Walk the Shadows

Severus frowned. 'They sacrificed everything for you. Their lives, Potter. Is this how you repay them? By giving up? By cowering away from reality? Are you that weak?'

But none of his usual taunts got a rise out of the boy like they should have, and Potter lay on the bed, his bandaged face aimed toward the ceiling, and ignored him.

They had to get out of here, now.

TBC, with plans for escape . . .

Update: 3/26/08 Apparently, Fanfiction's brandy new formatting thingy has wiped out all my scene breaks, so now I have to go through all the chapters of all my stories and put them back in. I've gotten as far as here, in Walk the Shadows, and will keep working on it as I have time. Until then, please do the best you can at noting scene changes by changed points of view, or time changes, and I promise to fix it all as soon as I can. Le sigh.

*Chapter 8*: Chapter 8

Walk the Shadows -- Chapter 8

By jharad17

AN: at end

Disclaimer: Not mine, was never mine, will never be mine.

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Previously:

But none of his usual taunts got a rise out of the boy like they should have, and Potter lay on the bed, his bandaged face aimed toward the ceiling, and ignored him.

They had to get out of here, now.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Albus Dumbledore stood at the window of his office that overlooked the grounds of Hogwarts, stared at the Forbidden Forest, and tried not to give in to despair. All the signs he'd received pointed to Harry still being held by Voldemort, and yet, still alive. The only thing he could think of was that Voldemort was trying to kill Harry by other than magical means. Starvation, perhaps, or exposure. Why else would he keep the boy so long, and with no gloating pictures in the Daily Prophet -- where he practically owned the editors -- or the faintest word of boasting from any of his minions? Lucius Malfoy, for one, had been uncommonly quiet these last weeks, and it disturbed Dumbledore no end.

The Order was in fine fettle in containing many of the Dementor attacks, but they were spread thin, too thin to spare anyone to search for either of his 'two boys.' It was not hearing from Severus that particularly worried him. There had been no word from him, not one. Not in almost two weeks. Always, always, Severus sent word, via Patronus message or owl or something, when he was going to be gone longer than expected. And he had been gone since the day Harry disappeared.

Turning from the window, Dumbledore caught sight of the other person in his office: Minerva McGonagall. She was being terribly patient with him, considering she had her own duties to see to, and he was wasting her time by staring out of windows. But he had used the time wisely, he thought. He had come up with a plan.

'Minerva,' he said as he gazed at her over the half-moons of his spectacles. 'How much do you know about population dynamics?'

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Many, many miles away, Severus Snape sat in front of a fire, in a room that was too warm, and brooded. Behind him, on a bed, the Golden Boy slumbered, his rasping breaths the only audible reminder of his presence. Severus was angry with the boy, and not just because of the way he had goaded Nott, or because Severus had been forced to kill to save his life, and not even because the boy's eyes just didn't seem to be healing properly. No, he was angry because the boy showed no signs of getting over his latest sulk.

Oh, Severus understood, sort of, the teenager's desire to be sulky. Hell, Severus enjoyed a good brood as much as the next person. But they couldn't afford it now. Not where they were, and not with the Dark Lord watching their every move. It was only a matter of time before—

A scream broke his reverie, and Severus was on his feet in an instant. The boy was still in bed, hands clutched to his face, still covered by the bandage . . . no, they were at his forehead. His back was arched as if he was currently under the Cruciatus, and the scream! Merlin's ghost! Like a wounded rabbit. Severus went to his side and grabbed at the boy's arm, to keep his fingernails away from where they dug at flesh, tearing at the scar. Despite his recent infirmities, however, the boy's panic made him strong, and he ripped his arm away from Severus, back still arched so taut, Severus was actually afraid it might snap.

Blood dripped from the boy's hands, and gouged skin lay under his nails, and still he clawed, and screamed.

Severus grabbed him again, this time at the shoulders, and pulled the boy close, turning him so he could press the boy's back against his chest, pinning his arms at his sides. 'Occlude, Harry,' he whispered into the boy's ear. It was unlikely anyone would hear him over the screams. 'Clear your mind. Come on, now. Push him out.' But the boy did not seem to hear him, or could not do it, and long minutes passed, of horrific screams that grew softer only because the boy's voice hoarsened. And then, panting breaths and near silence, signaling the end of this trial, and Severus loosened his grip.

He had heard, of course, that the boy suffered nightmares, and visions of the Dark Lord, when he slept. But he had never seen it. The actuality was far worse than he thought. The boy was still trembling with the after effects of the Cruciatus. He recognized the symptoms all too well. He'd wondered, a time or two the previous year, if that's what he was seeing when he met the boy in a dark corridor or in Dumbledore's office late at night, after one of these 'nightmares', but had thought it impossible. And now he knew. Very few things were impossible, he was learning, when it came to Harry Potter.

The tremors would ease with time, he knew, but the process would speed if he could give the boy a potion he'd specifically developed for the purpose. He debated asking for permission to fetch one, but decided against it.