Duty And More
Darkness, hollow and misty. Dampness, rotting and stenchful. A crushed innocence losing it's mind.
Why had she gone back?
Severus bit down hard on his lip to stymie any room for shaking. He knew, knew in the depths of his being that her choice had been the most rational; that if she couldn't break free of the wards or fight her way out, the next best thing would be to find a hideout only a scarce few could access.
And she had let him know, too. The move had not been completely senseless.
And yet. And yet.
He knew what her time underground had done to her. He still remembered her shaking, holding in sobs, shielding her eyes from lights she had gone far too long without. He remembered the long, painful road to recovery that he had never been able to boot from his memory. The constant falling apart, and gentle reweaving.
Sometimes he thought she didn't remember those days she had spent in the infirmary with too much clarity; she wouldn't be so brazen about retrying the experience otherwise.
If there had been any other route, he would have asked her to take it instead.
But the problem was that Severus didn't know if there had been any other route. He wasn't by her side, ready to reprimand or guide her as needed. His apprentice was alone, possibly injured, and not in her right mind.
And she had gone to the one place that would make it worse.
The best he could do now was make haste to her, and salvage what he could.
Severus moved with an implacable urgency, brushing past troubled witches and wizards alike with inconsiderate vehemence.
Their noble majesties could wait, get the neat little robes sullied by half-blood plagued air a little longer. His apprentice couldn't.
He couldn't.
He made it to the damned forest clearing as quickly as he could, slowing down and distracting from his path only to throw off a couple of Aurors who were looking around the area.
Then, he turned into a snake and slid down the opening, firmly ignoring the stench permeating around him.
Of the two holes he came to face, only one smelled of fresh blood, and Severus made his way through with fearful anticipation.
A lumos orb, detached from his apprentice's wand, floated towards him in greeting, and Severus quietly thanked the gods that she had this much power left in her, at least. He had been running himself ragged with imaginary scenarios.
Then his eyes wandered to the source of his worry.
Curled into herself and lying down with her eyes closed, Harriet Potter made a strange picture. All too mortal, all too fragile.
Blood streaked her face.
He crouched down, ignoring his heavily beating heart, and gently shook her.
“Harry. Wake up, please.”
Her eyes fluttered open, widening in recognition.
A pain in his chest eased up, and he tried to examine the wound on her head.
“How did you get injured—?”
“I-It's not my blood, Professor. Don't worry.” Harry shook her head frantically, then winced in pain.
His eyes narrowed, “You ran into trouble on the way here?”
“Not— not really on the way here. That was when I was inspecting the wards. An Auror Trio. I couldn't see, but I was able to hold off enough to get away. Must have slashed one of them,” She averted her eyes, but Severus knew that look of guilt.
“You were only defending yourself, foolish child.”
“And they were only following orders.” Harry shook her head, “But nevermind that. How— how are things up there?”
Severus hesitated. He knew a misdirection when he saw it, now. There was such a thing as being fooled one too many times.
“You couldn't see.” He repeated, allowing a note of warning to enter his voice, “Why? What happened? And why did you wince in pain earlier? Are you injured?”
She flinched, “The Rod… I thought I left it there, at the podium. But for whatever reason, my vision had gone dark and it was all sluggish and hard to breathe—”
She stilled for a moment, and then looked up at him, directly meeting his gaze.
“I don't want to talk about it. Not right now. Can we…?”
Her hands shook. He held them, sending a pulse of wordless reassurance.
“Later,” Severus promised.
The moment passed, and he released her.
“The situation above ground is quite chaotic,” Severus said, answering her previous question. “Riddle is in a rage, and Aurors are doing regular sweeps of the area to look for you. He— Riddle is confident you haven't made it out yet, and won't be doing so soon.”
He fixed her with a stern gaze, “While we've left the details of your troubles for later, I do need to know if you're incapacitated in any way, Harry.”
She shook her head helplessly, green eyes flashing with foreign emotion, “I don't know. My- My head hurts. Not as much as before, though. And apparently my mindscape is in a pretty bad state, Dom wouldn't allow me in, so that might be the reason—” She shifted uncomfortably. “And, and I've knocked into quite a lot of trees, I think, so some minor abrasions must be there, but nothing that accounts for this persistent ache I have all over. Oh, and my balance has gone for a toss, and I'm disoriented mentally too easily…”
The more he listened, the more his horror grew, even as he began cataloging her list of symptoms and noting some on his own. She was in bad shape, and definitely in no form to last a serious fight.
The weight of getting her out rested heavier in his chest, now that he knew his help wouldn't be additional but needed aid.
He had to get her away from Riddle. The longer she stayed near him, the more risk of her being found out. And if she was….
A Harry with all of her strength, power, and energy would have trouble lasting against a man so formidable. In her current state, it wouldn't be a match but a massacre.
There was only one thing to do.
He straightened as much as the dungeon would allow him, and reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
“Professor?”
“Get up, Harry. The day is not yet through, and there are still some advantages on our side,” he flashed her a smile, “Namely, me.”