Chapter eighteen

It took Harry approximately fifteen minutes and an extra thirty seconds to remember his surrendering. He knew that for a fact, because he counted every second of it.

His head was exploding, his mouth was stuffy and unbearably dry, and that made his brain sluggish, making him vaguely feel like waking up in the hospital last week.

Thin rays of sun brutally hit him in the face as he tried to turn over and snuggle his face in his pillow... Which did not smell of him? Eyes snapping open, Harry realized that the sun's angle was all wrong; his own window was on his right, by his feet and thus never directly in his face.

He sat up in a blink, his head pounding protest. Harry groaned, raising a tentative hand to his head. What the hell was going on? He freaked out.
Fifteen minutes and twenty nine seconds later Harry was about to kill himself. He had overslept... He had overslept! He missed them, Dad had probably waited out all night long, worried sick and here Harry was, drunk out of his mind, napping.

Horrified with himself, Harry stumbled across the room, almost tripped on his trunk and then hesitantly approached the door.

Was it locked?

Sure enough, the doors were locked, obviously with something other than spells, as Harry was able to wrench the knob to no avail.

"Let me out!" he yelled, banging his fist at the door.

Silence was his reply and Harry kicked the door in frustration.

This was just like his childhood all over again. Instead of a cupboard, he was locked in, in a fancy room that did not belong to him. He should've seen this coming.
Harry turned from the door and faced his bed with disdain, sneering over the mattress and the duvet that was most certainly /not/ his, and unable to hide his disgust. Had he really slept on those last night?

Impulsively, the boy marched to the bed and tore the mattress off, dragging the said thing on the ground as he rampaged his surrendering for his missing coin. The spell would’ve faded by now; none of his godfathers were particularly talented in wandless magic, and it was a miracle that their spell had stuck on a long as it had.

Even if it did work, it wouldn’t do any good. It was too late, he was most likely found out, and Dad wouldn't have stayed until now, judging by the sun, it must already be around eleven. Upon investigation, Harry found out his coin fallen underneath the bed and sighed in relief that it was here and not in James' hands.
Harry scrambled to the window, trying to open the ledge with both hands. It didn't even budge. Eyes wide and sweat coating his face, Harry's face fell. James had locked the window too. Not that Harry was able to jump from a three story building and only expect a rough landing, but now he had no means of escape until he was let out by his parents.

Feeling utterly ashamed and disgusted with himself, Harry slumped on the ground and closed his eyes.

One job.

He had one job to do, and he had bailed on that one, just to rile his parents up. Did it really worth it?

Harry could not remember gaining any satisfaction from getting drunk or eating like a savage, James was smug more than anything, and Harry didn't take any satisfaction in seeing that.

Almost as if mocking him, Harry found a glass of water and a vial on his night stand next, left there by James, with a note. Harry poured all he had into his legs and crawled on his knees to the nightstand to retrieve the note.

_Congratulations on your first hangover Harry. The potion helps, trust me.

Harry hurled the vial to the window and watched it shatter to a million pieces, raining to the floor as Harry chugged the water at the sluggish potion now adorning the expensive carpet.

He bit back his sobs and shook his head; he was done crying and being weak. He screwed up just to mess with them, and in return lost the opportunity to be free and mend things with his father, now he would suck it up. He needed to remain calm, at least until he was back in his father's loving arms.

He choked back on his pathetic whimpering and inhaled, looking around the room for inspiration. He had to get out of his room; they had to let him out eventually.

As Harry was trying to figure out how one could open a locked door without essentially breaking anything, the sound of his mom shuffling behind his door caught his attention. He stood, straightened his clothes, and marched to the door, oddly eager to meet Lily.

The door cringed as it opened, it caught on the mattress Harry had angrily thrown about, he saw Lily brandishing her wand as the door resisted and raised his eyebrows.

“Stay put.” The woman snarled as she finally managed the wretch the door open, her wand expertly trained on Harry.

“What? You think I’m gonna go feral?” she was treating him as if he was a beast, and that, to Harry’s hung over mind sounded way worse than the physical abuse he had endured at the hands of this woman before.

“Stay there.” She spewed out in disgust and glanced over the room, her wand still pointed at Harry, showing off her long manicured nails as well, Harry wondered if they could still scratch as fatally as before.

Harry backtracked to the bed, unconsciously hiding his trunk from her view; not that anything useful was in it, there was no way that the guards hadn’t already gone through his stuff.

“You aren’t even worthy enough to be put in a decent room, are you?” the woman stated with disgust as her sharp eyes surveyed the room, skimming over the ruined carpet and the strewn stuff on the ground.

“Better lock me in a cage next time.” Harry retorted back, already feeling infuriated and nursing a slight headache.

“Don’t tempt me by talking back; you of all people know what I’m capable of.” The wretched woman muttered and dropped her wand.

Her eyes rested on his disfigured face the way someone would look at a piece of dirt under their shoes, it made Harry feel disgusted with himself.

“Does Aiden know about the /other/ side of you?” Harry snapped back snidely, immediately regretting it as she glared down at him in warning.

“Look at me boy, I’m leaving the manor for the day, and James is in the west wing…So don’t get ahead of yourself.” She hesitantly approached him, as if talking to a caged animal.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He informed her dryly, even though he was trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him, making Harry subconsciously back away in weariness. “He’ll be here in a few minutes; you are expected to do as he says. Put a foot out of line, and I’ll make sure it never wanders out of line ever again.” Idly, Harry wondered if her threats were always this graphic or as equally hilarious, he decided not to push the woman by asking though.

“Why are you doing this?” why letting him out in the first place if they could have just locked him in? This wasn’t making any sense to Harry. He was glaring at the woman in earnest when she suddenly strode to his side and clutched his wrist in a painful grip; Harry couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

“Because I can. Clean this shit up before he comes; you’d better get on his good side.” She hauled him at the door and went ahead, hastily straightening her emerald robes and brushing down her hair.

“What if I didn’t? You can’t hurt me.” She could hurt him, she /was/ hurting him, this was the hangover talking.

“We’ll see about that, now get out of my sight.” She wrenched her nails away from his red wrist and turned, not bothering to close the door as she went.

Harry scrambled to his knees the moment she was out of his sight and presumably down the hall, Harry rushed to his trunk, stuffing his strewn belongings in the trunk before shoving it far under the bed. Even though the man could get hold of his things, Harry was not about to tempt him by leaving it in plain sight.

He then managed to splay out the mattress further on the floor, smoothing them out as if he was building a fort, the painful pressure on his knees and the palm of his hands were ignored as he tried to mop up the water and the sluggish potion to the best of his abilities; he wanted to leave it there at first, for James to see, see exactly how little Harry cared, but he changed his mind, James was unpredictable and according to Lily, they were alone now.

He didn’t want to piss the man off or cause him further amusement.

James Potter strode in his room right as his son gathered the drenched sheets in his arms, causing Harry to almost fall on his back, as his eyes suddenly bore into his.

Harry gave a startled jump, not having heard the man enter the room; James was looking around the messy room with an appraising gaze, his hazel eyes gleaming mischievously, and his lips twitching a bit, as if he found the scene hilarious.

Harry dumped the sheets by his feet and glared back, he didn’t find this situation funny at all, nor did his hangover appreciate the shit eating grin on the cocky man’s face.

“Honestly? I’ve been expecting it to look way worse. Was that all you had?” the man finally drawled out, causing Harry to grit his teeth, and fist his hands in anger.

That bastard, his hung-over mind spat out inwardly.

The boy didn’t grace the bait with an answer and just stood there, waiting for the man to enunciate the first move.

James uncrossed his arms and nodded in approval. “Follow me.” He said and Harry did so without a complaint.

Flashes from last night’s drunken musings came to Harry’s mind as they crossed down the hallway and to the grand staircase, the boy flushed in shame, muttering an apology to his father in his mind and trailing after the man as he was led to the main entrance and to a familiar set of French doors.

“What…” he trailed off, his eyes widening as James threw the doors open and entered the west wing of the mansion.

“I said, follow me.” The man repeated sternly, causing Harry to jog after him to the other side.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked timidly, his head was subtly pulsing now, indicating that something was about to go terribly wrong. James didn’t acknowledge him, striding defiantly as he left Harry keep up.

“I said where are you taking me?” Harry scarcely noticed the sorry state this part of the house was in, clearly it hadn’t been tended to as vigorously as the east side of the mansion. Dust clogged the air into stillness, cobwebs dangled from the sheet covered portraits and the floor creaked under their weight constantly, leading Harry to believe that this was all somehow intentional.

His breath caught in his throat when the man finally came to a stop, revealing a small door carved into the wall. The same door that was the sole beginning image in his nightmares every night. The one that had been smeared with his blood countless times and filled with his cries nearly every night. Harry wanted to puke as James turned to face him with a smile.

“Open it.” He commanded carelessly, much to Harry’s utter disgust. James tapped his foot down twice and raised his eyebrows.

“No.” he’s gonna lock me in, his mind rattled in alarm, his breath catching. He shook his head as James repeated his request, his fisted hands were now quivering at the thought of being locked in the cupboard again.

Again.

“Harry.” His impatient tone suggested that this was the last time he would be asking, and Harry was losing it. If he had hated being trapped in small places before, he was /terrified/ of being locked in one now… exactly the way he had burned, trapped inside a tree.

Never taking his wide eyes from James’ blank face, Harry shakily extended his hand and turned the knob, fully expecting to be manhandled into the small, confined cupboard.

“Take them out.” The man ordered instead as Harry wrenched the door open with fright.

He crouched, delving his hands into the dark cupboard before dragging the items out with ragged pants of breath.

A broom and a bucket.

Harry closed his eyes and slumped down. A broom and a fucking bucket.

“You bastard.” He whispered breathlessly, his throat bobbing as he took in big gulps of air in his chest.

“Did you honestly think that I would lock you in? What are you Harry? Five?” the man mocked, rolling his eyes as Harry still shook, his eyes remaining close for the sole purpose of containing his tear ducts.

“You utter…” he trailed off, finally looking up to meet his father’s intense hazel eyes, staring back at him expectantly, waiting for Harry to get himself together.

James cut him off with a vicious snort. “Fill the bucket, you’re gonna clean.”

Once again, his father turned and left him on the ground, and Harry was in no hurry to join him. He was still seething, this is a game to him, he realized with horror, and this was all a fucking game to him. Now that they were both somewhat reluctant to physically hurt him, Harry had figured that they wouldn’t dare to do anything else.

Apparently he had been out of the game for too long, and had forgotten James’ sick mind games as a child. Small children either didn’t perceive the subtle message or were too traumatized to figure them out… Harry thinks the latter was the case with him.

He grudgingly stood and followed the sound of James’ footsteps, momentarily taking the other turn in the cobwebbed maze in his quest to find the kitchen. Evidently the bucket wouldn’t fill itself.

It’s just cleaning; Harry tried to comfort himself with the notion as he gulped down his fear. James wouldn’t hurt him. If they really wanted to hurt him they had plenty of chances to do so last night when he was out of his mind, passed out after chugging a bottle of fire whisky on an empty stomach.

“Are you here yet?!” the man hollered from wherever the hell he was, causing Harry to shake again, still reeling from his earlier encounter with the cupboard.
He hurried back to the main hall, not even pausing to look into the various rooms beaconing him inside as he rushed; the empty bucket was clutched in his whitened knuckles.

James was leaning against the French doors with crossed arms and an unimpressed look on his face as Harry reluctantly made his way to him.
“Why isn’t the bucket filled?” he asked nonchalantly, eyeing the blue bucket. Harry’s grip tightened on the damn thing.

“I couldn’t find the kitchen.” The dazed boy muttered meekly, hating himself for the blatant display of weakness.

James didn’t respond for a moment and then sighed. “Of course you didn’t find the kitchen.” He waved his wand out of nowhere and pointed it at the bucket. Harry flinched, the bucket flaying in his hand.

“Aguamenti.” James murmured, watching as the water sloshed up Harry’s reddened hand, and on the dust covered floor.

“Go on now, start cleaning.” He said the moment Harry had regained his balance.

“Clean where?” Harry dropped his head.

“Everywhere.” With that the man conjured a folding chair and set it right on the other side of the doors. He watched Harry all long as he lowered himself on the chair and leant forward, his hands resting on his knees.

“You’re gonna watch me?”

“I’m going to make sure you clean properly.” The man easily replied. “I ordered the elves to leave this place the way it was. How else was I supposed to have some bonding time with my son?”

It could have been the hang over talking, but Harry was suddenly exhausted, all he wanted to do was to crawl under a rock and die. Even sleep wouldn’t be enough.

“The whole wing?” he gritted out. James finally grinned in amusement. “The whole wing.” He confirmed, talking as if he was talking to a small child.
Harry saw no point in wasting time by arguing or staring back at James’ creepy scrutiny. He immediately got to work; dumping the mop in the bucket full of water, the boy worked efficiently and in silence, trying not to waver under his father’s gaze and think about other pleasant places that he could be right now.

“You’re the quiet type, aren’t you?” James mused. Harry stiffened and turned his back to the man, his headache was slowly fading into a small pulse, just a small itch to remind him of his earlier blunder.

“Snape was shy himself… though with his looks I honestly can’t blame the man, I think I can’t blame you either…” he nodded at Harry’s face with his chin. “That’s a nasty burn.”

Harry closed his eyes and gripped the mop with more force than necessary.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked quietly, still not understanding the motive behind the man’s words or actions.

The man shrugged. “Remember our talks about favorites yesterday? I’m just spending some time with my favorite son.”

Harry balked, gaping at the smirking man, which looked uncannily like a twisted version of Harry himself.

He was the favorite son? How was that possible? How could that be real? Was he being played again? Harry’s head was pounding, not from the hangover anymore, but now from confusion and fury eating at his insides.

This is like the cupboard, his mind tried to rationalize. James is sick, his words mean nothing, you shouldn’t even be thinking about this.

But his mind was thinking about it, like an endless loop the sentence was mulled over and handed around in his brain, turning his gears, warped into Severus’s voice. Would Dad ever tell him something like that when the baby was born? Would Harry be his favorite?

That is, /if/ he ever managed to get out of this hell. He thought grimly.

Meanwhile, as Harry was having an inward crisis, James seemed to be oddly content, watching the boy the way he should have been watching him years ago, a way a parent looks at their kid and wonders ‘how they grew up so fast?’, the face Severus had etched upon his face the first time Harry was sent to school as a child…only to be collected three hours later.

It made Harry feel frustrated and uncomfortable; the look didn’t match Harry’s vividly violent vision of the man. This man was never his father, and never would be, but…Was this how this was going to go down? With Harry even doubting that?

“You should have taken that potion by the way; if my own hangovers are any consolation…” the man nodded to himself. “You’ll learn eventually.” He assured the boy, waving him off with a hand. Harry bristled, dropping the soaked mop onto the ground with a loud clatter.

“Eventually?”

James nodded as if it was obvious. “I’d doubt that would be your last time with fire whisky… don’t worry Harry, we have all the time in the world.”

“No we don’t.” Harry quickly blurted out. He didn’t care if he was screwing their plans or giving anything away, all he cared about was shrugging off the man’s creepy attitude.

James’s hazel eyes were positively glittering as he finally stood, and clasped his hands in front of his chest and rubbed them together. “I think you cleaned enough Harry, I’m getting a little annoyed with your behavior.”

Harry knew what that tone of voice meant, so did the recoiling snakes in his stomach; that was the warning before a beating was about to come, that was the tone of voice ringing his ears before he was supposed to dissolve into tears and beg for forgiveness.

“No we don’t. I’m not staying here.” he repeated, not even caring about anything beyond his own safety anymore.

James titled his head, taking one small step after the other as he approached his son; Harry took a step back in sync with his father, one forward and one back.
“Acting so frightened… is that what he taught you? To be frightened of me?” his tone was curious, it made Harry’s mind boggle, and twist up; that would never happen if he was a child. They were straight forward when he was smaller… they didn’t play games.

“I’m…”

James robes brushed over the wet floor, the click of his dragon hide boots urged Harry to turn and run for his life, but he was frozen, his mind was locked in place, and so were his feet now.

“We just have to unlearn some things, don’t we Harry?” Harry’s face had gone pale and he was shaking as if left in the cold.

“N-No.” he managed to stutter.

James nodded like he was agreeing with him…why is he nodding? Harry’s mind scrambled to find out in panic.

“Right Harold, let’s forget about cleaning. It’s time you went back into your cupboard…hmm?”

Not the cupboard. Please, anything but the cupboard. Harry screamed in his mind. ‘You said you wouldn’t.’ Harry wanted to yell. ‘I’m not five anymore’
Before Harry could get his wits together, James, hand was encircled around his wrist, and he was being dragged behind the man as they both crossed the grimy hallways, the bruising grip on his hand only intensified when Harry suddenly begun to struggle. Desperately trying to wrench his hand away, the boy was violently lurched forward, his back slamming into the cupboards door.

“You will stay in there Harry.” James continued in a soft tone, even though his moves were jerky and violent. He grabbed Harry by his arm again, caging him as he struggle to turn the knob with his other hand.

“No.” he said forcefully, elbowing the man in a sudden rough blow. James didn’t even flinch.

“And you’re not getting out of there, unless you just admit the truth and stop lying to yourself.”

“What?” Harry cried out, having no idea what the man was talking about.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you Harry?” James continued, and Harry heaved for another breath. “You’re staying here with us for a long while.”

“No! STOP! Let me go, he’s coming! He’s coming…” the cupboard was open, small enough that Harry was sure the only way he would ever fit into the small space was by fatally curling into himself, all Harry could see in the cupboard was darkness, not a shred of light shone into the cupboard, as he was being shoved in.

“Stay there Harry, alright? Don’t call me unless you’re ready.” Despite Harry’s fruitless efforts he was thrown in the abyss, hitting his sensitive and recovering limbs all around the walls surrendering him. Before the heaving boy could scramble out the door was slammed shut in his face.

Everything had happened so fast, his mind was whirling, not still used to the darkness or the confines of the small cupboard and unable to believe that James had actually thrown him in here and locked him in.

What if there was a fire? What if… what if he was stuck in here again and then died cause there was no one to pull him out again? With a heart breaking whimper Harry threw himself at the door, slamming his fists on the rough wooden surface hard enough to bruise.

“Let me out, I… I promise I’d be good.” Silence was his answer, making Harry even more desperate. He was trapped, that was all he could think about… he was trapped and no one knew he was in here. His mind repeated the thought like a mantra. He had to get out of there before he died.

Suddenly Harry was a small five year old boy, sniveling in his sleeve, and short on breath and scared shitless…

He had to get out of there. Soon.


XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Harry didn't come.

It's been over ten hours since their departure, and there wasn't a single clue indicating that his son was alright. Severus wanted to pull his hair out of frustration, or more preferably, kill someone while he was at it.

He had almost been arrested just that morning, for trying to resist arrest and assaulting a guard whom had wrenched his son away from him before he got to properly say goodbye. Thankfully, or rather unfortunately for the guard, that was the moment Albus decided to step in, dressed in a hideous orange robe, with yellow linings on the sleeve, and a crooked white hat to top it off.

Frankly Severus was too pissed off to carry a civilized conversation with any dunderheads surrendering him, so he bellowed his robes and strode out of the ministry as bluntly as he could manage without engaging any of the reporters. Janet followed him briskly, not attempting to touch him or start up a conversation, Black and Lupin had stayed behind as Albus was now certainly interrogating them about what happened.

“Severus, slow down.” she called out as the man stormed through their floo, leaving a cluster of ash behind him as he went.

“For God's sake Sev, we need to talk.” She snapped, extending her hand to take his arm.

Severus shrugged her off with a sneer. “I was just upped by James Fucking Potter.”

Janet shook her head, her brows drawn in a deep frown. “Harry will be fine Severus. You need to...”

“I just gave up my son to an abusive douche and his wife.” Again. How did this keep happening? Why was he constantly letting Harry down? Why weren’t his efforts enough?! Why wasn’t /anything/ enough?

“They can't hurt him, you know that.” She argued.

Severus shook his head bitterly, already turning to walk away from his fiancée once again. “I underestimated him, well not again, not ever from now on. I’ll be in my labs.” If he could brew the potion quickly enough and skip a few steps in doing so then he would make it to Harry’s schedule. He drawled thoughtfully in his mind.

“They can’t hurt Harry, they won’t hurt him.” she spoke in a tone that was meant to be reassuring, but for some reason Severus found her words insulting more than anything.

“They won’t /hurt/ him? What is this Janet? A game? I put my abused son into their arms, I wasn’t even given the chance to open my mouth at the court, I wasn’t given a /second look/ when they assigned that restriction. Lucius Fucking Malfoy couldn’t even get the guards from confiscating our wands, while my injured son was /manhandled/ by those corrupted /idiots/. They don’t need to beat him to a pulp in order to hurt him.” she nodded frantically, she was agreeing with him but there was a look in her eyes that Severus had come to know as defiance.

She was hesitant to speak again, but finally opened her mouth with a deep inhale. “I know the feeling Severus, I was there. But…come on; let’s think this through again… I just don’t think it will work, to be honest.”

She put her hands up as he opened his mouth to protest.“Just hear me out. Please. The spells put on the coins can’t be trusted, you know how boundless wandless magic is, I’d doubt it if they even last past five hours, and, and frankly, I don’t think Polyjuice potion will be enough to convince James. Severus, you’re seemingly forgetting the fact that James was Harry’s father too, and their relationship was way more intimate and constant than Harry’s with Lily. He would know the difference.”

Before either of them could continue the argument, their floo flared, Lucius Malfoy stepped out with a furious expression, his cane held so tightly that his pale knuckles were stretched over the back of his hand.

Janet stepped back and Severus paused momentarily.

"That scum!" Lucius snarled, wrenching a piece of parchment from his pocket as he strode to the two and smacked the letter in Severus ' waiting hands.

"This... /This/ is the sheer ugliness of Potter's wretchedness! He bought them! All of them!" following his rant, the floo flared again and Black stepped out with his wolf, both looking disheveled from their row with the guards, neither lucky or smart enough to escape the paperwork helping them avoid being held in custody.

"We already knew that, didn't we?" Janet snapped critically.

"Read it!" Lucius glowered, smacking his cane against the ground with force.

"What happened? What’s that?” Sirius asked instead of greeting, warily, crossing the room with large, almost hurrying steps.

"James Potter happened, Black. Lawyer be damned, Fishe is one of the best, but what we attended just now wasn't... I'm not even sure what it was called. A ruse! That's what it was."

Severus quietly sat on the armchair, assessing the parchment in his hands. James Potter's loopy handwriting was too similar to his son's for comfort, almost mockingly identical.

Severus ground his teeth as he set on reading the letter out loud.

"To the most righteous group of wizards and witches currently present in the courtroom, I, James Charles Potter, son of Charles Potter and the head of Potter house, lay down a proposition in interests of the wizagoment, one that I am sure, your sire would be reluctant to turn down..."

He sighed and continued. "__ Of course, my offer is not in any way to abase the ministry, and is merely expressing our gratitude for your time and effort in helping our son. Please do not condone our courtesy as impudence, for we mean nothing but ineptness.

With the formalities being mentioned, we _lady and I_ would be more than happy to transfer... Oh merlin.” Severus broke off the reading and cursed, not believing his eyes as they skimmed over the numbers in a blur. Janet lowered herself next to him, perplexed at his wariness.

"How much is it?" Lupin asked tentatively, eyes round in anticipation and horror.

Malfoy sneered.

"More than your lives put together Lupin, and I'm basically trying to be flattering. I did not believe the numbers to be accurate at first, not if I hadn't gotten it from the judge himself." The aristocrat man turned his head away with a jeer.

Black, walked over and glanced at the parchment over their shoulders, his eyes almost bulging as he saw the loopy handwriting of his best friend. "This must be a mistake. James wouldn't be that extravagant." he said faintly.

"Ninety-nine thousand galleons paid in full, and two thousand after the verdict. Another ten thousand if Snape was somehow restrained from meeting up with Harold. Your eyes aren't wrong Black. Potter just wanted this bad enough."

Janet narrower her eyes, face creasing. "But I don't understand, no offense, Severus, but I don't think the Potters would spend this much on... Harry."
"You should know." Black muttered above their heads.

Janet twisted around and glared up at him. "Yes, I do know. This is a lot. More than James and Lily /would have / normally spent."

"Why should they care? They obviously have the source Evans. Aristocratic arses like them__no offense, Malfoy__ don't care about money if they want something bad enough. They didn't just bribe the officials. They /bought/ Harry."

"This is so wrong, corrupted or not, no one can stoop so low... Harry is just a child." Remus groaned.

"It seems that you have been expecting any less from them. Even after all the wrongs they have done you, you're just too optimistic regarding the ministry. Corruption is putting it lightly... Lupin."

"You talk as if you aren't one of them." The wolf snarled.

"I'm telling you this because I am one of them. Potter's influence had dramatically weakened in the recent years, his name was barely brought up in discussions," he briefly turned his gaze to Snape. "Unlike your son. For him to rise above the officials so quickly and so efficiently is rather strange, unheard of even." he explained.

“Hell, I corrupt the minister every breakfast! All that influence wasn't built up in days, as you are most certainly aware; it took me years to accomplish that. Potter, while being insanely rich and famous, couldn't have done this in a week.” the man admitted and the others dropped their heads in helplessness.

“Are you saying that this was planned?” Janet asked the blond haired man, Lucius titled his head thoughtfully.

“I'm saying there wasn't much we could've done from the start anyways.” He admitted. “Potter just knew he was going to win, and we mistook his triumph for arrogance. We can try pressing charges publicly now. Fishe can certainly pull that off, but the minister is hard to sway with that much money in his department.” He sent another meaningful glance at Severus that the potion master purposefully ignored.

“What if we offer more then?” Severus asked quietly.

“More than that? Be realistic Severus. How much is your salary a year?”

“Two thousand galleons, without taking the ingredients into consideration. I supply them myself.” And that was the problem, even while supplying the school, and left only with one thousand and a half, gives or take, they weren't by any means /struggling/. Not even close to struggling. If anything, with that salary, the Snape family was considered upper than middle class right on the spot.

“And your vaults? All of them?” His friend pressed.

"I'm not sure, with the gold and other heirlooms... Maybe fifty thousand give or take?"

Janet pursed her lips. "I have some in my vault as well."

"Remus and I would have to transport the money back to Gringots to provide the rest."

"Where is it now?” Malfoy asked, standing on his feet.

"Australia. We were moving everything there, we’re not going anymore.” Remus explained calmly.

"Not nearly enough, you see where I’m going here Severus? You can’t play fair with Potter.” His eyes bore into his but Severus couldn’t look back.

"Don't.” he told his friend firmly. “Not until I get Harry out of that place, we can consider other options later. Harry is more important.”

Lucius raised his eyebrows, as the others shared confused glances. “You do realize that even though the glitch would most certainly get you in... There's a chance that you will be found out anyway?” he was stating the truth that they hadn’t dared bring up in front of Harry. It was the right decision, the outcome of the plan wouldn’t matter as long as Harry was safe and James arrested… or dead.

“My son needs me.” Severus stated without a beat. His first priority wasn’t getting rid of Potter. It was his son’s safety… always his son’s safety. No matter how much he had failed up until now, this would be the last straw for all of them.

“He doesn't need you dead Severus; he knows how to handle them. Had been doing it for years before you came, a few months barely worth the effort.” His friend was silently begging him ‘a few months is all we need.’ His eyes were saying.

Severus jeered with narrowed eyes, Black was also sputtering out silent insults as well. “Barely worth the effort? Curb your tongue Lucius, my son is worth more than any of you ever will be. Besides, the plan is already set, Harry knows what he should do.”

Janet looked like she was onto something; she was staring at the blond man with a glint of recognition in her eyes. “The plan wasn't finalized and there's too much room for error. James is not an idiot, he'll figure it out.”

“I can't leave him there. Not for that long. We gave him those galleons for a reason.”

“Our plan was half finished Severus. I'd doubt that Harold would make a move under James' scrutiny.”

“I will /not/ leave my son to those monsters. We will go according to the plan, Janet stays home.”

“Remus and I are coming too, are you?” Black asked Malfoy and the man sneered.

“I’m not fighting a lost war.” the man snapped back viciously.

They went that night, they lurked. They brooded. They circled the entire mansion twice and stayed as long as they could, lingering even as the sun was coming up, by five it was fairly obvious that his son was either not able to come, or he was in no state to get out of the house, Malfoy was right, they wouldn't fight a lost war... Severus was seething, gritting his teeth, ready to kill someone.

Ready to kill James Potter.