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FIC: Broken (Harry Potter, Harry&Snape, PG-13)
SUMMARY: The war continues. Sequel to And One Who Will Never Return; will make little to no sense without it.
WARNING: Some dark content.
It's been a glorious day. For the first time since Voldemort came back I actually feel really, truly happy. We've made our first breakthrough, captured a knot of Death Eaters, and handed them over for trial, (Dumbledore said we're going to do the thing properly this time). The Ministry has had its hands full, between devising new ways of restraining dark wizards that don't involve Dementors, cleaning up the fire marks, blood and churned up earth in the wood, and finding plausible explanations for the showers of sparks and petals and the music that came from nowhere which marked the victory celebrations. I saw Percy bustling about, complaining that he had far too much to do, and sounding incredibly cheerful about it.
To make things even better, I was there at the actual fight. Dumbledore eventually overruled McGonnagal's protestations that I was too young to be actively involved in the battle, arguing that they needed everyone they could get, and the best thing to do was to make sure I was as prepared as possible. So I've been training with various people, especially Professor Lupin, learning more about jinxes and curses, how to use them, how to fight them. McGonnagal's been giving lectures on strategy - attendance was optional, but I wanted to show willing, even if most of it did go right over my head. And Sirius has been teaching me how to fight hand to hand as well as wand to wand, even if my opponent's armed. Those are the best lessons of all; I'm beginning to really enjoy that rush of adrenaline that comes from facing off against someone, knowing how to hit, how to block, how to take care of myself. It's the same rush I used to get on the Quidditch field, but I haven't been allowed to play for months. I thought that they would never actually let me go, but eventually Dumbledore decided I was ready. And the very first time I was allowed out into the field turned out to be our first big success.
We'd got wind of the location of a Death Eaters' meeting, and we set a clearing up in advance. McGonnagal and Dumbledore were in charge, with a Ministry representative whose name I didn't catch, an Auror called Peterson, Oliver Wood, and me. First we scattered charms around the area, to shoo them towards the place we'd chosen. At one point, I got caught in somebody's Danger-to-the-Right, and spent five minutes in frozen panic before managing to shake it off. After that, Dumbledore insisted the wards were made weaker; anything that powerful would give away our presence. Then we rigged the clearing itself, with catseye stones that would let us see what was going on from a distance, and other charms that would amplify our magic and dampen theirs. It was very intricate stuff, but following what the others did and concentrating hard, I managed to do two in the time they did four. Walking back through the trees, I couldn't tell if the unease that was making my hands shake and my stomach turn over was the result of the charms scattered everywhere, or my own nerves.
We set up camp in another clearing a little distance away. McGonnagal produced a shimmering bundle of silver and laid it out on the ground, where it promptly smoothed itself out and became a large mirror. I'd heard of these before, though not seen them; they could be used for magic like fire, water or real mirrors, to communicate over distances. Combined with the charms we had laid already, it would allow us to cast spells on the Death Eaters without ever going near them. McGonnagal caught me watching and smiled.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" she said. (The others mostly called me Harry now, but she never did. I was rather relieved; it would be very strange to be on first name terms with her.) "Can you tell me what this is called?"
"A Reflectoris, Professor. Or sometimes just a Mirror Rug."
"Very good." She favoured me with a small smile. At that point, talk was cut off by the arrival of the first Death Eaters in the clearing.
They came nervously, glancing over their shoulders in fear of something they couldn't quite name. I was amused to see one of them fall foul of my Invisible Thorns charm, and blunder in to join his fellows still sucking his fingers. When they were all assembled, Dumbledore and McGonnagal Transfigured the trees.
It was incredible. While the Death Eaters talked, the trees, ever so slowly, drew in around them. They meshed their branches together, and stretched over the top, until they formed a kind of living cage. As the rustling, leafy shadows fell over them and blocked out the moonlight, the Death Eaters realised something was wrong, and began to panic. But they couldn't get out. One of them tried to Disapperate, and was blasted end over end for his trouble - we'd be especially careful with the dampening spells against that. I was still grinning when Wood swore under his breath. When I looked up at him, he pointed to the far side of the clearing; one of the idiots had set the trees on fire, and it was spreading rapidly. More worried for them than for ourselves, we split up; McGonnagal, Peterson and Wood stayed with the Reflectoris, to start to contain the Death Eaters, while the Ministry guy, Dumbledore and I went down to try and deal with the flames.
It was a tough fight. The fire was blisteringly hot, climbing up through the trees and along the branches like a living thing. Dumbledore cast protection spells to shield us from the heat (the most complex magic), while the Ministry guy put out the fire and I worked to keep it from spreading. We had it under control within ten minutes or so, but whilst we were trying to put the last patch out, one of the Death Eaters slipped away through a still-smouldering gap. McGonnagal told us later they'd needed to keep some of them free so that they could stay out of the way of the flames. Before Dumbledore could warn me not to, I took off after him. I needn't have bothered. As soon as he recognised who I was, he doubled back to come after me, brandishing one of those black daggers they seem so fond of. Sirius had taught me enough that I knew not to mess with a guy twice my weight with a weapon in his hand. I turned and ran; not my fastest, just fast enough that he would keep following me without being able to catch me. I made sure to stay within range of Dumbledore, knowing he'd help as soon as he could; fortunately the guy chasing me had left his wand behind, so all I had to concentrate on was running. I didn't fancy taking him on with magic; Death Eaters often wore charms to counter spells used against them, as we'd learned to our cost.
Suddenly, I felt a burning pain in my shoulder; the bastard had thrown his knife. I didn't dare stop to take it out, but it was slowing me down dangerously. I bit my lip, trying to keep from passing out, and took a sharp turn to the right. He dived after me, as I thought he would, and landed right in the middle of the Don't-Go-In-Here ward that I'd placed there hours ago. Thank God I'd recognised the place. He froze in panic, just as I had earlier that day, and I had time to yank the knife out of my shoulder. Fortunately, it hadn't gone too deep. As I pressed my hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, I saw fine golden threads settle over the black-robed man like cobwebs; Dumbledore had got there, finally.
The only casualties one our side were me with my shoulder, and Peterson with a burned wrist, where a branch had fallen on it as he was moving the Death Eaters from the clearing. Most of them had minor burns, but none had been killed, which was a relief; we didn't want our first real victory spoiled by blood on our hands. Madame Pomfrey let me out of the hospital wing in time to go to the celebrations, which went on late into the night, and I actually really enjoyed myself - eating, drinking, watching Ron and Hermione flirt and regaling them with the better bits of the story. It was a relief to be able to tell them about it; so much of what I do these days is top secret. We seem to be drifting apart because I'm just not allowed to talk to them about anything.
And now, as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying scenes from the day over and over again in my mind, I realise something: today was the first day since he went that I've had a good time and not thought about him. (Somewhere along the line, he became him in my mind. At first it was because thinking his name hurt. Now it just... suits him.) It's a sad thought, in a way; like I'm letting him disappear. But he went - died (do it properly, Harry) - nearly six months ago. Maybe it's time I stopped letting him haunt me, thinking of him every single day. I do remember him. I do... miss him (now there's a strange thought in itself). But maybe it's time to let him go.
**********
I think I'm dying. I don't know how I feel about that. Part of me thinks it would be a relief; that even if there's a Hell, it can't be much worse than this. But part of me, a tough, stubborn, and probably stupid part, clings to life and refuses to let go. But I think I may be dying just the same.
Time has had no meaning since I came here, but I used to be able to keep track, a least a little, by when they fed me. Now I just sit here and drift through the blackness, surrounded by my own stink and the fear and pain that seems to press into me from the outside. Sometimes the food is there, sometimes it isn't; it doesn't really seem to matter. I dream, but they're twisting, suffocating dreams that don't offer any kind of escape. When the things are nearby, and maybe when they aren't as well, memories crash over me, but they're no escape either; most of them hurt so much I actually wish to be back in this miserable hellhole. Sometimes I can't even tell whether my eyes are opened or closed, whether what I feel is a memory or a dream, whether the darkness around me is real or imagined.
Now and then, he is there - my solace. (I seldom remember his name now, so he has become just him.) All the other memories make me want to curl up, crawl away, hide deep inside myself so that they can't reach me; this one just makes me want to cry. I haven't the energy to waste on tears, so instead I savour the moment, as well as I can. Always the same few seconds - me turning back towards him, him holding out his hand, waiting, his face troubled, his eyes alight with - something - and then I turn away again, and the image fades. Maybe it's only my lack of memory, my long imprisonment here, that makes him look like the most beautiful thing on the earth... but I don't think so. There's something about him, his young face, his extraordinary eyes, the contrast of his dark hair and his pale skin... I could watch him for hours, no matter how much it hurts. As it is, the image is often snatched away by another rush of pain or tiredness, and I am left alone here, wishing I could have grasped that outstretched hand....
**********
I savour the air whipping around me as I guide my broomstick forward; it's been too long since I last flew. And I'm finally doing something important, something that really counts. I grin recklessly as I dive down and land. With my Invisibility Cloak on and my broom protected by a Concealment charm, I make my way towards the dark, imposing building looming above me.
I knew when Dumbledore called me to his office, it had to be for something serious. He's so busy these days, nobody gets even five minutes of his time unless it's really, really important. Puzzling over what it could be, I knocked and went in. He looked up at me; his face was tired and worried.
"Ah, Harry." He nodded; the door closed and locked itself behind me. "Do sit down." I did, trying not to be unnerved. He looked at me for a long moment; then he spoke.
"The Death Eaters we captured finally began to talk." I nodded; it had been a week since our victory in the woods, and I had been expecting there would be information from them sooner or later. "They have given away the location of one of their headquarters - the one they reported to. Naturally, considering their low rank, it will not be that of Voldemort or any of his chief associates. Nevertheless, it is something. Unfortunately, as one might expect, it is a very well-protected place, both physically and magically. Swarming with Death Eaters, full of dampening spells to prevent any form of spying. Our informants have given us the key to the magic which prevents entry to the building. The Ministry wishes someone to go in and spy. Someone light-footed and quiet. Someone proven to be able to handle themselves in a tight situation. Someone," he gave me a tight smile, "who doesn't need magic to become invisible. They suggested you."
I was about to say something, but Dumbledore held up his hand to cut me off.
"My dear boy, please don't agree until you have thought it over. Your teachers, myself included, recommended against this. Not because we doubt your capability, but because we don't wish to risk one so young and promising. We both know how dangerous it is to go into the lap of the enemy." Our eyes met. His name hovered in the air between us, but neither of us spoke it. "On the other hand, you have the Cloak, and a proven knack for sneaking around where you aren't supposed to be." He gave me a real smile this time. "As I say, it isn't your ability we doubt. The Ministry eventually gave us the choice of sending you, or taking the Cloak from you and sending someone else they chose with it. I felt the decision ought to be yours."
I felt my throat tighten at that last - give away the Cloak? It's the only thing I have of my father's. So as not to alarm him, I pretended to be sobered by the risk, and didn't agree at once, but really I knew what I would do from the start. Not that I didn't know the danger, but as far as I was concerned I'd made this choice a long while ago, and was just glad to be given the chance to act on it at last. When I did say I would go, he simply sighed, nodded his head, and said he hadn't expected anything else. Two weeks of extra training later, I set off.
Now, I carefully think over my instructions as I work the magic to let me inside the building. Be careful. Shadow the Death Eaters. See what they do. Attend any meetings if possible. Learn as much as I could, get out before I was in danger. Use my ring to communicate. If anything went wrong, get out, and get to the safe house twenty miles from here (I had the route memorised so well I could fly it in my sleep.) They would be there in five days to pick me up, and if I wasn't there they would assume the worst. Above all, I must not get caught.
With a grinding of stone, the wall before me opens up to reveal a long flight of stairs heading down. The keyspell seems to be rather like the one in Diagon Alley. Steeling myself, I start the descent. When I reach the fourth stair, the wall closes up behind me, plunging me into darkness. I have a sudden, sick feeling in my stomach - what if the Death Eaters tricked us? What if I'm trapped here, with no way out? Quickly, I grope my way back up the stairs and do the charm to let me out. I feel at great surge of relief as the door grinds open again. I peer as far ahead as I can - the stairs all seem solid enough. A few deep breaths later, I set off again, nerving myself to meet the darkness.
It feels as if I've been climbing down forever, testing each step to make sure that it's real, bracing each hand on a wall. I don't dare conjure a light, but this blackness is horrible, pressing around, dragging me downwards, a weight on my chest to stop me breathing properly. I wonder if this is my imagination, or whether this crippling fear is part of the magic woven into the building. But there seems to be light ahead; a dull, grey sort of light, but light just the same. It shows me, pretty plainly, a gap of five or six stones ahead of me. I look down; probably a mistake, now I come to think of it..... I can't see the bottom. Come on, Harry. You've dived a hundred feet on a broom. Surely you can make this jump. It's not far. Not at all. Oh God. A deep breath, I steel myself, and - there. Made it. Now I'm quite close to the end. Cautiously, I take the last few steps down, relieved to be able to see the stone beneath my feet. Looking back, I see the gap in the stones shift a couple of steps. Worth remembering for my way back up. I guess Voldermort likes his followers kept on their toes. The corridor I've found myself on is long and dimly lit, extending away as far as I can see in each direction. I head right, figuring it's as good a direction as any. The walls are lined with heavy wooden doors, a small grille in the centre of each. I look through one of these, but all that's behind it is a small, bare stone room. Shaking my head, I carry on moving.
"No, no! Stop it, keep that thing away from me!"
I freeze. The voice is coming from behind one of those doors. I know the Ministry told me not to get involved, but surely....
"Argh!" A sob has entered the voice now. "Please no, please don't, please... not again, not my hands...."
That decides me. I peer through the grille, wanting to see what kind of odds I'm dealing with. But there seems to be no-one there... no, there is someone. A man, by the looks of it, hunched up in the corner, hiding his hands behind his knees. His sleeves have fallen back, and his arms are painfully thin. Black hair, laced with grey, hangs lank across his face. Quietly as I can, I test the door for locking spells. There is one, but it's fairly simple; I disable it, and open the door, shutting it again behind me. He doesn't even look up. Nobody could see into this room unless they stood right up to the grille. Even then, I might have a minute before they saw me. Deciding to hell with caution, I drop the Cloak, and step forward towards him.
**********
I'm having the vision again. He's standing in front of me, looking worried, even a little scared, saying something I can't quite hear, hand stretched towards me. But this time, it is different. This time, I can do what I've wanted to do for so long, and reach out to take the hand that's offered, only I find that my hands are misshapen again, and I cannot grasp it. Strange, very strange. He has my hand between both of his and is examining it, muttering obscenities under his breath about the monsters who could do this to a fellow-creature. Slowly, it starts to dawn on me that this is unlike any other memory flashback I have had here, however vivid they sometimes seem. Curiouser and curiouser... some small part of me wonders where I found such an absurd phrase as I shake my hair out of my eyes and look at his face more closely. As his eyes meet mine, something sparks in them. And then, very slowly, his face crumbles.
I suddenly find myself seized in a rough, desperate embrace, and hear his voice cracking as he repeats over and over, "You're alive... Oh God, you're alive... you're alive...."
"You seem almost sorry to see it," I say, marvelling at the steadiness in my own voice, though it is weak from under-use, and wondering if this is all some sort of dream, or a vision caused by oncoming madness. He draws back from me, though my shoulders are still clasped in his hands, and I see heart-rending sorrow in his face.
"You're alive... and we left you here. For all this time... and they've...." And as he begins to cry, I suddenly realise it - this is all real.
**********
I hate myself for crying, especially in front of him, but I can't help it. And from the look that's suddenly stolen over his face, he's pretty close to tears himself. Oh God, we thought he was dead, mourned him, got over him, and all this time he was here and... Oh God. Oh God, his hands. What else have these twisted bastards done to him? Six months. Six months, and they've had him here, without a wand, without any hope of rescue... helpless. Fuck the spying, I have to get him out of here, now.
Trying to regain some composure, and to convince myself of his reality enough to release him, I manage, "Professor Snape?"
"Snape? Yes, yes, that is my name...." He seems to be talking more to himself than to me. "And you are..." his eyes cloud for a minute, "Harry."
Oh God, this is worse than I thought... but he isn't mad. There's something in his expression when he looks at me that I don't quite recognise, but plenty that I do. That old intelligence is still there, and judging by his earlier comment, he's retained his sharp tongue too. It's just his memory, it must be... hardly surprising, six months in here would be enough to give anyone blanks in the brain. Nothing else is wrong with his mind. I have to believe that; anything else would be too painful.
"Professor Snape... sir...." it's so hard to know what to call him, he's always been 'Professor' or 'Snape', even in council, but this hardly seems like a student/teacher situation, "Sir, do you think you can walk? We need to get you out of here...."
He nods, almost dazedly, and, pulling him up by his wrists (Oh God, his hands...), I manage to get him to his feet. With an arm under his shoulders, supporting him (he's so thin now, dear God, have they even fed him?), and throwing the Invisibility Cloak over us with my free hand, arranging it as best I can so that we're both covered, I set off back down the corridor.
The semi-darkness in here bothers me more than it did before. I keep thinking that any second now something will leap out at us from it. I think I have a good chance of escaping if it does, but I'm not at all sure I could take him with me. And I'm not going to lose him again now I've found him. Now that I can feel his arm slung across me, hear his breath right next to my ear. There's no way I'll give him up without a fight twice.
A sudden, sick feeling of terror washes over me. From the way he gasps, and his hand tightens on my shoulder, he's felt it too. I should have realised that sense of foreboding wasn't quite normal, but it's been years since I last felt the approach of a Dementor. Trying very hard to breathe slowly, and to use the mind control exercises Remus has been teaching me to stay calm, I shrink up against the wall. I risk a glance back at him; his eyes stare blankly ahead of him, his face twisting in agony. I wonder how many more bad memories he's gained since we lost him...... it doesn't bear thinking about too hard. I can see the Dementors now, drawing slowly nearer - two of them. And they can sense him. No wonder. I can all but feel the pain radiating off him myself. The Cloak makes no difference to Dementors; we might as well be lit up in neon. Quickly, I scrabble for my wand, gather up all my relief at finding him again, my pride to be picked for this mission, my happiness from the victory the other day, and
"Expecto Patronem!"
My Patronus appears in a blinding flash of light, and charges down on them. One is knocked flying; the other manages to run. I take a second to congratulate myself - that had to be one of the strongest I've ever done. I think Remus was wrong about these things. The best way to conjure them isn't happiness, it's sheer, brutal necessity. Suddenly able to breathe again without the weight of terror pressing around me, I step into the middle of the corridor and set off again as fast as possible before
"Stop! Who's there?"
-before that happens. Shit. The Death Eater's a few paces in front of us, peering around. He must have heard me. Damn it. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, slowly. They often do that, I've found. Trying to project that same air of menace that Voldemort himself does so easily. His face is twisted, cunning, the half-light in the passage turning his eyes into sunken hollows. I don't recognise him, which I suppose is a relief. I glance back at Snape again; his eyes are fixed on the man, and blazing. I don't recognise him, but I think I know someone who does.
I try to inch forward, slowly as possible, thinking if we can get past him, we have a chance to run for it..... although I don't know if Snape can run. Another step and I'll be close enough to touch him. Suddenly, he freezes. Instinctively, we do the same. He's produced his wand. Shit shit shit.
"Viso te!"
The spell's supposed to reveal anything invisible. It doesn't exactly work - it washes around the Cloak in a golden cloud and off. He can't see us. But he's been given a pretty good target. Nothing for it. We run.
I manage not to brush him in going past, but he must hear our footsteps. Snape's rasping breath and my own heartbeat sound in my ears, deafening. But it's only another couple of feet to the end of the corridor, and he doesn't know exactly where to aim for. Surely we have a shot.
"Fracto!"
For a second, I don't realise what he's done. I can only feel pain streak across my cheek, and my left hand shudder, and hear a sound that I can't quite place. A sound like..... shattering glass. And then I realise that the reason I can hear so clearly is that I can't see anymore. Everything around is a vague blur of greyish light. The spell breaks glass, crystal, things that might be used for spells. I freeze, but Snape still has his arm around me and drags me forward, and then, sharply, to my left and up.
"Stop!" I hiss. "There's a jump somewhere ahead of us and I can't see a damn thing!" I'm trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but it's not really working. I can hear the Death Eater's footsteps getting closer, slowly, deliberately. Thank God for the way they try to menace you. At least it's given us a couple of seconds. Suddenly, I feel Snape's palms pressed to either side of my face, and hear him muttering something.
"Touch your wand to your forehead and say 'conferro'," he whispers. I do as he says. And I can see. My eyes feel sore, and the light hurts them, but I can see. Not stopping to ask what he's done, I start back up the stairs. The hole seems to have shrunk to a couple of steps - I make it first, leaving him under the Cloak, and he follows. I glance back - our friend the Death Eater at the foot of the stairs now, blocked by the six stair gap that's suddenly opened in front of him. Liking the irony, or whatever the hell it is, I pull the Cloak tighter around us both and race for the head of the stairs. The opening spell still works, much to my relief, and then... we're out. Not wanting to hang around to celebrate, I call my Firebolt. It comes racing to me from behind the hill. After a little manoevering, I get Snape mounted and sit behind him, my hands wrapped around to hold him in place and guide the broom. I kick off, mentally giving thanks that I know the route back so well, as it's a little hard to steer from this position. A glance at my hand reveals what I'd thought before. The crystal on my communication ring was shattered by the spell, so I suppose our only option is to sit tight in the safe house for a few days and wait for them to pick us up.
"By the way," I say. "What did you do to my eyes?"
"The spell lets you share my vision," he replies, his voice still weak and strained. "You see the way I see."
I mutter something between 'I see' and 'thank you', and we fly on. Interesting. I always wondered what it would be like to see through his eyes.
Notes from 2009
The version of this story that's in my head is three times as long as this, four times as angsty and about a million times as porny; I originally posted this as the first chapter of three. However, as I've no idea when or if I'm going to finish writing those additional two chapters, I'm posting this as a standalone and a 'fixit' for the previous fic.
WARNING: Some dark content.
It's been a glorious day. For the first time since Voldemort came back I actually feel really, truly happy. We've made our first breakthrough, captured a knot of Death Eaters, and handed them over for trial, (Dumbledore said we're going to do the thing properly this time). The Ministry has had its hands full, between devising new ways of restraining dark wizards that don't involve Dementors, cleaning up the fire marks, blood and churned up earth in the wood, and finding plausible explanations for the showers of sparks and petals and the music that came from nowhere which marked the victory celebrations. I saw Percy bustling about, complaining that he had far too much to do, and sounding incredibly cheerful about it.
To make things even better, I was there at the actual fight. Dumbledore eventually overruled McGonnagal's protestations that I was too young to be actively involved in the battle, arguing that they needed everyone they could get, and the best thing to do was to make sure I was as prepared as possible. So I've been training with various people, especially Professor Lupin, learning more about jinxes and curses, how to use them, how to fight them. McGonnagal's been giving lectures on strategy - attendance was optional, but I wanted to show willing, even if most of it did go right over my head. And Sirius has been teaching me how to fight hand to hand as well as wand to wand, even if my opponent's armed. Those are the best lessons of all; I'm beginning to really enjoy that rush of adrenaline that comes from facing off against someone, knowing how to hit, how to block, how to take care of myself. It's the same rush I used to get on the Quidditch field, but I haven't been allowed to play for months. I thought that they would never actually let me go, but eventually Dumbledore decided I was ready. And the very first time I was allowed out into the field turned out to be our first big success.
We'd got wind of the location of a Death Eaters' meeting, and we set a clearing up in advance. McGonnagal and Dumbledore were in charge, with a Ministry representative whose name I didn't catch, an Auror called Peterson, Oliver Wood, and me. First we scattered charms around the area, to shoo them towards the place we'd chosen. At one point, I got caught in somebody's Danger-to-the-Right, and spent five minutes in frozen panic before managing to shake it off. After that, Dumbledore insisted the wards were made weaker; anything that powerful would give away our presence. Then we rigged the clearing itself, with catseye stones that would let us see what was going on from a distance, and other charms that would amplify our magic and dampen theirs. It was very intricate stuff, but following what the others did and concentrating hard, I managed to do two in the time they did four. Walking back through the trees, I couldn't tell if the unease that was making my hands shake and my stomach turn over was the result of the charms scattered everywhere, or my own nerves.
We set up camp in another clearing a little distance away. McGonnagal produced a shimmering bundle of silver and laid it out on the ground, where it promptly smoothed itself out and became a large mirror. I'd heard of these before, though not seen them; they could be used for magic like fire, water or real mirrors, to communicate over distances. Combined with the charms we had laid already, it would allow us to cast spells on the Death Eaters without ever going near them. McGonnagal caught me watching and smiled.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" she said. (The others mostly called me Harry now, but she never did. I was rather relieved; it would be very strange to be on first name terms with her.) "Can you tell me what this is called?"
"A Reflectoris, Professor. Or sometimes just a Mirror Rug."
"Very good." She favoured me with a small smile. At that point, talk was cut off by the arrival of the first Death Eaters in the clearing.
They came nervously, glancing over their shoulders in fear of something they couldn't quite name. I was amused to see one of them fall foul of my Invisible Thorns charm, and blunder in to join his fellows still sucking his fingers. When they were all assembled, Dumbledore and McGonnagal Transfigured the trees.
It was incredible. While the Death Eaters talked, the trees, ever so slowly, drew in around them. They meshed their branches together, and stretched over the top, until they formed a kind of living cage. As the rustling, leafy shadows fell over them and blocked out the moonlight, the Death Eaters realised something was wrong, and began to panic. But they couldn't get out. One of them tried to Disapperate, and was blasted end over end for his trouble - we'd be especially careful with the dampening spells against that. I was still grinning when Wood swore under his breath. When I looked up at him, he pointed to the far side of the clearing; one of the idiots had set the trees on fire, and it was spreading rapidly. More worried for them than for ourselves, we split up; McGonnagal, Peterson and Wood stayed with the Reflectoris, to start to contain the Death Eaters, while the Ministry guy, Dumbledore and I went down to try and deal with the flames.
It was a tough fight. The fire was blisteringly hot, climbing up through the trees and along the branches like a living thing. Dumbledore cast protection spells to shield us from the heat (the most complex magic), while the Ministry guy put out the fire and I worked to keep it from spreading. We had it under control within ten minutes or so, but whilst we were trying to put the last patch out, one of the Death Eaters slipped away through a still-smouldering gap. McGonnagal told us later they'd needed to keep some of them free so that they could stay out of the way of the flames. Before Dumbledore could warn me not to, I took off after him. I needn't have bothered. As soon as he recognised who I was, he doubled back to come after me, brandishing one of those black daggers they seem so fond of. Sirius had taught me enough that I knew not to mess with a guy twice my weight with a weapon in his hand. I turned and ran; not my fastest, just fast enough that he would keep following me without being able to catch me. I made sure to stay within range of Dumbledore, knowing he'd help as soon as he could; fortunately the guy chasing me had left his wand behind, so all I had to concentrate on was running. I didn't fancy taking him on with magic; Death Eaters often wore charms to counter spells used against them, as we'd learned to our cost.
Suddenly, I felt a burning pain in my shoulder; the bastard had thrown his knife. I didn't dare stop to take it out, but it was slowing me down dangerously. I bit my lip, trying to keep from passing out, and took a sharp turn to the right. He dived after me, as I thought he would, and landed right in the middle of the Don't-Go-In-Here ward that I'd placed there hours ago. Thank God I'd recognised the place. He froze in panic, just as I had earlier that day, and I had time to yank the knife out of my shoulder. Fortunately, it hadn't gone too deep. As I pressed my hand to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, I saw fine golden threads settle over the black-robed man like cobwebs; Dumbledore had got there, finally.
The only casualties one our side were me with my shoulder, and Peterson with a burned wrist, where a branch had fallen on it as he was moving the Death Eaters from the clearing. Most of them had minor burns, but none had been killed, which was a relief; we didn't want our first real victory spoiled by blood on our hands. Madame Pomfrey let me out of the hospital wing in time to go to the celebrations, which went on late into the night, and I actually really enjoyed myself - eating, drinking, watching Ron and Hermione flirt and regaling them with the better bits of the story. It was a relief to be able to tell them about it; so much of what I do these days is top secret. We seem to be drifting apart because I'm just not allowed to talk to them about anything.
And now, as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying scenes from the day over and over again in my mind, I realise something: today was the first day since he went that I've had a good time and not thought about him. (Somewhere along the line, he became him in my mind. At first it was because thinking his name hurt. Now it just... suits him.) It's a sad thought, in a way; like I'm letting him disappear. But he went - died (do it properly, Harry) - nearly six months ago. Maybe it's time I stopped letting him haunt me, thinking of him every single day. I do remember him. I do... miss him (now there's a strange thought in itself). But maybe it's time to let him go.
**********
I think I'm dying. I don't know how I feel about that. Part of me thinks it would be a relief; that even if there's a Hell, it can't be much worse than this. But part of me, a tough, stubborn, and probably stupid part, clings to life and refuses to let go. But I think I may be dying just the same.
Time has had no meaning since I came here, but I used to be able to keep track, a least a little, by when they fed me. Now I just sit here and drift through the blackness, surrounded by my own stink and the fear and pain that seems to press into me from the outside. Sometimes the food is there, sometimes it isn't; it doesn't really seem to matter. I dream, but they're twisting, suffocating dreams that don't offer any kind of escape. When the things are nearby, and maybe when they aren't as well, memories crash over me, but they're no escape either; most of them hurt so much I actually wish to be back in this miserable hellhole. Sometimes I can't even tell whether my eyes are opened or closed, whether what I feel is a memory or a dream, whether the darkness around me is real or imagined.
Now and then, he is there - my solace. (I seldom remember his name now, so he has become just him.) All the other memories make me want to curl up, crawl away, hide deep inside myself so that they can't reach me; this one just makes me want to cry. I haven't the energy to waste on tears, so instead I savour the moment, as well as I can. Always the same few seconds - me turning back towards him, him holding out his hand, waiting, his face troubled, his eyes alight with - something - and then I turn away again, and the image fades. Maybe it's only my lack of memory, my long imprisonment here, that makes him look like the most beautiful thing on the earth... but I don't think so. There's something about him, his young face, his extraordinary eyes, the contrast of his dark hair and his pale skin... I could watch him for hours, no matter how much it hurts. As it is, the image is often snatched away by another rush of pain or tiredness, and I am left alone here, wishing I could have grasped that outstretched hand....
**********
I savour the air whipping around me as I guide my broomstick forward; it's been too long since I last flew. And I'm finally doing something important, something that really counts. I grin recklessly as I dive down and land. With my Invisibility Cloak on and my broom protected by a Concealment charm, I make my way towards the dark, imposing building looming above me.
I knew when Dumbledore called me to his office, it had to be for something serious. He's so busy these days, nobody gets even five minutes of his time unless it's really, really important. Puzzling over what it could be, I knocked and went in. He looked up at me; his face was tired and worried.
"Ah, Harry." He nodded; the door closed and locked itself behind me. "Do sit down." I did, trying not to be unnerved. He looked at me for a long moment; then he spoke.
"The Death Eaters we captured finally began to talk." I nodded; it had been a week since our victory in the woods, and I had been expecting there would be information from them sooner or later. "They have given away the location of one of their headquarters - the one they reported to. Naturally, considering their low rank, it will not be that of Voldemort or any of his chief associates. Nevertheless, it is something. Unfortunately, as one might expect, it is a very well-protected place, both physically and magically. Swarming with Death Eaters, full of dampening spells to prevent any form of spying. Our informants have given us the key to the magic which prevents entry to the building. The Ministry wishes someone to go in and spy. Someone light-footed and quiet. Someone proven to be able to handle themselves in a tight situation. Someone," he gave me a tight smile, "who doesn't need magic to become invisible. They suggested you."
I was about to say something, but Dumbledore held up his hand to cut me off.
"My dear boy, please don't agree until you have thought it over. Your teachers, myself included, recommended against this. Not because we doubt your capability, but because we don't wish to risk one so young and promising. We both know how dangerous it is to go into the lap of the enemy." Our eyes met. His name hovered in the air between us, but neither of us spoke it. "On the other hand, you have the Cloak, and a proven knack for sneaking around where you aren't supposed to be." He gave me a real smile this time. "As I say, it isn't your ability we doubt. The Ministry eventually gave us the choice of sending you, or taking the Cloak from you and sending someone else they chose with it. I felt the decision ought to be yours."
I felt my throat tighten at that last - give away the Cloak? It's the only thing I have of my father's. So as not to alarm him, I pretended to be sobered by the risk, and didn't agree at once, but really I knew what I would do from the start. Not that I didn't know the danger, but as far as I was concerned I'd made this choice a long while ago, and was just glad to be given the chance to act on it at last. When I did say I would go, he simply sighed, nodded his head, and said he hadn't expected anything else. Two weeks of extra training later, I set off.
Now, I carefully think over my instructions as I work the magic to let me inside the building. Be careful. Shadow the Death Eaters. See what they do. Attend any meetings if possible. Learn as much as I could, get out before I was in danger. Use my ring to communicate. If anything went wrong, get out, and get to the safe house twenty miles from here (I had the route memorised so well I could fly it in my sleep.) They would be there in five days to pick me up, and if I wasn't there they would assume the worst. Above all, I must not get caught.
With a grinding of stone, the wall before me opens up to reveal a long flight of stairs heading down. The keyspell seems to be rather like the one in Diagon Alley. Steeling myself, I start the descent. When I reach the fourth stair, the wall closes up behind me, plunging me into darkness. I have a sudden, sick feeling in my stomach - what if the Death Eaters tricked us? What if I'm trapped here, with no way out? Quickly, I grope my way back up the stairs and do the charm to let me out. I feel at great surge of relief as the door grinds open again. I peer as far ahead as I can - the stairs all seem solid enough. A few deep breaths later, I set off again, nerving myself to meet the darkness.
It feels as if I've been climbing down forever, testing each step to make sure that it's real, bracing each hand on a wall. I don't dare conjure a light, but this blackness is horrible, pressing around, dragging me downwards, a weight on my chest to stop me breathing properly. I wonder if this is my imagination, or whether this crippling fear is part of the magic woven into the building. But there seems to be light ahead; a dull, grey sort of light, but light just the same. It shows me, pretty plainly, a gap of five or six stones ahead of me. I look down; probably a mistake, now I come to think of it..... I can't see the bottom. Come on, Harry. You've dived a hundred feet on a broom. Surely you can make this jump. It's not far. Not at all. Oh God. A deep breath, I steel myself, and - there. Made it. Now I'm quite close to the end. Cautiously, I take the last few steps down, relieved to be able to see the stone beneath my feet. Looking back, I see the gap in the stones shift a couple of steps. Worth remembering for my way back up. I guess Voldermort likes his followers kept on their toes. The corridor I've found myself on is long and dimly lit, extending away as far as I can see in each direction. I head right, figuring it's as good a direction as any. The walls are lined with heavy wooden doors, a small grille in the centre of each. I look through one of these, but all that's behind it is a small, bare stone room. Shaking my head, I carry on moving.
"No, no! Stop it, keep that thing away from me!"
I freeze. The voice is coming from behind one of those doors. I know the Ministry told me not to get involved, but surely....
"Argh!" A sob has entered the voice now. "Please no, please don't, please... not again, not my hands...."
That decides me. I peer through the grille, wanting to see what kind of odds I'm dealing with. But there seems to be no-one there... no, there is someone. A man, by the looks of it, hunched up in the corner, hiding his hands behind his knees. His sleeves have fallen back, and his arms are painfully thin. Black hair, laced with grey, hangs lank across his face. Quietly as I can, I test the door for locking spells. There is one, but it's fairly simple; I disable it, and open the door, shutting it again behind me. He doesn't even look up. Nobody could see into this room unless they stood right up to the grille. Even then, I might have a minute before they saw me. Deciding to hell with caution, I drop the Cloak, and step forward towards him.
**********
I'm having the vision again. He's standing in front of me, looking worried, even a little scared, saying something I can't quite hear, hand stretched towards me. But this time, it is different. This time, I can do what I've wanted to do for so long, and reach out to take the hand that's offered, only I find that my hands are misshapen again, and I cannot grasp it. Strange, very strange. He has my hand between both of his and is examining it, muttering obscenities under his breath about the monsters who could do this to a fellow-creature. Slowly, it starts to dawn on me that this is unlike any other memory flashback I have had here, however vivid they sometimes seem. Curiouser and curiouser... some small part of me wonders where I found such an absurd phrase as I shake my hair out of my eyes and look at his face more closely. As his eyes meet mine, something sparks in them. And then, very slowly, his face crumbles.
I suddenly find myself seized in a rough, desperate embrace, and hear his voice cracking as he repeats over and over, "You're alive... Oh God, you're alive... you're alive...."
"You seem almost sorry to see it," I say, marvelling at the steadiness in my own voice, though it is weak from under-use, and wondering if this is all some sort of dream, or a vision caused by oncoming madness. He draws back from me, though my shoulders are still clasped in his hands, and I see heart-rending sorrow in his face.
"You're alive... and we left you here. For all this time... and they've...." And as he begins to cry, I suddenly realise it - this is all real.
**********
I hate myself for crying, especially in front of him, but I can't help it. And from the look that's suddenly stolen over his face, he's pretty close to tears himself. Oh God, we thought he was dead, mourned him, got over him, and all this time he was here and... Oh God. Oh God, his hands. What else have these twisted bastards done to him? Six months. Six months, and they've had him here, without a wand, without any hope of rescue... helpless. Fuck the spying, I have to get him out of here, now.
Trying to regain some composure, and to convince myself of his reality enough to release him, I manage, "Professor Snape?"
"Snape? Yes, yes, that is my name...." He seems to be talking more to himself than to me. "And you are..." his eyes cloud for a minute, "Harry."
Oh God, this is worse than I thought... but he isn't mad. There's something in his expression when he looks at me that I don't quite recognise, but plenty that I do. That old intelligence is still there, and judging by his earlier comment, he's retained his sharp tongue too. It's just his memory, it must be... hardly surprising, six months in here would be enough to give anyone blanks in the brain. Nothing else is wrong with his mind. I have to believe that; anything else would be too painful.
"Professor Snape... sir...." it's so hard to know what to call him, he's always been 'Professor' or 'Snape', even in council, but this hardly seems like a student/teacher situation, "Sir, do you think you can walk? We need to get you out of here...."
He nods, almost dazedly, and, pulling him up by his wrists (Oh God, his hands...), I manage to get him to his feet. With an arm under his shoulders, supporting him (he's so thin now, dear God, have they even fed him?), and throwing the Invisibility Cloak over us with my free hand, arranging it as best I can so that we're both covered, I set off back down the corridor.
The semi-darkness in here bothers me more than it did before. I keep thinking that any second now something will leap out at us from it. I think I have a good chance of escaping if it does, but I'm not at all sure I could take him with me. And I'm not going to lose him again now I've found him. Now that I can feel his arm slung across me, hear his breath right next to my ear. There's no way I'll give him up without a fight twice.
A sudden, sick feeling of terror washes over me. From the way he gasps, and his hand tightens on my shoulder, he's felt it too. I should have realised that sense of foreboding wasn't quite normal, but it's been years since I last felt the approach of a Dementor. Trying very hard to breathe slowly, and to use the mind control exercises Remus has been teaching me to stay calm, I shrink up against the wall. I risk a glance back at him; his eyes stare blankly ahead of him, his face twisting in agony. I wonder how many more bad memories he's gained since we lost him...... it doesn't bear thinking about too hard. I can see the Dementors now, drawing slowly nearer - two of them. And they can sense him. No wonder. I can all but feel the pain radiating off him myself. The Cloak makes no difference to Dementors; we might as well be lit up in neon. Quickly, I scrabble for my wand, gather up all my relief at finding him again, my pride to be picked for this mission, my happiness from the victory the other day, and
"Expecto Patronem!"
My Patronus appears in a blinding flash of light, and charges down on them. One is knocked flying; the other manages to run. I take a second to congratulate myself - that had to be one of the strongest I've ever done. I think Remus was wrong about these things. The best way to conjure them isn't happiness, it's sheer, brutal necessity. Suddenly able to breathe again without the weight of terror pressing around me, I step into the middle of the corridor and set off again as fast as possible before
"Stop! Who's there?"
-before that happens. Shit. The Death Eater's a few paces in front of us, peering around. He must have heard me. Damn it. He pulls back the hood of his cloak, slowly. They often do that, I've found. Trying to project that same air of menace that Voldemort himself does so easily. His face is twisted, cunning, the half-light in the passage turning his eyes into sunken hollows. I don't recognise him, which I suppose is a relief. I glance back at Snape again; his eyes are fixed on the man, and blazing. I don't recognise him, but I think I know someone who does.
I try to inch forward, slowly as possible, thinking if we can get past him, we have a chance to run for it..... although I don't know if Snape can run. Another step and I'll be close enough to touch him. Suddenly, he freezes. Instinctively, we do the same. He's produced his wand. Shit shit shit.
"Viso te!"
The spell's supposed to reveal anything invisible. It doesn't exactly work - it washes around the Cloak in a golden cloud and off. He can't see us. But he's been given a pretty good target. Nothing for it. We run.
I manage not to brush him in going past, but he must hear our footsteps. Snape's rasping breath and my own heartbeat sound in my ears, deafening. But it's only another couple of feet to the end of the corridor, and he doesn't know exactly where to aim for. Surely we have a shot.
"Fracto!"
For a second, I don't realise what he's done. I can only feel pain streak across my cheek, and my left hand shudder, and hear a sound that I can't quite place. A sound like..... shattering glass. And then I realise that the reason I can hear so clearly is that I can't see anymore. Everything around is a vague blur of greyish light. The spell breaks glass, crystal, things that might be used for spells. I freeze, but Snape still has his arm around me and drags me forward, and then, sharply, to my left and up.
"Stop!" I hiss. "There's a jump somewhere ahead of us and I can't see a damn thing!" I'm trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but it's not really working. I can hear the Death Eater's footsteps getting closer, slowly, deliberately. Thank God for the way they try to menace you. At least it's given us a couple of seconds. Suddenly, I feel Snape's palms pressed to either side of my face, and hear him muttering something.
"Touch your wand to your forehead and say 'conferro'," he whispers. I do as he says. And I can see. My eyes feel sore, and the light hurts them, but I can see. Not stopping to ask what he's done, I start back up the stairs. The hole seems to have shrunk to a couple of steps - I make it first, leaving him under the Cloak, and he follows. I glance back - our friend the Death Eater at the foot of the stairs now, blocked by the six stair gap that's suddenly opened in front of him. Liking the irony, or whatever the hell it is, I pull the Cloak tighter around us both and race for the head of the stairs. The opening spell still works, much to my relief, and then... we're out. Not wanting to hang around to celebrate, I call my Firebolt. It comes racing to me from behind the hill. After a little manoevering, I get Snape mounted and sit behind him, my hands wrapped around to hold him in place and guide the broom. I kick off, mentally giving thanks that I know the route back so well, as it's a little hard to steer from this position. A glance at my hand reveals what I'd thought before. The crystal on my communication ring was shattered by the spell, so I suppose our only option is to sit tight in the safe house for a few days and wait for them to pick us up.
"By the way," I say. "What did you do to my eyes?"
"The spell lets you share my vision," he replies, his voice still weak and strained. "You see the way I see."
I mutter something between 'I see' and 'thank you', and we fly on. Interesting. I always wondered what it would be like to see through his eyes.
Notes from 2009
The version of this story that's in my head is three times as long as this, four times as angsty and about a million times as porny; I originally posted this as the first chapter of three. However, as I've no idea when or if I'm going to finish writing those additional two chapters, I'm posting this as a standalone and a 'fixit' for the previous fic.