Harry reached deep into his mind and felt for Thella. He asked her, "Is it true? What I just saw? Did you see it too?"
She roused, as if her energy had gone dormant through it all.
I couldn't see it the way you did. I saw what you felt. There's some truth to it, but Harry, there's more you don't know. More that would balance it.
"Did my father and his friends really do that to him?"
It happened, but your teacher is not a victim. I feel his magic. They all gambled. They all lost. Your teacher learned how much his body matters to him. Before this, I see an abyss of indifference. A dark place. He respected his mind over his body. This taught him that what affects one, affects the other. The parts of him that take up space, are just as valuable as his mind.
Harry didn't care. "We have to get out of here."
But you didn't find Portrait-Snape.
"I don't care. I don't want to see anymore, and I'm not sure I can apparate us."
All right. Clasp the talisman. So many spirits are around you right now. The ancestors are helping you, you may not realize it. Your mother is there.
"I don't want my mother anywhere near all of this."
You need her strength. It's always working for you. And there are no secrets where she is. Let all of us help you.
"Just get us out."
Let the man be your guide, then fuel his destination with your magic. He knows where to go.
Harry turned to Ash. "We have to rely on your focus. "I don't know where we're going, but you do. When I count to three, in your mind, go to where you last left him. I'll use my magic, with your navigation. We just have to hope for the best. If anything goes wrong, we should still be able to apparate our way out of it. But I've never done it like this before. There's a risk."
"I'll take it. Anything's better than getting killed by that guy."
"Right. Take my arm and don't let go."
Ash held firmly, not liking how pale and sick Harry looked.
"Clear everything out of your mind. Fix it with where you intend for us to go. Where is that?"
"Snape's cave. It's not far from my property."
"A cave near your property." Harry repeated. He remembered flooing to Diagon Alley without ever having prior knowledge of it before. He hoped the intent was all that his magic needed.
"Ready?"
"Yes."
In the next second, a torrent of sound and wind tore them apart from each other. They landed in reeds, whipping around them as sheets of rain beat down. Ash thought it was night, but shifting storm clouds reminded him that this was only Foster's security system. A fake storm intended to mislead muggles and drive them off to seek shelter elsewhere. He looked for Harry, whose body had been thrown a few feet away. Gusts of wind made him stagger towards it, as he squinted through the pellets. Harry lay in a heap, unmoving. Cold rain drenched them both. He shook Harry and got no response. Blood darkened Harry's shirt and flowed freely from his head now.
"Holy shit!"
Ash grunted, gathering Harry in his arms. He struggled, getting him to the camouflaged entrance of the cave. So he himself had not been blocked from Foster's abode, in spite of their quarrel, but Foster's magic attacked magical people, whom he didn't want coming there. It could've been that he didn't see Ash as a threat, the way he saw fellow wizards. Ash was muggle, after all.
"Hang on, kid."
He didn't know what he would face on trying to get the both of them inside, but he had no choice. He knew the storm was just an illusion, but there was no getting around it or out of it with Harry. He charged inside the dark entrance. His leather soles crunched over pebbly dirt and black earth. Moisture, rich from an underground spring, filled his nasal cavity. He pulled Harry forward, knowing the dark tested him. A fungus smell, along with a sense of emptiness, were all part of the deception that would make the average person back out, satisfied that the cave had nothing to offer but inhospitable boredom, bereft even of interesting wildlife. A few more steps… and he broke through the illusion. Cold rock walls gave way to warmth, carpet, and fabric furniture. The sight of Foster's antiques flooded him with relief. He almost felt a sense of welcome, for he'd crossed over unharmed and Harry had not. Foster wasn't careless. That meant something, dammit.
"Help! Foster!" He yelled into the cavernous space, not sure if he was ready to see Foster again, but knowing Harry needed him. His voice echoed back to him, with nothing but the spray of the natural waterfall meeting him. He settled Harry onto a sofa, reasserted himself as a doctor, and began lifting Harry's shirt to view the damage. Something told him that a wound created by magic, might require magic to heal it. Where the hell was Fost… Snape. He had to try calling him Snape now. That was going to be difficult.
He pushed it out of his mind and examined Harry, who breathed very hard as he lay against the pillows. His head moved, but his eyes closed tightly against pain. "Dad, no…" Harry whispered.
Five gashes slit across Harry's chest and shoulder. Ash had nothing to bandage him with and blood already soaked the cushions. He ran around the room, grabbing a few arm pillows, opening drawers and cabinets in Foster's lab, and returned with any cloth he could gather up. At Harry's side, he saw blood pooling into dark puddles as it ran down the side of the sofa. He looked up into the rise of bare rockwall surrounding him and began yelling for Snape. If that wizard could imprison him in an illusion, then surely to god he can feel how much Harry needed his help.
"Where are you? Fix this. Fix this!"
His screams echoed, amplified in the circular formation.
Snape stood at the end of Lucius's hospital bed, considering the broken wizard laying there. Calculating. Pressure between his eyebrows annoyed him. He ignored it and focused on the damaged wizard lying there. Lucius's front bottom and top teeth were missing, causing a sunken quality to his lips. In sleep, after three weeks, the strain of his humiliation was still upon him. He looked aged in his skin, which was now a strange shade of pale-grey, after weeks of looking like a purple, oozing blister. His limp hair dulled to a coarse texture, at the expense of his vanity.
Magic had been used to untangle his hair and return it to a black tie. It stuck to his scalp, weighted by brine his pores produced as his body worked overtime, like a generator, pushing fluids to extremities and supplying organs that were failing. A generator with its connections circumvented. He wore violet pajamas his wife had insisted he'd want over the standard hospital garb. The mediwizards intended to let him recover at home as soon as he was well enough, but somehow their efforts patching him up always unraveled overnight. Snape was there to make sure he never got well enough to go home to his comfortable bed.
He used an incantation to draw more moisture from Lucius's body, to keep him dehydrated and weak. He thought of another spell that would cause the rest of Lucius's teeth to fall out, but held off. That might be more satisfying to use when this wizard awakened and could face him. He wanted to see molars popping out mid-sentence, just to watch Lucius process his own decay as he lied to worm his way out of any blame.
It was 4:00 am. Hired security guarded just outside the room, and even those aurors were not aware that the Ministry's wards had been breached. That's because Snape's physical form only made the barest impression in the room. Wards could not detect him. But because he entered with half his substance, it took longer for him to undo the healing treatments administered by London's most qualified mediwizards. Narcissa had hired only specialists to mend her husband in both body and magic. That team would've had Lucius up and walking around as if his public beating had never happened by now, if Snape did not show up nightly to undo their work and let them puzzle over why this former Death Eater wasn't improving.
It wasn't just the intent to punish that kept him crossing his arms at the foot of the bed and using his mind to pinch off Lucius's self-dosing sedative drip. An herb pouch boiled with mercury colored liquid, connected to his arm similarly to an IV drip. The harder it boiled, with tiny bubbles tossing inside, the more the doctors' magic detected how much pain he was in, and how much medicine to draw from it. The pouch dispersed painkilling properties. Lucius had twenty broken bones, a swollen liver, both bruised kidneys, a collapsed lung, two herniated discs, a concussion, and a missing toe. Tough old bastard. Snape could just see centuries of stubborn magic, racing around the tough facia of connective tissue that held his organs in place. No matter what Harry did to him, the old goat's liver and kidneys would not be torn from their blood supply. Tissues stretched to accommodate the blows, but went right back into position. A wizard like this would have to be dismembered. But that would have to wait.
Snape needed him alive for other reasons, than simply to suffer. There would be time for that.
After interrogating Collin for more answers, he brewed a drought used to keep him in a comatose state while he wasn't being question. It spared the drain on his magic. From his kitchen at Spinner's End, he'd made a soft apparation to the hospital. This entailed projecting most of himself and his dominant awareness into Lucius's room, while anchoring the bulk of his body in the kitchen. A form of bilocation, it was really a trance state that allowed him to be undetected, but compromised the strength with which he could perform. Magic took twice as long. Only the most gifted clairvoyants would've been able to see him. If anyone tried to touch his image, their hand would disappear through him like a ghost.
As he stared at Lucius, he admitted to himself that between the ghouls hidden at Spinner's End, making sure Lucius didn't recover too soon, keeping an eye on Harry, maintaining Ash's imprisonment, and figuring out what could be done for the little girl, he was starting to feel a bit weary. Just a bit. Maybe when he fixed what he could of Harry's situation and things quieted down, he'd find a derelict castle in Slovenia and settle there for a while. Brewing and reading for a whole year. He doubted Harry could stay out of trouble for that long, but it was a pleasant thought. It made him think that it might be possible to one day leave Harry alone for good. That time was approaching, and as always, he eyed it with suspicion and moved on to more pressing things. Like this persistent headache.
For the past twenty-four hours, he'd started having them off and on. He knew they had something to do with losing track of Harry and resigned himself to correct that problem when he could. Right now, he needed a working strategy to gather all of what was left of the original wizards responsible for the curse, and their wands, so that he might unravel Harry's curse. But Iece was born on top of the curse, while it was built over Harry's life. If it worked at all, the curse would lift from him, but fall as a support for her. It could hurt her to attempt to undo it. He had to come up with a strategy that would only affect Harry, then treat her separately. He didn't yet have a working plan, so he stalled there, using Lucius's bedridden misery as inspiration.
He imagined Lucius awakening to the shock of his missing legs, amputated at the thighs. It made his lips slowly curl. As tempting as that was, he knew a punishment that obvious, would cause this vain wizard to forsake life, and therefore any usefulness in unraveling Harry's and Draco's curse. He wanted Lucius to live in pain for many years to come, with no way out of it. In order for that to happen, he had to be extra creative. That meant allowing him just enough hope in life, to keep him chained to torment.
Snape occupied his mind with how best to proceed. Pressure burrowed behind his eyes. It had remained dull for hours, but it suddenly jabbed, assaulting him. It wasn't a normal headache. He didn't have those. He raised himself to the height of alertness. This pain had nothing to do with muscle groups kept unconsciously clenched for weeks on end, as he listened to Collin begging for his life. He was contemplating how much longer he needed to keep Collin and Morell around, when he'd gone cold inside, as if the soft warmth of his guts were suddenly wrapped around a frosted pole of steel. Iced infusion raced up his spine, shocking his optic nerves. He understood the message from deeper portions of himself very clearly. His wards have been broken. Intruders were in his den.
The alarm of it distracted him, thrusting his full focus back to his physical location at Spinner's End. There, on a stool in the kitchen, he lifted his piece of scrying salenite out of his robe and used its reflection to peer into his cave. Against the grain of the polished mineral, the image was faint, but true. He saw Ash, soundless to the stone, screaming from the other side of it. Ash's eyes bulged wildly and searched for magic that would be appearing at any moment. His panic pulled on the nerves attached to Snape's spine. So he was out. How could he possibly have gotten out?
Another tilt of his flat stone, and he saw who lay on the sofa before Ash. Harry. There, in his hidden home. That walking apocalypse of a boy… had found him.
Snape went very still. He watched the reflection in the stone quiver slightly. How had Harry found him? With Ash's help, of course. But how had he found Ash? That answer, in its insurmountable impossibility, told him what he needed to know more than anything. Time was up. Harry was now, for all intents and purposes, basically the Elder Wand on feet. If he wants something, his magic gives it to him. They were all lucky that he wasn't a particularly ambitious person, until driven by that abnormally large heart he'd inherited from Lily.
Harr was pretty good at getting his way before the war, and now he was unstoppable, or so it seemed. He had always known that Harry was powerful, that his own mother's, Eileen's brews, passed on to him. But now was a whole different realm of magic, and he wasn't sure what he could do with that. Harry was strong, but that didn't mean he knew how to live with it. And for that matter, Snape admitted to himself, neither did he.
Still, he had more life experience than Harry and time for hiding from him was, apparently, at an end. Thanks to Ash. He'd opened his life a tiny crack, and that Australian muggle would not fucking leave.
In the reflection, Harry did not look well. Snape gauged the severity of his injuries by the blood he saw and Harry's unresponsiveness. So it was time. He ignored a cold dread that ran the length of him, reminiscent of the early days when taking a human life, no matter how much the other deserved it, was new to him. He shoved all that nonsense back down. He couldn't avoid this any longer, the boy was too capable. If Harry was strong enough to fight his way out of the shell of his illusion and find him, then perhaps he had earned one meeting. Only one meeting.
But Snape didn't look forward to it, as he braced himself. He thought of blasting Harry into complete unconsciousness, mending him, and leaving him somewhere safe. And what was to stop Harry from finding his way back? Was he going to keep running from this shadow chasing after him? Before, it was only practical to avoid Harry. Now, it seemed cowardly and undignified. No, best to make it clear that their ways have parted for good, and that's as it should be. Just because he had a way of checking in on him, didn't mean he wanted to be close. Harry and his family were far safer that way.
Silently, he put the salenite away, dispelled the heat to his cauldron, and resigned himself to freeing Ash from his misery.
In another second, he walked from the dark, earth encrusted entrance of his cave, into the civilized and carpeted space of it. It was subterranean and cool inside, lit softly with charmed lamps. A fireplace of boulders, magically added, ignited upon his return. He walked on stealthy footsteps, up to Ash, who didn't hear him arrive. Ash knelt by the sofa beside Harry.
He shook and mumbled to Harry, "He'll be here. I'm sure of it. I've seen him do impossible things to help you."
Snape drew his wand. "Step aside."
Ash swirled, choking when he saw him. "I knew it! Foster, you gotta help him. He was mostly fine before we got here. I know this is my fault, but he insisted on coming here. He was going to get himself killed. Something was chasing us, attacking us. I swore I'd bring him to you, if he just got us out of there."
"Silence," Snape tempered his patience. He motioned that Ash should step aside. This time, Ash did, getting up and standing back. He tried to ready himself to be astonished, but Harry's blood was too dark and too abundant to lift his worry.
If Harry didn't make it, Ash knew that Snape would never forgive him. Might even kill him. "I had no idea this would happen."
"That is a lie." Snape allowed his wand to trail Harry's body, scanning and repairing ruptured places first.
Okay, so it's going to be like that. Ash nodded. "I mean, I knew your enemies would get hurt, but you let me come in. You let Reuse come in. You said your magic could tell the difference."
"I said," Snape spoke through his clenched jaw, "that I've programmed my wards to identify you. That is not the case with him."
Ash could've argued, how was he supposed to understand how magic worked, when this wizard refused to spend any time with him? But one eye, glancing at him with sidelong warning, convinced him to shut up. At least for the time it took to see color return to Harry's lips, watch his breathing stabilize, and hear him moan himself back to consciousness beneath Snape's incantations.
Ash looked from Snape to Harry, and back again. He kept trying to be so grateful for help, that he didn't care about the horrible things that he and Harry witnessed. He even tried to summon some sort of outrage at being held prisoner, but couldn't muster it. He was glad to be back, but couldn't bear the idea of what this boy must've meant to him. What Harry's father must've meant to him. It was there, in the aim of his wand, in the aim of his concentration.
Ash had always been fascinated by Foster's intensity. Found it rather sexy, as a matter of fact. But now that he had an inkling of where it came from, his barbed guardedness, his whip-like indifference, and resolute despondence, it was more disturbing than sexy. Evidently, it was based on a very grim past and even as he watched this man whom he could never call Foster again, he made up his mind to join him in fighting off whatever demons lay in his past. Did he still want Snape after all this? Yes. Yes he did.
Harry groaned as the last of his wounds close. His body jerked, as if he'd only been waiting to gain use of it again. His eyes opened, looking crazedly around him. He would've leapt from the couch on pure fight, had Snape not been there to cushion his alarm with gentle pressure from his wand. Its tip held Harry to his seat. Blood had been cleansed away, and Harry's body sprawled among heirloom, embroidered pillows.
"Snape." The name rusted in Harry's throat, snagging on emotion.
Over two years after the war, with Harry believing him to be dead, their eyes met in a place where words didn't exist. Harry's honesty reached out to him. And in that moment, Snape stood his ground.
"Stay where you are." He repelled the neediness that Harry exuded. "You are not welcome here."
His tone alone, would've extinguished the hope in anyone else. But because Harry was Harry, the light never left his eyes. In fact, he smiled, as if reassured he'd found the real Snape this time. The one he was looking for.
Harry shook his head, dismissing the false hostility he'd heard all his life. It had no effect on him now, other than fill him with gladness.
"I found you. You're going to have to change your tactics, Professor. You've practically trained me to never take your menacing words seriously ever again. I don't care if you welcome me or not, I'm here. And I have a good reason to be here."
Triumph twisted Harry's grin.
Snape amplified the pressure he exerted with his wand, forcing Harry deeper into the cushions until he couldn't move. "Don't test me. I'm no longer your professor and contrary to what you may think, you will receive no special treatment just because our paths intersected at one time. That life is over, you've no business in this one. Why you couldn't simply run with your freedom and forget about me, is beyond all rationality, which is why I would be remiss in letting you linger here. You have one minute to state your business and get out. My mercy ends there, so be quick about it. If you attempt to visit me again, my wards will do more than issue a warning."
Harry laughed, "It's so fucking good to see you. I knew you weren't dead. I couldn't prove it, but I felt it."
He stopped short, his breath suddenly cut off by the force of Snape's wand. He pushed the last of his air out into the most effective words he could find. "Are you really going to kill me?" After saving me over and over again? He couldn't get the last out, and found his body wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it. He attempted to force his view into Snape's mind. But his gladness mixed with unspeakable regret and he immediately feared that Snape would know that he'd witnessed just about the worst thing anyone could do to another person. He'd had no right to see that, and he felt himself holding tears back. His chest was a cauldron of mixed emotions, and he knew his thoughts would betray him if Snape could see them. So he tried to mentally outrun all the dark stuff by making light of it, and failed.
He thought to Snape, Honestly, for some reason, you're more afraid of me than I am of you. Stop threatening me, and give me the welcome I deserve. I'm sorry for I saw. I'm sorry for what my Dad did to you.
He didn't dare speak it aloud.
Confusion marred Snape's expression. Ash saw it. Harry saw it.
The wand lowered, magic slipped, and Harry could breathe again. He teased his former teacher, "You're paralyzing me, because you're terrified I'm going to hug you. All that sloppy human emotion. I get it. You're right. As soon as you let me up, I'm going to put my arms around you until you pry them off. And I'm going to cry. And I'm going to thank some random muggle god, that I don't have to live with the way you died, anymore. And there's nothing you can do about it, because, you son-of-a-bitch, and I mean that literally, I love you. I fucking love you."
Ire in Snape's eyes, glowed like embers. Lips tight, shoulders tense, his body held poised in the unspoken statement that this was precisely what he feared the most.
