Harry woke to find Ash gone and breakfast left for him in the kitchen. There was also a note:
Make yourself at home. I have to salvage my practice. I know you're going back to him and there's no talking sense into you. But play it cool. If you push, he's just going to resist more. Calm down and take a walk. This is one of the most beautiful places you'll ever see. Stop and think about things first.
Harry appreciated the note, and shook his head over Ash's futile attempts to save him from another torture session with Snape. He hadn't come this far to back down. But he did need to get in touch with McGonagall and let her know his plans had changed. He honestly didn't want to apparate into Hogwarts, even though he could do it with her permission. He'd been through so much, his surrounding reality felt a bit unstable, like it could change any moment. It was like a magical jet lag that was making him distrustful of how stable his surroundings were. What if he only ended up apparating into the painting's simulated version of Hogwarts and had to find his way out again?
You're just tired, be sensible, he told himself. He chewed on the sausage Ash left him. He hadn't intended to eat anything, he meant to get down to business. But they smelled so good, they reminded him of being at home cooking breakfast for Iece and Draco. If only he were.
He walked around Ash's dining room, took in the silence and evidence of a single, middle-aged man living in a house without a family. There was something calming about looking at the photos of Ash's two adult kids, a son and daughter, and what he presumed to be two prominently placed women, throughout their childhood photos. A busty brunette and a somewhat anorexic blonde. Ex wives. From collages on the wall, he watched them grow from toddlers to college students in an instant. Both boy and girl had hair almost as white as Draco's and that clearly came from their mother. There was something comforting and familiar about it, as if the warmth of this house echoed what he hoped for his own.
He tried something then. He took off his glasses to see if there were any differences in details. In the painting, he had the ability to see what couldn't normally be seen. He didn't know what he expected to find looking at muggle photographs, but he checked anyway. Nothing happened at first. He stared at the second wife's photo, half fearing she'd come to life like Eileen. He assumed this was wife number two, because the boy and girl were already teenagers by the time she appeared in their scenic vacation photos. Either Ash is still in love with these women or he has an exceptionally big heart, Harry thought. Would most people keep both wives side by side on their mantle? Maybe he's just really satisfied with his opportunity to have created a family with both. Maybe he's just proud of his life, whether things worked out or not. And judging by the size and condition of the house, things looked like they worked out just fine.
There was a lot of memories in these rooms, a lot of sentiment, even though the place was mostly empty. The energy of the house felt more like a favorite old shirt than an economic showpiece. The doctor has done well for himself. No gold here, just a pragmatic living.
That's when it happened. His vision shifted. The brunette threw her arms open wide and said "Cheeeeese!" She wore a black one-piece bathing suit and balanced on a boat railing. Blue waves sparkled in the sun behind her. Harry jumped back. When he blinked his shock away, she was back to normal, arms down. But as soon as he focused, she did it again.
He laughed, stunned. He put back on the glasses Draco had altered for him. The woman remained smiling, arms down. No outburst, no other pose. Just a frozen picture. He removed the glasses and squinted. "Cheeeese!" She leapt out at him, seeing only as far as what was in front of her at the time.
A muggle photograph. With magic. He laughed. Could he be doing this? Apparently, the one outburst was all the photo contained within it. There was no talking to it, or communicating with a person from the past. There was only what was happening, at the exact moment it was taken. He tested it with all the other photos. The daughter, holding a doll next to a Christmas tree, hid her face bashfully while her brother zoomed by her on his tricycle, wearing a cowboy hat. On a graduation picture, with both women smiling friendily to the camera, the blonde put her arm around the other and said, "Okay, one more with Janine, kids. I gotta sit down after that."
She wore a sun hat and looked feverish with a crowd of people behind her.
So either the painting had done something to him, or Eileen's magic had. He was different. Either he was giving magical properties to things without trying, or he was seeing the magic behind everything. He thought to experiment more, but knew he couldn't put off tidying up loose ends with McGonagall any longer. He found writing paper next to Ash's phone and performed a parchment charm, sending whatever he wrote to the blank parchment she kept on her desk for just such correspondences. He explained that he would be delayed returning, having had a bit of a hiccup with the painting, but he was fine. He thought he'd get to finish his cold coffee before he heard back from her, but her response appeared within minutes. Below his writing, she replied:
We've been looking for you. The Ministry of Magic has been unable to reach you inside the painting. I've been charged with seeing that you receive a subpoena of the utmost urgencey. You've been summoned to trial. Come at once and acknowledge the document
and you won't be arrested for evasion of the summons.
No. He just found Snape, they can't summon him for a trial now. Why now? Didn't the CIUM delay all of that?
More words appeared.
I should warn you, this contact implements a tracing spell. My every correspondence with you is being monitored from this point on, until the summons is in your hand. I'm sorry, Harry.
A trial. Did Draco know? They weren't ready. He thought of apparating home, but he didn't know how far the Ministry's spying extended to, if they were being honest. He couldn't bring it back home. He had to get rid of it by retrieving the subpoena.
If he did that, there was a huge risk he'd get sidetracked and never make it back to Snape's. Already, he wanted to go straight to Draco, to warn him, but that was a panic reflex. One emergency at a time. He thought about it. There was no way around the court order, the CIUM had probably helped him all they could. If it was time to face up to kicking Lucius's ass, then he'd do so and get it over with. But he couldn't lose sight of Snape. Not yet.
He memorized Ashe's address on some old mail. He googled his location, and tried to apparate by memory. He ended up in places around the countryside that he didn't recognize. The physical locations never matched what he thought he remembered from last night's painful grogginess. Then he remembered that Ash mentioned camouflage weather to keep people away. Of course, the place wasn't apparent when one was near it. Turns out, he'd apparated to the vicinity three times without recognizing it. He hiked the area for a bit, looking for cave entrances.
He took off his glasses to detect any hidden magic. Sure enough, he followed the direction of ominous clouds that couldn't possibly have anything to do with the beautiful day surrounding him. They were magic, connected to the illusion of a storm brewing over the next ridge. When everything got dark and wind and hail kicked up, he knew he was in the right place. Instead of knocking on the entrance, once he felt around for it, he armed protection around himself and apparated inside. The wards that incapacitated him yesterday, met with resistance. He felt bone crushing pressure as the field around him pushed Snape's attacking magic back. The effect was the sound of boulders splitting as the whole cave shook to have spells broken inside of it. Energy released, falling outward and shoving everything around Harry out of his way.
He took a moment to appreciate his preparedness. It was dark inside. No lamps today, or the fallout of magic had dashed them all out. Only the water fall broke the silence. Snape's space remained that of a cultured hermit with a penchant for art and comfy furniture. He wasn't entirely sure that Snape was gone. He felt like he was being watched, and was careful to make a show of not giving a shit.
He decided to take advantage of his freedom to walk around, a big change from last night. He didn't have long, so he studied the place, particularly the area where lab tables held an assortment of sized cauldrons, a writing desk, and shelves of ingredients. The books were spaced out. He tried to read their titles through the grills some were placed in. Behind the writing desk, a huge grimoire caught his eye. Something told him to look over his glasses. He did. The grimoire gave off a faint green light. The thing was as thick as two world encyclopedias, and bound in cracked hide. Beneath it, was a tiny ball. A red globe. A crystal. It held a familiarity, and suddenly Harry knew that the book and the crystal both belonged to Eileen. He approached them, wondering at the call within him to move forward. Something pulled him to the objects.
The book gave off a warning not to touch. That's what the green was all about. There were more than security wards protecting it. But the crystal lit up invitingly. In fact, there was something odd about it that made him bend closer to it. It was cracked. The entire inside of it looked smashed, like crushed ice, while the outside maintained its sparkling smooth surface. A feeling tugged at him. This was an heirloom. This was exactly where Snape had imprisoned Ash. They'd both been in there, in the psychology of Snape's mind. What a clever little link, from the outside world to the inside.
The implication was charming, and only proved that he was right about Snape. But there was no time to delay. He'd have to come back and he vowed that he would. Even if Snape ran, this wasn't over. He'd find him again, and soon.
He dug for his wallet and removed a worn image. He placed it slightly under the crystal, to hold it in place. This way, Snape would always have it, whether he wanted it or not.
He said, to a presence he felt but couldn't see. "I have to go to a stupid trial now, or I'd have found you. I'm leaving this here with you. You could've gotten rid of Ash in a million ways, yet you chose to put him in a treasured possession. Maybe if I leave this with you, you'll put her in your heart as well. You saved her. If anyone deserves to be there, it's her."
He popped out of sight. The photo lay face up. A figure came out of the dark to stand over it. At first he hesitated, then pulled it from beneath the crystal. The little girl laughed, hands clapping, and white hair springing around her head unapologetically. She had no idea her picture was being taken, she was just happy her daddy was playing with her. Her mint green frilly dress bespoke of Malfoy tastes. The bow falling out of her untamed hair gave her Harry's tousled trait and his wayward smile. But her eyes, filled with depths no two year old should possess, were of concentrated magic. Magic like layers, so impacting, they appeared many times darker than normal. There could've been twenty layers of brown lenses, all thinned into one delicate lens that made up the ring of her irises.
Sooner or later, the witches would get a hold of her, if they hadn't already. They were already in her blood, looking out through her eyes. Could he let her face that alone? Even her father wouldn't be able to help her. Perhaps James Potter's genetics filtered their ability to communicate with Harry, he didn't know, but he was fairly sure Harry had never suffered their fragmenting intrusion. He was too oriented towards the external world for that. When witches talk to you from the inside, they split your trust in reality and leave you to crippling introspection. He'd hid it well, but didn't want her to have to go through it.
She can't hurt you, the witches whispered. She'd make a wonderful student. Teach her. You can even show her how to handle us. Don't leave her with nothing but her clumsy fathers. They love her, but they can't prepare her.
He willed them silent. If they were pushing for it, it was something he should not do. Keep out of it. Harry and Draco were old enough to get themselves out of any challenge they created. He had to stop trailing them. He'd put so much of himself into keeping up with them, the hardest part was now choosing a new direction to go in. Every time he did, sneaky thoughts like impersonating a muggle teacher or becoming some village witch doctor, crept in. He much preferred finding some ruins and renovating them with magic. Retire with his books, inventing potions that could find their way into healing channels without him having to set foot in the wizarding world.
But lately, a blonde little girl always popped up in those visions, unasked for. Sometimes she brought her little brother. They foraged for ingredients with him all morning and did the brewing later in the evening. They always wanted to hear stories of how reckless and silly their dads were. When they weren't making candy, they were learning spells and brews to keep their teeth healthy and to help with every day chores, before returning home. It was a nice arrangement. Pure fiction, and that's how he wanted to keep it. But oh, they were so vivid, he saw the morning sun lighting up the boy's pale head of hair as his sister tugged on his smaller hand, helping him climb along black, smooth rocks that littered the shores of one of Snape's remote locations. On weekends, those babies traveled all over the world with him, completely aloof that they weren't like most children. He didn't know the boy's name yet, but knew that would come in time.
He snapped out of it. He returned the picture. With a wave of his wand, the photo vanished into the crystal. The cracked glass cleared as all the tiny fractures inside, repaired themselves. In seconds, the red crystal looked as good as new, with no signs of being smashed from the inside. And clearly looking out of it, was the child's photo. Iece.
"Mother," he spoke to the dark. "This is your great granddaughter."
I know.
He squinted at the child. "You might as well have called yourself by your real name, Isis." Good job getting your father to hear you through all of his torment.
Heaviness filled his chest and could not be sighed away. No amount of breathing deep and out relieved it. He turned his back to the crystal and prepared to await news of the trial.
