Walk the Shadows

out.

TBC . . . on Tuesday or Wednesday.

*Chapter 14*: Chapter 14

Walk the Shadows -- Chapter 14

By jharad17

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I'm playing in someone else's pond. She's rich, I'm not.

Previously:

Back in Harry's bedroom, the boy clung to him and cried as Severus withdrew from his mind. Merlin. Everything hurt. His mind was battered, his body knocked about like an old tin can. But Harry remembered now, and the Dark Lord had gone from his mind. That was all that was important. Severus suspected Voldemort would need to regroup after his own violent expulsion from the boy's mind.

For the time being, however, Severus offered what comfort he could, and let the Chosen One sob himself out.

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'Where. Is. He?'

Remus had never looked so angry, Albus decided. Not when Sirius tried to use him for a prank that almost killed Severus in their fifth year. Not when Sirius' innocence couldn't be proven, once Peter Pettigrew escaped again, in Harry's third year. And not even when he'd learned it was Delores Umbridge who had set Dementors on Harry last summer. But now, here, it looked like he was fully capable of losing control of his wolf, and Albus, for the first time since meeting Remus as a boy of a mere eleven years, was afraid of him.

A bit.

'He is well, Remus,' he said, knowing that was both more and less than the truth.

'That tells me nothing! It has been more than three weeks. Three weeks since he disappeared, that we know of, and all you tell me is he's well? Is he still in You-Know-Who's grasp? Tell me that, at least.'

'He is free of the prison, at least, Remus.' He offered the man – who'd burst in here moments ago, already shouting – a boiled sweet. Remus didn't even deign to look at it. Albus popped the lemon drop in his mouth and sucked on it as he considered what exactly to say. 'He was rescued a week ago, but it wasn't until very recently that we could be sure of the extent of his injuries. Until we knew, we couldn't tell anyone. Too much danger of the wrong word getting out, you know.'

'Who is this 'we'?' Remus' glare was nothing on Severus', but it was growing more impressive by the minute. 'Obviously, you could tell someone.'

'Madam Pomfrey. Myself. Severus, of course.' He left off the two rescuers, seeing no purpose for either of them to have to deal with Remus' ire.

'Why 'of course'?' Remus paced in front of Albus' desk. 'Was he really with Harry all that time?'

'He was. And before you ask,' Albus said, holding up a hand, 'he is not at any fault for what happened to Harry. He has given me a comprehensive report of all that transpired during Harry's capture, and captivity, his own, too.'

A low growl sounded from Remus' throat. 'I want to see him.'

'Impossible.'

'Albus! I'm as good as legally his godfather now. You have no right—'

'I have every right!' Albus took a measured breath, watching the werewolf closely, to see how much his outburst had impacted the young man. Remus looked startled, but not suspicious. Good. 'We still don't know how much influence Voldemort has managed to get past Harry's defenses. He could still be in danger . . . and not just to himself.'

Remus had already opened his mouth again, but closed it with a snap. His golden-tinged eyes were still narrowed. 'How are you gauging the level of influence, then? Does Harry have pain through his scar still? Is it worse?'

'I'm sorry, Remus, I can't tell you any more. When his condition improves to the point where he can have visitors, I will let you know.'

Though he looked like he wanted to argue further, Remus contented himself with shaking his head angrily. 'If you let him come to further harm, I will never forgive you.'

As Remus stormed out, Albus seconded the vow. He wasn't sure if he could ever forgive himself, already.

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Below stairs, in the potions master's chambers, three days after casting Voldemort out of his mind, Harry Potter was, to put it mildly, pitching a fit.

He was absolutely fed up with potions. He hated the taste and smell and texture and everything about them. And he hated being cooped up indoors, in windowless rooms, in a dungeon, without his wand or any wand, with none of his friends, and without any clothes besides what had been shrunk for him from Snape's personal collection of black shirts, black trousers, and maybe a black jumper for variety.

He hated black.

And he hated Severus Stupid Slimy Sneering Snape.

Right now he hated Snape because the git kept trying to make him take potions he didn't want, and wouldn't