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sua_layAuthor: Rimau Sua Lay
Rating: overall NC-17, Angst, Drama, Action/Adventure, First Time
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Snape, Ron/Draco, (Sirius/Remus)
Date: December 2002 - ?
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Sherbet Lemon?
Summary for Book Two: -Voldemort has a plan. To make it work, he needs his most loyal Death Eaters and their progeny. After a vicious attack, two Slytherins must decide if blood is thicker than potions.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall was subdued the next morning. By then, everyone had heard about professor McGonagall's disappearance. It drove away the disappointment about not being able to go to Hogsmeade from most of the students.
Even the Slytherins didn't really complain about it. The ones who might have, were suffering from headaches that morning and were in no condition to argue.
Draco was one of the few of the seventh year Slytherins who was able to sit through the whole breakfast without turning green. He ignored Blaise's worried looks and concentrated on eating.
He didn't want to look at anyone right now. Didn't want to see the fear and the worry on anyone's face. All the reddened eyes would just stare at him accusingly later when he tried to sleep again.
Finishing with the eggs and juice, he did cast a look at the Head Table. He couldn't help it. Ever since stepping into the Great Hall, he'd felt like someone was watching him. It wasn't hard to guess who.
Snape was sitting at his customary place, looking as cool and composed as ever. All the other teachers looked rumpled and tired. He'd obviously had a good night, had probably slept through all those hours Draco had laid awake thinking dark thoughts.
It was frightening. How could the man just sit there as if nothing had happened? Draco felt an odd surge of resentment.
How could Snape be so calm about this, when he was anything but? Why couldn't he be as serene? What did one have to do to stop feeling the guilt? Would the Dark Mark burn away his conscience as well?
He sat there, staring at Snape. A moment later the burning black gaze was turned on him.
Draco shivered at the look. His favorite professor was once again showing no emotion. There was no recognition in his eyes, no glee for a work well done. There was nothing.
Maybe that was all he had to look forward to. To be so cold inside he couldn't feel anything. Maybe it was a blessing. That way it would stop hurting.
After breakfast, many opted to stay in the Great Hall. Especially the Gryffindors, who seemed reluctant to go to their common room, needing something to distract them from the constant worrying. Some of the professors stayed there as well. Professor Sprout had left for an hour to tend to her plants, but had then returned and was once again surrounded by her Hufflepuffs.
Harry watched his friends study. Hermione was clearly hiding her anxiety by concentrating on the Charms text. Her gaze moved on the page fast, her knuckles almost white as she held the book tight. Ron on the other hand was sitting there, staring into distance. In front of him, Trimble's book of Dark Arts lay open on the introduction page.
It was painfully obvious he wasn't reading.
Trying to concentrate on his own book, Harry couldn't help thinking about this morning. He'd tried to talk to Ron, but his friend had refused to listen to him. It had brought back painful memories.
This was the thing he feared the most. By taking on the role people so eagerly offered him, he would have to start acting like a leader, would have to see the big picture.
He wanted nothing more than to grab his Firebolt and his dad's cloak and rush to save McGonagall, but it would be suicidal. Voldemort had been gathering his forces, and there were dozens of Death Eaters with him all the time. He'd never even get close to his professor. Someone would hex him the moment he apparated close to the Malfoy Mansion.
Ever since he had first faced death -- not his own death, but the death of a friend -- Harry had started to read more about war. It was a part of his work in the Order, to get to know about these things.
Dumbledore had given him a list of books he should read, his expression grave. They had both known the wizarding world would not allow Harry to be a teenager. Nor a child, really. If something happened to the Headmaster, everyone would turn to Harry.
The responsibility had been the subject of many of his rants down in the dungeon. The unfairness of the whole thing, his fears of being inadequate for the job.
Now he knew why Dumbledore had insisted he read those books. Because without knowledge of strategy and casualties of war, he would probably be out there right now, getting himself and his friends killed.
It was possible to rescue professor McGonagall. Of course it was. Almost nothing was impossible in a world full of magic. Death was the only barrier that remained uncrossed from the other side.
Simple. They needed all the seventh years to be trained as Aurors. Then, with other Aurors, they would make a plan to attack the mansion. At that point, a detailed outlay of the house would come in handy. Maybe they could hex it out of Draco Malfoy. Then they would have to move the troops without anyone on the other side noticing. When they were ready, Snape would go to see Malfoy the elder. With someone inside, the Order would make their move.
Even if that was possible, it would take months to plan. Casualties would be high. But McGonagall might be saved. If she still was alive.
Harry sighed at the thought. He really didn't want to think about her being dead. Or anyone else dying.
The sound made Ron raise his head, and for a moment, they stared at each other. Both could see pain and worry in the other's eyes.
Ron was the first to look down. He couldn't really talk to Harry right now. Didn't want to admit that maybe he was right, because if he was, everything was just plain wrong.
Suppressing another sigh, Harry turned his attention to the book in front of him. Ron would have to figure this one out on his own. It would be painful and would probably take a long time.
He wished he could leave the Great Hall and hide for a while, but lunch time was approaching. Maybe after they'd eaten he could slip away and follow the familiar way to the dungeons. Even for only a few minutes. He needed that, needed someone to understand him.
Since he couldn't do that, he would study.
Lunch time came with the rest of the students and teachers arriving in the Great Hall. They were all there. Snape was looking as collected as ever. Dumbledore on the other hand looked nothing like their Headmaster.
It was like he had faded away. Shifted into the world between this and the one belonging to the ghosts. He didn't eat, but sat there, looking like any Muggle half his age. Old. Weary.
Harry couldn't watch him, feeling the last of his appetite disappear. Hot anger surged through him, and he knew that right now he could well take Ron with him and rush to do something really stupid. The only thing stopping him was the thought of Dumbledore's face if he tried something and failed. His death would definitely not make anything better.
Stabbing at his food with his fork, he sat there, trying not to notice how his friends were treating their meals the same way.
Half way through the lunch, a loud sound rang through the Hall. Everyone turned to the Head Table to see what was going on, only to look away the next moment. Glaring, Snape reached to retrieve his fallen fork.
He planted the utensil on the table, then glanced at his left forearm briefly. His expression never wavered.
The summoning was strong, his Mark burning with intensity that scared Snape. He cast a sideway look at Dumbledore, who seemed more aware now. The Headmaster looked grim. There was a slight nod.
Not hurrying to finish, Snape drank his juice. He couldn't leave in the middle of the lunch. That would be sloppy, and all the already curious Slytherins would undoubtedly report of his peculiar behavior to their parents. He had to appear cool and detached, even facing the calls of his Master. He had to seem like the perfect spy. Ironically, he was that, even though not the way most thought.
Snape waited until he was certain his leaving could be explained by his usual abruptness. With one last glance around the room, he prepared to get up.
His gaze met a worried green one. Cursing silently, Snape tried to look away from Potter. Damn the boy. He was the only one daring to stare at him. The only one with a question in his eyes.
Harry had known what would happen the moment he saw Snape fidget on his seat. The movement had been minuscule, but to him it had been painfully obvious. Snape was being called to Voldemort. He realized this might be the end of something, as well as the beginning.
What if Snape never came back?
The thought froze him. This could very well be the beginning of an open war. What if this was the big thing everyone had been waiting for? Voldemort would gather all his troops. It would mean Snape was not going to come back, at least not for a long time.
Everything would turn into a chaos as battlelines were drawn. Fudge would have to stop hiding in his illusions. He'd have to send the Aurors into Hogwarts.
There would be no studying for the N.E.W.T.s or O.W.L.s. The only training would be for Defense Against Dark Arts and healing, so that those who would go against Voldemort would have a chance for survival.
All those plans they had spent hours conjuring up in the Order meetings would become a reality.
Harry knew that, had known this would happen for a long time. Now that the moment was at hand, he realized he wasn't ready. Doubted he ever would be.
Wasn't ready to lead his friends into a fight. Wasn't ready to take that last step into maturity and leave the illusion of safety behind.
Wasn't ready to watch Snape walk away.
What a strange feeling. Squirming with the uncomfortable notion that he was being truly selfish, Harry stared into Snape's black eyes. He saw anger and defeat. Also a hint of resignation. Snape was well aware of where he'd be going.
The feeling of pain almost floored Harry. He didn't care if he didn't have anyone to talk to right then. He'd never go to Snape again if that meant the man would stay safe.
He wished he could find words to tell this to Snape, that he could turn his half formed thoughts into coherent sentences.
There was no chance for any words now.
It would look suspicious if he rushed after the man. It was the one thing he couldn't do, for suspicion amongst the Death Eaters could be fatal. Besides, he couldn't really go and tell Snape he wanted to thank him for being there for him. For not being an intolerable git.
He really couldn't think of a proper term to use. Even if some thought that the enemy of their enemy was their friend, he was certain Snape would be appalled by such a word. It was not one Harry wanted to use either.
So he did not move. He simply sat there and stared at his professor. Tried to say all the things he was thinking with no words or expressions
Snape placed his napkin on the table, his gaze still locked with Harry's. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded his head slightly, as an acknowledgement. He was certain no one had seen the gesture but the one it was meant for. Then he got up.
Without a backward glance, he strode out of the Great Hall, using the side door.
"I wonder where he's going." Hermione's voice was puzzled as she watched Snape leave. She'd been keeping an eye on Dumbledore, worried about the old Headmaster, and had noticed the Potions master's weird behavior.
Harry schooled his expression immediately, aiming for nonchalance. "I have no idea." If only his words were true. He didn't want to know.
"He's probably in the middle of brewing some stupid potion."
It was the first thing Ron had said since the breakfast. Both his friends turned to him at the sound of his voice. He rarely sounded like his every word tasted of bile.
"I mean, that's what he does. Hides in the dungeons like a bloody vampire. Doesn't care what happens here." Ron barely left the rest unsaid. He was really mad, mad at everything. The Slytherins or the Head of the Slytherin House was always a good channel for all his anger.
This time, it didn't really work. "You..." Harry snapped his mouths shut. He couldn't say that Ron understood nothing, because he didn't. No one understood. The challenging look on his friend's face made him tingle with anger.
He reveled in the sensation, for anger was better than the melancholy that had filled him earlier. Anger was a strong feeling, one that could carry him on. It would burn inside of him, incinerating every sad thought.
The glare he threw at Ron was cold. Not an apologetic look like the ones that morning.
Hermione watched her friends exchange angry looks and then continue eating in the freezing silence. She had a sinking feeling. Whatever had just happened between those two, it had made things worse somehow. She had no idea how to make everything all right again. It was beyond even her knowledge.
She wished professor McGonagall were here.
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Date: 2006-05-08 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-08 02:35 pm (UTC)