Ch 17: Orientation

He looked around groggily, trying to situate himself. His whole body hurt, as if every cell suddenly rebelled against being forced to stay beside its neighbors. One moment, he was freezing, the next, he was on fire. He knew nothing of where he was, but at least he knew he was alone. Both frightened him, just as his unstable physical condition did.

The last thing he remembered... Merlin, his memories were all jumbled. He didn't know what came last. Was he fighting Asps, or having dinner with Hermione? Was he captured, or at the Grangers'? He looked around him, knowing instantly this was no Muggle home. The bluish green walls with the ocean-themed accents would not have looked out of place in a Muggle dwelling, but the furniture was comprised of obviously magically preserved antique woods studded with similarly colored stones. Silver was inlayed into the wooden furnishings, and it outlined the seashell handles. The light fixtures were obviously magical, though at the moment most of the light shone through the ornate stained-glass window depicting an old naval barge rocking among waves and mermaids. Come to think of it, this all looked too much like one of the rooms in Malfoy Manor; the one they raided… last week? A couple months ago?

"Pull yourself together, Harry," he told himself, immediately shocked by the tenor of his voice. It was wrong; deeper with a crisp quality that made him sound most displeased. His hands, now that he glanced down at them, looked wrong as well - longer, tanner. A trick of the light perhaps? Was he still too out of it to see clearly? Had the sharp sight spell Hermione had woven for him for their one-year anniversary finally started showing signs of failing? Nothing seemed blurrier than it had since the spell was cast; the shapes of the furniture around him were not oddly skewed, either. Maybe if he got himself out of bed and splashed his face a bit he could think more clearly. A quick sweep of the room revealed a lavatory visible through a half-open door on his left.

It took him another few minutes to force himself into the spacious room, another proof of the obviously non-Muggle tendency to waste space with multiple facets and a pool-like tub. By then, his body demanded priority and he barely made it to the toilet before a bout of nausea forced him to expel contents from what he could have sworn was an utterly empty stomach. Strangely, though it smelled more awful than he would have assumed, the substance he expelled looked nothing likestomach contents. It reminded him of mercury, if anything. The thought stirred a vague memory, as if he should have remembered the significance of what he was seeing. The thought was cut off by another bout of the substance being expelled. He was no Pomfrey, but he bet this was nota good sign.

When his stomach finally settled and he had flushed away the evidence, he made sure to rinse his mouth of the gunk he was sure would corrode his teeth into nothing in a couple minutes flat. On his third gurgle, still far from getting rid of the disgusting aftertaste and wishing for some good Muggle mouthwash, he noticed the mirror. He nearly dropped the glass he had been using. Well, that explained why his hands looked so odd.

And then he heaved again.

Forcing himself not to go into full panic mode, he tried to sort through his jumbled memories once more. Maybe there he would find some kind of clue as to what the hell was going on. He knew he was somewhere he had never been before, looking distinctly unlike himself and feeling decidedly sick. Could the Headmaster have placed him here? Was he in hiding? Maybe he'd been cursed and needed to be isolated until the effects wore off? He certainly felt sick enough. Or had he gone undercover? Maybe Dumbledore wanted him to infiltrate a Death Eater pocket? Could he be under Polyjuice? It would have worn off by now, he dismissed the idea immediately, and he did not feel any other magic on him. Still, that would explain why he looked so… strange.

Moving through a second door, he entered a sitting room. He was in a suite then, a big one, judging by the other doors that branched off this main room. The one leading out was easily distinguishable; a double door vis-a-vis a large bay window that took up the entire opposing wall. Of course, out of all the doors it was the only one magically locked and reinforced. Perfect, he was in a gilded cage. He moved about a little more, opening doors and drawers to try to get some clue as to where he might be. Over half the cabinets and drawers were empty, most likely to accommodate guests who brought actual luggage. A few contained items a traveler might forget to bring. The huge freestanding wardrobe was likewise empty of anything save a couple bathrobes of distinct sizes. All of it simply screamed 'guest suite'; and the more he saw, the less possible it was that this was the Headmaster's doing. Even Hogwarts, with all its magic, would not be so over the top. As far as he could tell, this suite would not fall short if housing the Queen of England… besides the locked door, anyway.

He sat back on the bed in the room he had originally found himself in, ignoring the chairs and couches in the sitting room. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted to check and make sure his powers were all in working order, but he had the feeling that something was watching. If this was not the work of Dumbledore, he certainly did not want to give his captors any more information than necessary. Should he play stupid? Act as if he has no memories whatsoever? That could be dangerous; any accidental slip would definitely give him away. What he needed was more information. Would they realize if he let his hearing grow a bit more sensitive? Probably not. Warding spells usually monitored magic changes; they ignored small fluxes and this would not take much power at all. If he did it slowly and pretended to sleep, they should mistake it for a stimulating dream. He could risk that much, even if the wards were particularly good.

He imagined his hearing like one of Fred and George's extendable ears, growing and bending to snake out under the main door. No guards outside; interesting. He moved his focus a little more to the left and right, still hearing only silence. Further, he finally started to hear a conversation slowly coming closer.
"-you shouldn't, Sir, he seemed alright earlier with Hermione, but the way he reacted to me… I don't know what he would have done if he wasn't so tired."

"The girl takes far too many liberties," an older voice growled, "what if his venoms had killed her? Unlike you and the others, she has noimmunities or protections."

Venoms? Immunities? Asps had venoms… but he was no Asp, and they were most certainly discussing him. He vaguely remembered waking to see Hermione, but his memories still could not be relied on to say if that was earlier today, a week or a year ago.

"I want to see my son," the older voice insisted, making him wish he knew who it was. The younger voice was Draco Malfoy he was certain. Lucius, perhaps? No, Draco was an only child. Was he trapped in an Asp stronghold?

"Please, Sir, wait just a little longer. It's not safe."

"Is he awake?"

"Even if he isn't, Sir, he can wake at any moment."

"When you have a son, Draco, you might understand." A door opened, and only then was he aware how close the two had come.

"I'll stay right here, Professor, call me if you need me." A pause, "Remember he can wake at any time."

"I will."

Harry forced himself to keep 'sleeping', ready to jump if whoever it was tried anything. He heard shifting around him, felt a soft pressure on his arm, another on his head and forced himself to keep his body relaxed through the unexpected contact. The hand on his arm stayed still while the hand on his head began stroking his hair. He felt no magic from the contact, no spell weaving. Despite the whole situation, he really wanted to succumb to the calming comfort regardless of who was providing it.
He wanted to know who it was, to sneak a little peek, but feared what it could trigger. He did let a sigh escape and lean into it slightly, the cool and calloused hand easing the near-fever he had been feeling.

"I never thought…" was whispered tenderly, "Oh thank the gods that you're alive." It was said too softly to wake anyone, but left no doubt that the man above him was Snape. "You've always been able to attain the impossible, Horatius."

Horatius. The name was foreign yet nearly tugged at something. Was he somehow switched with this 'Horatius' person? It definitely sounded pompous enough to be a rich pureblood's name. Was this guy running around as him somewhere at Hogwarts? It took everything he had not to tense up, suddenly. Was this their plot; to insert a spy that looked like Harry Potter? No, then he would be in a cell, not here. They would not bother pretending… unless he had been stuck here, and was supposed to have switched back with this Horatius already. The thought of being stuck as Snape's mysterious relation forced a shudder to run down his spine.

Moreover, just as it ebbed, another thought took over. Snape, the Ammodytus, was dead… by his own hand no less! The memory flashed through his mind as vividly as if he were still recovering from the burst he had unleashed. Yet, a slew of memories he could file as happening after fight were present in his jumbled mind. Months' worth; years perhaps. He abandoned his cover of sleep.

"I killed you." Harry insisted, staring right into the eyes of the man he knew to be long dead and… well, he had no clue if anyone bothered burying him. His body could still be rotting in the man's ballroom for all Harry cared, but he was most certainly dead.

He looked for signs of subterfuge, still staring at the coal-black eyes filled with emotions Harry was quite sure his past Potions Master could not name, let alone express. Snape cut all contact as soon as Harry had stopped pretending to be asleep as if it burned him, but otherwise just kept watching him as if afraid to blink.

"What trick is this?" Harry demanded harshly,

"I wish I knew, but I fear it may end were I to try and find out," came the ex-Professor's safe reply, serving to confuse him all the more. After a sigh the man seemed to gather himself and added mechanically, "how do you feel?"

"Imprisoned," he replied flatly, glaring.

The answering laugh took him by surprise, as did the tight hug he found himself in the following moment.

Snape, the Ultimate Evil's dead right hand, was hugging him! It took him a couple seconds to shake himself from the shock, pushing at the man with all his strength to get rid of the unwanted contact. And then bloody Malfoy rushed in. Fantastic. So their new idea of how to torture information out of him was to placate him and thenhurt him. Wonderful.

He was preparing to defend himself before they had a chance to restrain him, only to realize how bloody weak he felt. Hell, Snape must have let go on contact, for all the good his 'push' must have amounted to.

"Everything is fine, Draco; I startled him," Snape defended, the blond calming his stance, "apparently, he killed me."

Draco stared.

Horris was there, talking and glaring and breathing. True, he was not exactly back and good as new, given that he was currently demanding answers and looking as ready to fight them both as he was to fainting.

"He killed you," Draco repeated, not taking his eyes off Horris.

"Yes, apparently," the Professor confirmed with a cynical half-smirk.
"So it's not just that he thinks he's Potter, but he has false memories?" he summarized, trying to think of the implications. He had Dean help him do a variety of spells to check that there was no underlying Necromancy before involving the Professor. None had turned up, but a common feature of many such spells seemed to also alter memories (in spells where the bodies were animated enough to even have memories, anyway). Should he try the diagnostic spells again?

"Could both of you stop talking over me, unless this is some kind of new interrogation attempt?" Horris growled out, sounding too close to how he used to sound. Before.

"And I am Potter, Asp."

"Stay in bed," the Professor hushed him when Horris tried to get out of bed, "you are barely conscious as it is." Then, after a quizzical frown, he turned to Draco briefly, "summon an elf and tell him to bring some food, something easy on the stomach."

"I'm not eating anything from you, Slytherin," Horris spat back.

"Draco, call Miss Granger," the Professor continued after giving Horris a searching look, "I assume you are willing to trust her? You need to eat."

Horris kept glaring, using all the power his Snape roots provided, even if he failed to realize it. Still, he did not refuse this time, so after another long glance Draco quickly moved to do as he was told. He was sure the food would arrive before he had a chance to find Hermione. She should still be with the Weasley girl. At least he hoped so; Hermione's own rooms were on the far side of the manor while Weaslette was a floor above them in the same wing.

"Ginny wants to stay," she told him as soon as she opened the door, protective as always of the younger Gryffindor in this den of snakes.

"I'll give Dean the go ahead to start sealing the manor," he promised her, "but I need you to come with me. The Professor needs your help." Then, looking back to the younger girl who was actively trying to fade into the overstuffed chair she presently occupied, he added, "Actually, this will take a while. Could you find Dean and tell him I said to start, Ginny? An elf can help you find your way to him."

Not that Draco would change his plan to call an elf as soon as he briefed Hermione since Dean would not take the Weaslette on her word without checking with him, but at least this way she would have something to do instead of worrying about getting trapped with them. Hermione would worry less about her friend if she was not left to her own devices, as well, and they needed her full attention now.

"Has he woken up?" she asked him as soon as they had moved out into the vacant hall, "is he lucid?"

"He's awake, but weak," he told her honestly, "the Professor wants him to eat… but he's being difficult. We're both hoping your presence might help."

"I'm sure the Professor-"

"He's not exactly back, Hermione," he cut her off, "I feared as much from how he reacted to me earlier… now I'm sure. Apparently the first thing he told the Professor was that he killed him."

"Horris thinks he killed his father?"

"He also insists he's Potter. I think whatever that pill-popping loon of a Headmaster did jumbled his brains."

"Amnesia? Is he trying to fight you?"

"No, beside some snide remarks he hasn't been hostile… though he's barely conscious, so maybe he's just saving his escape attempt for when he's back to full strength. I rather think we're in a short calm before the storm. I think the Professor realizes that too, which is why he wants you to come sooner rather than later. If he does think he's Potter, he should still be able to trust you. If he realizes you're not here against your will he might be more willing to consider that we are likewise not his enemy." Then, right when they approached the Mist suite door, he gravely added, "and it can't be amnesia; he knew I was an Asp."

"I'll wait in the sitting room," Draco told her after shutting the outer door again. She only answered with a nod. Seeing some porridge already sitting on a side table, so she picked it up on her way in.

"Enter, Miss Granger," The Professor beckoned after her knock, and she allowed herself a deep breath to steel herself on what awaited her inside. Even with Draco's warning that he thought himself a Potter, what Hermione saw was pure Horris; glaring and pissed off that he was too weak to get out of bed. Oh hell, he looked worse than he did when she was finally able to see him after his Christmas training with that monster.

"I brought the porridge, Professor," she told him, setting the tray down by the bed.

"I will leave you to it then, Miss Granger," he nodded, vacating his seat for her, "I highly doubt he will eat anything with me in the room."

"Does everyone have to speak over me?"

"Sorry," she told him honestly, just as the door clicked closed after the Professor, for the first time looking at Horris directly, "it's just hard on us all."

"Can you try to eat some of this?" she asked him, holding up a spoonful after he just kept staring at her, "Please?"

"Poisoned?"

"Of course not, Ho-" she cut herself off, Draco having mentioned that it might not be a good idea to call him that. Then, because she could tell he was as suspicious of her as he had been of the Professor, she ate the spoonful herself before offering the next one to him again. After the third such attempt, she finally put the spoon down and set the bowl aside.

"You've got to be hungry," she insisted, "if you rather I go then-"

"Stay."

"Will you eat?"

He did not say anything more, but he did accept the next offered spoonful, at least.

By the time he had eaten half the bowl Hermione saw he was barely awake.

"You really are safe here," she promised, setting the bowl aside and brushing back his hair. "Merlin, you've no idea what we've all been through since…" she could not hold back the sob. She promised herself she would not cry, not in front of Horris. Still, seeing him there she just could not hold it back anymore.

"Draco has taken all this so hard, he's barely holding everything together. Hell, I probably don't even know half of what he's really having to deal with. And your father… Merlin I don't know how he pulled himself together in the first place, let alone how he's kept himself sane since then." It all just came rushing out. She knew she should not be laying all this on him, that this was probably the last thing Horris needed right now, but she just could not help it. So long, she had held on to tethers just to keep herself from falling apart. So long, she had forced herself to not be a burden for those so much more involved in all this.

Thankfully, when she looked up from her lap, Horris was already asleep again.

She just sat there for a few more minutes, stroking his head. Horris was here and alive. Maybe that could be enough for now. Still, she had seen the look in Draco's eyes when he told her that his fears had proven true; that Horris was not back, as they had hoped. She had also seen the Professor. Though he hid it well, she could see how much it hurt him to acknowledge that his own son thought him an enemy. Hell, she half expected to find him against the wall just outside the door after having to keep himself together while in his son's presence. Even with her, she had seen distrust in Horris's eyes. She could not tell if he thought she was similarly against him or maybe coerced. Hell, if he thought they were working with Voldemort, he was probably assuming the worst of all of them. Sleeping, he looked so peaceful… as if the whole tragedy never happened.