Aug.19

No further entries for this date.

---

"The Ministry has seen fit to grant my request, Mr. Potter. You are now my ward. I do believe the first order of business will be to fully address this horrific display of your lack of judgment. Please come with me."

Dark Arts. The boy had used Dark Arts against the Headmaster. Severus had felt the coiling, swirling dark energy when he reached the gargoyles at the bottom of the stairwell, and it had pulsed all around him like the heartbeat of a demon. Then, inside the office . . . the boy's hoarse screams, Albus' white face, both of their cheeks streaked with bloody tears, gazes locked in some nightmarish trance . . . And the dark, ugly pulse of the boy's magic, filling the room.

Severus glared at Potter now, lounging in that chair and making no effort at rising, and wanted to shake him until his head fell off. What had the idiot been thinking? If Fawkes had not found Severus and refused to get out of his face until he was running toward this office - the Floo had been blocked, apparently, until Potter's magic was halted - it was likely both of them would be dead.

"Get up, Mr. Potter!" Severus shouted, having done quite enough molly-coddling for one day. "Do not make me come over there and-"

Potter's head lolled back and his skin, already pasty from little exposure to the sun these last few weeks, looked gray and lifeless. Then he slid bonelessly from the chair.

Damn!

Severus launched himself toward the boy and grabbed him before he could hit the floor. "Stupid, idiot child; stupid idiot thing to do," he muttered as he felt for the boy's pulse and checked his breathing. Both were weak and thready, and Severus cursed again as he shouldered his burden and prepared to leave. His quarters had better stocks than here, now that he had treated Albus. "I've never met such a remarkably stubborn, stupid child, amazing powers, but with no brain to speak of. . . ."

Stepping up to the fireplace, Severus glanced at the faux bookcase that hid a staircase to the upper floor of this tower. Minerva was with the Headmaster now . . . in his bedchamber, and had promised to alert him if his condition changed at all. As far as he could tell, Albus was just sleeping soundly now. Unlike when Severus had first broken the curse Potter had him under. He shifted the dead weight of the boy on his shoulder, grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it down, calling out his quarters, as well as the password.

Once in the sitting room, Severus laid the boy out on the settee, Accio'd various potions he thought he might need, and set about treating Potter for shock. Potter's skin was cool and clammy, so he needed warming, and Severus did a few other diagnostics, as well - which he realized he should have done earlier, instead of just yelling at the boy, but that couldn't be helped now.

Potter's eyes were open, still, but glassy and barely responsive to light. Within a half hour, though, with Pepper-Up, a Wit-Sharpening Potion and a half dose of the Draught of Peace in his system, among other things, he looked much better.

From several steps behind the couch, Severus watched him as he came to his senses, the owlish eye blinking, the tight lines of tension that appeared on his forehead, and he waited.

"Sir?" The boy's voice was ragged, as if he had been screaming . . . which he had, of course, for who knows how long before Severus managed to break the boy's spell. The sound itself was likely to give him nightmares. What the hell had he been doing?

"Sir? Professor, are you there?"

Severus was still wrestling with his frayed temper when, after another minute, Potter's eyes filled with tears. Rather than let them fall, though, the boy struck viciously at his own face, clawing at his eyes and cheeks with his fingernails, drawing blood almost immediately. The sight jarred him forward, too much a reminder of what he'd found in Albus' office, and he grabbed the boy's wrists and held them away from both their faces. "Potter, stop it. Potter . . . Harry! Stop this instant!"

Potter shriveled into a ball, drawing knees up to his chest, his wrists still captured. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god . . ."

"Potter. Harry. Cease this caterwauling immediately. Quiet down, now. I need to know what happened." He squeezed the boy's wrists tight, then clapped their four hands together, a sharp motion and sound, designed to startle.

It worked; the boy looked at him at last. His eyes were wide and still slightly dilated, and his teeth were chattering in his head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"Harry, stop." Severus sighed, more of his rage draining away, and shook his head, avoiding the gouged marks on Potter's cheeks as non-critical for the moment. He nodded toward the other half dose of the Draught of Peace sitting on the table, then, when he got an answering nod, slowly released one of the boy's hands and picked up the potion. He gave the bottle to the boy immediately, and waited until he'd swallowed it down. Watching for any sudden movements, Severus said, "Now. You can be sorry all you want, but right now I need to know what you did, specifically, so I can help the Headmaster."

"He's . . . I didn't . . . He's not dead, is he?"

"No. But he is wounded. What. Did. You. Do?"

Potter shook his head, as if confused, then leaned back against the settee, obviously calmer thanks to the potion. "I showed him."

Severus frowned. "Showed him what?"

"All of it. He said he understood, but how could he if he didn't know? So I showed him." Potter drew a hitching breath. "God, it hurt."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Severus gave in to the need to rub his forehead with his fingers. It hurt. Well, that much was obvious. He turned back to the boy. "How did you show him?"

"With my mind."

Severus' frown deepened. "What spell did you use?"

"I didn't. Jus' gathered it all together and pushed it." Potter waved one hand tiredly, eyes drifting closed. "Wanted him to know all of what happened, to feel it all, hear everything. . . . Said my pain 'swhat makes me human, and I'd had enough pain. . . Figured I'd share."

A sick feeling churned in Severus' gut. Albus had said that? How . . . callous. And after the weekend, and Lucius' taunts . . .

He should have been there. Albus had specifically asked for time to speak to Harry alone, and Severus couldn't put off their meeting any longer without raising the Headmaster's ire . . . but he should have insisted on being present, especially given the boy's "chat" with Lupin last week. It was obvious Harry was too . . . fragile was not the right word, but . . . volatile, to handle the stress of dealing with anyone other than Severus right now. That fact was troubling on its own, but when mixed with Dark Magic, and what had he done?

"Harry," he said sharply, bringing the boy out of his stupor. Green eyes blinked heavily, and he snapped his fingers near them, making them track the movement. "Harry, did you use Legilimency? On Professor Dumbledore."

"Nah," the boy said, breathily. "He did that."

"Explain." Feeling sick, Severus leaned forward, into the boy's face. "The Headmaster used Legilimency on you?"

"Tried. I pushed the stone up."

Which Albus may not have recognized as a defense, if he was not doing a deep search. He might have . . . "Harry, listen to me! How did you show Dumbledore your . . . thoughts? Did you use his Legilimency?"

A tired nod, and, "Mm-hm. Was still up. His magic, his, he wanted 'em, so he could have them, my memories, all of 'em."

Oh, Merlin. "All of them, Harry?"

Another nod.

Oh, Albus . . . Be careful what you wish for; you taught me that. All of this boy's memories, all his pain, all at once. No wonder the old man had been terrorized and almost catatonic with fear and shame when he had finally come around. Severus leaned back and closed his eyes as the boy's breaths deepened. He ran through a half dozen breathing exercises to bring himself back to full calm, and considered what he could do, with the -- perhaps irreparably -- scarred and scared Harry Potter.

---

In the Headmaster's private quarters, on the third level up from his office, was a bedroom bedecked in the colors of all the Houses, much like Albus' wardrobe. In a padded chair drawn up to a wide bed with bright curtains, Minerva McGonagall sat vigil on a man she had known for almost her entire life, as a student, as a colleague, and as a friend, and wondered what the hell had happened to him. And for that matter, what had happened to Harry?

Severus Snape, who she had the utmost faith in as both a friend to Albus and a protector to Harry Potter, had been utterly frantic earlier tonight . . . and Severus just did not do frantic. He also did not do well with repeated attempts to cajole answers from him, especially if he did not, apparently, have them to hand. He had never snapped at her quite as nastily as he had tonight, even in jest, and so she had let him leave her alone here, with her promise that she would watch over Albus for any changes, and alert him immediately.

She wished Poppy were here. Poppy would know what to do . . . or could keep her company at any rate, while she stared dumbly down at the drawn and pale face of a man she had come to respect and even love, over the course of her sixty-plus years. But the Medi-witch was still on holiday, due back only two days before the start of school.

Drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders -- more for comfort than to ward off any chill, as Albus' chambers were temperate, year round -- she leaned back in her chair and watched the Headmaster through half-lidded eyes. Something had happened, between him and Harry, this evening that she suspected was an outgrowth of Harry's experiences earlier in the summer. She had heard little about him since she and Nymphadora Tonks had burst into that manor in Topsham . . . but she would remember the smell -- the taste! -- of that place forever. It was burned into her cat form's senses, as was the memory of that poor boy, naked and bloody at the feet of his torturers before Severus had lunged at him with what had to be a portkey, and sent him away. She knew Severus was taking care of him, and wondered what could have happened between them that would cause this reaction from one of the strongest minds she knew.

Resigned to not getting answers tonight, however, she settled in with a book her sister had sent her, a Muggle mystery tale about a crime solving cat. Albus roused several times over the next twenty-four hours, but never more than to accept a few sips of tea or lemonade and then fall back to sleep.

Not until early the following evening did he say anything, and then only, "Ari?"

Minerva moved forward, into his line of vision. His eyes were still fearful, and searching, for this Ari? Albus had a sister named Ariana, she knew, but little more than that, and the girl had died long, long ago. "No, Albus, it's Minerva. Would you care for more tea?"

Finally, his gaze focused, and he saw her. A sigh escaped his lips. "Minny."

She smiled thinly at the nickname she had eschewed before she even graduated from Hogwarts. "Minerva, Albus. Yes?"

His lips moved for a moment without forming words, then, ". . . my boy?"

"Do you mean Severus? He's in his quarters, I'll--" She trailed off as he shook his head.

"Harry." The name was but a breath, and he winced as he said it.

"He is with Severus, I believe." She pursed her lips. "Will you explain to me what happened between the two of you? Severus was in quite a state when he found you."

"Tell . . . me."

"Tell you what, Albus? I do not know how Harry is. But I imagine Severus would have told me if there was anything to worry about. I was," ordered, "--asked to remain with you. I would appreciate some answers. Now, if you please."

But Albus had drifted back to sleep, and did not rouse again until the following morning. In the meantime, Severus had come to check on him, but stayed less than five minutes, and was as close mouthed as before, except to say Harry had been sleeping almost the whole time, as well.

When Albus did wake again, his coloring was much better, and his eyes were brighter. She plied him with food and drink and news about Harry's sleeping, then made him talk to her, refusing to be put off any longer.

He was sitting up in bed now, and finished off a muffin with jam before obliging her. "I met with Harry," he said quietly. There was a softness to his voice now, something she had not heard in many years.

"Yes, I gathered."

"I pushed him to talk to me, to tell me how he was dealing with Sirius' death."

"Oh, Albus, you didn't! Hasn't he been through enough this summer?"

Albus nodded tiredly. "As he saw fit to remind me. And about a great many other things."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry . . . has had a horrid time of it. The last few years, yes, but even well before he came to Hogwarts." He closed his eyes as a shudder ran through him. This sign of weakness in the Headmaster scared Minerva more than anything else the last couple days. "I failed him so completely. I never knew . . . I never realized how much they . . ." He shook his head and looked Minerva in the eyes. "I have no idea how he has survived."

Minerva's eyes narrowed. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing I did not earn, Minerva, many times over. I put him there. I never checked, never asked, just assumed that blood would be enough . . ."

"The Muggles." Her mouth formed a thin line. "I told you they were the worst sort."

He sighed, leaning his head back. "I should have listened."

"Mm," she agreed. "Tell me."

With a nod, and tears in his eyes, Albus spent the next two hours doing just that, until she was weeping as well, and cursing the day Sybil Trelawney had breathed her first.

At the end, when both of them were sane again, and lost in their own thoughts, Albus said, "I believe I will refrain from pressuring Severus into making Harry more visible, until he thinks the boy is ready for it . . ."

Minerva nodded, her heart heavy with the knowledge that there were some things that magic just could not fix. "I believe that would be wise."