Tuesday, Aug. 27

No further entries for this date.

---

Previously:

When he tumbled from the fireplace into the little office, and pried his stinging eyes open, the first thing he saw was Lucius Malfoy, with his wand pointed at Harry's head. Right beside him, wand steady and wearing a grim smile, was Albus Dumbledore, doing the very same thing.

Startled and gaping at the two men, Harry had several thoughts all at once. The first was, Oh, crap. Then, How do I keep getting into these situations? And then, finally, What the hell is up with Dumbledore?

Before any of these had time to be more than thoughts, however, Harry had his wand up and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" To his surprise, since he thought the Headmaster was far more powerful than that, Dumbledore's wand went flying out of his hand, and he even stumbled back a few steps. In the next second, his elation turned to horror when a bolt of red light slammed into his side from a Stupefy. All he saw as darkness overtook him was Malfoy's leering face.

---

Everything was so cold. And dark. And his left arm was one huge bundle of nerves, trapped in ice so cold it burned. For the longest time, he could not form coherent thought beyond, "Hurts," and he knew, somehow, that even that thought was not making it to his conscious mind. Finally, though, he was able to put the pain into another place, as he had done for many, many years of his service to the Dark Lord, a place far enough away that he could think again. When he did, his first thought was, Harry . . . where is Harry?

He swam toward consciousness, knowing -- without understanding why -- that he had to wake up. That Harry needed him, that he was in trouble.

When has Harry not been in trouble? a little voice inside him asked.

Good point.

And yet . . . he had come to realize over the last month of keeping company with the boy, that much of the trouble Harry engaged in was not of his own making. Not really. Their talks had done much to disabuse him of any notions on that account. No, trouble seemed to find him with preternatural ease. As it had now.

He had to protect the boy, his ward. He had to protect Harry, as he had sworn to do. With this thought foremost in his mind, he forced his consciousness closer and closer to the surface. It was like swimming through mud, through quicksand, though all kinds of other materials that were clingy and viscous and hard to move through.

Sound penetrated his mind first. One sound. A voice. Lupin's voice. Severus scowled, and not just because of the constant throb of the Mark in his left arm.

"I hate to do it, but really, Severus, it's for your safety . . . if you were awake, you could tell me where you keep the potion. But it's too close to the--"

"What are you babbling about?" he rasped, his voice like sandpaper.

"Oh! You're awake."

"Obviously." He struggled to open his eyes, but they were glued shut. He brought his right arm up -- since his left seemed good for nothing just now -- to rub at his eyes, clearing out the detritus and forcing them to open. Everything was blurred and it all undulated oddly, giving the impression of looking through water. He squinted. Ah, better.

"I mean, it's good to see you awake. Can you tell me where you keep your Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Where's Harry?"

"What?"

"Which part of the interrogative did you not understand?"

"I understood, but really, Severus, it's far more important that you tell me where you keep the potion. I've been battling the change for going on an hour now, and was just about to transform a cage out of your settee in the sitting room--"

Oh, for Merlin's sake! "Why don't you just leave!"

Lupin sounded a bit panicked, actually. "I would, but there seem to be Wards placed on your door, and on your Floo, to prevent me from going."

Something akin to terror rose in Severus' chest like a wave. His voice came out as a whisper, because he couldn't make it louder. "You're trapped in here."

"Yes."

"With me."

"I've said--"

"And you're about to change into a slavering beast."

"Yes. Unless you--"

"The potion is in my laboratory," and when Lupin rose to go, he added, "But it's Warded, you fool." As if he would leave that space unguarded, especially with a trouble prone teenager around. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tried to get up. His left arm was so much dead weight, and for some reason, his legs did not want to cooperate. Well, he'd dealt with that before. Willpower, force, and the imperative motive of not being eaten made them work for him. He shuffled toward the door.

Lupin followed, at a distance of not nearly far enough.

"In front of me," Severus growled. "Get in front of me."

The Werewolf obeyed with alacrity, and Severus staggered after him.

"Wand," he demanded, as they made their way down the hall. Lupin turned and pressed his new wand into his hand. The Were's hands were clenched into fists, and the strain of not changing was evident in the cast of his face, in the muscles of his neck. "How close?"

"Close enough," Lupin growled. "The full moon isn't really until early morning, about five hours from now. But it's . . . it's close."

Severus touched his wand to the door to his lab, muttered the password under his breath, and went inside. It was the work of only a minute to secure the potion for Lupin, and Severus reflected that it was a good thing he had made this batch earlier in the month.

He brought the bottle out to Lupin and put it down on the dining table, making Lupin take it up from there instead of letting him come close enough to take it from his hand. He wasn't paranoid, though, not of Werewolves. Not at all. "So the date . . ."

Lupin swallowed down the potion. "It's the 27th, but just before midnight of the 28th."

"I was out for . . ."

"A bit more than twenty-four hours."

Right. What the hell had happened to him? No, that was a question for another time. "Now," Severus said, leaning against the wall, but not because he was still too weak to stand on his own, not at all. "Tell me where Harry is."

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

Severus snarled, "If he had, I'm sure I would not be asking you now. Answer the damn question!"

The shaking had increased in Lupin's hands, and his eyes had turned gold. The change was upon him, and Severus was just standing there! What if the potion was ineffective this close to the change? He forced himself to remain calm, even as he started to edge along the wall, wand held up in case Lupin should try to charge him. He was just being cautious. He wasn't actually frightened, of course not.

But the words that came out of Lupin's mouth next were actually frightening, and the cold he had battled all the way to consciousness threatened to overcome him. "He said he had to take Harry to the Ministry of Magic. Because of the Unforgivable Harry cast."

"Almost cast," Severus whispered, barely even noticing as Lupin completed the change before his eyes, face elongating, teeth growing sharp and deadly, legs and arms twisting into that animal shape Severus so detested. The Wolf could have attacked him right then and he wouldn't have defended himself, but Lupin merely paced back and forth for a moment before settling on the rug in front of the fire like nothing more than a big, mangy dog.

Dumbledore had taken Harry.

After the discussion they had had, twenty-four hours ago, apparently, when it was decided that Harry would never present himself to the Wizengamot, the old man had taken Harry anyway. A sudden realization hit Severus like a bludger to the stomach. Dumbledore had done something to his arm. Dumbledore, not the Dark Lord.

Was the Dark Mark even affected? Or had that all been in his mind? He remembered tea, suddenly, and the cup falling to roll under the table . . .

Hand trembling, Severus grasped at the edge of bandage on his left arm, and unwrapped the first couple layers. Sweat broke out on his brow, and not just because he was afraid of what damage he might find. No, worst would be if . . . the bandage came off, revealing skin that was whole, intact, and otherwise not harmed by fire or acid. The Dark Mark shone black on his pale skin, and he felt faint with relief . . . and then enraged, fury so sudden that he could hear his heart thudding in his chest and blood raging in his ears.

Dumbledore had taken Harry.

The bandage fell from his fingers as he raced to the Floo. It was Warded, as Lupin had claimed. But it was his Floo, and in moments, he had the Ward disabled, and had come out in the Headmasters Office. Dumbledore had taken Harry to the Ministry. But where? The place was huge, with catacombs and multiple levels, and he could search for hours without finding the boy. Perhaps he should start on the levels where trials were held, where his own had been held, years and years ago. Where Harry's had been, a year ago.

But then, he thought, was there even really a trial?

Or was that another lie?

Waving his wand in several specific arcs in front of Dumbledore's Floo, Severus learned the last destination to which someone had Floo'd. Had it been Harry? Had he even been under his own power when he left? Had he already been turned over to those maniacs? Or worse, turned over to the Dark Lord? Bile rose in his throat at his failure. He had promised Harry he would take care of him, keep him safe, and then this . . . betrayal.

Taking a deep breath, Severus shook his head and forced all thoughts like that from his mind. They would not help now. He stepped back into the Floo, with a handful of powder and his wand both held tight in his right hand. Even if his left arm was not damaged, it still would not move for him.

"Ministry Inquisitor's Office!" he called out and threw the powder down.

---

He was so cold, shivering on the . . . floor? And his whole body ached like he'd been hit by a hundred bludgers. Multiple times of coming to consciousness in situations which were less than optimal had taught him not to make big movements or otherwise alert others to the fact that he was awake. This way, it was possible he could learn something about his situation before anyone tried to hurt him again.

Thus, Harry laid still for a few moments, listening for any odd noises that could give him clues as to where he was, or with whom. And he tried to remember what had brought him to this position -- on his back, seemingly Petrified, or tied? -- on the floor of some stone room. When he did remember, it was all he could do not to scream.

But screaming would get him nowhere. Screaming would not help. Screaming would, in fact, be a very bad thing to do. He knew that, really he did, and so did his pounding head, and the roiling in his stomach, and the tight band of fear that circled his chest. But still, it was a near thing.

But lying silently, he was able to get a better sense of who was with him. Though he could not see the other person, he could hear them breathing. Was it Malfoy? Oh, god! No! NO! He fought to get his fear under control. No. It was not Malfoy. The magical signature was all wrong . . . Hmm. It had been a while since he'd even thought about magical signatures. It had been since that night at the manor, in fact -- and in desperation, he pushed the memory of that place away, as hard as he could -- when he had locked into memory the feel of Malfoy's signature, and Bellatrix's, and Voldemort's, so he would know them later . . .

And with a suddenness that made him reel, he realized it was Voldemort's he felt right now. In the next moment, however, he recognized that there was something wrong. The signature was not really Voldemort's, not entirely, or perhaps not just Voldemort's. The sense he got from the magic was as if more than one signature occupied the same space. Was that even possible? And, if so, who was the other one?

Eyes still closed, Harry made his breaths continue to come evenly spaced, forced himself to stay still, even trapped in a room with the most evil creature ever, a man who had raped and tortured him, and instead of curling into a ball and dying like he really wanted, he felt along the edges of the signature, of the wizard who was no more than five yards away, trying to make sense of it.

One of the first things he realized was that the two parts of the signature were not working together. Rather, the part that was not Voldemort was struggling against the part that was. Not terribly effectively, but Harry could feel the battle as if it were going on in a physical space nearby. Perhaps it was someone who Voldemort had possessed, like he had possessed Harry the night Sirius died. Perhaps it was someone who would help Harry, if he could get Voldemort out of him.

Of course, it might be that it was Voldemort himself, and that the other signature was someone trying to take the Dark Wizard over. That seemed less likely, though. Who would want to possess Voldemort?

Besides, the first option made Harry think of Dumbledore, and how oddly he had been acting, and he hoped beyond hope, that he was right.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry cracked open one eye to see. Sitting at a chair in front of the Floo that the two of them had come through earlier, was Dumbledore. He looked very, very tired, Harry noted, and the hand holding his wand was white-knuckled with tension. Harry's own wand was nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, the Floo crackled to life, but instead of anyone coming through, a head appeared. Through his half-opened eyes, Harry was at just the right angle to see Malfoy's face, wreathed in flame, and he fought to keep his breath from exploding from his throat. God, he hated that man, with every breath, with every thought.

"Well, Lucius?" Dumbledore said.

"The cell is ready, my Lord," Malfoy said. "Thoroughly Warded, as you requested. He will not escape you this time."

"Excellent. Has there been any word from the school?"

Malfoy laughed. "None, my Lord. You were correct. None of them suspect a thing. And apparently the Wards have held the Werewolf in with the traitor, or we would have heard of his escape."

"Indeed." Dumbledore-who-was-not-Dumbledore shifted in his chair, and waved his wand lazily. "Come through and retrieve the boy in fifteen minutes, Lucius. I will return to Hogwarts first, to collect a few odds and ends from my collection."

"Yes, my Lord, of course."

"Oh, and Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Do keep your hands off the boy until I have used him first, will you?"

Malfoy's mouth formed a knowing smile that made Harry want to sick up. "Of course, my Lord." He vanished a moment later, and the man who was not Dumbledore started to rise from his chair.

Now or never, thought Harry, and he gathered all the power he could, all of the hate for Voldemort and Lucius and his worry over the Headmaster and Severus, trapped with Lupin in the midst of the change into one enormous bundle. The moment Voldemort-in-Dumbledore's-body turned to look at his captive, Harry met his gaze and smiled. Before the wizard could do more than lift his wand, Harry unleashed a sharp stream of memory and power meant to slice right through the bonds holding Voldemort in the Headmaster's mind.