Snape
He had to move carefully.
Snape walked the halls of Hogwarts like a man made of stone expression unreadable, robes billowing in his wake. The students avoided his gaze. The Carrows watched him with nervous suspicion, but they knew better than to question him outright. No one saw the storm brewing beneath the surface.
In his private quarters, he removed the protective enchantments with practiced precision and unrolled a blank parchment. Not for writing but for communication.
"Tempus vocare."
The ink swirled across the page, slow and deliberate, until a faint message appeared.
Status?
Snape stared at the word. For a moment, he hesitated. Every message he sent risked exposure. But Harry Potter Lily's son was being tortured while he waited.
He dipped his quill and wrote:
Potter is alive. In Bellatrix's custody. I will move soon. Stand by.
The ink shimmered, then vanished.
It had begun.
Harry
He woke with a start, unsure if he'd passed out from exhaustion or pain. His throat ached, his lips were cracked, and his skin felt too tight, too raw.
Bellatrix hadn't come back yet.
That should have been a relief. But the waiting was its own form of torment. It left too much room to think.
He could feel the tremor in his limbs. Hunger, pain, blood loss he didn't know which was worse anymore.
Think, he told himself. Focus.
He replayed Snape's arrival over and over. Not just the promise but the fact that he had come. It meant the Order didn't think he was dead. It meant someone was watching.
And that meant he had to survive long enough to make the rescue worth it.
His eyes drifted shut again, but he kept hold of that thought, like a wand gripped tight even when the magic was gone.
Snape
Later that night, he slipped into the Forbidden Forest under a Disillusionment Charm, every step quiet, calculated. A shadow among shadows.
Waiting for him, crouched low beneath a thick pine, was the contact he'd summoned.
Kingsley Shacklebolt.
The Auror's eyes widened when he saw Snape. "You look like hell."
"You should see Potter."
Snape handed him a map hand-drawn, complete with notes on wards, patrols, weak points.
"This is Malfoy Manor's lower dungeons. He's kept in the northern wing. She visits daily. At random."
Kingsley stared at him. "Why are you doing this?"
Snape's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because no one else can."
Harry
When Bellatrix did return, her steps were light, almost cheerful. That was worse than the fury.
She crouched in front of him, a knife in one hand, and something shiny in the other his glasses. Bent. Blood-smeared.
She dangled them in front of him.
"Poor little hero," she murmured. "What will you do without these? You'll be blind when they come for you. If they come."
Harry kept his expression neutral, but inside, the fire flared again.
They will.
And when they did, he would remember every moment.