Title:
Twenty-one days

Prequel to:
A few days more

Author:
evil minded

Date:
November, 27th 2009

Timeframe:
Fourth year at Hogwarts

Summary:
AU / Death Eaters besiege Hogwarts. A spell from Dumbledore is going astray. A cauldron explodes during potions class. And the old castle enfolds its own magic. Can some students survive for the next twenty-one days?

Disclaimer:
Did you see Severus alive at the end of 'The deathly hallows'? no?
Do you think I would have had him died if I had written those books? no?
Then you know that 'Harry Potter' does not belong to me … nor does Severus … regrettably …

Rating:
M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's Notes:
Uhm … alright … I have to admit … English is not my language by birth … so … please do not kill me while reading … neither for the – perhaps – sad language, nor for the subject of my writing …
Also, this is a story written for NaNo, a story written within thirty days only and even though I go over the chapters before uploading them – I do apologize if it might not have the same quality at one point or another than those stories of mine you are used to by now … thank you …

Warning:
Story contains bad language and swearing.
Don't ever use such, it's neither good manners nor proper use of language and never mind how 'cool' it might sound, it surely isn't a sign of intelligence. It won't get you anywhere and people will think less of you if you are unable articulating properly.
Story contains references to child neglect.
Child neglect is a really, really serious thing, and there are a lot of children in our world that are neglected, children that lack food, clothing, often love, and perhaps even a roof over their head – and closing our eyes, and pretending it does not exist – is no solution …
Story contains references to child abuse.
Child abuse is one of the most evil things, and there are a lot of children in our world that really would need help but have to live without hope – and again, closing our eyes and pretending it does not exist – is no solution … instead show sympathy, and understanding … and handle people, children as well as adults, which are showing any signs – whichever – of once having been abused … with understanding and with help …
What does not mean I am not as evil as I pretend to be … ^.~ … believe me – I am …

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Previously in twenty-one days
And yet – this wasn't their main problem. Because still there was nothing else left either, no food, not enough potions or potions ingredients to brew what they needed and the only thing they had plenty of, was water. And that wouldn't be enough in the long run, that alone would not keep them alive, he knew. So – in the end, they most likely would not survive long enough to die of the freezing temperatures down here anyway, they would die of lack of food long before that.

Chapter twenty-seven
Day twenty-one - Sunday, twenty-second of September
This is the end

Sitting onto the mattress Severus Snape gently reached out to take hold of the thin body of his son laying there, and knowing that the boy would be in no state to turn or sit up by his own, nor that he would be able to stay upright by his own without being held, he gently lifted the fragile body on bony shoulders, cursing at the fact of how little he weighted while bones stuck out at every angle. He carefully pulled the boy into his arms, barely daring to take hold of the fragile limbs until he had him in a half laying half sitting position, and then started trying to wake him.

He had the boy's head laying in the crook of his elbow while with his other hand he carded through the boy's hair, softly calling his name, but nothing happened. Neither did the child's shallow breathing change, nor did the weak heartbeat, and placing his hand atop the bony shoulder he gently shook the frail body, his eyes trained on the thin and pale face.

Harry was pale beyond his liking, he had to admit, dark circles beneath the sunken eyes the only color aside from the pale lips that were a mixture of a barely recognizable red and blue, and the ghostly face with its sunken cheeks held lines that didn't belong there. Not into the face of any so young. But then – a face so young should not look like the face of a dead person either.

And still nothing happened, while at the same time he didn't dare shaking the boy more than he already had, afraid he could break the weak body, the bony limbs, and somehow he knew that the boy didn't have a chance anymore.

He had seen some of the Dark Lord's victims, after they had been locked away for weeks without food while being tortured, and he had always had to bury his emotions behind his occlumency shields to keep from feeling the pain himself, while trying to keep them alive somehow, trying to find a way to somehow free them – or to end their lives quickly if there was no chance of freeing them, if there was no chance of them surviving, to end their suffering quickly at least.

And Harry looked even worse.

That boy had been denied food for more than two months while being with his relatives during the summer holidays, while he'd had to work himself into exhaustion, while being beaten day, for day, for day. Twice a week he had gotten a slice of old, and dry bread – if he had been lucky – and now he was down here for three weeks more without any real food. Actually – without any food for a much too long time.

The other children, they all were to die down here one day soon, Draco, Theodore, Tracy, and Parvati being the first of them, he already could see them, too, getting weaker and weaker, but Harry had never had a chance in the first place, and he wondered how the boy had been able to survive until now, to keep up his stubbornness, and to decline death while at the same time he dreaded that particular moment like nothing else. All the others were down here for three weeks but Harry had been locked away and starved for nearly three months now.

Flashback

"No one will be able to take you away from me now." He seriously said.

"Only death." Harry whispered, and he turned towards the boy, took both his shoulders into a harsh grip, and peered down into the pale face of his son.

"Yes." He said, his voice rough. "Only death, but I won't allow that to happen, child, is that understood? I won't allow that to happen, and you will fight death with tooth and nail, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Harry answered, swallowing heavily at his determined words.

End flashback

It had been ten days ago, if he remembered correctly. Ten days ago – and Harry had fought death with teeth and nails. Until now, until the boy just couldn't fight anymore.

The others, too, were to die one day soon, but Harry would not make it through the night, he knew. He had already been too weak to get up alone or for long during the past days, and he had already been too weak to really wake up for much longer than taking the relaxing potion and a few sips of water yesterday, to listen to the others yesterday. And suddenly Severus didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he felt utterly helpless and desperate.

He had seen people suffer from pain and hunger caused by the Dark Lord, he had seen people dying because of hunger and thirst, and he had seen people being tortured to death. He had handled dying people, had tried to keep them alive if possible and he had ended their suffering with a quick potion or spell when it was clear that they wouldn't survive anyway.

But now he didn't know what to do. Now he didn't know how and where to take hold of the boy without breaking the skeletal body, and now he didn't know how to ease the child's suffering while at the same time he just couldn't end it either. He knew that the boy would not survive the night and he knew that the child was in pain, but he couldn't give him a potion that would end it quickly.

He had one potion or another down here that would answer this particular purpose – but he just couldn't.

"Harry … child, I need you to wake up for a moment to take some potions and to drink some water." He quietly said, running his trembling fingers over the teen's pale forehead. "Come now, you stubborn child. You can do it, wake up." But still the boy didn't wake up, still there seemed to be no response at all, and worriedly he placed his hand on the boy's forehead, again noticing how cold the child was.

Taking his hand off Harry's forehead he carefully placed his hand back onto the shoulder that stuck out in a grotesque way, sighing with worry, not knowing what to do, how to get the boy awake, and not knowing if he should even continue trying. Perhaps it was better that way anyway. As long as the child wasn't awake, he wouldn't feel the pain hunger and cramps caused.

Slowly and carefully he lifted the boy's shoulders a bit more and slid his body behind his son so he could rest the boy's upper body against his chest, and he didn't even notice anymore how naturally and easily he cradled the child against him while he took the vial with the herbal relaxing potion, one of the last ones they had left, and effortlessly he pulled the boy's lips apart, poured a few drops into the slack mouth, gently massaging the delicate throat until the boy had swallowed before again pouring a few drops more between the half open lips.

A small, barely audible whimper was all the child gave away together with a weak attempt to squirm for a moment, and Severus wasn't sure if he really was awake or if he just reacted in his sleep.

"Hush, Harry." He whispered, not noticing anymore how desperate his voice sounded, but he surely wouldn't have cared, even if he had noticed. Not anymore. "I need you to swallow this potion to get you a bit warmer and therefore a bit more comfortable. I am sorry, child, but I do not have any pain potion left. I have only this herbal relaxing potion that should dull the pain at least some, and then I need you to drink as much warm water as you can."

He continued until the vial was empty and then took hold of the glass of water Vincent wordlessly was reaching over to him. It took him almost half an hour of painfully slowly feeding the boy with small sips of the potion and then warm water before the Potions Master allowed the boy that had woken at one point or another throughout the procedure to stop swallowing.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Twenty one days – three weeks.

Three weeks without real food for seventeen children.

Twenty-one days – three weeks.

Three weeks without enough food to keep them all alive.

Twenty-one days – three weeks.

He wasn't a fool and as much as he wished that they would be still alive in the end, that they somehow would manage to survive – never mind how, that Severus somehow would manage to keep those children and himself alive, he knew that it just wasn't possible. Yes, they might have had potions down there, they might have had potions ingredients down there as well, and they might have had water down there. But he also knew that most of those potions or potions ingredients would be poisonous, and he knew that they had to share the few edible things between eighteen persons, and he also knew that it would be really cold down there meanwhile.

Not to mention that they had no contact to the outward world, that they had no fresh air, no sunlight, no …

No nothing.

"You're far off again, Albus." Minerva's soft voice beside him nearly startled him and he blinked for a moment before looking over.

"I'll resign when this school year is over." Filius on Minerva's other side sighed. "I still have found no way down there, to overcome those wards. Every day I think I am so close, but then …"

"Yes, my friend." Albus sighed. "I feel the same. I am getting too old for this."

"You should eat something, Albus." Minerva said. "The children are watching. They won't continue if we don't."

"I know." Albus sighed once more before taking his fork and starting to eat some of the vegetables on his plate. It was, however, more a shoveling from one side of his plate to the other than really eating.

"I've asked the ministry for a time-tuner again." He then said and Minerva looked over at him.

"You should have known that they wouldn't give you one. They haven't done so the last times you asked, and you should have known that they wouldn't this time either." She said.

"I just had to ask."

"I can understand." Pomona said. "Each time I go through the underground tunnels I think I am so close, but I just can't find a way through them, too. I thought that maybe with the devil snare's lead I would be able to … but well …"

"What do you think, Poppy?" Filius dared the question they all had on their minds, they all asked at least once every day and the medi-witch sighed.

"I can't give you any other answer than last time." She then said. "Crabbe and Goyle might have a chance, as well as Longbottom, Tomas and Finnigan, maybe. But I fear that Malfoy, Nott and a few others had never had a chance in the beginning. I fear that they have died a few days ago already. And the others, well, if they are not dead yet, then they surely will not survive much longer, but I personally doubt that they are still alive."

No one commented on the fact that she didn't mention Harry. They all knew that he had died a few days ago, on September twelfth, ten days ago when the wards surrounding Privet Drive had fallen.

"We should seal this part of the dungeons at all." Albus finally said, his face showing the same horror as did his voice. "The ministry idiots are getting already impatient insisting that we do, and we should open a new potions classroom in one of the abandoned classrooms in the upper levels, and we also should hire a new Potions Master. But even if my life depended on it, I simply can't do that. I can't … it would be as if …"

"They're only getting impatient because on October the first Karkaroff and Maxime are coming with their students for this blasted tournament." Madam Hooch growled darkly. "I've been looking forward to this blasted tournament, but under the lights of recent events – I can't. They should call it off."

"They won't." Albus shook his head. "Not while the tournament is held here in Britain. Fudge is taking this tournament as a stepping stone to repair his reputation and to get back some glory and honor."

"Yes, but he's forgetting that the moment the other ministries find out that he held the tournament despite the recent events, despite having seventeen students dying in our dungeons, or being already dead, they would be horrified, and they would turn their backs on him sooner than he would be able to say three-wizard tournament."

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

Noticing that the boy was back to sleep – or whatever sleeplike condition he was in – he leaned over and took the wet cloth from the bowl with warm water he had prepared and standing on the floor beside the mattress, wringing it with one hand, and then gently ran it over the small and ghostlike, bony face, trying to get rid of the dirt.

It had been five days now since he had last allowed Harry a shower, the boy being just too weak for any strenuous actions. But they didn't have clothes to change, they didn't have soap left, they didn't really have a chance to keep the floor around the mattresses clean, not to mention the mattresses and the blankets and pillows themselves and despite the fact that Harry had washed every day, or that he – Severus – had done so the past two days now, meanwhile the dirt was clinging to the boy like ink to the wood of the desks in the classroom he had burnt by now to keep them as warm as possible.

Well, it was just useless. This way he would still sit here tomorrow, and the boy wouldn't be any cleaner, and for a moment he wondered if he really should dare taking the child to the shower. The boy was dirty, yes, as were they all, but Harry would die soon anyway. Would it make a difference, if he would die being clean or if he died being dirty?

But then – he was a Potions Master and so he was a healer at the same time, not to mention that he was a spy, and he knew how to survive in the unlikeliest of situations, and so he knew that in an extreme situation one had to regard his own body even more than normally, that a body that was dirty would die sooner than a body that was clean and cared for. He was a Death Eater that had watched the Dark Lord's victims in those blasted dungeons for long and often enough to know that one small cut could get infected easily if the body was dirty.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that his son would die long before any infection could get a hold on the already so weak body and that it wouldn't be worth it, risking the boy's last remaining strength he needed for just keeping alive as long as possible by disturbing his little peace and dragging him to the showers. But at the same time, he hoped that perhaps – just perhaps – pulling the boy out of his lethargy would give him a push, and the urge to do all he could think of to keep the boy alive somehow, never mind how, was too overwhelming.

Because perhaps – just perhaps – there would someone be coming today, even if in the back of his mind he knew that there would no one be coming to get them, not today, and not tomorrow, that there wouldn't be anyone coming anymore at all.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"And?" Montague asked when Warrington came into the great hall and sat down at the Slytherin table.

"Nothing." Warrington answered. "The Bloody Baron still can't find a way into the potions classroom, nothing new here."

"He was our last hope." Pucey answered in a near whisper. "Nothing worked. And the Bloody Baron was the one we hoped would get to them. He is a ghost after all! But it was a stupid idea and nothing else."

"It was a good idea, Adrian, and I am sure Professor Snape would be very proud of you." Warrington, the sixth year's Slytherin prefect answered. "Don't blame yourself for something no one managed. You've had an idea and we tried."

"But it didn't work, and Professor Snape and the others are still down there. Most likely dead and …"

"Calm down, Adrian." Montague said. "The ideas the others had had, didn't work either. It's not your fault."

"But he was the only one who ever cared." The boy just placed his arms on the table and hid his face in his arms. "He was the only one who was always there for us. No one else was, no one else cared." He mumbled into his arms, miserably, desperately.

"I know." Warrington said, not knowing if he could dare touching the boy's shoulder, and wishing that Professor Snape were here to handle the situation, knowing that his head of house would easily manage. "But that only means that we have to stick together even more. All that Professor Snape taught us, it is there, Adrian, in our hearts and in our minds. And we do best honor him if we do what he taught us, what he expected of us and if we finish what he began. We will manage if we keep him in our hearts and on our minds."

"Cameron is right, Adrian." Montague said. "My grandmother always said, as long as we think about the dead, they are not really dead, as long as we don't forget them, they will live on within us, they're not gone then."

"But I want him here." Adrian sobbed nearly sounding stubborn and the other two boys shared a quick glance, knowing that it wasn't stubbornness but desperation and distress. They knew how important Professor Snape had been for them and they knew that Adrian trusted no one else than their head of house. They knew that Adrian was one of the children in their house that were mistreated at home and that the Professor had always been there for him.

They knew that they could talk to him, that they could bring the same arguments as Professor Snape had, and that they could even take him into their arms, but it would never be the same. They could do their best, but they would never replace Professor Snape. They all loved the Professor, but there were some in Slytherin who really needed him, who wouldn't be able to go on without him. One was Draco and one was Theodore, and both were with him right now, maybe already dead. And another one was Adrian. The boy had barely slept since Professor Snape had been locked down in his classroom, he had barely eaten anything himself despite all reassuring words and even threats from Madam Pomfrey, and he nearly looked like a ghost himself by now, pale, thin and worn, exhausted, and the boy didn't even care for his own physical needs anymore, his hair greasy and dead, as dead as were his eyes that were underlined with dark circles in his pale face.

"I want him here." The boy repeated, whispered, openly crying by now. "I know that the others don't like him, but I need him and I … maybe they're even glad that he … but …"

"Actually – no." A voice startled him, and he lifted his head, looking into the two identical faces of the Weasley twins.

"None of them should be down there." The other twin said, for once looking serious.

Cameron Warrington was about to say something, to tell the Gryffindor twins that they should piss off and leave them alone, but then he looked closer at them and inclining his head he waved his hand at the bench opposite them, wordlessly telling them to sit down onto the bench on their table. They looked as worse as did Adrian and Greengrass. Adrian having a father figure down there, Greengrass having a sister down there, and the twins having a brother down there. So what? Right now, was it so important what house they came from? Was it so important that they were Gryffindors? They all had friends down there, or a brother or a sister, or a father, at least some kind of a father.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"Vincent." He quietly said the boy's name and the boy looked up at him, tired and weakly, not getting up from where he was sitting, leaning against the wall, nor asking a question. They all had gone very quiet throughout the past two or three days, except for a few moments of quietly whispered conversations or making a joke to somehow get their minds at peace for at least a moment, and even if Vincent was still one of those who fared better, he, too, was weak and a shadow of his former self only.

"I need to shower Harry." He said. "Will you be able helping me with the towel while I handle him?"

Vincent just nodded and wordlessly he got off the mattress, while Severus ran his free arm beneath the thin knees of his son, and easily shifted the boy's body into his arms, carrying him to the bathroom.

"It's alright, Harry." He whispered at the soft sounds of distress the child in his arms gave away, and carefully he tightened his grip on the small body, distressed at how easy it was for him to carry the child despite his own weakness he clearly could feel meanwhile. "I am just going to give you a shower, and I am sure you will feel better afterwards."

"Don' wanna." Was all Harry managed to say in a weak voice and he sighed, pressed his lips together with a new determination. During the past three weeks the boy had proven himself capable of using eloquent language, but now he was too tired and exhausted doing so – or he had given up already.

'What he most likely finally had.' This annoying little voice in the back of his mind said.

After sitting the child onto the bath mat, Vincent supporting the weak body of his friend, he took off his shirt and undershirt as well as his shoes, socks and trousers, only keeping his shorts on, and then started to undress his son who still was held upright by Vincent.

Under normal circumstances he would never have undressed in front of one of his students, not even his Slytherins, but this here was no normal situation, normality had left them a long time ago, and he knew that Harry wouldn't be able to take the shower himself, that he actually would have to shower the boy. He also knew that in the end they would all be dead in a few days anyway, and so – be it, Vincent didn't look at him anyway but at the startling thin body of Harry.

Shivering in the coldness of the dungeons he cradled the skinny boy to his chest and just stepped under the shower, opening the tab and for a small moment he relaxed when the warm water hit the cramped muscles of his shoulders and back. It was a small moment he allowed himself before he gently started running a cloth over the child's body.

What however really scared him was the fact that the boy didn't object as he had thought he would, that he didn't complain at the discomfort or tried to get away, back to the comfort of the mattress, of laying down and resting, but that the child just gave away soft sounds of discomfort, that the boy just made small and weak movements of discomfort while he washed the dirt off his son's body, weak announcements without even using words that he was not comfortable, that he did not like this, that he wanted to be back at his mat, closing his eyes, going back to sleep and nothing else.

Realizing that Harry held his breath beneath the jets of water while he washed his face and realizing that with his hurt lungs he probably wouldn't be able to hold his breath very long without being in pain, he turned the child over so that his face was shielded from the jets of water by his, Snape's, body and immediately he noticed the boy in his arms starting to relax, the stiff muscles going softer a bit, the boy finally leaning against him while nearly enjoying the sensation of the warm water hitting his back, working on his aching muscles and washing the dirt away.

Well – he still didn't know if it had been a wise decision, but even if it had not, that small moment of enjoyment the boy right now had … well, no … it would not be worth it and he knew it, but he himself felt a moment of peace nevertheless at the thought of the boy relaxing.

A moment of peace however that was gone soon, the moment he realized that the strain of the shower definitely had been too much for the child that went limp, so slowly it nearly happened in slow motion while his breathing became slower and all remaining strength seemed to leave the already weak body that in the end hung in his arms.

For a moment his own heartbeat threatened to stop and he felt horror washing over him, horror he only once had felt in his life, when he had reached Godric's Hollow and had found Lily's dead body in the nursery, for that short moment he wasn't able to breath, to move, to think or to do anything else than standing there and watching the child's breathing going slower and slower, weaker with each breath he took while the green eyes that had become haunted for a moment became dull and accepting.

But then reality came back, and he gritted his teeth, ran his arm behind his son's knees, and he lifted him up while stepping from the shower and kneeling onto the bath mat, Harry still in his arms, limp, his body slipping to the side in his arms before he could stabilize the small and skeletal body of the child.

"The towel." He quietly addressed Vincent with a voice so calm he wondered wherefrom he took that calmness, and he wrapped the small body into the large towel that Vincent reached over, that seemed to swallow the thin form that rather looked like a small child right now than like a fourteen year old boy, lost and weak.

For one fleeting moment Harry had struggled once more when he had pulled him into his arms, had knelt onto the bath mat at the floor, as if pulling together his last strengths for one last time, but then the boy had stopped his feeble struggling again, only curling in on himself in his arms, folding his thin arms to his chest, again so slowly it seemed to happen as if in slow motion, bending even his wrists as if trying to curl his hands in into the ball he had become, as if trying to somehow getting comfortable and for another moment he watched in horror, unable to move, while he was reminded of a spider that folded its limps in death.

But again reality came back and he took the edges of the towel and carefully ran them over the wet skin of the child that wasn't able anymore to keep his balance even in this half laying position and held by him, Severus, drying the boy while Harry himself again did not fight him, just lay there in his arms, staring ahead with unseeing eyes, his breathing still getting slower and slower, meanwhile pausing between each already weak breath he took, his eyes open but unfocused – and still accepting.

He knew that the sensation of the towel running over his weak body most likely was uncomfortable, knew that in such a state the skin was oversensitive and that each touch with something as rough as the towel was could hurt, but the boy just endured it, too weak to complain about it, too weak to try and flee the touch, his head still just laying in the crook of his elbow, weakly resting, as if the child didn't even seem to notice his pain anymore.

And still the teen's eyes were open, open but unfocused, unseeing – and accepting.

'He is slipping away from me.' He desperately thought for a moment, his eyes feeding on the pale face of the boy that had become his son, that had become a person he so deeply cared for, that it hurt.

"He's dying, isn't he?" Vincent whispered, horrified, handing the second towel to the older wizard so he could dry the boy's hair, knowing how important it was that they got dry quickly down here, especially Harry. Well, Severus had told them often enough that they had to towel themselves quickly and entirely after the shower, that it was too cold down here for being wet, that they would catch a cold or even a lung infection if they didn't, and that that would only worsen their situation then, could cause their deaths.

"He will not die." Snape growled after a moment, but what he really meant was 'I will not let him.'

"Hold him." He managed to say, reluctant to release the child, his son, but knowing that he couldn't dress while holding the child and then he stood and quickly slipped into his clothes, not caring that he, still, was wet as there were only the two towels Harry was wrapped in right now. Even if he caught a cold now, he would survive long enough to be there for the other children as long as they remained living.

They would die before him, even if he had a cold now.

Once more he ran his fingers over Harry's forehead, gently, but then he quickly started dressing the child before he would lose his nerves, and then he cradled his son into his arms, carried his child back to the classroom and the mats and gently he laid him down, covered him with both, the boy's and his own blanket so he wouldn't get cold. He knew that he, himself, should get at least his hair dry, but he just couldn't bring himself to go and leave Harry behind, not sure if the boy would still be alive the moment he came back.

Breåk· … ·~†~*~*~*~*~*~†~· … ·Łine

"Brown, Lavender … Bulstrode, Millicent … Davis, Tracey … Granger, Hermione … Greengrass, Daphne … Parkinson, Pansy … Patil, Parvati … Crabbe, Vincent … Finnigan, Seamus … Goyle, Gregory … Longbottom, Neville … Malfoy, Draco … Nott, Theodore … Potter, Harry … Thomas, Dean … Weasley, Ronald … Zabini, Blaise … Snape, Severus. Eighteen names, seventeen students and one teacher, seven girls, ten boys and one man, ten Slytherins and eight Gryffindors. You can name it with hundreds of terms, but one fact remains – eighteen souls are in those dungeons of Hogwarts, dying or already dead, and our minds are with them."

"Turn that blasted radio off!" Cederic Diggory growled.

"What?" Ernie Macmillan asked. "Why? I want to hear what they have to say."

"We have heard enough." Cederic answered, simply reaching over and turning the wireless wizarding radio off. "We don't have to hear their names again, we already know them and if you want to hear any more, then do it in the dorm. It is bad enough thinking about them. They're no Hufflepuffs, but they're our friends and schoolmates, nevertheless. I don't want to hear more of the shit they're talking about. There's no proof yet that they're dead."

"There's no proof yet that they're still alive either." Ernie growled turning the radio on again.

"More than thousand words of …"

"Maybe not." Cederic said, turning the radio off again. "But I refuse to simply give up hope. The crap those idiots from the wireless are talking is destroying each and every hope one of us might have left and if you turn this blasted radio on once more while being here in the common room, then I will just blast it apart."

"You can't tell me what to do, Diggory! You're no prefect"

"No, he is not." Kevin Summers said. "But I'm one. And I say this radio stays off. Cederic is right. Some of us still have some hope left, especially the smaller ones and I won't allow this small hope being destroyed by those idiots that are holding funeral speeches and words of mourning. We do not need them to remember our schoolmates and friends."

"But I want to know more." Ernie shook his head, stubbornly, clenching his hands into fists and Summers could see that he didn't want to just rant or throw a tantrum, but that he just handled this situation in his own way. Some of them needed to have their peace from such reports, some of them needed the presence of others right now, some of them needed to be alone, and some of them just needed each and every piece of information they could get.

"I do understand that you want to hear what the wizarding world has to say, Macmillan, but then do it in your dorm or gather others with the same need together and go to the library or the great hall. I, however, won't allow you to destroy the hopes of those who still have hope left. Did I make myself clear?"

"But I don't want to leave." The younger boy said. "This is my common room, too."

"Do not force me to take house points, Macmillan." Summers said. "As I said, I can understand your need, and I don't want to take points from you for that, but I have to take care of everyone. Take those with you who want to listen to the wireless too, but you won't do it here. And that is final!"

Well, five students out of the nearly forty that were present at the moment left the Hufflepuff common room and went to the Library, the rest stayed, quietly doing homework, playing chess, reading a book or discussing in hushed voices, trying to forget for a moment before night would come and they would be haunted by nightmares again.

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Ron watched Snape carrying Harry back into the classroom, wrapped in his cloak, watched him placing him onto the mat and laying beside him, covering him not only with Harry's blanket but with his own as well, and somehow he knew what the man felt, and he felt ashamed of himself suddenly.

Even now, after three weeks Snape had cared for them – Snape of all people – had kept them alive, had comforted them, had talked to them, had provided them with whatever edible things he had found down here, with potions, and he still had not trusted Snape, he still had thought of him as an evil and cold bastard, had hated him.

But now the Potions Master's pain, his emotional pain, was so clearly written in the normally so harsh and indifferent face, he actually was startled – and frightened. The man nearly cried, for Merlin's sake! And suddenly he realized that he was frightened because Snape was frightened and suddenly he knew that Snape's indifferent mask, his coldness and his sarcasm, his strength, had kept them strong … and suddenly he wondered if that was the reason Snape always seemed so cold and uncaring, one of the reasons at least, and suddenly he understood – and felt miserable at that realization.

Snape's lack of fear had kept the fear from them, as far away from them as possible at least, while he, Ron, had hated the man for it. While Snape had done nothing else than shoving his own emotions aside so he could give them strength.

And now Harry was about to die. He knew it. He had already known yesterday that Harry would die, and he had tried to get clear with the thought, had reminded himself that they all had known that this moment would come. Inwardly he wasn't even sure if it wasn't the best for Harry anyway. Harry had been so much worse than the rest of them, and in the past few days he had seen how Harry had suffered, from pain, and cramps, and nausea, and other things, while he had still fought, had refused to give up.

He hated himself for it, but somehow the knowledge of Harry dying comforted him, while at the same time he was scared. He didn't really want Harry dying! Harry was his friend! And even if he hadn't been able to understand why he had chosen Snape as his father, he had accepted it in the end because it had been what Harry had not only wanted but needed as well. And he had made it up to Harry and they were friends again. So, no – he didn't want him dying. But he didn't want him suffering anymore either.

He knew that it wasn't right of him to secretly hope that Harry finally would die so he wouldn't have to suffer any longer, but he just couldn't help it, and he hated himself for it just as much as he hated himself for hating Snape for so long, while the man had done nothing than – in his own way – helping them through the past three weeks, comforting them – in his own way. And it had worked, so what? Snape had even become more civil, talking to them, joking with them even, so what?

And now the Potions Master seemed so scared, and in so much pain, while he watched Harry, carded his fingers through Harry's hair with a kindness he never would have believed him possible, and he realized how deep that normally so cold and harsh man cared for Harry.

"He's dying, isn't he?" He asked, not knowing that he asked the same question Vincent had asked just a few moments ago, and Snape looked up at him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe at the pain in those normally so cold and harsh black eyes.

"I do not know, Ronald." Snape softly answered in his deep and velvet voice after a moment during which he seemed to consider his answer. "I wish I could say no, but I cannot."

Hesitatingly he reached over and for a moment he halted his hand before taking Harry's hand in his, not knowing if he had the right doing so as he secretly wished he would finally die. Surely he wouldn't have the right to touch him anymore. No one wished for his friend to die, not even in such a situation. He should wish that he lived on and on. To wish someone death, especially his friend, was just wrong.

"Do not hesitate taking your friend's hand, Ronald." He heard Snape saying, his voice sounding as pained as his eyes looked. "And do not blame yourself for wishing that his suffering might finally end. It is a normal human reaction to seeing a friend suffer so much, and he might be comforted by your touch."

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Apparating to the address in the outskirts of London Vence and Gordon had given her, she now stood in front of a small house. It was a really small house, nothing compared to Lucius' large manor at Wiltshire in southwest England they had lived in, but she didn't care. It looked nice and it looked well cared for and it was far away from Lucius, and nothing else mattered.

She had packed only her most important things. A few clothes, a few books, her old school-trunk and a few personal items while she had left behind all her jewelry, and the expensive robes and gowns she had gotten from Lucius over the years. But now she was here and finally she was free. She wouldn't go back, ever.

Lucius had jeopardized Draco's life, had caused him to suffer a slow and horrible death. She didn't even know if her son was still alive. And why? Just because of his stubborn, stupid bastard of a husband that had …

"Cissy!" Gordon had opened the front door, and he took her shoulder, and after a quick embrace he pulled her inside. "Vence is already waiting, and believe me, he is worse than a mother hen right now, pacing the parlour for hours."

"I'm sorry I let you wait." She said. "I had to wait until Lucius was asleep on the settee. I just didn't dare leaving the manor while he was awake. I can, of course, pass the wards, but if he had seen me …"

"Don't worry, Narcissa." The deep voice from Vence was heard and she turned, smiled at the other man who quickly came into the hallway and pulled her into a quick embrace too, just like Gordon had done earlier.

"Are you sure that …" She started, looking unsurely at the two men and immediately Vence scowled at her.

"Would we have asked you to come and live here if we weren't?" The man asked. "And now be silent, you stupid woman and sit down. I have tea ready and then we will discuss your protection."

"I don't care about my protection, if I just had Draco …"

"Don't go down this lane of thinking, Narcissa." Vence growled. "I do not know if our children are still alive, but if there is any chance for them, then it is with Severus. We will wait until we have news of them, and we will go on from there on then. It won't do any good if your son survives just to find his mother dead because she did not care for her own protection! Gordon is setting the wards for now and then we will have tea, and now calm down, Narcissa, we will do what is possible."

"Look who's talking!" Gordon said, coming back to the parlour. "A few moments ago, you have been pacing the parlour like a mother hen missing one of her babies."

"You know what Lucius can be like." The other man growled darkly. "And if he had seen Narcissa leaving …"

"Cissy is here now." Gordon said. "One thing less to worry about and now we better focus on getting our children out of there. Right now, I am waiting for a book I ordered from Flourish and Blott's. It's ancient magic, but not dark magic, and it is promising."

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He barely registered anything around him.

Somehow, in the background of his awareness he could feel the pain in his stomach and in his limbs. And he could feel the strange sensation of barely being able to move, of being too weak to move. He could somehow feel the coldness and that he had damp hair, but again it was just out of his reach somehow. All of these things he registered only somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, and as strange as it seemed to him, he didn't even mind.

What he, however, did mind, but what he couldn't change and what he couldn't understand either, was the pain he felt coming from Severus. And he knew that it wasn't physical pain, he wouldn't be able to feel that. He knew that it was emotional pain. He couldn't explain why he knew it and he couldn't explain why he could feel it either, never before had he felt his father's emotions, but he knew that he felt them right now and he knew that it was emotional pain.

But then it was gone, as was the thought of it, and he remembered their conversations, their games of seven lost and pawns and jacks, and he remembered their lessons down here. It had been a much better time back then. It had been his best time he had had so far, ever, he had to admit. He had been hungry, yes, but they all had been. And he had had someone who cared, Severus had been there, had cared for him, had become his father even, and no one had beaten him while being hungry. They all had been friends back then, family.

Well, he would be back there again, and soon, he knew.

So, for now he just would enjoy being held by his father, leaning against the strong chest, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his father's breathing and he would allow himself to just dozing off every now and then while the rumbling vibration of the older wizard's deep, silky voice above him, softly talking to him, soothed him, even if he didn't understand the words.

Something wet touched his cheek and wondering what it was he slowly forced his eyes open and then focused on trying to look around with bleary eyes, trying to figure out his surrounding by the single candle that was burning on the table where they had played all those games, back then, when it had been a much better time. Well, he knew that Severus had started to save the candles as well as the wood some days ago, a week ago maybe, or two weeks ago even, he didn't really remember.

Making out his father's face close by he slowly reached up with a shaking hand and hesitating for a moment, not knowing if he was allowed to touch the man, he softly placed his trembling fingertips at the Potions Master's cheek, startled to find tears running down the professor's face and for a moment he became aware of his surroundings, of the pain in his stomach and his limbs, of the horrible hunger he felt. But he didn't care. He simply had to know what was wrong with Severus so that the man cried. Severus Snape never cried! Severus never cried in front of him, and he was scared, because if Severus openly cried, then surely it meant that it was something horrible that had happened.

Maybe one of them had died.

Draco, or Theodore.

They both had been as weak as he had been lately and …

But as much as he tried, he wasn't able to concentrate on the thought and he wasn't able to keep his hand up there on Severus' face, it fell down beside him, heavily, lifelessly.

Severus, having been deep in his own thoughts, in his worries, worrying about the boy he held in his arms, again, knowing that the child that had become his son would not survive the night, didn't realize Harry watching him and the child's gentle touch broke the trance that had captured him. If only the boy survived, he thought, looking down at the child, at his son, and he gave a little half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He could tell that the boy had been awake for a while now, that he was tired and exhausted but in too much pain to go back to sleep, only drifting away every now and then while at the same time he wondered if the boy felt it.

The pain.

And the fact that he was dying.

"I swear, Harry Snape, if you die on me now, after all I have done to keep you alive …" He whispered, but then he let the sentence drift off into silence without finishing it. There was no threat that worked against death, after all.

"You're angry." The boy whispered weakly, and it was clear it wasn't a question, but a statement and he couldn't help hitching his breath, his chest clenching in a way it hurt, physically – and it hurt horribly.

"Hush, child." He whispered while carding his fingers through the black mop of hair from the child still in his arms. "No, I am not angry. I am just so very sad. I do not know what you have done to me, child, so I feel that way, but I would do anything to keep you with me. I do not want to lose you. It hurts."

Never would he have admitted such in the past, absolutely never, but right now – he didn't mind. Right now, he knew that he had to give the child that last comfort, telling him that he wouldn't die unloved, that he wouldn't die unwanted, telling him that he – he didn't know what, just that he had to make it as easy as possible for his child.

"I don't want to leave you either." The boy answered, his voice a whisper so soft with weakness he had to strain his ears to understand the words and he just couldn't help the tears running down his face again.

If only the boy would survive the night. If only the boy would survive at all. If only the boy would be with him still when morning came – but he knew that never mind how much he wished – it would not be granted.

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"…avender … Bulstrode, Millicent … Davis, Tracey … Granger, Hermione … Greengrass, Daphne … Parkinson, Pansy … Patil, Parvati … Crabbe, Vincent … Finnigan, Seamus … Goyle, Gregory … Longbottom, Neville … Malfoy, Draco … Nott, Theodore … Potter, Harry … Thomas, Dean … Weasley, Ronald … Zabini, Blaize … Snape, Severus. Eighteen names, seventeen students and one teacher, seven girls, ten boys and one man, ten Slytherins and eight Gryffindors. You can name it with hundreds of terms, but one fact remains – eighteen souls are in those dungeons of Hogwarts, dying or already dead, and our minds are …"

If there is a word to describe the recent events that have Britain captured in its talon, then it is horror. But this time it is not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who is causing that horror, but an accident caused by those who once worked for You-Know-Who, by those who still believe in him, nearly thirteen years after his demise and this reporter wonders what kind of wizard and witches stood behind the attack, considering that they attacked a wizarding school, a school filled with innocent children.

It leaves no other possibility, and one simply has to wonder if those attackers, those followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, are not to be equalized with simple muggle terrorists. Attacking a building that is filled with innocent people, children, teenagers, students, even risking the lives of their own children just to …

"… afternoon the Ghost of Harry Potter had been seen in Diagon Alley, near Gringotts, what gives proof that those seventeen students meanwhile really are dead, starved to death at one point during those twenty-one days they had been locked down in the potions classroom now, the Boy-Who-Lived in the end brought down not by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but by a fate that is just as cruel. I personally think that most likely the boy ghost had visited Gringotts to settle his last affairs so he could rest in …"

Many reports have been made on the 'tragedy of Hogwarts' and many of those reports have already predicted the death of those students locked in the dungeons classroom. We, from the Quibbler however are sure that at least some of those in the dungeons are still alive and we are with them in our thoughts.

For one, even if they might not have real food, they have potions ingredients and they have unlimited water, what surely is a chance to keep them alive for some time. They might not have unlimited wood to keep the fire in the cold dungeons going, but they have at least water for a shower and for drinking. They might be desperate, but they have each other and we have faith in them, we believe in them, and we hope for them. They have a chance, and we are sure that they are taking their chances, all of them.

Professor Snape is a competent man with a lot of hidden abilities, and we are sure that in such a situation he will not hesitate to do all that is necessary for keeping his students alive. With his calm demeanor he will be able to keep the children calm, something that surely will be very important in such a situation. He is known as a harsh man, what however will be to their benefit too …

"… wizarding Britain. Never before has anything kept the witches and wizards in such breathtaking grief and never before have reached so much letters our office, letters with condolences and sympathy while right now a delegation of the department of registration at the ministry of magic is discussing the subject of declaring today as the day of mourning …"

The tragedy of Hogwarts – a term that meanwhile surely is known by all wizarding people throughout Great Britain, a term that holds horror and shock, a term that promises death only. But no one can imagine the horror that really has taken place down in those dungeons of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, horror that easily could stem from one of the books Notarius Consternare, the renowned author that is nominated as the best writer of horror fictions worldwide, has written.

Trusted sources have informed us about the horror that happened in the hermetically isolated dungeons classroom, have informed us about Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house from above mentioned school of witchcraft and wizardry and Potions Master, Death Eater, killing the Gryffindor students one by one to keep his Slytherin students alive while acquainting them to 'the art of cannibalism' as he had named it. A horrifying and disgusting way to …

"… can imagine the pain and desperation all those are feeling. The funeral speeches clearly have showed how much those witches and wizards hurt and how deeply they are affected by the tragedy of Hogwarts, not only the teachers having held their speeches but numerous of the students as well. It had been a deeply moving afternoon that had been held until long into the night, more witches and wizards giving their words of condolences away than after any other tragedy before. Our reporters from WWN had been there and they have saved parts of the speeches for you to listen to in hopes that it might help easing the pain of all those who once have loved those they had now lost. Listen now to some of the speeches we have recorded and cut together for you …

Theodore was more than just a student here at Hogwarts. He has been more than just a Slytherin, and he has been more than just a … son. He has been a friend, and he has been my friend, a good friend, one that has never hurt anyone, not even those from other houses. He was a year younger than I, and he didn't deserve this. And neither did any of the others … they … sorry … I'm … sorry …

Harry should be out at the pitch, flying right now. He should be sitting in the Gryffindor common room, smiling, laughing and joking with his friends right now, and he should worry about all the small and little things we all worry about, about homework, about girls, about his next class, about Quidditch, about what would be served for dinner, about how to fool some other students or teachers, about his first shaving, about a bad grade and about his first kiss or something like that. But he can't worry about such things anymore, because he … because he's dead. Because he had died, and nothing can make this undone. And the same goes for all of them, for all the fourth year Gryffindors and for all the fourth year Slytherins. Harry was one of them, but they all had been robbed the chance to worry about those small and little things in life. They all had been forced to worry about their next meal, about being hungry and about being cold, about who would die first, and about how to survive. They all had …"

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"No, Misters Weasley, you will not. I right now expect you to keep from leaving your dormitory, and if I find one of you just near the dungeons, then you will be the first students ever getting to know my entire wrath." Flitwick said, his voice so strict they actually looked at the small charms teacher startled. They were not used to Professor Flitwick sounding so strict and commanding.

"But that's our potion and …"

"I do know that, and I also do thank you for your help, but neither do we know if it will work, how it will work, what exactly will happen the moment it explodes and comes into contact with my spells to bring down those wards, nor do we know … what condition we will find them in. I promise you, I will speak to you in the morning, and be assured that I personally will reward you, never mind the outcome, but right now we have work to do as it seems, and time is running short. Grommy! Please take the Misters Weasley to their dormitory and make sure that they keep their noses in there – as well as any other body parts of theirs! Thank you."

With those words a small house elf had appeared, had taken the two Weasley twins from the charms office, and a moment later the small half human and half goblin professor had left the room, was running towards the headmaster's office on two small feet, cursing the fact that he couldn't apparate within Hogwarts and preparing himself for finding eighteen dead bodies tonight. Even if he wished that they wouldn't.

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The room was dimly lit by a torch that was attached to some kind of wooden surface that was laying in the middle of the shadowy chamber, and a small, dyeing fire, and it held an eerie silence, a silence that was nearly scary, unnatural. It seemed to be a classroom of some sort, considering the shelves that were filled with books and jars with strange things, some of them pickled in different coloured liquids. Some of those jars and books, however, were lined up and stacked along the wall and it was clear that at one point they had been sorted into shelves as well, shelves that now were missing.

The desktop of a table without legs was laying in the middle of the room, near the wall that led to the other room on the floor and atop the wooden board was that small, soft candle, were laying pieces of parchments with numbers scribbled on them, abandoned, but it was clear that those parchments had been used at one point. A ball made of packing thread and a book was laying there, too.

A book bag lay beside the tabletop on the floor, and another book bag was leaning against the wall that led to another room. Upon a closer look through the room more book bags could be found in corners, leaning against walls, or laying on the floor, what confirmed the possibility that it was, indeed, a classroom. A classroom that had been in use at one point but was now as abandoned as were the pieces of parchment, the ball made of packing threat, the book and the book bags that were scattered around.

What, however, did not fit into the picture of a classroom were mattresses that were lain out in front of the dying fire, mattresses with pillows and blankets, and huddled together under the blankets, but clearly visible were bodies. Small and thin children's bodies, and the taller but no less thin body of one adult. A book lay on one empty mattress, open, but turned face down and the title that could be read was 'Seventh year potions instructions'. None of the bodies under the blankets were moving, and so it surely must be in the middle of the night, as they looked as if they were deeply in sleep.

If you, however, looked closer around the room, then you could see the pale and ghostly shape of a small and scrawny black haired boy, suddenly sitting on the floor beside the legless tabletop where just a second ago had been empty space, two pieces of parchment held in his nearly translucent hands, laughing lightly, even if his pale and thin face held some kind of pain, announcing that he had only two cards left, the voice of the ghost echoing through the room, startling hollow, as if this scene had happened in another time or space. The pale and thin shape of another boy, a blond one, sitting there also, and just as suddenly, seemed to growl at the dark haired boy, holding up his hand with at least five pieces of parchment.

You, however, better did not blink, because after the blink the picture of the two boys would be gone.

If you, however, looked very close again, then you could see the shadows of a few skinny children sitting on chairs around a table, six of them actually, being there just as suddenly as had been the two children before, and all of them were holding such pieces of parchments in their ghostly hands, while chess pieces were laying in front of them on the table. As it seemed they were playing a strange game of cards and chess they had mixed together, and laugher could be heard, bright children's voices mixed together so it was impossible to understand the words that, once again, seemed to be an echo of some sort, grotesque in the otherwise eerie silence of the dimly lit and empty room, just as bizarre as the wraithlike shadows themselves were.

The shadowy shape of a tall figure came close, watching them for a while, and you could see a small smile threatening to be shown on the pale and ghostly face, a small smile the adult man seemed to fight for a while before just giving in and allowing his lips to curl upwards. The shape of the black haired boy that sat in the midst of the ghostly children's group looked up at the man, smiling back at him, and the pale hand of the adult reached over and gently carded its bony fingers through the boy's hair, causing bright but pale green eyes to sparkle with joy and bliss.

Upon another blink however the picture would be gone as well, and all that would be left would be the dimly lit, and cold classroom, with only the remnants of life being left behind like a memory, and a single desktop of a table without legs laying in the middle of the room on the dirty and dusty floor.

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To be continued

Next time in "twenty-one days"
interlude chapter

Added author's note
thank you for reading - and yes, I would be glad if you took the time to review this chapter, thank you
also, like on ff, I'll install the house cup – with each review, please state your house, so that your house can get a point. There won't be loss of points, only gains … may the best house with the most reviews win …

House Cup:
At the present time it looks like this:

Slytherin 86
Gryffindor 47
Ravenclaw 27
Hufflepuff 14
Hogwarts 21
Durmstrang 04
Tennessee Institute of Magic & Technomancy 01