Severus led Harry up through the castle to the Infirmary using the back ways from the Dungeons that very few knew about. It was so convoluted that Harry could never hope to memorize the route, which he suspected was the idea. It also had the added benefit of getting Harry into Poppy’s hands without anyone else being any wiser. The main corridors were awash in students, Aurors, tournament officials and sundry Alumni.

Severus opened the hidden panel door next to the Matron’s office and ushered his son inside. Harry noted several Aurors posted outside of a closed door and Poppy was fussing over several beds. A closer look showed the occupants to be his fellow Champions and he broke free from his father’s grasp on his good arm and hurried over to them. Cedric spotted him first and leapt from his bed to embrace the younger boy, ruffling the long hair that had escaped all previous attempts at bondage.

“You’re alright! I thought for sure you were dead! How’d you get free?” Cedric asked, allowing the Matron to push him back down on the hospital cot, tutting over him, while Severus did the same with Harry.

“It wasn’t easy, Ced, but Dad and Professor Moody saved me.”  It hurt to remember the events of the past few hours, but he had to warn someone. “Listen; Voldemort is back – that is who tried to kill you. I – I can’t talk about what happened – it was pretty gruesome, and I am glad you got away safe, but you have to be ready; you need to prepare...”

“Prepare for what, my boy?” A short, officious man came around the corner, a green bowler in his hand. “You don’t honestly expect us to believe you saw He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, do you? He’s been gone all these years, dead at your own hand! Surely you’re mistaken, must be addled from the strains of the competition.” His false smile did not reach his eyes and if he had been a Muggle, Harry would have nailed him as a used cars salesman – or a politician; like the ones his uncle liked to bash every evening on the telly.

“And you are?” Harry asked in a deadly tone. Severus had turned around at hearing the voice and stood hovering near his son, hands clasped in front of him.

“Harry, let me introduce the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge,” Severus offered as explanation.

“Were you there, sir?” Harry asked pointedly after acknowledging his father’s introduction with a nod.

Fudge was taken aback. “Me? Of... of c-c-course not! How dare you insinuate...” he sputtered, darting his eyes around to see if anyone heard the question.

“Then you can not state that Voldemort is not back, can you? I was there, Minister.” Ignoring everyone’s flinch when he said the name, he thrust his wounded arm under the man’s nose, the slice weeping blood again as his father had just removed the cotton gauze. Fudge cringed back, holding his hat like a shield. “Pettigrew cut me to use my blood to bring Him back in some bizarre ritual. I fought him in a duel, and managed to survive by the skin of my teeth. My father and Professor Moody fought against him and his Death Eaters. Do you think they are mistaken?” He waved his hand to include the teachers and Aurors; authority figures known for their integrity.

“Pettigrew is dead... they only found a finger...” Fudge stammered, the lackeys who had followed him in nodding their heads like dashboard dogs.

“We’ve been trying to tell you for over a year he’s alive and always has been. What about an unregistered Animagus form do you not understand?” Severus pointed out.

“He can’t be back!” Fudge insisted. “I won’t have it!” He sounded like a petulant child to Harry, who’d had lots of experience with his cousin throwing such tantrums. In fact, he was an expert in the art of conniption fits.

“Then you’ll have Chaos, Cornelius,” came a third voice as Dumbledore tottered in, using a cane to help him stay upright. “I came down to see how everyone was doing and I find you questioning my student’s veracity. Why don’t you question the young man who was impersonating me? He will tell you the same thing as he was doing it all on Voldemort’s orders.” He leaned both hands on the cane as he stood there, smiling sweetly at the Minister.

“Him? I have already sent the Azkaban guards to take him away. His sentence has already been carried out,” the man said huffily.

“Carried out?” Albus asked; his voice calm but without the undertones of the kind, gentle Headmaster.

“He was to be kissed whenever we found him – can’t have people escaping whenever they feel like it. He was an escaped convict.” His voice rose in volume as he swept the room with his gaze – apparently he was trying to politic in a hospital ward.

“Of course it doesn’t matter that you didn’t know he was escaped until an hour ago...” Severus commented dryly.

“That’s beside the point!” Fudge spat at him.

“No, Cornelius, the point is you have had a man kissed before he could be questioned under Veritaserum as to what else he knew. I’ve warned you many times, Minister; Voldemort was just biding his time. He is back now – and you are facing the most momentous decision of your career. Will you join with me and defeat him once and for all, or will you hide in your hole like a garden gnome?”

Fudge stared at the old man before clapping his hat back on his head. He reached into his cloak pocket and withdrew a large mokeskin bag that looked like it weighed more than it could possibly hold. He tossed it onto the nightstand between Harry and Cedric’s beds. It made a very satisfying thump as it landed.  “Your winnings,” he pronounced before he brushed past Dumbledore and swept out of the Infirmary.

Harry and Cedric both stared at the bag full of galleons.

“I don’t want it,” they both said at the same time. They looked at each other and then both cracked up laughing. Severus and Poppy tsked at them as they began checking the boys over. Cedric seemed to pass with flying colours, only banged up a bit when he’d landed on top of the trophy/Portkey. A touch of the wand and a potion to mend bruises, and he was sent on his way. He said goodbye quickly to the other contenders and allowed his father to lead him down to the Hufflepuff dorms for their party.

Fleur and Krum were tucked into the beds – they were spending the night as a precautionary measure. Krum was free from the Imperious, but it still did not make him any less a git – and Fleur had been hurt pretty badly when Krum’s spell had tossed her through the shrubs.

Madame Pomfrey was now examining the wound that Pettigrew’s knife had made, waving her wand over it and muttering spells while Severus stood nearby. Harry watched as she bound it up again, using the same technique his father had, while praising him.

“Very well done, Severus. But you were always my favourite student,” she said, smiling up at him. “Well, young Snape, you were exceedingly lucky. Managed to miss some major veins. You say Peter Pettigrew did this?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Such a waste of talent. Ah well, you are free to go. Don’t forget your bag there,” she said, pointing at the leather bag on the table.

Harry looked up at his father. “I really don’t want it – I don’t feel like I deserve it. Nobody won – it was all a cheat. Isn’t there some charity that could use it?” he whispered.

“Possibly. Do you want me to keep it safe until we find a worthy recipient?” His father offered. Harry nodded quickly and Severus snuck the bag into a pocket just as Dumbledore returned from visiting with Fleur, Krum and their families.

“Harry...” he began, but Harry cut him off as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I think you have said enough for today. I’m sorry you were kept captive all year – but right now I am too angry with you to talk nicely to you and if there is one thing my Aunt pounded into my head it was “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.””He paused and grimaced to himself before continuing. “Of course, she never practiced what she preached.” He looked at the aged Headmaster. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – I have a brother to comfort. You see, his sire passed away today.” He pushed past Dumbledore and Severus followed a moment later after levelling his ‘you have been a complete dunderhead and I doubt if you are qualified to even hold a wand let alone a stirring stick’ glare at his employer. It always worked on his students and it apparently worked on Headmaster’s as well because Albus’ shoulders slumped in defeat as he sat down hard on Harry’s vacated bed.

****

Severus saw Harry off to the Dungeons before he went on to post his letter to Narcissa. He was quite aware that with Lucius’ death she was no longer in any danger – at least from Lucius. She could return from France. He let himself daydream a little as his feet led him unerringly up the tower to the Owlery. It would be so nice to complete his little family and add a woman’s touch to the mix. The daydream allowed him to escape the low-level burning on his left forearm. It had been burning for several hours now, the mark raw and sensitive. He needed to find some way to nullify it.

He’d thought of cutting it off – but that was a temporary, if drastic, solution. This mark was magically embossed on his arm. As his skin grew back, so would the mark and it was more painful to cut it off than endure its throbbing pain. Of course, he tended to use it as a reminder of what he had done all those years ago that had forced him to lose his wife and unborn child. Every time he glanced at it, or felt it burn, he did a little penance in his soul. Perhaps a numbing cream... something he and the boys could research over the summer.

The early summer evening was pleasant and bore no hint of the events now in play. He stood at the top of the stairs, gazing out over the shadowed grounds, letting the night breeze ruffle through his hair and robes, billowing them gently. He watched a Thestral mount to the sky, silhouetted by the partially formed moon for a moment.

A familiar weight landed on his shoulder and he reached up to run a finger along the chest feathers of his black owl. “I have a message for you, my friend. Are you up to flying to France tonight? It is imperative you get there quickly.”

The owl hopped down to the casement and held out a leg imperiously, staring at his master as if to say ‘Well, get on with it!’ Severus chuckled and tied the letter on with a bit of string lying nearby and offered an owl treat in payment. The bird ate its treat and flew off, blending quickly into the night sky. For better or for worse, Narcissa would know by morning.

****

Harry practiced his stealth walking, cloaking himself in shadows and keeping hyper-aware of his surroundings as he descended into the Dungeon realms of his Father’s lair. A bone chilling cold remained from the Dementors that had recently departed, taking Barty Crouch’s soul with them. He shivered at the thought of those creatures and nearly created a Patronus to ward off the foul impression they left behind. He decided to Occlude instead, raising his inner shields – it seemed to help a little bit and he continued on, slipping from shadow to shadow as he travelled to his family apartment. He managed to avoid most groups of wandering students, and the rest took no notice of him as his charms kept them from looking his way. He sent a silent thank you to his instructors this year for training him relentlessly in these techniques.

He finally approached the corridor that housed the entrance to the Snape rooms and was surprised to find Pansy leaning against the wall across from the door. He noted that she was still dressed in her casual clothes, and looked quite good in the tailored trousers and matching short jacket over a cream turtleneck. Her short brunette hair was tucked behind her ears and her teeth were worrying at her lower lip as her arms hugged herself.

Seeing that no one was around, Harry deliberately removed the charms and moved out of the shadows, whispering her name.

Pansy whipped around and with a short cry of his name, flung her arms around his shoulders hugging him tightly.

“Oh, Merlin, you’re alright! I was so worried when you disappeared, and then Diggory returned and your father took off... what the hell happened? Where were you?” She pulled away and held him at arms length, raking her eyes over him. “You’re all banged up... and what happened to your arm... Harry? Please answer me, you’re scaring me...”

“Pansy...” He wanted to talk to her, but not out where busy little ears could overhear. “C’mon in,” he offered. The Guardian portrait for the apartment was a fussy old Slytherin, painted in the previous century and set in his ways.

“Professor Altair,” Harry began, garnering the old man’s attention.

“Ah, Potter-Snape. Back so soon? Ah, and a young lady friend... What will your father say? I don’t think it is proper that she should enter without an adult present!”

“Professor, it is quite alright and we are just going to be talking. Salazar can chaperone,” he suggested. “Now, Dragon’s Liver, please!” he whispered into the old painting’s ear.

The Wizard huffed, but reluctantly unlatched the oak door and Harry ushered Pansy into the sitting room.

Draco wasn’t visible, but Harry could hear the water running in their shared room so, after seating her on the settee, he hurried down the corridor to shut their door all the way and grabbed two bottles of Bottle Beer from the kitchenette on his way back. Handing one to her, he sat down at the other end of the sofa.

“Pansy, there is no easy way to say this and I have to ask you a question first. Where do you stand on Voldemort?”

She flinched at the name, but he kept his eyes steady on her. “He-who-must-not-be-named? Our family is neutral – but me personally? The thought of him scares me to death, but you defeated him years ago, why are you asking me this now?”

“Because... he is back.”

“Back, as in back-back? As in...”

“As in he has a body and is ready to wreck havoc again. That is what happened tonight. This entire tournament was used as a setup to get me to where I could be kidnapped and used to bring him back in some ritual. I wasn’t supposed to survive, Pansy. I was supposed to die at his wand point – but something happened... I’m still not sure I understand it all... but I managed to survive and then Dad and Professor Moody arrived and my Portkey finally worked... Anyway, it is a long story. But He is back now and I know a lot of Slytherins...”

“A lot of families were supporters – some still are,” she explained. “But the majority don’t – or at least the kids don’t. We lost a lot of family members on both sides during the last war and really don’t want to see that happen again. So, what happened to your arm?”

Harry gazed down at the gauze pad and placed a hand over it. “My blood was used in the ritual.”

“A blood ritual? That’s very bad, Harry – those are very potent!” She slapped her forehead. “Of course you know that! How could I be so stupid!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking just like his father and Pansy laughed at herself, eliciting a smile from her friend. Leaning forward to put his bottle down on the table, he felt something jab him in the hips and he abruptly remembered the charm.

“Oh, before I forget – I promised you one for each task,” he fished the tiny emerald out of his pocket.

“It’s not real – I transfigured it to look like one of my earrings – part of the long story – but it really helped and I’d like you to have it.” He handed it over to her, watching as she carefully placed it on a link opposite of the lightning bolt.

“It’s lovely, Harry, thank you. So, who was doing all this?”

Harry slowly told her about how Barty Crouch had used Polyjuice to imitate the Headmaster and how he had teamed up with Malfoy to set Harry up in the last task. Pansy listened, her drink forgotten, eyes wide in incredulity as she drank in his tale.

“But I don’t understand – who put your name in the cup in the first place? You’ve always said you didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t,” Harry said patiently, but his eyes hardened as he thought about the answer. “Professor Dumbledore put it in.”

“What?” She abruptly stood up, anger thundering in her voice, and began pacing. “I don’t understand...”

“He was testing me, Pansy – please sit down,” he pleaded, coaxing her to return to her seat. With a huff, she returned to her seat, taking a large sip from her Butterbeer. “Look, I don’t understand all the ramifications or machinations that all of this means. Dad is better at this...” He ran his hands frustratingly through his hair. Merlin, he needed to get cleaned up! “But I feel like my whole life has been some sort of manipulation by Dumbledore right now. Like, he’s been training me up for this big final confrontation with Voldemort. Everything he’s told me has been a lie... I’m so confused.” He looked down at the floor and didn’t react as she shifted closer to him on the sofa. He did look over at her though when she put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. He gave her a tiny smile and sighed.

“I’m one messed up kid,” he commented wryly and she had the decency to laugh. His eyes perked up as he listened to her laughter cascading in the room and felt buoyed enough to join in.

“What’s so funny?” Draco asked as he came into the room, damp hair slicked back, his paleness accentuated by the unrelieved black of his outfit. His eyes had a haunted look to them and Harry knew his brother had been grieving under the water. Draco eyed the bottles and accioed his own from the kitchen area, taking a seat nearby.

“Just reflecting over my spectacular, messed up, complicated life,” Harry stated, raising his bottle in a mock toast to himself and taking a swig.

“Oh, I’ll agree to that,” smirked Draco and he raised his bottle as well in salute before taking a long drink.

Pansy glanced at the clock on the mantel and realised it was nearing curfew. She rose up and Harry followed her to the door.

“Thank you for coming by,” he said quietly.

“And thank you for the charm,” she said, fingering the bracelet on her wrist. “I better get going. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll try. Can’t promise anything...”

“I understand.” She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on his cheek, smiling when he blushed. She waved a bit to Draco, who saluted her with his beer, and skipped out through the door. He closed it slowly behind her, a bit bemused, looking up when he heard his brother chortling.

“Shut it!” Harry said, but without any fire to his voice, blushing even further which just sent Draco into further gales of laughter. Pretty soon Harry had sent a pillow into his brother’s face, effectively shutting him up – but only for a moment before an all out pillow fight ensued that travelled through the apartment and landed in their bedroom where the ammunition was softer, and more plentiful. After a twin pair of thumps in their abdomens tossed them onto the beds, they called pax and lay there, periodically giggling like loons and catching their breath.

Harry wiped a hand across his face and grimaced at the feel of dried sweat and dirt that felt as if it had been ground into his pores. “I’m going to take a shower, you alright?” he asked, looking over at his brother who had slowly retreated behind his mask again.

“No, but I’ll survive. I... I don’t know what to do, Harry.” He hated to admit that weakness – he was the man now; it was up to him to protect his mother and sister. But, he wasn’t even fifteen yet. How was he supposed to do this? He hastily swiped at the moisture that threatened to spill over from his eyes, and he snuffled a bit.

“Come sit on the commode and keep me company – I don’t fancy being alone with my thoughts right now,” Harry offered. “But I feel like my last shower was weeks ago, instead of just this morning – I need to get clean, get rid of His taint...” He offered a hand to Draco, who accepted it after a moment’s hesitation and followed him into their shared bath.

Harry turned on the taps and the steam began to fill the compartment as he hastily stripped behind the shower curtain and tossed his befouled garments over the curtain rod to his brother.

Draco protested as the drift of dirty clothes fell on him. “Git! What do you want me to do with these!” He hastily shoved them off of him and kicked them away, running a quick cleaning charm over his own tailoring.

“You can burn them for all I care! If I could, I’d have dad Obliviate the entire year from my mind!” Harry called out, his words muffled oddly by the cascade of water over his face.

“Don’t blame you!” Draco muttered and, after glancing at the curtain, pointed his wand at the entire pile and muttered an Incendio. The smell of burning fabric soon filled the room and Harry stuck his soap covered head around the edge of the shower curtain and stared unbelieving at the mess of smouldering ash now occupying the centre of the loo.

“Those were my favourite jeans!” he whined. “I didn’t think you’d take me seriously!”

The bathroom door slammed open to reveal a cross Severus who eyed his two sons. Harry gulped and slid back under the water, snapping the curtain shut.

“Draco, why does it smell like burnt dragon piss in here?” Severus asked.

“Harry said I could burn them...”

“Burn what, pray tell?”

“His last task clothes?” Draco offered half-heartedly.

Severus stared at him for several long moments. “Vanish that mess,” was all he said as he turned around and shut the door behind him. Harry stuck his head back around the edge of the fabric and the boys shared a look.

“He didn’t yell,” Harry pointed out.

“I know,” Draco agreed.

“Bad sign,” they both agreed.

 

 

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