Stay Free

Chapter 12: Saving Severus Snape

"I'm impressed, Severus," the Dark Lord said calmly. "It's been, what? Two days, at least...I'm surprised that you are still alive."

Severus remained silent. His body was screaming with pain, but he would not let a moment of weakness escape him. "I have dealt with pain before, my Lord. And for longer periods of time."

"Yes, you have," the Dark Lord said with amusement. "My followers should learn to deal with pain as you do...It's quite incredible."

"Thank you, my Lord."

The Dark Lord snorted. "Do not bother with being polite, Severus. You have angered me. You will miss Crabbe and Goyle's sons being entered into the service tonight, as well as a new follower from the Ministry."

"Perhaps that will be for the better, my Lord," Severus suggested. "I am their teacher--though they will not be in my N.E.W.T class--and if they knew I was a Death Eater, they might let something slip at Hogwarts."

"Yes, perhaps that will be better," the Dark Lord agreed. He returned his wand to the pocket of his robes. "I shall return when the meeting is over tonight, Severus."

* * *

"What will you be doing tonight, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked him at supper the next night. Harry was sitting beside her at the teacher's table, along with Professors Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Sprout. Filch sat off at the corner with Mrs. Norris. "Summer work, I hope?"

Harry brushed that suggestion away with a wave of his hand. Taking a gulp of pumpkin juice, he replied, "I'm going to try out Sirius's motorcycle, ride around the grounds a bit." As he spoke, he could tell that Dumbledore was staring straight into the back of his head. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"He did enjoy that bike," said Professor McGonagall, taking a sip of wine. "Tell me, Potter, have you figured out how to ride it?"

"Yes. Sirius left instructions," Harry explained. He stabbed at a potato on his plate with a fork. "So I'll be fine."

"Stay clear of the Forbidden Forest," Professor Sprout advised. "The centaurs are just as happy as they were last year."

"But Umbridge isn't here," Harry pointed out. Every person around the table shuddered at the mention of her name, but smiled briefly as they remembered her encounter with the centaurs. "And she isn't working at the Ministry anymore. So she can't write laws that are against half-breeds, right?"

"She had many people in the Ministry who agreed with her views," said Professor Flitwick sadly. "There will be someone to fill her place."

Harry looked down at his plate unhappily. If there would always be someone like Umbridge, it meant that more people would be prejudiced against werewolves, centaurs, house-elves, or half-giants. Remus would have more trouble finding a job. People would be terrified of the centaurs, so they would try and enforce laws to restrict their rights. House-elves wouldn't be getting rights, or be free, no matter how hard Hermione tried with S.P.E.W. People would be afraid of Hagrid, even if they didn't know what a nice and caring man he was.

Suddenly, sparks appeared before his eyes.

Gold sparks.

Harry glanced at the other people around the table. They continued talking with another, not noticing that there were sparks flying around the table.

"What a depressing way to end dinner," Harry said glumly, pushing his unfinished food a couple inches towards the centre of the table as the sparks slowly faded. He stood up, brushing crumbs off his clothing, saying, "Goodnight, Professors," and left the room, heading to the Charms classroom.

Back in the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall exchanged a knowing look with Dumbledore as her colleagues left, chatting about the upcoming term.

"He's not going to 'try out' Sirius's bike, is he?" she asked Dumbledore nervously. "Harry's going to go save Severus, isn't he?"

Dumbledore nodded. The candles above his head cast light down upon him, making the Headmaster look more impressive and powerful than ever. It also illuminated the deep lines etched in his face, showing that he truly was an old, tired man. "I'm afraid so, Minerva."

"Well, aren't you going to stop him?" she exclaimed, throwing down her spoon angrily. "He could get himself killed, not to mention he might go to the wrong place!"

"Harry knows where Severus is being held, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "Our Charms Professor spotted him leaving the dungeons looking confident and happy. Harry was obviously trying to contact someone about Severus's whereabouts, and has discovered where he is. Draco has already informed me where Severus is being held, and I'd wager my new box of sherbet lemons that he is the one Harry got in touch with."

"You aren't going to help him? You're going to let a young boy run off to save a grown man who is more than capable of taking care of himself?"

"Yes. Harry needs it."

She picked up her spoon grudgingly, and dug it into her pudding. "You think you know what's good for the boy, Albus, but I think you've got it all wrong."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was in the air, his wand safely tucked in an inside pocket of the jacket. He flicked on the headlights as the sun set, casting a dark shadow over the clouds he was soaring through. He had charmed the bike to fly exactly to the Riddle House using the handy piece of paper Sirius had left him.

Fumbling around, Harry pressed the red button near the ignition. The air around him shimmered, and he and the motorcycle were covered with a temporary Cloaking Charm. He swallowed his fear, flying through the air with dread rising in his chest.

* * *

Severus sighed heavily. While being a prisoner, there were three things to worry about : Whether or not you would get food and water (which he hadn't received), torture (which he had suffered), and boredom. Severus didn't really care about the first two, as he could go a week without food or water and through enough pain for ten men. The third, however, was always the one that struck him the hardest. He had already tried to find shapes in the cracks of the stone, counted as high as he could (giving up at five hundred), hummed "A Hundred Bottles of Butterbeer On the Wall", and gone over the ingredients and procedure for just about every potion.

In conclusion, he was utterly and completely bored out of his mind.

A faint sound from outside caught his attention. He whipped his head to the small window, desperately trying to sense the origin. It grew louder, a dull roaring noise.

Severus groaned, letting his head fall against the stone. He knew the sound. Black's motorcycle. In their seventh year, it was common to see the Gryffindor riding around the grounds with various people on the back. It was also common to see him sending curses from above to hit a certain Slytherin. Why must he always be reminded of those years?

But if it was Black's motorcycle...

His head rose from the stone, trying to peer into the window. He could see nothing, but he knew who it was.

"Potter," he hissed, swelling with hope.

* * *

Harry landed smoothly on the pavement, his legs shaking from the time spent on the bike. Swinging one trembling leg over, he pulled off his helmet, shaking hair off his sweaty forehead. Placing that carefully on the ground, he grasped the handlebars and pushed the motorcycle towards the gates that would lead him up to the Riddle House. Grunting with effort, he finally managed to lean it against the gate, which was at chest height.

It was pitch-black outside, the darkness swarming around him and clawing at his chest. Harry pushed the Cloaking Charm switch again, and withdrew his wand. From what he could see, there wasn't anyone roaming the streets of Little Hangleton. The only lights were from what looked like a pub in the centre of the village. Harry could hear drunken yells and high-pitched giggles. He turned to the Riddle House to see what he was dealing with.

A long time ago, it may have been considered an impressive-looking manor. It was a large house, but the paint was peeling, the grass and gardens were overgrown, the windows broken or boarded up. An uphill driveway, starting at the gates, led up to the garage at the side of the house. There were no lights on, no indication that there was a man being held prisoner inside.

Pulling the jacket tighter around himself, Harry vaulted over the gates, taking care not to rip his clothing. "Lumos," he whispered, holding his wand like a flashlight. And he began to jog up the hill.

Ten minutes or so later, Harry was standing at the front door, wiping the sweat from his face, ears and eyes alert. He suddenly wished for a magical eye like Mad-Eye Moody, so that he could see through solid objects. Now that he thought about it, a magical ear would be nice, too. But would the ear be like a normal one, or would it be enormous? Harry had a sudden vision of himself with one normal ear, but the other large and heavy enough that it made him tip to one side. A broad smile crossed his face at the thought.

He shook his head violently, feeling disgusted with himself. Why was he thinking of magical facial features, when he should be entering the house and searching for Snape?

Harry pulled open the door and stepped over the threshold, straining to hear any possible movement or whispered words. He slowly pushed the door closed behind him, taking care to keep it quiet.

"Nox," he muttered softly. The light from his wand extinguished almost immediately, bathing him in complete darkness and fear. Harry fought down the fright, keeping his mind focused on the task. Save Snape. He took a deep breath, and began to walk through the house.

He stepped into a grimy corridor, covered from top to bottom in dust. Harry wrinkled his nose in an attempt to keep himself from sneezing, letting out a sigh of relief when the feeling passed. There were various doors on either side of him, all closed and looking as though they hadn't been opened in years. Harry continued to walk down the corridor before a voice from one of the doors made his heart jump and his palms sweat with both eagerness and fear.

"Don't know why he bothers having me here as lookout," came an angry, muttered voice from a door to the right. It grew stronger as the footsteps became louder. "It's bloody stupid..."

Harry discovered which door the voice was coming from, and pressed his back up against the wall. That way, the person would open the door, not see Harry, and then Harry would curse them with everything he had.

The door opened, coming within an inch of Harry's nose. A man of average height emerged from the doorway, his body language suggesting lots of irritation. Harry slipped away from the wall silently, pointed his wand, and took aim.

"Stupefy!" he hissed. The man immediately fell to the floor, his shout of surprise muffled by the layer of dust upon the floor. Harry turned his back on him, and began looking for a door into the basement.

A few minutes later, Harry was hurrying down a flight of stairs, his feet pounding on the wooden steps, wand held out in front of him threateningly. The stairs ended at a door, which he tried to open. Locked.

"Alohomora!" he whispered, and after a faint clicking sound, the door swung open magically. Harry stepped through the doorway into the room, fully aware that there was someone else breathing. Who was it? What was it?

"Er--Professor Snape?"

"Potter!" Snape's voice echoed in the near silent room, sounding relieved. "I heard you arrive--what took you so long?"

"Oh, shut up," said Harry conversationally, taking another step forward. There were robes on the floor in front of him, and he moved around them. "Lumos."

The light spread from the end of his wand, illuminating the weary man on chains upon the wall. Snape, if possible, looked greasier than ever. His oily hair, which was tangled and sticking to his cheeks, shined in the light. The clothing he was wearing (an undershirt and pair of shorts) was in tatters, shredded nearly beyond recognition. There was a dark stain on the front of his shirt, and as Harry stepped closer, he saw that it was blood.

"Christ, Professor..."

There was blood everywhere. Matted in his hair, more stains in his clothing, cuts and scrapes along his forearms and neck. The Dark Mark, ever present on his left arm, glared at Harry. He tried to stare back at it, but his stomach became queasy and his scar burned sharply. He touched it on a reflex, wincing.

"What's wrong with your scar?" Snape demanded.

"Nothing," answered Harry, waving his hand in the air, "just hurts a bit, that's all...Hang on, let me get you off these chains..." He flicked his wand, murmuring, "Eximo solvo."

The chains dissolved into dust, causing Snape to fall to the ground. He managed to make it look graceful, landing on his feet like a cat. He stretched his arms above him, tilting his head to the side to crack his neck, wincing.

"Do you need a Healing Charm?" Harry asked hesitantly. There were small droplets of blood falling to the floor from Snape's neck, but he seemed to not notice, or simply didn't care. "Or--"

"I don't need anything, Potter," Snape snapped, "except my robes. I don't feel like standing in my undergarments." He swayed slightly as he spoke. Harry picked up his robes off the floor and tossed them up in the air. Snape caught them, cringing as he moved.

"All right, Potter," Snape said, shrugging into the robes, "what did you see when you arrived here?"

"Nothing, really," Harry said, "just a pub that a bunch of people were in, and no one saw me land the bike. There's a Cloaking Charm on it." He noticed that there were pieces of wood littering the ground, near where Snape's robes had been. "Is that your wand?"

Snape glanced down at the floor. "Yes. I think Ollivander might be able to make me a new one similar to this one, as long as I have the pieces..." He crouched down to the floor to scoop them up, and promptly fell over.

"Professor, have you had much to eat?" Harry inquired sharply as Snape picked himself up off the ground, rubbing the space between his eyes and groaning.

"No. The Dark Lord did not feed me, and I never eat anything before a meeting, for the same reasons you don't eat anything before you have...er...what do the Muggles call it? Surgery! Yes, that's it."

"But you drank," Harry pointed out, recalling the end of the meeting.

"Alcohol numbs the pain," Snape said shortly. He looked thoroughly aggravated. "Enough pointless conversation. Where's the bike?"

"Outside, against the gates. I haven't got another helmet, though."

"I'll survive," Snape said dryly. "Let's go. I don't know how long the meeting will last."

He began to walk towards the door, while Harry stared at his back with disbelief. He had just flew hundreds of miles on an enchanted motorcycle to a house where a man who wished to kill him lived occasionally, jogged up that hill, had to Stun a random lookout, and freed Snape. All on his own. (Well, except for Malfoy's help.) And he didn't get any thanks?

"Potter."

Snape's voice jerked Harry out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw the older man standing in the doorway, looking impatient. "Yeah, I'm coming," Harry mumbled. He walked towards the door, hands in his pockets.

They walked in silence up the stairs, Harry fuming at Snape's ignorance, Snape moving slowly due to his wounds. They came into the corridor where Harry had Stunned the man (who was still lying on the floor), and Snape held up his hand.

"Need a quick rest," he said quickly, trying to hide the fact that he was breathing heavily and sweating. "Right here is fine..." He leaned against the wall, taking in a deep breath.

"You're sure you don't need a Healing Charm?" Harry persisted. He held up his hand helpfully, but Snape shook his head.

"It would be better for Pomfrey to look over me instead."

"Have it your way," said Harry lightly, shrugging his shoulders.

For a few minutes, the only sound was Snape's heavy breathing and occasional cough. Harry sighed, and remarked, "You know, a 'thank you' would be nice."

Snape glanced up at him, and glared. "I don't think you should tell me what to do, Potter," he said in a dangerously low voice. "There was no need to come and 'rescue' me. The Dark Lord needs me for his plans. He wouldn't kill me."

A sudden anger rose in Harry's chest. "Look at yourself," he hissed, dimly aware that he had raised his wand. "You're a mess. All the Cruciatus and other curses he's put on you--you can't walk without stumbling. And didn't you tell me where you were, in code?"

"I was hoping you would do the sensible thing and tell Dumbledore," Snape said through gritted teeth, "not run off on a flying motorcycle--"

The wand was pointed between Snape's eyes before Harry realized it. "I've saved your life," he said, disbelief ringing in his voice, "and you've got nothing to say for it?"

"I will never thank the son of James Potter for anything," Snape spat.

"I'm not my dad," Harry said angrily. "I just happen to look like him. The rest of me comes from my mum. So why can't you thank the son of Lily Evans?"

Snape fell silent, his eyes flicking to a spot above Harry's shoulder. "Lily is dead," he whispered jerkily. "She means nothing to me now."

Harry's thoughts flew to what he had seen in Snape's rooms; the letters, the necklace, the ring. "That's not what I think," Harry started to say, but there was a muttered word from behind him and something flew into his back. He remembered falling forward, his head colliding with Snape's chest. His wand was slipping out of his hand as he dimly heard the other man's shout of surprise, and then the pain took his body and all went black.

* * *

The man who Potter had Stunned earlier had awoken, and sent a curse straight into the boy. He collapsed, falling forward into Severus's chest, his wand clattering to the floor. Severus's hand automatically went to the boy's back to catch him, make sure he didn't fall.

"Stupefy!" the man from the floor croaked. A jet of red light narrowly missed Severus's head; he ducked sharply, scooping up Potter's wand, and shoved the boy behind him against the wall, out of the way.

"Evincio!" Severus bellowed, and a stream of white light emerged from the end of Potter's wand and hit the man in the chest. He dropped to the floor, face twisted in anger as he struggled against the invisible ropes that bound him with no succession. He didn't know the man, which meant that he could be a new recruit, but Severus didn't care.

Severus turned around quickly, bent down, and grasped Potter's shoulders. "Wake up, boy," he muttered. He lightly tapped one of his cheeks. "Wake up." There was no response. "Oh, hell."

Severus took one of Potter's limp arms and pulled it around his own shoulder. Holding onto that with one hand, he moved his other to Potter's back. He had been in the Riddle House many times, and could walk through it blindfolded. Standing up with a small groan, he began to walk.

"Hope that Binding Curse holds him down long enough," Severus said to himself, kicking open the door. It let it a fresh breeze, smacking him in the face comfortably. He breathed in deeply; being in the basement of one's house for a few days, and you began to realize the advantages of fresh air.

Severus stepped outside, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He continued to walk, slowly this time, as he was going downhill while supporting another person. Potter wasn't overweight, but he didn't weigh as much as a feather either. His feet dragged on the ground uselessly, showing no signs of awakening.

There was a shout from the house, followed by someone crying, "Debilito!"

Severus whipped his head around, only to have a surge of violet light slam into his face. He stumbled backwards, catching his balance (but not Potter) before he fell. His vision began to cloud as he raised Potter's wand drunkenly, shouting a extensive amount of curses and hexes to the dark blob against the faded house. When there was no response, Severus returned the wand to his pocket, causing himself to fall backwards and roll down the hill. He climbed up off the ground when he stopped, feeling dazed and confused.

He was tired...His head began to feel heavy, his legs unable to support him...Severus tried to walk again, but there was something beside him...A young boy, dark-haired and unconscious...What was he doing there?...His head hurt...

Mumbling to himself, Severus bent down and picked up Potter as easily as though he were a rag doll. He staggered at the sudden extra weight, but continued to walk down the hill sloppily. When he made it to the motorcycle, he was exhausted. He was nearly blind, and struggled to keep his eyes open.

There was a helmet on the ground. Severus picked it up clumsily, his fingers sliding over the smooth texture. Awkwardly, he slid it over Potter's head, heaved him onto of the bike, and climbed on himself.

The exhaustion took over his body. He vaguely remembered turning the key in the ignition and tapping the engine with Potter's wand. Then they were in the air, wind slapping him in the face sharply, but it was not enough to keep him awake...

* * *

Harry opened his eyes. It hurt. A lot. The light coming in from the window did not help his eyes, which were squinting in hope of achieving focus.

"I see you're awake, Mr. Potter," said a voice from above him. Madam Pomfrey was standing beside him, holding a wand and tutting. "I also noticed you have found a new idea to get yourself killed...Here's your glasses, I expect you'll be wanting them."

Harry took the glasses from her without comment, and slid them over the bridge of his nose. The room clicked into focus, revealing that he was in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, and that he wasn't in a dark corridor, hit with a curse from behind, falling straight into Snape--

Harry sat bolt upright. Madam Pomfrey gave a little squeak of disapproval, but he ignored her. "Where's Snape?" he demanded. "Did he get out all right?"

"He's fine," said Pomfrey briskly. "It was simply an Exhaustion Spell."

"What happened?" Harry persisted. "All I remember is passing out--"

"Professor Snape carried you out from the Riddle House after you were hit with the curse," Madam Pomfrey answered. "He then put both himself and you on the motorcycle, and told it to bring you two to Hogwarts. He also became unconscious. It's a good thing there's all those protective spells on that bike, if one of you had fallen off..."

Harry relaxed, and settled himself back into the pillows. "Good. I'm glad he's all right."

"As am I, Harry," said a soft voice from the door. Harry looked up and saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway, looking as impressive as ever. "Do you mind if I step in for a moment, Poppy?"

"Of course not, Headmaster," Pomfrey said pleasantly. "I suppose I shall have to leave the room for this conversation?"

"I'm afraid so," answered Dumbledore, giving her a graceful nod. She strode out of the room without another word, shutting the door behind her. Dumbledore looked back at Harry, and sighed.

"Don't bother," Harry said before Dumbledore had a chance to open his mouth. "I know what you're going to say."

"Do you really?" Dumbledore asked, sounding mildly interested. With a wave of his wand, a comfortable armchair appeared beside Harry's bed. He took the seat, saying, "Please, go on."

"You're going to give me a lecture on how I should have told you if I thought I knew where Snape was," Harry began, "that I shouldn't have lied, that I shouldn't have contacted Malfoy with Snape's fireplace, and that I certainly shouldn't have rode off on an enchanted motorcycle to the Riddle House to save someone who could take care of themselves. At the end, I would have learned a good lesson. And then you would offer me a Muggle sweet," he added with a grin.

Dumbledore returned the smile. "Yes, Harry, you did get the point of my lecture. You do understand what you have done, that you could have been killed, that you could have seriously endangered Professor Snape's job?" His voice was surprisingly harsh and somewhat loud, not the usual kind, quiet tones the Headmaster used.

Harry started to ask why Snape's job as a Potions Master was relevant to the conversation, but saw the flicker in Dumbledore's eyes. Ah. Right. The Death Eater job.

"Yes, sir," answered Harry quietly, looking down at the sheets and pretending to be interested in them. "I understand. If Snape's being held by an evil Dark Lord again, I'll be sure to come to you first."

The smile on Dumbledore's heavily lined face grew broader. "Very well, Harry. Thank you for being so considerate. I'm sure Professor Snape will thank you later today."

Harry nodded, remembering how Snape had refused to do earlier. "Yeah, I suppose." Not bloody likely, he added to himself.

Dumbledore stood up. "I must have yet another discussion with our Minister of Magic...I am right to believe that you will not tell anyone of what happened at the Riddle House, other than Ron and Hermione?"

"And Remus," Harry reminded him.

"Yes, and Remus," Dumbledore agreed. "Feel better, Harry."

"Thank you, Professor." Suddenly, a thought hit Harry. Something that he should have asked about a while ago... "Wait! Before you go!"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Am I safe?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Silvery eyebrows rose. "From Voldemort?"

Harry nodded. "If he could...possess me at Grimmauld Place...then couldn't he do the same here? Am I safe?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Yes. Though Grimmauld Place is heavily warded, Voldemort is powerful enough to slide past those wards into your mind. But Hogwarts is protected with ancient magic; spells that the Founders created. You cannot be touched at Hogwarts."

A wave of relief washed over Harry. "So, he won't be able to make me do things again?"

"I doubt it," Dumbledore assured him. "Although...I do believe that if you were thinking about him enough, and had the power, you could break through his defences."

Harry froze. He had done that. Voldemort had been weak, concentrating on only Snape's punishment. And Harry had been thinking about Voldemort, and accidentally gotten into the Dark Lord's mind...

"But he couldn't do the same to me?"

"It wouldn't work for him, however." Harry visibly relaxed. "Hogwarts is simply too powerful. Now, I really must go, Harry."

And with a tip of his hat, Dumbledore was gone.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in soon afterwards, holding a goblet full of a potion that Harry recognized. "Yes, it's a Dreamless Sleep Potion," said the nurse, answering Harry's unspoken question. "Mixed with a painkiller."

She handed it to Harry, who poured the liquid down his throat. He sank back into the bed, and slept.