Harry grabbed his wand from Ash and carefully led him outside the invisible barrier. Once he was sure that Ash could breathe in, and survive the red atmosphere, he proceeded forward.
He warned, "You might see some crazy things, but whatever you do, stay calm. Everything in here, is some kind of sentient part of him. We can't cause any more of a disturbance than we have to."
"Got it." Preaching to the choir, Ash thought. He followed as quietly as he could.
The closer they got to the door, the more a cracking sound splintered in the air around them. Harry stopped, not liking the sound of it.
"What is that?" Ash asked.
They paused together. Harry took another step, testing the sound. Nothing. Ash crept one more step. The crackling started again. It sounded like glass splintering all around them.
Harry gripped the wand. "It's you. You can't leave. Not without a fight. We're gonna have to make a run for it."
"Me?"
"That splintering sound only happens when you move closer to the door. This whole place is reacting to your leaving. I don't suppose you'd be willing to stay here till I could talk to him?"
"Fuck no."
"Okay, then brace yourself. All this red stuff is intelligent somehow. When I say run, run. We have to beat it."
Ash nodded, like he understood.
Harry had the foresight to cast a shield around them both. "Stay behind me."
"Where else do you think I'm going?"
The next sequence of events happened fast. "Run!"
They stuck close together. The cracking sound grew into popping noises, as if thick slabs of glass were shattering all around them. Even with the shield, it became harder to move through the atmosphere. The red air took on a density that it didn't have before. In some places it solidified, catching them in a pocket of solid mass, so they looked like they were frozen, mid-run, in a solid sheet of translucent red glass. The shield's effect caused a bubble around them, in which Harry had room to blast his way out.
Jagged pieces of the solidified atmosphere began to fall and crumble around them. The place was collapsing on itself, with shards of brittle pieces hitting the floor. Ash caught one in his shoulder and stumbled. Harry reached for him, pulling him towards the door. Ash was too heavy to drag, so he cheated, using magic to apparate them both into the corridor. As he did, the entire ceiling of the red atmosphere, burst into a splintered matrix of crystallized particles and came crashing down from the depths above.
Harry and Ash landed on bare stone. They looked back, to see the open door knocked off its hinges as dust and shattered rubble poured out of the room, blocking the entrance. They choked on red dust, for the shield lost all stability as Harry lost his focus. The cloudy situation decreased visibility and Harry tried clearing the space with a charm so they could breathe and see better. But before he could cast it, a spark shot out from the other side of the corridor, and blasted his wand from his hand. He turned to see a slender robed Death Eater, flinging a series of strikes at him. Masked and determined.
Harry had to choose between grabbing Ash and grabbing the wand. He wanted the wand, but knew he could make do without it, since he possessed a greater wand inside of him. But the trained wizard in him, missed the reassurance that a physical wand held. He gripped Ash's collar and pulled-drug him to his feet. "Come on."
"Who the fuck is that?"
"That's Snape. At seventeen."
"What?"
"Run!"
Harry tried to push Ash ahead of him, but couldn't manage the bulk and Ash's disorientation at the same time. Even Harry didn't know where they were going. As long as they had a path through the stone corridor, they kept running. Wandfire kept taking plugs of stone out, wherever they went. Shots exploded near their heads. Harry wanted to take a second to turn and yell at Snape, to tell him who he was, but if showing him his memories hadn't changed the way this young Death Eater felt about him, he doubted anything else would. Besides, he had no idea how consistency worked in this place. That Snape could be a memory he's never encountered before. It could represent a psychosis, or just a very paranoid version of him, left to handle all the threats. Just keep away from him. Hide. The castle was always full of hiding places.
Yeah, but this isn't Hogwarts. This is Snape's mental history. There's no where to hide.
As he thought this, he thought of the Room of Requirement, wishing it were here now. He nearly tripped as he and Ash ran past an adjacent corridor, and he saw something better than the Room of Requirement. A statue. Not just any statue. Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. They were in the One-Eyed Witch passage, and this statue led to Honey Duke's cellar. Thanks to the Marauder's Map, he'd spent third year using it to sneak onto school outings with all the others who got to go to Hogsmeade. He still wanted to find portrait Snape, but his mission was augmented by the promise of meeting the real Snape.
"Hurry, this way!" He practically dove into the hidden entrance, pulling Ash with him. They tumbled into darkness, slipping on hidden steps. They heard wandfire striking the statue and Harry fixed the Elder Wand so firmly in his mind, that his hand clinched as if he were holding it. His muscle memory wanted to go through the motion of casting, so he let it. He felt his magic leave him and envelop the statue to defend it. It worked, but it felt so odd to be doing it without a physical wand. Awkward.
You'll get used to it, Thella whispered. If having something in your hand makes you feel better, use anything to point. Keep a pen on you, that would do.
"Thella." She'd gone quiet. While listening to Ash, he'd forgotten she was there. He tried to listen as he and Ash felt along bricks and moved toward an increase of light.
"How come I can use the Elder Wand? Even if it's imaginary. Is it all because of the painting's magic, or the castle?"
Ash looked at him. "What? Where are we?"
"This leads out, or it's supposed to. I'm not talking to you." He showed Ash his talisman. "I have a mental connection with someone. She's helping me."
When you manipulated your Wheels of Life, you gained conscious access to magic you thought you had destroyed. You no longer need a physical conductor for your magic, just a really good mental aim. You'll improve.
"I forgot to call on you for help. I met someone and got distracted. Did you hear everything?"
Ash looked perplexed, but followed along.
I knew you were distressed, so I drew near. I could only catch bits and pieces.
"I have someone with me. He seems real." He had a twinge of doubt.
"I am real!" Ash reminded him.
Harry asked Thella, "Can I bring him out of this painting?"
He heard his voice echo as the tunnel opened wider. He wanted her to know, in all her witchy wisdom, what he should do. He'd made a very confident choice, high on gaining more awareness of his magic, but did he really know what it meant to take something out of the painting? Getting in was one thing, but leaving with something made of this unpredictable world, made him twitchy with apprehension. He so wanted Ash to be as real as he seemed.
I don't know, Thella answered. If he's real, he should survive it. If he's not, he may turn into paint.
That fate sounded horrible, but Harry let it slip from his mind as he and Ash stepped onto a dirt floor, scattered with straw. The tunnel vaulted over their heads and expanded widely on either side of them, with arching brown bricks.
Ash stared at him. "What'd they say?"
Harry didn't answer him. He was too busy trying to figure out why the tunnel looked so different from what he remembered. At school, it had been nothing more than a dark, tight, subterranean passage, full of cobwebs and cold slabs. But this was a massive structure, fairly clean, well lit with torches, and smacked of a fair bit of organization. Then it hit him, all over again. This was Snape's memory, not his. But how could Snape remember the same thing so differently?
Thella heard him, or rather, felt the layers of his confusion. I think that you two are creating the painted world together now, from both your minds. You encounter what he knows, and you can't help but affect it, and the whole interaction changes to accommodate what was his past, and what is your present.
Now that they were no longer being chased, Harry and Ash stood there, trying to figure out why the place had the feel of a fancy set of stables. There were no horses to be seen, but going out on either side of them, were more archways. The thing was, the whole place looked like a model of something. Like a setup, a stage. He walked slowly, taking it in. Ash stayed close to his heals.
"What is this place?"
"I don't know," Harry answered him. "I expected something different."
Each of the archways held another room. And not just a room, Harry noticed as he got closer, a scene. Exactly like a staged play. The first one to his left, was a dim room, lit only by a wood-burning stove and an oil lamp, which revealed enough for him to figure out that this was Honeyduke's cellar, represented by a lifesize diorama. He walked up to it, could feel the warmth coming from the room, could smell the stores of spices, candies, and grains that kept that store nostalgically fragrant. He put his hand up, and wasn't at all surprised to encounter another barrier. Another protected memory. Behind him, on the other side of the arches, sat a snow scene of what lay just outside Honeydukes. He could even see the snow falling, and feel a nip in the wind. If he pressed his face close, there was a chill that bit him. Christmas lights decorated shop windows. Carriages rolled by in the distance. He heard faint Christmas caroling, laughter, and watched people making tracks in the snow, who were oblivious to him.
Ash came up beside him. "What in the dickens is this? They can't see us?"
Without answering him, Harry moved away. The next archway contained another scene. A woman wearing heavy scarves amid piles of spiraling curls, stepped out of a shop. She levitated two buckets of coal ash and Harry tracked her as she carefully watched her footing and followed the buckets to a little dump hill of ash to the side of the shop. It took him a moment, but he recognized her as Madame Rosmerta, only two decades younger. The shop was The Three Broomsticks. He remembered being denied entry by the shrunken heads at her door. When the buckets were emptied, she cast a water saturation spell, for safety, and turned her back on the empty buckets following her back inside.
Harry moved to the next windowed diarama, and saw her enter the main room of her shop, where guests were being served. So each arch contained a scene that started where the last one left off. Everything was happening in chronological order, as if Snape's memories were telling a story, and kept telling it in a certain order.
Again, Ash came up behind him. "What the hell? This looks like the 1800s. Who's she? These people are in horse drawn carriages. I know you wizards are magic, but don't tell me Foster is fucking immortal. I don't think I can take it."
Harry told him the truth. His eyes never left Madame Rosmerta. "No, not immortal. He just comes from a different world. A place that held onto all the best things in your history. When people could still take their time. Wizards didn't need cars or planes, or phones. So this era went a lot further for them than it did for nonmagic people. I was raised with muggles, so it's just as amazing to me as well."
"Okay. Then who's she? What's she got to do with Foster?"
"Don't know yet. I think we have to follow the scenes. They're laid out for some reason. Like a play."
"Like a museum reenactment, I'd say. Is this how we compartmentalize our beliefs?"
"I don't know. Professor Snape was always very meticulous in his organization. If this were my painting, my past would look like a junk yard."
Ash chuckled, taking careful steps behind Harry. "Uh-oh, then he's got something pretty important down here."
Harry shushed him. A group of loud students had just walked past Madame Rosmerta. They were so engaged in their conversation that they didn't see her having to side step them to avoid being clipped by them. Rude, her face tightened to say, but she never said it. They wouldn't have heard her anyway.
Harry stopped short. He knew those kids. He looked over his glasses and could see that they wore glamours, which made them appear old enough to get into the place. The glamours weren't that advanced, but they were relying on no one caring enough to check as long as they gave no one reason to. Harry's heart faltered, to see his dad, Sirius, Remus, and Peter leaving the shop. It wasn't the sight of them that arrested him. It was what he'd caught Remus saying.
"We'd better get back to the inn and check on Snape."
No string of words could've been more incongruous. It implied they could've finally befriended Snape, but Harry knew that pink dolphins would sooner flock like geese across the sky before that happened.
"He's fine," James replied, walking out of the scene toward the exit. "We tied him up pretty good."
Harry went cold.
Remus tightened his coat. They were all wearing heavy coats and scarves. Remus's was the only one whose wrists extended a good three inches from his sleeves. He was extremely slender and tall to Harry's eyes, and not the robustly confident teacher he had come to know.
"You guys constantly underestimate him. He doesn't always need a wand the way we do. If this is going to work, we've got to keep a better eye on him."
"Then what do you suggest?" Sirius asked. "We've got to come out for a drink. I'm not spending the entire Yule break looking after that freak of nature."
"I'm just saying, we should stock more booze at the inn. We could be there for a while."
Their voices trailed out of the diarama, with their exits. Harry quickly ran to the next scene waiting for them. Then it hit him. He asked out loud, hoping that either Ash or Thella could make sense of something.
"Wait a minute. If he was never here with them, how could his memory record what was going on? This can't be accurate."
Did the paranoid part of Snape, create it's own separate way of having seen or interpreted things?
Ash joined him at the scene, shrugging. "Beats me. Now who are these people?"
I don't know how accurate it is, Thella thought to him. But if it's presented this way, it's important to him. There's a part of every one of us, that knows what's going on, below the surface of our daily details. I think you've reached one of the deepest portions of his mind. The collective unconscious. It's his guidance system. It connects all of us, we all have it. It tells us to avoid accidents by making spontaneous turns. Or participate in them, by not making that turn. Things like that. It knows every detail that we've ever seen. It watches. It's not affected by time and distance.
If he's really tied up somewhere, he would've been very concerned about what was going on with these guys. Follow them, but don't interfere. I think it's all laid out this way so that no one can interfere. That's your influence here as well. Be careful. The fact that you can't enter the diarama and they can't see you, is a warning to yourself. Keep going, but don't meddle. I honestly think there's a part of him that wants you to see this, or you wouldn't be.
Harry was aware that Ash couldn't hear Thella, and his silence might've come across as neglectful as he listened to her. Still, he was too caught up in following his dad, to answer right away. In the next scene, the group of boys stomped out into the snow, heading up the main road. They walked at a brisk pace as buggies and shoppers went around them.
Sirius was saying, "Don't worry, James. Snivelous isn't going anywhere. If this thing works, it'll be worth the trouble of sneaking him out of school. If anything goes wrong, least we've got the whole break to fix it. I say we have fun. Make that prude sorry for what he did."
Remus's breath frosted the air. "He was only defending himself. We got him first, remember? This is just a prank, it's not as vindictive as all that, Sirius."
"You tell yourself whatever you need to believe. That bloke's gonna measure me tonight."
"We can still turn back, you know," said Peter. "It's not too late."
"Look." James stopped walking and turned to them. "If this is going to work, we don't need that kind of talk, Wormtail. He could've killed us. We can never let a guy like that have that kind of power over us again. This is the ultimate humiliation. It's either this, or kill him. Quite frankly, I don't take kindly to someone who puts me in the hospital. He asked for this. We were just fooling around, he made this war. If he can't handle it, that's on him. He'll know better than to use his sorcery on us ever again. We stand together, or leave now if you're wimping out. This is not the time for doubts, so shut it or leave."
Peter looked abashed, but said nothing to challenge James. Harry watched his father stomp off up the hill, as the others followed. He started toward the glass front, but Ash pulled him back.
"Woah. That doesn't sound good. This whole place… if this is really a part of his mind, you can't just walk into situations like that."
"I can handle myself. I can apparate inside." He wasn't sure about that, but he was damn sure gonna try.
"I thought you said you shouldn't risk that."
"That was before. He's obviously in trouble." Harry's throat was going dry with frustration.
"I know you're magic and all, but that guy meant business. Whatever he's up to, you don't want to be anywhere near that kind of energy. I don't need magic to know that he's trouble."
"That guy is my dad. This is just a school memory of Snape's. He and my father didn't get along."
"No kidding, your dad's an asshole. Don't go in there, whatever's happened, it's already history. If you can appergate or whatever, you can get us out of here."
Harry shook his head. "I came here to find Snape. I can't stop now."
Ash pointed, "What's this next one?"
Instead of following him to the next arch, Harry stared at his father disappearing up the hill. A series of decorated storefronts and buildings lined the trek all the way to the top. He could barely make out a sign that indicated James's destination. The Antsy Bale, an inn. Could he apparate into the scene, like he'd said? He was one second from finding out, before Ash went ahead to the next exhibit of Snape's memories.
"Holy shit!"
Harry turned. Ash looked at him like a man realizing he's standing on a grenade. "Please tell me this isn't him."
Harry swooped beside him. Behind the glass, in a dim room, lay a figure that could only be Snape. Decades younger, almost willowy in his slenderness, and spread across a bed, he was tied by his wrists and ankles. In plain clothes, minus his school robe, his long black hair sprawled across pillows, spilling over his chest and arms. His head tossed. His limbs pulled at their restraints. And James stood with his friends, wands raised.
This was obviously a room in the little inn where his father had been headed. They weren't lying. They really had Snape kidnapped here. Harry threw himself against the glass, and shouted in futility, "Dad!"
What was his father doing?
"Come on," Ash pulled him. "Let's just go to the next one." Whatever was about to happen in that scene, the sight of a teenage Foster held in such a vulnerable state, made him too uncomfortable to watch. They couldn't get stuck here, they had to keep moving.
But Harry resisted. His instinct to save overpowered his rationale. He beat the glass again, screaming,
"Dad, what the hell are you doing?"
He couldn't leave. He couldn't just assume that everything worked out and whatever came next was going to be okay, because Snape had obviously survived this torment. His teacher had never looked so defeated, lying there like that. So much like a kid in trouble. Just a boy being picked on, and undergoing a lot of pain. Did his dad really do this?
Maybe that's why he refused to follow Ash. He had to see it. He had to see whatever his father's crimes were, or there's no way he could believe him capable of this. And this couldn't be true, right? This was just something Snape believed, because they'd been enemies back then. So maybe if he saw what Snape was convinced of, then he'd have a clue as to how to get through to him when they did see each other again.
No matter what he told himself, he couldn't move.
Weakly, he asked out loud, "Do you think, not everything is the truth in here? Like maybe, some things are just fantasies, or his worst fears?"
He didn't expect Ash to have an adequate reply, but the older man tried anyway, "I know the imagination runs away with us, but why would it be so elaborate and detailed? And sealed off and kept in order? It's like he's keeping careful records. Nothing like the shit that goes on in my head."
Harry saw the boys raise their wands around the bed. He saw them cast the spell. Time slowed down, as seventeen year old Snape lay trapped in their magical emissions. Magic filled the room with arching light. Clothes burned away, as red fire wrote itself down the lengths of Snape's chest, arms, and legs. His screams were silent against sound-proof charms. Harry couldn't hear him, but that didn't stop him from knowing that it must've hurt.
When Ash couldn't pull him away, he too watched the devilry unfold. What was this spell, and why were they doing it to him? The answers to those questions, loomed large for both of them, connecting each to the part of Snape that evaded being known in any other way. Both were hypnotized and reached a point where they couldn't look away.
Harry told himself that he was still staring because of the possibility of getting his father's attention. The first version of James he'd met in this painting, had seen him and responded to him, so maybe all he had to do was break through. But he didn't really expect to get through to his father or anyone else. The glass barrier wouldn't allow it. That was simply what he needed to tell himself, in order to witness something he had to see. This memory was for viewing only. No editing, no tampering.
He felt Thella stirring in his mind. He asked her, "What are they doing?"
You know what they're doing. Stay calm. It's already history.
How could she seem so unconcerned? So downright accepting?
Because I'm used to seeing the most shameful things that people try to hide. It's more common than we let on. A third of the population are suppressing a tremendous amount of trauma at any given moment, Harry. That's why I surround myself with love, in service to everyone I meet. That's why I over do it. When it's real, it's the answer to all healing.
Light from four casting wands, reached the peak of the spell. Illumination obstructed the view, hurting Harry's eyes. He shielded them, looking away for only a moment, before returning to see four quivering young wizards who were amazed at their accomplishment.
Snape lay in disarray. His clothes were mostly gone and his bindings had burned away. His face twisted in a display of anguish as his captors stepped cautiously towards the bed and peered over him. The was a sense of sped up time, of conversation, and details speeding past Harry's observation. Whatever had taken place in that room, he was being given the highlights. He saw his father creep closer. Lucidity accentuated the hatred in Snape's eyes. He reached out and took James's wand before anyone could realize how awake and aware he was. There was a scuffle. It took all four of them to get the wand back, and Harry heard the sound of Snape's hand breaking, as they wounded him on purpose.
"Jesus!" Ash exclaimed beside him.
Harry stood in shock, past exclamations. He knew that curse. It hadn't happened exactly like his, but he knew it with all that he was. For him, there was really only one reason why anyone would do such a thing to another person. And now he stood there, needing to prove to himself that his father hadn't done it for that reason.
Time shifted and proceeded differently behind the glass. The boys discussed their success. James peeled back the remains of Snape's clothing, to prove to them all that the curse had worked. Harry stopped breathing. His worst fears confirmed.
What his father uncovered, Remus quickly covered back up with the sheet. He told James, "This is too serious. You have no idea what we've done. He's not Snape anymore. There's no point in doing this if he's just going to be a real woman. We didn't think it through."
Harry didn't know which was worse. Seeing Snape as a half naked adolescent, completely at the mercy of these four, or knowing full well what his father was thinking. It was just so obvious.
He couldn't give it another second. He apparated, but immediately felt too much restriction. It didn't work. It left him with a feeling of being trapped in the glass barrier and gasping for air. He drew on the Elder Wand, seeing it in his hand. It had to have some effect on this this. He aimed the imaginary wand, and got the real result of having the glass shatter outward. He knew that he wanted to break it, but he didn't expect his power to have such a chaotic effect. Instead of shattering inward, the glass cracked into ice-bullets of projectiles and exploded onto him and Ash. A powdery infusion of magic and shards ripped past them, throwing them to the ground. Stunned, the two stumbled to their feet, amid blood and granules that cracked under their shoes.
To Harry's horror, the scene in the room was still unfolding. He'd interrupted nothing. He ran to it, ready to charge through, but hit another invisible barrier. The message was clear. He was not permitted to change one iota taking place.
"Why!" he screamed at whatever authority was in charge. "Why are you letting this happen?" This was as much for Snape, as it was for whatever power controlled the diaramas.
He stared holes into his father's back, willing him to come to his senses. "Dad! He's my friend. He's my friend."
Ash took him by the shoulders and tried to pull him again. He refused to let Snape endure this alone. The least he could do, was be here to curse what he saw, instead of relieving his conscience from bearing the sight. If Snape couldn't leave, then he wasn't going to either.
He watched. He kept waiting for something to prevent the worst from happening. He kept insisting that his dad definitely had a cruel streak, but he wasn't evil. He wasn't a monster. The next few minutes proved him wrong. They unfolded in an untranslatable amount of time. Condensed by what Snape remembered, and what Harry could accept. He saw everything.
Hours of historical events shifted and changed in the room, stopping at Snape being left alone in the dark. By then, Harry had witnessed his father's incomprehensible appetite and the butchering of his former teacher's innocence. He pounded on the barrier, now invisible without the illusion of glass, through most of it, until the acts he saw, caused his spirit to abandon the sight. It recoiled, as far away as it could get, stretching the limits of Harry's connection to it. The physical part of Harry stayed in place, a shell with nothing to give, with his power stretched behind him. He felt his soul retreating further and further away from the crimes before him, that it warned him of a breaking point between them. His father became unrecognizable to him. His teacher cried. Harry's mind stretched so taut, to accommodate the weight of it all, that he practically heard the resounding snap. He felt a part of himself break, when he didn't look away. When he didn't heed the warning that it was too much for him.
He dropped to his knees. His body went slack. He no longer new who any of those people were, and doubt as to his own identity, set in.
His ability to process any more information, came to a slow stop. He saw the crimes of not only his father, but of all four boys, repeating themselves. His father's expression, the sounds, the obscenity, all churned like a vat of waste in his mind. He was too sick to stand. It was then that Ash was able to drag him up and walk him away.
Harry didn't hear himself repeating, "Dad, Dad…" as he let himself go along with Ash. He wasn't nearly as aware of his tears as Ash was. And so the other pulled Harry's head against him and kept his walk brisk, making sure Harry couldn't turn his head and see any more of the scenes until they were clear of the darkest ones. But he saw them, and shuddered at Foster's past. He had romanticized the world of wizards and magic. He had pursued him with rose-tinted lenses. If a wizard like Foster hadn't escaped being violated and raped like that, then a world of magic was not the heaven on earth, he thought it should be. It was the opposite. Too much power given to those too flawed and immature to use it decently. No thanks, the world of nonmagic mortals, was good enough for him. And goddammit! That boy was beautiful. Laying there all perfectly formed in very young manhood. Even after the change, the contours of Snape's pale body, was a sight that no one in that room deserved.
Ash felt guilty for having seen it, and stored that treasure for a future when all of this was far behind him. If he had been James, could he have said no? Could he have denied himself one little touch? He would've been kinder. He would've earned the right to touch, with a stellar game of seduction, instead of the atrocity that had taken place. He blew the stress of it away as he carried Harry past all the other inappropriate scenes.
They reached the corner of the last arch. Careful not to look at it, Ash shoved Harry ahead of him. A brighter corridor awaited them outside, but their relief was short-lived as wandfire exploded next to their heads, blowing bricks all over them. The Death Eater was back. He charged towards them. Harry remembered his shield too late. His ears were ringing by the time he got it up. A hot line of blood trickled from under his hairline down his forehead. The act of producing the shield felt way too effortful, and he had to admit that he couldn't keep up this pace. They ran, taking any available corner, just to lose sight of him. They caught their breaths in a dark and mildewy alcove.
Ash asked him, "Are you okay? He got you."
"I'm okay. He's not trying to kill us. He could've done that. He just wants us to leave." His footing felt shaky and twitchy, on the verge of stumbling, but he stayed on his feet.
"I'm all for that. How do we get out of here?" Ash shook the rubble out of his hair. He looked at Harry. "You're hurt."
Harry touched his head and felt the wound beneath his hair. He ignored the blood, knowing he had to do something drastic. He could risk apparating back to the starting point in the painting, not knowing how this oil-based magic would affect Ash, or apparate to an outside, physical location all together. Either way, he felt weak and unfocused, which would compromise travel for the both of them, let alone the painting side-effects. His stomach pulled him to the floor with nausea and his strength went with it. It was just shock and grief, he told himself. His father's actions had totally shamed him, and he didn't know how to deal with that. Now was not the time to process it, he insisted. Besides, it might not be true. Snape hated his dad. Who knows how those issues and feelings intermingled with a psychosis? Why should anything be true here? Still, he was sickened to the point of weakness, by what he'd seen.
"Well I'm not magic. You gotta get us out of here. What was your big plan? You came here looking for him, right?"
"Not like this," he said bitterly. "I thought he had knowledge. Secrets. He could help me. I never dreamed that the curse was his problem too."
"He's got secrets, all right. You need to talk to him. If you get us out of here, I'll make that happen.
Harry looked at him. "I don't know if I can look at him now. He has so many reasons to hate me."
"Are you kidding me? All he ever does is help you. I've seen him do it. Forget portrait Snape. He doesn't remember either one of us. He's trying to kill us. I can take you to the real Snape."
Harry wiped his face, swallowing back tears. "The one trying to kill us is not the Snape I was talking about. I think, because he's alive, and not really dead, the magic in the painting connects to him somehow. It bridges to his real life, where he's placed you. It let me find you. My wand may have had something to do with that."
"Let's go with that then, and get the hell out of here." Ash encouraged with a nod.
Harry said, "If you know where Snape lives, and you're still alive to blab it, he must trust you very much. More than he trusts me."
Ash faltered upon hearing this take on it. He recalled the night Foster, wounded and outnumbered, defeated dozens of masked wizards before collapsing. The severed artery alone, should've killed him, but he was on his feet fighting like a man with everything to live for. Maybe Harry was profoundly right, and he wasn't so far banished from Foster's concern as he thought he was. But it was too much to hope for and this wasn't the time for it. He shook it off.
"I promise you, just get us out of here and I'll take you personally to Foster's door."
