Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms

Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.

In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.

Chapter 28

Harry made his way down to Hagrid's hut on his own, as Ron had a lesson with Mad-Eye and Hermione had Runes. Something had broken Hagrid's niffler enclosure, so he'd sent a letter asking for help catching the escaped creatures.

"Heya, Harry." Hagrid waved one massive hand in greeting. He used the same hand to hammer a wooden stake into the ground, no tool anywhere in sight. "Almost finished setting it back up. Just need yer help sticking these guys back in."

Earth piles were scattered all around Hagrid's hut. It looked as though an army of moles had gone on a rampage.

"No worries," Hagrid said, "they won't be straying far from the hut. Left 'em some shinies to dig for. Won't wanna leave 's long as there's somethin' to find."

As if on cue, one of the nifflers stuck its head out of the ground, inspected a small, shiny stone in its claws, stuck it into its pouch and dove—snout-first—back underground.

Harry eyed Hagrid's enclosure skeptically. It was only a wooden fence set up in a large oval. "Won't they just dig their way out again?"

"Nah. Had Professor Sprout help me out. Same spell she uses to contain her devil's snare, y'see? Nasty roots, that one has." Hagrid fixed the last section of the fence. "'s like a bubble underground. Lets 'em roam around a bit, but keeps 'em from going too far."

"So what do you need me to do?"

"We're gonna lure 'em in with some leprechaun coins," Hagrid said. "Might still need some, ah... encouragement, mind, but it should help us a long way. Would've left it as a lesson for next class, but they'll get into too much trouble in the meantime..."

'Some encouragement' was putting it mildly. Though clearly tempted by the scattered coins, the nifflers were deeply suspicious of the wooden fence. As soon as a few of them were back inside, it was especially tricky to catch the rest without letting the others escape again.

By the time they'd captured the last niffler, Harry was out-of-breath, sweaty and more than a little annoyed. Hagrid beamed at him as he shut the gate of the enclosure, which made most of his irritation fade.

"Been seeing you at the lake a bunch," Hagrid told him while he caught his breath. "Still hanging out with those champions, aren't yer?"

"They're cool to hang out with." Harry shrugged. "Fleur's been teaching us this game they play at her school. It's not Quidditch, but it's fun."

As per Cedric's suggestion, they'd started inviting other people along to be able to form full teams to play. The twins (to nobody's surprise) were natural midline players, while Ginny (after a brief trial period) soon skated like she'd been doing nothing else all her life.

Even Neville had let himself be convinced to join and, as long as he didn't have to move too far from his spot in front of the goal, made a decent keeper.

Hagrid hummed vaguely. They watched the nifflers dig into and out of the ground in search of more treasure.

"Dumbledore's been saying how you're doin' exactly what the tournament's there for," he said. "Been a bit worried people'd be too competitive, y'see?"

"They're really not like that."

"I figured. Looks there's a reason they got chosen, innit?"

It was getting late, so Harry said his goodbyes and headed back to the castle. Runes would have ended long ago, and maybe Ron had finished with Mad-Eye.

Long before he reached the castle, Harry saw something move at the edges of the forest. He backed away from the treeline and drew his wand, knowing from experience what kind of creatures roamed inside. But what stumbled out from behind a large oak wasn't an animal, magical or otherwise. It was a person.

"Mr. Crouch?" Harry lowered his wand, but didn't put it away.

While he'd met Mr. Crouch at the Quidditch Cup as a severe-looking, rule-abiding and meticulously groomed man, he now looked unkempt and jittery.

"—get that to me by Wednesday, won't you? Cornelius has been waiting on the report for quite some time..."

"Mr. Crouch?"

"—yes, quite right, quite right... Told him... Should tell him, yes... Needs to know..."

"Mr. Crouch? Can you hear me?" Harry didn't really want to come closer. He looked around, desperately hoping to see somebody out on a stroll.

"Needs to... Need to... Dumbledore, gotta... gotta tell him..."

"You want to talk to Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Weatherby, thank you. And if you could take this to Theodore on your way out. He's been anxious to see this matter resolved, as I'm sure you're aware."

Harry was feeling at a loss. Why was Crouch imagining having a conversation with Percy? And what had he been doing in the Forbidden Forest?

"I'm going to get help," Harry promised, even though he didn't know if Crouch was listening. "You can talk to Dumbledore at the castle."

But when he tried to dart off, a vice-like grip closed around his wrist and held him in place.

"No," Crouch snapped. His eyes bulged from their sockets grotesquely. "Take me."

Harry's throat felt dry. He couldn't pry his arm out of Crouch's grip, no matter how hard he tried. "Okay, just. Let go, okay? I'll take you. Just let go."

But Crouch only tightened his grip, summoning strength Harry wouldn't have thought he had. Harry winced, his wrist pulsing painfully. He might have managed to land a Stupor despite the awkward angle, but he didn't actually want to hurt Crouch. Despite his strong grip, he looked like a decent breeze would knock him right over.

"Alright. I'll take you to somebody. Come on..."

For lack of better options, Harry let Crouch sling an arm around his shoulder and slowly made his way back to Hagrid's cabin. It was a lot closer than the castle, and—stumbling under Crouch's weight—Harry wasn't sure he would make it further. All of Crouch's earlier strength seemed sapped from his body, and he leaned heavily on Harry.

Crouch's muttering was beginning to freak him out, so Harry kept talking in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "It's alright, Mr. Crouch. We're almost there. We'll get you help."

A bright flash of green lit up the grounds. The hairs at the back of Harry's neck stood up, his shadow stretched out before the light, and his knees buckled under Crouch's weight. The man crumbled right on top of Harry's legs.

The light was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Harry struggled to free himself, and Crouch tumbled to the ground with a dull thud. The sound twisted Harry's gut painfully. Something stopped him from looking down.

"Mr. Crouch," he said. His voice trembled. "You have to get up. I can't carry you."

Crouch was no longer muttering under his breath.

"Mr. Crouch," Harry said, raising his voice.

Crouch wouldn't answer him.

Harry didn't want to look. He didn't want to—

He looked. Glassy eyes stared up at him, unfocused and sightless.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, reeled back and stumbled over a tree root. He fell over and caught himself with one hand, the other one fumbling for his wand. His palm sank into the damp soil, coating his skin with a sticky layer of earth.

"Hel—" He cut himself off by biting on his tongue. Stupid. He shouldn't draw attention to—but he'd been right next to Crouch when he'd—so whoever was out there knew exactly—

A branch snapped clean through somewhere in the forest. Thousands of leaves rustled. Crouch was utterly still at his feet, and Harry—Harry, he—he ought to—he'd—

He couldn't see anybody hiding behind trees or crouching in the undergrowth, but that didn't mean anything. He needed to check on Crouch, but he didn't dare put away his wand.

"We need to get away from here," he said, feeling stupid even as he said it. He slowly got to his knees next to Crouch, trying in vain to keep the entire span of the forest in his line of sight. "They might be back. We need to go."

But Crouch wouldn't stir, and Harry couldn't bring himself to try and stand. He kept kneeling, held his wand in one trembling hand, listened to the leaves and felt the soil on his palm dry. He knelt until his legs fell asleep and the shadows of the trees grew longer, unable to convince himself to get up or look at Crouch again.

The sky had turned dark by the time footsteps approached, though they didn't come from inside the forest. Harry whirled around and found himself aiming his wand at an equally armed Snape. A wide-eyed Hermione was at his side, holding the Marauders' map.

Harry blinked, and the worn, green backrest of a sofa swam into focus right next to his head. He blinked again, and he felt the weight of a blanket tucked over and around him. Again, and his eyes fell on the forest painting hung above the sofa on the wall.

His eyes prickled painfully like he'd slept for too long, but his arms felt too heavy to move and do something about it. The blanket was about five times as heavy as it should be. His brain felt like mush, and Harry blinked and looked at the painting and tried to figure out why he felt like he never wanted to move a muscle ever again.

Movement from the doorway had him tense. More time might have passed (he could have sworn the light from the window had cast different shadows just a second ago) until he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the painting.

Snape had come into the room, but halted in place when he realized that Harry was awake.

He couldn't remember having fallen asleep, but he couldn't remember having woken, either, so he supposed it didn't matter either way.

They looked at each other long enough that Harry's attention started to drift again. His mouth felt impossibly dry, and his limbs were too heavy to move. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and pretend like there wasn't a clump of something rotten and vile lodged behind his sternum like a tumor.

He blinked and saw green. His breath hitched, and he clenched his hands in the blanket so tightly that his fingers ached. There was a bruise around his wrist where Crouch had grabbed him. Other than that, his hands were clean. Somebody must have gotten rid of the soil while he'd been asleep.

"Do you remember what happened?" Snape asked quietly.

No, Harry wanted to say. He needed somebody to explain.

"Yes," he forced out, his hoarse voice barely managing to form the sound. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his hands.

To his utter mortification, Harry felt pressure building up behind his eyes. He kept them aimed at his lap and blinked rapidly. The back of his throat prickled like something was trying to crawl its way out.

He spoke only once he was sure his voice wouldn't break on the first syllable. "What are we doing here?"

Snape stopped hovering in the doorway and slowly settled down on the armrest by Harry's feet. Harry drew his legs closer to his body to make room.

"I thought it best to keep you away from the dormitories for the day."

A weight dropped into his stomach at the thought of having to answer questions from curious classmates. It took him several tries to get his voice to work. "Crouch, is... Is he—"

"He's dead."

Harry flinched. He thought of crazed mumbling and glassy eyes. Last words that had made about as much sense as Harry's Divination textbooks.

"Could you see who cast the spell?" Snape's voice was neither gentle nor harsh.

"No," Harry muttered. "Just the. Just, just the light. A green flash of light. And then he... he just..." Weight crumbling like a puppet with cut strings.

Snape's voice lowered another pitch. "I need you to tell me what you saw."

He didn't want to. Harry didn't want to think or speak about the forest. About any of it.

But what he wanted didn't matter. A man was dead, and Harry was the only one who'd witnessed his murder.

It took much stuttering and fumbling for words, but he told Snape about his visit to Hagrid, about finding Crouch at the edge of the forest, about the odd way he'd switched between frantic agitation and befuddlement.

"He fell, and then I—I—" Harry swallowed, and admitted, "I don't remember. You were there? And... And Hermione. And I—Then we were here."

"The forest was searched," Snape told him. "They did not find the culprit."

Harry didn't understand. He'd escaped death constantly since he'd come to be a part of the Wizarding world, and yet... "They could've killed me. Easily. I didn't notice—not until—but they didn't."

Snape waited.

"I don't get it," Harry admitted.

"They must have had their reasons."

"Not that. I mean, yes, that too, but I don't get—I just, I don't get why I'm so—" Harry clenched his eyes shut, and sat, and trembled.

He couldn't remember ever having felt like this. Jittery and hollow-boned, like he couldn't take a step away from this sofa without crumbling into a pathetic heap.

"I don't get it," he said again, trying to keep his voice steady. "I've seen s-stuff like this—It's not the first I've—" He'd faced Quirrell, and the basilisk, and Riddle. He'd watched Voldemort drinking a unicorn's blood. He'd felt a dementor wrench up his jaw for a fatal kiss.

"You have not witnessed a person's death before," Snape said quietly.

But he had, Harry wanted to protest. His parents. Quirrell. Riddle.

But then, he couldn't really remember his parents' deaths, could he? He only ever saw flashes in his nightmares. He'd lost consciousness before Quirrell had been truly gone, and Riddle from the diary had never really been alive, had he?

The pressure behind his eyes and at the back of his throat swelled. He closed his eyes, drew his knees up to his body and breathed. He breathed until he felt less like he wanted to float out of his body and not return.

"Would you like me to leave you be?" Snape asked.

He wasn't sure he could get his voice to work, so Harry only shook his head.

"Would you prefer company?" Snape asked.

He nodded.

Harry didn't know why the thought of being on his own bothered him so much. It wasn't like Snape's presence kept his thoughts at bay. Still, he uncurled slightly when Snape muttered a spell towards the kitchen to summon them both a cup of tea that neither of them had any desire to drink, and a bit more when Snape picked up the blanket that had slipped from Harry's legs and spread it back over his body.

By the time Harry felt the sofa dip as Snape settled down next to him, he felt somewhat more present.

"Why would somebody want him d-dead?" Harry's voice faltered on the last word, but he pushed through. "And why was he in the forest? How did he get there?"

"I couldn't say."

Harry bit on his lip harshly. "He had something to say to Dumbledore. He wanted me to take him to the castle."

"He did not tell you what it was?"

"Just that it was important." And Harry had messed it all up. He should have guessed that something was wrong as soon as he'd caught sight of Crouch. He should have tried to catch somebody's attention from the castle, or gotten a message to Hagrid somehow, or—

Something. Anything other than proving completely useless and failing to notice the danger in the forest until far too late.

Only when he shifted his weight, trying to dislodge the dense sensation in his stomach, did he realize how closely Snape was now sitting next to him. It struck him as odd, though it took him a moment to realize why. The sofa wasn't small by any means, but Snape hardly ever used it. It was usually all Harry's.

"I'm sorry I didn't pay closer attention."

"All that you've told me suggests you did what you were able," Snape said quietly. "Do not blame yourself for what you couldn't have controlled."

Harry's heart soared at those words, losing some of its guilt-laden weight. He scooted to the left, pretending to just change his position. His shoulder brushed against Snape's side—almost leaning against him, but far too stiff.

Tension wound around Harry's shoulders and all the way down his back. He stared straight ahead, indecision churning in his gut.

He briefly thought of Sirius, and how he wouldn't have hesitated to lean into him for a hug. It was just so different with Snape. Harry'd known him for far longer than he'd known Sirius, but this just wasn't something they did. Sirius was all boisterous laughter and open affection and physical gestures. But Snape? Things just didn't work that way between them.

But Sirius wasn't here. And Harry felt like if Snape walked out of the room or even just leaned away from him, he might just curl up and lose his fight against the pressure behind his eyes after all.

This barely-contact wasn't anything like a hug from Sirius, but feeling the rise and fall of Snape's upper body was almost... soothing.

But Snape wasn't saying anything, and he felt just as tense as Harry did. What if he'd just horribly overstepped?

"You did all you could," Snape said just as the thought crossed Harry's mind. Snape slowly, painstakingly relaxed without moving closer to Harry. "You did well."

Repeating the words in his mind, Harry slowly let the tension drain from his body.

"I can still see the green light," he admitted. "From the curse. It lit up... everything. And he just..."

"I wish you had not seen it."

Harry felt the vibrations of Snape's voice. He looked straight ahead, though with the painting at his back there wasn't much in the living room to capture his attention. Apart from their teacups, even the coffee table was empty. He thought of the night sky flowers, waiting patiently in the greenhouse for them to return for the summer.

"I've never forgotten it from my parents, either. Sometimes I see it in my dreams."

Snape's breathing was deep and steady. "Witnessing death leaves traces."

"Yeah, well," Harry muttered. "Guess it was only a matter of time." He'd had so many close calls already.

"Perhaps."

Harry stayed like that, half leaning against the backrest of the sofa, half leaning against Snape. He closed his eyes, tugged the blanket around himself more tightly and tried not to think.

A/N:

Me, writing this chapter: Oh my god Snape just hug your fucking kid already

Snape, gritting his teeth: This is the best you'll get.

Me: … I'll take it. For now.

xxx

Huge thanks to my wonderful betas To Mockingbird, Igornerd, flyingcat, fishbake, Gasmeros and ethirielalways!
~Gwen