Harry and his father began casting Reparo’s around his jungle Occlumens; building and restoring as they slowly spiralled outward from his central pond. As the green began to regrow, Harry made sure to strengthen his passwords as they went, listening to his father’s suggestions, and healed each guardian they came across by passing his mind-wand over the injured creature and thinking of how he wanted it to appear: whole and healthy, stronger than before and armed with magical shields that they could wield against any foe that dared to trespass. The brilliant thing about the mind was that he could build creatures that could do things they could never do in reality. It bolstered his confidence, despite the energy it took to repair the massive damage done to the shields.
His father followed behind, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings, making sure his son didn’t over-extend himself and drain his core or his energy. He shouldn’t have worried; Harry had a keen sense of his own mind and body after several years of training with Runeskin and his father – as well as his training this past summer. He knew when he was reaching exhaustion and it wasn’t now. As Harry turned inward to repair his inner bulwark, it was as if the jungle caught on and began to help Harry with his task – feeding energy back to him. Severus kept watch, making suggestions when needed but mostly making sure the Dark Lord did not attack again at this vulnerable time; his wand out and at the ready to defend at a moment’s notice.
Harry forged all of his love for his family and friends into his creation and the green spread outward from them as they walked, a verdant wildfire. The tide turned the greys, browns and deadened woods into a vibrant, living creature that forcibly shrugged its shoulders and rejected the intruding mind of the Dark Lord. It closed off and encapsulated the wee entrance he had used to wiggle his way in and wreak havoc. They heard Voldemort scream his frustration and pain as he recoiled violently from the love that shone brightly over every leaf, branch, guardian and blade of grass. As he departed, flowers bloomed with a riot of exotic colours and scents, and the sounds of the jungle expanded in a symphony of welcome joy.
As the niggling voice of doubt fled, Harry’s confidence grew in proportion and he turned a guilt ridden face toward his father as they stood at the outer edge of the forest gazing at the fully restored landscape.
“I should have come to you, I’m sorry.” He cast his eyes down in shame, shrinking again into a little boy. But instead of the little cupboard-Harry, dressed in his cousins cast-offs and too thin from malnutrition and abuse, this one was just a scaled-down version of the fifteen year-old; Harry, as he would have appeared if he’d grown up with his parents from the start. He dragged the toe of his trainer in the soft loam of the ground, looking at his hand where the words were still etched into the skin. Several vibrant butterflies danced in the air around the pair, alighting on the boy’s hair and shoulders only to take off again as he moved, their wings lightly kissing his pale skin.
Severus knelt down and took Harry’s hand gently in his while his other tilted his son’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “You have nothing to be ashamed of; you were under a tremendous amount of strain and trying to cope as best you could. Did he work on your insecurities about me?” he asked quietly.
Harry nodded his head, tears threatening to overflow his eyes. “He said you were using me, that you never loved m-m-me...” The tears overflowed the banks of his lower lids and cascaded down his cheeks, salty rivulets running into the corners of his mouth as he explained. “He said I was a f-f-fr-freak and that the Headmaster was using me as a pawn and that you still work for V-v-voldemort,” he stuttered out as the emotions that he’d been hiding for the last few weeks came pouring out.
Severus gathered his son in his arms, hugging the small child tightly and reassuringly. Harry buried his head into his father’s robes, drinking in the comforting scents that always seemed to permeate his father. Herbs and potion fumes mixed with his particular aftershave. “All lies, Harry,” the man reassured the little boy, keeping a firm hold on the small body as the thin legs and arms wrapped themselves possessively around his torso and neck. “I love you more than you will ever know - until you have children of your own,” he promised with a smirk that caused his son to smile just a little as he finally raised his head to peer at his sire, trying vainly to scrub the tear tracks from his face. “I am definitely not using you for anything – in fact, if I could, I would take this cup that fate seems so intent on having you drink from and drain it myself if it would keep you safe! Unfortunately, I do think the Dark Lord has it correct about Dumbledore: he does want to use you as a pawn but we already knew that, which is why you, your brother and your friends were training all summer. Dumbledore would train you by tossing you into situations and seeing if you sink or swim – witness last year! I, on the other hand, intend that you and your classmates, all of them if I can, are armed with as much knowledge and skill as I can cram into your stubborn, addlepated heads before the final, inevitable, confrontation.”
“You think there will be one?” Harry asked tremulously, ignoring his fathers acerbic wit in favour of curling again into his father’s shoulder, wishing he could remain there forever – safe and loved.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he acknowledged, hugging the boy once more before setting him on his feet and standing. “Come, I’m sure we’ve been in here long enough – let’s go reassure everyone that you are fine and see if we can’t heal some of the damage that toad has done to your hand.” As he spoke, his son began regaining his former stature, his hair returning to its neat queue that hung down his back, his Quidditch-trained muscles filling out his school uniform.
As Harry watched, his father faded from his mind, the ghost hand that brushed his fringe leaving a lasting touch on his heart and soon he was laying the last new password along his restored jungle fortress and returning to wakefulness, encased in his father’s arms on the sofa.
Somehow the room had gotten more crowded while they’d been repairing his mind as Madam Pomfrey was now in attendance, tutting away as she saw her patient finally waking up. Apparently, at some point, Professor Weasley had also been called in and he was standing near McGonagall watching the scene with worried eyes. Draco was kneeling at his father’s knees, eyes keenly watching his family. When the two had roused he’d uncharacteristically squeaked before hugging them both tightly and hurrying over to where Hermione was standing, giving her the good news and allowing her to fuss over him – something he rarely permitted her to do in public.
Harry cleared his throat as he gazed around, face growing red in embarrassment to have caused such a fuss. His father gave him a reassuring squeeze as everyone heaved a sigh of relief before they all tried to throw questions at the two and the Floo turned bright green with Sirius’ head popping into being for a Floo call.
“Snape, Snape!” he yelled, effectively silencing the room as he began looking in the wrong direction and Hermione pointed the other way. Sirius turned his head and saw his godson still sitting on his father’s lap. “There you are, thank Merlin! Harry, you had me worried!” he exclaimed, green floo sparks flying from his mouth in agitation.
Harry let his father hand him up so he could reseat himself properly in his favoured corner of the couch, pulling a well-loved throw pillow onto his lap as a further buttress between him and the rest of the occupants in the room. He didn’t see Draco and Hermione scowl at his actions as they were behind him. “There was nothing in my letter to make you worry, Sirius,” he pointed out, frowning. He was sure he’d only written a chatty letter, updating his godfather on how his classes were doing and not much more – although he’d written a quick account of Umbridge and the Weasley Whizzbangs. He’d been glad to see his investment put to such good use and it had been a funny story, one he thought his godfather would appreciate.
“Nothing to worry about? Nothing to worry about, he says!” the fugitive ranted, turning his head to talk over his shoulder to someone on his side of the Floo. They could hear mumbling, words indistinct in the crackling of the green flames before Sirius turned to face the room again. “Hang tight, we’re coming through,” the man boldly stated, pulling his head back out of the fire and causing Severus to sigh loudly while rolling his eyes.
Harry looked at his father and mouthed ‘We’re?’ as Snape wearily directed Hermione to bring some more Murtlap Essence and Draco brought over the rest of the potions and unguents his father had originally requested.
“He’s staying with Lupin,” Severus explained, taking his son’s abused hand and began cleaning it as Poppy leaned in to begin her own investigation of the damage to both his hand and his magic.
“Is someone going to tell me what is going on here?” she asked acerbically, sending a withering glance towards the Potions Professor as if it was his fault Harry was constantly injured.
Everyone took that as the signal to begin speaking at once again, covering up the flare of the Floo. Remus and Sirius began asking the same questions as they took in the scene, loudly. Harry slowly backed further into the corner of the couch, his father scooting along with him keeping the hand aloft as he examined it. Snape’s eyes squinted as the sound level kept increasing until he finally cracked, screaming, “Silence! That is ENOUGH!” He whirled around pinning all of them with quelling stares and they all backed away from the couch, ringing the edge of the room, mercifully mute. “Be quiet, all of you before I cast a mass Silencio!” he insisted while Minerva conjured more chairs as it appeared they would be at this for a while. “Merlin; save me from nosey Griffindors!” Severus grumped under his breath making Harry snort his pained amusement.
“Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Sirius whinged. “And why Harry’s seeming innocuous, chatty note today had his blood all over it?” he accused the room in general. Remus stood next to him, arms crossed and eyes glinting a feral yellow.
“I would like to know as well!” Madam Pomfrey announced. “But my question is who used a Blood Quill on Mr Potter-Snape and why is his hand in such bad shape from it. Well, Severus? You seem to know what is going on,” she said, poking him in the shoulder before handing him a moistened flannel to further clean the affected area. He soaked the cloth even further in an anti-infective that burned in the open wounds causing Harry to visibly wince, catching his breath as he gritted his teeth against the fire in his hand.
The other adult males in the room spluttered aloud as they took in her pronouncement.
“A Blood Quill? Who the hell has one of those instruments of torture in this school?” Remus pounced, eyes flashing in anger. It was obvious to everyone that the wolf was running close to the surface with the full moon just a few days away and several people near him took involuntary steps to distance themselves from his rage.
“Dolores Umbridge,” pronounced Minerva, her lips pursed tightly in disgust. The angrier she got, the more tight-lipped she became. Gryffindors for decades had learned to avoid that particular withering look at all costs. “The Minister placed her here to be his spy in the school and Dumbledore fully agreed.” It was clear she was not in agreement with this decision. “Fudge then gave her full academic privileges without being a teacher and Harry was the first student who gained a detention with her,” her tone of voice and tilt of head towards Harry indicated her clear opinion of this as she shot a glare over to her outspoken pupil.
“What’d he do, piss on one of her pink kittens?” Sirius joked, chuckling a little. She had been notorious even as a junior secretary when he’d been an Auror before the Potter’s demise, and Tonks and Moody had relayed that she’d only gotten worse as the years had marched on and she’d risen in rank. Expecting a laugh from his jest, he was surprised when it fell flat on his audience. “What? Really?” he asked.
“Close enough,” Bill spoke up, causing the older Order member to frown. “She was insisting that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had not returned and that everything Harry has been spouting off is lies – to his face. She gave him two weeks detention for telling her the truth, essentially. I know Minerva and Severus both told him to not agitate her – but you know Harry, he doesn’t take what happened last year lightly and really hates being told he’s a liar. None of us knew what was going on in those detentions, though,” he pointed out to the seething animagus. “He would only say he was doing lines when any of us asked him.”
“Lines? How many did you have to do with that thing?” Pomfrey exclaimed, grabbing the hand out of Severus’ and looking at it keenly. Severus growled at her as he firmly took the hand back, soaking the flannel again and continuing the cleansing routine.
“Until it sunk in,” said Harry with a flat voice, his eyes locked on his father’s ministrations and his other arm clutching the throw pillow to his torso, the knuckles white with tension. “’I must not tell lies’ over and over again... night after night... ouch!” he winced as his father finished cleaning the blood and pus he’d expressed from the words carved into his son’s flesh and, with a third clean cloth, dabbed on the anti-infective again as Poppy poured a fresh bowl of the Murtlap essence. She conjured a fluffy pillow, soft enough to nestle around the bowl, and placed the contraption on Harry’s lap, immersing his hand in the healing solution. A soft sigh escaped his lips as the thick, greenish essence took away the pain and cooled the raging fire of infection in the cuts. He let up his hold on the shield pillow long enough to swallow several potions to help heal from within and as they took affect, he sighed again, relaxing for – it felt – the first time in weeks.
Sirius looked as if he was ready to go barging out the door and hunt the woman down if it hadn’t been for Remus’ iron grip on his bicep holding him in place. He’d find bruises there in the morning. “Think, Siri,” the werewolf pleaded. “You are still a fugitive! You can’t go barging into a Ministry Under-Secretary’s office; that is just playing right into her hands! We think this is the woman who sent the Dementors after Harry’s cousin! Whoops!” He flushed red as he realized that information had only been discussed amongst the adults that one afternoon in August. Harry had stiffened, swinging his gaze from Lupin to his father, raising his eyebrow.
Severus growled under his breath before rising from the couch to face the man. “Thank you for that pronouncement, Lupin,” he stated in his thickest sarcastic voice; the one that always struck fear in his higher level students; the one that said ‘I expected better of such an advanced student as you!’ “I was waiting to receive confirmation of those suspicions before I told my family.” He turned back to his son; all rancour now absent from his face. “What the wolf says is correct, Harry. Because of her previous appointments within the Ministry, we are fairly certain she was the one who sent the Dementors after Dursley.”
Draco snorted in derision from his spot standing near his brother. “At least we know now that it wasn’t out of some sense of protectiveness for you, Harry. She hates you.”
Harry nodded glumly. “Guess so... is Dudley going to be safe at his school?” he asked, suddenly concerned for his cousin. “She’s nutters, Dad. I’d feel awful if something happened to him just because he’s related to me.”
“For now,” Severus advised. “But we will keep a closer eye on him. How’s the pain in your hand?” he asked, looking down at the immersed appendage.
“Not so bad, now. I’m just really tired...” And he did look drained, his slight frame melding into the sofa pillows. Severus looked at him for a moment before nodding his head in an apparent decision. Summoning over Bill Weasley they helped Harry up and walked him to his bedroom as the crowd called out several goodnights.
After settling his son under the red and gold patterned duvet, Severus accio-ed a roll of medical gauze that he dipped into the Murtlap Bill had carried for them and wound it around his son’s hand. He then cast an impervious on the finished bandage so that it wouldn’t dry out overnight or get the covers messy. Bill hustled the gawkers back out of the room, letting only Draco and Hermione past him. They could hear him placate Sirius Black as he protested he should be allowed in as it was his godson and he only wanted to say goodnight, for Merlin’s sake!
Harry sighed deeply as Draco sniggered quietly when they heard Sirius bellow, “Fine! GOODNIGHT, HARRY!!” Hermione rolled her eyes as she shut the door, shutting out the sounds from the front room. She stood in front of it, arms crossed in a guarding manner and glared concernedly at her best friend.
“Merlin!” Harry muttered. “This is why I didn’t tell anyone – I didn’t want any fuss. It felt like it was a personal fight between her and me! I didn’t want anyone else hurt or involved. It seems like that is what happens every time.”
“Oh, Harry...” Hermione commiserated in sympathy. Draco, on the other hand, took a different tack; he cuffed Harry across the top of his brother’s head.
“Hey!” Harry protested. “What was that for?” He rubbed at the sore spot, glaring at his sibling.
“Being an idiotic Gryffindor!” his brother pointed out. “You’ve lived with Slytherins long enough to know better! Dad would have put a stop to it immediately!”
Harry shrugged. “I know. I was just so stunned by the whole thing... and she was saying the same things I was hearing in my dreams each night... Oh...” He looked up startled as he realized only his father was aware of Voldemort’s intrusions. “Umm, yeah...” he said sheepishly.
Draco looked over at his father leaning on the edge of Harry’s desk. “That’s why his magic went all wonky out there? He’s being possessed?” Hermione gasped from her station at the door.
“Not possessed – invaded, mentally abused,” Severus explained patiently. A tact few students, except for his brighter ones, ever heard when he was teaching. “His occlumency barriers were being attacked each night during his dreams. Umbridge was reinforcing the same message during her detentions,” he ground out. “Whether unwittingly or not – we don’t really yet know. She could be pursuing her own warped agenda or she could be a recent agent. She certainly wasn’t a member of his inner or outer ranks previously,” he mused, as if to himself.
“Well we certainly can’t let her do this to anyone else – and those goons in her ‘Squad’ are handing out those detentions right and left,” Hermione complained. Snape straightened and approached her, looming over the short fifth-year, concern etched along his brow. In her favour, she did not back down but looked him square in the eyes.
“Are you aware of anyone else who might be hiding these same wounds?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, sir. And I’m a prefect now – there have been no complaints at all, but if they all felt it was a personal problem, like Harry, they wouldn’t complain, would they?” she pointed out, logically. “She’s obviously quite good with working on internal fears.”
“True,” he murmured as he began pacing the room. “We need to find out what is happening – if anyone else has been violated in the same manner... or worse,” he intimated. He returned to Harry and pulled a small phial from his robes, handing it to his son. “Dreamless Sleep. You need it tonight and tomorrow night as well as, most likely, Sunday night. It will help repair the damage,” he explained, tapping a finger on the boy’s temple. Harry gratefully took it, thumbing off the cork one-handed and downing the contents quickly. Sighing deeply, he handed the empty container back to Severus before letting the potion work its magic, sending him off to a healing sleep. Severus tucked the boy more firmly under the covers, ghosting a kiss over his forehead and removing the boy’s spectacles, placing them out of harms way on the night table.
He nox-ed the lights as they left the room, closing the door softly. Usually Harry left the door unlatched – a hold-over from his years living at his Aunt’s, and normally Snape would comply with his wishes – and he would, later in the evening. Right now, however, he wanted to keep his son away from the discussion that was soon to happen so he closed the door casting a one-way muffling charm on it. He would be able to hear any noises from the bedroom, but Harry wouldn’t hear a thing. He would be able to sleep contentedly.
The three re-entered the parlour to join in on the debating adults. Severus took immediate control of the room, simply by his presence, and calmly poured himself a glass of wine, offering libations to the other adults in the room, summoning Butterbeers for Draco and Hermione, before sitting in his favourite chair, crossing his legs gracefully and taking full command of the situation.
Everyone followed his lead, pulling the other chairs forward to circle around the sitting area. Minerva sat opposite him in the other wing-backed armchair, two fingers of firewhiskey in hand with Draco and Hermione on the sofa and the other four adults ranging among them.
“As Miss Granger has pointed out, the Inquisitorial Squad has been using their new-found powers to set detentions. We need to find out who else has been assigned detention with Umbridge and make sure they have not been similarly abused. That is our first priority; the second is how to remove her before she becomes too powerful. Minerva, can you help with the first problem?”
“Absolutely,” she agreed, a feral gleam entering her eye. They all knew that as Deputy Headmistress it was part of her duties to maintain the detention records down in Filch’s office. “Thank Merlin it has only been a few weeks – there shouldn’t be too many students, hopefully.”
Severus nodded in agreement. “Send them to me or Poppy if you discover they have been abused. In the meantime, until we can get her removed, you will need to subtly reassign any detentions that are given to her to oversee. I will take the matter up with Dumbledore – but via the School Board. They will not take lightly to him allowing banned Torture devices into the school and used on their children.” He grinned evilly at the thought of what the result of that conversation would be and the others shivered at the unholy gleam in his eye. “We also need to have a Head of House meeting in the morning. Minerva, if you could let Filius and Pomona know – we shall meet down here for breakfast, I think, eight A.M,” he decided. “We need to show a united front. The rest of the teachers will fall in line behind our lead on this.”
Bill coughed to gain everyone’s attention. “Umm, not that I really advocate doing this, you understand – but the twins are genius’ when it comes to planning and plotting mayhem. I guess I’m suggesting that we include them in any plans to annoy Umbridge and perhaps run her off...”
Sirius’ eyes caught fire with the suggestion by the the eldest Weasley. “Oh, and I still have some tricks up my sleeve we were never able to pull off before leaving school...” He rubbed his hands in glee while Minerva glared. But she eventually gave in, snorting delicately as she recognized the merit of the suggestion. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
“All right,” the Gryffindor Head conceded. “Sirius, you may contact the twins, but I want you to adhere to the protocols already in place for those two; Severus will give you the particulars – it is getting late and Miss Granger is out long past curfew. I need to get her back to her dorm.” She quaffed the last of her firewhiskey and stood, motioning for Hermione to follow her.
Hermione gave Draco a quick squeeze of the hand before rising to join her Head of House at the door. Bill Weasley decided to join them as well, figuring his brothers would still be up and he could get them thinking on what pranks to pull on the unsuspecting Umbridge.
Poppy nodded to Severus as she soon took her leave as well and after a pointed glare from Severus, Remus pulled Sirius to the Floo and pushed him in while the fugitive mumbled to himself. “Yes, Sirius, you can contact the boys in the morning...” Remus soothed as he threw in the powder, whispering the destination to the green flames. Sirius disappeared with a howl and Remus followed neatly after.
“Draco, leave the door cracked open,” Severus reminded as the teen wandered down the hallway after a murmured goodnight to his father.
“I will, Dad,” came the reassuring answer.
Severus stayed seated, pondering his next moves as he sipped at his wine. This was going to have to be a delicate manipulation. His approach to the Board needed to be logical and cast-iron solid. All the teachers had to work together to rid themselves of the parasite and keep Albus clueless until the deed was done, and they needed to keep the students safe.
And he needed to derail the Inquisitorial Squad.
And Narcissa – he thought with a start; he needed to keep her apprised of what was going on. She would have his knackers for lunch if she found out he’d kept this from her. She’d adopted Harry as her own and protected him just as fiercely as her own two flesh-and-blood offspring.
When he finally rose, he went to check on his sons first, raising the temperature a bit in the room as the castle seemed especially chilled tonight. He left a night-globe burning in the ensuite and retired to his study where he drafted several letters to the School Board members as well as to Narcissa. He wouldn’t send them tonight – he wanted to look at them again with a fresh, less jaundiced, eye in the morning; but tonight was a good start.