disinterest, "He's the Malfoy heir, he needs protection in place once Potter's up and running. Maybe even immunity."
He also cannot let the unhealthy attachment Draco's been forming with Potter run too long.
"He's Argent's son," Albus strikes back, quite calmly, "And Harry needs the company, Severus. I believe in people, where believing is due. Draco has come a long way and he has a long road still ahead of him."
You want to use him, Severus seethes inwardly. This is what he fears the most. His godson naïvely perishing in the name of peace. "I won't let him perish with Potter."
"I don't think that's your decision to make."
Nothing ever is.
Bella is seconds away from dunking these men into a tub of pig blood.
All these pathetic men are not worth her, or the Dark Lord's time. If her lord had told her earlier, she'd have done all this work in half the time, and presented it to him already. Now she'll have to deal with these incompetent fools until they give her what the Lord wants.
"What of the unicorn livers I ordered you to obtain five days ago?" Her voice is harsh, like the sharp edge of a knife. She's not happy with this conduct, and she has no qualms about punishing those responsible for this feeling.
Dolohov's shoulders stiffen, "I have sent for them already, three groups, asked the smugglers in the Dead man's isles myself. It's not… easy to come by." Excuses, excuses. Nothing is hard to come by if you try hard enough.
"I don't care if you have to dig those out yourself, you worthless, squirming swine! I need results, not excuses!" she points the wand she'd been twirling threateningly at him, watching him flinch before shouting, "Crucio!"
The others quiver in fright as Dolohov shrieks on the ground. Bella sneers at him with a roll of her eyes. "Have them delivered by the end of tonight, or I will have your fucking pickled liver delivered to our lord."
"You're asking-" that snivelling idiot has the audacity to speak, "-for the impossible."
"Get him out of my sight," she snaps, not deeming him a reply. She turns to another Death Eater, her wand still raised, "Yaxley?"
"I have the item," he says dispassionately, "Took me a while, and quite a bit of fortune."
"Pass it over."
Yaxley's beady eyes run over her, "Shouldn't I present my success to our lord myself?" He sneers at her and she itches to tear his neck out with her teeth. She's in a foul mood today.
"If our Lord could be bothered to tolerate your filth then he would be here himself. Pass it over, and get lost before I sever your tongue."
"Touché," he says, but reaches in the inner pocket of his robes anyway and pulls out a leather-bound package.
"The exact amount?"
"I've had it measured twice."
Yaxley is…. efficient. Efficient enough, at least. He reminds her of Lucius in that regard. She misses him sometimes, his flair and work ethic in this regard, people's pleaser, that he was. Or at least, the Dark Lord, and what more could Bella have asked for?
Alas, traitors, all of them.
A hooded figure makes her way out of the semi-circle of quivering men, those who notice the silver glint of a hawk's mask scramble out of her way, and she comes to stand before the other witch.
"Shall I make my delivery now as well?" The cool voice drawls, her arms are casually crossed over her chest, and her mouth twisted down.
"I didn't call on you, bitch," Bella spits with a twist of her own mouth, her fingers momentarily clench around Yaxely's delivery.
"I wasn't aware there's a queue," The eyes narrow behind the mask, "I suppose you would be sensitive about this. I'm ruining your playdate."
Bella itches to curse her, make her writhe and scream under her, but she knows that her lord would be displeased. The Knight bitch is valuable to him. Not more than Bella, never more than her. But valuable enough.
"Pass it over then," she snaps, "It better be good, or I'll have your fingers." Preferably the tongue too.
Valentina steps forward, reaches into her robes and pulls out a bag, throws it on the ground with a careless fling and narrows her eyes further through the mask, "How about you grade my performance?" She drawls, then kicks the bag open, and a severed head rolls out, like a quaffle, bloodied and mauled, and only preserved enough for Bella to confirm the identity.
"Is this him?" Valentina asks innocently, her head tilted, "Go on, Bella. You can make sure. Kiss him if you like, see if it's the real deal. I know you have a knack for the corpses."
"I'll do your wife as proof then, once she's dead beneath my feet," she says dispassionately, kicking at the head once more and running an eye over it. Her jabs usually never fail to make people tick, Valentina doesn't so much as twitch. She doesn't have the nerve to deal with her. All in good time, Bella knows how to wait.
Bellatrix snaps, "It's him. Get lost."
"As majesty orders," the woman mockingly bows down, "Have fun with these pigs."
Bella grits her teeth, and whips her wand at the nearest death eater she can see, her heart calms once the man goes down screaming.
There's not much improvement, out of the ten groups she's sent out two weeks ago, only four returned with their missions accomplished. Her lord is not going to be pleased.
After it's over, oh and how relieved she is that it is, Bella leaves them in the dark chamber, a scowl fixed on her face as she approaches the stairs and goes down. She has one last thing to do before reporting to her master.
The corridors are dark and narrow, the candles flicker as she passes them by, and still, Bella cannot fight off a small tendril of glee travelling down her chest whenever she thinks about Potter in these cells. Once his Lord has the brat in his palm once more, she's going to finish what she started.
His screams sounded like music to her ears.
"Get up," she barks at the huddled figure in the corner, her nose wrinkles at the rancid odour that overwhelms the cell. She should send someone down to take care of the filth.
"Didn't you hear me, mongrel?"
"I did," Rosier's voice is raspy with lack of use, his disfigured face hidden under a hood.
"Get up. Get rid of the robe, it's filthy," her lips twist in disgust.
"Come for a long visit then?" Even as the words seem taunting, there's no real bite behind them. Rosier is tired, it seems. Tired and pathetic.
"Do you want to rot away in this shit hole, or prove yourself worthy to our lord once more?" she asks. He should be begging for forgiveness, grovelling at her feet for another chance. She can't believe he still has the audacity to be sarcastic.
"I'm no more-" he coughs wetly, "-fond of traps than your husband is, Bella."
"Answer the question," she says, "'Use him or kill him,' were our lord's exact words." She would have killed him, but they need people. "Choose now and stop wasting my time."
"To what extent are we talking about?" he tilts his head to the side, squinting at her through swollen, black eyes. Bloodshot and drooping. "Do you care for a personal maid? I have to tell you now, regrettably, I have the wrong anatomy parts for that."
Bella contemplates torturing the little beetle.
"You can read. That's enough for me." She growls, "Our Lord needs someone to research for him, and you, useless slab of meat, were the only thing left."
"Research?" he snorts, "Fun."
"That," she raises her wand, and revels in the way he tenses, "Or death?"
"Is he too busy to do this or-"
"Too gracious," she snaps, itching to torture him, but she fears his heart might give out in his weakened state and then she'll have to find someone else for the research.
"Of course," Rosier croons, a sly smile tugging at his chapped lips, "Our Lord is most gracious, his mercy has been bestowed upon us all. Don't you think so Bella?" He lunges to grab the bars in glee, mocking excitement, "He has an intelligent sense of humour too-" he cuts off when Bellatrix slashes him across the arm.
"He wanted you to feel like Potter," She snaps, "A fit punishment if you ask me."
"And yet," he drawls, "I don't see you torturing the hell out of me."
"Just fucking choose," she says, her face set in a scowl and fingers tightening around her wand.
He coughs a few more times, and then sighs, "You already know. How will it work then? Will I get my homework here? Or do you take me to them?"
"Come along."
"I shall thank our lord for his forgiveness," he grins, and finally starts moving sluggishly. "This is the peak of generosity."
Bella watches as he almost crumples twice to the floor before finally pulling himself up, standing hunched over, his shoulders rounded and knees shaking ever so slightly. She turns without looking and starts walking towards the library. She can hear him huffing and wheezing behind her.
She opens the library door with a flick of her wand and waves him inside, following in after him but standing at the doorway, "You will not step a foot out of this library until our lord says otherwise. Two meals will be delivered per day, and you're not getting your wand back."
His mouth is set in a grimace at the bright lights as he clutches the cloak tighter, "What am I looking for, exactly?"
"The extended ritual of Mann," she says. Finally a useful question.
"Horcrux? Oh, that seems interesting," he lips stretch into a wide smile, "Any reason why he's not using the normal route? I can tell him how if he's a first-timer."
At the end of her patience, Bellatrix doesn't care anymore, "Crucio!"
Rosier doubles down and screams,
"Do not open your mouth until you're told," Bella warns him. It's almost like he wants to die. And she would, gladly, oblige, if not bound by her Lord. "Do as I said, or I will rip your ears out and feed them to you."
"Yes, as you say, Bella," he pants, giving her a toothy grin.
"The book is in here, in the library. Find it, find the ritual, and notify me." She turns away, "You have a week,"
"I just itch for deadlines-"
"Get to work," she says before slamming the library doors shut and locking them.
Rosier takes his time. It's been a while since he's seen this much light in one room and it takes him a while to adapt to the brightness. His eyes are blurry.
Bella leaves, with a flare of her skirt and the library doors banging shut. Then locked.
Rosier, instead of collapsing on Lucius Malfoy's expensive chairs, hobbles to the shelves.
His twisted fingers-already healed wrongly-trace the ancient, almost faded words. Some of these books, he knows of, has a collection of, in his own home, but the majority he has never heard of.
Evan licks his chapped lips and leans heavily against the shelves, breathes for a few minutes, everything aches, but he doesn't pay it any attention. He's learned to yearn for the pain, to embrace it instead of fearing it.
It has made life exceedingly easier.
He reaches out, and pulls out a worn copy of 'Dark Magick Through the Dark Ages', one he knows well, and then smirks as he hugs it to his chest. The spot where these books were set before isn't empty. Of course it's not.
Lucius Malfoy wouldn't just leave his extremely expensive, handwritten books in broad daylight in a library. Evan had thought of the secret library's existence before.
He turns and drops the book in his hands on the dark cherry wood desk. Then turns and starts emptying the shelves, his face stretches into a painful smirk as one by one, the hidden books are revealed, behind the decoys.
Oh, Lucius, Evan smirks.
Once an entire shelf is empty, Evan reaches for the first book on the secret shelf, there's no title and the leather is worn, he flips it open.
Completely in latin, and the ink faded in some places, but it all makes sense to him perfectly. Latin was his favourite language.
He skims through the thin pages, and upon reaching a certain page, the mirth dies on his face.
He reads the words, mouths them one by one, again and again, and once he's sure he's not dreaming, absolutely sure that this isn't a delusion and he is just lucky… he smiles.
Then laughs. Oh, how he laughs.
Evan puts the books down and then flops down on Malfoy's chair, his fingers trace Potter's torn robe with a gentleness preserved for flowers.
Luck has smiled down at him once more, Evan thinks with a wry smile, glancing down at the potion book and Potter's robe bound around his wrist.
Luck has smiled at him and Evan is going to smile back.
Harry hasn't really spoken since Severus left, and it's driving Draco up the wall with worry. It's odd, the way he can tell the difference between this gripping, stifling silence and the pleasant one whenever Harry's away.
This silence is cold, filled to the brim with urgency, even as it stills the air.
He doesn't want to push him, but… it's unnerving. He knows Harry has a tendency to go quiet and get lost in his thoughts often, but not like this.
He speaks them, his inner thoughts, and he speaks random things often. Things that make no sense but sound immensely logical out of Harry's mouth, and the most ridiculous notion is that Draco yearns to hear them.
But it's been about two hours since Severus left and Harry hasn't spoken a word yet except for saying, "I'm fine."
Draco hates silence, and he hates seeing his...well, Harry being the person enforcing such silence. They're already in isolation, he doesn't need another reason to feel miserable.
Now he realizes how selfish his thoughts sound. Selfish and self-centred, and only half true. He might not be some altruistic Gryffindor, but he cares about Harry and the boy is currently, visibly, upset. Because of Severus.
Damn Severus.
Sometimes, Draco doesn't even know why his parents chose that man to be his godfather. It seemed so much easier to comprehend that as a child than now when he just knows better.
Severus can't be trusted, he couldn't be trusted before. Draco doesn't even know if he means anything to the man anymore. Every second of each quality time spent with him now feels sordid and distorted.
He basically called Harry insane.
Draco knows Harry isn't 'insane'. It's such a strange label to give a living being, it's too gigantic of a word. He's never noticed it before, the way that some people just call others crazy. The way they're right about it sometimes.
This is not the case now, Draco will bet his life on it.
Harry isn't insane. Maybe a little strange, maybe a little unique, and maybe the brightest thing Draco's seen in a long time, but that's a long way from crazy.
He's furious at Severus, he had no right to pry the way he did. But he cannot help but question it anyway. Severus was terrified, not of Harry, but for him.
He must have seen something in Harry's head. Something so twisted and dark and unlikely, that it immediately prompted him to start examining Harry.
Draco knows that it's an actual thing. It's a procedure. To weed out the 'crazy' from the tortured. Most people who might need it would not be labelled as the latter. And if anything, Severus should have thought of this weeks ago, when he rescued them.
But he didn't do it then. Something made him think of it now. And whatever he saw, then Harry did as well.
Harry doesn't look afraid now, he just looks peeved and upset. Draco, in his four years of outright bullying, has never been subjected to this expression on Harry's face.
Maybe he's quiet just because he needs some time to process what he saw. That would explain it. Even Severus had been unsettled, right? Potter's had an eventful life, after all. All his encounters with the Dark Lord and Bellatrix and merlin knows what else.
Bellatrix.
"Hey, Harry," he starts, although he doesn't know what he wants to say. He wishes he had an array of random facts like Harry for moments of awkward silence.
Harry jumps, startled, before turning his wide eyes to him, making Draco wince a little.
"I could have hit you," he says,
"No…" he wouldn't have, they're like five feet apart, "Are you alright?" Draco asks, feeling redundant.
'Are you alright?'
Who says that?
Harry stares at him for a few seconds, as if he's thinking the same thing, "We've had this conversation before. I'm fine," Then he shakes his head, "Are you hungry? I've left some food out. You can warm them or something," Harry's voice is so monotonous that it almost makes Draco wince again.
"Don't mind Severus," Draco says, instead of replying, "He's always been a bastard. Just…" just turn back to normal Harry again, he thinks, with a bit of guilt.
"I'm not mad at your godfather. I'm fine," he repeats, "As I said, food is out."
Fine is a word Draco would be alright not hearing for a long long time. He's learnt that it rarely means, rather like 'great', what it's supposed to mean when it comes to Harry.
"You're not insane. You're not, he was overreacting. He was over the line," way way over the line, "and… and I think, just because you're you doesn't mean-"
"Draco?" He finally turns to him, "You're not helping."
He's right. If anything, Draco is just making shit worse now. How is it that when it comes to Harry, his vocabulary is limited to an embarrassingly small variety of words that couldn't be more wrong coming out of his mouth?
Draco snaps his mouth shut, because he's gaping like fish, an idiot, and an idiotic fish. His teeth clack painfully together.
Maybe he shouldn't comfort Harry. Maybe he should just let Harry talk.
Then taking a deep breath, he says, "Well… tell me." He says, and Harry opens his mouth, "Tell me how I can."
Harry hesitates, "What Snape said...isn't a fixed quantum measure. It's a spectrum. He…" Harry looks down at his hands, "He might have a point. It's not crazy or not. It's how much crazy," his voice gets smaller with every word.
That was a bad idea. Okay, Draco breathes.
"You were fine," he says vehemently, because it's true and because nothing else, even this, feels adequate enough as an answer.
"I'm never fine, Draco. I've never been," Draco can see Harry's throat bob as he swallows, "I don't know why you cannot see it."
He shouldn't be fine. That's rather the point. He's himself. Draco doesn't know what to do with that information, and whether he wants it in the first place.
"I don't see anything," Draco says firmly, "Because there is nothing to see. You're fine, not because of what he says. You're fine because you're you. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you."
Well, it's more of a matter of what Severus saw not what he thinks of Harry.
Some part of him is morbidly curious about it. What could possibly derange Severus the way it did? It wouldn't scare Draco, it doesn't scare him now, it'll just...incite him.
That's not the right word.
"Doesn't it matter to you?" Harry asks, interrupting his inward battle with the English lexicon. He's frowning, a little fierce, "He could be right, you know? I could be absolutely bonkers. How are you willing to live with that? I might hurt you."
"You're overthinking, and rambling. Stop." He throws up his hands, "Just stop. I've known Severus all my life, he helped raise me. He was overreacting."
"He was scared of me, and if he was scared then maybe you should be too," Harry looks away.
He doesn't know how to convey it anymore. He's not afraid of Harry, he's never been afraid of Harry. Harry is an intriguing person, one of the most interesting and lovely and kind people Draco has ever met. It's baffling to him how Harry can't see it. It's so obvious to Draco.
It's baffling, how obvious it seems now, when it wasn't at all before. Before when he used to bully him. He hates that part of himself now.
If he could, he would have gone back and kicked himself in the groin for that. What a fucking idiot he was merely a year ago.
"I think you should ask him to move you somewhere else."
Draco blinks. "What?"
Harry looks at him for the first time in the last two hours. "I think you should ask him to take you away. He might do it himself when he's back."
Something heavy drops in his chest. "Are you serious?"
"It depends on what Dumbledore thinks. But I think...I don't know, Draco."
Draco cannot take it anymore. It doesn't take much thought and is a split-second decision. Words don't seem to be getting through to him. Severus' words burrowed in first and they burrowed in deep and nothing Draco says is helping.
So he surges forward. He wraps his arms around a stunned Harry and hugs him as tightly as he can, ignoring the mad flush in his cheeks and Harry's surprised yelp.
"Draco for God's sake-"
"I order you to stop talking now." He says, Harry is limp in his arms, limp but warm, "Stop," he says as firmly as he can when wrapped around Harry like an octopus, "I know you overthink these stuff. You're fine. We're both fine."
It takes a few seconds, in which Draco seriously contemplates pulling away, but then very slowly Harry wraps his arms around Draco too. His embrace isn't nearly as tight as Draco, his arms are gentle as if he's afraid. But at least now Draco knows this wasn't unwelcome.
"Okay," Harry whispers, and leans his head into the crook of Draco's neck. Draco is glad, this way Harry can't see the deep red flush on his face still.
Draco can feel Harry trembling. "I won't go. I'm not letting him take me away," from you.
He doesn't let himself completely be immersed in the thought and its implications.
"Draco?" Harry asks tentatively after a few seconds.
"Hmm?"
"Can you-" he hesitates, then continues, "-um, keep doing this for a while?"
Draco clears his throat, "Um, sure."
He could pretend deep down, that he's not enjoying this, but he won't. He's definitely enjoying this.
"I cannot remember the last time someone hugged me," Harry says, and his arms tighten a little around Draco, "Shit, is that too much information?"
"Nope, and I cannot remember either," he can, though, Draco remembers it vividly. His mother. How before she died, she smelled like cherry.
Harry smells like spices. He's also warmer, and shorter than his mother.
"Okay. I'm… kinda glad you don't mind me. Even if he's right." Harry lifts his head then, and looks at Draco. He sounds sincere but something about it feels odd.
"Yeah,"
He looks down into Harry's eyes, wide and bright, "You don't? Right?" Everything Harry says makes Draco's guts twist unpleasantly, and he too, tightens his arms. He hopes Harry doesn't notice. He hopes he does.
"Of course not," he says, giving him a smirk, "No normal person is gonna do the things you do. It's great."
"Great?"
Draco's smile widens, more genuine than before, "Great."