Walk the Shadows

Silence for a long moment, while both of them waited to see if Harry could unclench his jaw all by himself. When it became clear he couldn't, Snape said, 'Do you wish to break the cup, Harry?'

His fingers tightened on it, of their own accord. He could imagine, quite clearly, hurling the stupid piece of stupid pottery right at the wall and seeing it shatter into a million stupid, sodding, sharp, glorious pieces. It would be brilliant. 'Yes, sir.'

'Very well.' Snape gave an almost inaudible sigh. 'But finish the tea, first, if you would.'

TBC . . .

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A/N: New chapter by Friday. Thanks for all who read and review! You guys are made of awesomesauce. :-)

*Chapter 15*: Chapter 15

Walk the Shadows -- Chapter 15

By jharad17

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

Author's Note at end.

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Previously:

His fingers tightened on it, of their own accord. He could imagine, quite clearly, hurling the stupid piece of stupid pottery right at the wall and seeing it shatter into a million stupid, sodding, sharp, glorious pieces. It would be brilliant. 'Yes, sir.'

'Very well.' Snape gave an almost inaudible sigh. 'But finish the tea, first, if you would.'

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This was getting ridiculous, Albus decided. He might as well put out a press release: Boy Who Lived Has Been Rescued! Stop Bothering Headmaster! Alas, that was unlikely to stop Scrimgeour's blatant pressure, but might slow the constant flow of worried faithful who came to harangue him about Harry's whereabouts. He stared over the rims of his spectacles at, of all people, Rubeus Hagrid, who was hoping to bring Harry some of his favorite treats.

'I'm afraid Harry is not quite up to company yet, Hagrid,' he said to the large man. Surely Molly had put him up to this; only yesterday, she'd promised to annoy Albus to death if he didn't come up with the boy, and soon! Of course, she'd phrased it more politely, though not by much.

'It's jus' I'm worried 'bout 'im,' Hagrid admitted. 'Not seen 'im since 'e got back; no one has.'

'Ah, that's where you're mistaken,' Albus assured him, putting on his most congenial smile. 'For I have seen him myself, and have been monitoring his progress very closely.' Through a proctor. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I have to meet with members of the Ministry about what happened in Wells next the Sea over the weekend.'

'O' course, sir. Terrible business there, terrible. Give these t'Harry, though, will ye? He loves these rock cakes.'

'Of course, Hagrid. Good day.'

After the half-giant left, Albus had all of ten minutes to prepare for the next scheduled onslaught from Scrimgeour. The lion-bearded man always left him feeling slightly aggravated after one of their meetings, and betimes he wished he could just hex the Minister and be done with it. But politics must be played, and he could not afford to have more interruptions at Hogwarts of the kind they'd suffered last year. At least that hag, Umbridge, was tucked away in a safe ward at St. Mungo's, undergoing treatment.

Albus spent some few of those ten minutes considering the boy he wanted – still – to go to the hospital for observation. Severus had been very close-mouthed with him about his progress with Harry, only saying that they had at least managed to get Voldemort out of the boy's head, a minor miracle in itself, considering how completely shattered Harry had been when he was first rescued.

'The Minister's on the way,' Everard's portrait advised him.

'Thank you,' Albus murmured, and set out a fresh dish of sherbet lemons. Not that it ever helped, as Rufus was almost as paranoid as Severus. Still, one could hope.

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Severus watched the boy fiddle with his quill for another few minutes without saying aught, but he suppressed another sigh. He'd given Harry a journal, of sorts, in which he was supposed to express his thoughts for just twenty minutes a day, using a medium which did not require spells to repair any damage afterwards. Twelve minutes had passed already, and the boy had yet to set quill to parchment. Instead, he sat hunched over the small writing table, chewing alternately on the quill and on his fingernails and otherwise staring into space. The nail chewing behavior was just going to have to stop. Severus found the whole experience – watching, listening, finding the gnawed bits on the carpet through sock feet – extremely distasteful.

In the meantime . . . 'Potter.' The boy jumped, and Severus kept his voice quiet and steady as Harry turned around to glare. 'I gave you a choice. Either write, or we discuss your nightmare right now.'

Harry set his jaw, and Severus lifted his eyebrows and held the gaze until Harry sighed and turned back to the blank book. He even dipped the quill into the little pot of ink Severus had spelled to not tip over – or be available for throwing, should the mood take the boy; he was not that generous – but he did not write. Severus let it go for another three minutes, and then closed his own book – a rather comprehensive account of the origins of the Draught of Peace and its permutations and adaptations over the years – and rose from his