Walk the Shadows

Harry wanted to rage and shriek and tear down walls at the mere sight of him! 'What's it look like?' he snapped. 'To me, it looks like maybe your precious Voldemort is taking a nap.'

'Do not dare to say his name, you impudent whelp.'

'Or what? You'll fuck me again?' Harry glared at him, keeping the wand he had taken from Voldemort leveled at the bastard, though it was an effort, when what he really wanted was to throw something in the horrible man's face. 'I'd like to see you try.'

Malfoy smiled his hated smile. 'Oh, I very much look forward to it, Harry Potter.'

The sound of his name coming from those monstrous lips fanned a bright white fury inside Harry's chest. He felt hot all over, trembling with rage of an intensity he had never experienced before. All his thoughts had crystallized, however, as if he was seeing everything for the first time, like the sky had cleared and brightened after a heavy storm.

He knew exactly what he had to do.

First, he had to form the connection. 'Go to hell, Malfoy,' he said quietly, and then, 'Legilimens.'

In the instant where Malfoy's confusion should have given way to attack, Harry broke the man's mind wide open, crashed over his pitiful protective walls like seawater over a castle made of sand. He took in the sights and sounds and memories and discarded them one by one, hurling them into the abyss of obscurity. There were too many memories of viciousness and heartless violence, of furious, maddened savagery, hardly balanced by scenes of domestic tranquility and politic gentility. Harry disposed of those, too, searching deeper, wanting more.

At last, he found it, at the core of the Wizard's being. A pulse of light and sound from which everything else flowed. He would destroy that pulsing light, and destroy Lucius Malfoy from the inside.

Another word now, a whisper, reverently spoken. 'Diffindo.'

The bright hub of Malfoy's being rent in two, and Harry could hear screaming, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he had to destroy this man, to make sure he could not hurt anyone again. Could not hurt Harry again.

'Diffindo.' Another cut, another scream. Sweat streamed down Harry's face and into his eyes, and made his hand around the wand slippery, but he held on tight, and whispered the word again. 'Diffindo.' No scream this time, but a grunt of pain, and the constant flow of memory abated, leaving his mind reeling with the loss.

Harry wanted to say the word again, wanted to hurt him more, more than words, more than thought, more than magic could possibly let him, and the first syllable was on his lips, when a sudden pressure on his hand, and a hand on his cheek, cupping his face, make him pause.

'Stop now, Harry.' The words meant little to him, but the face that apeared in front of him, blocking his view of Malfoy, made him gasp a short breath. Dark eyes and a pale face framed with dark hair. The thin lips moved again, saying, 'He can't hurt you any more. Stop now, Harry, before you kill him.'

No, the voice was right. Snape was right. He did not want to kill Malfoy. He didn't want to kill anyone. He heard hard, rasping breaths, and was sure they were coming from his own mouth. His tongue seemed overlarge and drier than dirt, and he could not form the words he wanted anymore. Instead, he nodded once, sharply, and let his concentration lapse. He let Malfoy go.

Harry sagged bonelessly, and Snape gathered him in his arms, hugging him close. 'Good, Harry. Well done,' Snape whispered into his hair. 'I thought I'd lost you,' he said, but the words were far away now, and meant other things. 'You . . . after Albus. I can't believe he . . .' His words were choked, and his head shook, side to side, and Harry wanted to tell him about Dumbledore, about how he hadn't meant to do those things, but Voldemort had made him, but all he could do was close his eyes as exhaustion rolled over him and pulled in deep into blackness.

---

Severus took Harry home.

The Werewolf was still lying on the rug in front of the fire, but Severus merely stepped over him, carrying Harry in his one good arm, and attempting to support him with the other nearly useless one. The feeling was starting to come back, so Severus knew the numbness must be a side effect of the potion or poison Albus had dosed him with, and one that would wear off eventually.

For now, though, as he attempted to maneuver Harry through various Floos and down to his bedroom, it was a damned inconvenience.

But he did not care even a little, beyond that, if it meant Harry was safe again.

Harry had taken on Dumbledore and Lucius both, and had prevailed. And now he was safe again.

Severus could never have imagined the scene he had come upon when he had stepped from the Floo. It was like something from a nightmare, with Dumbledore in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Lucius by the Floo, with blood streaming from his eyes and nose and ears, his pitiful gasps the best he could do after screaming himself hoarse. And Harry . . . Harry with Dumbledore's wand in a wavering hand, head lolled back against the wall, his face screwed up in pain, and weeping as he reduced Malfoy to a mere shell.

He knew the boy was at his limit, and knew, too, after what had happened in Diagon Alley, that Harry would never have forgiven himself if he had killed Malfoy, no matter how much he might want to in the moment. So he had broken the spell Harry was casting, or at least, given him the chance to break it himself, even as he marveled at the power the boy possessed.

Before leaving the Ministry, Severus had put both Dumbledore and Lucius in Full Body Binds, and checked to make sure the outer door was well secured. It was Warded for privacy and against intruders already, which was good. Severus wanted no one to stumble across these two accidentally, especially while they were alone. His first priority was getting Harry the hell out of there, and he had scooped the boy up -- he was still too light by half -- and gone back to the Floo.

Now, in Harry's bedroom, he tucked the boy into bed and made quick work of changing him into nightclothes with a swish of his wand. Harry's face was so pale, but for the violent red of the lightning bolt scar. He stared down at the boy for several long minutes, wondering again at Harry's resilience. Once more, he had faced his enemies, alone and with little more than his own will, and he had come away victorious.