To Every Captive Soul

-TO EVERY CAPTIVE SOUL-

-ELLERY-

-CHAPTER ONE-

Ignoring the sharp pains that coursed throughout his entire body and concentrating instead on the stone floor in front of him, Severus Snape made his way through the deserted halls of Hogwarts to the office of Albus Dumbledore, robes flapping behind him in wake of his rapid pace. After a muttered "ice mice" gained him admittance past the forbidding stone gargoyle, he climbed the steep, curved stairway that led to Dumbledore's private study, clenching his teeth and fighting with every bit of strength left in his body to keep from collapsing right then and there.

Even Dumbledore, under normal circumstances the epitome of stoicism, had trouble controlling the gasp of horror that threatened to escape his throat when Snape burst into the room. Minerva McGonagall, however, had no such restraint, and, eyes widened, dropped the teacup she was holding onto the floor at the site of the bloodied Potions Master. The smash of the porcelain cup shattering against the hard wooden floor, however, went unnoticed by the room's three occupants.

"Severus, what in Merlin's name-" McGonagall began, rising from her chair, but Snape ignored her.

"Albus," he addressed the headmaster, his smooth, cultured voice incongruous with his maniacal appearance even when laced with overtones of panic, "Albus, it's Potter. They intend to make a move tonight. We need to hurry."

The Headmaster rose sharply, coming perilously close to upsetting the tea-tray perched on the edge of the desk. "How much time?" he asked Snape, his voice grave and his blue eyes steely.

"Very little. It is imperative that we move right now," he urged, fighting to keep calm while attempting to convey to the Headmaster just how urgent the situation was.

Dumbledore got the message.

"Very well. Minerva, kindly summon Professor Lupin and tell him to find Miss Granger and bring her back to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Severus, are you fit to make the journey to Grimmauld Place?" he asked, turning to Snape.

"Yes, Albus, now can we please go?" he responded sharply, the anxiety evident in his voice. This uncharacteristic display of an emotion other than displeasure or scorn was a true measure of how pressing matters were.

McGonagall was already reaching for the Floo Powder on top of the mantle when the two wizards left the office and hurried through the castle to exit onto the grounds. They walked in silence, the Headmaster wisely deciding that Severus's waning energy needed to be conserved for more important tasks than conversing.

They reached the edge of the grounds, and together they Apparated to the small suburban neighborhood that housed the late Sirius Black's ancestral home and his godson's current residence.

After the ostensible defeat of Voldemort at the end of Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, the Boy-Who-Lived, though elated at the downfall of his lifelong archenemy, was understandably weary of all the demands and pressures of the title, after living with it for the whole of his adolescence. He decided that, after leaving Hogwarts, what he really wanted more than anything else was to pursue a career as a professional Quidditch player, something that had been his dream for as long as he could remember.

Though his teachers (and Hermione) were mildly disappointed that he had chosen to forego something more...cerebral for flying around on a broomstick chasing a golden ball, they had all agreed, more or less, that if anyone deserved a break fighting evil, it was Harry Potter. Unfortunately, the defeat of Voldemort had caused perhaps even more trouble for the Boy-Who-Lived.

In accordance with Sibyl Trelawny's prophecy, only one of the two had able to survive the Final Battle, and Harry had prevailed. However, that didn't mean that Voldemort was gone for good.

By some magical occurrence, at his death, Voldemort's power had become embedded within Harry Potter's body. Consequently, if Harry was killed, there was a chance that Voldemort might be able to take over his body and rise once again. There wasn't a great chance, but it was a chance nonetheless. With the number of rogue Death Eaters remaining in the world, enraged at their Master's defeat at the hands of a 17-year-old boy and looking to avenge him and bring the Dark Lord back into life, Harry was in as much danger as ever. Which meant that his promising Quidditch career was put on hold indefinitely.

Harry, understandably, had not taken the news well. The only thing he truly desired was his freedom, but it seemed that that had been denied him once again. However, with Snape still infiltrating the ranks of the Death Eaters, most of whom still roamed free thanks to the Ministry's ever-corrupt leadership, the members pf the Order were focusing their efforts on finding ways to destabilize them. This brought the hope that, one day, Harry's life might be secure enough for him to be free to do as he wished. He agreed to wait until that happened, and he took up residence in the house his godfather had left him, which still served as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Not for much longer, it seems, Albus Dumbledore thought grimly as the house appeared in front of them. Apparently something had happened at the meeting tonight, and the location of the house had been revealed.

They rushed up the porch stairs and into the dark house, Snape's right arm burning with pain as he wrenched open the wooden door. Once in the foyer, Dumbledore cast the Sonorus charm and called Harry's name in his magnified voice, a note of urgency evident in his voice. A bedraggled Harry Potter soon emerged from some room in the back of the house, looking very sleepy and bemused at the appearance of the Headmaster and his former Potions teacher in his house at such a late hour.

"Wha's goin' on?" he murmured as he scratched his head, his voice thick with sleep. "What'd you go waking me up for? I was sleepin'" he protested with a loud yawn.

"Potter, we have precious time to stand here and discuss why we had to so rudely interrupt your beauty sleep," Snape snapped, "so come on. We need to get you to Hogwarts now."

Even though Harry had never been one to follow anyone's instructions, particularly those of one of his least favorite people in the world, without demanding an explanation first, he recognized the anxiety in his old professor's voice, and without another word made towards the door of the house. He had a feeling something was dreadfully wrong, and even through his sleep-induced haze, he decided that it would probably be best to just do what he was told.

The men left the darkened house and emerged onto the porch, from which they could clearly see a group of masked, black robed figures making their way towards the house, their outlines visible by the flickering streetlight that stood at the corner.

"Not a moment too soon," Dumbledore whispered under his breath as Snape hissed a command for Harry to Apparate to the gates of Hogwarts.

The unlikely trio made their way across the grounds towards the castle, darkened and serene. All of Harry's drowsiness had promptly fled at the sight of the masked figures outside his house, and he was now fully alert, glancing around them and grateful that he had thought to grab his wand from his bedside table before leaving the house.

No dangers had surfaced, however, by the time they had reached the front doors of the castle, but the pace of Dumbledore and Snape did not lessen as they marched through the corridors to the Headmaster's office. The stone gargoyle immediately admitted opened at the sight of Dumbledore, and the men emerged into the large study to find a group of familiar faces waiting for them.

"Harry!" came the voice of Hermione Granger as she rushed to envelop her friend in a tight hug. Harry returned her greeting with equal force, dropping a kiss on the top of her curly hair. He had spent the walk to the castle fighting the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the thought that something had happened to his best friend and the only other remaining member of the trio. After what had happened to Ron, he wasn't willing to take any chances when it came to Hermione's safety. She was all he had left these days, and if anything happened to her he didn't know what he would do.

"Harry, I'm so glad you're alright," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Oh, if anything had happened..." she trailed off before burying her face in the comforting warmth of his shirtfront.

Severus Snape rolled his eyes at the emotional scene in front of him. It was truly sickening how much these two cared for each other, and what made it even worse was that they felt the need to parade in front of others at every possible opportunity. He pointedly ignored the small voice in his head that told him that he was just jealous because no one had ever bothered to feel that way about him.

"Ahem," he interrupted loudly, raising an eyebrow as the two pulled apart and looked at him, keeping their hands joined. "Touching as this little...reunion is, we have pressing matters to discuss, preferably sans the unnecessary histrionics, Miss Granger," he jeered, moving to sit in one of the armchairs that sat in front of the large mahogany desk.

"Severus, don't you think it would be prudent to go see Madame Pomfrey before doing anything else?" McGonagall questioned, her brow furrowed with concern as she studied Snape's bloodied frame.

"I should think that would be my place alone to decide what would be "prudent" at the moment, Minerva, appreciated though your concern is," he said coldly, dismissing the matter. Dumbledore looked as though he might intervene for a moment, but decided against it and beckoned for everyone to take their seats, including Remus Lupin, who had been wordlessly taking in the scene as he leaned against the capacious fireplace.

Dumbledore himself moved to sit down behind his desk. "Severus, kindly fill us in on tonight's events," he said calmly, turning his gaze on the Potions Master.

In his rich, smooth baritone, Snape began to speak. "At approximately nine o'clock this evening, I was sitting in my office when the Dark Mark started to burn, and after stopping to inform Albus that I was being summoned, I left Hogwarts and Apparated to the unknown location that Lucius Malfoy had decided upon for the night's meeting. As usual, it was a large clearing in the middle of a forest, presumably still in the country. When I arrived, everyone had gathered already, and were ostensibly waiting for me. That was the first sign that something was wrong, and I would have left had I not immediately been magically bound and placed on a chair in the middle of the circle.

"Lucius approached me. He spat on me and hissed 'traitor', and it was then that I knew that my cover had been blown. He proceeded to taunt me, and then demanded that I tell him the whereabouts of Harry Potter and Miss Granger. I refused, of course, and, he had Wormtail fetch some Veritaserum. Even as a Potions Master who has had considerable experience with it, it would have been impossible for me to resist its effects. I tried holding my breath, attempting to kill myself and render myself useless to them, but after he asked the first question, the potion forced my mouth open to answer."

The room had gone completely silent, and every face had gone pale, especially Harry's. For the first time in his memory, he felt a trickling of appreciation at all that Snape did to protect the safety of both Harry and the wizarding world.

"He asked me where Potter was, and, despite my efforts, I was forced to divulge the location. The other Death Eaters made a move to leave and capture him that moment, but Lucius stopped them, advising them that it would be wiser to hold off until they could formulate a plan. He then questioned me on the whereabouts of Miss Granger and on various plans of the Order. Lucius, however, in his haste to start plotting to abduct Potter, fortunately neglected to garner information from me about more crucial aspects of the Order.

"After he was finished with his interrogation, he invited the other Death Eaters to 'play' with me, as he called it, obviously finished with me for good. They fired a diverse array of curses at me, Cruciatus among them, but one of the idiots accidentally freed me from my bindings in his excitement, and I was able to Apparate back to the grounds of Hogwarts. Albus, you know what happened from there."

Dumbledore took that as a subtle hint that Snape was too weary to continue his tale, and so finished it for him. "Professor Snape and I went to Grimmauld Place as fast as possible, and brought Harry back to Hogwarts in just the nick of time, it turns out. The Death Eaters were already approaching when we left. We're lucky we got to him when we did. Remus, how did things look at Miss Granger's place?" the Headmaster asked, turning to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Nothing suspicious, Headmaster," he answered, and Hermione nodded her agreement.

"Lucius was probably more concerned about getting Potter safely in his possession," Snape broke in. "Though Miss Granger would no doubt have afforded them considerable...entertainment."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione stopped him with a sharp squeeze on his hand. Professor Snape had said it without any maliciousness, and she knew he was only telling the truth. Needlessly, as her last encounter with Death Eaters had been enough to thoroughly educate her in what exactly the Death Eaters were capable of doing.

Dumbledore rose. "Everyone is safe for the time being," he said, "but there is much we need to discuss come morning. Harry, Hermione, you are both to stay here at the castle this evening, and probably for many evenings to come."

At any other time, they probably would have objected to Dumbledore's commanding them to do anything, but they both were rational enough to recognize that there was no way they would be safe at anywhere but Hogwarts right now. "Minerva, please show them to the guest rooms in Gryffindor Tower. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, as a precautionary measure I would strongly advise you to stay in your rooms this evening and not wander about the castle. Of course, as consenting adults, you may visit each other if you wish, but I would suggest you get some sleep. We will be in for a long day tomorrow."

Hermione blushed and Harry's eyes widened fractionally at Dumbledore's 'consenting adults' comment, but hand-in-hand they rose and followed Minerva McGonagall out of the room.

Snape and Lupin remained with the Headmaster. "Remus, will you please find Mr. Filch and ask him to seal the castle and put up all possible defenses?"

The werewolf nodded, and took his leave. Snape was left alone with Dumbledore.

"Severus, there is much to be said, but now is not the time. Go to the infirmary and have Madame Pomfrey tend to your wounds."

At Snape's look of dissent, Dumbledore added, "That is an order, Severus, not a request. You have probably been injured much worse than you think. I'll be in touch with you in the morning."

Snape complied for once, and wordlessly swept out of the office. Dumbledore returned to his desk and sat down, staring thoughtfully at nothing in particular and looking for once like the very old man he was.

---*---

Hermione sat stiffly on the edge of the large four-poster bed that occupied the center of the bedroom. The guest quarters that McGonagall had put her in were cozy but not cramped and were decorated in an understated décor that Hermione not only found agreeable but recognized as being quite similar to that of her own apartment. She suspected the rooms were charmed to suit their occupants, something she found less than comforting at the moment, because with thoughts of her flat came the realization that she wouldn't be able to return there for a long, long time.

Sleep seemed very far away, and she knew that if she lay in bed and tried to get some rest she would only end up tossing and turning for the rest of the night. She decided to take advantage of Dumbledore's words and go see Harry, who had been put next door. She pulled on a robe over her pajamas, and emerged into the small parlor, which was lit by a blazing fire that cast a warm, golden glow over the entire room.

Suddenly, Harry appeared in the doorway, stepping through the Van Gogh that guarded the entrance to the rooms. "Sorry," he said unapologetically, "I couldn't help overhearing McGonagall telling you the password to your room, and I just thought I would pay you a surprise visit."

"How could you be so sure that I wouldn't be naked?" she asked him playfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually, I was banking on it," he teased, grinning and running a hand through his eternally messy black hair. Hermione was reminded of the pale little boy he had once been, running about Hogwarts in his oversized robes and broken glasses, a sheepish grin his only response when confronted with his bending of the rules or breaking of curfew. Something inside of her broke, and she went to him.

"Oh, Harry," she managed before her throat closed, putting her arms around him. He returned the embrace, settling his arms around her waist. Her chestnut hair, still a mass of curls and tangles, tickled his nose, and he breathed in the familiar apple-y scent of her shampoo. His eyes filled up with tears, but he made no move to blink them away. Harry had never been uncomfortable about showing emotion in front of Hermione.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice choked. "Hermione, I could never lose you. I'd sooner die than see anything happen to you." He felt her shiver against him.

"Don't say that, Harry," she replied, her voice throaty and low. "Just be careful. I can't lose you, either. Not you, too. Just be careful."

The well-used admonishment balanced them both somehow, and their tears dried as they stood there, silent in the comfort of the embrace. Once, briefly, they had been more than friends, and, while it hadn't been awkward exactly, they had both been relieved when they had mutually agreed to go back to just being friends. Besides, they shared more intimacy in their friendship than others did in most romantic relationships, and each of them took great comfort in the other's presence, something that had helped both of them get through the dark times that had followed the tragic loss of the third member of their party.

Hermione was the first to pull away, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her robe in a decidedly unladylike gesture. She smiled sadly at him for a moment, and then moved to go sit in one of the large, patterned armchairs that sat in front of the fire. Harry took a seat in the other one, and they sat there without another word, the only noise in the room the crackling of the fire.

As they settled into the comfort of their chairs, watching the dying fire and finding precious solace in the presence of a dear friend, an easy sleep came upon them both, and the sound of their slow, steady breathing joined that of the rustling embers.

---*---

Severus Snape lied still on the stiff mattress, the blackness of his hair and robes contrasting sharply with the stark white of the hospital bedding. He scowled as Poppy Pomfrey bustled about him like a mother hen, clucking as she took his temperature and then his pulse. After glancing at the results, she apparently decided that he was alright for the moment, and began to undress him to ascertain the severity of his bodily wounds.

Poppy Pomfrey was just about the only person on Earth who Severus would voluntarily allow to take any piece of his clothing off of his body, and, despite his surly demeanor towards her cheerful bedside manner, Severus Snape actually had a bit of a soft spot for the wizened mediwitch. She had been at Hogwarts longer than he had been alive, and she had treated all of his numerous ailments and injuries ever since the first time he had set foot in the infirmary as a scowling first-year who had been blinded by a Conjunctivitis curse that one of his friendly housemates had seen fit to cast on him.

Despite his gradual transformation over the years from a quiet, sullen boy into the cantankerous man he was today, she still treated him as though he were an eleven-year-old, and, while it was mildly annoying, Snape derived a certain amount of comfort from her matronly antics. After all, it's no one else had ever worried over him before the way that Madame Pomfrey did, least of all his own mother.

She unbuttoned his shirt and slowly opened it to reveal his thin chest. He grimaced in pain as the blood-encrusted fabric tugged and separated from the open wounds. He sat up slightly so she could remove his shirt entirely, and watched as her seasoned eyes took in his scarred upper body. "Looks alright here," she muttered, more to herself than to her patient, and gently turned him to the side so she could examine him more closely.

He certainly didn't miss her sharp intake of breath as her gaze landed on his right arm. "What is it?" he demanded harshly, lowering his head to look at it himself. When he did, the fractional widening of his dark eyes was all that indicated that he had had any reaction at all. He silently took in the mangled flesh of his limb, which looked more like a the bloody carcass of some small, hairless animal than it did a human arm. It didn't hurt anymore than the rest of his body did, which explained why he hadn't really noticed it before now.

He glanced up at the mediwitch, who was examining the wound through narrowed eyes. "What is there to be done, Madame Pomfrey?"

She continued to study the arm. "As far as I can see, no amputation will be necessary, so no need to worry about that. Your nerves are still intact; for the most part, it's just superficial, despite how it looks."

She tapped her chin in thought. "However, it will take some time for it to heal. After cleaning and sealing it, I'll put it in a sling, which you will probably have to wear for the next three weeks."

His eyes turned to slits at that. "How much will this... sling inhibit my movements with the arm?"

"You'll see once I put it on you. Now, keep still while I tend to it before it gets infected."

Snape obeyed and closed his eyes until she had finished, trying not to concentrate on how much he wanted to be resting in his quarters right now.

"Alright. That should take care of it for the time being. As far as I can tell, your other wounds are nothing life threatening; they will probably hurt quite a bit, but I can give you a potion to ease the pain."

"Poppy, surely the fact that I am a Potions Master has not escaped your notice. I will be fully able to supply myself with a pain relieving potion if need be," he replied through clenched teeth. Madame Pomfrey just smiled.

"Severus, you know full well that that temper of yours will get you nowhere with me. Now be a good boy while I heal your burns, and after I fit you with a sling, you will be free to go."

Ten minutes later found Severus Snape healed, dressed, and scowling at the white cloth that covered his arm. "Poppy, I absolutely refuse to wear this...contraption. I can barely move my arm, a freedom I can ill-afford to lose at the present moment."

"Severus, if you don't wear it, your arm will heal abnormally, and I hardly need to tell you what a catastrophe that would be."

Severus was silent, his customary reaction when he knew that he was in the wrong but reluctant to admit it. She beamed at him. "You're welcome to go now, dear. Come back in a couple of days so I can check on your arm."

Snape, eager to leave, gave the elderly mediwitch a quick peck on the cheek and left the Hospital Wing.

Poppy Pomfrey watched him leave, a wistful expression on her lined face. Sometimes she thought she was the only one, including the man himself, who saw all the good that lay in Severus Snape, hidden by his forbidding appearance and harsh manner. She would welcome with open arms the day that the lonely Potions Master found happiness, perhaps in the form of the love of a woman. She shook her head. Just the ridiculous dreams of an old woman.