The Master Plan

Chapter 22: Stand By Your Snape

"Oh, oh, oh, this is bloody banging, this is!" Ron was shouting excitedly. ¹ Hermione threw Harry a nervous look as she tried to support Ron's enthusiasm. "I can't believe it! I absofuckinglutely cannot believe it! We get rid of Snape and get to start up with Lupin again, all in the same night! And he won't try to hex out heads off every time we round a corner, either! And I won't go to sleep at night wondering if he cursed my quill when my back was turned, or if he's planning on selling me to the Death Eaters tomorrow, or..."

Harry was barely listening. Death Eaters. Yes. That would be why Snape was gone. He'd wondered, dimly, when they would next call him up. He wished Severus had warned him; sent him a note, hauled him out of bed to tell him, given Dumbledore a message--ANYTHING to get him prepared. Oh. God. Harry was turned from Ron, trying to hide his white face.

He trailed after the others, staunchly ignoring Hermione's looks of concern. He didn't need pity or sympathy right now. He needed some goddamn information. He needed the truth. He needed Severus back. Why the hell was Severus doing this, anyway? He'd started spying, presumably, before Harry was even born. He heard Albus's ominous tones echoing in his head, 'Great personal risk...great personal risk...' Risk to what? His life, obviously. What was he trying to compensate for? It must have been worse than what Harry's father had done to him, in order to make him go to such lengths. Killed people. It was something that had hovered on the edge of Harry's consciousness since he'd discovered Snape had turned from one side to the other. He'd probably killed people. Lots of them, or in horrible ways, or something to make him feel so filthy and corrupt that he could never make up for it, but spend the rest of his life trying. Poor Snape. God. That explained a lot about him.

Harry had been inferring quite a bit, from whatever memories he'd accessed during the first Occlumency sessions, and from the man's personality, and from the necessary actions he'd assumed a spy would have to take. Snape. Severus Snape. He ticked off what he thought he knew about the Potions Master in his head; His father was not a nice man. He could have been like Uncle Vernon, or he could have been worse. He could have been physically abusive. And since Severus Snape was not the Boy Who Lived, crucial to the eventual downfall of Voldemort, no one ever intervened; no one ever saved him. His mother was weak. Could not stand up for herself; could not stand up for Severus. There was at least one other female in his life that was scornful and cruel. And then he'd come to Hogwarts, and instead of finding the haven and home that Harry'd found; he'd discovered James Potter and Sirius Black. And what they'd put him through was enough to make anyone consider choosing the opposite side. Voldemort's side had probably seemed the kind, decent side at first. God. Poor Severus.

Harry tried to return Remus's smile when they arrived at his chambers. Remus looked so good; so happy to have a chance to be with them again. It twisted a knife of guilt in Harry's gut. He WAS happy to see the werewolf. He just would have been happier to see Severus. Alive, and whole, and sound. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he even care that Harry was going insane, wondering about him?

Remus brought them into his den, which was filled with surprisingly colorful and overstuffed furniture. Harry only wondered a little. Why bother questioning it, and, at any rate, Remus deserved it if anyone did. He flopped out on a settee, knowing everyone was looking at him a little strangely. Harry managed to roll over onto his side and give Remus a bitter smile.

"So." Hermione broke in with a desperately cheerful demeanor. "I want to know all about relaying spells and amplifying charms, and could we put them together to make one spell?" Everyone stared at her. Harry felt his mouth drop open. 'Get Granger to find a subtle way of'.... Jesus W. Churchill Christ.

It did distract Remus, though. "Well, what an interesting notion! Really, Hermione, ten points to Gryffindor, a very fascinating and complex idea...what were you hoping to achieve with a spell that combined the two?"

Hermione just shrugged, trying to look charming and intelligent and not at all as though she were just trying to divert attention from Harry's unreasonably disconsolate mood. "I. Just that--we. Um." She cast a glance at Ron, who was not known for his quick thinking under pressure.

"Snape said something about it, and how we could never possibly hope to do it ourselves," he responded immediately, looking sure of himself. "And he's an arse, see. So we have to prove him wrong, if we can." Hermione looked galled at this, but Lupin only laughed.

"Yes, that is one of Severus's more well-used methods of getting a student to take an interest in something--by implying that they could not achieve it. Well...I suppose there are a number of things one could do with such a spell. But nothing powerful...Odd, that. You could, if in need, cast a spell AWAY from yourself, amplifying it en route, so that it only became noticeable once it reached its destination and truly 'went off.' Or, you could amplify a spell, drawing attention to yourself, and then channel it somewhere else, making it look as though two people had cast it, if the echo came long enough after..."

Harry loved Lupin. Lupin was his friend. Harry would have been more than happy to learn from the man under other circumstances. As it was, it was all he could do to stay interested until 'class' was over. And keep himself from wringing the jovial werewolf's neck. How COULD he be happy, when Snape was probably in mortal peril, anyhow? Harry debated staying behind and asking Lupin what Snape was doing, but when he paused at the door, his intentions must have been written across his face. Remus looked shifty, and forestalled the youth, saying, "I'll see you tomorrow. Need to get to sleep. All right, Harry?" Then the man quickly shut the door in his face. He didn't slam it, but he did close it very firmly.

What could Harry say to that? So he left. Harry went with the others back to their rooms, and then he crawled back into bed, and listened to Ron prattle on about, 'right blinding Lupin,' ² and how they would all 'have it large, class would be the dog's bollocks,' ³ and so on and so on, until Harry turned round and yelled at him. And Dean and Seamus and Neville all awoke, and wanted to know what the fuss was about. Ron immediately told them that Lupin was the bitching-est teacher ever, and he'd pound anyone who said he wasn't. This caused Seamus to dissolve into snickers and Dean to inform Ron that he'd turned into a 'bunny boiler, (4) with a bunny loving girlfriend.' (5) Which caused Ron to tackle Dean, and turn the whole room into a brawl. Seamus tried to pull Ron off of the taller boy, while Neville yanked on Seamus's arm and moaned about how much trouble they were all going to be in. Ron and Dean scrabbled and thumped each other, both of them trying to outdo the other with more creative and filthier insults.

Harry gave up and got out of bed, hoping to find somewhere peaceful. He ended up at the Astronomy Tower (which, after a couple of weeks of being treated with Snape's Anti-Repellant Potion, was no where near as popular any more) where he sat with the invisibility cloak wrapped around him more for warmth than protection. With a loud sigh, he took out his ambivalent-face-plagued journal and began to write. This was tricky, because he had to do Lumos with one hand while trying to write with the other, and stop sporadically to push his glasses back up his nose, but after a while he stopped noticing, as he became absorbed in his thoughts.

Oh, God, where is he? What is he having to do? Is he safe? Is he far away? Could he leave or is he restrained? I know who he's with, but that's all I know, and that knowledge is hardly a great comfort. Is he even alive? Did he die not knowing how I felt about him? Worse, did he die thinking we all hated him, that the rest of the world would be glad of his departure, and never know what he'd done for them? Oh, shit, I have too many questions and absolutely no answers! He isn't dead; he can't be. Wouldn't I have felt something in my scar if He killed him?

Harry sat back for a few moments, biting his lip. He looked out into the endless night above him. He watched the glistening stars that were reflected on his glasses, as they made their slow journey across the sky. It all felt so big and empty and lonely. He bent his head and returned to the journal.

If I lost him, too, I don't know what I'd do. It would be worse than anything. I'm not sure why; maybe it's worse, in a way, to lose an enemy than a friend. I mean; you'll fight with your friends sometimes, and now and then they even let you down. An enemy never does that; an enemy never changes. If nothing else, they provide stability...except that he HAS changed. And so have I. He pretends to be awful and cruel and cold, and he even is, a little, but there's so much more to him than that. He can be funny, and clever, and even engaging...and human. I enjoy being insulted by him more than I did kissing Cho. And I enjoyed kissing him more than I ever thought I could enjoy anything. And I think he liked it, too. He WAS kissing me back, however softly. And I could swear I felt his fingers stroking the tips of my hair. And it was unbelievable, and to think that it might not ever happen again!

Oh, if Voldemort hurts him, I will so completely take him down! If he thought I was a threat before, wait until he sees me now. If he thinks I'm just going to stand by and watch--I WILL fulfill that prophecy, I'll just fulfill the FUCK out of that prophecy, and I'll--

Harry broke off, chest heaving, and one droplet of searing emotion splashed on the page, bringing him back to reality. He took a couple of calming breaths and raised his quill again.

He's already taken too much from me; I won't let him have this, too. This is too important. It's all changed and grown and intensified; our whole relationship has. The picture is more than just the details; it's not just sarcasm and threats and flirting. It's not just Defense Against the Dark Arts, and arguments, and getting him to let his guard down and actually enjoy my company. He's important. He's brilliant, and brave, and just...Snape. And he's personal. He's mine. I won't let Voldemort have him. I don't care what that means.

Harry shivered and pulled his cloak around his shoulders more securely. Snape was coming back from this; he had to. And Harry was going to put every effort into learning whatever he might need to defeat Voldemort. He couldn't go through this again, this worry and fear and loneliness. Snape WAS important. Important to Harry, at least. Harry thought about how his feelings toward the man had changed so much over the past months; from that concentrated, petty resentment that had burned in his stomach, to this overwhelming inferno of desire, admiration and fondness, almost as though Harry had a phoenix being reborn in his heart. When they had kissed in the closet, Harry felt like THIS was what life was meant for; and this was more than a phase or an urge. This feeling was sweeping up everything else; all the helpless rage, the hopeless fear, the bitter grief. The whole world could go out like an ember, and Harry wouldn't care. This was worth everything. He closed his eyes and savored the memory of the feeling, before turning to the book again.

I think I'm falling in love with Severus Snape...

When Harry went back indoors, he had no intention of rejoining his fellow Gryffindors in their entertaining 'difference of opinion.' He knew where to find a key, and he knew how to use it.

Harry spent the next couple of nights in Snape's chambers, exploring them and playing with his snake, who greatly enjoyed the attention and the freedom to roam. Harry never touched the man's liquor, and he tried not to pry...too much, into the Potion Master's private world. He had a shrewd idea that the man would not forgive Harry if he delved too deeply into Snape's personal things. Besides, Severus knew every nasty hex invented, and if Harry poked his nose in the wrong place, it would be a case of curiosity killed the clod. He flipped through a few books (and wow! the curses and counter-curses he found) and poked and prodded in a few drawers, but he tried to control himself, and mostly limited his tour to the study, which he was already allowed in, and Snape's bedroom. And, even then, Harry didn't really investigate the bedroom, he only investigated the bed. Which was rather larger than he thought it'd be, framed by dark wood, and, if one really got their face up close to the fabric, smelled of its possessor. It would have no problem sleeping two people.

Harry thought it was the only thing that kept him sane enough to wait for the man to return. During the day, he argued quietly with Ron, shared tense smiles with Hermione, and generally snapped at anyone that said two words to him. He couldn't help it. They'd managed to learn a fair few things from Lupin, and had several, awkward, but usable spells cobbled together out of the relaying spells and amplifying charms. Harry paid close attention to what Lupin taught them; 'Medio Ponerus,' which let several people get a view from one person's scrying mirror, 'Fluminus Exoculavi,' to blind your enemy, and, Ron's favorite, 'Vulnuseris Aspere,' which pummeled and lashed one's opponent. Ron gave a crooked grin and waggled his eyebrows whenever it was mentioned, and always had to say, 'the dog's bloody bollocks' as though it was the coolest thing known to man. And Harry always felt a little cheered by this, because Ron's keenness was infectious. Sometimes Lupin would tell Harry something about his father, or make a joke, and Harry would grin and everything would be normal, for about a minute. Then the guilt would set in, and Harry would work at being miserable, and Hermione would pat him on the shoulder. And Ron would say, 'I never, NEVER would have thought I'd be bloody looking forward to that greasy git's return, just because my best mate's decided to develop at least six new personalities--and all of them tetchy!-- because his horrid hero isn't here!'

And afterward, Harry would return to Snape's chambers--which Hermione probably didn't know and Ron pretended wasn't happening--and crawl into the man's bed, and let Junior wrap himself around his wrist, and write long, anguished entries in his journal, and sometimes even sleep a little. And he'd hiss all his woes to the little snake, who could hardly comprehend, but at least never judged him. And he'd envelop himself in Severus's bedclothes, and try to draw the Potion Master's scent from them, and pretend he was there, too.