Crucio

"Sirius..." Harry pleaded as he stared at the space where Dodgy had just been.

Harry's head snapped around at an almost inaudible susurration. A foot. A booted foot--poking out from Snape's rug, which was piled in a heap on the floor.

With his heart caught precariously in his throat, Harry stumbled back to the foot of the bed, and fell with a clunk to his knees. He paid no attention to the rays of pain sent through his delicate kneecaps as he grabbed the rug with his hands and frantically wrenched it away. Sudden tears clogged Harry's nose and eyes.

"Sirius."

There was no hope that anyone would have understood the incoherent, tear-congested mumble that followed, but it didn't matter. Sirius cracked a smile, anyway.

"Harry..." he swallowed thickly as his smile faded, "...what happened?"

Harry drew in a slow breath as he prepared himself. "Dodgy exploded."

"Dodgy...exploded?" Sirius' dark eyebrows scooted toward his hairline.

Harry nodded. "I found his head...in my lap." His voice shook slightly, and he wasn't even sure why he felt the need to tell Sirius. Sirius' eyes widened.

"Oh, Harry..." he breathed. Sirius brought his hand upward. Harry grasped it; the feeling of Sirius' fingers in his own was a lifeline. "Are you hurt?" Sirius asked anxiously; his grey eyes crinkled in concern. Harry tried to bring in a rickety breath, but it was more a series of aborted sobs than true breaths. "Harry?" Sirius probed softly when Harry continued to stare.

Harry finally shook his head jerkily as he tried to discreetly swipe a hand across his eyes. "Can you...sit up?" he asked; he wished his voice wouldn't shake so much. Sirius smiled at him again, this one understanding and gentle.

"I think I'll need a bit of a hand," he said honestly. Harry nodded, and then as smoothly as he could manage, he maneuvered his godfather upright. Sirius grimaced, but otherwise made no objection, until Harry leaned Sirius' back carefully against Snape's bed. Sirius groaned softly.

"Are you all right?" Harry rushed to ask.

"Just a few more bruises," Sirius answered easily, though he was still grimacing a little. He gave Harry's kneeling form a once-over. "You sure you aren't hurt?" he asked worriedly. Harry nodded. The twinges along his back didn't count; he'd had much worse. Sirius paused, considering him a moment longer before looking around. His eyes widened at the destruction. "Where's Snape?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know."

Sirius looked surprised at that; he pursed his lips. But without much hesitation, he shifted his hip a little, gritting his teeth as he did. Harry, seeing that he intended to pull Snape's wand from his back pocket, reached over quickly to pull it out. His hand stilled.

"It's not here...I thought you put it in your pocket."

Sirius twisted his head a little as if to look, but he stopped almost immediately, the motion obviously causing him too much pain. "I thought it was too." His eyebrows were scrunched together.

"Here," Harry said quickly, handing his own wand over to his godfather.

"Thanks," Sirius murmured, still looking bewildered. He aimed Harry's wand toward the room in general. "Point Me, Severus Snape," he commanded expectantly. The wand whirled in a bouncy, uncoordinated, continuous arc. Sirius frowned; he gave the wand a little shake. "Point Me, Severus Snape," he said more firmly. The wand reacted the same way it had the first time.

Sirius lowered the wand slowly, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's not working?" Harry asked, wondering if perhaps his wand didn't work as well in Sirius' hand as it would in his own. Sirius shook his head though.

"Harry..." He cleared his throat as he paused. "...I...don't think Snape's...alive."

Harry stared at him.

"You said Dodgy exploded...I think the spell is trying to tell us..."

Harry shook his head fiercely. He didn't want Sirius to finish that statement, though Sirius' voice had already begun to trail off, either from the look at his godson's face or from his own reluctance. Harry's stomach rolled as Dodgy's head invaded his thoughts; he shuddered a little as Dodgy's head was exchanged for Snape's.

Sirius, without speaking, reached over and put his fingers against the back of Harry's neck. He squeezed lightly, his grey eyes full of a sudden sadness. Harry swallowed carefully and nodded. Sirius gave him a small smile before dropping his hand.

"I think Snape knew what was happening," Harry said shakily. "He looked like he recognized something when he saw Dogdy..." He wasn't sure how to explain, but Sirius nodded. He sighed.

"I should have just listened when he shouted at us to get out of the way," he finally said quietly, his eyes full of regret. And maybe a little anger.

"You couldn't have known," Harry told him, attempting to reassure, but Sirius shook his head.

He ran a frustrated hand down his face, but didn't comment further. He shifted a little, grimacing again as he moved. Harry shifted as well, and without consciously realizing he was doing it, he was moving to sit beside Sirius, their shoulders touching.

"How could Voldemort have known Dodgy was coming here...how did Voldemort get Dodgy to...do that?" Harry wondered out loud. He shook his head in frustration, not seeing an answer to any of the questions pressing on his mind; Sirius' dark eyes looked troubled as well.

"Somehow, Harry," he said slowly, "Voldemort must know where we are."

"But how could he?" Harry asked, his voice rising a little with his fear. His head swayed back and forth as he remembered Dodgy's words the other day. "Dumbledore put some sort of spell on this place. No one should be able to find it."

Sirius frowned suddenly. "They can't see it, Harry, but if Voldemort was tracking Snape's movements somehow..." He shook his head again, his eyes screwed up with frustration. "A Tracking Charm would do that, but it doesn't explain how Voldemort got his hands on Dodgy."

Harry knocked the back of his head against Snape's footboard, several agitated times. "I hate him," he finally growled.

Sirius glanced over at him; there was a single line in between his eyebrows. "Voldemort?"

Harry nodded sharply.

Sirius' hand came to rest atop Harry's. "You don't hate him, Harry," he corrected quietly. Harry opened his mouth to protest but Sirius shook his head. "You don't Harry, and what's more...you can't." He smiled at his godson's bewildered expression. "You can of course, Harry, but you shouldn't want to. I don't want you to."

Harry still didn't understand. "Why? He killed my parents, Sirius!" Shouldn't he hate the twisted bastard who'd killed his parents without a thought? Not to mention that Voldemort had just murdered an innocent house elf...and Snape.

Sirius hand curled around Harry's fingers; reflexively, Harry squeezed back. "Hatred is a destructive emotion, Harry. You have every right to be angry and every right to want him to be stopped, but if you allow hatred to become a part of who you are, you become like Voldemort. And you, Harry," Sirius said firmly, making sure he was holding Harry's gaze, "are nothing like Voldemort."

Harry closed his eyes.

"You hated Snape." He wasn't sure why he said it, but the instant he did, he pulled in a breath, horrified that it had sounded like an accusation. His entire arm tensed as he waited for Sirius to pull his hand away.

"I hated Peter Pettigrew as well." Sirius' hand stayed right where it was; Harry allowed his eyes to open again. "And it nearly destroyed me," Sirius added softly. Harry looked at him in surprise. Sirius' eyes were dark now, with an intensity which Harry had never seen before. "I wanted to get revenge on him for what he did to your mum and dad. And it cost me everything, Harry." The pressure against Harry's fingers become almost desperate as Sirius gazed at him; his voice was filled with pain. "It cost me you."

--

"Sirius..."

It was a gasp--an echoing of pain that Harry could feel lodged between his ribs. His lips began to quiver as the world caught up with him again.

Harry's eyes opened slowly; his eyelashes were damp with tears.

He wasn't sitting next to Sirius.

He was half-lying, propped against the arm of a ragged, musty settee in Grimmauld Place, and Snape was slumped in the chair opposite--and he was decidedly alive, and in possession of his wand.

Like a tongue seeking out a newly lost tooth, Harry's left hand closed over the fingers that had only moments ago, in Harry's sleep-induced reality, been gripping Sirius'. The fingers were warm and felt wrinkled with pressure, as if Sirius' fingers really had been clasped there, giving him strength.

Sirius had felt real. Their shoulders had been pressed together--each one supporting the other. And Harry could almost hear Sirius' deep voice again, full of affection and sincerity...and pain. As if for an instant dream and reality had collided, making Sirius real in that instant.

Because you want it to have happened that way, a tiny, mocking voice told him.

Harry swallowed; his throat was burning with grief. He did want that. He wanted Sirius to be here with him, more than he wanted anything else. Wanted Sirius to tell him not to hate Voldemort. Wanted him here so he wouldn't have to be so alone. But Sirius wasn't here. And with everything Harry had, he did hate Voldemort. And he would kill him.

He would avenge his godfather.

Harry drew in a trembling breath as he stared across the small space at Snape. Snape's eyelids bounced a little while he dreamed; his breathing was shallow and irregular. In silence, Harry watched him sleep; he had never regretted waking up as much as he did now.

--

Harry glowered at Snape with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. The steam from his porridge had evaporated nearly five minutes ago. It looked like vomit.

"Eat, Potter," Snape ordered off-handedly as he clutched his chipped teacup so firmly Harry feared it would crumble.

He glanced at Harry's face once and then went back to studying the circular film that had formed over the top of his liquid, pursing his lips as rapid, shallow breaths rasped through his chest.

Face impassive, Harry continued to glare at the brittle-looking skin below Snape's chin. His entire stomach ached; a gaping hole. Harry felt drained and hollow. Thinking of Sirius--of the dream--made his heart pound and his head throb, but he couldn't help but cling to the memory.

To answer Snape now, to taste his porridge would send Harry gyrating into reality. The thought was nauseating.

"Potter," Snape rasped out again.

Harry kept his eyes fixed on Snape's chest, listening to the crackling sound of the man's wheezing.

"Fine," Snape spat, shoving his teacup away with his thumbs. "Starve." The liquid sloshed back and forth, spilling over the sides and dribbling onto the saucer.

Harry's throat felt pinched together.

Hate destroys us, Harry... Sirius' dream-voice soothed away the painful sensation slightly. But at the moment, Harry could care less that Snape was nearly gasping for air, propped up by the dust-sheathed kitchen table, shifting as though his bones were rusted. Harry's own bones felt as icy as wet metal. Snape was alive, and Sirius lay dead--mutilated.

At that moment, Harry knew what hate felt like.

"People die, Potter," Snape said through a light, scratchy cough. "It is juvenile for you to believe otherwise. Black was never completely safe. None of us are."

Harry's chest wracked with his heartbeat. He shifted his swollen eyes only high enough to glimpse the tangled strands of matted hair strung diagonally across Snape's dry lips. "Don't talk to me," Harry found himself whispering; his voice, high and unfamiliar in his own ears, cracked on every word.

Snape coughed again.

Harry breathed gustily through his nostrils, digging his teeth into the insides of his lips to stop the furious tears from clawing through his sinuses.

"Make eye-contact, Potter," Snape sneered. He paused, his request for obedience failing. "Your sulking will lead you nowhere. You'll only destroy yourself--"

"Shut up," Harry growled, shaking his head back and forth in tiny, quick movements as if to dispel the sound of Snape's voice.

"The Dark Lord feeds off of such weakness, Potter," Snape continued, undeterred. "If revenge is what you desire, then--"

"Dammit!" Harry screamed. "Just shut up!" He smashed his fist into his bowl of lukewarm porridge with all of his strength.

The ceramic dish flew off of the tabletop and shattered on the floor. Cold hunks of porridge splattered Harry's bare feet, but he didn't care. He clutched his fringe in his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. Hot, stinging tears leaked out of the corners.

"Pick it up."

Harry barely heard the gravelly command over his sniffle.

"Potter."

Shaking his head again, Harry jammed his knuckles under his glasses and dug them into the slickness at the corners of his eyes. "We have to go back," he mumbled.

Snape's breathing was shallow and harsh once more. "Don't be stupid, boy."

Harry listened to the rickety creaking of Snape's chair, knowing very well that the man was holding his breath now as he shifted in pain.

"He's all I have..."

There was a pause, the sound of Snape's wheeze filling Harry's ears like a roaring wind. He didn't look up. He couldn't stand to see Snape's face.

"You're alive." Snape's cold voice creaked over Harry's blistering nerves. "That is sufficient."

...to destroy the Dark Lord.

Harry heard what Snape didn't say, even through the deafening pounding of a day's worth of headache. Harry looked up. The hatred stabilized him, so that he no longer felt like he was careening out of control.

"The prophecy-" Harry forced his throat to open up so that he could do more than gasp. "-that's why Dumbledore wanted me to be kept safe at the Dursleys."

Snape gave him a malicious smile. "And also the reason the Headmaster has allowed you to do things that no mere child has as right to." He paused again, but this time Harry held his gaze with determination. "He was preparing you."

"To kill Voldemort."

Snape leaned toward him, his scarred face twisted into an ugly scowl. "Do not say his name."

"I'm not afraid of him," Harry countered, leaning forward as well, until he could feel Snape's hot, staggered breaths on his face.

"Then you are a fool, Potter."

Harry pulled back at that, more surprised than he would have liked to be. "You're afraid of him?"

Snape's lip curled. He pulled back as well, his breathing growing momentarily erratic until he was upright again. "I am no fool. And if you have any intention of actually avenging your godfather, Potter, you will learn to temper your bravado." He narrowed his eyes as Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Or you will fail. And your beloved godfather will have died for nothing."

The gaping hole in Harry's chest seared its expansion as Snape's black eyes bore into Harry's. Harry's fingernails dug viciously into the tender flesh of his palms.

"I can't fail." The whispered words trembled almost as much as Harry's fists on the dirty table top; Harry didn't even attempt to still the shaking.

Snape had picked up his teacup once more. He studied Harry over the cold, uninteresting brew. "The headmaster planned to continue your training during the course of your upcoming year."

Harry's fingers uncurled. He stretched them to lie flat along the filthy table; the dust clung to the sweaty digits. "You can train me instead." Harry hadn't made it a question, but he was asking nonetheless. He would beg if necessary. And though asking something of Snape was not something that Harry would have ever wanted to do, he felt nothing but burning resolve as the words left his mouth.

"Killing the Dark Lord will not be as simple a matter as you believe," Snape told him, still holding tight to his teacup. "You do not have a real understanding of what it means to kill someone."

The tightness in Harry's throat returned. "I don't have a choice." Tears were ramming against his sinuses again as Sirius' smiling face swam in his vision. "I don't want a different choice."

Snape's lips turned up a little at the corners. It was not a smile of happiness, or even of satisfaction. It was pure anticipation. And Harry soon understood why. "I will teach you to kill, Potter."

The edges around the gaping hole stopped expanding. Harry nodded sharply. "Good."

Snape inclined his head and blew an unnecessary breath across his tea.

Tearing his eyes from his professor, Harry waved a Scourgify at the bits of oatmeal scattered across the dingy floor, and a Reparo at the bowl's many pieces. "Accio," he commanded after it had mended itself. He caught the bowl neatly as it sailed into his hand.

Across from him, Snape sipped his tepid tea.

TBC...

Notes: Part of the last scene was written by another fanfic author, JadeSullivan (you can find her on fanfiction.net). She wanted to take the characters for a spin. Thanks, Jade.