"My apologies for the earlier-than-promised summons," Dumbledore said, once Snape had emerged from the emerald flames. The moment he arrived, Harry's anger bubbled to the surface; having to be in the same room with the greasy arsehole twice in one day was asking a bit much. He still couldn't shake the look on the man's face as he'd dropped Harry's potion into the bin.
What he wouldn't give to be able to just throw Snape in there, where he belonged.
Still, after talking to his friends, he felt better able to endure the discomfort... even if he did sense a sort of impending doom. Considering that things were looking up for him, this was a great opportunity for Harry to prove to Dumbledore that there was nothing at all wrong with his temperament.
The Headmaster's arm swept across the space between him and Snape, gesturing to an armchair for the man to take.
He didn't. Instead, a displeased frown overtook his face. "There is, I presume, a worthy reason for your intrusion?" he drawled. To Harry, it sounded suspiciously like a threat.
However, Dumbledore merely chuckled, eyebrows raised. "Presumably," was his jolly reply. "As we discussed," here there was a significant pause, "I will need you tonight to ensure that the safe houses' wardings are properly intact."
Snape's gaze slid over to Harry, lingering with calculated precision. The fact that someone else was in the room clearly wasn't lost on him. Harry, for his part, observed them both in silence, doing his level best to appear as serene as possible.
Snape squared his shoulders, the back of his dark robe trailing on the rug. "I see."
"And," the Headmaster began, the word careful as he gazed at them both from behind his spectacles, "Mr. Potter will be joining you."
He... what?! In an instant, Harry forgot all pretense and, unable to keep quiet any longer, he sprang up from his seat. "Sir--!"
Within the same moment, Snape spoke. "Albus--"
The prompt glare aimed in his direction by Snape did nothing to deter Harry's outrage, though it did remind him he ought to be on his best behavior. "Professor Dumbledore," he was proud to hear the words leave him in a measured, orderly fashion, "I don't think that's a very good idea."
"Loathe as I am to admit it, Potter is correct," Snape tacked on the end of Harry's sentence.
"Now, now..." With two gently raised hands, Dumbledore quieted them both. "Unless my memory fails me, I seem to recall someone saying to me that he would do anything to be an Order member."
Harry let out a whoosh of breath, winded from the injustice of having his words thrown back at him. In light of that, he lost most of his composure, saying, "I didn't think you would send me off with... him! "
Dumbledore leveled him with a patient look. "Harry, being an Order member is all about having to work as a team with others."
"Something tells me Snape isn't much of a team player," Harry spouted, bitter, thoughts going to last year when he'd practically begged the man for help.
Fat lot of good that had done.
"Professor Snape, Harry," the Headmaster stressed, his voice going stern for the first time.
The man himself cut in at that juncture, voice smooth. "Clearly, Albus, Mr. Potter harbors a strong personal resentment toward my person, to a level where the very thought of my presence is abhorrent." Then, in quieter, more sinister tones, he concluded, "His acrimonious predilections do nothing to recommend him; surely his utter lack of experience alone should disqualify him from assignment."
"I am well aware of Harry's mindset, Severus," Dumbledore admonished, eyebrows raising.
Harry looked between the two of them, frustrated confusion plastered on his face. He had no idea what acrimonious predilections meant, but he definitely understood disqualify. "Look, I have more motivation than anyone to do this thing right," he insisted, determined. "I just want to help. So... If that means..."
Ugh, he couldn't even bring himself to properly say it. "I-I have to contribute. I can't just tag along while someone else does all the work."
"A reasonable request," the Headmaster remarked, looking to Snape for confirmation.
He didn't seem all that pleased. "Albus," Snape barked, tone impatient. Then, as if remembering himself, he took in a bracing breath, appearing to rein in his irritation. "I must insist that we speak privately."
The older man adjusted his glasses on his nose, gaze settling on Harry momentarily. "If you'll excuse us a moment," he requested, using a hand to perform a calm gesture toward the door.
Harry hesitated, frown twitching downward, but obeyed, going back the way he'd come and pulling the door shut. For a brief moment, he was tempted to leave it open a crack, but he didn't want to push his luck. He was so close to finally being able to make a meaningful contribution to the war effort. To muck it up now with something so small and stupid would be the height of immaturity.
So, he waited, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The staircase automatically rose up to the landing where Harry stood, and he simply stared at it, hoping he wouldn't be forced to travel down it so soon after he'd arrived.
After only a scant few minutes had passed, the door clicked open once more. Surprised at how quick that was, Harry dithered, cautiously peeking his head around the door frame. What greeted him was a silent, tense atmosphere. Snape was standing in the same place, facing away and still as stone, hands clenched at his sides, while Dumbledore himself had settled at his desk once more.
"Please, Harry, have a seat." This was spoken very quietly, but it carried across the space like a shout.
It was incredibly odd; the mood in the room had completely turned in another direction in the few minutes since he left it. The subdued climate made Harry feel like he ought to tiptoe, even though that was ridiculous. Sighing, he forced himself to walk into the room normally, occupying the same chair he had left behind earlier.
Once he had settled, Dumbledore spoke, straightforward, "Professor Snape has agreed to accompany you on your missions on one condition, and one only."
Harry heaved a breath, disapproving. "Sir? Why, er--" How to say this in a way that didn't make him seem like he was whinging...? "Why... Professor Snape? Exactly? Aren't there, you know," he glanced to the side at Snape, who was facing the fireplace and ignoring them altogether, "other people who are available?"
"Truth be told, Harry... no," the Headmaster replied.
When no more information was forthcoming, he prompted, "Not even Remus...?"
At that, Snape turned briefly, sneering, "Your precious werewolf is preoccupied."
Dumbledore spared Snape only the barest of glances, before refocusing on Harry. "He is currently away, and therefore cannot be called upon to assist you at this moment."
"Oh." Harry deflated.
"More importantly," the man continued, mild. "As someone who has worked in a team which includes Professor Snape, I can attest that his capabilities in that quarter are quite sufficient." At that pointed remark, the Headmaster looked over his spectacles at Harry.
"Right," he said, though it was a touch resentful.
"However, the only way I can allow you to go anywhere at all, is if you agree to the terms laid out," Dumbledore reminded him.
"Yeah, I get it. I can only go with Sn-- Professor Snape, and I've got to be on my best behavior." What else is new? he thought, sarcastic.
"And," he added, "it is imperative that you do exactly as Professor Snape instructs you, without question."
Harry felt as if there was an upheaval in his chest, such was his repulsion. "Great-- so, I have to obey anything he says like some kind of House Elf."
The Headmaster leaned forward, hands laid flat on the tabletop. "Harry, this is very serious. This condition is set by me and, if it is broken, I will not be able to allow you to continue performing missions. Do you understand?"
His brows furrowed. "Yes, sir."
Holding Harry's stare for a short moment, Dumbledore nodded. "If you wish to be part of this organization, Harry, you must be able to work with those you find unpleasant. Whatever your misgivings may be, I have said before that Professor Snape has my full confidence, and that is as true now as it ever has been."
Harry suppressed a full-on grimace, though he couldn't hide his frown. Still, when he said nothing, the Headmaster questioned, "Do you agree to the terms?"
Looking to the floor, his eyes scanned the edge of the rug listlessly. He certainly didn't want to agree; he would love nothing more than to refuse, to leave with dignity intact. No one was likely to stop him. But... if he wanted to be in the Order, he didn't have much choice, did he?
"I agree to the terms," Harry intoned, fingers tightening reflexively in his palms.
The older man offered him a small smile. "Good... Good," he said, almost absent-minded. "Then, let us not waste the evening. The sooner you accomplish your task, the more rest you will be able to catch."
Harry felt as if all his energy returned to him at once, buzzing just beneath his skin, making him feel jittery. "Right now? What-- What do you want me to do?"
"I mentioned earlier," Dumbledore remarked, "that I need some maintenance to be performed on the warding of some safehouse locations."
"Uh... I've never done any warding before," Harry admitted.
"Of course not," was his good-humored reply. "Which is why you will not be going alone."
Oh, yeah. "That seems..." Harry couldn't find a more nice-sounding word than 'boring'.
As if the Headmaster had divined his thoughts anyway, he said, "It will do you well to know about our safe places, should you ever find yourself in need of them."
Right, okay, he had a point. "Alright, where exactly are we going?"
Dumbledore's long beard swished against his robe as he turned his head toward the other man in the room. "That, I will leave to Professor Snape."
A swift glance was all Harry needed to know that the man still hadn't moved from his spot. His silence was eerie, to the point that Harry actually shivered at the sight of him. "How, er, are we going to, you know, get where we're going?" he asked, Hermione's words coming back to him.
"You have everything you need already," Professor Dumbledore insisted, gesturing toward Snape.
It was that pronouncement that made Harry realize that he was just delaying the inevitable. He'd been ready to go a while ago, but hadn't wanted to face the reality of actually going somewhere with Snape, of all people. The two of them, alone... Harry entirely powerless to return on his own... It was a fate worse than detention, in which he could be reasonably certain that Snape wouldn't have full reign to finish him off for good. The thought of being forced to depend on the man for anything made him feel ill.
In light of his thoughts, he stammered, "Is--is there, ah...?"
"Harry," Dumbledore gently admonished. "Go."
"Right," Harry cleared his throat; it suddenly felt bone dry. "Er... yeah. You're right."
Gingerly, he raised himself from his seat, feeling as if the distance between the chair and Snape was an insurmountable slog. Still, he managed it, walking right up to the man.
"Let's go, I guess," was his awkward opening line.
For a moment, there was no reply. Then, Snape's shoulders dropped about an inch, a detail that Harry only noticed due to his unpleasant proximity. The man pivoted on the spot, facing Harry with an expression that he could only describe as vexed.
"Let's," the professor spat, that single syllable carrying the weight of his full ire. A whirl of his robe signalled his movement, and he grabbed the Floo powder so hastily that half of his handful spilled onto the rug.
"Number 12 Grimmauld Place," he barked, throwing the powder with a disdainful flick. In a moment, he was gone.
All at once, the tightness in Harry's throat strengthened, choking him. Grimmauld Place. He should have expected it -- in hindsight, it was obvious, wasn't it? -- but to hear that name spewed, hateful, from Snape's mouth was a blow he wasn't prepared for. Beseeching, he turned back to Dumbledore... What he was searching for in the man's face, he couldn't say.
But, for the briefest of moments, he thought he spotted a profound sadness in the older man's expression. Then, it was gone, replaced by a small, caring smile. The Headmaster urged him, "Off you go, Harry."
The Floo powder felt coarse and gritty. It scraped at the skin beneath his fingernails, clinging to the sweat in his palms. Harry closed his eyes. The words he had to say were clogged in his esophagus; the longer he held them in, the more likely he was to suffocate. Seconds ticked by, and a dribble of the green powder escaped his fist.
His arm felt very hot, raised above the fire. This small shock of pain, this idle fear... It was nothing against the swirling inferno buried within his mind. Sirius. The name crawled into his ears at the slightest provocation. His hand trembled before him, unsteady.
No. Harry shook his head, the action minute. Pull yourself together.
The Order needed him; he couldn't give in to his own stupid fears. He couldn't afford any hangups. It was only a house. It was only a structure. It was only... a place.
Gathering conviction, his eyes shot open.
"Grimmauld Place."
The drawing room appeared before his eyes just as the last time he'd seen it. Dark. Dingy. Familiar. Harry remembered clearing doxies out of the faded, moth-eaten curtains last year, though it felt like ages had passed since then.
Oddly, the grim figure of Snape matched the decor.
On Harry's arrival, the man saw fit to sneer, "So glad you could make it, considering your busy schedule."
Harry pressed his lips together, saying nothing as he dusted off his jumper. Snape's barbs seemed to possess far less sting after watching Dumbledore take them in stride.
The windows were dark, the room shrouded with heavy shadow from the small fire in the grate. Out of habit, Harry used his wand to turn on the dusty lamps in the room, brightening the environs with dim, yellow light. Unfortunately, it meant he was better able to see Snape's curled lip and disapproving glare.
"This isn't Hogwarts, Potter," he snapped. "Underage magic is still very much illegal."
For a moment, a spike of fear punctured his calm bubble, and he gripped his wand tightly as if it were about to be ripped from his hand. Then, he frowned as he gathered his faculties, countering with, "No one ever told us not to use magic last summer."
Snape leveled a baleful look in Harry's direction. "As fascinating as I find your utter lack of knowledge about unplottable warding, there will be no such protections where we are going."
"Well," Harry huffed, "how am I supposed to know that? You haven't said anything about what we're doing!"
The older man appeared to gather confidence from Harry's disgruntled tone, shifting his weight and lifting his chin. "On second thought, disregard my earlier protests... It would be my absolute pleasure to witness your permanent expulsion from Hogwarts." The thin smile that split his face was nasty to the core. "So, do as you please, Potter. That is what you do anyway, isn't it?"
Harry's jaw was beginning to ache from his heroic efforts to keep it shut. He made a show of stuffing his wand away in his pocket, aiming a firm glare at the floor afterward. There was a moment of silence; perhaps Snape had expected him to react more spectacularly, but Harry was doing his damndest not to give him the satisfaction.
When he finally lifted his eyes, it was due to a light tapping noise. Snape had moved across the room without Harry noticing, and the man pivoted toward the window, examining the wall trimmings with his wand held up close. "What are you doing?" he asked without thinking.
The professor didn't even spare him a glance. "My job," was his curt reply.
Harry frowned, irritated. Is this honestly what he was going to have to deal with all night? Not for the first time, he wondered how on Earth Dumbledore could vouch for this man. It was beginning to seem more and more like the Headmaster was off his block.
Reluctantly looking about, it seemed clear to Harry that the months he'd spent toiling with his friends to freshen up the house had gone to waste. The drawing room felt a mixture of depressing and nostalgic. Time and circumstance had distorted it; every memory of what was, what could have been, had baked themselves into the walls. Cobwebs littered every surface, and a layer of dust had accumulated atop the derelict piano such that it seemed clear no one had come in this room for a while. The macabre tapestry of the Black family, complete with peeling wallpaper and savage burn marks, seemed a more sinister spectre than it had before; Harry's eyes kept lingering on the gaping hole where his godfather's portrait should have been.
He shook his head, drawing in a breath and rubbing his eyes with a quick, fierce motion. The lull in antagonism with Snape made room for undesirable thoughts. He didn't particularly want to talk, but at least it was better than thinking.
Harry squared his stance, focusing on Snape, who was off in the corner doing who knows what. "You ever intend to tell me what you're up to?"
There was such a lack of reaction that Harry couldn't be certain the man had even heard him. Considering Snape could normally hear a potion that wasn't boiling at the correct temperature from a hundred paces, Harry quashed his urge to repeat himself.
Instead, he snorted, "I thought Dumbledore said you were actually good at working in a team. Be a shame for him to hear I ended up doing exactly nothing on this trip."
At that, the professor's wand arm froze, his shrewd gaze travelling slowly across the room before it landed on Harry. When he spoke, his tone was chilling, causing the hairs on Harry's arms to stand on end. "Be a shame for you to suffer the consequences of your ill-conceived threats."
That wasn't-- Well, okay, maybe it was a threat. But what other leverage did he have? "Look, I want to be an Order member, you want to get this over with, so give me something to do," Harry demanded. "Or at least tell me what is happening!"
Snape's black eyes seemed even darker in the dusky ambience. "No."
"So, what?" he shot back. "Just going to sabotage this whole thing? Way to prove how loyal you are to Dumbledore."
In a flash, the man was directly in front of him, wand pressed against his chest. On instinct, Harry had grabbed his own wand, but he was dismayed to find his reaction too slow: a burst of red light divested him of it, the thunk of solid wood clattering against the leg of the sofa.
A thread of terror wrapped itself around Harry, then; Snape's imposing stature had never encompassed him with such stark dismay as it did in that moment. It was painfully clear that he and the professor were not on the same level, despite whatever praises Dumbledore may have had for Harry fifteen minutes prior.
Still, he did not back down, his defiant stare unwavering as Snape spoke.
"I have nothing at all to prove," the man sneered. "You, however? Your fame and fortune may have gotten you this far, but soon you will be entering the real world. And you, Boy Who Lived, will find it is not nearly as forgiving as the Headmaster."
Harry's eyes narrowed at the familiar contempt for his title. "I know that," he spat, resolute. "And if you actually cared about preparing me for it half as much as you belittled me with it, Professor --" that single word was infused with every bit of his frustration and scorn, "--then you would teach me what you're doing!"
For a moment, Snape said nothing, his stare boring into Harry. Tense, he readied for an attack. Considering how close they were, Harry supposed he could make a bid to grab the man's wand from him. Though... they seemed matched in reflexes. The manoeuver would be risky, but he didn't have many options, outside of performing techniques he'd never done before.
Snape moved, and the muscles in Harry's legs twitched, ready to lunge forward. However, there was no need; the professor's form retreated, slow and purposeful as he pocketed his wand. Without any further ado, he returned to his previous position near the wall.
Harry stared at the man's back, letting out a short breath, but he didn't relax, watching Snape's movements with wary energy. His body was still flooded with adrenaline, itching for an outlet. In the end, while keeping an eye on Snape, he regained his wand in one swift motion, cracking his elbow with the force of his snappy gesture.
Snape didn't want to help him-- that much was perfectly clear. Who did he think he was dealing with? The man collected a salary for bullying children! This was only confirmation of what he already knew: Whatever Dumbledore had to say about it, Snape was every bit like the other Death Eaters Harry had met -- callous, cruel, and self-serving.
Casting his eyes about, the drawing room seemed more ominous than ever. It should have been obvious, but-- This place had only ever been a haven because of the people surrounding him, hadn't it? It had only felt welcoming when Mrs. Weasley's voice had called to him from the kitchen, or when he'd seen Hermione curled up by the fire with a book, or when the twins had roped him and Ron into mischief with hushed whispers, or when...
Or when Sirius had been here to crack jokes about how "dreary" everything in the house was, when Sirius had challenged him to a pie eating contest and he'd won by a landslide, when Sirius had prowled about with manic energy looking for something fun to do, when Sirius had included him in anything and everything...
When he'd been...
"Around this structure are wards that are four centuries old," Snape's voice interrupted his thoughts, the sound so sudden that Harry almost thought he'd imagined it.
Blinking, Harry refocused on the room. The other man still had his back turned and all appeared unchanged, but, though he couldn't say how he knew, there seemed to be a disturbance in the air. Snape's words hung between them, almost tangible.
Cautious, he ventured, "I didn't know spells could last that long."
"'Spells', by your limited understanding, are not made to last at all," was Snape's crisp reply. Harry frowned at the confirmation of two things: that the professor had indeed spoken first, and that he was no less frosty than he had been two minutes ago.
"Yeah, fine. Then what makes a not-spell last for hundreds of years?" Harry asked, acerbic.
Snape straightened, turning away from the wall. "No one knows," he replied. "We can determine that the ward's effects are in tact, but cannot tell how they are working."
"So..." Harry trailed off, glancing around at the windows. "The wards are... in the wall?"
Snape directed a baleful glare at him and Harry braced himself for an insult, which came swiftly. "Why look, it's another astute observation from the Boy Who Lived himself," he ed. "No, it is not in the wall."
"Well--! You've been standing around that same patch of wallpaper for ages!" he argued, his gesture in that direction swooping through the air with all the force of a slap.
The professor performed a disdainful sniff. "The reaction of the ward is more easily tested at its outskirts," he countered, tapping his wand against the wall in question. "Hence the ideal choice being to check any facade with a window."
"And I'm meant to just divine that out of thin air?" Harry grumbled, irritated.
"You are meant to not jump to wild assumptions, when your knowledge is sorely lacking," Snape countered, his robe swirling around his legs as he prowled to the opposite side of the room.
"It's not--" Ugh, continuing on this line was bound to get him nowhere. "Whatever. So, are the wards working or not?"
Snape stopped walking, his boots sounding off with one final clack. "They are currently functional."
"... Well? We done here, then?"
"It would seem so."
Could you possibly be more unhelpful? "I suppose we have other places to go, yeah?"
For a prolonged moment, the other man was silent, though his stare was direct. "Our next destination is quite some distance," the man pointed out.
With growing discomfort, Harry realized exactly what Snape was going to say. "I don't suppose you have a portkey... do you?"
If possible, Snape's expression grew even more bland. "Considering safehouses are supposed to be safe... No, we do not keep magical items around that will whisk anyone directly there."
Okay, he didn't have to be a prick about it. "Then, uh. Brooms?"
Clearly impatient with this line of thought, Snape glared at him. "The most feasible method is Apparition. Unless you were planning to waste all night on transportation."
"There's not... another Floo connection...?" Harry tried, desperate.
"Did I not just say that these locations must remain safe?" the man snapped. "Surely even an imbecile could manage to retain that miniscule portion of information?"
Harry erupted, "Well I'm not exactly happy about having to Apparate!"
Snape's reply was smooth, full of disdain. "How piteous it must be for you to have to endure not getting your way."
He grit his teeth. What he wouldn't give to just be able to hex the horrible man. Maybe a good old Bat Bogey like Ginny was fond of...
Still, Harry's mind hearkened back to that moment not long past, the terrifying sound of his wand falling to the ground... It was enough to sober him.
"Let's just get it over with," he grumbled, glaring toward the window.
A pause. Then: "I cannot Side-Along Apparate you from across the room."
Right. With a grimace, Harry shuffled his way toward the man. His threats still hung fresh in Harry's mind, though Snape's stance was neutral enough.
Once he was within arm's reach, Snape stiffly proffered a forearm. Harry was reluctant, but... he said he would do what it takes to be an Order member. He wasn't going to take it back now.
Tense and braced for an unpleasant trip, Harry wrapped his fingers around Snape's arm.
In an instant, Harry felt pressurized, as if he were being pulled through the eye of a needle, or being dragged through a crack in a cave wall... All around his body he felt a squeezing, scraping sensation, such that his skin felt raw and ravaged, while the rest of him reeled at his inability to breathe. The terrible pain of it was crushing, crushing, crushing...
And it stopped. Harry heaved out a deep breath, like he was surfacing from a long stint underwater, and his stomach instantly spasmed.
Before he could properly register the action, he had fallen on all fours, clutching his knees as he vomited onto the ground. His ears were ringing something awful, and a blistering headache bloomed on either side of his skull. Harry endured several minutes of agony, retching on what appeared to be... concrete? That was about all he registered of his surroundings.
When he finally gathered enough of his faculties to right himself, leaning back to sit on his heels, Snape was several paces away. Blinking, Harry observed his movements. The professor was a still, dark silhouette, framed by a cone of foggy light, the edges of his robe fluttering as they were picked up and tossed by the wind. Harry watched as the man crossed his arms, gazing about the environs.
Then, without warning, Snape's head snapped in his direction, his shadowy eye trained in an unsympathetic squint. "Your constitution is abysmal."
Still feeling incredibly ill, Harry said the first thing on his mind. "Maybe you're just rubbish at Apparating."
Snape's face was in shadow, making the man even harder to read than usual. There was a long enough pause after his previous statement for Harry to feel compelled to fill the air again. "I've-- ugh, never... done that before."
"That much is painfully obvious," the professor growled. Harry cringed in anticipation as the man pointed his wand in his direction, but all he did was vanish Harry's sick-up with an annoyed flourish.
Ignoring Snape's bitter attitude, Harry took a deep breath, trying to tamp down his nausea. Looking around, he gathered that they were in a Muggle neighborhood of some kind, considering the numerous streetlamps dotting either side of the lane. There were a few shops down the road, all closed for the night of course, but the area appeared to consist mostly of houses. The buildings were very quaint, and of a more old-fashioned architecture which, in Harry's view, called to mind a wizard-like style. However, the street was narrow and the road lined for traffic, with a smattering of cars parked off to one side.
Intrigued, Harry inquired, "Er... Where are we?"
"Norwich," was Snape's short reply as he turned on his heel and began walking across the street. Feeling the urgency of not wanting to be left behind, Harry hoisted himself up into a standing position, holding his head with a supporting hand as the pain sloshed about.
"Is that... near London?" Harry guessed, taking careful steps in the professor's direction.
"Your vast knowledge of geography is truly inspiring," came the snide, uncooperative retort. Snape hadn't gone far, thankfully; he was beneath the circle of light from the opposite street lamp.
"So, not near London, then," Harry sighed, weary of the back and forth in light of his current state. If he'd had any idea how unimaginably unpleasant Apparition was, he might not have gone through with it!
Well-- that probably wasn't true. But he may have given a touch more thought for preparation, at least.
Snape was inspecting the lamp post, leaning over with precise, mechanical movements to examine different sections of the metal column.
"This is the one," the man announced.
Harry, perplexed, looked between Snape and the post. "The one... what? What were we looking for?"
The professor took no notice of his questions, instead brandishing his wand, holding it within a closed fist. The point faced downward at his feet, Snape began what sounded like an incantation: "Corporis Spagyrici pulvere plumbum in aurum Convertit."
At the conclusion of his recitation, Harry watched with dazed wonder as every lantern light... shifted. As if turned on an axis, the cone of light which he and Snape had been standing in slanted gradually sideways. Likewise with all the rest, it was as if all the street's lamps were twisted in odd directions; a chaotic light show which was as confusing as it was fascinating.
Distracted as he was, he hadn't noticed Snape's silent departure. Casting his eyes around the scene, he spotted the man heading toward another lamp post. Jogging to catch up, Harry could see that this lantern's light was quite typical, facing straight down at the ground as a normal lamp should.
Snape repeated his earlier action, this time with a different phrase: "Ars est sine arte, cujus principium est mentiri, medium laborare, et finis mendicare."
It was definitely Latin, Harry concluded, though he'd never heard of any spell incantations that were so... long. Still, the effects were obvious; again, the lights shifted, performing some strange, incongruous choreography. And again, Snape travelled to a third, normal-looking post, uttering another string of Latin: "Ad quod obtinendum imperium, oportet simulare habes potestatem."
The lights all moved once more. Only, this time, they all converged in unison, gathering at a single spot further down the lane.
Snape headed for the bright point, Harry trailing behind, straining to keep up with the man's pace. As they drew near, Harry could see that the streetlamps were all pointed at a small antique shop, in whose window was a rectangular standing mirror. The professor stopped in front of it, half turning in Harry's direction.
"Stand here, face the glass," he ordered, pointing directly beside him.
Harry tentatively did as he was told, turning his gaze toward the mirror squarely.
As he did, Harry frowned, realizing that the scene reflected was not the dark street he was standing on; catching a glimpse of expansive sky, Harry whirled around on the spot, looking behind with confused wonder.
Much to his astonishment, the scene was entirely changed. There was a building like a tall black box against the nighttime sky. Heavy with shadow, it lay like a colossus atop the hillside, its face obscured by darkness. Before it, an immense field of wild grass billowed in the wind, stirred in circular eddies by a broad, crescent-shaped copse of trees. To his left, the landscape dropped off and continued much further away than he could see. A small grouping of dead leaves drifted lazily by a long, thickly-wrought iron fence which travelled a wide berth around the distant building. It stood at the height of Harry's waist, as staid and foreboding as the structure it sectioned off.
Harry blinked, brow furrowed as a realization crept up on him. "They were passwords," he murmured, turning to face Snape for confirmation. "They weren't incantations-- they were passwords."
The man didn't even spare him a glance, walking along the perimeter of the fence. "You are truly a shining beacon of intellect," was his dry, offhand comment.
He huffed, glaring at the man's back. "So, this is it, huh?" His gaze traced the edges of the building, hard to define in the dark. "Pretty big safehouse. Lots of... space."
Snape didn't respond. His attention was rooted elsewhere, his footfalls pausing as he lifted his wand. A tap on the iron caused the fence to momentarily, gelatinously quiver, mirage-like. Harry blinked, approaching the nearest curved spire of the fence, careful to use his own wand to poke it.
"Well, that's weird," he announced as the solid-appearing object wobbled in a disconcerting manner. "Is this one of the wards?"
"Don't touch it," Snape ordered, sharp. A frustrated sigh whooshed out of Harry as he trailed along behind the man.
He stopped abruptly. There was a small break in the fence, as if a narrow snippet had been cut out of the metal. Snape pointed his wand at the empty space in between.
"Revelio."
Before their eyes, the iron tendrils unravelled, reforming together into a grand, imposing gate, standing solitary in the unruly grass. Curiously, the metal was not pristine as it had appeared earlier, but rusted and gnarled by age.
The gate had to be at least ten feet tall, and, as the professor laid a palm against it, a bright shaft of light appeared to cleave the barrier in two. It opened outward with some difficulty, the joints creaking and squealing as the metal split from the center.
"Er, what is this place...?" Harry wondered aloud, looking up.
Snape's reply was clipped. "Quiet."
Harry shot a nasty look at his back, but it went unacknowledged. Snape's boots crunched in the tall grass as he stepped through the gate, stopping after a few paces. Harry followed, watching as the entryway closed behind them, breaking down to reform the iron fence it had originally been.
When he turned back to the professor, he saw Snape swish his wand in a wide arc. "Ostendo." In response to this apparent incantation, several tendrils of light sprouted from different directions, all converging somewhere in the middle of Snape's chest. Harry jumped as one of the lights passed directly through him, before he realized: he, too, seemed to be attached to magical threads, originating from the same sources. His sternum glowed with... something. Harry couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing, and he doubted that Snape would answer if he asked.
The professor reached out to one of the thin threads attached to himself, pulling. It bent easily, and, using his other hand, he frayed the string, spreading it out before him like a book.
Harry hesitated, but only momentarily. If he waited for Snape to actually instruct him, then he would never learn anything. Squinting at the bright line affixed to himself, Harry took hold of it in one hand and plucked it with the other, copying Snape's motion. When he pulled it apart, a collection of images spread out before him. To start, there appeared to be many, many bars of runes, all grouped together in separate areas. Between each section of runes were shimmering lines of color, which appeared to connect different images together. These lines fanned out, web-like, leading tangentially to dark shapes of varying sizes and silhouettes, which, in turn, bore their own attached runic inscriptions. His eyes darted around, overwhelmed, trying to find an apparent beginning or end; however, there didn't seem to be any semblance of order that Harry could understand. There were a few oddities he noted: a changing number which appeared to repeat a patterned sequence, an energetic orb of light which bounced within the confines of a dark square, and a section of runes which appeared to fade away and reappear at odd intervals.
One strange grouping led to another, which led to even more... It was a vast, complex tableau-- one that Harry couldn't even begin to decipher. Mystified, he chanced a peek at Snape, hoping to glean something from his actions.
Only, the moment he looked up, he found the man staring directly at him, his displeasure plain. Harry cringed on reflex.
"Touch a single thing, and you will find out what it is like to Apparate in a full body bind," Snape's voice sounded, clear and dark. He hadn't been planning on fiddling with anything... much. But his hands froze in place, taking the threat to heart. He couldn't chance it, could he? All it took was one spell, one moment of Apparation, that would whisk him away to--
Pushing past that unpleasant thought, Harry frowned. "What is all this?" he questioned, hoping against hope that he wouldn't be ignored once again.
The professor looked as if he'd like to but, to Harry's relief, a reply came. "Warding."
"Isn't a ward just a spell that is on a location instead of a single target?" He thought he recalled hearing that at some point.
"No," was Snape's brief retort. He waited the requisite few seconds for the man to explain, but he didn't. He merely went back to his work. Harry blinked slowly, thoroughly irritated, and let go of the sheet of light in his hands. It rolled back into itself, like a very thin scroll.
"Right," he grumbled. "So... How long is this going to take?"
"Ligo," Snape muttered with a downward slash of his wand. The streams of light receded the way they came, until they disappeared entirely.
"You're already done, aren't you?" Harry surmised, defeated.
Snape glanced his way with narrowed eyes. A clear affirmation, if an annoying one.
"I recommend not purposely making yourself ill during the next trip."
"Purposely?! " Harry spluttered, indignant. "I didn't do it on purpose! You think I like sicking up?"
The older man's gaze was bland. Doubtful, even. "You tensed directly before Apparition," he pointed out, as if this fact alone evidenced Harry's inadequacy.
Harry threw his arms out for sarcastic emphasis. "Well forgive me for not wanting to be anywhere near you!"
Snape's lip curled. "Likewise," he sneered. "And yet, here we are, due to-- Who was it again?" His confusion was obviously feigned. "Ah, that's right. It was, in fact, you who asked for this."
"I didn't ask to be treated like dirt!" Harry erupted.
"Neither did I ask to be saddled with an entitled, self-righteous brat," he shot back, "and yet, somehow, I must find it in me to endure."
"What is your problem?" Harry demanded, his arms flailing yet again. "I mean, what is really wrong with you, that you can't even manage to pretend that you're any good at being a teacher? Or-- being an Order member, even?"
"I am presently performing my duties admirably," Snape countered, unperturbed. "You, however--"
"This is what I'm talking about! All you ever do is cut me down to size, treat me like I'm nothing. So what is it you want? For me to fail? For Voldemort to win?"
"Spare me your sanctimonious diatribe, Potter," the man seethed.
"If you were any real kind of Order member, you'd be helping me get stronger!"
"What exactly have you done to earn any of that 'help' you so desire?"
Harry felt a pressure building behind his eyelids, blooming across his forehead, threatening to burst. "What am I meant to do?! Get on my knees and beg?"
Snape's expression was vile. "What a pity that your admirers are not here to witness this frenzied tirade of yours--"
"Are you blind?!" Harry shot back. "I don't have admirers; you're just--!"
"Perhaps they grew weary of your conceited temperament--"
"Stop talking down to me!" His whole body was taut as he took a furious step forward. "You don't know the first thing--"
"Don't I?" Snape challenged. "You have only ever been belligerent and self-serving, Potter. Your arrogance--"
"You're not listening--!"
"-- and utter disregard for anyone but your sainted self--"
"I am not my father!"
His shout blundered through the air, heavy with implication. Snape's brows drew downward, his expression darkening. Still-- In Harry's riled state, he had a hard time feeling sorry for dredging up the fact he'd snooped around in Snape's memories last year. He was prepared for the next barb; braced for it, he trained his eyes on the professor's tense frame. But, nothing happened. A thick silence clung to the man, emphasized only by the stony way Snape watched him, expression giving away nothing.
Then, in the midst of Harry's labored breathing, Snape vanished, the only indicator of his departure an abrupt swirl of robes.
Harry jerked, his body automatically springing forward to catch up, but of course it was too late. Snape was long gone, horrendously out of reach.
His first reaction: panic. Unadulterated, wild fear. He felt certain that Snape had planned this betrayal, waited for an opportunity to leave Harry stranded and without any way of escape. He was a long way from Hogwarts, a long way from anything familiar. For so many years, he'd ping-ponged exclusively between the Dursley's home and the school. And here? Harry's body swung around, eyes combing through the countryside surrounding him. There wasn't even an opportunity to call the Knight Bus, since there was no road any longer.
A stiff breeze stirred the long, unkempt grass around him. He was alone and, by the looks of that fence he'd passed through earlier, trapped. He wouldn't be surprised if Snape let him rot there until morning, despite the awful chill. Was he expected to go in the building? It was still a distance away, and its silhouette seemed to grow more ominous with Snape's absence.
Harry shivered, more from dread than the cold. All his effort to get to this point, and for what? So Snape could just abandon him here? Was he supposed to take that lying down?
His blood boiled at the thought. If that horrid git thought that he could keep Harry from being an Order member, then he was going to be sorely disappointed. He just had to find...
There was a sense of something nearby; he could feel it in the same way he could feel people staring, a prickling sensation across his skin. He reached for his wand, clutching it with stiff fingers. "Revelio," he muttered, wand pointed ahead, but nothing happened. Yet, he could still feel it, like a physical... presence.
Harry's eyes darted around, hoping that his attention might catch on something of interest. A quick Lumos lit up the area in the dark, but there was nothing to see. Except grass. Puzzled, Harry frowned, closing his eyes to concentrate. He couldn't say why, but the feeling was right nearby.
He lifted his wand again. How had Snape done it? Ah, yes -- a broad sweep, and the incantation: "Ostendo."
Nothing.
Harry sighed, pursing his lips as he tried not to feel discouraged. It was perfectly normal for the spell not to work the first time. Rarely did anyone pick up a brand new concept on the very first try. At least, that was what Remus had told him, many years ago.
Not for the first time, Harry wished that things were different. That Remus had been able to keep his job, stay in the castle. That he'd been able to teach Harry more about Defense, his father... anything, really. He wished that the man had been able to take him on this mission, instead of Snape. He wished that Remus was there, right at that moment, to help instruct him.
It was all fruitless, of course. Childish. Like all the times he'd wished for his parents to be alive on the candles of his imaginary birthday cakes. Still, this felt familiar; he was accustomed to this particular ache. It would soon pass, if he ignored it.
Harry took in a deep breath, holding it. He needed to focus if he was going to attempt this spell properly. Letting out the whoosh of breath, he steeled himself, readying his stance.
Then-- "Ostendo! "
His wand sliced the air, decisive, and he felt his magic flow through him and outward. Harry opened his eyes.
The threads were there, just as before, attached to his chest. The triumph that swelled in him was short-lived; right nearby, the threads were also attached to something else. Something invisible. He jolted back, pointing his wand with suspicion at the empty patch of air.
There wasn't a single stir. Which was odd, Harry realized, since the lights attached to him were moving as he moved, disturbed by every tiny shift of his body. As he observed, the strings of light were entirely still. Upon further inspection, they also appeared to be... more dull, lacking the brilliance of the lines connected to Harry himself.
As he watched, they appeared to fade away more and more, growing more obscure and lifeless. Could it be...?
"An afterimage of Snape," Harry said aloud, more to break the silence than anything. The prospect of such a thing existing was interesting, but not especially useful. He had to figure a way out, and simply knowing that a trace of information was left behind didn't mean he knew how to decipher it.
It was pointless to search for clues, he surmised. Here was one right in front of him, but it was unusable. He had to figure a way out of this without bothering with following the professor. After all, that's what an Order member would do, right? Real members didn't need babysitters. If he could manage without his, maybe Dumbledore would give up trying to pair him with Snape.
So... Transport. Harry bounced around a few ideas, meandering toward the fence to inspect it. The crack that Snape had used to reveal the gate was not there. It seemed that his instinct had been correct: There would be no getting out they way he came. He tried summoning a broom, though it was an effort made in vain, as it turned out. None arrived, meaning either none were in the vicinity, or Harry's instructions had been too vague for the magic to work. Snape had specifically mentioned that the safehouses weren't connected to the Floo network... so, that was out.
That left Portkey and Apparition. Both of which were... daunting prospects. His experience with Portkeys left much to be desired, considering the last one had delivered him directly to Voldemort, and that was leaving out the fact he didn't have a clue how they were made. And Apparition? His recent experience wasn't exactly pleasant, but at least it seemed the simpler, less terrifying option.
He'd certainly seen a lot of Apparition before. Fred and George were popping around all over the place last summer; he'd been able to ask them loads of questions, and Hermione had been there to supply the gaps in their knowledge. Harry had the principle well in hand... It was the execution that worried him.
The consequences flashed through his mind. Nausea. Pain. Expulsion. Splinching. They gave him pause, but not enough of one to change his resolve. Being out there in the open, unable to leave by normal means... It felt dangerous. As if, at any moment, Snape would be sending a contingent of Death Eaters to haul him off. His muscles constricted with anxiety, telling him to run, and quickly.
He held his wand in his clenched fist, blowing out a tense breath. He knew he had to go somewhere familiar, somewhere he could visualize. Then, he simply had to have the confidence to get there in one piece. Easier said than done, but it was manageable.
After a deliberation of a few seconds, the only clear place he could go was Privet Drive. He wished Snape had told him more about where he was; there was no way to tell how far he was from Surrey. At the very least, he could assume that Hogwarts was farther, but that wasn't saying much. Did it matter, the distance? Harry couldn't be certain.
Still, he'd had a lot of time to sit around the Dursley's area. He could picture it very clearly, and that was the point. Harry focused, allowing his eyes to fall closed once more. He needed a place that was out of the way, not likely to draw attention when he appeared out of nowhere. And that was when, not if. The more he thought of it with certainty, the more resolve he would have when he finally acted. Another point of wisdom given to him by Remus.
The park. The old, overgrown bike trail, defunct due to the condition of the bridge at its center which was meant to cross over a small stream. It had become his favorite spot during his latest stint with the Dursleys. Quiet, out of the way. Dudley never bothered him there, since it was quite a hike uphill. Harry had, for the first time in his life, been able to do his summer homework in peace. He remembered letting Hedwig out, watching her swoop around in lazy circles as he composed letters to his friends. Mornings spent knee-deep in the stream, trying to catch fish as they passed by. Rainy afternoons spent napping on his Transfiguration text.
The memories were bright and clear. The happiest he owned, in relation to the Dursleys, if they could be called "related" to them at all. Harry didn't even have to feign his desire to be there; it was the closest thing he had to a home that he had cultivated himself.
When. He kept the word in his mind, a covenant. When I get there, I will find a way back to Hogwarts.
He pictured himself atop the broken wooden boards of the bridge. He pictured the scraggly grass, the canopy of trees, the "caution" sign posted beside the trail, the flowing water, the fast-moving clouds... I will get there.
Harry shifted his weight, thrumming with nervous energy. His palm was sweaty where he held his wand, but he did not let go. Would not let go. He would arrive exactly as planned. He had to.
I will.
With a sickening lurch and a frantic crack, Harry's form twisted into nothingness, and he disappeared on the spot.
When he arrived, Harry immediately heaved, falling to his knees in the mud beside the stream. Having already emptied his stomach not long ago, there was nothing to purge, but the nausea was still relentless. However, the effects were not as bad as he thought they would be; his headache was only a fraction of the severity it had been before. It took him far less time to recover.
Standing, Harry checked himself. All his body parts were accounted for, thankfully. No pain, other than the lingering complaints from his jostled head. Had he actually...?
Mystified, he looked about. He was in the park, with all its well-known and well-loved attributes -- though, he'd never been there so late at night before. Harry allowed himself a small, confused smile. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. He'd been looking for opportunities like this, to reach beyond his current capabilities, and here he was! Exactly where he wanted to be. His plans for returning weren't solid, per se, but he'd made the first step.
Harry had barely made a move to turn round, when he was suddenly beset by magical cords, binding his entire body. Harry yelped in surprise, his neck jerking away from his restraints as he searched out his attacker. In the gloom, the figure was hard to make out, but they approached with alarming swiftness, looming over Harry's prone form.
An intense circle of light erupted in front of his eyes, the glaring brightness causing Harry to cringe. There was a pause -- a painful one, since his eyes had yet to adjust -- before a harsh voice accosted him, "Potter?"
Was that... Snape? The wand light dimmed as the man's arm swept backward. Sure enough, the professor, his profile illuminated by his own Lumos, was standing before him. He was very still, jaw set, and black eyes calculating. His expression, though traditionally dour, appeared with heightened severity due to the deep shadows slashed across his face. There was fierce energy to his attention, a prolonged moment where he did nothing and said nothing.
It didn't take long for the scrutiny to become tiresome. "Planning on letting me go any time soon?" Harry prompted. His inability to move, and the tightness of his bonds, was beginning to chafe.
Snape straightened, his expression cleared of all previous constraints. It was odd; Harry could tell when the man's face changed, but he could define nothing, or even differentiate between what made two of his expressions unique. Hard to tell what any of it meant, and even harder to care when Snape was such an unrepentant prick.
"Hello? I know you heard me!" Harry growled, meeting the man's gaze.
In that moment, the disconcerting, familiar sensation of someone rooting around in his brain descended on him. He flinched back, closing his eyes against it. It was, after all, the only thing he knew how to do.
"Stay out of my head," he demanded, glaring at the ground.
Another moment of quiet. Harry didn't break it that time, though Snape's voice was cautious when he spoke. "Where have you been?" the man questioned.
This was too much for Harry to handle. "Where have I been?" he shouted, the words heaving out of him with great effort. "You left me behind in Norwich, you bloody conniving bastard! Do you get off on this or something? What the hell do you mean 'where have I been'?!"
The professor snorted, turning away. "Well, I suppose there can be no doubt," he muttered, the comment nearly inaudible to Harry before he found himself free from his imprisonment. Snape released him with a lazy flick of his wand.
Harry sprang up, the force of his anger propelling him. "You were seriously going to make me wait for hours, weren't you?"
Snape tucked his wand away in a sleeve, offering Harry only a slow blink. "Yes."
"I cannot believe--!"
"How did you get here?" the professor interjected, the question firm.
Harry glared at him for the interruption. "I Apparated," he gloated, hoping his snotty tone might disturb the man's control. "Seeing as you're totally incapable of teaching anyone how to do anything, I did it myself."
Snape wasn't amused, but neither did he react as Harry wanted him to. "Really," the man intoned, voice dripping with such doubt that it hardly sounded like a question.
"Yeah, really," Harry retorted.
"And how is it that you found my location?"
"What?" he blared. "I didn't go looking for you, I just went to Privet Drive! You know, where I live?"
Snape glanced about the surrounding trees before resetting his gaze on Harry. "This is quite a distance from where you spend your summers."
Shows what you know, Harry thought. Not that he intended to correct him. "So what? It's a place I've been before, so I came here."
"A place you've been before," Snape repeated.
"And what are you doing here anyway? Thought you were supposed to be going around to safehouses." Unless he also had other business to attend to, Harry darkly mused.
The professor lifted a single eyebrow. "Does the dwelling place of the Boy Who Lived not qualify?"
"Well--" Harry cut himself off, not really having an answer.
"You are aware that there are many wards and safeguards on this location, which preserve your precious self at all times while you are here."
He'd never thought of it in those terms before. It had always seemed clear that the ward made up of his mother's sacrifice was the most important one. After all, it was the only thing keeping him there in that miserable place.
"Especially," Snape continued, voice smooth, "considering the terrible dangers that would, inevitably, fall upon whoever was foolish enough to leave the only building in the entire town with indomitable protections."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Harry groused, done with Snape's games.
The professor cast a hasty Tempus before slashing across the conjured numbers with his wand, causing them to sizzle into nonexistence. He said nothing, but Harry huffed, eyeing the man. "So. There are wards here." He wasn't sure how to feel about that. It made his skin crawl, and he glanced about, realizing that it was possible that, all this time, he'd been monitored here.
Snape merely grunted, though he did cast a brief, disapproving glance at Harry. "No more magic," he demanded, firm. "As pleasant as it might be to witness your expulsion, it would ultimately be... inconvenient."
Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. He wasn't exactly planning on it! Not that anything he could say in this situation would matter; as usual, Snape had the aggravating talent to make Harry seem as insignificant as possible.
Still, there was a point to be gleaned from this. How was he to learn anything he wanted to know without being able to cast any spells? The Restrictions for Underage Magic were still very much in place, a fact which had slipped his mind entirely before he'd gone on this excursion. Yet now, it seemed to hinder him at every turn. Harry realized, with a chagrined grimace, that this was what Hermione had meant by "some difficulty" with him going out as an Order member.
He found himself, ironically, echoing Snape's sentiment. Inconvenient. Face to face with that thought, Harry considered it a wonder that Dumbledore was allowing him to do this at all. He did not, however, intended to give up.
"Potter," Snape's voice, abrasive as the crack of a whip, confronted him. Having been lost in thought, Harry was roused quite suddenly by his next command: "Give me your wand."
"What?" he balked, immediately on the defensive. "Why?"
"I will abide none of this childish defiance of yours," the professor declared. "The Headmaster may trust your word, but I do not."
"I'm not going to just give you my wand!"
The air seemed to grow a little colder, then. Snape's glower was direct. Sharp. "Explicit disobedience, is it?" he remarked, tone full of barely-concealed malice. "I expected your resolve to break, but I never could have predicted it would happen so soon."
Harry paled. Right. His promise to Dumbledore. He'd almost entirely forgotten about it, in light of Snape's prolonged hostility. The threat to his position necessitated some backpedalling, but-- His wand... He'd almost never been without it since the moment Ollivander had placed it in his hand. And too, he'd already been disarmed once that day; there was something intensely disturbing about letting it happen again.
He set his jaw, countering with: "I seem to remember Professor Dumbledore saying you had to let me participate, instead of abandoning me in some random location while you swanned off to do... whatever."
"I agreed to nothing of the sort," was Snape's smooth reply. Harry had no doubt that was true: the man was nothing if not wily.
"And if I told him exactly how this all went?" he challenged. "You think he'd care that you didn't technically agree? Or would he see your attempts to sabotage me for exactly what they are?"
His features were hard to make out in the darkness, but this appeared to give him some pause. At length, he said, "If your intent was to bully me into submission, you will be delighted to know how miserably you've failed." The man's voice was dripping with ridicule. "I told you before that I have nothing to prove."
"I don't have to take any orders from you if you won't hold up your end of the bargain," Harry announced.
"I could just take the wand by force, you realize," Snape pointed out, his intent a dark spectre behind his words.
Harry found it difficult to speak around the fear lodged in his throat, but somehow managed it. "And how exactly would that be any less inconvenient for you?"
The professor snorted. "To start, it would render you unable to commit the double-crime of Apparating without a license while underage."
"I'm not going to Apparate again, so long as you don't leave me behind," he asserted. "Just-- let me keep my wand."
"If you cannot take orders," Snape sneered, "then you have no business being an Order member at all."
"I get it! You hate me!" Harry blurted. "But the whole point-- This is-- I mean, I'm doing all this for the Order! If I'm not fit, then make me fit! I don't care, so long as I'm not forced to sit around all day waiting for someone else to do the work for me!"
Snape did not respond, the circle of light from his wand as still and controlled as the rest of him. Harry clenched his eyes closed before opening them again, his next words coming on the back of a sigh. "Honestly, isn't teaching supposed to be your job?"
There was a rustle of cloth as the man shifted. Harry observed him, wary, as he spoke. "If you cannot abide your end of the agreement, there is nothing to be done."
Harry's hopes sank far and away from him, so removed from his mind that it was almost as if he'd never had them. Of course it would turn out this way. The one chance he had to get out of the school, to actually make a useful contribution to the war effort-- and it was wasted on the likes of Severus Snape.
He looked out across the stream, watching as the faint moonlight tiptoed atop the moving water. He didn't like this place at night. It was too quiet, too gloomy. With a frown, he commented, "Let me guess: you're already finished with your inspection."
The man's boots crunched against the grass and dirt as he approached. Harry tensed, his frown growing larger. Snape stopped a foot away. "We are leaving," was all he said.
Numb, Harry stared out at some unfocused middle distance. Trees swayed nearby. A blur of deep green, they towered above him, obscuring the stars. He didn't even look in Snape's direction as he grabbed hold of his arm, waiting in a terse silence before they vanished.
"I did not expect you to return so early," Dumbledore said, eyeing Harry with concern. He stared at the intricate wood of the man's desk, letting Snape do all the talking.
The man was sitting across from the Headmaster's desk, pointedly in the chair that Harry had not occupied previously. He wasn't sure why he'd even noticed that, but with the tone of the night still hanging over his shoulders, he couldn't seem to help it. Snape addressed the Headmaster in clipped, professional tones. "There is a matter which I felt necessary to bring to your attention as soon as possible."
Harry inwardly cringed, squeezing his hands tightly together in his lap. Now that he thought about it, all this was going to sound bad, wasn't it? He'd had a few choice words for Snape, not to mention how he'd gone poking around in the ward magic without asking, and Apparating for the first time ever even though it was very illegal. He well remembered being surrounded by Wizengamot members, terrified. That time, he'd at least been in the right. How was he supposed to argue for himself in this instance? The circumstances were more muddy, less noble. No other witnesses except Snape, who Dumbledore trusted. He wasn't likely to receive a glowing testimonial.
Dumbledore waved a hand as a wordless prompt, brows still drawn together with worry, and Snape continued, "The wards at Privet Drive have been tampered with."
Harry's head snapped up and he stared at the man, shocked. What? The Headmaster appeared equally disturbed, leaning forward in his seat as he spoke. "In what way?"
"The surrounding protections are sound. There has been no suspicious correspondence in or out, and Arabella reports that nothing out of the ordinary has occurred," Snape said. "However, an alarm ward was tripped. The house itself is encompassed by a new enchantment."
"The house?" Harry interrupted. "You mean, the Dursleys' house?"
Dumbledore's kind acknowledgement felt like an admonition. "Yes, Harry," he replied, his attention returning back to Snape. "The ward is limited specifically to their dwelling?"
"Yes. I was unable to identify its purpose. Although, it appears that the anchors of the ward are the inhabitants themselves."
Harry wasn't totally following, but Dumbledore's expression grew quite grave. "So... Whoever has done this is aware of far more than they should be."
"Assuming your band of misfits didn't blunder in and accomplish the impossible feat of erecting a ward on a house with blood-bond defenses, then yes."
The Headmaster didn't react to the man's snark. "I will contact our defense experts to see if we can determine the purpose of this ward."
Snape snorted. "Good luck."
"Is there," Dumbledore's gaze deliberately slid over to Harry, "anything further I should be made aware of?"
Anxiety slammed into Harry once more. This was it.
Snape, however, stood up. "Nothing at all," he announced. "My debrief is concluded."
The older man considered the two of them, brow creased, before prompting, "And you, Harry?"
Stunned, he could only murmur, "Oh-- uh, n-nothing. That's... yeah. That's it."
If he doubted that uncertain pronouncement, he made no mention of it. "Very well," Dumbledore replied, his expression still troubled. "I will inform you both when you are needed once more."
Snape left the room quickly, the door closing behind him before Harry had even risen from his seat. He left soon after, his mind buzzing with all that had occurred, and Snape's strange report.
Just what was going on? And why, after finally becoming an Order member, did he feel more confused and hopeless than ever?
These thoughts chased him through the halls as he walked, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak. He couldn't think of returning to Gryffindor Tower just yet; his body felt restless, energized by fear and uncertainty.
He wandered, aimless, for far longer than he could keep track of. The school was so familiar to him that it was impossible to get lost, but he had nowhere in particular to be. Well, other than bed. Truth be told, though, he wasn't feeling all that tired. The halls were quiet, not many professors prowling about. His footsteps were loud to his ears.
"You shouldn't be here."
Harry froze, muscles seizing at the sound of Snape's voice nearby. His turn was slow and mechanical, rickety joints pulling in the direction of the voice, expecting trouble. What he found was... trouble of a different sort.
Snape was facing his way, a small crate of bottles clinking at his hip, but he had not addressed Harry. Before him was none other than Draco Malfoy, draped in a dark cloak with its hood down, revealing his strikingly blonde head. Holding his breath, Harry carefully backed himself against the opposite wall, unnerved by their proximity. In his distraction, he'd wandered far too close for comfort. Well-- either that, or Snape and Malfoy were exceptionally good at sneaking around.
"I don't exactly care where you think I should be," drawled that velvety, imperious voice that made Harry's stomach turn over.
Snape leveled a bland stare the boy. "Defiance, is it? I've remarkably little patience left to offer tonight."
"Then saddle me with a detention," Malfoy challenged, his robes rustling against an arm movement that Harry couldn't quite make out from his angle. "I still need to talk to you."
The professor scowled. "Draco, I told you I am unavailable and I meant it."
"So you have time for that impetuous little Mudblood, but none for me?" Malfoy accused, his voice straining itself. Harry could imagine his expression with clarity: The twist of the boy's lips, his indignant, infantile glare, the way his cheeks sunk in, barely holding back a grimace.
"She lost Slytherin every single point they earned. It was not a pleasant chat, by any stretch of the imagination."
Small patches of blond hair tossed as Malfoy shook his head. "Well, all the more ridiculous that you set aside time for her, isn't it? Do you think I care whether or not it was pleasant? I'm not here to engage in idle chatter with you, Severus!"
Snape's reply was flat. "Nor I, Draco. Now, go back to the dormitory."
The energy around Malfoy grew frantic at the professor's dismissal. He stepped up closer to the man, the movement bordering on the threat of physical contact. "No! Didn't you hear me? You have to listen--"
"I cannot speak with you."
"Avoiding me isn't going to stop this!" the boy's voice came out strangled. "I need your help!"
"Be that as it may," Snape remarked, sounding like the words were being forced out of him. "The help you require is not in my power to give."
Harry could almost feel the tension singing through Malfoy's frame. "Not in your power?"
"My hands are tied," the man said firmly, his expression vastly different from any Harry had ever seen on his face. "You know that."
"I know that if you won't help me, we're going to die!"
There was no reply. Harry squinted at them, wondering if he'd missed it, but Snape's form was very still, dark eyes locked on the boy before him.
Then, Malfoy lurched forward, fingers digging into the man's arm, carving finger-shaped divots in the tight cloth. Snape jerked back with a grimace, but did not pull away. "You can't do this!" Malfoy's voice rattled out, bleak, threatening on what sounded like tears. "You promised my father! You can't let this happen!"
"It's out of my hands, Draco." His tone was on the border of stern and resigned. "Your father saw to that."
"So I should die for it?" Malfoy seethed. "She should die for it?"
As the two of them remained entangled in heated silence, Harry felt less and less comfortable witnessing it. Was it pushing his luck, to remain hidden like this, a mere few feet separating him? He remembered well the consequences of Snape's ire. Not to mention, the impasse which slithered between the two was unnerving, as if they were having several conversations at once, weaving and intersecting. Harry couldn't follow it properly, even if he tried.
It was Malfoy who first broke contact, the sound of his steps loud and fumbling as they bumped into each other, careless.
A word stayed behind, shimmering in the darkness, long after Malfoy had departed.
"Coward."