8. Guarded Questions

The porcelain cup rattled on its saucer as Severus carried it over to the small wooden table in his kitchen.

He’d intended to drink the Ceylon tea he’d just brewed, but instead he sat down and simply stared at the hot drink as memories of the previous day and night preoccupied his mind.

It turned out that Harry’s attacker was the father of the reserve Chaser on the Slytherin team. Acting under the Imperius Curse, he had used the game as a cover to gain access to his intended victim.

This marked the second time this school term that the house of Slytherin had been tarnished.

Added to all of that, Severus had experienced another nightmare but this time when he heard the scream and ran out of his room, he found himself standing in the Dursley’s front hallway and then watched in horror as Harry tumbled down the stairs and slammed into the wall.

He had awoken with a start, unsettled and perplexed. These continual nightmares of when he was a child now coupled with concern for Harry’s well being had Severus at a loss.

He ground his teeth in frustration. What in Merlin’s name is happening to me?

Severus? Are you up? Hello? Oh Sever…”

“Of course I’m up!” He snapped back. “I’m teaching a class soon, you old fool.”

Unruffled by the acidic greeting, Albus stepped gracefully from the Floo. “Is something amiss?”

All Albus got for his query was a snarl; so he left Severus to his foul mood, walked straight toward the kitchen and poured himself a cup tea. “Might you have any vanilla?”

“Merlin’s sake Albus,” Severus rubbed his aching forehead. “How can you do that to a perfectly good cup of tea?”

“Have you ever tried it?”

Severus sighed in defeat. “Spice rack, top shelf.”

Dumbledore doctored his tea then joined his grumpy friend at the tiny wooden table, looking expectantly to him.

“What?” snapped Severus.

“Please save the dramatics for those who do not know you,” returned Dumbledore.

With Voldemort, with the students and with the Death Eaters, Severus always had to be on his guard — but not with Albus. He was the one person who truly knew Severus.

“I slept poorly,” was all he replied.

Albus knew best not to press the matter. He took a sip of his tea then got to business. “I need your help. We need your help.”

“And who might we be?”

“Humanity,” Dumbledore said simply.

Severus leaned back in his chair and stared at the old wizard, “You’re talking about Harry.”

Dumbledore gave a slight nod. He waited and watched Severus as he took a sip of tea, biding his time before responding.

“You believe he’s old enough to look at his situation objectively,” Severus’ question sounded more like a confirmation.

“I do.” Dumbledore leaned forward. “And there is only so much that I…that we can do to protect him. Obviously, they aren’t enough.”

Severus knew the old man was right, but this would mean more private time spent with Harry. “You are just as knowledgeable in tactics and strategy as am I.”

“But you are far more skilled in their practical application.”

Dumbledore’s assessment was valid and Severus knew it.

“Why do you hesitate? I thought you and Harry were getting along well these days.”

“We are, it’s just that…” He paused midsentence, unable to give voice to something he could barely even acknowledge: that he cared about Harry. “I too want Harry to survive, and not because of his destiny.” He pushed the empty cup away, “I’ll work with him.”

“Thank you.” Dumbledore stood up and headed for the Floo.

“Albus, what are your plans for Harry this summer? You can’t send him back to those Muggles, not now that you are aware of the abuse.”

Dumbledore turned back with a little smile, “Why Severus, is that a hint of concern I hear?”

On went the stony expression. “What good is it to prepare Harry to face the Dark Lord, only to have his Uncle lock him away and starve him over the summer?”

Dumbledore’s smile slipped from his face, “I haven’t made a decision yet where to send him, but he definitely won’t be going back to Privet Drive.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Bellatrix Apparated onto the front lawn of Malfoy manor then marched up to the front door.

It was locked.

“Sod all,” she huffed as she pulled out her wand. “Alohamora.”

The door opened and she stepped into the foyer.  “Cissy?” the dark haired witch called out as she walked toward the living room. “Where are you? Cis…”

“Bella,” Narcissa came to the top of the stairs, “What are you doing here?”

“Why did you lock your Floo?” Bellatrix snapped back. “I had to Apparate and walk through the front door like a commoner.”

“Whether or not we lock our front door,” Lucius spoke in his silky voice as he walked out of the master bedroom, “or our Floo is none of your concern.”

“Why hello Lucius,” the pitch of her voice sailed up and down across her greeting. “You’re looking rather pale,” she teased as she sauntered toward the base of the staircase. “Was it terrible in Azkaban?” she pined.

“You of all people would know.”

“Touché, brother in law.”

“You two stop it,” scolded Narcissa. “The others will be here shortly.”

“It’s too early in the morning to be anywhere. Is there any coffee?” Bella rambled as she headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I’ll need some if we’re to be planning mass escapes.”

“Oh Lucius,” Narcissa sighed as she leaned against his broad chest. “Why does this have to take place today? You need to rest and regain your strength.”

“I’ll be fine Cissy,” he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Now that I’m home and out of that hellhole…”

“Don’t think of that place.” She reached up and kissed him. “Your home now and that’s all that matters.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Everyone at the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and applause when Ron and the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered for breakfast. They stood in the doorway for a few moments, drinking in the adoration before taking their places at the table.

 “Where’s Harry?” asked Dean when the team took their seats. “I thought you guys went to get him so you could all walk in together.”

“We did,” Ron replied. “But Pomfrey says he has to stay in the infirmary today.”

“She let us in to see him,” added Hermione. “But he was still asleep.”

She poured herself a cup of coffee then continued, “Madame Pomfrey said that everything was probably just catching up with him: the long game, getting Stupefied and especially the concussion.”

“Bugger that,” added Seamus. “He missed out on a great party.”

“Couldn’t we have another one when Harry’s feeling better?” asked Neville.

“Yeah, why not?” added Ginny. “We could have one this weekend.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Ron seconded enthusiastically. “I’ll see if the twins can come and bring some of their stuff. We’ll make it a real bash.”

They continued planning the party and started in on their breakfasts, everyone except for Hermione. She had received her copy of the Daily Prophet and was staring dumbfounded at the front page.

“How come you’re not eating, Mione?” asked Ron, his mouth now full of food.

“I don’t believe it.” She handed the paper to him and then snuck a peek at the Slytherin table to chance a glance of Draco.

He was sitting there looking smug while all his friends around him spoke in hushed whispers.

“For the love of…!” exclaimed Ron as he choked on his food. “How did he pull that off?”

“What are you on about?” asked Ginny.

“Lucius Malfoy was released from Azkaban, apparently over some technicality,” replied Hermione as Ron continued to read the article, the color of his face growing more flushed with each passing word.

“Technicality my foot,” said Ginny. “He got out because he paid somebody off.”

“Or perhaps it was because of something else,” Hermione said softly as she considered the two recent cases involving the Imperius Curse.

“The tosser!” exclaimed Ron.

“Mr. … Weasley!” Professor McGonagall isolated each word and spoke Ron’s name in a flat, stern voice.

“Oh, oh,” Ron stared at his eggs with sudden trepidation.

“What did I tell you about using vulgar language in public places?”

“Sorry Professor.”

Hermione glared at Ron and mouthed: Turn around and look at her.

Ron’s eyebrows shot up and he did a one eighty on the bench. “Professor, I’m really, really sorry I said that word. It’s just that…”

“I am not interested in your excuse,” She stared down and pursed her lips. “One more time and you’ll find yourself in detention. Do I make myself clear?”

Ron sagged, “Yes Ma’am.”

McGonagall gave a sharp sigh then straightened her hat. “Miss Granger, may I speak with you for a moment?”

Hermione started momentarily, “Of course Professor.” She hopped quickly up from the bench.

“What do you think she wants?” asked Ginny.

“Damned if I know,” replied Ron. He and everyone sitting near him leaned out over the bench to try and keep McGonagall and Hermione in their sights.

After a few moments, their attention was diverted when their DA coins grew warm and they all began to pull them out their pockets.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked Hermione when she returned.

“Listen,” she spoke with a hushed voice; they all huddled close to hear her. “There’s going to be a meeting at noon today for select members of the DA in the antechamber.”

“How can we have a DA meeting if Harry is in the infirmary?” asked Neville.

“Remember Neville, DA stands for Dumbledore’s Army.” She smiled like a Cheshire cat, “Dumbledore himself has requested this meeting.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Harry gasped as he woke suddenly from his dream.

“Ah Mr. Potter, you’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

He looked up at the smiling face of Madame Pomfrey, feeling totally disorientated. “I …  Uh…”

“A bit foggy I see,” she resumed checking his readings. “Things could have been much worse considering the location of your injury.”

She stopped waving her wand then tapped the amulet lying upon Harry’s chest. “It was a good thing you were wearing this.”

“What do you mean,” he rubbed his sore head. “I still got hurt.”

“But not as badly as I would have expected.”

She put her wand away and sat down next to him. “You have a mild concussion, even though the injury is located right here,” She touched his left temple. “The bone here is very thin, so the injury to your brain should have been far worse. That amulet definitely saved you.”

“Oh,” He picked the amulet up and rubbed his finger over the intricate carvings. 

“Drink this, it will help with your headache.”

Harry swallowed the potion.

“I have a nice warm cup of tea waiting for you, right here.”

“But I need to get to my potions class.”

“Your potions class has already finished. It’s almost noon.”

He didn’t know if it was the concussion or the dream, but he felt totally dazed.

“You just lie there quietly and drink your tea. That potion should start to work shortly.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

She got him propped up and placed numerous pillows behind him to lean against. When she walked off, Harry pulled his legs up close. He thought about the amulet and Snape, and then he remembered his dream.

How could I have dreamt that? Harry felt totally mortified with himself; he stared at the opposite wall while holding onto his cup of tea as if it were a lifejacket.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

The small group of DA members fell silent when the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall walked into the Antechamber off the Great Hall.

Dumbledore had never addressed the DA directly, and the fact that he himself had called this meeting indicated the seriousness of its intent. “I wish to thank all of you for coming on such short notice.”

The students remained silent and expectant.

“Since our time is limited, I will get right to the point.” He scanned their faces and made eye contact with each one of them before continuing. “As you are well aware, there have been three incidents of attack upon Harry Potter this term.”

The students all nodded.

“We are taking steps to insure his safety, but obviously we have come up short.”

“Is there anything we can do to help, Sir?” asked Hermione.

“There are three weeks remaining until the summer break. I wish to ask each of you, as members of the DA, to be Harry’s body guard until this term ends.”

They all started chatting amongst themselves.

“We really appreciate this opportunity to help Sir,” offered Hermione.

“I know that all of us…” Ron looked around. “We’re all sick and tired of seeing Harry get hurt.”

“As am I, Mr. Weasley,” responded Dumbledore.

“And I,” added McGonagall.

“So, how do we go about doing this Sir?” asked Neville.

The Headmaster looked over to McGonagall, “Minerva?”

Professor McGonagall began passing out parchments to the members in attendance.

“Most of you share classes with Harry,” she spoke in her Scottish brogue. “I have taken the liberty of devising a schedule which would provide a minimum of two guards to be by his side throughout the day. Of course you are at liberty to modify this, but again — the goal is to have a minimum of two guards present at all times.”

“What about this summer?” asked Hermione.

“For his own safety, I have decided that Mr. Potter will stay here at the castle. Aside from him, there will be a handful of professors. Furthermore, he will be learning new skills over the summer that should help him to better protect himself next term.”

  The noise level in the room dropped as each student studied their individual parchment.

Dumbledore stood up from his chair. “So, may I depend upon you to carry out this task?”

They all stood in unison and answered in a jumble of like responses, “Of course Sir.” “Anything we can do to help Harry.” “You can count on us!” 

“I have one more request.”

He waited until they had quieted and were paying attention. “As you all know, Harry dislikes being the center of attention. So if you will, please try to carry out your duties without fanfare.”

“You can count on us, Sir.” assured Ron.

~~~~~SH~~~~~

The DA kept close tabs on Harry that week, escorting him to and from classes, down to meals then back up to the tower, in essence making sure that he was never alone.

They’d all noticed that Harry wasn’t quite himself. He seemed continually preoccupied and slightly dazed. Chalking up his odd behavior to the concussion, no one thought anything of it.

Harry may have felt dazed, but it wasn’t because of any bump on the head.

On Friday afternoon, Harry, Ron and Hermione hiked up to the seventh floor after their charms class had finished and had just reached the door past the Gargoyle when Harry turned to face them.

 “Listen, you two don’t have to wait out here for an hour. I’ll be fine.”

“Harry Potter, we’re staying right here — so save your breath.”

Harry shook his head and sighed as Ron stepped forward and knocked on the door.

“Come in Harry.”

 Ron shrugged uncomfortably but Hermione gave him a little shove. “Go on.”

He opened the door and poked his head in.

“Why if it isn’t Ron Weasley,” Helena stood and walked over to greet him. “I haven’t seen you since last summer.”

“Hello Healer Swanson.”

“Please, call me Helena. But where is Harry? Is he all right?”

“I’m right here,” snapped Harry from out in the hallway.

“Helena,” continued Ron, “I need to make certain that you’re the only person in this room.”

“Oh,” she said with surprise. “Be my guest.” She stood back and allowed Ron to inspect the room.

Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear, “You guys are taking this too far.”

“We are not!” she hissed back at him.

“Everything looks fine, you can come in.”

Harry walked in and glared at Ron as he walked out.

After the door closed, Harry closed his eyes and leaned back against the door, dropping his bag on the floor. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“Come over here and sit down.”

He pushed off from the door and plopped himself down in the chair.

“Quite a bit has happened to you since we last met,” she said in a casual voice.

“Helena … you have no idea.”

“Are you talking about the attack?”

“No, I’m not.” Harry stood up and began pacing around the room. “And it’s not all this stupid guarding me business either!”

The china tea service sitting on the sideboard shattered suddenly.

“Harry, calm down … and do it right now,” commanded Helena.

He cringed at her panicked tone of voice. “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said reassuringly, but her eyes wide with unease. “Why don’t you come and sit down.” 

“He waved his hand and cast ‘Reparo’ as he walked back and slumped again into the chair. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“It was an accident. Don’t worry about it. But tell me … what has you in such a state?”

“It’s hard to put into words,” he said through a sigh.

“Well then, just pick one. Pick one word to describe what you are feeling.”

Harry hated it when she made him do this, but truth be told it did help him make sense of things. “I guess it would be … betrayal.”

“Who betrayed you?”

“No, it’s me. I’m the one betraying!”

“Does this have something to do with Anthony?”

Harry sagged and nodded his head. “I had this dream …” He fidgeted for a bit, “Um, the person I was with … well, he wasn’t Anthony.”   

“I see. And why does this make you feel betrayal.”

Harry stared at her in disbelief. “Because Anthony has no life! He’s laying there like a vegetable and I should …  I shouldn’t …”

“You shouldn’t what? Ever have feelings for someone else?”

Harry dropped his gaze.

“You shouldn’t ever fall in love again or be intimate with someone?”

He grit his teeth, trying to hold back the tears. “I feel like I’m betraying him.”

Helena set her pen and paper down and leaned forward. “You have been informed as to his clinical condition.”

“Yes,” his acknowledgement was barely audible.

“So you know that he will never wake up, and there is a strong possibility that he will succumb to secondary complications.”

“I know all of that.” Harry wiped a tear away that had slipped past his lashes. “But how can I feel,” he shrugged, “that way about someone else when Anthony is going though all of that? It’s not right.”

Helena sat quietly for a moment, deciding how best to proceed. “What if the roles were reversed? What if it was you lying in that coma? How would you want Anthony to live the remainder of his life?”

“His Mom said something like that to me last year.”

“So? What would you want?”

“I’d want Anthony to be happy,” another tear slid down his cheek. “I’d want him to love again.”

“This will take time Harry,” Helena consoled him, “and we’ll continue to talk about it as you work through all of this.”

“Okay,” he sighed.

“So, is there someone…?”

“No, not really; I just … have these feelings.”

“Believe it or not, that’s a healthy sign.”

He started to contradict her but Helena raised her hand, “Let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“I know that part of you is feeling guilty, but your subconscious and your physical self are healing and moving on.”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” he repeated softly.

“My advice for you is to take this one day at a time. Don’t try to analyze your feelings; just let them happen.”

“I’ll try.” He felt empty as he looked out the window and repeated her words softly, “One day at a time.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~