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Chapter Fifteen—Aradia on the Case
"You should take the children to the hospital wing, madam."
Severus is sure to keep his voice as calm and bright as polished obsidian. It won't do to show fear of a woman he has heard rumors of since he was a teenager. He is still a greater authority in Hogwarts than she is.
From the way Mrs. Zabini stares at him, Severus isn't sure she knows that. Or agrees with it.
"I know how to treat Blaise and Harry," Mrs. Zabini says, and a small smile lifts the corners of her lips. It does not at all help the sudden terror stirring in the pit of Severus's stomach. "And this other one—ah, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived?" she adds, as Longbottom's fringe tumbles away from his forehead. "I will treat him well."
"They were hurt," Severus snaps. He clenches his hands in front of himself and fights down the urge to back away. Albus will ask to see this memory later, and he has to prove that he did all he could—
No. Wait.
He doesn't have to. Not if he's going to be able to quit spying.
Well, there's still his Unbreakable Vow that he swore to defend Longbottom. But it will be much easier to fulfill that than it would be to become a spy again, and even if he has to stay in Hogwarts, he will be able to openly change his behavior.
Severus glares at Mrs. Zabini, and she jabs her wand into his throat.
"Mother," Zabini murmurs. He's reaching out to put a hand on her arm, and she smiles at him without looking away from Severus. In her eyes, Severus can see his death. It is long and slow and torturous, and he can tell that even though he doesn't think she's feeding emotions to him through a Legilimency link.
"Yes, darling?"
Severus wonders for a moment what it means that the woman is using intimacies in front of him, and then realizes that for her, it must not matter one way or the other. Either he will know well enough to hold his tongue on this matter, or he will not survive this evening.
"We do need to be healed," Zabini says. His eyes are feral as he glares at Severus. "Especially Harry. Do you think that you could bring him along and ask him questions later, so we can go now?"
"Of course, Blaise, darling," Mrs. Zabini says. "I only need to make sure that he'll hold his tongue. You will, won't you, Professor Snape?"
Severus nods quickly.
"I do find myself worried that your reassurance might not be enough," Mrs. Zabini says thoughtfully. "Therefore…" And she speaks in a quick, ringing cascade of Italian and Latin and what might be Welsh, so mingled that Severus cannot separate the different languages.
He cries aloud as something seems to squeeze around his neck, like the pull of an iron collar sized two times too small, before the sensation fades and he looks back into those glittering dark eyes watching him.
"Now," Mrs. Zabini says, with an inclination of her head that only the foolish would think was a bow, "he will not speak of the events of this evening without my permission."
Severus clasps his hands behind his back. "There is another vow in play," he says, as calmly as he can. "I have promised to protect Mr. Longbottom with all I have. If I am not allowed to speak of something that could have saved him, my life is forfeit."
"Unbreakable?"
"Indeed, madam."
Mrs. Zabini gives him a thin smile. "I have heard about the way that you have treated Mr. Longbottom," she says. "In the matter of your Occlumency lessons, in particular. I assume your Vow has quite a long reach. I can think of no circumstance under which my will would conflict with that."
Severus grits his teeth. If he swore the Vow directly to Albus to report to him about Longbottom's condition, then he would have an argument, but he did not. He swore to Longbottom, instead.
He nods, and trails behind the boys as Mrs. Zabini takes over floating Quirrell. Potter is giving Mrs. Zabini a bright, small smile. He knows her well, then, and the rumors of his friendship with Blaise Zabini and how he doesn't fear the Slytherin boy are not mere rumors.
I must keep an eye on him.
At the moment, there doesn't seem to be much Severus can do other than that, with his tongue held whether he wills it or not. And they are heading in the direction of the infirmary. Severus tells himself to use the time to listen and observe, skills that he has used in many circumstances in any case, and can always hone.
There is a bright trickle of blood making it down the side of Harry's temple.
Aradia wants to strike. She knows many spells that would obliterate the man who radiates Dark magic. She could strip the skin from his bones and yet keep him alive. She could bind his life force to the sun, and it would end in agony and consuming darkness the moment sunset sinks beneath the earth. She could unwind him millimeter by millimeter, fleck by fleck of muscle and bone.
But she cannot do it yet. She needs the man alive to answer questions. Of course Blaise and Harry tell her what happened before they even get to the Hogwarts hospital wing, but that is not sufficient.
Longbottom walks with his head bowed and his eyes only occasionally rising to peer at her. That does not fit with the reputation of a brash Gryffindor that Aradia has heard of from her son and Harry's letters, but he does not need to fit the stereotype of a hero. He is a child.
Aradia wonders idly if she is the only adult who has ever met Longbottom who remembers that.
She glances back at the floating Quirrell and slides an invisible chain around her own arm. Patience, patience. You will learn nothing if you kill him now.
But oh, how she wants to.
"Oh, sweet Merlin!"
Madam Pomfrey at least sounds like she's upset about all of them being hurt, not just that Neville has come in, Harry thinks, content. Earlier, it seemed like Snape was mostly upset about Neville and Aradia was upset about him and Blaise. It's nice to see all of them being cared for.
Madam Pomfrey shoots spell after spell from her wand, preparing beds, shoving them closer together, summoning potions, preparing what look like clean bandages. She listens to Aradia at the same time, nodding and pursing her lips and shaking her head when appropriate. But she manages to herd Harry and Blaise and Neville into bed, and then binds Quirrell to two beds held together.
"Do not let him go," Snape says, the only words he's spoken since the confrontation in the corridor with Aradia, and Madam Pomfrey nods.
Harry peers at Snape. He's leaning against the wall, refusing the single potion Madam Pomfrey tries to offer him with a shake of his head. Most of his attention seems to be on Aradia, and Harry has to work hard to hide his satisfaction.
You should have taken the favor that Blaise offered you, Snape. Then you wouldn't be in this situation.
Madam Pomfrey hears out the end of the story, sighs explosively, and summons what looks like a vial full of grey sludge that she tilts down Professor Quirrell's throat. He makes a croaking noise and slumps in the ropes. "That takes care of him," she mutters.
"What was that potion, Madam Pomfrey?"
Harry ignores the sharp glance Snape shoots him. Snape can't hurt him or do anything else to him right now.
"It'll suppress his magic and his consciousness until we're ready to deal with him," Madam Pomfrey says briskly. "The safer version of the Draught of Living Death, since the will of the person who gave it to him is enough to disrupt it."
"Oh, cool." Harry wonders if he could use that potion on Dudley and Uncle Vernon, if he ever sees them again. Then he reminds himself that he won't have to see them again, since he's never going back to the Dursleys. But it might be worth knowing how to brew anyway.
"Since when are you interested in Potions, boy?"
"What would you know about what I'm interested in, Professor?"
Snape looks surprised, maybe just because Harry is speaking to him that way. Harry sneers at him and turns around to face Aradia again.
Before she can say anything, there's a bustle near the door of the hospital wing and Headmaster Dumbledore appears. Harry blinks at the sight of him, and more because Aradia is straightening so that all her robes fall around her as straight as a whip.
Huh. It looks like she really, really doesn't like him.
Albus has to admit he pauses at seeing Mrs. Zabini in the infirmary. He knew there was a disruption in the wards near the third-floor corridor, but there was also a situation in the Ministry that demanded his attention. When he realized that was a trick, he hurried back, but he did have confidence that Severus and Minerva could handle the situation at the school.
Perhaps not, if that situation includes Aradia Zabini as well as Quirinus.
"Madam Zabini," Albus says, half-bowing his head as he steps into the infirmary. Neville is on a hospital bed but seems to be all right over than some bruising. Quirinus is bound and sedated. There's a small trickle of blood on Harry's temple, and Albus hopes the poor boy is all right. "You felt the need to come yourself?"
"Yes, when I learned that my son and my foster son were in mortal danger."
Harry looks at Mrs. Zabini as if she's just hung the stars. Albus frowns a little. He did so hope that Harry would find safety and peace in the Muggle world, and failing that, that he would make a family with Sirius and Remus when they were ready. This doesn't look hopeful for either option.
"Foster son? Forgive me, Madam Zabini, but I've never seen any adoption paperwork pertaining to you and Harry."
"It is a much more informal arrangement," Mrs. Zabini says, with a sharp edge to her words that Albus could do without. "Since his previous guardians treated him awfully, we are taking him in."
Albus blinks a few times. Then he turns to Harry, with a sensation as if his heart is falling through the floor and leaving the rest of him behind. "Is it true that your relatives treated you awfully, Harry?"
Harry's eyes dart around the room for a moment as though counting the number of people present. Then he leans back and folds his hands in his lap and nods. "Yes, sir. They made me sleep in a cupboard, and told me I was a freak, and made me do chores, and didn't feed me enough."
The part about chores Albus discounts; he has known many children who complain about not being able to live a life of leisure. But the rest of it…
Albus takes a deep breath and shudders. "I am so sorry, my boy," he whispers hoarsely. "So sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" Blaise Zabini asks. Albus knows little of him, but from the look on his face, he has become interchangeable with the vast majority of Slytherins who distrust any Gryffindor. "You, personally?"
Albus addresses Harry. "Your parents knew me well and fought under my direction against Voldemort," he says. Harry narrows his eyes, but doesn't flinch, which Albus approves of. "They trusted me to choose you a home when we discovered that James had no relatives, even distant ones, left in England and Sirius had to leave on his quest. I chose your mother's family. I chose wrongly."
Mrs. Zabini says something in Italian that Albus doesn't bother translating. Severus is staring at Albus with betrayal that Albus doesn't understand; what would it be to him where James's son went? From what Albus has heard of his treatment of Harry, he doesn't love Lily enough to care about Harry being her son.
Harry closes his eyes for a moment and sits there as though absorbing a blow. Then he nods. "Thank you for telling me, Professor." His voice is hollow.
"I hope that you can forgive me, Harry. I made a mistake, and I am sorry."
From the look in Blaise's eyes, he's not about to forgive Dumbledore, and neither is Aradia. But Harry feels old, sitting there. It's sort of the same emotion he felt when teachers in his primary school gave him pitying glance and sometimes whispered apologies but didn't stand up to the Dursleys.
What does it matter? It's done. He's never going to see them again. They'll never mistreat him again. Dumbledore apologizing, not apologizing, none of it matters. He made a terrible mistake and Harry has to bear the cost of it.
It would be different if he grew up thinking of Dumbledore as a family friend or something. But he didn't. Until this moment, he really only knew the Headmaster as someone who sent his godfather away and who doesn't like Slytherins.
Harry blinks and nods and says, "Okay. Thank you for telling me, sir."
Dumbledore looks immensely relieved. Maybe he thinks that will keep him safe from Blaise's and Aradia's revenge. Or maybe he's not even thinking about their revenge. He looks at Harry with a soft, beaming smile and says, "Thank you, my boy. You are among the wisest of Ravenclaws."
Huh. Harry adds that to the other things he knows about Dumbledore, oddly obsessed with people's Houses. Or should that not be a surprise when he lives and works in the school? Other professors are obsessed with them too, after all.
Dumbledore turns towards Quirrell, and a terrible dark cloud moves over his face. Harry sits back, happy to stay out of it as far as he can. He just hopes that Dumbledore questioning Quirrell doesn't make Dumbledore learn about his Parseltongue.
For a final thought on Dumbledore, Harry does think it's interesting that he didn't notice Harry not forgiving him.
Albus cannot believe that he was so blind.
Yes, he thought it strange that Quirinus insisted on going to Albania. He thought it strange that the man wanted to confront vampires at all, and that he came back so frightened of them and hid in the school instead of going to St. Mungo's for Mind-Healing, as he once would have done.
But Albus suspected only some Dark Arts gone wrong, something the young man went too far into researching because he wanted to prepare for his job as Defense professor. He never suspected this.
Currently, Quirinus is lying on his stomach, still sedated. Albus used alchemy to manipulate the face on the back of his head, however, and Tom is close to waking up. Those grotesque eyes are fluttering a little and then he opens them and stares up at Albus and hisses in displeasure.
And some fear, Albus hopes.
"What have you done to yourself, Tom?" Albus whispers, hoping that for once, in his years of knowing the too-ambitious Slytherin boy, it will make a difference and get through to him.
The face only hisses again. Albus knows Parseltongue, although he cannot speak it, and Tom is saying, "Walked down the road to immortality."
Albus shakes his head. "This is the immortality you want? Bound to the body of another, destroying that body even as you seek to live? Death is not what you should fear, Tom. Sinking even further is."
Tom only stares at him with rage and hatred, and Albus realizes he will get no further with him. He steps back and reaches for the congealed lump hanging around his throat on a chain, product of some alchemy he did last night after leaving the hospital wing.
They are alone now, he and Tom. Quirinius is still asleep. The children have been released. None of them suffered as much as they could have, thanks to Severus's quick thinking.
Aradia Zabini has left, taking Mr. Zabini and Harry with her to her home in Italy. They will return for the Leaving Feast. Albus felt uneasy about Harry departing in her company, but Harry won't thank him for interfering, and Albus has no legal right in any case.
Less than no right, after what happened to him at the hands of his relatives.
Albus shakes his head, banishing the thoughts. He cannot afford to get distracted. It took all his alchemical skill to create the lump on the end of the chain, a piece of lead frozen in the middle of its transformation to gold, and not even Nicholas could easily recreate this if it goes wrong.
With the sound of Tom's raging hisses in his ears, Albus closes his eyes and gestures forwards with one hand.
The air in front of him blurs and twists. A shot of white light fills the infirmary, and Tom cries out in pain.
Albus opens his eyes to see that the lump has landed truly, and has focused its transformation on Tom. Albus holds his breath. This is Quirinus's chance to be free of the possessing spirit, but even more than that, it is Tom's chance to change into—
The white light fades. A shower of molten gold cascades down the side of the infirmary bed, and only a quick motion of Albus's wand and a protective shield keeps young Quirinus from being injured.
Tom twists free of Quirinus's head in a writhing black mass.
Albus lifts his wand again, but it's too late. He hoped that the alchemical transformation would turn Tom from a wraith into a living being again, or at least trap him, but that shower of gold indicates it transformed the lead in Tom's place. Perhaps Tom is too far gone to be brought back into a body like this.
Tom laughs at him, a sound that makes the floating, misty head unhinge its jaw like a snake swallowing a tasty morsel. "If you knew what you look like, Albus…"
The sound of his name in Parseltongue brings back a jolt of unpleasant memories. Albus first learned the language side-by-side with Gellert, who wanted to be sure no secrets would ever escape him, long ago.
By the time that Albus thinks of trying something else with alchemy or a ward or soul magic, Tom has flowed through the walls and is gone.
Albus sighs and turns to look back down at Quirinus. At least he is breathing normally and his cheeks have returned to a less hectic pink color. He stands every chance of recovering from the possession.
And next time, Albus will be vigilant enough that Tom cannot sneak past him.
"Will you tell me what truly happened?"
Harry looks up warily as Aradia steps into the sunlit drawing room and shuts the door behind her. He's been playing and chatting with Artemis for most of the afternoon, regretting a little that he and Blaise will have to return to Hogwarts for the Leaving Feast. But they'll be coming right back here soon enough.
"I thought we already told you, Mrs. Zabini."
"Do call me Aradia, dear, as I've asked. And I want to hear it from you."
Harry hesitates, then nods. He supposes Aradia might think Harry has remembered some detail or other that's important and he didn't think of at first. He turns to face Aradia while Artemis winds up Harry's arm and heads for his shoulder.
Aradia follows Artemis with her eyes, but then looks back at Harry, her expression kind and patient. "You truly have nothing to fear from me, Harry."
"I know, but you look really strict."
A small smile tugs at Aradia's mouth. "And did you think so when you first spoke to me in Diagon Alley?"
"No. I mean, you look strict right now. Like you want to hurt someone for what happened to me and Blaise."
"I do want to hurt someone. Does that frighten you, Harry?"
Harry thinks about it for a bit. Aradia waits. Harry finally shakes his head and says, "Not unless you were going to hurt me or Blaise or Artemis. Or Neville," he adds, after thinking about it. He doesn't really think Aradia would, but she might blame Neville for him and Blaise being in the trap corridor in the first place.
"I never hurt children," Aradia says softly. "No matter what they have done. No matter how much I dislike their parents."
"Okay."
Aradia pauses again, one hand floating above the arm of her chair. "You still do not trust me."
"I trust you as much as I can," Harry says. "You gave me a place to stay for the summer and you're really kind to me and you don't get upset with me that much. But I don't—I mean, it's not like you're my mum."
"What would you say I am to you, Mr. Potter?"
Harry draws himself in and then sits back and up. Even if Mrs. Zabini turns against him for some reason, he's pretty sure Blaise will let him stay.
"My friend's mum," he says. "And the one who teaches me about power."
Then he has to sit there in silence and watch her and wait for her to say something, and his heart pounds harder and his hands sweat harder the longer he waits. He ignores the way Artemis keeps nudging at him. She wants to comfort him, but there's nothing she can do about Mrs. Zabini possibly throwing him out of her house.
How did this go wrong so quickly?
Aradia studies Harry from beneath lowered eyelashes. Harry looks nervous and hunches over, but he still meets her eyes and doesn't retreat. His snake is winding around his fingers, giving light hiss after light hiss of agitation.
Perhaps it is a miracle that we have not had this collision of expectations before, given his experience of the Muggles who raised him.
"I will not throw you out of the house," Aradia says, as clearly and patiently as she can. "I will not punish you for speaking your mind. I am honored to be the one teaching you about power. I hope that someday you will come to consider me in the light of a mother, but I can understand why you don't right now."
Harry gapes at her. Aradia fights back the burst of bitterness that says he's following the same path as so many others have, seeing the rumors swirling about her as a reason she does not deserve the consideration given to all human beings. This isn't what's happening between them now, or else she has badly misjudged Harry.
"Oh," Harry whispers at last. "Okay. Thank you."
"Why did you distrust me so suddenly?"
Harry looks up at her from beneath his fringe. "It's not suddenly. It's just—you're awesome and powerful and I always knew you would do the best for Blaise. And I'm grateful that you're giving me a place to stay for the summer and a place for Christmas."
"But."
"That's not the same as being my mum," Harry whispers. "You didn't even say anything to me about being your foster son before you told Dumbledore about it. So why would you care what I think?"
Aradia blinks. That is—not what she expected, either. But given his Parseltongue and his ability to bring creatures to life, perhaps she should give up expectations of Harry and attempt to work with what is in front of her.
"I thought it was implied," she says gently. "Do you think I often shelter boys who are not related to me under my roof?"
"I think Blaise doesn't have many friends, so maybe you never had the chance before."
Harry is biting his lip as if furious with himself, but he also doesn't look away from her. Aradia laughs quietly.
"I do consider you my foster son, Harry. I consider you Blaise's best friend. I consider you someone I am grateful to, and wish to teach and protect, and wish to come to love. Is there something in that list that you find objectionable?"
"Only that—what happens if Blaise and I stop being friends? Or if you think I should owe you a debt?"
Aradia shakes her head. She does not yet know how to speak to Harry about the unlikelihood of Blaise ever letting his friendship with Harry go. She does not want to frighten him, but she sees the same possessive tendencies in Blaise that she does in herself. Harry would have to insult and attack Blaise to get him to drop the friendship, and then move to another continent to escape his vengeance.
"That will not happen," she says, and Harry is still young enough to relax and accept her words on the surface, if not much more than that.
"Okay."
Aradia smiles at him and leans back in her chair. "Will you tell me what happened with Quirrell one more time?"
She has heard from Dumbledore, perhaps because he thought the boys would like to know, that Quirinus Quirrell will live and go back to teaching Muggle Studies. She needs to decide how much vengeance to extort from him and how much from Voldemort.
And how much, if any, from Severus Snape and the Headmaster.
Blaise is very quiet, and he knows it, and he knows that Harry keeps shooting him concerned glances as they sit together in the train compartment on the Hogwarts Express. But until just a few minutes ago, Longbottom was sitting with them. Blaise can't tell the truth in front of him.
Then he turns to Harry and says quietly, "How long until someone tries to kill you to stop you from being friends with Longbottom?"
Harry blinks and stares at him as if he has never considered that Blaise might have an opinion about that. Then he says, "No one tried to kill me because I was friends with Neville. It happened because Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort and Neville is the Boy-Who-Lived."
"It's dangerous to be friends with him—"
"I'm not going to stop."
Blaise catches his breath, and stops himself. Harry's eyes are furiously glittering, and he's leaning forwards in the seat as though he's about to launch himself at Blaise. Artemis is on his shoulder, hissing, and for the first time, Blaise thinks she's hissing at him.
"The Dursleys tried to control who I was friends with," Harry whispers. "Snape tried. Ravenclaws tried. Neville's talked to me sometimes about how much he doesn't like me being friends with you. I won't let you control it, Blaise."
Blaise eases back with a long exhale. He supposes he should have known that. Harry is sensitive about his friends, given that he had no chance to have any when he lived with the Muggles.
"All right," he says. "All right. But it's still dangerous."
"That's why we're going to practice those Dark Arts spells over the summer, right?"
"You know it'll take you longer to get them than it will me."
Harry flashes him a smile as sharp as Longbottom's lightning bolt scar and touches Artemis. Ignis stirs in Blaise's pocket. He didn't want to let the little dragon come out in front of Longbottom.
"And you'll never be able to create living beings like I do," Harry says calmly. "I don't think that matters. I think we'll compensate for each other pretty well."
And put like that…
Blaise has to smile, and Harry has to smile back.