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July 21st, 2008
10:10 pm - Those Who Are Vigilant - Part 6
TITLE: Those Who Are Vigilant
AUTHORS: ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) dracofiend and the_con_cept (aka AbstractConcept)
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Post-war AU; some themes relating to infidelity.
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc. etc.
BETA: angela_snape, and all remaining errors are ours.
SUMMARY: The defeat of Voldemort leads to the rise of an authoritarian regime within the wizarding world. As Scrimgeour’s Ministry grows ever more oppressive, Harry finds himself being pressed into a new battle by two men: one ambitious and untested, the other embittered and cynical.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Harry spent the next night with Ethan, curled on the couch, watching an old film and trying to pretend everything was normal. Everything was normal. Snape was being an utter bastard; how was that different than usual?
“You’re going to come to the protest outside Gringotts, aren’t you?” Ethan purred in his ear.
Harry blinked a little. Being at one of those stupid things would mean facing Snape, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see the man again. “I don’t think so,” he grunted.
“Come on,” Ethan cajoled. “It’s really big this time. I mean, we have a lot of people. They’re seizing assets, Harry. Even the goblins are furious. Think about it; it’s like overturning Switzerland, if Switzerland happened to be run by a lot of terrifying swarthy midgets. It’ll be in all the papers.”
“That’s just what I need,” Harry groaned.
Ethan took the opportunity to kiss Harry’s open mouth. “It might be. Just say you’ll drop in. Bring me lunch, would you? I’ll be there all day.”
Harry knew he was being had, but he had to admit there was something to be said for being had. Ethan’s tongue swept over the roof of his mouth, his fingers playing in the folds of Harry’s shirt. Small touches—touches that Harry ate up. God, he was starving for this. He reached up, pulled Ethan down into the kiss, tongue and lips and fingertips searching for something that wasn’t there. He groaned as Ethan’s hands skimmed down to his hips, which automatically canted up.
Harry sighed as Ethan mouthed a hot trail down the side of Harry’s neck.
On-screen, the black-and-white film rolled on, the blonde woman shaking her head, tears rolling down her face. Harry had no idea what was going on any more—not in the film, and not in real life. The woman seemed to be crying over the fact that the man she loved was leaving her for another woman—but she’d just got finished telling him she never wanted to see him again! If she really meant it . . . oh. On second thought, it did make a sort of sense. Sometimes it was just easier to push people away. Sometimes Harry wished he could push the whole fucking world away.
A bird flew past the window and Harry half sat up, thinking it was an owl.
“Everything all right?” Ethan asked solicitously.
Harry frowned, sinking back into Ethan’s arms. He’d never felt so hopelessly disconnected from the magical world.
“You’ll come, won’t you, Harry?” Ethan’s warm voice murmured in his ear.
“Maybe I’ll stop by,” Harry mumbled. “Just for a moment.”
Ethan’s mouth moved over Harry’s throat again, whispering or kissing, Harry couldn’t tell. He moved to the nape of Harry’s neck, sending a shivering army of goosepimples marching up and down Harry’s skin.
From the corner of his eye, Harry caught another flicker of movement outside the window, a fluttering velveteen shadow. His breath stopped, his eyes dilated, and his ears strained to hear anything out of place.
“What was that?” he muttered.
Ethan groaned in disappointment. “If you don’t want to, you only have to say,” he began, but Harry shoved him off like a sack of potatoes and shot to his feet. It was an owl!
Harry ran to the window and threw it open and the bird took flight, its great wings beating mighty arcs. Harry stared breathlessly after it. He wondered whom it belonged to. Then he glanced down and saw that, on the windowsill was a strange little thing, a fat thread of some kind. His hand went to it—he picked it up. It was an Extendable Ear, but not like the ones he’d seen in the past. This was almost unrecognizable, modified or charmed to blend into its background and to change in girth where Harry pinched it. It went right into the apartment.
Someone had heard all those little, meaningless incidents that made up Harry’s life. They’d eavesdropped on who knew what—ordering take-out, chatting with his boyfriend, having tea and watching the telly—all the trivial moments that, taken as a whole, stretched out into forever.
Shaking, Harry snatched up the thing and banished it, wandlessly.
“Harry? Everything all right?” Ethan sounded concerned.
Harry shut his eyes tightly, a knot of betrayal twisting like living poison in his stomach. He knew who’d put the Extendable Ear there. He knew perfectly well.
“No,” he ground out. “Everything is not all right.”
Ethan jumped to Harry’s side at once. “What? What is it?” he asked in alarm, seizing Harry’s arm.
Harry shook his head and held Ethan’s hand tightly. “No, it’s nothing like that—it’s—” He broke off, his mouth dry, and looked over at Ethan. “Just—I’ll be happy to come to Gringott’s tomorrow, okay? Just tell me what to do.”
OoOoOoOoO
The crowd was a many-headed beast, a writhing mishmash of colour and noise. Harry stared out at the shouting people and waving placards in bewilderment. “I’m so glad you’re here, Harry,” Ethan yelled over the noise, a mad gleam of excitement in his eyes. “We wouldn’t have gotten half so many to take notice if you hadn’t come.”
Harry’s heart was pounding furiously, his mouth dry. He abhorred being the centre of attention and felt miserable that they’d all come just to see him, as though he had some sort of special mental capabilities for decision-making that they did not. He was furious with the Ministry, but people should be able to figure right from wrong on their own.
There were Ministry officials hovering at the edges of the crowd like vultures—they’d been there before Harry and the others even turned up. Harry smiled sourly. Well, they knew what was planned, didn’t they? He probably wasn’t the only one whose home was being watched.
The crowd was growing restless, waiting for someone to get things rolling. Harry didn’t know what to do. Snape was supposed to speak today. Snape was supposed to go first. Harry didn’t relish the idea of meeting the man again, but they were both on the same side and he was mature enough to deal with it. But where was Snape? Surely he hadn’t chickened out? Just because he and Harry had had a fallout?
Harry watched as Fred and George pushed their way through the crowd and hurried up to the makeshift stage, followed closely by Hermione, who was tugging Ron along. Fred grabbed Ethan and hissed something into his ear. “What’s going on?” Harry asked, his stomach abruptly feeling shivery. Something wasn’t right. “Ron—aren’t you supposed to be at the Ministry?”
“He’s resigned his position,” Hermione said, sounding determined despite her obvious anxiety. “He can’t continue his employment there in good conscience.”
“Oh,” Harry said, glancing at Ron.
“Right,” Ron muttered, through a somewhat pained expression. “Er,” he continued as Hermione turned to him with assessing eyes. “The Ministry are blatantly usurping ordinary freedoms merely for the sake of reinforcing the status quo.” He paused in his recital, then admitted in a lower voice, “It’s—it’s got to be quite bad, actually. Some of the documentation I’ve seen—inadvertently, of course—well, I don’t know, Harry, but it seems the world may be due for another saving.”
Harry looked at him dubiously. “In that case,” he answered, “where the fuck is Snape?”
“They took him last night!” George said, while Fred and Ethan carried on with their fierce gesticulations.
“They what?” Harry burst out. “How? On what charge?”
“Don’t really bother with that sort of thing any more, do they? Listen Harry,” George continued anxiously. “We’d arranged to meet with Kingsley before all this with Snape happened—it’s getting out of hand. And now we’ve got to go see him before the Ministry makes it impossible for Kingsley to help—I don’t think he knows yet about Snape. If it’s okay, we’ll meet up with you here afterwards to regroup—think you’ll be all right?” Harry nodded immediately; George clapped Harry’s shoulder firmly, then turned to his brothers and Hermione. The four of them hurried from the stage, looking unnerved.
Harry was furious and frightened. He turned to Ethan. “What do we do?”
Ethan looked grimly determined. “They think we’re leaderless without him. We’ll show them! We can more than take up the slack!”
Harry ground his teeth. “But what’ll we do about Snape?”
Ethan looked surprised. “He knows the risks. I suppose we could take the anarchists’ route and try to take Azkaban, but even with the public back on our side, I don’t think it’d work.”
“Wait—so we’re not going to get him—” Harry began angrily, but suddenly there was a strong grip on his arm and he looked up to see Savage. “What are you doing?” he demanded as the Auror struggled to get him off the stage.
“You’re under arrest for inciting a rebellion, fraternizing with Death Eaters, and treason against the Wizarding government!” he said loudly. “We’ve been watching your movements very closely, Mr. Potter,” he added. “We have substantial proof that you intended to overturn the government and seat yourself at the head!” he shouted for the benefit of the crowd.
Harry laboured to get free, but the man had an inhuman grip—probably some kind of charm. When Harry tried to speak, he was magically silenced. Looking over his shoulder he could see the others who’d been waiting at the edge of the stage being dragged along.
“We know everything about you!” Savage was roaring. “All about your homosexual trysts and sado-masochistic games!”
Harry thrashed, uselessly, his anger overwhelming the silencing charm placed on him. “What the FUCK are you talking about? That has nothing to do with—and what’ve you done with Snape?” he shouted into Savage’s ear. “I don’t know what you’ve been telling everyone—what the Ministry has been telling you—” Harry turned to holler at the crowd, whose placard-waving had wilted as the confused people looked on—”but none of it’s TRUE! I don’t care about your stupid government—I never HAVE! Getting rid of Voldemort was just something I had to do because he was going to kill everyone I—”
“So it was all you, then, was it?” sounded an outraged anonymous voice from the crowd. “You and you alone defeated You-Know-Who, eh? And what about my son? What about my Davy who was killed by a Death Eater, trying to help Harry Potter in his—”
But the rest of the words were drowned out by wails—deep calls of hatred, of protest, of heartbroken families, thundering, too deafening for Harry to overcome.
“NO!” Harry tried anyway, wriggling in the grasp of the Auror as he was dragged across the wooden boards. “No! That’s not what I meant! I’m just—I’m not trying to take OVER, you have to LISTEN to me, please! Please!”
The Auror jerked him roughly and Harry choked on his unheard defences, thinking of Snape and where he was and realizing, all at once, that Snape would’ve known this was exactly how it’d end.
Harry twisted around to glance despairingly over the crowd, which was shouting angrily and milling about in confusion. Rita Skeeter was writing furiously; with her spin the entire rebellion could be quashed by tomorrow morning’s news.
Savage’s arms wrapped tightly around him, almost a parody of a loving embrace. Harry grimaced and wished he knew where he was being taken. As though he could hear Harry’s thoughts, the Auror explained. “You’re all going to Azkaban, of course,” he said, a smile in his voice.
OoOoOoOoO
Snape sat with his back to the wall, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. The last time he’d been in Azkaban, he had been prepared to die. Now it was worse. Now, despite himself, there were things he cared about, things he wanted to see accomplished. He didn’t doubt they’d execute him soon, damn his brilliant intellect and the sense he’d tried to make them see. Man was nothing if not wasteful.
Strangely, it was the rabble-rousers that stood out in his mind. He kept trying to think about all the things he’d never have to suffer again, like Malfoy’s shudder-inducing whinging, empty promises and empty beds, but like a phoenix, the memory of the rabble-rousers kept growing wings and taking flight, burning away all other thought.
They were only children.
What had he gotten them into?
Severus was plunged into fits of shivering as Dementors swirled outside his window, sending his stomach plummeting. When the Dementors glided on, the anger rose up in his chest, hot black bile and acid fury. He vacillated between the two extremes, rocking a little against the stone and feeling clammy and bitter.
He should have given up long ago. He should have moved on and left them to themselves. They had to learn the hard way, all of them—especially Potter.
Snape’s face twisted as he envisioned Potter looking down at him—looking down on him. The wretched creature was so credulous he’d gulp down whatever story the Ministry fed him. And Snape hadn’t helped matters with his jealousy and tantrums. It had been stupid, refusing to see Potter again—Potter had been the one good ally he’d had, and of course he’d ruined things.
Here in the gloomy chill, he found himself ruefully unfurling the tapestry of his memories—Potter curled up to his back, warm body pressed close, Potter and his puppyish smile and unflagging good cheer; Potter and his adventurous nature, his adventurous hands, his adventurous tongue . . .
Snape shook his head to clear the cobwebs of silly, schoolboy love away. That Potter was gone. He’d been too gregarious, too naive. He’d been taken over by the establishment, now ready to use his toothy grin as the poster-boy of the new Ministry. He was too easily swayed—although his boyfriend—Severus’ lip rose in a sneer—might’ve put an end to that. Crawford had had a persuasive way of speaking—Severus recalled the shine in his face as he’d laid out his proposals, the familiar glint of ambition that underlay the ready smile. Severus had known better than to place unqualified trust in that sort of smile—but then, he’d been taken in by such things before. If only he’d been able to get to Potter first—to convince him, win him over…but he’d been unwilling to plead and then he’d cut the boy out and now…
Potter had obviously moved on, anyway. God only knew how many other men he’d been fucking. The next time they met, if they should meet again, Harry would probably be cold, reserved. He would give Snape that baleful glare he’d offered up so often as a child, unable to see that, while not necessarily nice, Snape was still perfectly capable of being good. Of being right.
Snape could picture the revulsion on Harry’s face . . .
“Snape?” The dumbfounded voice snapped the man from his self-indulgent anguish, and he looked up to see Harry, not hateful or cold, but surprised and very annoyed.
“Potter?”
The boy was pushed into the cell, followed by others—Crawford, Martin, and nearly all of Snape’s little minions. They looked very small and frightened. Azkaban often had that effect.
“I suppose no introductions are needed,” Savage said with a laugh. He and a fellow Auror shut the cell door with a clang, still grinning widely as they walked away.
Snape schooled his face, gazing coolly at Potter. For a moment, he thought Harry would throw himself into Snape’s arms, but the time for it passed unrealised. “I can’t turn my back on you for a moment, can I?” he asked archly.
Harry shifted miserably from one foot to the other. “I didn’t even know they’d taken you,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Standing, Snape brushed himself off. “I did not expect you to,” he replied sourly. “I’ve learnt to expect nothing from you.”
He might as well have stuck a knife in the boy. The wide, wounded eyes that raked Snape made the man look away. “I would have done something, you know,” Harry said quietly.
“Celebrate, no doubt.”
“Fuck, why do you always have to be such a mean shit?” Harry burst out.
Crawford reached out instantly to steel the boy, his strong hands gripping Harry’s shoulders. He pulled Harry back, soothing, murmuring. Harry shut his eyes briefly and Snape felt a throb of aching envy that Crawford could manage that—could tame Harry, charm him, placate him when all Severus had ever managed was to bring Harry to greater heights of ire.
Potter, for all his strength and bloody stubbornness, was like a bird, something built to be fast and free, something meant to have its own way. Perhaps Crawford had understood that, had allowed Harry to alight when he would, without pushing for more. Severus had tried, tried his damnedest to do the same, resisting the urge to call for Harry, to track him, to uncover every hidden thing he claimed he didn’t care to know. And now he wanted nothing more than to snap the brittle bones, tear them from Crawford and crush them in his own hands.
Snape sighed. It was sick, he knew it. He resolved to stop indulging in such ludicrous sentiments.
He didn’t realize he was staring at Harry until the boy’s face softened a little. “You’re bloody good at being prickly, you know that?” Harry said. “It’s almost like it’s an art with you.”
“Still less obnoxious than neo-cubism,” Snape retorted, slightly more at ease.
“Shouldn’t we be figuring out what to do next?” Ethan broke in.
“We sit and we rot,” Snape replied hotly, beginning to pace. “What was your plan? We can’t exactly stroll out of here.”
“Yes, we can.”
Snape looked up sharply.
Martin was beside the cell door, his eyes alight with excitement. The door was open wide. “They left it unlocked,” he said breathlessly.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, because it amuses them to see the more brainless of their captives run into the arms of the Dementors. They’ve already put in their bets on who’ll be first—I believe you’re the current favourite.”
“Oh,” Martin said quietly. He swung the door shut again, taking care not to let it clang.
Harry frowned—there was no call for that attitude when Martin and the rest of them were obviously terrified. He remembered what it was like to suddenly be in way over his head and opened his mouth to tell Snape to lay off, but Ethan spoke first.
“We’re obviously not going to hang around here,” Ethan said grimly, striding through the scared faces up to Snape. He turned to them with the defiant expression of a rebel leader, his jaw set with grime and courage, his fists knotted at his sides. “The first thing we have to do is calm down and think—we have to get past the Dementors and up the stairs where we came—”
“A task so simple I waited for you lot to arrive,” Snape said dryly, “as it’s so much more exciting to do when others are watching.”
“—and then we’ll have to get past the Aurors,” Ethan continued, talking over Snape. “It won’t be easy—” he paused briefly and flicked his eyes to where Snape stood “—but I know we’re going to do it. We’ve worked too hard, fought too long against the Ministry to be silenced and stuffed away in Azkaban like this.” His voice thickened into a warm, resounding sound that echoed like a lantern in the dark. “They have no right to do this to us, or to anyone out there—because just as magic is not might, might does not make right—and we are the ones who can’t let people forget. We are the ones who have to make it back outside—only we know what’s really going on here. And we will. We will make it back out. All of us.”
There was a damp, heavy silence. Snape snorted.
“Right,” Ethan said, ignoring it. “Severus, can you tell us what you’ve learned so far?”
“Other than the fact that you’ll get them all killed?” Snape responded icily. “Spouting rubbish like that—”
“Do you how many Dementors they’ve got around here?” Ethan asked, only the faintest trace of impatience bleeding through his tone. “And how many Aurors are stationed here at a time?”
Harry and the youth held their collective breath when Snape didn’t respond. There was a snapping of robes—then Snape’s tight voice said, “Yes.”
OoOoOoOoO
They were huddled in the dank of a cell—not the one they’d been shut in, but one a bit farther up, a bit closer to the stairwell that led to the doorway to freedom. The strength of their combined Patronuses had been just enough to keep the Dementors at bay long enough for them to dart through—but the Dementors would be back, and soon.
“We’ve rested enough. We have to keep moving,” Ethan muttered aloud. He was in charge now, and it seemed to suit him well. Harry wasn’t surprised—what did surprise him was Snape’s apparent willingness to let Ethan go ahead. It was if Snape didn’t care if they made it out or not—but Harry knew that wasn’t true. Maybe Snape had a plan that he was keeping to himself—maybe it was something he knew Ethan wouldn’t like and he didn’t want to argue in front of Martin and his friends…Not for the first time, Harry wished Ron and Hermione were with him.
“So move,” Snape returned, shifting in the far corner. Harry imagined he was shivering like the rest of them—he was sure Ethan was too, though he gripped Harry’s hand too tightly for Harry to be sure.
“We can’t all go at once,” Ethan replied after a moment. “I think the Dementors can sense us more strongly when we’re in the corridors, so we’ll have to be quicker.” He fell silent, as if waiting for Snape to interject. When no scornful noise came from the other wall, Ethan went on. “I’ll go first and take half of you with me—we’ll head for the largest cell five blocks down, on the left. I’ll send my Patronus down when the coast is clear, and the rest of you can follow.” He stopped again, squeezing Harry’s hand in his. Harry thought it felt slightly warmer, and squeezed back.
“Who wants to come with me?” Ethan asked. The scurrying of feet started up immediately as Martin and all his friends stood up together. Beneath the scuffling, Harry heard Snape’s low chuckle.
Ethan chuckled as well. “You can’t all come,” he said, sounding pleased. “Why don’t—” He rose and grouped most of the youths into a cluster—“you all come with me. The rest of you wait—Severus will take you after. Get your wands ready—be ready to focus—we’re making history here, just remember that—” He broke off as Harry’s fingers slipped from his palm.
“Good idea, Harry, why don’t you bring up the rear,” Ethan said as he moved toward the cell door, trailed by the kids.
“Actually,” Harry began, trying not to sound hesitant. Now wasn’t the time. “I think I’d better go with the second group. You know—because the Dementors will already know we’re on the move again once you’ve gone…”
Ethan looked at Harry—his eyes moved to Snape, in the corner behind. For an instant, Harry felt every vein constrict—Ethan knew he knew he was leaning close to say he knew—
“Look, you can count on Severus—he’ll get them through all right,” Ethan murmured, smiling against Harry’s cheek.
Ethan stepped back—Harry’s eyes flared wide in relief, and the rush was so great he didn’t think to point out that he did count on Snape, unquestionably.
“All right,” Ethan said, for everyone to hear. “That makes sense—you go with Severus. Everyone else, come with me.” He reached up and squeezed Harry’s shoulder—for a second Harry thought Ethan was about to kiss him and he started to duck away, instinctively—but the other man only nodded and turned to the door. “Let’s go.”
The little cluster gathered around Ethan—a wave of his raised wand and they melted into the hall.
Harry watched them slink away, the tense ball in his stomach expanding heavily. If anything should happen, Ethan would be first—he was in front, and the others behind him wouldn’t know what to do…Harry crouched down where he’d been sitting with Ethan, already missing the comfort of the body beside him. The rebel youths who’d remained were whispering to each other, standing near the door but not too near, as if afraid a Dementor might pop out of thin air. Harry didn’t have the energy to tell them not to worry, Dementors didn’t need the element of surprise—but it was pointless, anyway. It was easier on them all if they just waited, and worried, until Ethan’s Patronus came to summon them.
Harry glanced over to where Snape sat, his arms around his knees, barely visible in the low light. The paleness of his forehead stood out starkly beneath his hair, which clung to his jaw in so many dirty skeins. Harry found himself thinking of how they felt on his neck.
“Don’t bloody stare, Potter,” Snape suddenly muttered. The rebels at the door went quiet at the sound. “You can carry on, I was talking to Potter,” Snape snapped at them, raising his head. They were hushed a moment more, then resumed their rapid-fire whispering.
Harry shifted his legs, debating whether to go over. He didn’t have anything to say, really, but he didn’t like sitting alone.
“Then come here, twit,” Snape muttered irritably. “Your lack of sparkling conversation never stopped you before.”
Harry’s eyes shot up—he glared with hostility at Snape’s obscured face.
“Doing a little Legilimency to pass the time?” he hissed, stalking across to Snape. He noticed Snape’s followers had stopped whispering again and were looking at him, but he didn’t care.
“Hardly,” Snape drawled. “There’s no need for Legilimency when eyes will do. You’ve been gazing rather longingly at this bit of mouldy prison cell—I suppose the grass is always greener, eh?” The mocking voice turned sneering as Snape lifted his chin.
Harry had opened his mouth in aggravation—now he closed it and dropped to the flagstones beside Snape. “I wasn’t staring,” he mumbled.
Snape let out a sound of contempt.
“I just—don’t see the point of…of staying over there when we might well die any second—”
“Careful,” Snape cut in, still mocking. “Crawford wouldn’t approve of sensible talk like that.”
Harry’s brows went up as he whipped his neck around. “What are y—Ethan’s trying to get us out of here and you know he’s smart, he knows what he’s doing—”
“Smart, yes,” Snape said softly. “Smart enough to ensnare you; I’m not certain, however—”
“Ensnare?” Harry had to force his voice down. “You know, I don’t fucking get you, Snape. I’ve known you practically all my life and I just don’t get you—not that it makes any difference because you’ve never trusted me with anything, not even when we were fucking—”
Snape moved suddenly—jerked up an arm—and Harry clamped his mouth closed for a beat before rushing on. “Not that it matters to you—nothing about—about me has ever really mattered to you—but he didn’t ensnare me any more than you did.”
Harry had run out of air saying this; he could do nothing but gulp in fury and horror at the words that had slipped out.
Snape’s eyes had turned to him, black and judgemental and pressing down on him hard—his lips pursed, deepening the lines in his face.
“I beg to differ,” he said slowly, and denial immediately flooded Harry’s throat, too fast and rough for Harry to cough up, but the fact was that he hadn’t, Ethan hadn’t ensnared him, whatever Snape thought, and Harry was still reeling at the realization that yes, he cared about Ethan but that wasn’t it, Ethan wasn’t it—
“They made it!” called out a trembling voice by the door. “Look!”
Harry and Snape swivelled their heads to look—a magnificent silver falcon was swooping down the corridor, its wingtips of light brushing the rusted bars. The rebel youths gazed, entranced, then scrambled to follow as it circled back from where it came.
“Stop!” Snape barked, striding to the door in a whirl of black. He pushed through the youths and stepped into the hall—Harry had come with him, but now he stayed by the cell door to keep the others back, although he was well-aware the bars would provide little protection if it was a trap.
Snape gestured with a wrist without glancing back. “Come quickly—Potter, you’re last. If I cast, then do the same. If Potter and I are incapacitated, then scatter—look for Crawford five blocks down, to the left.” He set off without another word.
OoOoOoOoO
Snape cut soundlessly through the musty air of the hall, holding his wand at the ready as his eyes swept from one stone arch to the next, straining for any sign of movement. He was certain he could sense Potter watching him, the gaze pinned to his neck, his back—Potter should’ve been watching the other children in front of him. Snape was tempted to say so aloud.
Instead, he continued forward, striding as swiftly as he dared. He didn’t spare a moment to glance at the youths behind him, or to regret his near-admission to Potter, in the cell. Severus appreciated the irony of it—the fact that only a reckless brat without any convictions could come so close to drawing such a thing from him, aided by neither potion nor charm.
Other than the charm of his incoherent babblings, some snide bit of his mind snickered at him. Severus narrowed his eyes at the undisturbed dust on the threshold he’d reached and stopped abruptly.
Someone bumped into him; he spun around.
“This isn’t the way,” he said sharply. “They must’ve changed course.”
“But Ethan said—”
“He changed his mind,” Severus cut whoever it was off. “No one has come this way for some time.” He pushed through the children to where Potter stood, looking determined and vaguely uncertain.
“Get back there,” Severus ordered. “We’re taking a different way out.”
Potter’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t think there’s another way—”
“This is Azkaban,” Severus answered shortly. “There’s always another way.”
Potter opened his mouth; Severus steeled himself for the challenge—but then the boy simply frowned and turned away.
“You heard him,” Potter told the others. “Let’s get back in line—keep your eyes open.”
“Do you think something happened to them?” someone half-whispered. Severus glanced down to an anxious face.
“It depends on whether Crawford is the flighty indecisive sort who would veer off course without warning,” Severus said crisply, “But I defer to Potter on that question.” He kept his expression unchanged except for a wry twitch at the corner of his mouth. No one saw but the boy, who was staring at him from across the little cluster of children who had still to re-form the line.
“He’s not,” Potter said stonily.
“Then in all probability something has happened to them and we shouldn’t waste any more time,” Severus said curtly. He whirled around and moved on. No one said anything as they rearranged themselves and fell into muffled steps behind him.
They had retraced their path to where another corridor intersected it; Severus led them to the right, toward the front of the prison. Several minutes passed in silence except for the hushed treading of their feet—not a sound, not a Dementor-made chill halted their progress.
“It’s too easy,” Severus muttered after several minutes more. They were well on their way to the stairwell, and they hadn’t seen any sign of the others. He’d been suspicious from the moment the child Martin had found the cell door unlocked, but surely the Ministry wouldn’t be so obvious as that? And yet, here they were, scurrying to apparent freedom without having confronted a single obstacle…Severus tightened the grip on his wand and hoped Potter was right about Crawford knowing what he was doing. Crawford was shrewd, he would’ve expected the Ministry to play these sorts of games—but he had led the others on ahead when he’d found the way clear…
“Be alert,” he hissed over his shoulder, startling the girl directly behind him. “This is likely a trap.”
“What?” the girl whispered—and the shout Severus had been waiting for rang out from the dark.
“STOP!” the voice bellowed from the hall past Potter. “Stop—”
But they’d already started running. Severus knew there were probably Aurors in every hallway around them, waiting to provoke them into firing the first curse. He led them away from the central door they’d been trying to reach, across uneven stone.
“Disarming spells ONLY!” he bellowed as they raced past empty cells. “No one casts a curse!” It would give the Aurors carte blanche to use anything they liked in the name of self-defence —the writing was on the wall and it told a plausible story of detainees held for mere questioning, a reckless few who tried fleeing instead of simply cooperating and had brought tragedy on themselves…
Severus whipped around a corner into three Aurors, their wands drawn.
“Gotcha,” one snarled, flicking his—
“EXPELLIARMUS!” Severus cried—as did Potter and the rest. The Aurors staggered back—their wands were yanked from their hands as if by an invisible fist. Severus rushed through them.
“Accio wands!” he shouted, catching the fallen wands in his left hand as they dodged down the hall.
“No!” someone screamed suddenly, a shrill frightened child. Severus spun at once to see the girl who’d been behind him struggling with an Auror. The Auror was wrenching her arm as she flailed in his grasp. “Relash—” Severus was casting when the girl swung with her wand.
“Reducto!” she screamed. The Auror was blasted back in a shower of orange sparks. They lit up his throat and Potter’s glasses as Potter darted to them and grabbed the girl’s hand.
“Come on!” he shouted—Severus raced on.
He glanced behind him now, every few seconds, to check on those behind him—that Auror had been injured, or possibly worse—his fellows would respond with spells considerably more severe. He had to get them all out; the longer the children remained the more likely they were to get killed…except perhaps for Potter, whose luck had yet to run its course. Severus cursed himself again for agreeing to that rally when he’d known all along that it was the wrong time for such a public demonstration—
“Ethan!” Potter shouted from several lengths behind. “Snape, they’re down there!”
Severus skidded to a stop as the youths behind him scrambled.
“Snape, there’s something—” Potter called as he vanished into the nearest side corridor. Severus dashed after the children who already dashing after the boy, grinding his teeth and fearing the worst. The faint sound of panicked yells quickened all of their steps as they threaded into the dim narrow space. Severus could barely make out Potter’s wild hair, its jagged outline bobbing as he ran well ahead.
“Potter!” Severus shouted, to call the boy back. Potter disappeared around the curve of the corridor. “Hurry!” barked Severus to the youths blocking his way.
They all tumbled into the vaguely brighter hall a few moments later to see Crawford and several others grappling with Aurors.
“No don’t!” Crawford was shouting as Harry flung out his wand. “Don’t attack—”
“STUPEFY!” Harry roared.
“Potter you idiot—” Severus shouted with Crawford, unheard as the boy roared “STUPEFY! STUPEFY!” The three Aurors flew into the cell bars behind them and crumpled to the ground.
“All you all right?” Potter panted, rushing to Crawford. Severus watched them embrace as the others surrounded them, fear and concern glistening in the sweat on their faces. Severus’ jaw flexed as Crawford’s face eased—he couldn’t bear to look at Potter’s undoubtedly adoring eyes as the blond reached up and squeezed Potter’s shoulder.
“We’re all right,” Crawford said, managing a slight smile. He wiped at a grimy streak on his forehead and glanced around. “A bit shaken, but intact. How about you?” He looked behind the boy to Severus, who stared back without a word.
“We’re fine,” the boy replied. Severus’ lips tightened at the breathless tone.
“We are not,” Severus gritted out. “Because you have just assaulted three of the Ministry’s finest in a clear act of treason. In a matter of hours the entire force will be down here to execute you on the spot.”
“I had to!” Potter began. “Let them come!” Crawford said grimly at almost the same time. “It’s what they wanted, isn’t it?” he said, looking at Severus now, his fingers still curled around Potter’s shoulder. “To force us into defending ourselves so they could try to wipe us out? It’s a pathetic excuse to set hundreds of Aurors against twenty of us—”
“Not so pathetic, considering Potter’s here,” Severus cut in dryly. “I don’t think anyone would blame the Ministry for taking extra precautions in securing the most powerful wizard alive, who has revealed a rabid devotion to the anarchists’ cause.”
“I’m not—”
“We’re not far from the stairwell,” Severus continued, ignoring Potter’s protest. “If we can make it to the upper level before reinforcements arrive we’ll have a much better chance of—”
“You’re still thinking of leaving?” Crawford interrupted. “No, Severus. We can’t leave now. It’s no good running—they’ll find us no matter what, hunt us down…retreating now will only give them time to manipulate the public—we should face up to them here, in the bowels of Azkaban—that’s the best way to get our point across—”
“It’s clear I’ve failed to get my point across,” Severus broke in harshly. “This is no longer about political ideology and cultivating rebellion—it’s about finding our way OUT of this hellhole before we have our souls sucked from our bodies!”
“How can you say that?” Crawford advanced toward him, releasing Potter’s shoulder, weaving past a few of the youths. “How can you lose sight of what we came here to do?”
“Came?” Severus nearly gaped. “None of us came here, Crawford—we were imprisoned. While you may see it as an ‘opportunity’ to turn the popular view to your favour, I am far more interested in staying alive—and ensuring that these children do the same.”
Crawford’ blue eyes went dangerously wide. “Not all of us care only about ourselves,” he said in a low almost-whisper. “Some of us are fully vested in promoting the greater—”
“I’m leaving,” Severus said abruptly. “Anyone who wishes to join me is welcome.” He spun around and stormed down the hall, toward where it joined the main corridor.
“You can’t just LEAVE!” Crawford’s voice rang out as the other man strode after him. “I thought you understood our goal requires cooperation—”
“Our goal—” Severus started snarling back, but then a coarse yell echoed from somewhere. There was a high-pitched yelp—an instant during which they all heard the clear scurrying of feet—a sickening thud and silence. Crawford darted out of sight toward where the sounds had come from; Potter went after him. Severus had no choice but to follow.
“Stupefy!”
Crawford had stunned a bearded Auror; he lay on his side at the far end of the square cell. The door to the cell hung partially open; Crawford and Potter and the rest clustered there, staring down.
“Martin?” someone whispered. “Oh my god….”
Severus pushed them aside roughly and crouched over the small form. It was the well-coiffed dim-witted one. Severus raised his head with a grimace.
“Is he dead?” Potter asked in a steady enough voice, though he’d gone paler than before.
Severus looked at him a moment, then nodded.
“Let’s go before more Aurors arrive,” he said quietly. He could see they were stunned to paralysis—all except Potter, and Crawford, whose jaw was working intently.
“We can’t,” Crawford said slowly. “This has gone too far. We’ve got to stay—show everyone we’re serious; we’re willing to die for what’s right.” He gazed around at them with glittering eyes while Severus looked on, incredulous that the man was still speaking.
“Listen to me—I know you’re all scared,” Crawford said, in a carefully distinct and gentle tone. “But if you ever knew Martin—if you ever cared about him—you’ll follow his example. He died for his beliefs—”
“His beliefs?” Severus finally regained his voice. “Martin has no beliefs because Martin is dead. Do you understand that? As we all will be, soon, if we continue indulging in your brand of short-sighted stupidity. Now come along, all of you—I won’t have any more of your blood on my hands…”
The children were hesitant, clearly frightened, but they edged toward Severus, most of them staring at Martin’s motionless body where it lay arched on the ground.
Crawford shook his head but came forward as well. “We shouldn’t stay here, you’re right about that much—but trying to escape is no longer the solution.” Surprisingly to Severus, he shut his mouth then and let Severus sweep to the front with the youths trailing behind. Severus glanced briefly over his shoulder and saw Crawford’s fingers circling Potter’s wrist. They whispered together—Severus looked away and forced the image of Martin—of Potter—from his mind.
OoOoOoOoO
“Are you all right?” Ethan murmured to him. Harry suppressed the flinch and let Ethan hold his hand.
“Fine,” he replied shortly. He’d watched plenty die during the battle against Voldemort. This was nothing new. Except it was, every time; it always felt fresh, somewhat different, and just as unbearable as it had been that first time.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Ethan said, leaning even closer.
Harry fought the urge to shake him off—he wanted to be alone, to let go a minute—but he knew that was impossible. “What for? It wasn’t your fault.”
“No. But I…” Ethan paused. Harry looked up and found him chewing on his lip, uncertain. It seemed strange on him. “I’m sorry all the same.”
Harry didn’t say anything and tried to walk a little faster. Snape was leading them toward the stairwell that led to the main floor; the flagstones underfoot were sloping ever so slightly upward. He couldn’t wait to get out. They continued winding their way in the low torchlight without speaking for a bit. Ethan had let go of Harry’s arm.
“Before…Martin told me you’d been spending a lot of time with Snape.”
The suddenness of the statement nearly had Harry stumbling. He kept his legs moving forward and his heart in his chest without quite knowing how.
“He said you used to see him just about every night.”
Harry was having trouble breathing—he couldn’t take this right now, with Martin’s dead body still vivid in his head, with Aurors and Dementors breathing down their backs, with the whole world hating him again…
“You’re with him, then?”
It was a question, and Ethan wasn’t talking any more. He was waiting for an answer, one that Harry knew he had long deserved to have. Harry took a deep chill breath through his nose.
“I meant to tell you sooner,” Harry started, feeling a little crazed but he had to start somewhere. “I—I really did. It was—it really all happened when we’d…when we—you and I— had stopped seeing each other, and I…I don’t know exactly why or how it all turned out the way it did but I ended up going back, a lot, you’re right, almost every night—”
He struggled to keep his lungs filled with air and dared a quick look over at Ethan, whose features were twisting with the flickering light.
“I couldn’t,” Harry shook his head, trying. “I couldn’t—stop. But then—then he found out about you, that night I ran into the two of you planning…and he hasn’t—we haven’t talked much since then.”
Ethan breathed heavily next to him. “You’ve—been sleeping with him,” he said in an oddly blank voice.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve—”
“I didn’t know.”
Harry’s chest caught. “You—” he choked, choked on the wrenching realization that Ethan had only been talking about politics, as always, as ever—
“I was only asking if you were on his side, or mine,” Ethan continued in the same disoriented tone. “As to whether we should stay or run.”
“Ethan…” Harry whispered, turning to look at the man’s neck. It was as far as he could get—his eyes wouldn’t travel farther.
“I guess…I have my answer.”
Harry saw Ethan’s throat swallow, then the blond ducked from Harry’s side and walked ahead briskly. Harry didn’t try to follow as he squeezed past a few others into the middle of the small throng.
OoOoOoOoO
There seemed to be extra tension in the air. Potter had hung back with Crawford, but now they had both caught up with the group and were being very careful not to meet each other’s eyes. Snape wished briefly that Potter would be more practical; they had quite enough on their plates without lovers’ spats.
Something glided down the corridor toward the group, and they found another passage branching off and took it quickly, feeling as though frost was forming on their backs. Snape’s entire body seemed to clench up in the effort to keep from shivering, the skin at the back of his neck all gooseflesh.
“Why are there so many Dementors?” one of the rebels moaned.
“And how do they keep them here, I wonder?” another added.
“They’re anchored,” Severus began to explain, then stopped. Someone walked into him from behind, nearly jarring the thought from his head.
“Anchored to what?” Potter asked obediently.
Snape didn’t answer for a long moment. “Dark magic,” he finally said. “Possibly a tome infused with dark magic, used to bind them here.”
Crawford looked irritated. “Does it really matter right now?”
Snape could feel himself tremble with anger—did the young fool really not understand? But then Potter spoke up, looking hesitant and pensive. “You want to use it for something else, don’t you?”
Letting out a long breath, Snape nodded. Of course Potter had seen the point straightaway—Potter knew Snape was looking for a weapon. “Destroying the book—the lynch pin, if you would—would almost certainly destroy the Dementors as well. There’s a good chance it would also bring Azkaban down round our ears, of course. Demolishing a powerful magical object releases its confined internal potent—”
“You mean it would blow up,” Harry interrupted, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
“Yes.”
“There would still be the Aurors to deal with,” Crawford pointed out impatiently.
“Not, I believe, for very long. Once the Dementors began winking out of existence they would almost certainly realize what had happened, and clear out. The chain reaction would take another few minutes, but it’s possible it would be enough to see—everyone—safely out.”
“You think we could destroy the book?” Harry asked.
“The Dementors would ‘wink’ out of existence?” Crawford asked. “How do you know? How can you be sure?” he challenged, glaring. Severus raised a brow at the man’s sudden vehemence. He ignored Crawford and focused his attention on Potter.
“It would take,” Snape said slowly, “a good deal of energy. Raw power, I think, concentrated and focused in exactly the correct place.”
One of the rabble nervously shifted weight from one foot to the other and back again. “So—so what do we have to do?”
“We will not be doing anything,” Snape said immediately. “You should all be gathering your wits, preparing to run when the moment strikes. If you can manage that much, I’ll be impressed indeed. I believe I’m the only one with the faintest clue of how to go about locating the anchor—”
“Just a minute—” Crawford cut in, bristling.
“—although destroying the object,” Snape went on, eyes drifting involuntarily toward Potter, “may require—”
“I’ll come with you,” Harry said firmly.
“You don’t even want to be here,” Snape retorted. “You think it’s a lot of nonsense.”
“Fighting is always a lot of nonsense,” Harry replied, setting his jaw. “That doesn’t keep anyone from doing it.”
“You haven’t the concentration for this sort of thing.”
“Snape, you can’t do it on your own, you said so yourself—”
“I wasn’t asking you to throw your hat in—”
“I’m going!”
There was a pregnant pause, and the entire group went still, and quiet for once. They all looked at Crawford, whose face had darkened with the force of his words.
“I’m going to get rid of the Dementors so we can face the Aurors, straight-on, and finally take the stand we’ve only been talking about for far too long,” Crawford spat, whirling to look at Severus and Harry, and the cluster of youths drew back slightly from him.
Severus kept his face impassive as Potter leapt forward.
“Ethan, don’t be stupid,” the boy hissed, grabbing Crawford’s arm. Snape pressed his lips together in comprehension—so Potter had chosen this time of crisis to reveal all, and pretty Ethan Crawford wasn’t taking the news well. He watched with growing irritation as Crawford shook Harry off.
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Crawford was sneering. “Since I’ve been stupid all along, what difference will it make if I’m—”
“You don’t know what you’re doing—” Harry replied, whispering violently, though everyone could hear with perfect clarity what they were saying. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Severus would’ve laughed.
“I know exactly what I’m doing!” Crawford hissed back, yanking Potter aside for some semblance of privacy. “I’m going to go with Snape and we are going to blow up this magical anchor or tome or whatever so you can get your sorry arse out of here along with everyone else’s because even though you’ve been fucking around with me I actually care about you and I’m not letting you—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Potter broke in angrily. “I don’t know what you really care about, I can’t tell if it’s the cause or your own glory or—”
“That’s enough!” Snape snapped. He could tolerate no more of this and he moved swiftly between them. “Potter, you’re with me. Crawford, take the children. Find the safest way out and be ready to use it—”
“I don’t think so,” Crawford cut in dangerously. “You’re not cutting me out of this too—either you’re coming with me or I’m going alone—”
“I’m not on a personal crusade against you, Crawford—” Severus was in the midst of retorting when the blast of terror slammed through them all.
Severus knew immediately that it was a matter of seconds before the Dementors descended, a large flock of them, from every side. His lungs seized in fear—he had to get Potter out—all the children—
“Expecto Patronum!” he shouted, spinning. His Patronus charged forth on doe-light feet, streaking against the dark shapes in a broad silver arc. Behind him, Potter was yelling the same, and Severus felt the icy tremors ease as the swift swaths of brightness formed a circle around them. The others were shouting, panicking at the suddenness of the attack and the deluge of fears springing to life in their minds. Over the shrieks and scuffling feet, Severus could hear Crawford’s voice, commanding the children to summon their Patronuses.
The stag and doe matched each other stride for stride, galloping furiously to drive the Dementors away. Overhead a great falcon soared, diving at the billowing figures, which would leap back as if burned, but only for a moment.
“There are too many!” Potter yelled desperately, whipping his wand to drive his stag harder. Dementors seemed to be spilling from the ceiling, the floor, the cracks in the walls, rushing at them with greater number and speed as each second passed. Other silver forms were now joining the fray, but none were so blindingly substantial as the falcon, stag, and doe.
“We can’t let them hold us here!” Severus shouted, turning to glance behind him. Crawford was at the far side of passage, near to one exit with the children clustered close, guiding his Patronus with sharp flicks of his wand. Potter stood behind Severus still, not an arm’s length away. “The Aurors—”
The boy had been casting with his back to Severus and in the next instant a black-hooded figure was bearing down on the boy, one scaly hand reaching out to grasp. Fresh terror flooded Severus as Potter’s Patronus flickered and slowed.
“Potter!” Severus cried. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
Not one but two dazzling shapes descended, blasting the Dementor from its hold on Potter’s robes. Severus’ pulse returned when the boy shook his head, blinking, and Severus’ doe turned aside to fend off another Dementor as Crawford’s falcon looped back over Potter’s head.
“Harry!” Crawford shouted. Severus looked over to see Crawford lunging toward them. A girl’s scream stopped him cold.
“Behind you!” Severus barked at the same time Potter yelled “Watch out!”
The blond pivoted sharply, slicing the air with his wand—his falcon wheeled before him, buffeting three Dementors back. The girl screamed again—she was a few feet from Crawford, and at her feet slumped a boy, nearly obscured beneath the fluttering robes of the Dementor, crouching over him.
“Crawford, get them out of here!” Severus shouted as the silver falcon dipped, chasing the Dementor from the fallen boy’s form. Crawford was bending to lift the boy up; Potter was casting his Patronus rapid-fire—the fallen boy was on his feet, the girl was sobbing into Crawford’s sleeve, Crawford had his arms around them both and was snapping Your Patronuses! to all the children even while Severus shouted at him.
“Take the passage behind you!” Severus called urgently. “We—” He stopped to thrust his doe at oncoming Dementors. “We’ll keep the way clear—disperse the Dementors—”
“No!” Crawford hollered back desperately, taking his eyes from the struggle in front of him. “I’m going with you—”
“Ethan!” shouted a boy’s voice, followed by a frantic “Expecto Patronum!” The boy’s Patronus—a ram—was becoming indistinct; Dementors were closing in more quickly than the falcon could fly. Potter must’ve seen it too because the next second, the silver stag was dashing around Ethan and the children, its great antlers lowered outward at the tide of shadows. Severus focused on keeping his own Patronus close to Potter and himself—one wouldn’t be enough against this many Dementors for longer than a few moments.
“Go!” he ordered Crawford. “There’s no time to waste—you’ll know when we’ve gotten rid of the tome, make for the exit—”
“No!” Ethan shouted again, twisting and turning to defend. “No! Harry—”
“Please Ethan, just go!” Harry shouted back. “They won’t make it without you—none of us will—so please Ethan, please, hurry up and go!” The anguish in his voice was a lover’s plea and it jolted Severus’ teeth, even in the midst of fighting for their lives. Severus saw the blond look over at Potter; Ethan’s face was taut with fear. His brightened eyes flashed from Potter to Severus and back again, furious.
“I WON’T!” Crawford roared. The force of his words seemed to propel him forward, toward Potter, even as the Dementors pressed in. “You don’t deserve it but I won’t—”
“How much do you care for him?” Severus cut in, his voice impatient because they would perish and his chest thrumming because ah, yes, he’d found the proper screw to tighten and tighten it he would, for all their sakes’. “If it’s so little as Potter tells me then by all means, stay!”
He could feel Harry’s eyes swing fast to him as Crawford’s head turned to Potter. The rage in Crawford’s face condensed into a tormented hopelessness. Then he called to the others.
“All of you!” Crawford shouted, his voice ringing out. “With me! This way, through the hall!” He whirled and his falcon swooped low, keeping the Dementors from the mouth of the passage as the children ran for it. “Quickly! Watch your backs!” Severus heard him shout before he disappeared from sight, following the last of the children into the passageway. The silver falcon lingered, sweeping left and right across the opening of the passage, to be joined by the stag and doe.
“Potter!” Severus called, springing toward the opening. “We have to get the Dementors into as tight a cluster as possible.”
Potter was beside him, his wand held high.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said, flicking his wand to withdraw the stag. “Told Ethan that—”
“You can reconcile later,” Severus barked, “if you pay attention now!”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Potter!” He stabbed forward with his wand. The Dementors had formed a massive floating ball of blackness.
“We cast together,” Severus continued quickly. “We have to scatter them, stun them.” The falcon had faded. Potter nodded next to him.
“On three then,” Severus said grimly as the Dementors flocked toward them, a solid mass. “One. Two. Three.”
Together they shouted the incantation, and together the stag and doe blurred, leaping from their wands in wide columns of light that merged to form a single dazzling, towering, fleet-footed shape. The whole chamber lit up in a brilliant white as the Patronus struck, blowing apart the hovering black sphere. Streams of black shot back like blood spit from a gash—the Patronus reared and circled the remaining Dementors, which shivered and glided into the darkness, in haste.
Severus’ chest heaved—casting such a Patronus had strained him. Beside him, Potter panted and clutched at his ribs. The overpoweringly bright antlered creature cantered toward them, bowed its head, and slowly vanished.
“I didn’t know Patronuses could do that,” Potter said between breaths.
Severus said nothing. He hadn’t known either—he suspected it required a great deal of luck; a congruity of wands, a consonance of magic, a certain affinity between their Patronuses—between themselves…it boded well for the next task that loomed.
“They’ll come back if we hang around, right?” Potter asked, his breaths slowing slightly. “So where do we go now?”
Snape pursed his mouth.
“Where my life inevitably leads,” he replied. “Down.”
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Comments:
Fantastic last line. Typical Snape line.
This is brilliant by the way. Am really enjoyed this. :)
Thanks so much! Yeah, Concept wrote that and when I first read it, I totally laughed. :D
An excellent chapter! I really like how this story has progressed and I can't wait for chapter 7.~Sophia
You are so terrific for reading and leaving such encouraging comments! :D
Holy shit!
What a turn of events. And Ethan...wow.
Is Snape pushing Ethan and Harry together?
:D Oh, that'll be the day! I think Snape would always want Harry for himself! :D
“Where my life inevitably leads,” he replied. “Down.”
Perfect!
:D I know, right? That's all Concept! ♥ |
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