Teamwork

Notes: Thanks to calanthe for beta work and Britpicking. (Departures from canon capitalization are mine.)

7 -- Seeing

Harry spent most of the next two days thinking about what to ask, not just of the Seer, but of Snape. He had expected Snape to return at night, but it was ten o'clock on Monday morning when he heard the front door slam violently closed, and then, equally violently, slam open. Aunt Petunia shrieked. He ran to the stairs, his wand out, only to find his aunt cowering in front of Professor Snape.

"You!" she shrieked, but with a touch of desperation, as soon as she spotted him on the steps. "Tell this man to leave immediately!" Her face tightened. "And put that thing away!"

Harry shrugged and sauntered down to the first floor, sliding his wand out of sight with deliberate slowness. "Can't see why," he said. "He never listens to me, either. And any way, he's much better company than you and Dudley."

"How dare you say such a horrible thing!" Aunt Petunia gasped. Snape stepped forward.

"Indeed, it is damning with faint praise. I expect I am 'better company' than a Blast-Ended Skrewt, in that case." His eyes raked Harry up and down. "Put on some decent clothes, Mr. Potter, and I will escort you to our meeting."

"Robes?" Harry asked.

"I did say 'decent', did I not? Of course, robes!"

With a sidelong glance at his aunt, Harry snorted, nodded, and headed back upstairs.

They apparated to a windswept field that overlooked the ocean far below. Curls of white speckled the grey water, and Harry's robes whipped about his calves. He felt a spiral slide up his arm as Susara moved further from the draught of his jacket cuff.

"Atmospheric," Harry commented. "When you showed up in the middle of the morning, I thought we might be apparating into an office block."

Severus turned back from starting down a faint path. "You expected a Seer to receive you in the dead of night?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

Harry shrugged. "Seems more mysterious. Who would have guessed Seers worked business hours?"

They walked together down the mild inland slope. Harry watched the ground to avoid sheep droppings.

"You may, perhaps, have taken the wrong impression from my warning that this divination will be Dark Arts. There is nothing particularly Dark about the witch we will be seeing; she is merely practical enough to know all her tools."

"Ah." Harry wasn't quite sure that he understood the distinction. He himself, he decided, was moving towards that line, but he was under very special circumstances. He wasn't sure he would trust many people who knew Dark Arts. Well, Snape, of course, but that's different, too. I sort of think of him as someone who was a Dark wizard, but isn't really anymore. Harry looked sidelong at Snape. Perhaps he thought of it that way because Snape was more ambiguous than he wanted to deal with. "So -- have you told her who she'll be seeing?"

"Of course not! She is a half-blood and no friend to the Dark Lord, but the temptation -- and the risk -- is too great." Snape rolled his eyes. "And it's 'whom.'"

"You brought the money, right?"

"As we agreed. I trust you will repay me promptly in September."

"Of course."

The witch's house was a grey stone cottage with larkspurs blooming by the gate. An enormous grey cat greeted them just as they stepped onto the garden path, and wove between Harry's feet, purring loudly. The door opened as they reached it, and Snape pushed forward to enter first, his wand drawn.

"Professor Snape," said a pleasant, lilting voice. "Please sit down. There's tea on the table."

A grandmotherly witch was sitting by a table, turned so that her hands were visible where they lay in her lap. She smiled at Harry warmly, without even a flicker of surprise. "And Mr. Potter. So good to meet you. I am Madam Langston. Pardon me for not offering my hand -- I cannot touch anyone until after the reading, and I'm afraid one of you will need to pour, as well. Sit."

The table was square and sized for four -- two places, at one corner, had teacups. Snape sat next to the witch, leaving Harry to take the chair across from her.

"I suppose you cannot drink the brew, either?" Snape said sourly, suspiciously raising the knitted tea cozy to peer at the teapot underneath. From the rest of the decor, Harry expected English porcelain, but instead, it was a beautiful Chinese pot, ornamented with a coiled dragon. Ignoring Snape's disapproval, he lifted it and poured for both of them. As if this ended introductions, the witch turned her chair towards the table, and the grey cat leapt into the remaining chair and sat there, looking curiously at Harry.

"Er, is that a cat?" Harry asked, and then at the looks he got, winced. "I mean, full time?"

The witch laughed. "Unlike your head of house, you mean? Yes, my Greyling is a cat, but also my familiar, and so he has a genuine interest in the proceedings." She cocked her head and looked at Harry. "You don't have a rat. What interests him?"

"I have a snake. A torclinde."

"Ah. An unusual thing to wear concealed."

Harry was about to say that he sometimes discussed things with the snake, but Snape cut him off.

"The boy's pets are not your affair. You cat will know not to attack an animal carried by a wizard, correct?"

"Yes, of course. As long as the snake stays on Mr. Potter's person, it will be safe." She focused on Harry. "Now. Professor Snape did not tell me who would be visiting, but he did say that you wished me to perform a blood divination on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -- one to search for weaknesses. Is that correct?"

"Er... More or less."

She frowned. "In what way 'less'?"

"Well, the blood is--" Harry swallowed. "A servant of Volde--"

The cat hissed.

"I must ask you not to say that name here," Madam Langston said, frowning.

"Right. Um, so the Dark Lord's servant made him a new body from, among other things, my blood. Since that blood is also his now, we hoped that you might be able to do the divination with blood from me."

"I see." The Seer looked thoughtful. "That would explain why I-- Well, it's of no matter now." She tapped a dirty fingernail on the table. "It is possible that it will work," she said, "however, I cannot guarantee it, and the risk...."

"You will be compensated for divination by Dark Arts," Snape cut in, "whether or not the results we hope for are achieved."

"Good. To start with, I must have the payment. You brought it?"

"In silver, yes. I trust there is some reason for that bizarre request?" As he spoke, Snape removed a small pouch from each of his side pockets. From the way they pulled down on their strings, they were heavy, and Harry was not surprised when Severus tapped the first one with his wand and it quadrupled in size. He did the same with the second.

"Spill it on the table."

"Would you like it counted too?" Snape sneered, but the Seer merely smiled.

"No. Spilled into a small heap. I will know if it is enough."

"I hardly think that shows talent in farseeing," he answered disdainfully, but spilled the coins out as instructed. One landed on its edge and rolled off the table, but the grey cat leapt from its chair in pursuit, and then returned with the Sickle in its mouth. Delicately, it placed it on the heap, before returning to its seat.

Madam Langston drew her wand, which was pale and wavy, and moved it over the pile of silver, muttering under her breath. Slowly the coins blended into a single mass, which she then drew out into a shallow bowl. The more tarnished coins left lines of grey and black that marbled the surface as it hardened.

"Now," she said, "we have the vessel." She levitated a flask over from the sideboard, bringing it to rest beside the bowl. "Next, we need the blood. Mr. Potter, please tell me where on your body you were bled, and by what means."

"I..." Harry felt a trembling start deep in his gut, and tried to keep the surface of his body still. He could remember the details all too well: how tightly he was bound, the flat headstone unyielding against his back.

"Inside the right elbow." He took a quick breath. "With the point of a knife." He pushed up the arm of his robe to bare the skin. His hands, to his disgust, were shaking.

"I could restrain you," Snape offered, drawing his wand.

"No!" Harry knew he must look wild with fear. "No. I mean, that would make it worse. More like-- I'll stay still."

"While being cut?" Snape sounded a little incredulous.

"Yes." It was calming, somehow, to have the horror reduced to physical matters. "I can take pain."

"I see."

Madam Langston had drawn a little knife. Harry could see the ground edge of the blade, where the polish changed. Snape's wand came down between his eyes and the bright metal. "I will do the bloodletting," he said.

"No," she said firmly. "I must wield the knife."

He snarled audibly. "Fine," he replied. "However, I keep my wand out and on you, understood?"

She nodded serenely. "I understand why you protect him. It is not needed, but I do not take offense. Your arm, Mr. Potter?"

She put out her hand, and Harry, although conscious of each lost inch between them, still extended his arm in one steady motion. His dread spiked as her fingers closed around his wrist.

"No!" he said, and she looked up, surprised. "No restraint," he explained. "You can steady my arm, but don't hold it."

Snape snorted. "I now know one thing that you and your paramour don't get up to," he commented slyly, and Harry, taken by surprise, laughed in quick, rough breaths.

"I can't believe you said that!"

"You are breathing now, are you not?"

He was, Harry realized, and he nodded gratefully. "Go on," he told the woman, as she pulled his arm over the bowl. "I'm ready."

The actual pain was bearable. He wasn't sure that either of them had believed that he would stay still, but he did. He stared down at the knife point and imagined that he was alone, floating forward onto it, because it would bleed Voldemort out of him. Slowly, the point touched, pressed, penetrated, and he exhaled into the pain, willing the blood out with his breath.

He might have overdone it, because he didn't think blood should bubble out like water at a spring, but with only a slight yelp, she tilted his arm to the side so the blood flowed into the silver bowl.

"Damn it!" Snape exclaimed. "That's enough!"

"Cover the bottom," she whispered. "Cover...." For three heartbeats more she steadied his arm, and the blood dripped red and warm, and then, with a soft breath out, she folded his forearm up. "Done."

Feeling suddenly real again, Harry looked into the bowl. That was a mistake. His head swam at the sight of so much of his blood, displayed in that vessel like some garish punch, and he was only vaguely aware of the warm itchy feeling of a healing spell on his arm.

"Here." Smooth glass was pressed to his lips. "Blood Replenisher. Drink. I will not have you wasting my time by fainting."

The voice helped him look away. "Er ... thanks, Sir." After the first awful swallow, his head slowly began to clear. It was reassuring to think that his dizziness had not been entirely emotional weakness. Harry tried not to look at the bowl again, but the motion of the Seer lifting her flask drew his eye. She tipped it over the bowl, and a muddy liquid flowed out of it and dripped down to collect in a green-grey puddle in the dark blood. With her wand, she stirred the air above the bowl.

"Blood of man, blood of vine, blood of earth, all combine," she chanted, and the two thick substances mingled in ugly swirls, spiraling fully around the vessel before she lifted her wand. As they stilled, the change started. The grey lines blurred into the red, and together they altered, becoming a single liquid, transparent and ruby-bright. Once again, Harry could see the lines of tarnish in the silver at the bottom of the bowl, but now they seemed to move and twist, almost as if they were about to form into a picture. If he could just get a little closer....

"Master?" Susara's uneasy voice hissed, and he jerked his head up.

"Try not to look," Madam Langston said soothingly. "It will not spoil the divination, but you will find it unpleasant." She cleared her throat. "Now I must anoint myself. Once I have done that, you may ask me one question, and one question only. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Harry took a deep breath. He and Snape had discussed questions by owl, but they did not have enough information to identify anything specific. They would start, this time, with a general inquiry, and hope it provided them with some sort of lead. Snape had said that if this worked they could return to ask a more targeted set. Harry watched the Seer. She dipped the tip of the middle finger of each hand into the blood mixture, and then touched them to her eyelids, leaving a bright red spot on each. Despite its clarity, the potion was still thick enough not to drip. Next, she extended her index fingers, and dipped those. With them, she traced just outside her lips, outlining her mouth in scarlet. Harry shuddered.

"As I see," she said distantly, "so I speak."

With that, she leaned forward to look into the bowl.

Harry looked nervously at Snape, who nodded. He cleared his throat.

"What is Voldemort's greatest weakness?"

He remembered, afterwards, that he was not supposed to use the name, but that hardly seemed possible to avoid in this context, and indeed, even the cat did not chide him.

Madam Langston stroked the sides of her bowl as if it were the face of a lover.

"Pure blood, mixed blood," she said, her voice sing-song. "Mingled blood, the enemy within. Could have been an ally, would have been, might have been, but the move was wrong. You must know your enemy before seduction."

Harry nodded. The time he had talked to young Tom ... well, if Tom had understood him better, and he hadn't known about his parents, and Ginny hadn't been lying there dying ... well, then it might have worked.

"Seduction, sweet," she continued. "Grey eyes, laughing, and a ghost cries. A monster rises from the cauldron...." There was a longer pause, and then, her voice still vague and dreamy, Madam Langston commented:

"That would be Him. I'm getting more of you than Him, I'm afraid. Mixed blood, shared blood, not something to sort like corn from chaff."

The cat shuddered all down its body, as if it had been picked up against its will and had just escaped. Madam Langston crumpled down in her chair moaning. Severus scowled. With a sigh, Harry leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So much for that."

Madam Langston raised her hand wearily. "Wait. A cup of tea. A moment."

Nodding, Snape refilled Harry's cup. "We will give her a few minutes to recover. Still, I did not find it promising."

"Well, the first part was about him," Harry protested. "Or him and me. The first time we talked to each other."

"Talked?"

Severus sounded incredulous. Harry felt his shoulders tighten. "He wasn't fully corporeal, so it was all he could do," he explained, "and he did try to, well, win me over."

"Ah. Don't tell me more here, but I want the full story later."

Madam Langston straightened. For a moment, she just stared straight ahead, and then, shaking herself much like the cat had, summoned a cup of water.

"Not entirely successful," she said.

Snape snorted. "Useless, you mean."

The Seer was not cowed. "The vehicle was too ambiguous, but I did see Him, at the start. Not as he is now, but as he was, years ago...."

"Which does not convince me that this could work."

She lifted her head. "Not with me, not with this blood. There are other ways we could try."

"Other than my blood, you mean?" Harry asked. He thought she still sounded a bit strange.

"Yes, of course." She looked away. "None so pleasant...."

That was a horrifying idea, Harry thought, recalling the swell of his blood.

Snape was not so put off. "What would you require?" he asked.

"Best would be the body of a victim," she said, still looking blankly past them, "someone he took power from killing. Not my Calvin, no, he was only killed by servants, let him rest--"

"No," Harry said, horror turning his voice to iron.

"But it is no harm to the dead. The other is worse -- unicorn's blood, I Saw that it might--"

Harry jumped to his feet. "I will not!"

"Hush, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly. "I quite agree." He also rose to his feet. "Have you any tenable suggestions, Madam Langston?"

She looked at them hesitantly. With a soft "wow!" the grey cat jumped to the table, and from there to his mistress's shoulder.

"You truly intend to slay him?" she asked Harry. For the first time since the Seeing, she sounded rational.

"Yes."

She nodded. "Because of that, and because I value your trust, I will tell you: there is nothing more I can do." Quickly, she held up a hand to stop him from leaving. "However, one who knows you well might be better able to filter your presence from their Sight. He is of your blood; you were right about that." With that, she rose to her feet. The cat swayed slightly, but stayed on her shoulder. "I advise you to look closer to your heart for guidance, Harry Potter, and I wish you the best of luck."

"Evanesco!"

Harry and the Seer both jumped at the incantation, and the cat hissed. Snape was just tucking his wand away. Madam Langston sputtered in indignation.

"I trust you to a certain point," Snape said coolly, "but not, my good witch, with Potter's blood. You will find your pretty new bowl unharmed."

Turning, he seized Harry's arm, and before Harry knew what was happening, he was being squeezed unbearably by the inward force of Apparation. When they popped out on the other side, Harry stumbled, tried to catch himself, and crashed into a bush.

"Yes, I can see why your grace is so widely admired, Potter," Snape said dryly.

"Oh, piss off!" Harry snapped, as he brushed leaves and twigs from his robes. "I'm only graceful in the air."

"Do you think so?" Snape asked idly. He didn't sound like he expected an answer, so Harry didn't give him one.

"Why didn't we just apparate to my room?" he complained.

"It's--" Snape stopped for a moment. "It's just not done," he said finally. "Of course, neither is apparating out of someone's house, but I didn't want both of us to have our backs to her."

"So she creeped you out too, huh?" Harry asked. "At the end?" He had recognized where they were, now -- between the shed and the bushes at the edge of the park. He pushed his way out into the sunlight, Snape following behind him. A vaguely familiar woman stared at them, wide-eyed. "Crap!" he said at a whisper, looking down at his robes.

"Don't worry," Snape said, his voice low. "I cast a weak glamour. She should see your usual clothing."

"Good." Harry relaxed. "Come back to the house? I think we need to talk that over."

"Unquestionably."

They discussed the divination, and Harry told Snape about what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, and why he thought that was what the Seer had drawn on. Snape concurred, especially as Madam Langston had said that the Dark Lord had appeared in his original form.

"Still, that event, as a weakness, only tells us that he is arrogant, and we knew that."

"Arrogant and not a pureblood," Harry pointed out. "I've mentioned that to a few of his more dogmatic followers." He sat down on the bed. "Feel free to transfigure yourself a chair, by the way."

Snape studied him. "Draco?" he asked. "Early on?"

"Not so early," Harry countered. "And even so, he didn't believe me. I think he does now."

"So you believe it may have been of use?"

Harry considered. "Possibly." He grimaced. "He had other reasons to lose faith."

"Hm." Snape looked down to where he was running his fingers along the edge of the small table by the bed. "Another thing about which I am curious, Potter...."

"Yeah?"

"Blaise Zabini." Snape's eyes snapped up and bored into him, and Harry couldn't keep from laughing slightly. Of all the things for Snape to latch onto!

"It's nothing, really," he said. "He was around when I, you know, lost all those points, and he appreciated it, and I've decided I should get to know the Slytherins better."

"You should?"

"Well it's a bit of a waste, isn't it, just assuming they're all enemies? I'm still cautious." Harry bit his lip for a moment, thinking, and then looked up. "I'm going to need them. Gryffindor courage is all well and good, but it won't be enough."

For at least a minute, Snape studied him silently. Finally, he turned slightly away.

"You could ask for re-sorting, you know. It's not common, but there's a spate of it every hundred years, or so."

Harry shook his head. "That would ruin everything," he said lightly.

Snape scowled. "Ruin?"

"Think about it. If I'm in Slytherin, what have you got? Another house member -- powerful, I suppose, but capable of losing points by the hundreds -- and a lot of media attention focused on your house." Snape still hadn't sat, which made Harry uncomfortable. He got to his feet and began to pace. "But if I'm in Gryffindor, then you have an ally." Snape's eyes flashed up as he understood. Harry continued anyway. "An ally with some portion of Dumbledore's favor, some sway with Gryffindors, and more of the community trust. Also, many opponents will underestimate my guile, and how far I will go to win. Isn't that better than another Slytherin?"

Snape nodded. "When you put it that way." He relaxed enough to lean back against the wardrobe. "But what do you want in return for this alliance, Potter?"

"The craft of your house," Harry replied baldly. "All that I can win over." He grinned. "And your willful ignorance when I sneak into Slytherin to shag Draco, of course."

Snape coughed.

"Well?" Harry demanded.

"There are ... certain things of which I am always willfully ignorant, Potter -- part of the arrangement between myself and my house. Any matter of willing sex is beneath my notice."

"Drinking?" Potter guessed. "Dark Arts?" Snape nodded to the first, then hesitated at the second. "With either," he said. "I may have a little talk, or several, with the student in question, depending on how I see the matter developing." He looked archly at Harry. "However, as you are not re-sorting, none of that should affect you. You will still need to deal with McGonagall, and with anxious Gryffindor prefects."

Harry shrugged. "Anxious, yes -- but not, I think, as aware."