Chapter 12

"The Opposition"

As strange as it was, Severus did not panic under the crushing weight of the task that had been given to them. He was not an excitable individual by nature, but considering what Albus had asked them to do, Severus had expected to at least feel anxiety or dread of some sort. He didn’t expect to feel...normal. Grim. And very, very tired.

He and Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place only a few minutes late. Most of the Order was present, preparing for what looked like battle in the front hall, and only Moody followed them down into the kitchen, where Weasley, Granger, and Albus sat waiting for them. Harry was shivering, though from the cold outside or that within him, Severus could not tell.

They entered Grimmauld Place in a totally different state of mind than the last time they'd come here; drawn, quiet, and in Harry’s case, trembling. Perhaps it was the cold and neither of them would say otherwise, but Severus knew more than anyone else how far Gryffindor courage went, and where the limits had to be drawn. Asking a twenty four year old to give up his life for a cause he’d already thought he’d won, for people it was obvious he despised, was asking for too much and Severus caught himself over and over, wanting to tell the Headmaster no.

Except no one told the Headmaster ‘no’. Dumbledore was quite skilled in making others think they had to do his bidding, and Severus was convinced that he had no more choice in this matter than in any other.

Dumbledore prattled on to the others in the room, though Severus did not heed a single word of what the man was saying. Harry’s gaze was pinned to his feet.

Severus was aware that Minerva and Granger said something to him, but their words meant nothing to him. They were not in his place. They were not the first guard to Harry Potter, Heir of Gryffindor, Boy Who Unfortunately Lived. They were not to follow him into the after-life to retrieve something which could save them all or damn them to a hell everlasting.

His thoughts were so occupied that he totally missed Draco’s arrival. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and flinched away from it, scant moments before Harry buried his fist in Draco’s face.

The crack of splintering bone and flesh on flesh jolted him out of his reverie. Severus watched, stunned, as Draco fall backwards, crashing into the heavy table before sprawling to the ground, and he couldn’t quite help it that his mouth hung open by the hinge. He leapt to his feet, unable to process that Harry had just punched the only person he’d had sex with in the past seven years–for Draco had been his lover of sorts, nauseating as it was, and though the little brat had grown into a spoilt man, he didn’t deserve to be–

Well, yes. He did.

He stared, absolutely dumbfounded, as Draco’s hands flew to his nose and he fell to one knee, bellowing out his pain as Harry launched in for another attack. It was this movement that made Severus reach for Harry’s left arm, Ron grabbing the right. Draco moaned from his spot on the ground, still clutching his nose where blood was pouring freely, and with Weasley’s help, Severus yanked Harry back into a kitchen chair. "Harry, stop this at once. Stop it!"

"HE’S THE ONE REASON THAT MY LIFE IS SO MESSED UP–"

Harry wrenched free and quick as a bird, grabbed Draco’s hair, and smashed him against the table top, then threw him down and leapt atop him. Blood spewed, curses and bellows echoed across the kitchen, and throughout it all, Albus sipped his tea calmly. Beside him, Moody was watching in amusement.

"Harry, you must calm yourself! Calm down before you injure yourself, you stupid boy!"

"–HE RUINED ALL MY CHANCES OF BEING NORMAL–"

Kicks, punches, cracks of skin against skin. The hollow thud of fists against a vulnerable back. Severus recoiled instantly when a stray punch caught him in the cheek.

"Harry, stop!" Weasley cried.

"–FUCKING BASTARD!"

Harry roared the last word was roared so hard that he trembled with it, and sucked in a hard breath as twin tears coursed down his face. His skin was blotchy, his eyes red rimmed and nearly vacant with his fury. His magic crackled in the kitchen, so much so that the dishes rattled in the cupboard and Dumbledore’s tea cup bounced on the table. Severus did not entirely let him go but he did not keep such a tight hold on him, to give the younger man a chance to calm down. Harry was bleeding from a split lip and bruised nose, holding the slender length of his ribs.

Severus turned to Draco, whom Granger was helping to his feet, and frowned at the blood on the boys face. "You should have given us time to prepare him, Draco."

Draco’s dark and furious glare spoke all the volumes in the world. Harry heaved against the restraining arms Severus and Weasley both had on him, snarling wordlessly, and it was all Severus could do keep from being pitched off of his feet. Draco hissed and, on Granger’s insistence, went into the other room but not without one final glare at Harry.

Harry was trembling with anger so sharp that Severus was sure all it would take was to prick the bubble of it for all the emotion to come swirling out. "He’s a spy, Potter. He took the mark, and reports back to the Order as I do."

"He's a treacherous little bastard," Harry answered, his voice stilted. "He doesn't deserve to repent, he doesn't deserve what–" he stopped. Everything that Severus said just sunk in, and there were almost audible clicks as the domino-like series of revelations fell into place. His eyes, a green wash of tears, looked up and it was all Severus could do not to wince.

"He was in on it, my seventh year, wasn't he?"

Merlin. Severus pinched his nose. "He took the mark during his sixth year, Harry, and yes, he knew what we had to do to keep you safe. It was he who suggested how to proceed. Disguising it as the Slytherin Caper, because we knew that the Death Eater children would report back to their parents and their parents to their Master on what was going on."

Harry's shoulders slumped; Severus could almost see the conspiracy theory Harry’d had about the entire world being in on the joke was slowly coming to pass. "You helped him come up with it. You said Dumbledore picked you, and you helped him come up with the details." It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. It was simply a fact.

But it was Hermione who answered. "Harry," she said, voice quiet. "It was the hardest thing any of us had to do–" Harry gave a wild snort, but she ignored it. "None of us enjoyed it–Ron and I had to make you think that we didn’t care about you because you were gay."

"Hermione had a break down mid way through it, ma–ah..Harry," Weasley said, quietly. "We had to keep her away from you, because every time she saw you she’d burst into tears. You were...are still, the best friend Hermione and I ever had. We’ve missed you so much, all of this time."

"H..how..could you agree with...with Draco, how..."

"Harry, Draco liked you all right, for being a Gryffindor," Weasley said. "We used to talk, the three of us...we kind of became friends while all of this was going on, because Draco needed to know how to...how to play your emotions against you, and because it became too much for him to handle alone. He was your friend–"

"Bullshit!"

"–and he wanted to be after he realized you’re more than a name and a scar. I know, Harry, I know how it hurt you to be ripped away from everything, but you have to know it wasn’t a bag of lollies for us, either. We did it because we loved you."

"Fuck you," Harry whispered, furious and agenized and Severus knew that had most definitely not been the thing Weasley should have said. He winced as Harry’s voice escalated. "Fuck you, Ron. Fuck you, and fuck Hermione, and fuck Draco too. You know how it hurt? You have no bloody idea how it hurt!" He stood, wrenching away from Severus and giving Weasley a hard shove that pushed him back three steps. "Not a bag of lollies, was it? You still had your parents, didn’t you? You still had Hermione, and all your teachers, and your brothers and sisters. You still had then respect of your peers. You still had a future. I had none of that, you bloody bastard. I had none of it. How dare you. How dare you even imply that what you’ve gone through has been anything like what I’ve gone through."

For the first time in all the years Severus had known the boy, his seemingly limitless Gryffindor courage failed him, and he let out a harsh sound another, then another.

After a moment’s consideration, Weasley wrapped his arms around Harry’s trembling body and rose to his feet with him. That Harry didn’t shove him away told Severus just how deeply this had cut, and he closed his eyes against it for a moment and rubbed his face. Granger came close beside them with tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Professor Snape, we’ll be back in a few minutes." Ron said.

Severus was too stunned to do anything other than nod.

How, how could walking into the great beyond bring nothing more than a raised eyebrow from the boy, how could knowing he’d been lied to and betrayed do nothing more than raise his voice, but his friends, two insignificant people in the grand scheme of things, bring such turmoil?

He’s emotionally starved, Severus. He’s known nothing but hatred and manipulation all of his life. How would you react?

Badly, now that Severus thought about it. Very badly.

- = - = -

Snape had no idea how much.

Ron smelled so good, his arm, warm and strong, wrapped tightly around his back. Hermione was next to him, fluttering, and though they were older, they had changed little. Harry wanted to desperately believe that they were still the friends they had been, but he couldn’t. No friend, no friend would hurt someone they claimed to love like what they’d done. No friend would have readily put him in Snape’s bed, and wasn’t that the most damning thing of all? Wasn’t it the most painful? They had played his sexuality against him, his feelings. They had known.

Which made it all the more painful.

They walked into a small dining room off of the kitchen and at Ron’s insistence, sat at the table. It was old but clean under his hands and as such he stared at the natural designs in the wood as Ron and Hermione sat across from him. Harry ran his hands over his face, drying it, and swallowed tightly.

His ulcer was burning.

Harry said in a low voice, "Answer my questions, truthfully."

Hermione squeaked and Ron reached over to squeeze her hand. "We will, mate."

The word startled him and almost instantly raised his hackles. "Don’t call me mate. I am not your mate."

Ron swallowed. "Sorry. Harry, then."

Good. Better. "Were you in on it all from the start?" Harry asked, looking up.

Ron shook his head. "No. About mid way through the semester, Professor Snape approached us." His eyes were steel. "Worst time of my life, ma–...Harry, I’ll tell you, there’s nothing worse then knowing you’ve got to either betray your best friend or else watch him die from the inside out."

"It wasn’t that bad."

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she exchanged a look with her husband before setting her hand over Harry’s. "Harry, for a while after the Battle of Yorkshire, we thought you were going to commit suicide. Dumbledore asked us to make sure you wouldn’t do something stupid."

The sound of Harry’s laugh was hollow and low. "Something stupid."

"Yeah. Like jump off a turret," Ron said sardonically, then gazed down at his hands. "You were really depressed, you know. We knew you thought you didn’t have anything left to live for...which is what made Snape so successful." Ron’s paused. "Snape told us what he was doing-- what he had to do, about Christmas time of seventh year. Draco was with him...it’s the first time I think I’ve ever had a civilized conversation with a Slytherin, let alone Malfoy."

Hermione’s voice sounded thick with tears. "Snape told us he loved you, Harry."

At that, Harry looked up. He didn’t know which emotion was worse–anger, fury, fear, or sorrow. It only twisted the knife in his guts, made his ulcer throb and writhe in pain. "What?"

Ron tipped his head the smallest bit. "Snape loved you, mate. Loves you still, I’m pretty sure. After we drove you away, he lost it for a while."

"Lost it?"

"Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t wash. Got really sick."

Snape had gotten sick. Because of Harry.

The idea was so ridiculous that Harry couldn’t help a snort, shaking his head and rubbing his face. Snape had gotten sick. Who the hell cared? Agony had burned a fucking hole in Harry’s stomach.

"Harry..." Hermione’s voice was firm but gentle. "We’re really sorry for what we did to you, and I know you think we had a choice, but we didn’t. We couldn’t let you die after you had hurt so much to live. We did it because it bought you a few more years, a little more time. We wanted you to live where no one knew who you were."

There was a sound at the door, a quiet creak of wood and hinge, and to Harry’s astonishment, Malfoy stepped in. He held a handkerchief to his face. "You broke my bloody nose, Potter."

Harry’s entire body tensed and without realizing he had done so, he climbed to his feet. His hackles were raised, his anger intense. "Next time, I’ll do more than break your nose, Malfoy. Get the hell out of here."

"Harry–"

"No," Harry snapped, glaring down at Hermione beside him, and he watched with a sick, sadistic glee as she cringed. "You both have no idea...no idea what he did to me. What he thought was really bloody funny, protection or no protection." He sneered up at the Slytherin, maliciously satisfied to see him go as pale as his long hair. "Would you like me to spell your deceit out, word for word, Malfoy?"

Draco just looked at him with the most agonized expression of pity Harry had ever seen, and the anger inside of him rose to a towering fury. "Potter, they already know."

The frustration rose to a fever pitch in Harry’s chest, making him grip the tabletop with white-knuckled hands or risk breaking the bastard’s neck. Murderous rage ticked inside him like a bomb, so heavy, so thick, so hot that he could barely control himself. "YOU ALL BETRAYED ME! YOU WENT BEHIND MY BACK–"

"Harry," Ron pleaded.

"–YOU PLANNED THIS RUSE–"

"Harry!"

"AND YOU DIDN’T GIVE A BLOODY DAMN ABOUT WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"

The fact that he was screaming so loud the glasses were rattling on the table didn’t phase Harry in the slightest–the rage inside of him was so complete that he could not think of anything else. "YOU KILLED ME! You didn’t give a shit what you did to me, you could have cared less about the end product of your game! It was necessary, so necessary, to keep me safe, and oh, let’s not give a damn about ruining his life, it’s ours for the keeping anyway!"

God, God it felt good, every tear in Hermione’s eye, every inch splash of color on Malfoy’s face, and every freckle now standing up from Ron’s skin. He wanted to tear them, rip them, make them bleed for what they did to him, for the injustice and the misery they had caused him, for the sheer unfairness of tearing his life to shreds and expecting him to pick up the pieces.

It was too late. The pieces were scattered along with his sanity. "You honestly think you can all sit here and justify yourselves to me, like I’m going to give in and tell you that it’s all okay?" He looked at the three faces in front of him and saw the truth in his words, and to his own disgust, the anger swept out to be replaced by the most stunning helplessness he’d ever felt.

Misery. Total and complete misery.

He sat back down, rubbing his face, head pounding.

"I was happy. After the pain faded, after I found my place in my shop...I was happy. I let Harry Potter go. You all expect him to be here, but what you don’t realize is, when you drove him away, you drove him away for good. I share a face and body with him, but I haven’t been Harry Potter in a long time." His eyes closed for a very long moment. "Dumbledore brought me back to die."

Silence fell. They didn’t have anything to say to that until Ron spoke into the quiet, hesitantly. "I think you’re going to find that some things aren’t what you expect, Harry. There’s more going on here than I think even Dumbledore knows."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ron shook his head. "We love you, mate, no matter how you feel toward us both, and I’m pretty sure Draco does, too. Harry...I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. There won’t ever be enough sorry’s for what we did to you, and I won’t ask for your forgiveness. We don’t deserve it."

That Ron was the first person to apologize to him wasn’t lost on Harry.

Harry shook his head, his hands tight across his chest. "No, you don’t. You were my friends. You’ll always be my friends. But I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, whether you wanted to do what you did or not. Maybe we can make amends and maybe one day, I can learn to forget. I can’t give you more then that."

"We understand," Ron said, though his voice betrayed his sadness, the small quirk of his lips the same.

"We’ll wait for you, Harry," Hermione whispered.

Draco snorted in his throat. "Drama queen." Harry might have been offended, if he didn’t see the white skin, the shining eyes, the sardonic expression on the mans face. "If it’s all the same to you, Potter, I got stuck doing the dirty work. Tried to back out a couple of times, but it had to be done. We’ve...the Slytherins, that is, never let out what happened that night to anyone who wasn’t supposed to know for the plan to work. What happens in Slytherin House stays in Slytherin House, as it’s been for generations. We don’t tattle on anyone. If it helps at all, it’s shite what we did to you."

It was as much of an apology as Harry was ever going to get from Draco Malfoy.

It was just too bad that Harry didn’t have a sympathetic bone left in his body, even when Hermione offered her arms to him. He wanted to storm out, to send the door echoing against it’s frame so loudly that they heard it a block away. He wanted to, Merlin help him, but he found himself accepting Hermione’s embrace to his total surprise, and couldn’t pull free of her soft, womanly arms even if he tried.

Instead, he felt the same tears from before leap up to claw his throat, and for a moment of weakness-- the last he might ever show in his life-- he buried his face in her bushy hair and let himself believe, just for a little while, that every thing would be okay.

- = - = -

And while Harry screamed at those who were once his friends, Severus finished listening to the mission instructions and thought he would very happily curl up and die at any moment.

They were going to the Department of Mysteries. They were going to meet their death. Literally.

The Stone waited for them.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger as silence fell in the room. Only Dumbledore remained, Moody at his side, the both of them watching things unfold like generals. Severus knew Dumbledore was about to speak. Instead of fighting it, because bloody hell, he was tired of fighting, he went instead to sit beside the old man. It wasn’t because Dumbledore, even in his slight senility, still commanded attention and respect, no, of course not.

"You will be waiting at Hogwarts, then."

Dumbledore gently inclined his head. "We have an army of three hundred strong waiting in the wings."

"Indeed." He paused. "You’re still not certain where Potter and I will come out?" Severus asked, rubbing his fingertips against his lips.

"No. It is possible you will return to the Ministry, or it is possible you will return in the middle of the countryside. There’s no way to be certain, Severus. The magic laws of old work differently than ours do."

Severus nodded. If he was twitching or jumpy, he didn’t let on–or at least, tried not to. It didn’t help that Dumbledore gently laid his hand over his own. "You must keep careful watch over him, Severus," Dumbledore murmured into the silence of the room.

"Potter will never know a normal life. You know this–you’ve always known this, Headmaster. What makes you think that once he passes over, he won’t want to stay there?"

"Because he loves you, dolt," Moody growled.

"Yes, he does," Dumbledore said, "and I have been assured that those waiting for you will make sure he remembers that."

Dumbledore said it in such a frank manner that it took Severus a moment blinking and gaping to formulate any kind of a response. He was saved from losing his job when Draco returned. Moody was snickering, and Severus glared at him as Draco plunked down beside him. The boy was good as new, a little red-streaked but otherwise smirking like the petulant little brat he was.

Behind him, Weasley and Harry, Granger too, stepped back into the room. All three looked worse for wear, Granger was still sniffling, and Weasley looked as if his entire world had fallen apart.

"Are we all quite finished? Mr. Potter and I have a world to save, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get it over with," Severus growled, ignoring Draco’s snicker from beside him as he pulled the scarf back around his neck and swept out of the kitchen.

They were at the front door. Potter had finally let go of his friends, Minerva was sniffling softly, but Dumbledore, Dumbledore, was smiling gently. "Good luck to you both. We will be at the school when you return. Remember, Severus, if you need to, please, stop here for whatever aid you might require. Professor’s Vector and Sinistra will be here."

"Yes, Headmaster," Severus said gruffly and yanked the door open for Harry. "Let’s go."

- = - = -

They traveled in silence. From Grimmauld Place they Apparated to the Ministry, which was dark and silent with night. Only a few hours from now, hundreds of wizards and witches would stream in to start their work, but for now it was empty. Draco led them like a stealthy little cat through nooks and crannies, so they wouldn’t set off the silent alarms the Ministry had put in after Voldemort’s last defeat. Just in case, they said.

Idiots.

It was funny the way fate worked, but Severus had been chosen for this task as soon as he'd been born. From his father's abuse of his mother, his sisters and himself, from which he learned to defend himself at a shamefully early age, to the humiliations at Hogwarts that drove him deeper into his studies, all of which led to Professor Heartstone. He wondered if this was meant to be his life’s work–to travel into the unknown with Harry Potter at his side, just as he wondered if Dumbledore knew it would be, so many years ago when he became the first Potions tyro in twenty years.

Dumbledore had said it with fear in his eyes, but a confidence in Severus’ abilities. There, with Albus and his never ending supply of optimism, Severus had let himself fall apart, just a little bit. In kind, Dumbledore had told him of the fears he had for the both of them, despite his faith in their success, because Severus and Harry both were people Dumbledore cared for very much. "Destiny," Dumbledore had said, as he gave Harry Godric Gryffindor’s sword, "picks who she wants, and we must abide by her ruling."

Severus had been meant to become Professor Heartstone’s tyro–he had been destined to become the Potions Master at Hogwarts after she died. He’d been meant to know Harry Potter as the bane of his existence, and he’d been meant to take him as his tyro so that they would come here, to this juncture, to this crossing at the road where the lives of every man, woman, and child in their world depended on their success.

No pressure.

He snorted quietly to himself as he walked into the lift with Draco and moved aside for Harry to step in beside him. They were quiet and tense as the lift started up with a grinding of gears. A cool voice chimed off each passing Floor: "Department of Magical Transportation", "Department of Magical Games and Sports", "Ludicrous Patents Office", "Auror Headquarters", and finally, finally, "Department of Mysteries".

They took the stairs down from the lifts, footfalls silent and swift with only the rustle of Draco’s cloak breaking the silence. The corridor was bare of windows or doors, except for a very plain door at the very end. Severus had seen this corridor countless times, through Harry, when he’d attempted teaching him Occlumency all those years ago. He had only been down this corridor once before himself, when he’d been on trial in front of the Wizengamot-- young and scared and so very cold, shivering under the heartless stares of the wizards and witches who would decide his fate.

He really didn’t want to think about that right now.

"All right, then." Draco glanced around once before he stroked the strip of wood beside the top left hinge, and with a quiet creak, the door opened. Severus watched, brow arched, but Draco shrugged. "I have friends in high places. A few shots of Firewhisky, a bag of gold, a laugh or two and you can get anything out of these idiots. Come on."

Draco seemed to know where he was going, despite the fact that as soon as Harry had closed the door behind him, the torches lit with nightmarish blue flames. The doors, seven or eight in total, began to rotate, growing in speed until, for an alarming moment, Severus was sure the walls were never going to stop.

But they did.

And Draco drawled in an amused voice,

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak,

Give us just a single peek.

We search for yonder, high and low,

Tell us what we need to know.

Give us death and new life too,

We ask for help to see us through,

Potter, Snape, and Malfoy three,

Show us where we need to be."

To the left of them a door creaked open upon its own violation, and Draco strolled over to open it. "Bit better than you were last here, hmm, Potter?" He smirked. "Come on, let’s go." He glanced up at the ceiling. "We aren’t alone."

And so, Draco lead them through the door, into salvation and into hell.

The room was rectangular and sunken into the ground, a sort of amphitheater much like the Greeks used in ancient times. Stone and wooden benches circled around the room and down, each seat designed to allow for maximum viewing of the pit below. It had a smooth marble floor, so shiny and clean that Severus’ boots clicked on it, and he stopped to study the archway he was expected to jump through. It was raised up onto a dais of ancient stone, and the lichen on it was a kind found only in the high Netherlands. It was shrouded in ancient magic, not Black or White but from a time preceding both, as strange and shimmering as the curtain-like Veil hanging from it. What death was like, Severus supposed.

The archway did not alarm him, nor did the voices just at the edge of his hearing. No. What raised the hair on his neck was the light breeze that seemed to be fluttering the veil, when there wasn’t a breeze in the room at all.

It’s what made him step back and down, until he nearly bumped into Potter. "Ah. So, this is it?"

"Yeah, what Dumbledore said," Draco answered as he crossed his arms across his chest. "It’s used for...ah..executions. But, Dumbledore told me to remind you that as long as the both of you are wearing the chain with the Sorcerer’s Stone, you’ll be okay–the Stone will keep your life force in your body. Don’t wear shoes. He said you should expect to feel a little dizzy and a little run down, and that you have three hours to get the stone before the one you’re wearing gives out and you’ll be..."

Draco’s voice went hoarse, and he stopped speaking for a moment. "The whispers are the dead. Those that still hope for life linger on the close side, and call out to whoever can hear them, in hopes of luring them in. Whoever falls through without some kind of protection...there isn’t enough of you to feed the voices. There isn’t ever enough to feed all the voices." Severus could see the gooseflesh raise up on Draco’s arms. "My arm has been burning all evening. Voldemort knows what’s going on–you need to go. I think reinforcements are coming." He shivered. "I need you to knock me out, Professor. If you fail–"

I’ll be the only spy left.

"We won’t fail. I have too much will to go on, Draco." Severus said very quietly, and lifted his wand. "Stupefy."

Draco fell. He would have cracked his head open on the marble Floor, but Severus cast a cushioning charm to keep him from hurting himself. Once he was sure Draco was breathing all right, he murmured, "Diffindo," slicing open the man’s left cheekbone at a high spot where it would leave no scar. As soon as he’d spread a bit of the blood across his cheek to make it look much more grisly then the shallow cut actually was, he carefully tore Draco’s clothes at the hem lines where they would most likely rip–the sleeves, shoulders and at the buttons. He mussed the boy’s hair in an almost fatherly way and turned him onto his side, spreading his limbs akimbo.

When he looked up, Harry’s eyes were wide.

And full of such jealousy that it made Severus’ dead heart jerk.

"We must make it appear that he had a scuffle, Mr. Potter." He lifted Draco’s wand and searched the ground with his eagle-sharp eyes, and after a few minutes he pointed Draco’s wand and said, "Crucio."

The spider didn’t know what hit it. It squirmed and writhed, legs twisting and curling, body shuddering.

As soon as he cast it, Severus uncast it again.

And then did it once more.

"Crucio."

He ended the spell moments after it had begun, and didn’t bother watching as the spider scuttled away. He set the wand right out of Draco’s reach, as if he’d dropped it on the fall. "‘And never forget that help may come, from the most unlikely of quarters. And success rest upon the shoulders, of those kept shadowed until the time of need,’" Severus said, softly.

Behind him, the Veil waited.

He shucked out of his coat and scarf and removed his boots, throwing them to the side, so those who fell upon the scene would think it was done hastily. Harry mimicked his actions until he was barefoot, his wand tucked into the waist band of his jeans and Gryffindor’s sword in the sheath about his waist. The Sorcerer’s Stone was dangling from his hand, and he wound one end around his neck. Severus elongated the chain with a tap of his wand and pulled the other end around his own neck, making sure it would not fall with an attachment charm. His own wand was tucked into his pants with his jumper covering it, and together, the both of them stepped up onto the dais.

"The night you betrayed me I dreamt of this place," Harry said in a soft voice, gazing at the flapping veil. "I dreamt I saw Sirius again."

Severus didn’t have anything to say to that, so he simply squeezed the young man’s shoulder tightly, hoping to Merlin that the touch was enough.

"I’m so scared," Harry whispered.

"I know."

Harry’s fingers wound around his, and Severus didn’t have the heart to shake him free. Together, they pushed aside the Veil and stepped through.

Chapter 13    

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