"Getting back to our suspect," Martin said, calling their attention away from what was shaping up to be another argument. "You said that Burke was powerful. How much of a threat do you think he is?"
Harry found himself exchanging a glance with Snape at the preposterous question. It was amazing how much he could read in a flicker of those black eyes. Without Snape altering his expression or voicing a single word, Harry could tell that Snape was as shocked by the Auror's question as he was.
Snape answered in his typically snide tone, "I'd imagine that Cascius Burke is no more of a threat than any wizard who has managed to reduce his age by a century, create a near flawless memory alteration powerful enough to fool a Veritaserum investigation, and survive the combined assault of Lord Voldemort and twenty of his most powerful Death Eaters. I wouldn't give it a moment's worry."
"Burke survived a fight with Voldemort and twenty Death Eaters?" Harry found himself voicing the thought that everyone had to be thinking.
"Burke's son, grandsons, and ten other followers fell in under two minutes. Burke took direct Unforgivable hits from Voldemort, myself, Lucius Malfoy, and four other experienced duellists. He held all of us at bay for over ten minutes and then managed to break Voldemort's security wards and apparate away," Snape said.
"That's not good," Ron said.
"Really?" Snape said with a sarcastic rise of his brow.
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered before shaking himself back into his professionalism. "I've got to get back to the office immediately. Chief Lawrence needs to know about this. We'll need to start a manhunt. I don't suppose you know where this Burke character can be found?"
Snape gave a slow, negative shake of his head. "Even if I did know where he lived, a wizard capable of this level of spellcraft isn't going to be sitting around awaiting capture."
"Yes, that's what I'm thinking. I just hope we have better luck finding Burke than we did finding Sirius when he escaped from Azkaban," Ron said, and then turned to his men. "We'd best get back to headquarters. It's going to be a long night."
"Perhaps I should come as well," Minerva said. "Before the school can chance another Hogsmeade weekend, we have to ensure that the students will be safe on the road. I need to speak to Chief Lawrence about increasing security."
"I'll come with you," Hermione offered.
"Thank you," Minerva seemed relieved by Hermione's offer. Then she turned to him, "Harry, do you mind if we keep your memories in the pensieve to share with Chief Lawrence?"
Before Harry could say that she could keep those particular memories forever if she wished, Ron said, "That won't be necessary. The Ministry has a number of pensieves. I can share anything the Chief needs since I looked in Harry's. We have to go." Ron looked to him. "Thanks again for your help, Harry. We'll see you later."
Ron gave his back an encouraging pat. Hermione gave him a brief hug and a whispered, "We'll see you soon. Take care." Then the three Aurors, Hermione, and Minerva all left the table to move to the floo in the outer office.
It was only after everyone had left that Harry realized that in their rush to get on the job of finding their missing suspect, that none of the Aurors had either apologized to Snape for their error or thanked the man for his assistance.
He turned back towards Snape, wanting to offer the thanks that he felt the man deserved, only to find those black eyes upon him. "Thank you for your help. We wouldn't have known who attacked Carl without your input."
"Yes, the Aurors were overcome with gratitude," Snape said in that lethally sarcastic way he had of effortlessly making a person feel an utter fool.
"I guess that they were eager to start their search now that they know their suspect," Harry tried to excuse what he knew to be bad behaviour.
"I note that they had time to thank you," Snape pointed out.
"Yes, well . . . ." Harry stammered.
"Forget it, Potter." Snape said, averting his eyes.
Harry watched that dark gaze roam over the shelves of books and curios. For one of the first times in their acquaintanceship, Snape appeared at a loss for words.
Harry didn't know what to say himself. Snape might be a thoroughly dislikeable character, but the man had been owed both an apology and thanks.
He heard Snape exhale a long breath, the kind he used himself when he was trying to shake off the after-effects of one of his night terrors, which was probably exactly how Snape was feeling after being threatened with Azkaban.
Wanting to make some kind of real contact with this man whose thoughts he'd touched, Harry softly said, "This was . . . a difficult afternoon. How are you doing?"
Those dark eyes flashed pure malice as Snape spat, "How do you think? A trusted colleague of thirty years believed I molested one of our students."
The malice somehow made Harry feel better. That was the Snape he knew.
"Minerva is Headmistress now. The students have to be her first concern," Harry defended. He tensed, waiting for Snape's next volley. A person could never have a normal conversation with Severus Snape. It was always verbal warfare of some kind.
There was no return fire. The quiet only deepened. Harry looked up at the taller wizard and took in those hard, chiselled features. Normally, that sour face seemed nearly emotionless, but tonight Harry was seeing the barricades for what they were. He'd only seen Snape look like this once before – the night of the final battle with Voldemort, when all the fighting was over and Albus Dumbledore's lifeless corpse was brought in from the courtyard.
God knew what the man must be feeling. To have such an ugly accusation levelled against him, with the airtight proof of a Veritaserum testimony backing it up. To have almost everyone who knew him believe that he had actually done it. To be moments away from Azkaban . . . Harry could only imagine how he'd feel in Snape's boots. He was still shaky himself and there had been no true threat against him. Snape had to be a wreck behind that outer cool.
"I suppose I'm free to leave now," Snape said. The scratched hand that had saved Snape's liberty reached up to push his hair clear of his eyes. Harry could see a faint tremor running through it.
They hadn't even told him he was free to go, Harry realized, disgusted. They'd just taken what knowledge Snape had to offer and left without so much as a thank you. While he understood Ron's need for haste, the lack of common courtesy troubled him. Snape might be a miserable bastard, but they wouldn't have known who their suspect was, were it not for his help. It wasn't right that Snape had just been forgotten about like this.
Bothered more than he could say by the oversight, Harry stared at his former teacher. Probably no one other than him would ever be able to see it, but Snape was shaken by what had happened this evening, badly so.
The thought of the man going down to the dungeons alone to brood over his mistreatment rankled, but Harry could see no way around it. It wasn't as though Snape would ever want to voluntarily spend time with him.
"Yes, I guess we both can go now," Harry agreed, turning for the door.
"Potter."
The sharp voice stopped him in his tracks. "Yes?"
"You're not going to leave that laying around in the open, are you?" Snape asked, gesturing towards the pensieve on the table with its glittering contents.
"Oh, yes." He'd totally forgotten about the memories he'd removed. "How do I get the thoughts back from the pensieve?"
Harry was braced for a cutting remark, but Snape merely said, "Put your wand back into the bowl and imagine the golden bubble returning along the same path you used to expel it."
"Right. Thanks."
To his surprise, Snape didn't leave. Perhaps Snape simply didn't trust him to do it right or do it at all, but Snape lingered, even though there was no longer any reason for him to stay.
Harry stuck his wand tip down into the dancing lights in the bowl and watched as his wand seemed to suck the thoughts up like a Muggle vacuum. He could feel the slight energy shift as the thoughts entered his system, then a heartbeat later, they were back in his mind.
They hit with a vengeance. It felt as if a dementor had just stepped into the room and sucked all the joy out of him. Harry gasped, swaying under the deluge of dark emotions that battered him as the details of Carl Westfield's rape played through his head like some disgusting kiddie porn flick. A cold sweat broke out on his skin and his stomach roiled. The bitter taste of bile filled his mouth and burned his throat.
Harry gulped it back down, and did his damnedest to get a hold of himself.
A firm hand grasped his elbow, both holding him up and grounding him.
"It's never pleasant when these types of memories return," Snape explained. "Give it a moment. It will pass."
Harry nodded. It would pass. The memory of that stranger's penis ripping into Carl's body was so visceral that he almost had sympathetic soreness, but . . . it would pass.
Like hell, it would.
Harry took a few deep breaths and tried to get some perspective, but the whole thing was just too horrid and too real.
"Breathe, deeply," Snape ordered.
Harry sucked in some more air. Very slowly, the repulsion gripping his guts loosened its hold and he no longer felt as if he'd be sick.
Once he could see something beside that brutal barn scene, Harry focused on the hand on his arm. Yellow fingers . . . he remembered those same yellow fingers reaching for his trousers . . . no, that hadn't really happened. And, the parts that were real had happened to someone else.
Abruptly realizing that they were alone in the room, just like Carl had been alone with Snape during detention, Harry was irritated to feel himself shiver again. Everything in him wanted to jerk clear, but . . . Snape was trying to help him.
"It wasn't me," Snape said and withdrew his supporting hand.
Harry staggered and grabbed onto the end of the table for balance.
"And, before you accuse me of reading your mind again, it was your expression, not your thoughts, that told me what you were thinking," Snape explained.
Damn. He couldn't let this go on this way. He hadn't feared this man when he was eleven and had had cause. He wasn't about to give Severus Snape that kind of power over him at this stage of the game.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologized. "I don't know why . . . I mean, I knew from the start that you hadn't . . . ."
To his shock, there was no condemnation in Snape's reply. "Potter, you took the boy's memories into yourself. Burke's illusion was virtually flawless. It would be strange if you weren't having a reaction. The others simply saw what was in the pensieve. You were in the boy's mind and felt it."
Harry stared up into those harsh features, oddly comforted by the distinction Snape had made.
"Are you all right?" Snape questioned after a minute or so of Harry's staring stupidly up at him.
"Are you?" Harry asked, turning the tables, because neither of them was ever comfortable admitting a weakness in front of the other.
The fact that Snape didn't immediately snarl a 'yes' or 'of course' at him was answer in itself. He appreciated that the other man didn't even try to lie to him.
The silence stretched so long that it became uncomfortable. Harry couldn't understand why Snape didn't leave, but then he realized that it might actually be worry for himself that was keeping him here. Or perhaps he simply didn't want to be alone just yet with the images he'd seen in the pensieve. Harry knew he sure as hell didn't.
Harry stared up into that hard, lined face with its long haughty nose. He'd hated this man so much as a boy, but he wasn't a child anymore and he knew that the world wasn't as comfortably black and white as it had seemed back then. Snape wasn't his enemy. He knew that.
Still, he considered his next action very carefully. Snape mightn't be his enemy, but he wasn't his friend, either. This man ripped him apart on a regular basis at staff meetings and seemed to delight in making him appear foolish. He knew that what he was considering would make him vulnerable and give Snape enough fuel to torment him for years.
The wisest move he could make would be to keep his mouth shut and just go back to his rooms to await Hermione and Ron's return, but wisdom had never been his strong suit.
Taking a deep breath, Harry softly said, "Look, I don't know about you, but I'm a bit of a wreck right now. I could use a drink and a change of scenery. Would you care to join me?"
"What?" Snape appeared as stunned as he'd ever seen him.
"In all the excitement, we missed dinner," Harry said, glancing at the bevelled windows to their right. When Ron had first been called to the Headmistress' office, this room had been flooded with bright afternoon light. But the windows behind Snape showed a dark sky now. Night had come to Hogwarts.
"I couldn't eat a bite," Snape denied.
"Neither could I, but I could sure use a drink. I think you could, too. Why don't we floo to the Three Broomsticks?" Harry asked, and held his breath, waiting for all hell to break loose, for Snape to tell him in his typically scathing manner that he'd rather die of thirst than voluntarily drink with James Potter's ill-gotten get.
But Snape didn't scoff at his offer. After searching his features for an uncomfortably long period, Snape softly asked, "Are you seriously asking me to accompany you on a social outing?"
Everything in that careworn face told Harry that Snape thought he was being had. He couldn't imagine how much courage it took for Snape to voice that question, to actually give him the benefit of the doubt and not assume the worst about him, as usual.
Tense, because he still expected to be told where he could stuff his invitation, Harry said, "Considering how we both feel, I'd hardly call it a social outing, but, yeah, I'd seriously like you to join me."
