Crucio

Chapter 5: Gone

Harry shook his head, silently refusing to believe Pomfrey. There couldn't be nobody. "What about Mad-Eye or-?"

Snape spun around again, his black eyes narrowed in anger. Harry pressed himself against Dumbledore's desk.

"Do you ever listen, Potter?" he demanded. "Or did you really believe that your uncle was the only casualty?" he scathed. Harry stared at him, completely stunned.

"But..." Harry didn't know how to finish, and his head was beginning to pound in time to the rhythm of his heart. So many people. Dumbledore. Dudley. Aunt Petunia...Sirius. "You shouldn't have left him there," he said quietly, sounding like he'd just accused Ron of stealing his share of pudding. Snape's impossibly black eyes only narrowed further.

"You would rather I had allowed the Dark Lord to kill you?" he asked, his voice laden with vitriol. Harry could feel his anger churning against the bile in his stomach.

"You Apparated with me, didn't you?" he asked, taking Snape's silence as an affirmative. "You could have brought Sirius," he argued, straining to keep the anger from bubbling up to the surface; it was almost impossible.

Madame Pomfrey stepped toward Harry, her face full of pity. "Apparition with another person is extremely exhausting, Mr. Potter. It is not wise to attempt it with more than one person."

Harry didn't even look at her. "You could have tried," he insisted, the anger finally turning sharply past his lips.

Snape curled a disdainful lip. "I have no interest in endangering myself with fools' stunts, Potter," he said pointedly. Harry felt his jaw trembling as he thought of Sirius, Voldemort's prisoner now, being tortured in ways that Harry didn't even want to imagine.

"And if he dies?" he bit out. Snape gazed down at him, aloof.

"He would not be the first," he answered without a trace of regret.

"Not the first you've killed for Voldemort, you mean?" Harry asked disdainfully. Snape's features shifted. He stepped forward furiously. Harry moved hastily backward, slamming his hip into the corner of the desk as he tried to get out of the professor's path. He gave a sharp cry, tears stinging against his eyes. He shook his head to dispel the tears, disgusted that a little pain would make him cry.

Snape halted. If he hadn't been Snape, Harry would have said he look confused.

Pomfrey came to stand between them. "Are you all right, Mr. Potter?" she asked with concern. Harry, sliding his eyes away from Snape, nodded while he bit his lip. The pain had blossomed, but there was no need to let Snape know that he'd succeeded in hurting him.

"I'm all right," he assured Pomfrey hurriedly. He kept his hands still, though he would have preferred to rub his fingers over the aching burn. Pomfrey narrowed her eyes briefly, and Harry shifted under her gaze. With a curt nod, Pomfrey turned to Snape.

"Severus, a word if you would," she said stiffly. Snape scowled at her.

"I do not need a lecture, Poppy," he told her acidly. Pomfrey returned the frown.

"If you are going to care for Mr. Potter, Severus-"

"Care for him?" Snape repeated, his face pinched in a sour expression. "I am not Potter's guardian, neither is he my ward. I have no choice but to allow him to remain with me. He can care for himself," he told her.

"He is a fifteen year-old boy, Severus," Pomfrey argued, looking quite shocked. Snape looked as if he might launch into a lengthy speech about the reasons he wanted nothing to do Harry Potter. But he didn't have a chance.

"I can take care of myself," Harry interjected, his voice paler than it should have been.

"Amazing, Potter," Snape drawled. "Imagine...the hero of the wizarding world managing to get himself dressed and fed."

Pomfrey sighed. "I wasn't talking about his food and clothing," she said in exasperation. Snape turned toward the door.

"I do not need any advice about keeping Potter alive," Snape told her in a blank voice, not even looking at her. "We're leaving, Potter," he snapped.

"What about Sirius...and my aunt and cousin?" Harry asked, staying exactly where he was, even though he had a feeling Snape would not allow him to remain latched onto Dumbledore's desk. "You're just going to let them be tortured?"

Snape turned around slowly. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. When he spoke, his words sent chills along Harry's spine. "I do not care if they are killed, Potter. For the last time, they are not my concern." He paused to let that sink in before he threatened quietly, "Come with me now, or I will toss you over my shoulder and carry you."

Harry's glance at Pomfrey was completely pointless, as she only shook her head, looking frustrated, before giving Harry a resigned shake of her head. Harry swallowed only once and lifted his chin to steady himself.

"I'm not going with you," he stated clearly, and he hated that he could actually hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears as Snape glared down in his nose at him.

"You have no other choice," Snape informed him icily. "You have no one else, not if you wish to keep your friends safe."

The truth of Snape's words cut him like a knife. He couldn't go to the Weasleys. Not after what happened to the place that was supposed to protect him the most.

He had no one. Not his friends, not Sirius... Not even the Dursleys.

He did his best to ignore the stab of grief, saying to Pomfrey, "I could stay here and help you take care of Dumbledore." Pomfrey looked regretful, so Harry rushed on, "Maybe when he wakes up, we can figure out a way to find Sirius."

Pomfrey held up a hand, cutting off Snape's next comment. "Professor Dumbledore would want you to go with Professor Snape, Harry," she assured him. "He'll keep you safe, Mr. Potter," she told him briskly, though Harry didn't think she sounded completely convinced.

"Thank you for your confidence in me, Madame," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. To Harry, he growled, "Move, Potter."

Snape spun around, and after another hesitation during which he wanted to refuse again, Harry forced his fingers to uncurl their deadly grip against the wood and walked slowly toward the door, knowing that both Pomfrey and Snape were right. He had no other choice. Not if he wanted to stay alive. Safe--now that was another thing entirely.

Harry paused as he passed Dumbledore, who looked only to be sleeping peacefully in his chair now. Harry swallowed the huge lump, and turned away. He followed Snape silently out the door.

The castle was eerily empty. Not even Filch was around to make it seem more normal. So Harry could have pretended he wasn't trapped with a man who hated him. Could have pretended that Sirius was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place, or even that he would be going to Privet Drive again. Even spending the summer with the Dursleys would be better than this. He was completely alone, without even a way to get an owl to Ron or Hermione. They could help him figure out where Sirius was--Harry was certain of it.

Harry stopped in surprise as he realized Snape was no longer gliding ahead of him. Harry was staring at his black-robed back as Snape hunched over a blank patch of wall in a dark corridor. He was whispering words that Harry couldn't make out, but he didn't want to move any closer. After a second, Snape straightened abruptly, and a door materialized. Snape moved aside, his glare directed at Harry.

"In, Potter," he commanded.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, glancing quickly at the dark space revealed now by the open door. It looked like a continuation of the corridor.

"My quarters," Snape told him tersely, not looking at him. "Get in," he repeated impatiently, with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Harry sidled cautiously past the man, making certain that he stayed well out of Snape's reach. He could feel Snape just behind him, though the room was draped in darkness. The heavy door thudded closed. Harry was about to demand that Snape tell him what the hell they were doing, when a soft light flickered against the stone floors, illuminating the perimeter of the room. Snape stepped past him.

"Do not attempt to leave. The door and Floo are warded," Snape told him with disinterest as he walked toward a door against the far wall. Snape disappeared inside.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry went to the door they'd just entered through; it took him longer than it would have if Snape would have actually turned the lights on. There was no visible doorknob, and none appeared, even after Harry ran his hands up and down the pitted wood. He directed a whispered, "Alohomora," toward the stubborn door several times, but still nothing happened.

The Floo was just as uncooperative. There wasn't even any powder. With a scowl, Harry sat stiffly in a chair next to the Floo and waited in the near-darkness. Whatever Snape was doing in there, he was certainly taking his time. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the inflexible chair while he waited. He finally gave up finding any sort of comfort, and put his head back against the sparsely padded back. He closed his eyes tiredly, wondering for the first time since he'd first fallen asleep that night, what time it was.

"Potter!"

Harry's head jerked up, his palm slipping from where he'd cupped it against his chin. Blinking dazedly, Harry started as Snape's shadowed features appeared in front of his eyes. The eyes, chips of jagged obsidian, glared at him, and unable to stop himself, Harry propelled his body backward. The legs of the chair scraped loudly against the stone floor and Harry found himself on his rump, the chair upended beside him, his legs splayed wildly over the chair's seat.

"Get up," Snape snarled, and when Harry could only stare at the menacing eyes, Snape's fingers flashed in front of his face. Harry cried out in alarm, and then felt nothing but an agony which was all too familiar. The pain ended almost immediately, but Harry couldn't stop screaming. Something was coming for him; it always did after the agony subsided.

There it was. Pressing, pushing against his fortress. But he couldn't let it in. Whatever it was--whoever it was, wanted to hurt him. He always leered at him, hoping to break him. But Harry couldn't fight. The other was too strong. His anger was too strong. Harry was nothing. And then, against his will, the other was stealing the memories that he was not even meant to see.

Harry was much younger, shoving his too-large glasses hastily up on his nose with one hand as he scrambled to write down messy, detailed notes on a scroll of parchment. The scrawls were eager and he was listening intently. Harry didn't want his attacker to sense the awe he'd felt when he'd sat in his first Potions class. But the other could feel everything, and Harry could feel his surprise.

The scene shifted.

He was older now...wandering a dark corridor with his map. Snape's name appeared near a swiftly-moving dot. Harry's eyes snapped up and he looked around wildly. If Snape caught him--he froze and extinguished his wand hastily--Snape would kill him. And Harry watched, feeling his heart seize as Snape glared down at him. Surprise filled Harry's mind once more.

He could hear the echoed query, "...afraid of me?"

Snape.

It was Snape trying to snatch him away from the place where he'd found safety.

Snape was his attacker. He was always the attacker.

Harry tried to flail away, to stop Snape's assault. But it wasn't any use. Snape ripped away his security and with a harsh tug, Harry's screams ended and he was staring up at his assailant.

Staring into Snape's soulless black eyes...

Harry made an attempt to tell the bloody bat to get the hell away from him, but it came out a gurgle instead. And with a wave a shame, Harry realized he was trembling. With fear. With sodding fear. Of Snape.

Snape was staring at him, his breath coming in heavy ins and outs. And Harry hoped he couldn't see his terror. But Snape was too close. Where would he go if Snape-

"Get up, Potter," Snape ordered unsteadily, looking at him with the same confusion Harry had thought he'd seen in Dumbledore's office.

Harry slid backward, carefully so that he would not startle the professor into attacking him again. As soon as he was far enough away, he hoisted himself up. No need to give Snape a reason to get angry again. His hands still shaking like a coward's, Harry reached down and righted the chair he'd so carelessly toppled.

"Sorry, sir," he offered quickly, hoping to smooth over any lingering fury. Snape blinked, but then he stood straighter and shook his robes out--the movement completely unnecessary.

"We're leaving," he said curtly, as though Harry hadn't spoken at all.

"We aren't staying here?" Harry asked, his reflexes taking over. He winced as Snape narrowed his eyes.

"No," Snape answered, and without further explanation, he turned on his heel and swept back toward the door. Harry followed without a word, back through the castle and beyond the gates. As soon as they'd crossed the threshold, Snape halted once more. He turned slowly to face Harry.

"You'll need to take my arm," Snape informed him, looking highly disturbed by the necessity of being touched. Harry hesitated, feeling suddenly nauseous at the prospect. Snape was holding his arm out stiffly, and before he had time to convince himself that it was a bad idea, Harry pinched a bit of Snape's sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. "Unless you want to find yourself permanently inside out, hold onto my arm," Snape snapped at him, startling Harry. A spasm went through his fingers, making them flail and then grip convulsively around the professor's wrist.

Before he could undo the terrified hold, Snape was spinning sharply. Harry whirled with him, stumbling over his feet, his body tearing and pulsing inside of itself. His feet pounded suddenly on solid earth. He was thrown forward on impact, and only just managed to catch himself with his palms. Seconds later, the short green grass was covered in his vomit, his esophagus determined to expel everything. It didn't stop until even the clear, bitter bile had cleared his lips.

"If you are quite finished, Potter," Snape's composed voice mocked from above, "perhaps we could move past the barrier. Unless you'd like to increase your chances of joining your godfather."

Harry looked up immediately, wishing he could hex Snape's smirk right off his ugly face. But he said nothing, didn't even frown at the sadistic bastard. He simply stood up on shaky legs and stepped in front of Snape, though he kept slightly to the side--just in case.

The shack looked even more pathetic and run-down than it had in the dark--and it seemed much smaller than it possibly could have been. Shingles were falling from the off-kilter roof and Harry could see that several windows were broken. And yet, Harry hadn't felt a single bit of wind inside.

"Alohomora," Snape commanded when they'd reached the door. He waited behind while Harry went inside his new prison.

Instead of passing him, Snape stopped. "The kitchen is kept stocked by Dodgy," he said with a dismissive wave of his fingers. He didn't even pause, pointing down the dark corridor Harry knew shouldn't be able to fit in the tiny shack he'd seen from outside. "You will use the second room on your right," he directed. Not giving Harry a chance to nod, Snape went on tonelessly, "If you wish to retain even that small amount of freedom, I suggest you do not test my patience."

With that, Snape waved his wand in several intricate loops toward the front door, chanting a complicated string of Latin. Harry didn't even need to test the door to know there was no way it was going to open for him.

"I have work to do," Snape informed him coldly and with a last narrow-eyed glare, he took a slow, oddly cautious, wide berth around Harry and swept out of the room. Harry watched Snape's robes swishing furiously behind him until the dark corridor swallowed him up. And only then, did Harry notice his tense posture, his muscles held stiffly so that he would be ready for the next time the pain took him. And even though Snape was no longer so close, he couldn't allow himself to relax. It would be much too dangerous.