Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 03 : Epithalamium

Part III : The Beginning of Forever
Chapter Fifty : Epilogue
Chapter Two : Hiding Under the Ninth Earth : First Sight

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III-3. Thus the highest form of generalship is to balk the enemy's plans; the next best is to prevent the junction of the enemy's forces; the next in order is to attack the enemy's army in the field; and the worst policy of all is to besiege walled cities.
Sun Tzu : "The Art of War"

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12 February 2023 12:10 am

Bzzzz.

Severus swatted the air around his head.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

In a twisting cloud, the bees swarmed around him; the tall dry grasses tangling his limbs made escape impossible. Trapped with nowhere to run, he dropped to the ground, throwing an arm protectively over his face.

Bzzzz! Bzzzz! BZZZZ!

The old beekeeper, his familiar voice muffled by a netted headgear, chuckled. "Persistent aren't they?"

"Go away," he muttered, snuggling his head deeper into the pillow.

Pillow?

BZZZZ! Sting! BZZZZ! STING!

Random shocks of lightning zapped his limbs.

"Time to get up," the beekeeper said, his voice fading as if moving away. "She won't give up until you do."

She?

Heavy eyes grudgingly opened. "Damn it."

Sting! BZZZZ! BZZZZ! STING! STING!

He rolled fully on his back, staring at the canopy above, his sleep-fogged brain finally recognizing the summons for what it was. "All right! All right! I'm coming!" He whispered the counterspell, half tempted to stay where he was.

A toe poked his shin. "Don'youdaregobacktosleep."

Smiling at the soft snore following the admonishment, he threw back the covers, shivering as the frigid air assaulted skin hot with sleep. Within moments, the only warmth remaining was Harry's dead weight anchoring his left side and the hand resting heavily on his other shoulder making a heated "V" across his chest. Sighing, he prepared to get up; Minerva would not be denied her audience for long.

Given the wide variety of 'creative' night time summons from his staff, all requiring the same thing - the forfeiture of his bed - he'd long ago devised an effective means of moving his spouse without disturbing him too much. Wandlessly levitating Harry enough to untangle them, he slid out, absently lowering him back to his former position as he donned heavy slippers and reached for an old nightshirt, throwing it on hurriedly. Next he grabbed the winter dressing gown beneath it on the horse.

Fumbling with the collar fastenings, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Albus, if you weren't already dead, I'd kill you myself." He pulled the ties forward. "What the hell were you thinking, teaching her that blasted spell?" He blinked. "And what was I thinking allowing her use it?"

"It's better than a Loquarium in our bedchamber," Harry mumbled from under the covers, "and about the only thing that will wake you this time of night." A sleepy grin appeared over the duvet. "Well, maybe there are a few other things..."

Halfway through tying the belt, Severus paused, brow arched. "Cheeky boy," he growled, tugging the belt tightly before knotting it. Placing his hands and a knee on the bed, he stretched a bit and kissed Harry's forehead just peeking over the covers. "Go back to sleep. I shan't be long."

"Promises, promises," came the soft rejoinder already blurred by returning dreams.

Bzzzz! BZZZZ! STING!

Harry pulled Severus' pillow over his head, his muffled, "Ow. Must be important for her to start up again so soon," barely discernible over the resumed imposition in Severus' head.

He knew that; however, as he marched to the Rotunda, the knowledge didn't stop him from admiring Harry's rather cheery image of the Deputy Headmistress's Gryffindor red entrails festooning the upper hallways.

"Damn it, woman! I'm up! I'm up!" Facing the huge fish globe in the middle of the Rotunda with his back to the front door, he folded his arms across his chest, fingers tapping his bicep as he levelled his best 'this-had-better-be-good' glare at the irate face wavering within the water's depths. "What?" he snarled.

Without preamble, McGonagall barked, "Severus! They're at it again!"

Who 'they' were did not require stating. "And this is my problem, why?"

"They started over an hour ago and are almost to the school's side of the castle. This is getting out of hand; I'll never understand how you can allow them..."

"I believe the answer is blatantly obvious - even to you, Minerva. Unless, of course, you've decided that interrupting the late night mating rituals of two fully capable, consenting adult wizards is something you want to take on in your spare time?"

Although, given that she already knew where they were and how long they'd been at it, one did have to wonder...

"You must put a stop to it. Now. Really, Severus! How you tolerate their behaviour, especially from your Slytherin Head of House is beyond me."

"Minerva, the number of things 'beyond you' is beyond frightening." He smiled evilly, savouring her sputtering; Albus had the right of it - baiting and irritating her was such a soothing avocation. "Tolerance of their behaviour? Now there's an interesting notion, considering what you and Sprout get into." He snorted. "Perhaps I should curtail all my staff's more - personal - rituals as well? Hmmm?" Ah, that got her undivided attention. "And speaking of staff," he said slyly, "if I recall, Douglas is yours, not mine."

"And Moody is yours!" He smiled to himself, feeling one of those moments approaching as she continued in a heedless rush, "As Head of Security, it's his responsibility to curb this type of illicit activity, but since he's one of the perpetrators, I'm thinking he's not going to drag himself home to sleep it off. You're going to have to do his job for him!"

Ah, it was always so satisfying. Chortling, he drawled, "Well, actually, he will eventually escort Doug into bed and they might even get some sleep..." what an interesting shade of crimson "...but I have no inclination to help them do so."

Ignoring her choked, "Severus Snape! That's not what I meant and you know it," he struggled to erase the last of the sleep from his thoughts. The eccentric antics of his resident night owls were, thank the gods, normally none of his concern; however, he had to acknowledge she might have a point. If they were oblivious as to where their sport had taken them...

As she draw breath for another argument, he interposed smoothly, "Very well, Minerva, I'll go talk to them - but in return, you'll take morning report."

Keeping her off-balance also had its merits.

"Why on earth...?"

"If you must rouse a mere headmaster from a pleasant slumber to deal with such trivial issues 'almost' on your side of the castle because you don't have the balls to do so yourself, then you must cope with the consequences."

"Absolutely not!"

The prim line of her mouth irritated him. His voice suddenly sharp, he snapped, "It wasn't a request, Minerva." She remained silent, arms folded tightly across her chest; most likely she was tapping her foot on the floor. Enough of this. "Good night, Minerva. Let me know who wins." He pivoted to return to his rooms and a pliant Harry, his smirk hidden by the swing of his hair; there were so many things better he could be doing now that he was awake.

"Severus Snape! Where do you think...!"

His voice a low, dangerous purr, he half-faced her again. "Yes, my dear Deputy?"

It really was too delicious, the sour-lemon moue of surrender she wore. "Very well, Headmaster. I'll take report. You make them behave."

He chuckled, magnanimous in his victory. "While I've been known to achieve the impossible upon occasion, even I cannot 'make them behave'."

"You know what I mean," she huffed.

While it was tempting to ask her to spell it out for him so he could enjoy her stammering blushes, time was wasting, and then there was Harry...

He didn't deign to reply. Striding out of their quarters, he heard the tell-tale gurgle indicating she'd broken the connection. He spared a thought of thanks again to Ben for the invention; handy things, the Loquariums. Although their range was limited, they were certainly an easier and more dignified way to communicate with the staff and council than kneeling arse high on a hard hearth with one's head in the Floo fire. And more decorative as well. The fish certainly didn't seem to mind the occasional incorporeal visitor, as they could swim between the many tanks scattered throughout Hogwarts, although they did tend to scatter whenever Moody bellowed from the thing with a Sonorus spell.

Out in the dungeon corridor, he decided to make a shortcut. "Take me to where the two blighters are," he quietly ordered the castle. Belatedly remembering Harry's constant reminders about how lonely it was, he added, "Please." The next step blurring, he found himself in an empty hallway lit bright with torches. Readying his wand, he knew he would probably need it. Given where he stood, he realised Minerva was right; they were far too close to the students for this sort of nonsense.

Blast them to hell! Why did they pick tonight, when Harry had been so upset and restless, to play their silly game? Why, for that matter, did they feel the need to play it in the first place? He snorted, eyes swiftly tracking the quiet corridor. Why did anyone do anything they did?

Where were they? This little contest of Wizarding Hide and Seek grew old quickly, their chosen method of determining who was going to top when they were both feeling 'toppy' needed a new playbook. He sighed. Far be it from him to curtail their private amusements - even he knew the eroticism of a good fight, but when it potentially endangered the students...?

While the thought of Moody and Doug doing anything remotely intimate was rather nauseating to contemplate, Severus had always been pleased his two friends had someone with whom they could be intimate in the first place. When one considered their disparate pasts, their similarities were astounding. Both loners and more than a bit rough around the edges - one by circumstance, one for survival - one could not hope for better companions in almost any situation. Powerful and intelligent - yet street smart, cunning, sneaky, barbed-tongued, and loyal to a fault, they were, in short, quintessentially Slytherin. That they were together seemed almost inevitable once they'd got past the tail-sniffing stage of their first meeting.

Which probably explained their deep-seated need to compete with one another and why he was having such a difficult time finding them.

Ah, finally, a furtive movement to his left. He whirled, wand raised, as Moody stepped out of the shadows behind a column, the stinging hex he cast blindly barely discernible as it flew towards him. Stepping frantically to the side, he shouted, "Damn it, Mad Eye! It's me! Stop this inst..."

An "Oh, shit!" was the last thing he heard as Doug's answering hex slammed into his back, toppling him to the floor.

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The station platform filled with Muggles going home for the day... The triumph on Colch's face as he forced Harry to do his bidding... Looking for the chart... The sound of the train coming around the bend, the noise of people moving towards the edge of the platform in anticipation... The worry on Sheila's face... Sheila unconscious on the floor... Draco holding a little girl's arm... A walk down a mouldy corridor... The sinking feeling in his gut... The headlights of the train coming closer... A woman on the bed... A vision of 'The Pet' handing Severus a Gobbelworm... Draco's triumphant face as he launched the child in front of the train... A desperate effort within a dying woman... The new patient, dead... Frozen in place, the sickening sound and sight he could not escape as the train hit the child head on, her lifeless body flying and disappearing beneath its steel inevitability... The last rattle of air out of a woman he had to let die... Jed's mistimed heroics... Draco's malicious smile and mocking laughter, the screaming of the crowd, the screech of the brakes of the train, the stench of his own vomit lying foul at his feet... A bored Draco standing in the doorway to a private room... Jed flying across the hall... Draco shooting off the first hex and then melting into the crowd, his involvement unnoticed by any but Harry and a few Muggles standing next to him... A desiccated corpse... The healing ball spewing out his magic... The cry "Wizard" going up as a new panic set into the crowd... A baby wailing in a steel cot... HE got away... Blocking a killing curse... Holding Draco against the wall... Jed healing him... Hexes and curses flying... Kissing a baby's forehead... Drinking tea in the office... Shacklebolt questioning him, his eyes narrowed... The beach in Hana... Shacklebolt and the Aurors securing the clinic... He ran away... And he ran away... Again he ran away...

The nightmare broke abruptly. "Oh gods! Stop! Just stop!" Harry cried, sitting bolt upright in the bed as the whirling afterimages played before his mind's eye. Heart pounding, he held his head in his hands. "What the fuck have I done?" The sweat from his face and hair slicking his fingers, Harry blinked against the fading images, letting the darkness and solitude of his bedchamber gradually transition him from his vivid torment to inescapable reality.

He was hot. Hot from his dream's exertions, hot from the shame radiating through his body and a stomach suddenly tight and queasy from guilty memories and sickening afterimages. Throwing off the sheets sticking to his soaked skin, the room's chill a welcome relief, he staggered to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the scant contents of his stomach heaved into the bowl. Later, the rim's cold porcelain against his cheek cooled the lingering heat in his face but not those things upsetting his stomach in the first place.

Fairly certain he wouldn't spew again, he tried standing. Wobbling from the stiffness in his knees, he wrinkled his nose against his stench. What a mess; he needed to bathe before his husband returned. After rinsing his mouth with Severus' cleansing potion, he started the water in the shower and stepped into the steamed glass enclosure.

A few minutes later, Harry knew the scalding water mercilessly pounding his skin would be insufficient to wash away his sins. Rinsing the soap, he decided it was probably for the best that Severus hadn't been there when he'd awakened from his nightmare. If he didn't fully understand it himself, how could he possibly hope to convey it to another? That he'd managed to keep the entirety from Severus so far was a bloody miracle.

Lowering the water's pressure, he let it flow smoothly over him, its warmth easing muscles he'd not known he'd strained. Like a vulture over a fresh kill, his mind endlessly circled, landing every now and again to feast at the carcass of his memories before launching back in expectant flight when his will chased it away. Pick. He was in the train station last night. Pick. He was at the hospital ten years in the past. Pick. He was in the clinic yesterday afternoon. Pick. Pick. Pick.

"Stop it! Just stop it!" he shouted, banging the side of his fist into the tiled wall. Shaking, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, kneading the thick pad of flesh near the rising bruise on the side of his hand.

The pain focussed him more than it probably should, but he didn't heal it, needing instead the concentration it brought. So much hidden, so much he still needed to reveal. So many connections melding into a horrific miasma of deceit and shame as his past finally caught up to his present. As he rubbed himself dry, the towel catching some torn skin he'd not noticed before, he found its rough texture somehow fitting, a civilised sackcloth to atone for his transgressions.

Chilled, he wrapped a nearby bathrobe around him and sat on the toilet, chuffing mirthlessly at the irony of it all. Pulling at the threads of the towel still clutched in his hand, he began to denude its low pile. Perhaps if he'd told Severus about what had happened at the hospital ten years ago, then maybe the incident today at the clinic, which had forced him to evade Shacklebolt's questions, would never have happened.

One string became two, became more, until he had two narrow tracks of bare cloth running the width of the towel.

If he'd just got rid of Draco when he had the chance, then maybe the little girl would still be alive. Or if not Draco, did it then follow it might have been someone else? And would Severus' opinions, one way or the other, have caught the real culprits and saved the real victims? As more bare tracks crossed the first ones he'd made, forming a ladder, he wondered if he'd done the right thing all those years ago. And what about yesterday? Had he finally crossed the fine line between light and dark, good and bad, human and monster?

He tilted his head. From this angle, his barren ladder stretching across his thighs became something else entirely - more like tracks now; perhaps sometimes all it took was changing one's perspective to change one's perception. If he hadn't taken the train, if he'd just Apparated home as he always did, then he might never have been involved in the battle, but neither would everything have come full circle. Nor would he have needed to escape Shacklebolt's unwelcome presence a second time. If he hadn't hidden his actions yesterday afternoon, then Kingsley's feeble, 'we must stop meeting like this,' would not have made his face burn with remembered shame. But then again, if he hadn't met with Kingsley just that afternoon, he wouldn't have been allowed to sneak away from the station's chaos with only the promise to visit the Auror at the Ministry this afternoon for a debriefing.

As each loop disappeared beneath the surface, it left a tiny hole and a strip of bare cloth and an ever-growing string wrapped tightly around the tip of his finger until it turned purple. The spaces between the rungs of his ladder slowly became barren patches as he worried more threads out of the middle trying to keep the pattern even.

He really didn't want to go; apart from the inevitable disappointment and loss of trust, Kingsley would most probably want to use Veritaserum and, when that failed, Legilimency. He shuddered. Perhaps he could put Kingsley off another day or two. The three seemingly separate events were incontrovertibly connected and, until he had a chance to talk to Severus, Harry wanted them kept secret.

His hands stilled. Severus. Severus deserved to hear it first, directly from him, not only because he owed him at least that consideration, but because the roots of the problems he faced were embedded in Severus' history as well as his own. While he knew they would have to eventually give Shacklebolt something, the decision as to what form it should take and how much should be revealed needed to be made together.

Which meant he would have to tell Severus everything, even what had happened a decade ago, which he found himself reluctant to do. It wasn't that he feared Severus' reaction to what had happened, nor the timeliness of his confession; they both understood there were some things one just didn't talk about, even if it meant facing one's demons alone.

He almost tore the fragile fabric of the towel where he'd exposed it. Twisting it in his hands, he began pacing the small confines of the bathroom.

No, he dreaded Severus' inevitable distress as to why he'd been silent. Telling him would only dredge up an old hurt, one long placed firmly behind them; the last thing he wanted was to reopen old wounds, for he knew Severus would blame himself for Harry's secrecy. And unfortunately, he would be half-right. While it was true that only Harry could find his own absolution, the need for it had come at a time when Severus' single-minded concentration on his plans for Hogwarts had resulted in a neglect of their marriage and a fading of their bond that Harry alone could not surmount. When even the slightest interruption to his busy schedule provoked heated argument, Harry had surrendered to Severus' temper and withdrawn. By the time they'd fixed their difficulties, Harry had been so lost in their renewed relationship, he'd dropped his other concerns as too petty to mention as he'd already managed to find his own equilibrium by himself.

He shook his head in disgust. Well, he had until yesterday. And where did one begin to explain that? What loose end should he grab first to unravel the Devil's Snare in his head? What possible means could he use to explain that all the hard-won lessons from before had come to naught when it came to his choices?

Leaning his hands on the counter, he stared hard into his own eyes in the mirror, willing to silence the small voice whispering the self-doubts born in a small cupboard and nurtured by echoing, hateful words. Running deep, he'd never quite evicted it, and now it mockingly repeated the question he feared the most, the one that curled rancid in the pit of his stomach: would Severus still love him when he found out what he'd done?

He pushed off and turned from his own fearful reflection. Perching on the counter, the towel taut between his hands, he resolutely rejected its message. No! No more! That part of his life had always been false; why should it carry any weight now? He would not, could not listen to anything other than the saner voice of the present. If nothing else, he must trust in Severus and all they'd built over the years. He would bare his heart and rely on the love and understanding he'd always received from his mate, through a bond that ultimately had never failed them.

He looked at his hand where he'd injured it, the pain now dulled to a low throbbing ache. Healer heal thyself, he thought ruefully, casting the spells to do just that. Flexing his fingers afterwards, he realised that his decisions were made. The real ones, the ones that would hopefully bring him - and perhaps even Severus - closure. The thought of resolving it, regardless of how convoluted and painful it might become, finally brought a small amount of comfort. He threw the towel into the corner, leaving with it his doubts for the moment and, with a lighter heart, went back to bed.

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He was fairly certain everything was intact, although his robe was a mess and his head hurt.

As he rapidly regained full consciousness, a state of which the two men duelling quietly a few feet away were thankfully ignorant, Severus took a moment to study them, something he realised he'd not done in a while. They looked well, he concluded; almost happy - if either one of them were capable of such a thing - especially Douglas. Certainly a far cry from the sorry scarecrow Harry had rescued off the street nearly fourteen years ago.

While Moody was short and stocky, Doug was taller and wiry, but that wasn't what drew anyone's immediate, if sometimes revolted, attention. It was their eyes - or lack thereof to be more precise. In a world where such things could be replaced in one form or another, as with Moody's magical orb, that Doug chose to wear an eye patch was noteworthy and, to the average wizard, inexplicable. However, Severus knew he had his reasons and the patch was far from mundane; after a while one hardly noticed it.

Best damned Potions master he'd ever had, though, and inducted as the Slytherin Head of House a little over a year ago. Already he'd noticed a change in the morale of the Slytherins; they stood taller, performed better in classes, were more like their former arrogant selves before Voldemort's ascendancy than the pale shadows that popular opinion had left them after the Dark Lord's demise. As Moody often said, 'Doug takes no prisoners,' and given the new respect the Slytherins were exhibiting - and receiving - no guff from them, either.

Moody, on the other hand, had been reluctant to come out of retirement; however, when the school had split into two halves - one for children, one for adults - and the village of Hogsmeade became as much a part of the Environs of Hogwarts as the families and students living within the castle, Moody was the only one Severus considered sufficiently trustworthy to oversee its security. It had taken much persuasion and a hefty salary to convince him, but it had been more than worth it. In the fourteen years since he'd taken the position, order and peace had been wrought, albeit a bit unconventionally, out of utter chaos.

Of course, with the both of them, one had to tolerate a few idiosyncrasies.

Recalling himself and his 'mission', he couldn't believe they were still duelling, warily circling each other inside a proper ward this time. He vaguely recalled an argument over his head when they'd stopped long enough to ascertain 'the auld sod would live'. He supposed he should be grateful they'd decided to stay near him to ensure his condition continued that way rather than moving their romp elsewhere. That Minerva again was right about their sport being a poor example to Doug's young charges left a sour taste in his mouth, or perhaps it was just the lingering after-effects of the fire hex with which Doug had felled him.

Stupid thing, that; he was getting too complacent of late.

The sudden silence following a triumphant shout was unnerving and he wasn't certain he should look or not; there was no telling what they were doing now and some things, especially their odd mating rituals, were perhaps best left unseen. However, curiosity got the better of him and, as he sat up and turned his head in their direction, he saw Moody dissipating the ward while Doug slowly got to his feet from his knees. At least they were still dressed. Seeing him awake, they both hobbled over to him.

"You all right there, Severus?" Doug asked, giving him a hand up.

He dusted off his abused dressing gown, examining the rents and still-smoking scorch mark lining the back when he pulled the hem around to look; yes, it was definitely a goner. He bit back a chuckle and settled for a stern, "For someone caught in the cross-fire, I'll survive."

"Yeh should'na been there, lad," Moody said with asperity.

That did it! 'Lad' indeed! Just exactly who was in charge here? "No! You should not have been here," Severus retorted icily. "In case it's escaped your randy attention, you're on the border between the two sides. What if I had been a child? Or one of the pregnant wives?"

"Ah, about that..." Doug began, his down-turned face reddening.

"I do not want to hear your paltry excuses," he stated harshly, his best 'headmaster-cutting-a-student-down-to-size' glare firmly in place. "Suffice it to say, you're both on report. It will stop. Now. No more."

Moody's face fell. "We were only playing..."

"I'm sure you thought you were, but by anyone else's definitions...?" He held up a hand. "Gentlemen, I am the last person standing, in what I assure you is a very long line, who desires to curtail or judge your private affairs; however, if you wish to continue pursuing your conjugal privileges in the public corridors, you will devise some means to prevent this from ever happening again - both in its range and its ability to harm others."

"But..."

"I expect to see your plan, along with all the appropriate spells and wards, on my desk by the end of next week. Until I've approved it, I suggest you flip a Galleon should this - need - arise in the near future. And in the meantime, you will both see to all Gryffindor and Hufflepuff detentions this quarter and you will be nice. Am I understood?"

"Severus! That's plain cruel."

"Am I clear, or do I need to spell it out in words of one syllable or less?"

"Yes - I mean, no, headmaster. We got it." Doug said with a wry smile.

Severus nodded curtly at Moody's sullen, "All right."

"Good. Now that's settled, I only have one other question." This time the smile was harder to hide.

"Yes, sir?"

"Who won?"

Moody winked his good eye and laughed heartily as he tugged his lover's arm, turning them around. With a playful slap to Doug's arse, they headed off, presumably to their quarters to wrap it up.

Severus shook his head watching their progress down the hall, arguing again if Moody's gesticulating hands and Doug's stuttering protests were any indication. With a whispered, "Take them home," he smiled as they disappeared into thin air. If their plans were insufficient, he had a few ideas of his own to facilitate the safety of their nocturnal escapades. Their roles vital to the well-being and defence of the castle and its myriad denizens, he considered the potential risks a small price to pay if it kept them happy and whole. Of course, their friendship had nothing to do with his motivation at all.

Walking the corridor in the opposite direction, he whispered, "Take me home, too." The world blurred between one step and the next even as his hand automatically reached for the latch to their door.

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Snuggling into the pillow he held tightly, Harry was almost asleep when the snick of the door's latch woke him. The faint scent of burnt wool reached him seconds before a candle lit; in its dim light he could just make out Severus gingerly removing his dressing gown.

"You were gone quite some time. Problem?" Harry asked, blinking sleepily in the dim light.

"Somewhat. Doug and Moody were at it again. Minerva took exception. I talked to them..." he chuckled wickedly, taking a fresh robe out of the wardrobe, "...the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor detentions should be interesting the next few weeks."

Yawning, Harry replied, "Severus, that's plain cruel."

"That's what Moody said..." Severus laid the new robe across the horse next to his side of the bed "...although I think he was referring to my suggestion of how they next use a Galleon."

"Not to them! To the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs."

A flick of his wand and the singed dressing gown was just a memory. Shivering, Severus climbed under the covers Harry held up for him and turned on his side, revelling in the heat under the blankets. "I told them to be nice." His head propped on one hand, Severus slid his other slowly across Harry's stomach.

Harry's skin stippled under the sure touch wending its way to his waist. "Right. After what Moody did to Malfoy? And Crabbe? And Veni?" With Severus' snort puffing against his chest, he hastily added, "Not that they didn't each deserve it."

Warm lips ghosted across his skin as Severus settled himself firmly against Harry's side, the hand at his waist sliding to the small of his back. "Seems to me your recitation of Moody's reprimands is limited solely to the Slytherin house; however, I'll have Minerva remind them both that Transfigurations are not considered 'proper punitive measures'. Pity, though." He nuzzled Harry's chest. "Will that be sufficient?"

His tongue laved a soft nipple to hardness. "Ah - barely adequate."

"Hmmm. Good." Teeth worried the small nub before his lips wrapped around it, suckling softly.

Harry threw his head back on the pillow, willing his uncooperative flesh to respond. It felt so good, this soft seduction, but the lingering stress of the day and his subsequent thoughts made his body's ardour sluggish. He didn't know who he was trying to distract when he asked, "So, who won?"

"I have no idea," Severus hedged, his mouth moving up to nip Harry's throat, the steady pulse at its base beating against his tongue. Too steady for someone who should be aroused by Severus' attentions to his most sensitive places.

"I'll wager Doug did, then; Moody won last time and they seem to trade off fairly evenly. Personally, I think they already know who's going to top before they ever get started; for them it's the contest that's so appealing, although I fail to see the eroticism of a stinging hex."

No, Harry wasn't ready to play yet, not if he was continuing their discussion instead of silencing him properly. "I could demonstrate, if you'd like," Severus breathed, licking his ear.

"I think I'll pass."

"Spoilsport," Severus grumbled good naturedly, worrying his lobe. "As to why they do it, I suspect you're right, but I'll see your wager; Moody was particularly fierce this evening."

Harry eyed him suspiciously; his spouse probably already knew the outcome, but 'losing' a bet with him was never unpleasant. Besides, unless he accompanied them all the way back to their quarters, there was always the odd chance he could win - and that would be pleasant as well. "All right. Usual stakes?"

"Agreed. Winner's choice."

"Hmmm. Sounds fine to me," Harry said, yawning as he snuggled into Severus' side.

Severus slowly carded his fingers through Harry's hair. "You're damp. Problem?" he asked, echoing Harry's earlier query.

"Nightmare. Earlier. While you were gone." When Severus pulled back, Harry murmured, "Lost a patient yesterday, too. It wasn't pretty. And there were some other things that happened as well."

"Ah, I see." Severus pulled Harry closer, inhaling deeply; he smelled so fresh. It had been so terrible, he'd needed to bathe? "You took a shower?"

"Yeah." Harry ducked his head. "I was a mess afterwards."

"Want to talk about it?" The words had no more left his mouth, than he wanted to snatch them back.

Expecting an emphatic denial, he was surprised when Harry answered him mildly, "Yes, but later. Maybe tomorrow?" He idly played with the hairs on Severus' chest. "Too much happened. I'm still too fuzzy about everything; I need time to think first - set it straight in my own mind." He reached over and pecked Severus' cheek. "I'm sorry."

Severus tried to chase that mouth and missed before Harry hid his face again. "That bad?"

"Worse." He drew a stuttering breath. "It's - complicated."

Sensing Harry's continuing hesitancy, Severus unashamedly trolled the bond; a frisson of alarm ran down his back as he realised Harry was still partially blocking him. He now knew for certain what he would find, or not, if he lowered the hand running soft circles on Harry's stomach and chest. Severus suppressed a sigh. Harry's infrequent impotence had always been a dead give-away to his mental state. Given his current lack of response, obviously he was still as overwhelmed now as he'd been when they'd first gone to bed.

"Come here," Severus whispered, coaxing with soft touches and firm tugs until Harry lay fully on top of him. As he'd thought, his husband wasn't aroused. When Harry made a noise of embarrassment and tried to shift away, he held him fast. "It's all right; I know you're upset and I'll wait til you're ready." Harry stopped struggling, his whole body going limp. Absorbing his weight with a heavy sigh, Severus kissed his temple. "What? You didn't think I'd already guessed you'd been less than forthcoming?"

"I'd thought - never mind."

"Hush. It'll be fine," he whispered, running his fingertips smoothly around Harry's back and sides. One of his favourite positions when Harry came home tense, he usually enjoyed the feel of him gradually relaxing, sometimes muscle by muscle, all the while making the most delicious contented growls. But not tonight. It was late and, at the very least, Harry should be falling asleep, not growing more rigid, his heart racing.

Severus wrapped his arms around him, silently offering comfort.

Harry lifted his head off Severus' shoulder, his eyes stark in the candlelight. "It won't go away. Make it stop," he whimpered. "Please, Severus. Help me forget, even for just a moment."

The despair in Harry's plea frightened him as nothing had in a very long time. Tightening his arms, he rolled them over until he lay on top, his body covering Harry's their full length. Holding himself off him, he whispered, "Te apud constanter manebo. Semper te amabo," and dipped his head to kiss him, again and again, while opening their bond as fully as Harry would allow him, giving him every ounce of love he possessed to stave the shadowed fear and horror he could feel coursing through him.

Murmuring half-formed endearments, his lips and hands wandered wherever Harry seemed to want them as Severus made his own bid to ease his spouse's desperation. When Harry started to respond, he gave him more. Employing the skills gained from their years of loving, Severus almost willed Harry's body to join his in ecstasy and eventually coaxed them to a quiet release. In the moment when Harry arched against him, a helpless noise escaping him, Severus knew he'd only joined him by virtue of their bond, his pleasure a pale shadow of Severus' own.

Worry gnawed him, stealing some of the contentment he usually found afterwards. This was more than 'just a bad day'. In fact the whole thing put him to mind of the few times Harry had panicked whenever he couldn't control his abilities. The desperation and the fear all spoke of Harry's wavering insecurity about himself and his illogical concerns about who and what he was. And whether he, Severus, would love him anyway.

Slowly - he must approach this cautiously, but still - he had to know. Waiting until Harry relaxed against him, he nuzzled the top of his head, his hands sliding idly along his arm and back. "Better?"

Harry shuddered. Severus' touch, the feel of his body next to him warmed a heart cooling with renewed dread. "Much."

"You seem a bit - distracted. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine, love." Guilt washed over him, but now was not the time to talk; that needed the clear light of day. Trying to lighten the mood, Harry asked the first thing that came to mind. "So, how many is that?"

Severus sighed; such artful redirection into one of their familiar but rarely used rituals - like asking about 'The Book' earlier - was just another signal that Harry was deeply upset - he wouldn't have asked otherwise. So, giving him what comfort he would take right now, he obliged him as he settled his head deeper in the pillow. "Mmmm. I reckon tonight makes it," he closed his eyes in concentration, "47,685 remaining for me and 46,189 for you." He chuckled at Harry's indignant huff. "I think we're ahead of schedule."

"Are you certain? I'm thinking that both of my less than stellar performances tonight don't count as more than a half together."

"You were fine." Severus kissed his forehead. "It was a whole - both times."

"Maybe, but I still say it's only a half when you did all the work."

"Ah. Perhaps, but one must consider the afterglow. Since you normally fall asleep right afterwards, I think it should count more."

"All right, I can buy that. Or maybe it was a whole because I got half of yours and your half was much better..."

Severus stopped his distracting chatter with a kiss, sweet and mellow. Tangling them further with arms and legs until he felt Harry melt against him, he breathed a mental sigh of relief that his mate was truly relaxing. Lips parting softly, he whispered, "Hush. I won't push, so you needn't fill the silence." He ghosted his lips over Harry's brow and cheeks. "All right?"

Harry snuggled deeper, the rapid beat of his heart against Severus' ribs slowing to near somnolence. With a tiny yawn, he murmured, "That sounds lovely," and shortly thereafter, he surrendered to sleep.

Listening to Harry's even breathing, Severus held him close, wishing he could take whatever was plaguing him and throw it to the four winds, never to come between them again. Harry was usually so open to him this unexpected closure hurt, but he also knew Harry only did so when the disturbance was overwhelming. And given that he always told him in the end, Severus could only patiently wait for him to overcome his own reticence to do so.

.:0:. .:0:. .:0:. .:0:.

12 February 2023

Cassidy was at it again, his plump hand reaching out to steal the last cruller on Dooney's plate. A well aimed hex later, the young Slytherin was sucking his fingers looking wildly about him as he sought the source of the stinging hex robbing him of his prize.

"You're evil, you know that?" Harry asked, grinning.

Smirking behind his raised paper at the head table, Severus replied, "Cassidy's laziness in magic is exceeded only by his gluttony. Sneaky thief needs to lose weight; he's nigh on as large as your cousin ever was and just as pleasant. I'll speak to Douglas about it later this morning. It's one thing to have appetites, quite another to get sloppy about it."

"Speaking of Douglas, I see our lovebirds are missing."

Severus sniffed reflectively. "Moody must have won, then: Doug always makes it to breakfast when he wins."

"Pay up," Harry chortled as the two wizards in question came limping into the room, Moody hobbling more than normal.

"Maybe he put his leg on in a hurry," Severus countered, eyeing them both as they assumed their seats. Then Doug winced and squirmed in his seat. "Ha! The wager's mine," he exclaimed quietly, holding out his hand.

"Nuh-uh," Harry retorted watching Moody grimace.

"Mmph. Draw then. Pity, I had such plans for you," he murmured, turning the page. "It's no wonder they're late. Must have been up trading places most of the night."

Returning to the sports page, Harry chuckled, waggling his brows. "Wrestling, more than likely. Makes you wonder just how much stamina Moody had when he was younger."

Severus threw him a sharp gaze. "Mr. Potter! Kindly refrain from such revolting images, at least until after breakfast."

Harry eyed Severus' customary black pudding with a jaundiced eye. "You're a fine one to talk about disgusting..."

Patently ignoring him, Severus returned to the paper. Watching the students a moment through the hole he'd enchanted to move with the ads so he could keep a surreptitious eye on them, he then resumed reading the story, Muggles Attacked at Charing Cross, continued from the front page of the Prophet. The story credited the attack to 'unknown renegades' but went on to say that the Muggles had cried "Wizards!" during the fray and that "an unidentified victim had fallen under the train in the melee." A mystery man had saved the day.

"Had a bit of a fuss in the underground coming home." Indeed. This was far more serious than Harry had led him to believe, and more in keeping with his 'difficulties' last night, but he didn't think this was all of it. Patience, he just needed patience.

"Looks like the Cannons don't stand a chance to win the Quidditch World Cup."

He glanced sharply at Harry's inane comment, knowing it was purposefully stated to distract him from the article in front of him. He drew breath to say so when he felt a tickle on his right hand resting on his cup. Looking down, he observed a tiny brown mouse no longer than two finger joints climbing on his knuckles. Raising it almost to eye level, its tiny pink nose wiggling and snuffling, he said not unkindly, "I see we have another thief this morning. Go steal your master's crumbs."

The mouse minced to the tips of his fingers and, leaning as far off his hand as possible, daintily licked a tiny speck off his upper lip just under his nose. Severus' snort blew its soft sleek fur about ears so delicate one could see the veins in them.

"Alexander, you're very fortunate Saganth isn't here," he breathed softly. With a twist of his wand, the unperturbed mouse floated through the air to land neatly on Doug's head. As many times as Severus had seen it, he still found it fascinating to watch the tiny creature crawl down the side of the Slytherin's head, cling to the top of his ear as he turned about to walk the tightrope of his master's eye-patch string, only to disappear behind the patch into the empty socket. A few moments later, a pink nose and incredibly long whiskers poked through the façade of Doug's patch. Lounging half in, half out, he began to wash his paws, his bright black eyes taking in the rest of the table with keen interest.

"It still gives me the willies to see Alex do that," Harry said with a light shudder. "As many times as I've examined the socket, I still don't understand how the damned thing stays so clean."

"It's called magic, Harry," Severus said wryly, hiding his smile at Harry's sheepish grin. Damn, it still made his toes curl when he did that.

He turned to The London Rag, appalled at the number of stories about the 'wizard rumours' vying for equal space with a series of horrid long-lens photos of King William with his latest escort, and a woman who'd evidently given birth to alien vampire triplets; the alien extraction was probably pure fabrication, but the escort was obviously a smokescreen as the bachelor king only slept with the wizard bodyguard Arthur had assigned him years ago.

The coverage of the incident at Charing Cross was remarkably similar to the Prophet's in detail, although 'terrorists' with some new kind of 'laser' weapons seemed to be the official verdict. He was willing to wager Arthur and his teams of Unspeakables hadn't slept much last night.

The editorials concerning 'these mysterious wizards' and how 'if they exist, they should be registered like autos and dogs' made him uneasy as did a story about a Muggle man found dead two doors down from Harry's clinic - cause of death unreleased, but muggers suspected. Two pages later there was a side story about a faith healer in Surrey two days before, curing a man who claimed to be damaged by a neighbour's curse; it appeared Harry's identity in both name and status as a wizard had been kept secret, for which Severus was grateful, if a bit surprised.

Finished with the articles, he put the paper down and stared unseeing at the door at the back of the Great Hall. Irritation warred with relief that no one had as yet made the connection between the grainy Muggle photo of Harry in Charing Cross with the faith healer a few miles away. In any event, it had been too close, and Severus began to understand some of Harry's upset over the incident.

These assaults and veiled references to 'wizards', however yellow-rag they might be, were occurring too frequently for them to be mere accidents of happenstance, and Severus would wager every Knut he had that Lucius was behind them. But why? What possible purpose would riling the Muggles serve?

With regret, Severus knew he needed to 'see' the incidents to start understanding them. Not just a verbal account, but a visual recollection. With deep bitterness at the injustice, he knew he would have to start with Harry, who'd been involved in at least two of the incursions; maybe more, if his speculations were correct. But how to do so without upsetting his spouse further? Deciding he must proceed with the same delicacy as - Alexander, he summoned a quill, circled the articles and passed it to Harry with raised brows.

Scanning them, Harry flushed, then paled, his frown telling a story all its own. "The papers exaggerate; there were only eight wizards," he said with a forced lightness, "not twelve and when the Aurors arrived they scattered..." he paused, his voice trailing off to a murmur, "...or so I was told." He eyes suddenly far away, he whispered tightly, "Draco was there, though. He pushed the little girl in front of the train." He closed his eyes. "I really don't remember much, but..." His damp lashes were dark smudges on paper-white cheeks. "It was awful. The screaming, the metal screech of the wheels on the tracks, and..." his hands clenched the tablecloth "...I'll never forget her face - his face..." a muscle bunched in his jaw "...I swear, I wanted to kill him - should have..."

Severus folded his fingers firmly over the whitened knuckles threatening to tear the heavy damask, stopping the flow of words. Two seats down Moody stared, his good eye begging the question; with a minute nod of his head towards the staff room door, he told Moody to meet him there. Turning to Minerva on his other side, her curious face lined with worry, Severus made the same motions as with Moody. She placed her napkin on her plate and quietly left the table.

His two most trusted seneschals on their way, he turned back to his husband. Harry might have been sitting next to him, but he wasn't really there. Severus leant close and tightened his hand on the icy one beneath it, saying softly, "Harry? Time to go."

Harry opened his eyes, blinking, his blank gaze that of a man coming out of a trance. He pulled his hand away. "Pardon?" Looking around at the half empty room, he flushed before murmuring, "Sorry. Is it time already?"

Severus forced a chuckle. "It is for us, I'm thinking. Let's go to my office; I've asked Minerva and Moody to join us."

Harry glanced at the paper on the table and blanched. "Oh. Well. Yes. All right."

Moody and Minerva awaited them in the staff room. In silence they traversed the corridors, eventually arriving at the public entrance to the headmaster's office where Severus murmured the password, "Detention."

While the spiralling stairs with its guardian gargoyle might be the same, their destination was not. They stepped off the stair into a large square alcove which boasted several comfortable chairs for people to wait, the plain stone of the walls relieved by four portraits of previous headmasters that Severus didn't trust or like a whit but was forbidden to remove. Heavy and ornately carved, a pair of cleverly set, cornered doors opened of their own accord as they approached and, as they closed behind them with a solid thunk, Harry heard a derisive raspberry from one of the portraits banished to the alcove. From the sound of it, he would guess it was most likely Phineas' porcine ancestress, Portia Black the Termagant.

"How Albus ever tolerated that bitch is beyond me," Minerva grumbled.

Severus chuckled wickedly, heading to the right towards an informal seating area surrounding a fireplace in the corner opposite the door. "If I recall, he hung her in the supply closet with Boris and fixed their frames so they couldn't leave them. I heard it got quite noisome in there."

Half-listening to their banter, Harry followed them. He liked the new headmaster's office much better than the old one. Like Severus himself, it was more professional, austere in its simplicity - no jumbled clutter, no distracting Albus-toys lying about, no dusty tomes lining the walls, and in a break with tradition, no desk. And it had corners. Harry liked them especially for they were distinctly different than their rounder apartments and personal workspaces; a subtle yet unmistakable Severus statement, gleaned from their Hana friends, that this was the workplace, the other home.

The alcove entered the office from one of the corners; Harry always thought of it as the bottom of a square turned on a point like a diamond. Capped with a high vaulted ceiling, the spacious room beyond had four distinct areas of varying privacy and intimacy, the most public being the three semi-circular conference tables forming a clover-like arrangement which dominated the centre. When not in use for the various meetings he held, Severus used the middle one as a place to do paperwork, which Dobby stored at the end of every day in a hidden Wizarding closet to the right of the entry doors.

On the left side was an opening to their ramp, but only he and Severus knew about it; to everyone else it looked like a rough stone wall covered with a brilliantly coloured tapestry depicting the building of Hogwarts. Where Dobby had unearthed it, he hadn't a clue. Beyond that, tucked in the left corner, stood a smaller duplicate of the Loquarium in their Rotunda. Behind it were two windows, one on each wall, the seat cushions of which were well used; this was the most private place in Severus' office, where quiet words could be spoken away from the prying eyes and ears of the portraits lining the walls. He often lounged there to read when Severus worked late.

As they rounded the tables, Harry stopped for a moment at the deep-set corner windows in the right corner and admired the puffy white clouds floating in a winter blue sky; the sunlight from them and the others across the room made the whole space feel light and airy. By long habit, he gathered a tea service and cups from the sideboards set along the walls under the glazing and assembled them on a wooden tray, which he carried over to the fireplace.

Severus and the others were already seated in their customary places: Severus and Minerva opposite each other near the fire, Moody next to Minerva. After placing the tray on the low table set in the centre of the grouping, Harry took the last seat next to Severus, usually occupied by Ginny Longbottom, the Headmistress of the Adult school. When Kahealani attended the Heads of Staff meetings in her role as 'Lady of the House', a fifth chair - now absent - was added in between to complete the circle.

Out of an inner pocket of his dark russet robe, Severus retrieved the morning papers he'd had at breakfast. He handed one to Moody, the other to Minerva with a terse, "Read the circled articles of both papers." When they were fully engaged, Severus reached over and grasped Harry's hand lying on the arm of the chair.

Harry couldn't meet Severus' searching gaze, didn't dare see the concern in his dark eyes if he were to keep his composure, for Severus obviously wanted to discuss the events in the newspapers, which he wasn't sure he was ready to do yet. Not that he really had a choice, nor could he delay any longer.

While he'd often witnessed Severus in action at work, he did not often interact with him; in fact, he actively avoided it. Accustomed to his husband's more intimate regard, to have the headmaster's concentrated yet impersonal attention focussed on him usually proved quite disconcerting. However, Severus' warm hand covering his own imparted a strong sense of comfort and support as Severus endeavoured to be both loving spouse and stern headmaster at the same time.

So far it seemed to be working.

While they waited, he fastened his attention on the magical flames dancing in the open corner. At least this brought happier memories. It wasn't a 'proper' fireplace, having no walls and no flue, but the hours he and Severus had spent 'building' the open raised circle with the castle had been fun, filled with laughter and burnt fingers as they tested different types of fire and protective wards. On either side of the open flames, stout wooden cabinets with glass doors were recessed into the stone. Inside its wizarding space were all of Albus' gewgaws and mechanical toys, along with some of Severus' more sensitive instruments.

A light squeeze to his hand warned him, bringing him back to harsh reality. Minerva finished first; as Moody hmph'd and mmm'd his way through the Muggle paper, she set about readying the tea, handing Moody his cup just as he finished the last page.

"Well, this is all interesting, but what's it to do with us?" he asked, slurping his tea.

Severus grimaced before replying, "Ordinarily I would say 'nothing', except that this is the third such altercation in as many months and," he held up his free hand when Moody opened his mouth to interrupt, "it appears that Harry - as well a Malfoy - are caught in the middle of it."

Minerva stared at their hands. "Ah - now it begins to make sense. What Harry said at the table this morning, that is. You were at the station?"

With an effort, Harry met her steady gaze. "Yes, I was there. And I'm the faith healer in Surrey the paper mentioned."

"Care to tell us about it?" Moody asked, fixing both eyes on him.

No, he really didn't, but here they were. As always Moody made Harry feel black inside, although for once he deserved it. Minerva's posture was neutral, but the flat line of her mouth spoke volumes about her disapproval of Moody's methods.

He shrugged; he might as well get the easy one out of the way. "The incident in Surrey was two days ago. There's not much to tell. That particular hospital has no wizarding side, but does have a few Muggle staff who have wizarding friends and family who know enough to call me if there's a suspected problem. I don't go often, but the rest of the staff knows me on sight and thinks I'm either a charlatan, or a saint depending on the outcome and generally leave me alone. I've no reason to disabuse them of the notion as the disguise suits my purpose."

"Sounds risky to me," Moody huffed.

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "No more than anything else I do." He immediately regretted the flippancy when Severus hissed in a breath. He sent an apology even as he said, "Anyway, that day someone had used an Exussum curse on a Muggle man. Moderate burns, insides a mess, of course. Took me about four hours to set him to rights; the Ministry saw to his and the staff's memories, but I think they missed a nurse who saw me heal him and heard his accusations as well before he was wiped. I'm assuming she was the source of the story in the paper."

Brow crinkled in thought, Minerva observed, "That photograph of you in the other article, even as indistinct as it appears, is most unfortunate. The possibility now exists for someone to make a connection between the two events - and you."

"I suppose so; I'm still processing it." He chewed on his lower lip, thinking of the ramifications. "While it won't stop me from practising at Bartie's or any of the other hospitals, I don't think I can go to the Muggle sides as much anymore; they'll just have to lower the wards and admit Muggles to the wizarding sections if they want me to work with them in the future."

Then the rest of it hit him. With a voice filled with regret, he continued, "Damn, I'll have to close the London office as well." Or hide it, which would defeat its purpose as a public clinic. And given what had happened yesterday, it was no longer a safe haven, nor would he be able to face the memories the place was now sure to bring him. The knowledge left a deep ache in his heart; he'd worked so hard to build it into a working concern.

However, he couldn't resent the almost palpable relief coming from his spouse, a relief he didn't show, his face relaxed in its normal austerity when Harry dared glance at him. While he'd said nothing and never would, Harry knew he'd been ever more concerned with his daily trips into London, sometimes even going as far as concocting the most transparent of excuses for Harry to stay at Hogwarts. Yes, Severus would be most pleased if he had to close the clinic.

Minerva made sympathetic noises while Moody chewed his lip in consternation. When the silence stretched, Moody harrumphed impatiently. "And the station?"

A queasiness passed through Harry's gut. Stalling, he took a sip of his tea, wincing as it settled like an acidic weight in his stomach. "Ah, I was waiting for the train when..."

"Why a train? Where were yeh going?" Moody asked leaning forward in his chair.

A good question, but the interruption annoyed him. "Sometimes, when I need to think, I take a train. Yesterday was a - bad day..." he glanced significantly at Severus, hoping he understood the omission and was heartened by the understanding squeeze to his hand "...I lost a patient at the clinic and I needed to be alone for a while to sort things out. I never have any particular destination in mind as I know I can Apparate home from wherever I disembark." He paused, gathering his scattered thoughts. Moody gestured for him to continue.

"I was waiting for the next train - to Brighton, I think. It was very crowded with all the Muggle commuters going home for the day. The train was slowing as it neared the platform when by the oddest chance I saw Malfoy standing..."

"Which one?"

Harry checked his immediate, if somewhat acerbic retort; this was just the way Moody handled things. However... "Please don't interrupt me again, Alastor," he said stiffly. "This is hard enough as it is."

Moody muttered an apology.

Harry drew a deep breath and held it, letting it go on a gusty sigh. "I saw Draco standing still near the edge of the platform a few yards from me. There was a little girl near him." He'd been holding her arm. "All the other people standing close by started moving to intercept the train." A cold sweat broke on his forehead.

Severus tightened his hand. "Take it your time, Harry. We're not in any rush," he said soothingly, the comfort of his presence lending him the courage to continue.

Right. Hoarsely, he went on, "A few feet before the train drew even with Draco, he..." The train's headlights were coming closer. Draco had seen him and flashed a triumphant grin as he launched the child in front of it. There wasn't enough air in the room. "He - he - threw her - in front of the train - down on the tracks." His lungs laboured to get enough breath. "She never even screamed," he whispered, "there wasn't enough time - before..." He could still hear the sickening sound as the train hit her head on, her lifeless body disappearing beneath it. Could still hear the screech of the brakes, the screams of the crowd. Could still see Draco's malicious smile, hear his mocking laughter. He swallowed hard against his rising gorge.

"Dear gods," he vaguely heard Minerva whisper.

"I don't remember much after that," he continued, determined to finish the account; he would not break in front of them. His voice grew stronger as he recounted the rest of it. "Draco cast the first hex and then all hell broke loose. Someone cried 'Wizard' and the crowd went mad, running every which way; I think some of the injuries were from the panic rather than the hexes and curses. I did what I could to protect the Muggles around me, but it was eight to one and I couldn't be everywhere. The Aurors and the Ministry arrived, when I couldn't say, but when it was over, I told them all I could and then Apparated home." As an afterthought, he added, "I'm supposed to see Shacklebolt this afternoon for a debriefing."

Silence greeted the end of his tale. Sometime during his account, Severus had taken his hand within his own; the feelings emanating from him through their bond expressed the fierce tenderness he would never admit in any company but his own. Harry sent back his gratitude and love and, as he leaned heavily into Severus' unspoken, unshakeable support, he wondered how he'd ever thought he could go this alone. More than anything, he wanted to take the warmth and comfort he knew he would always find in Severus' arms.

However, he also knew all that would have to wait. Harry sat back stiffly in his chair, bracing himself for the inevitable questions. Moody was the first to break the quiet.

"Did yeh identify anyone?" When Harry shook his head, he asked incredulously, "Yeh didn't know any of them?"

This had been Shacklebolt's concern as well. He'd told Harry that the wizards had dispersed immediately after the Aurors had arrived; Harry was the only one who might be able to identify them. "I don't know. I really don't remember much. It's all a blur; you know what it's like in battle."

"Hmmm, yeah," Moody remarked, frowning. "'Course as an aid to recall, Veritaserum is usu..."

"No!" he cried in guilty panic. At their startled expressions, he temporised, "No, I'm sorry, Veritaserum won't help; it doesn't work on me."

"Poppycock!" Moody growled. "Yeh just don't..."

Minerva interrupted smoothly. "No, Alastor. It's true; Harry has proved - resistive - to its influence in the past. As his Head of House, I was there, so was Severus; Albus was elated with the results when he tested him."

"Too bad." Moody looked again to Harry. "Sorry, lad."

Harry nodded what absolution he could muster.

Her head tilted in inquiry, Minerva asked abruptly, "How did you know there were eight wizards and not nine or seven or a dozen as the paper reported?"

Harry debated answering for a moment, but knew it for a valid question; he had to trust they would keep it to themselves. "Septimius had me study with Mr. Ollivander. Every wand has a different Schema; I can see them and judge their strength, which is dependent on the magic of the people who wield them."

Moody sat back with a "Hmph." Even Severus looked startled.

"And you counted eight distinct wands, therefore eight wizards?" Minerva asked with wonder.

"Yes, it's almost an automatic reflex now to notice such things. But that doesn't count Malfoy's; he left immediately after he cast the first hex."

"Can you determine the gender of the wand's owner?" Severus asked, his fascination clear.

Harry hesitated. "No, I cannot," he finally said, but sent Severus a "Yes."

Severus returned his understanding. Harry didn't much like talking about his Schematamagus abilities to anyone; Minerva and Moody knew enough about them to take his answer at face value, but he would not overtly lie to Severus.

Moody poured himself another cup of tea. Eyeing the dark liquid, he said, "Seems to be the wrong kinda drink for such a discussion, but no matter." He took a sip and grimaced. "I see where we're going with this, Severus, and given the other information we've received about Malfoy the Elder and his movements over the past few years, I would say he's finally setting his plan in motion. Bit less subtle than I expected, but maybe he's getting impatient."

"Or maybe this is a red herring to draw our attention away from what he's really planning," Minerva speculated.

"Perhaps," Severus said with regret. "Regardless, I think the assault at the station was only the first salvo of his campaign." When he received nods from the other two, he added, "So, we're agreed, then? Whether a direct attack or a clever feint, it's war."

"You said it yourself last night - it can't end any other way," Harry said sadly.

How many years had they discussed this very eventuality? How many hours of study had they both devoted to this moment? Harry hazarded a glance at Severus, appalled at the fresh lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. Would he lose Severus as well? The mere thought chilled him, an icy tendril of dread threading its way to the very heart of his soul. Severus turned his head; implacable dark eyes locked with his and for a moment the room around them disappeared as the bond flared to life, boldly reminding them of their solid foundations, the inner strengths built slowly over their years together, reinforced by their boundless love and commitment.

"The quiet times are over?" Harry whispered only for Severus.

"So it would seem," he replied just as quietly.

Lowering his eyes, Severus reluctantly broke the connection, but Harry didn't mind; there would be time later for a proper, more private communion. He half-listened to them debate the issues further, retreating into a private shell where he didn't have to think at all. As Harry's presence was unnecessary to the discussion, he concentrated more on the warm pulse in Severus' hand than any words he might be uttering. Staring into the dancing flames, time slipped away as the three continued their sometimes heated discussion. Their reactions and judgments just as Severus had predicted, Minerva's vocal scepticism and cold, practical wait-and-see attitude contrasted sharply to Moody's quiet introspection which demanded swift and decisive action. He marvelled at the way Severus played them off one another to gain his own goals.

However, an indeterminate time later, Severus' brisk voice accompanied by a hard squeeze to his hand brought Harry out of his reverie as Severus began issuing his orders. "Alastor, call a meeting of the Order for next weekend. We need to assess the situation further and start refining our plans. We must be prepared to respond, with force if necessary, to stop this before it escalates farther. Unlike Albus, I do not believe the best of my fellow wizards; I refuse to wage a protracted war against another supposed 'Dark Lord' if we can head him off."

Harry looked between them. "I've been studying the genesis of the war with Voldemort and I believe one of the reasons it was so prolonged was because we were ill-prepared to fight at the onset of his atrocities and were suffering from what the Muggles call the 'ostrich in the sand' syndrome. I hate to suggest it, but have you given any thought to resurrecting Dumbledore's Army for the older students? Perhaps, if we are prepared this time, throughout the generations, we can keep it short."

"Surely, it's not that bad yet!" Minerva exclaimed, her head drawn back in shock.

Harry snorted derisively. "The only reason you say that is because there have been few Wizarding casualties. As long as Lucius keeps it to the Muggles, no one complains. Except the Muggles. I don't remember what general said it, but you can't win a war fought on two fronts. We cannot hope to prevail against both Lucius and the Muggles in a conflict and I, for one, think this is what Lucius is counting on. A war with the Muggles who, need I remind you, outnumber us greatly, would drain our resources so much he could just waltz in and take over, with little to no fuss and no indictment if he can keep his involvement secret." He finished fiercely, "All hail our saviour, Lucius Malfoy!"

Moody nodded, smiling brightly. "There's the lad! Yeh have the right of it. He intends to divide us." He winked and added, "What other bright ideas have yeh?"

Before Harry could reply, Albus spoke up from one of the usually empty frames over the fire. "If I may offer some suggestions?"

Severus looked up and acknowledged their silent observer with a chuckle. "Certainly, Albus. When have we ever been able to keep you quiet?"

Albus cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling over his spectacles. "Perhaps Arthur should approach the Muggle Prime Minister and open a - discussion. In the meantime, perhaps you could lure Ron Weasley away from his chess board and interest him in a much broader 'game'. With his Auror training and that strategic brilliance of his, I'm quite certain he would bring a unique perspective to your plans, some of which could be released to the Muggles. Perhaps then you can convince them to join us, clandestinely one could hope, to fight Lucius together. There is benefit to both and I think you could strike a bargain with them."

Sceptical, Minerva asked, "What do we have that they could possibly want other than our magic? I would not agree that this is a good idea. I'm afraid that if we make any offers to them, we're setting ourselves up for eventual slavery."

Severus and Harry locked gazes again, an inner debate raging as Harry urged him to tell them. Capitulating, Severus nodded and sighed. "You're right, Minerva. They could easily capture our interests if we let them; as Harry remarked, there are too many of them and not enough of us. And you're right, Harry, we do have the means to convince them and a very strong coin with which to bargain. I just hate giving it to them."

Harry commiserated, "I know; I'm not thrilled either, but what other choice do we have?"

"What?" Moody asked with asperity.

"You both know that Harry and I, with Artemis' assistance, have been trying to create a series of potions to aid Sanos healers. About five years ago, quite by happenstance, one of those potions proved effective in curing Baldion's Syndrome. After Harry taught the techniques, selected healers have been able to cure it for years, but only with Sanos magic and only amongst ourselves. We found a way to do it without risking them."

"How is it no one knows of this?" Minerva asked with disbelief.

Harry shook his head and responded quietly, "I first learned it by accident during my mastery and refined it when Albus was sick. It was he who suggested I tell no one of the ability, but I shared it with Carlotta and Septimius; before long there were several of us who could do it. Given the reactions of those we cured, we all decided to require a binding vow of secrecy with those wizards and witches we healed. When one of our patients died trying to break our geas to tell a relative who was equally ill, we made the difficult decision to withhold any treatment from the Muggles, for we could not reliably bind them. I've often regretted that decision, especially with the children, but I also know that had we not made it, we would have been overwhelmed; a dead healer cures no one."

However, that had not stopped him - nor his peers, for that matter - from assuaging their guilt over the stricture by occasionally sneaking into the Muggle children's wards in the dead of night while everyone slept. It certainly became much easier and safer to do so once one or two of their hospitals gained a reputation for 'miracle' remissions.

He refocussed on the conversation when Severus said, "Neither Lucius nor the Muggles know of our healers' abilities or of the potion. Baldion's runs rampant now world-wide as their blighted environment destroys their bodies; I say we hold onto the knowledge as a final bargaining chip in case we cannot convince them by any other means. Albus, your other suggestions had occurred to me as well, but not about Ron. He would be an excellent addition."

Severus turned to his second-in-command. "Minerva, make a list of all the students who have strong talents in Charms, Transfigurations, and Defence. Work with Ginny to see who might be eligible among the adults. Let's see if we can find some likely candidates."

"Very well, Severus. I'll have Remus organise it. Merlin, I wish this wasn't necessary."

"No more sorry than I am, lass." Merlin chimed in from his frame.

"Alastor, I also want you to circulate amongst the residents, talk to the old biddies and see what gossip you can ferret from them; I'm certain it will be the talk of the house. And who knows, with their outside circles of equally gossipy friends, they may even be able to guess at some of the assailants at the station."

"Damn inconvenient time for Kahea' to be gone," Moody muttered.

"True, but be that as it may, she's not here and you are in charge of the Environs while she's absent." He stared at him hard. "And be nice. I do not want a repeat of the last time you 'questioned' them."

Moody sulked, but given his dressing down of last night, Severus knew he would comply.

"Don't forget the house-elves," Albus remarked, yawning.

"Good idea. I'll speak to Dobby this coming week. As Elder it would be his responsibility to decide how much they should be involved." Severus glanced at each of them. "Anything else?"

"No, I must be going. I'm woefully behind schedule," Minerva groused, rising from her chair.

Moody followed. "I'm off, too. Mustn't keep the biddies waiting."

Now that they had their assignments Severus willed them away, stifling his impatience at their awkward stances, their surreptitious glances at Harry filled with compassion. Minerva stretched out a hand and withdrew it, obviously unsure how it would be received. It wouldn't matter; the momentary distraction of their conversation over, Harry had already retreated within the renewed distress Severus could feel pulsing between their hands.

Moody's gaze travelled between them, his face softening in understanding. Taking Minerva's hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm, he steered her to the door with a quiet, "There's naught we can do for the lad. Let's leave them to it."

The door had barely snicked close behind them when Severus stood, pulling an unresisting Harry with him. He walked them slowly over to a window seat out of sight from the portraits and settled him snug against his side, one leg thrown over his lap. With a heavy sigh, Harry burrowed his face into Severus' shoulder, one hand fisted in his robes. The tousled hair under his cheek tickled his nose, but he refused to loosen his tight hold to scratch it.

By gradual degrees the racking shudders under his hands subsided until Harry raised a face swollen and blotchy. Handing him a handkerchief, Severus summoned a glass of water, which Harry gulped greedily after blowing his nose. Banishing both the glass and the sodden cloth, Severus tipped Harry's head back and kissed him, a serious kiss, slow and smooth but with no hunger, no fire, merely a tender reaffirmation of everything he held dear about him - crying and all. When he would have pulled back, Harry buried his hands in his hair, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss with a clinging desperation. Severus tried to give him the reassurance he seemed to need, holding nothing back. Harry ended it abruptly, sagging against him, his head hung dejectedly.

"Need you," Harry said quietly, pleating folds into his robes. "So much."

"Then we have something in common," he said, moving a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. While normally a reserved man, he understood there were times when Harry just needed to hear aloud the things he held close to his heart, times when his confidence was so badly shaken his rare insecurities threatened to overwhelm him. Without a doubt, he knew this was one of those times, the signs since yesterday evening unmistakable. Framing Harry's face with his hands, he raised it and locked eyes with him. Fiercely he whispered, "No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter who you become, I will always love you, Harry. I mean that as much now as I did twenty years ago, maybe more so as we've grown together. Please, love, never forget that."

The anguished lines around Harry's mouth eased, a bit of the sparkle returned to his eyes as he said, "I'll try not to forget. I love you, Severus," and he lifted his face to give Severus a single, lingering kiss. Folding him back in his arms, Severus gave him another and still more until with a contented sigh, Harry melted against him, his hands resting on Severus' chest.

Playing with the buttons on his old teaching robes, Harry murmured, "I just can't remember. Do you think you could see them better?"

Half-expecting the question, he asked, "Are you sure?"

Harry sighed. "You won't be distracted by my emotions and may recognize things and people I did not - or cannot."

All true, but that didn't mean he wanted to do something so intrusive. "Very well," he said, shifting him slightly to make him more comfortable. When Harry snuggled his head into his shoulder, he asked, "Ready?"

Harry nodded and Severus closed his eyes, concentrating.

Gently, cautiously, he felt his way through their bond, fully aware that Harry was still partially blocking him, but less so than yesterday as the memories of the station were now open to him. With no small relief, Severus quickly saw that Harry's perceptions of what happened at the station were exactly as he'd said - a jagged kaleidoscope of swirling colour and confused sound, broken in so many places it was almost incomprehensible. But the events leading to the battle were clear and damning, and Severus understood all too well the horror and sorrow he could feel coursing through his mate's trembling frame. To view it second-hand was sickening; he could only weigh it against his own past to guess what it must have been like to actually witness it.

It was sometimes strange and wonderful to view life through Harry's eyes as he didn't always perceive things the way everyone else did. The Schema flashes of wands, with their sparkling patterns and bright colours, were as beautiful and unique as the rare times Harry let him share his memories. However, for what they needed, these impressions and disconnected perceptions helped them not. Waiting until Harry was calm inside, he threaded his way amongst the various images, carefully employing the methods he and Harry had devised over the years to bring them into sharper focus. While he got more details before the battle, which only served to distress Harry further, the rest resolved into a hazy mess he couldn't decipher. Admitting defeat, he relaxed back against the pillow cushioning him from the stone wall, trying very hard not to think of their failure.

His voice a thin thread of sound, Harry said, "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise. We both knew our chances of success were slim."

"I know, but I still feel bad about it," he replied, covering a wide yawn.

Severus settled deeper into the pillow until he was half reclining. Harry curled around him with another yawn. "Sorry. Sleepy."

"I can imagine." He stroked his hair. "It being Saturday, I've nothing pressing. You could nap here."

"With my spousal pillow?" He snuggled into 'his' spot. "Sounds lovely."

Not long afterwards, Severus found himself in the same position he'd been in last night: holding a lightly sleeping, twitching Harry while he lay awake thinking and planning. As Harry was obviously going to miss his appointment with Kingsley, the first order of business after Harry awoke would be to Owl the man and tell him he'd examined Harry himself and there was nothing to add - for now. That should hold him off at least until tomorrow, if not Monday. Then there was the matter of Harry's clinic. If he was serious about closing it, then there were a few ideas he wanted to talk to him about. But only if Harry mentioned it again.

The third was potentially dangerous; he needed to contact Georg to see if Lucius had been by recently. There were some questions he wanted asked, and he needed to set up a regular contact schedule now that Lucius was finally moving; Malfoy was only one of Georg's seedier clients from whom he could potentially glean information. The fourth would prove difficult; he needed to hold onto his patience until Harry was ready to talk. The strong block he'd confronted earlier told him his spouse wasn't yet prepared to open a discussion. He sensed the missing information was somehow connected to that which he already knew; his continuing ignorance frustrated him immensely.

Which brought him to the last, more delicate item: Harry's abilities and his apparent ignorance of them. His fault, that. Remembering the hectic years after Albus' death, he deeply regretted he'd neglected Harry and their relationship most shamelessly as he'd wrested order from Albus' cheerful chaos. How many nights had they shared their nightcap, Harry almost bouncing in his enthusiasm as he related what he'd learned and seen during the day, while his own mind had wandered fretfully over the latest problem, the latest schedule? How many times had he dampened Harry's joy with his blatant inattention? How long had it taken before Harry had stopped talking altogether?

How many heartbeats had he lost when Harry finally failed to come home to him at all?

Severus shuddered, tightening his arms around his husband lying so lax and trusting against him. He'd been so blind and stupid taking for granted the only thing, the only person with any true meaning in his life. Even now, ten years after their crisis, he still felt the keen astonishment that Harry had returned. To him. To them. Eager to forgive and love him at a time when he deserved it the least. Since then, he'd endeavoured to never fall in such a trap again. He'd learned to delegate and trust those he'd chosen, leaving him more time and energy for their relationship. And while he'd not always been successful, he at least knew when he'd failed and that awareness made all the difference.

He'd always known there'd be a price for his prior failure; it seemed he - they - would be paying it now, for he would have to dredge up that part of their lives in order to discover what he'd missed. He sighed; it was just another regret in a long line of them. Oh, he knew in the vaguest terms who had taught Harry - after all, he'd suggested a few of the masters himself - but he obviously had no knowledge of what Harry had learned; that bit about the wands had come as a complete surprise to him as did Harry's partial prevarication to the others about the scope of it. Why Harry felt it necessary, he hadn't a clue.

And that was the crux of his dilemma. He suspected his spouse's abilities could prove vital in the upcoming conflicts. The headmaster in him wanted to know what they were to exploit them, the husband in him would never do so; Harry was his spouse, not his minion. But would Harry recognize the difference? Not all of Harry's skills were to the 'good', useful perhaps, but so dark Harry refused to employ them. He trusted Harry's conscience in matters of this nature, but there was still the risk he could inadvertently push him over the thin line between light and dark if he didn't know where that line was drawn. They needed to talk, but with their bond fully open to prove his and the headmaster's sincerity.

Deciding there was nothing more to be done until Minerva and Moody reported back to him, he put it firmly aside, intent instead on savouring the lightly dozing body draped across him. Clearing his thoughts, he closed his eyes and rested.

He was half-asleep himself when Harry raised his head and asked quietly, "You were thinking hard. The things you asked of Minerva and Moody, do you think they will be enough?"

Blinking fully awake, Severus regarded him a moment. "I don't know, Harry. I just don't know. I miss Albus at times like these; I'm not the leader he was."

"And this is a bad thing?" Harry asked seriously, his hand stroking his chest. "You're honest and forthright, you're smarter and more devious than he ever was, yet you don't ask anyone to take risks without their full knowledge. Don't sell yourself so short, love. Hogwarts and the Environs have thrived under your guidance. I think your Slytherin cunning is exactly what the situation requires. And no one knows Lucius better than you."

"Thus speaks someone with no bias whatsoever," Severus said wryly, pulling Harry close.

But Harry wouldn't be drawn into his admittedly feeble attempt at humour. "Seems we're back to where we started. Healer or Soldier. Life or Death. When will it end, Severus?"

"Even the Orrery can't tell us that, love. And speaking of which, I want to see if your presence at the station was planned or not."

"I don't know how it could have been; even I didn't anticipate going there."

"I promised I wouldn't push, but your habits are just that. The possibility exists that you were manipulated into being in the right place at the right time. I admit the idea is far-fetched, but if I can think of it, so can Lucius. I just want to rule out the variables."

Harry shrugged. "It's your time; let me know what you find. I have to contact Jed and Sheila to see if they're all right and to tell them I'm closing the clinic. Then I guess I should call some of my contacts and see if I can find them both new positions. Oh, and I need to contact the lady who owns my building to tell her we're shutting down. And - shit! I have to talk to Perrin; he was going to come work for me, remember? Damn, there's so much..."

Severus stopped him with a fingers to his lips. "I thought about this while you were resting and, since you always nag-nag-nag about my workload, I was wondering if you thought Sheila might like to work here - for me - as my assistant. With her family in Hogsmeade, the commute would certainly be better and I promise not to abuse her too much."

Sitting up, his eyes shining with hope, Harry asked incredulously, "Are you serious, or are you just lusting after my secretary? They say the husband is always the last to know."

"No, I'm just trying to bribe you into my bed," he said with a chuckle. "Of course I'm serious. Actually, I've been thinking about this for a long time, as you well know. I also had some ideas about you and Perrin - and Jed if you'd care to hear them."

The relief clear in his face and voice, Harry smiled. "Seeing how I'm still undecided about sleeping with you, I'm open to more bribery."

"Good," Severus said lightly, stealing a kiss. "I seem to recall a down-on-his-luck healer who might be able to take over the infirmary's expansion program. Our poor, beleaguered Artemis is a pale shadow of his former robust self trying to handle both it and his normal patient load."

"Well, we wouldn't want him fading away, now would we?" Harry teased.

"Of course, if that someone were to do so, he could run it any way he sees fit. Might even have the time, if he could find some willing partners, to take outside referrals on the side. Why, it could be just like a private clinic. If he were so inclined, that is."

Harry chuckled. "And this wouldn't have anything to do with - protecting - anyone, would it?"

"Never."

"Liar."

"You wound me." Harry raised a brow. "All right, perhaps just a bit."

"Perhaps a bit more," Harry said, leaning over to kiss him soundly.

When Harry eventually returned his mouth with a soft "I love you," Severus replied huskily, "I know." This was always the hardest part - letting him go. He pushed at him lightly. "Now move your sweet arse. I've got work to do."

"Yes, sir," Harry said with a mock salute. With little grace, he climbed out of the window seat. Severus was a bit slower, his limbs seemingly frozen from the inactivity. Harry watched him with a bone-melting grin. "Need some help, old man?" he asked, laughing.

He took Harry's proffered hand, changing his voice to a wavering whine. "Insolent brat. No respect for your elders. Why in my time, young men..."

Standing before him, Harry stopped his monologue with another kiss. "Thanks," he whispered, suddenly serious.

There really was nothing further to say, so he just demonstrated instead. He'd get started - just as soon as he was done.

.:0:. .:0:. .:0:. .:0:.

It was after sunset when he returned. Harry greeted him at the door to their quarters with an enthusiastic kiss and a curious, "Well?"

Hanging his heavy winter cloak on its peg, he replied, "It seems your presence at the station was pure bad luck on your part. Lucius intended a massacre, and that's a quote, so at least something good came out of it. He wasn't forthcoming about who was involved, though."

"And you discovered this how?" Harry asked with an arched brow as they entered the Rotunda.

"An old acquaintance runs a very private, very discreet establishment Lucius frequents when he needs to quench his baser appetites."

"Hmm. And Malfoy just - volunteered this information?"

"Let's just say my informant is well-versed in certain obscure, untraceable potions that may have loosened his client's lips a bit - and made him forget about it afterwards."

"How convenient. I take it the 'discreet' part means he doesn't do this very often?"

"Not if he wants to survive. Unfortunately, the most efficacious potion must be applied sparingly; I believe he doctors the lubricant. If dosed too liberally, the victim becomes violently ill which would be a dead give-away as to its usage, not to mention messy. As it limits the scope of an interrogation, one must be brief and specific. I asked two questions, there was only time for one answer."

Harry's forehead scrunched in puzzlement. "How'd you do that?" As Severus was about to answer, Harry stopped near the Loquarium, exclaiming, "How clever! You used the Orrery, didn't you?" When he nodded, Harry speculated, "You went to your informant in the past and asked him to ferret the information from Malfoy the next time he visited, then you went back 'today' and got the answer?"

Severus smiled; while not entirely accurate as he'd actually witnessed Lucius' 'confession', it was still a solid deduction considering he rarely talked about what he could do with the Orrery. "Close enough."

Harry beamed and they resumed their walk to the sitting room. "I'm curious, though. Why didn't you just use a Time Turner? It's certainly easier, not to mention safer."

Now was not the time for the full discourse on the vast differences between the two, so he opted for the most obvious. "The Time Turner is heavily monitored by the Ministry; the Orrery, which is a headmaster's secret, is not. Only you, as my spotter, and I know of it."

Severus had to laugh when Harry replied, "That's so Slytherin, it makes my Gryffindor side cringe. But why did Albus use you as a spy when he could have used the Orrery?"

Another very good question - and one he'd asked the old man. "He never stretched the Orrery's power in the direction I have."

Patently interested, Harry paused again in the entrance to the sitting room. "Oh?"

How best to condense nearly two years of hard work? "Albus was adept in Astrological Divination, the Orrery his tool to read the planetary portents much like a good Diviner reads tarot cards; his accuracy was just short of miraculous at times. With his Schematamagus abilities he could also stop or capture time for short periods, although it was very dangerous to do so."

"So that's why Poppy scolded him so much," Harry mused thoughtfully. "She never did say, you know."

Severus chuckled. "One of many reasons, I'm sure."

Harry laughed appreciatively. "Too true. Considering you distrust Divination on general principles, can I assume you don't read the future?"

"Indeed, no. When I failed doing it his way, Albus taught me how to bend it to my will, my unique talents. And once I succeeded, it wouldn't respond to him anymore; the Orrery will serve only one master at a time."

"Pity. Could have saved you some wear and tear."

"True," he answered drolly, "but I somehow don't think Albus' altruism would have stretched so far as to lose such an obvious advantage for the Order, just to spare a willing tool such as myself - even if he did consider me a friend."

Harry's sour face was an answer in itself. As they moved on, he was relieved when Harry changed the subject. "Want a brandy before dinner?"

"That would be pleasant."

As he gratefully sank on the sofa, Harry went to the alcove to pour their drinks. "I talked to Sheila while you were gone," he said, carrying in two lightly filled snifters, "and she said she's going to charge you an extra ten Galleons," he handed one to him, "every time you bark at her." He sat next to him on the sofa. "Oh, and I promised her a hideously high salary; she's sceptical, but I told her you were good for it."

The brandy went down smooth and easy. "Thank you. I think. When can she start?"

"I gave her a week to make all the necessary arrangements. I was going to do it, but when she started reciting this very long list of people I hadn't thought of contacting, I left her with it."

"Sounds sensible." He took another sip. "And I don't bark. I'm merely - assertive."

Harry snorted. "Right."

Rather than protest, Severus reached out an arm and pulled Harry over to lounge against him. He was tired both in body and soul. Harry's warm weight, the hand resting light on his thigh, the silky hair under his fingers and lips all served to ease his concerns and made this a quiet time, one to be savoured, hoarded against the future's uncertainty. He closed his eyes and let it take him for however long he could hold it.

Some unknown time later, a clock chiming dinner broke the moment. With a grunt, Harry sat up, but instead of rising, he twisted in place to face him. After draining the snifter in one go, he asked seriously, "A Pensieve won't work, will it?"

What the hell was Harry up to now? "No, it won't; any memories removed would be exactly as they are in your head."

Harry drew a deep breath before saying lightly, "Well, then, I guess we've not much choice then, have we? It's important we see as many details as possible if we're to be at all effective."

His heart pounded in dread as he realised what Harry was suggesting. "No," he stated flatly.

"No, as in, 'No, you're wrong?'"

"No, as in, 'No, I won't use Legilimency on you.'"

With some asperity, Harry rejoined, "Severus, we're out of options."

"Harry," he mimicked, "we have an agreement about this."

His heated reply was almost a shout. "We're at war, damn it! We need the information locked in my head. We can't be choosy about what methods we use sometimes. We've tried everything else. There's nothing left."

It was like listening to himself at that age. And damn it, he was...

"You know I'm right, Severus," Harry said forcibly, his expression shifting to one of mute apology. Quieter, he added, "We've done this before - I know what to expect. It's the only way."

Yes, they had in Harry's seventh year, but he'd had less to lose then. To gather his memory, take it apart, slow it down, filter and reassemble it, and then store it into multiple memory globes was dangerous. "It's too risky. With that kind of retrieval, I could easily damage your..." He stopped with the fierce grin Harry gave him.

"We can't harm each other, remember?" The hand Harry placed on his cheek was warm and vibrant, his voice almost seductive. "I trust you, Severus. Absolutely, without question. And I know your skills; you have no equal." His hand threading through his hair, Harry kissed him, then pulled back, his gaze earnest. Enunciating each word clearly, he added, "It needs to be done."

The gods help him, he was actually considering it. With a sigh of resignation, he said, "I don't want to do this."

"I know," Harry said gently, the regret in his eyes telling him he understood his reluctance, but also that he was determined to see it through. "Come, we'll be late for dinner. We can ask Minerva and Moody to stand as witnesses, and afterwards you can send a report and a couple of globes to Arthur and Kingsley so they can view it for themselves. I'll even help with the paperwork."

Severus studied him a moment, unwillingly admiring how deftly Harry had manoeuvred him into agreeing to this madness. "If this is how you spend your free time, I not sure I should ever leave you alone again."

Leading him to the door, Harry said half-seriously, "See that you don't, then."

.:0:. .:0:. .:0:. .:0:.

They cut dinner short and assembled in Severus' office just after seven. By mutual agreement they settled in the seating group, the fire blazing high. Dozens of magelights floated over the area, throwing the remainder of the room in semi-darkness.

Rearranging the chairs, Minerva and Moody sat to the side while he and Harry faced each other, knees almost touching. Saganth was dozing in his customary place on the stone flags under the hovering fire circle; Harry bent and touched his hand to the floor near him.

There you go, Beautiful Ssscalesss. Your brother is nesssting warm and sssnug and I needsss to be alone.

Sleave immediately slithered off his wrist to tangle in her brother's coils. Harry chuckled when she hissed happily, Oooo. Niccce. It isss sssummer hot here. It isss a good placcce to ssslumber, Massster.

Let sssleeping sssnakesss lie, he quipped.

Sss, yesss, sssleeping isss alwaysss good.

Straightening, Harry chuckled. "I'm glad you added the connection so they can come in here; they're both very fond of their space under the fire."

"I believe that was the point," he said banally, trying to fill the empty silence. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Are you ready to begin?"

"Actually, Severus, I have a request." The hesitant tone in his voice alerted him; Harry seemed nervous for the first time that evening. When he nodded warily, Harry asked, "May I borrow your Pensieve? I'd like to remove some memories containing patient information, just in case."

Interesting, but unexpected. Considering he wouldn't be concentrating on anything remotely related to Harry's patients, and that his spouse had often trusted him with such information before, he could only assume Harry wanted to remove the memories of whatever it was he'd been hiding recently. So be it. It was Harry's right to confess, if at all, in his own time and manner; he could understand why he'd loathe to have Severus stumble over his bare secrets without a proper explanation and perspective.

"Very well." Removing the ward from the right cabinet, Severus removed the stone bowl and, relocking the door, carried it over to the sideboard under the windows. Harry thanked him softly and plied his wand to his forehead, the first strand almost golden in the magelight.

While he waited, Severus idly noted it was a new moon, a powerful and pregnant time for change. As he had many times before, he wished he had Albus' talent to peer into the future; it might be useful to envision the possibilities before they occurred. But it could also be damning, frightening with what one could alter with pre-knowledge, a trap in which Albus had fallen. Thinking he could infallibly manipulate others into the future he wanted, Albus had only succeeded in creating one worse than that first seen. This alone had convinced Severus he was better off without it.

Harry paused. Thinking him finished, Severus moved to join him when, after some internal debate, Harry pulled two more. The differences in him as he placed the last one in the bowl was amazing. Colour returned to a face pale for so long, Severus hadn't really noticed it anymore; he stood taller, the hunch to his shoulders straightened. The fine lines of worry disappearing, his eyes cleared back to their normal calm confidence. This was his Harry and, once again, he wondered what was so dire that it could have wrought such changes.

But there was also a lingering air of hesitancy, his stance that of one who stood hopelessly alone, bereft of something vital. Suddenly unsure, Severus needed positive affirmation that Harry still wanted to carry through. Even with their bond and their trust in one another, Legilimency teetered on the edge of violation; perhaps Harry was having second thoughts?

He crossed the small distance between them and took Harry's hands in his. "I don't want to do this."

"I know, but you will."

He brought those hands up to his chest. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

"I know, but you won't."

He kissed the fingers of one hand. "We could just leave this alone and not worry about it."

"I know, but we can't."

He cupped Harry's face. "You seem to know far too much."

Eyes closed, Harry rubbed his cheek against his fingers and, with a small sigh, opened them, his gaze serene and untroubled. "The only thing I know of any importance is that I love you," Placing his hand over Severus', he turned his face to kiss the palm. "Beyond that, everything else is flotsam."

Although loving Harry had opened him in ways he would never have imagined in his youth, he'd always felt like an idiot incapable of original thought if he repeated those words back to him when already spoken. And tonight all the words he fervently wished he could utter stuck fast in his throat, carrying less weight than the cherished feel of soft skin under his hands, the tender press of lips upon those of his beloved. A simple touch to face and hair to define their reality, a simple kiss to quench their need, holding them in this place where mere words were never needed to reveal the fullness of their hearts.

Just one more moment and he would have to let go. One more kiss, sweet and chaste, to sustain him until later tonight. Longingly he took that kiss and, with a heavy sigh, led the way back to the chairs sitting in their oasis of seeming calm.

With Harry's decisive nod and steady eyes boring a hole right through him, Severus raised his wand with mixed feelings of regret and determination.

"Legilimens!"

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FINIS Epithalamium
Hiding Under the Ninth Earth continued in the stand-alone Chapter Three : Walking a Fine Line

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IV-7. The general who is skilled in defence hides under the ninth earth; he who is skilled in attack flashes forth from the topmost heights of heaven. Thus on the one hand we have ability to protect ourselves; on the other, a victory that is complete.

Sun Tzu, in "The Art of War"

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Author's Notes:
Thank you for your kind attention. A full timeline, references, character lists, and partial author notes will be soon be updated at my site, A Turn of the Page.

Just as life is never about one person, nor is a potion ever just one ingredient, no story can ever be the sole work of one author. And while one's life experiences are often poured onto the page, there are others who also lend theirs to it as well. I am blessed that so many people, with their comments and insights, helped with this story.

Jiltanith, Jessika-chan, Margaret, and Rainyshiny, thank you; your support means much to me and I miss your mails.

NB, welcome and thank you for slogging your way quickly through the series so you could add your timely comments; I desperately needed a 'Brit Picker', LOL.

Delphi, Epithalamium would be a much poorer work without your tireless translations and emotional insights; I only wish I could capture them the way you do.

Lydia Lovestruck, I can never repay your steadfastness and hand-holding through all 600,000+ words of this series; your " --ack!'s" and "I think you meant to's" and "Awww's" were better than any college education could ever be, --no comma G and certainly more fun.

Aseneth, what can I say? You're always there, always ready with a witty comment or sincere commiseration when I need it most.

And to my sugar-daddy, Haldolpoim: Kiss, kiss, hug, hug, practice, practice. Oh, yeah!

Thank you all.

Hang on, my friends, we've only reached the top of the hill.

I Got Tired of Waiting : January 2006
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