The Master Plan

Chapter 31: The Sacrifices of the Slytherin

Harry stayed well away from Blaise for the next few days. It was as much his own choice as Lupin's. He tried to keep that in mind, so that it didn't rankle quite so much. Harry was ready to explode, but kept his emotions under a tight reign. It wouldn't help anyone if he lost his temper. And besides, he had to be there for Ron. Apparently the twins, deciding for themselves what Ron did or did not need to know, owled him about the situation, causing him to go nearly catatonic. Harry and Hermione had to taking turns forcing him to eat, and promising everything would be all right. In a way, his reaction made things easier on Harry, who was not questioned about why he chose to sleep wrapped up in a man's black cloak. He felt like he was handling the whole thing with as much dignity as he could muster.

On the third day, there was finally some word. Bill stumbled into some little Muggle town, beaten and naked. The Muggles took him in, called the police, and had him set up in a Muggle hospital. It didn't take long for the Order to locate him, and get him quickly moved to St. Mungos, where he was recovering well, considering the ordeal he'd been through. When the three of them were allowed to visit him, Harry had to retrain himself from doing anything until after everyone else had finished, by waiting with Remus out in the hall. Remus, confused, kept asking Harry if he wouldn't like to see Bill, and Harry kept replying, "Not yet. Not yet," between gritted teeth.

Ron finally popped his head out of the door. "He's doing fine, Harry, he just needs rest. They healed him right up, there's nothing to be squeamish about! Come on, mate." Harry finally took a deep breath and went in, hating himself for feeling this way under Ron's worried eyes. Harry didn't care about Bill at all--well, of course he did, but he was more worried about Severus. So why did that feel so damn selfish?

"Hey, Bill, glad you made it out," Harry managed, when he saw the tall boy reclined in the bed. He did look all right, too; his long hair was neat, his skin was unmarked, and he had a smile on his face. He was rather pale, and his voice was kind of scratchy, but he seemed none the worse for wear.

"Hey, Harry," Bill greeted him with a slight lift of his chin. Bill was so cool. He even made kicking back in a hospital bed into something stylish. "I wouldn't have made it out, if not for Snape," he added.

Harry was instantly at his side, eyes round, hands clutching at the young man's hospital clothes. "What happened? You saw Se--you saw Snape? Is he still alive? Is he all right? Where was he when you left? How did you escape?"

"Jeez, Harry," Ron rolled his eyes, "if you'd come in with the rest of us, you'd have gotten all of that already."

Harry ignored him, as Bill gave him another ready smile. "Wow, that all came at me pretty fast. How do you want it? Chronologically, in order of importance, what?"

"Is he alive?" Harry squeezed out, not sounding overly anxious, but not wholly unconcerned.

Bill looked at his hands, his smile fading. "He was when I left. That was something like thirty-six hours ago, though. Listen, Harry...he couldn't even do anything right away. They had people guarding me. They don't trust him. He volunteered to watch me--and then he let me loose. I'm pretty sure he knew what that would cost him. He's doing a very dangerous job, Harry. But he knows the risks. It's because of his bravery and selflessness that I'm still alive today. He was still alive when I left," he said again, after seeing the look on Harry's face. "Don't give up hope. Look, he wanted me to give this back to you." Turning, he picked up a folded something from beside the bed. "He said he trusted you not to use it for 'that' sort of thing anymore. Whatever that means to you," he added, handing Harry the Invisibility cloak.

Harry ran his hands over the smooth fabric, biting back tears. That was easier, with people watching. Snape wasn't the only person glued together by pride. He couldn't say anything out loud, but he promised himself, whatever happened between Blaise and himself in the future, his dad's old cloak would never play a part of it. They did this within the rules from now on, or not at all. He'd be able to give Severus that, at least. "Thanks, Bill," he said, his voice breaking only a very little, and Bill squeezed his arm.

"No worries, mate. He's a tough old git, is Snape. He'll pull through. You'll see." He smiled and winked at Harry, letting himself fall back against the pillow, and Harry tried not to look him in the eyes, but smiled at the dragon's tooth that dangled from his ear.

Snape had been recovered by the time they returned to Hogwarts. Harry approached Dumbledore, his entire body a mass of nervous tension. "Can I see him?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. There were too many people here; too many ears. Everyone was trying to figure out what was going on; rumors were flying, and students were finding any excuse to try to walk past the hospital wing and rubberneck.

"Not right now," Dumbledore told him, gently. "Too many others have been past, watching carefully. How would it seem if someone supposedly loyal to Voldemort were seen being nursed by the one proclaimed to one day bring about his downfall? It's all right, Harry. I'm very glad you wish to stand by him now. It would be welcome, I think, were you to make use of your most advantageous cloak after classes tonight."

The man joined Harry as he sat, invisible, at Severus's side later that evening. Harry didn't take the cloak off until the doors to the room were shut, and no one appeared to be about to be let in anymore that night. Severus was silent, pale and tense. He hadn't been conscious since he'd been brought in. Even though he was not lucid, his whole body seemed to clench whenever Pomfrey tried to touch him, but he did not flinch under contact with Harry's skin, as the boy softly petted the back of his hand.

"I'm very proud of you, Harry," remarked Dumbledore quietly, causing the boy to wince. "Cruelty and fear do not inspire loyalty. And there is one very important thing you are capable of that Voldemort is not." Harry frowned as he saw Snape twitch under the sheets at the mention of the name. "Harry...you have compassion. You have love. You are capable of these most noble of emotions. Do you understand what that means? Voldemort has never been able to grasp it." This time, Harry openly gave the man a dirty look, silently asking him not to say the name again. The effect it had on Severus was too unpleasant. "You would be surprised at the power it gives you," the old man continued tenaciously. "It draws them to you, like a moth to a flame. I did not think Severus would ever learn to trust again, but here we are, and he accepts your touch when he accepts no other. You call out to them; the same people he conquered through fear and bait. You use the very same knowledge that he wielded for a very different purpose. And so they come to you. Hungry for a moment of acceptance and understanding. And you give them this." He stood to leave Harry to his vigil. "This is what inspires loyalty," he quietly pointed out, before exiting. Harry ignored him. He didn't give a damn about any of that, because he wasn't the Boy Who Lived, not here, not now. He was the Boy Who Loved Snape, and that was all he was. There was no pride, here. Not where being with Snape was concerned. But he wanted the best for the man, not to get in the way. Not to make things worse.

It was all becoming so complicated. He loved the man, admitted it freely. There was nothing he could do about that. The only thing he could offer was to not interfere. Snape didn't want anything else from him. And maybe, someday, he could kill Voldemort. That would be...good. For the first time, he wanted Voldemort dead, would accept being the cause of his death without complaint. He wanted Severus to be free. It was obvious to him that he'd never be able to make Snape happy, but he COULD, at least, give him this one thing. His freedom. His own life. And maybe he'd finally be at peace. To Harry, that was worth more than anything else that could be given.

When Severus finally came to himself, it took him a little while to work out that he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, and no longer in a cage. He shuddered a little, and then felt a foreign weight on his leg shift slightly. He stayed still, trying to reason what it was. It was warm, and it seemed to move ever so slightly, almost as thought it were oscillating in time to his body's own rhythms--his heartbeat, his breathing.

After a few moments, he cautiously tried raising himself up. He didn't get very far before having to halt, resting back on his elbows. His back was on fire, the muscles screaming in pain. Looking toward the foot of the bed in the darkness, he made out the silhouette of a messy-haired head, which was resting against his leg. The rest of Potter's body was in a chair beside the bed.

"Well. It's good to see you're awake," a quiet, but pleased voice told him, and Severus looked up to see Albus Dumbledore join them. "Shh. Don't move, and let's try to be quiet, shall we? I daresay he needs the rest as much as you have."

Severus frowned, but let the headmaster gently slide an extra pillow behind his back. It was extremely soft, and ordinarily would have been far too squashy for his taste, but at the moment, he could only be grateful. "How long have I...?"

"You were found at what appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse in Hayfield nearly four days ago. You've been insentient since that time. We were very worried. We were making arrangements to move you to St. Mungos before the week was out, if you had not improved at all," the old man informed him, taking a seat and pulling the chair close.

"He should be in bed," Severus said after a long pause, nodding at Harry. "It jeopardizes us both, having him here."

"Indeed he should be in bed, but far be it for an old, powerful wizard like me to be able to get him there. And I shouldn't worry that anyone will see you; he'd sooner cut off his own right hand than endanger you further. He comes only at night, and he wears his cloak--and uses what I'm convinced is yours as a blanket--and refuses to budge until the other students are getting up. Now that you're among the wakeful, I believe we may be able to convince him to go back to sleeping in his own room." He twinkled merrily at the man. "Do not judge him too harshly, Severus. He did turn out to be very useful."

"In what way?" Severus snapped, irritated. The boy didn't need to be 'useful,' he needed to be safe. And in his own damn bed.

"Well, I do believe we never would have been able to heal your back, if not for his help." Dumbledore looked away, giving the man what mercy he could, simply by not staring.

"You shouldn't have let him see that!" Snape gasped. The man did not turn his head, and Severus shifted. God, he hadn't wanted the boy to see that. His torn, ragged, bloody back was covered in lacerations by the time the Death Eaters had finished.

"I'm afraid it could not be helped. There was...a residue of dark magic, deep within the cuts. They could not heal without being cleaned, but you would suffer no ministrations but his. Now, now," he soothed, as Snape frantically tried to sit up. "We all knew you were quite unaware of the situation, and not at all in control of your responses. Mister Potter simply has the remarkable ability to alleviate pain, I'm sure. No one thought less of you for it. And for Harry, I think the experience was a mostly positive one. He was able to cleanse the wounds with great aptitude, and seemed to be quite taken with the notion of putting the ability to a constructive use. It is not good for him, I think, to imagine he was put on this earth solely as some kind of pawn in the war against Voldemort. You ought to have seen how very pleased he was, realizing his overtures were useful and needed."

"Well. Then. So long as the twit managed not to do more damage than good, I suppose I ought not to complain." Severus blinked, feeling inexplicable solace at the idea that he might have given Harry some measure of pride in his own abilities, some small happiness with himself. It was odd, how very...warm the thought made him feel.

"Have they discovered your function?" Dumbledore inquired softly, and it was a moment before Severus, wrapped up in his own thoughts, took his meaning.

"What? No. No...this was just a routine punishment. No, I'd have been long dead if they'd realized I was a spy. This was nothing; a slap on the wrist for my perceived incompetence at letting the Weasley boy overcome me. Well. For the most part, it was nothing more. There was...a certain degree of interrogation, near the end, when the Dark Lord finally arrived on the scene."

"He was not there for the duration?"

"He was not there at all, when I arrived. He only attended...near the end." Severus swallowed. He did not want to discuss this, but knew the extreme danger of leaving Albus uninformed.

"And he began to question you." Severus nodded an affirmation. "What did he do, and what did he wish to know?"

Snape let out a long exhalation through his nose. "He used the Crucatius Curse. And really, what does he ALWAYS want to know? I wonder if he has any inkling of how tediously repetitive it is, constantly demanding I account for Potter's every movement, and asking why I have not brought the boy to him." Snape wrapped his arms around himself, the warmth gone from his thin frame. He was caught up with memory of Voldemort, and did not notice the cessation of movement against his leg, as Harry's deep, supposedly sleeping breaths stopped dead for a few moments. "The man is nothing if not persistent. I suspect it will be more of the same, when next he summons me. He is obsessed with the boy. It twists his already twisted mind just a little more every day, knowing that Harry Potter still walks and breathes and exists." He paused. "I fear we are fast closing in on a fateful moment; the point of no return is looming above us all, and even the Death Eaters can sense it. The Dark Lord is becoming so...manifestly unstable; I think his followers are becoming nervous. Lucius is observably restless; he paces when he thinks no one is watching, and his eyes flicker resentfully toward his master. I think he may attempt a power play."

"Yes, it is unsurprising that Voldemort may not have complete control over his adherents. Chaos will undoubtedly grow, as the more desperately he attempts to maintain his authority. He has not learned that by seeking to dominate all, he spreads himself too thin, and cannot keep eyes everywhere."

"You do," Severus remarked caustically.

"Much of appearing to know everything comes from accepting you will never be able to do so and, of course, from letting others assume that you do. In any case, I believe you are right when you say Voldemort is becoming deranged. There have been nearly twenty disappearances over the past weeks that I believe are connected to him. And, of course, you know about Fenton Flaherty." The old man sounded very tired.

"Yes. The Dark Mark above his house, his four daughters dead. He will not be the last." Severus's voice was colorless.

Both men were silent for a long while before Dumbledore spoke again. "When Voldemort asked you about Harry, what did you tell him?"

"Nothing!" Severus snarled viciously. "I told him nothing! He will get no knowledge of the boy from me! He will get not a single word, not a glimpse of a memory that would aid him in harming that boy! I will rip each and every thought from my head, and render my lips unable to say the words, before I let that monster use me to get to him! I swear it; whatever evil he may achieve, whatever harm he may be able to inflict on Potter, it will not have been due to my knowledge! Already, I plunder my own memories ruthlessly before facing the man, and I would sooner break my Pensieve and lose them forever, than to give them to him."

"I believe you, Severus," said Dumbledore wearily, and Harry, listening intently, thought this conversation sounded rehashed, old. "I am not accusing you of anything. What I meant was what I said. Not 'Did you tell him about Harry?' but 'What DID you tell him?' Did you follow the plan as outlined? Why did he feel it necessary to inflict such damage on you?"

Snape gave a bitter snort. "To my Lord, Cruciatus is not an extreme punishment at all. It is merely a game; a way of keeping himself amused. I. I don't know precisely what I said to him. When I was allowed, between screams, to speak at all, I did your bidding. I do not think, however, that I was allowed to say very much, or that he listened closely." Severus leaned back on the bed, letting his eyes fall closed. "Albus," he whispered, "there is an ominous cast to the shadows tonight. Every word I say echoes in my head, and I wonder if it will be my last. Things are coming to a head. For the first time in a very long time, I fear tomorrow, and I do not fear for myself." He turned, fixing Dumbledore with his dark gaze. "Promise me, Albus, promise me, please; do not let Harry face him, yet. He is not ready. He knows many defenses, and is very powerful regardless of his youth, but he is still so, still so...still so very, very unready for this. I do not know where I will be tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow...or how much time I have left to strut and fret my hour upon the stage before I go forth, to make my way toward dusty death. I only know that I will not have him follow me into its dark maw. I refuse to be his weakness. You must watch him. And if the worst should befall me, and he reacts as I think he would, you must stay his hand. He is too important. He must not be wasted on me."

Dumbledore looked at the shaken, frail man now limp in the bed before him, such a far cry from the bitter, proud, hateful persona he worked so hard to maintain. "You have taught him what he needed to learn from you," Albus whispered, his eyes alight with their usual twinkle, but somehow suffused with a tender understanding. "You need not fear for the boy. He will only be exactly where he is supposed to be. I will make certain of that. And I assure you, whatever the boy does or says; he will not have been wasted. He touches lives, one at a time, unaware of it and, in doing so, has sculpted souls. They are the little lives he touches, people who are unaware of their own meaning in the greater scheme of things. Dobby, Lucius Malfoy's servant, was so taken with the boy that he risked a great deal to save him and now, after his release, adores Harry like no other. His magical power is great, and he would use it for undreamed of things, if only Harry asked it. Ron Weasley, with his deep insecurities and perceived shortcomings, was befriended by Harry and loved as a sort of brother Ron had not imagined, although he has five others. Thus the Weasleys, though certainly inclined to our cause, might never have thrown themselves so fully behind it, were they not so determined to aid the boy at any cost. Hermione Granger, with her desperate need to prove her own worth and ability, is bolstered enormously by Harry, simply because of his trusting dependence on her skill and judgment. He sees her as someone valuable, and she works every day to prove that she is, indeed, someone valuable. Hagrid, his gentle nature so often misunderstood or overshadowed by his intimidating appearance, was immediately loved and accepted, forever, and unconditionally, by Harry. To him, Harry walks on water. He would kill, or die, or move the earth itself, if it were in Harry's best interests. Even Blaise Zabini--yes, you needn't voice your feelings--Zabini, as I said, who is in many ways a Slytherin--cunning, treacherous, devious--is discovering other, deeper qualities within himself, after having known and been known by Harry. You, yourself, could not have trusted so much, could not have given so much, to any other. No, Severus. He could never be wasted. If he were to die this moment, he would still have done more than many very old men accomplish in their very long lives." Dumbledore gave Severus a look over his spectacles and Severus looked away.

"Yes. I could not tell you why it is so, but it is easy to be drawn to him. There is an openness, a truthfulness, a--a faith there that burns bright and hot. And we are all drawn to it, like moths to a flame. I am sure he does not notice what he is doing--why should he, and what does he even do? He just IS. That is enough. He meets each moment with an earnestness, an unintentional beauty, a gracious endurance...coupled with his humor, and zeal, and clumsiness...somehow, when it is all bundled together, and becomes what IS Harry Potter, it is very appealing. It is...irresistible." He lowered his lashes, unwilling and unable to look the Headmaster in the eye.

To his surprise, he heard the old man chuckle. "Yes, I think that is probably the correct term for everything about it. Or close to. Unavoidable, perhaps. Unalterable. Ineffable. In any case, it all comes together to become something better accepted than fought against. I know you have never believed it, Severus, but great strength can be gained by surrender. One must simply realize the correct time and place to do so. When we are at a crossroads, and that which we need is also that which we fear most...and there is the option of facing it, and doing something never done before...that takes true courage, Severus. It is at that crossroads you will discover what you truly are. You will face the fire. But you must step into the flames, if you are to test if you are worthy of passing through them unscathed. And the only way to be worthy of passing through them unscathed is to be brave enough to make the attempt. Quite the conundrum, isn't it?" Albus gave him the usual mysterious smile, catlike and ancient, before leaning back in his chair.

Severus was deep in thought over the man's words, unsure of their meaning. The man never said anything without reason, and never in the wrong place or time. But this was very ambiguous, and Severus was strangely averse to asking for clarification. He glanced up at the man, confusion written on his face, and heard Albus, though his face was in shadow, speak again. "And the journey through the flames is worth every sacrifice, though it smothers you and stokes you and consumes you; when you first take a breath on the other side, you will know the meaning of purification. And you will understand, though understanding is very small compared to the elation you will feel. Don't worry; you do not need to be sure-footed in the fire. If you did not fear, it would be no adventure. You must only be willing to take the chance."

After a long moment, another voice spoke, and it was all Harry could do to lie still. "I think it's time Harry went back to his room." Remus's voice was hoarse and tired, and he did not seem to have heard any of the earlier conversation.

"Yes. That would be best," Snape said, sounding oddly unenthusiastic. "I have...I have too many other things to deal with, just now. I doubt if I can handle...another burden." That hurt. Oh, it hurt to say it.

Oh, it hurt to hear it. When Lupin touched his shoulder, Harry shook his head; pretended to be roused. "Severus," he whispered. He wanted to give that, whatever it cost him. He wanted the man to know it was his first thought, even if it hadn't taken place quite when it was spoken.

"Shhh. He's all right," Lupin assured him, and Harry turned a sleepy face to the man. Lupin bent smoothly to Harry's side, and wrapped strong, if thin arms around the boy, lifting him effortlessly. "You need your sleep. In a real bed."

"Go to bed, Harry," he heard Severus say in a curious voice. "I'll be fine. I will see you in your classes tomorrow. You need rest, now. We both need rest. Go with Lupin."

Harry let his head fall against Remus's shoulder. He blinked still-hazy eyes at Severus, wishing he could explain. Wishing he could tell the truth, tell everything, just once. Wishing Severus knew. Harry could not think of any way to convey to the man how exceptional he was, how beloved. He could not imagine anyway to form the phrase so that the man would want to hear it. He watched the Potions Master intently as he was carried from the room. He could feel the sentiments rise to his throat, choking him.

Severus watched Harry being taken away, unprotesting. Those enormous green eyes pierced his heart; they were so full of unidentifiable emotion. No one had ever looked at him that way before. Perhaps no one would, ever again. Who could ever look at him with such intensity? No one at all, outside of Harry Potter. As Snape watched him be taken from the room, he saw the boy's small lips part in the dimness, his open mouth revealing itself as a darker shadow, imprinted on the boy's face, and Snape leaned forward to catch the word Harry whispered. "Severus..." Snape had to swallow once or twice, before he could rest against the pillows again, and attempt to find sleep once more.