Harry sensed a change in the emotions of the environment around him. Thus far, Snape had regarded him as a hostile intruder. He knew that Snape had been hiding every emotion he could as far away from his observation as possible, showing him only what was absolutely required by the memory or what had seeped out by accident. But now unfiltered shock swept through Snape's mental guards.
What is it? Harry asked.
There was a pause, in which he knew Snape was debating the wisdom of answering. Finally, Snape mindspoke to him, You really do believe me innocent.
Yes.
That simple word seemed to rock Snape's equilibrium.
Unwilling to intrude any more than he'd had to, Harry softly sent, I think that's all I need. Thank you.
Harry prepared for the somewhat more traumatizing process of disentangling himself from the other man's mind. Like fucking, going in always seemed to come naturally to Harry, while pulling out was never nearly as fluid.
Indeed? Harry heard a sardonic voice question and knew he'd let the thought leak out.
Wondering if a person could blush while inside another's mind, Harry ignored the jibe.
Just as the white entry chamber had faded around him, so did the Slytherin dungeon as Snape released the memory.
Harry was momentarily thrown to feel a wave of sheer terror crash over him as he was once again faced with the maelstrom of Snape's consciousness. It was speedily subdued and crushed like every other emotion Snape had experienced since Harry had entered his mind, but Harry had felt this one strongly enough to identify it. He could also sense the other man's dread. Snape's stomach was clenched tighter than a fist, his entire body rigid with an anxiety that even this master of suppression couldn't thwart.
What is it? Harry asked, totally thrown. He'd confirmed the man's innocence. What was wrong now? Snape should be jubilant.
Aren't you going to do a little . . . sightseeing? Satisfy your curiosity? The questions were sneered into Harry's mind, but despite the aggressive attitude, Harry could feel that Snape really was still petrified that his privacy would be violated in this place where he could hide nothing.
It had happened before. Harry knew that as clearly as if he'd hunted down the incident and shone a blinding spotlight upon it.
Of course, Harry was curious – who wouldn't be? But Snape was braced for the mental equivalent of rape, and, as much as he'd like to know what made Severus Snape tick, he wasn't about to ravage Snape's soul to satisfy his curiosity. Even if Snape expected nothing more of him. Even if – as he was beginning to sense – Snape had been prepared to allow it in exchange for his freedom.
Harry couldn't help but wonder exactly what kind of circles Snape had run in, were mind rape the inevitable result of allowing himself to be open to another wizard's mental skills, but then he remembered the Dark Mark on Snape's left forearm and wondered no further.
I came for a purpose, Professor. I'm done now. Thank you for your cooperation. And with that, Harry pulled himself free from the complex web that was Severus Snape's mind. As he broke clear, he plainly felt Snape's absolute shock.
That moment of disengaging was always disorienting. To find yourself abruptly in another body, even if it was your own, took some adjusting, as did the utter absence of another's thoughts and feelings. In the past, it had been enemies' minds he'd probed, so it had always been a relief to return to himself. But today, he felt ridiculously lonely when he broke the contact.
Harry opened his eyes to the room around him. He was standing over Snape's chair, looking down at he potion master's face, which wasn't nearly as tense or as angry as he remembered it being before he'd touched Snape's thoughts. For a long moment, he simply stood there gazing down.
Snape still had his eyes closed. For perhaps the first time in memory, Harry saw Severus Snape's face relaxed and open. He looked as though he were asleep, and he looked . . . he didn't know how to describe it, other than less ugly. It wasn't a flattering description, but it was true. The features were still strong and severe, but there weren't any of the negative connotations that he usually associated with that waspish visage. Perhaps it was merely a lingering resonance of his connection to Snape's most deeply hidden self colouring his perceptions, Harry thought, but Snape didn't look homely to him anymore.
Harry had never had his impression of someone change through telepathic contact, but he'd only used this skill a few times during the war, and, then, mostly on enemies. As an adult, he'd never touched the mind of anyone he knew this well, and, whether he liked the idea or not, that intimate contact with Snape had changed him – or at least changed Snape in his eyes.
Snape's eyelids flickered and opened. Harry couldn't help but note how long and thick his lashes were. He watched suspicion replace the calm as that dark gaze settled on him. Harry could nearly feel the other man tensing as Snape waited for the betrayal he expected.
Harry didn't know how to reassure the man, so he simply reached out and squeezed Snape's shoulder, which was probably a major trespass in Snape's world, if the widening of his eyes were anything to go by, but Harry hadn't a clue as to what else to do. He didn't know what had happened in Snape's past to cause this instinctive mistrust; all he knew was that the man had suffered enough betrayal and abuse to prime him to expect nothing else when he was vulnerable.
The idea of Snape being vulnerable in any way was another new thought.
"Ahumm," Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat behind them, making Harry nearly jump out of his skin, which, of course, roused a malicious glint in Snape's gaze.
Vulnerable, my arse, Harry thought. The man was a vicious viper, always would be.
"Well?" Ron asked as Harry at last turned to face the other five people in the room. The two Aurors were watching him with open scepticism. Hermione and Minerva seemed hopeful. Ron appeared nervous.
Harry met his old friend's worried blue gaze and smiled at Ron. "We were right. It wasn't him. He barely looked at Westfield. He was grading papers the entire time."
"But the boy testified . . . ." McGregor said, while Martin asked, "How can Veritaserum have failed so badly?"
Minerva added to the confusion with, "So who did assault Mr. Westfield? And how is it that the boy blames Professor Snape?"
"That is an excellent question, Minerva," Snape said.
Harry turned back to Snape. The Potions master was hiding it well, but Harry could see how shaken he was. For the first time he could remember, Snape seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes.
"Sir?" Harry called, forcing Snape's gaze onto him. Confused by the ambivalence in those bottomless dark eyes, he said, "I'm thinking memory charm."
Snape gave a slow nod. "It would have to be elaborate for the details to have passed a Veritaserum questioning."
"It could be done, though, couldn't it? With a combination of Legilimency, Occlumency, and a memory charm. If they used that technique you employed to create the cauldron illusion, they could have implanted a false memory," Harry suggested, checking to see if it were possible. What he didn't know about these mental disciplines Snape had taught him would fill a book, while Snape . . . he'd been skilful enough to fool Voldemort for years. The Potions master was an expert.
"Possibly, but it would be . . . complicated," Snape agreed while Ron asked, "What cauldron illusion?"
Harry turned back to the Headmistress. "The only thing that makes sense is that someone altered Westfield's memory, Minerva, the way the Ministry will often modify a Muggle's memory when they see something magical."
"But the Ministry uses a potion to change Muggles' memories," Hermione pointed out.
"We don't know that such a potion hasn't been used with Westfield. I could try to break through the false programming he's been given, but I . . . I don't even know what I'd be looking for. I'd be afraid I'd only make things worse for him," Harry said. Snape would be much better suited for the job, but, for obvious reasons, that was impossible.
"Harry," Ron said, "My orders were to escort Professor Snape to Azkaban. I'm going to need to be able to tell Chief Lawrence something other than you looked into Snape's mind and saw he was innocent. We need to know who did this to the boy, so we can prevent it from happening again. Westfield is the only one who knows what really happened."
"He's right, Harry," Hermione echoed. "Whoever did this is still out there."
Minerva said, "I think we should speak to Madam Pomfrey and see if Mr. Westfield is up to questioning. I'll see to it."
"I'll come with you," Ron offered.
Hermione flooed with them to the infirmary, leaving Snape and Harry with the two Aurors. Now that Snape was no longer their prime suspect, Ron's co-workers had relaxed considerably. As soon as Ron left the room, the red-robed McGregor and Martin moved to study the weird curios that lined the shelves.
Harry watched the Aurors browse the shelves for a few minutes before sinking down onto a chair near Snape. Totally exhausted, Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair.
He glanced over at Snape, but the Potions master was watching the Aurors. Harry followed that dark gaze to where McGregor was picking up a jewel encrusted, silver box. He recognized the magical artefact from his schooldays. Harry tried to suppress his grin as McGregor lifted the lid. A blood-curdling shriek pierced the room.
"What the devil are you doing?" Martin snapped as McGregor dropped the box to the carpeted floor. "Pick that up and put it back."
Harry quickly looked away, lest they see his amusement. His turn brought Snape back into his line of sight.
Those dark eyes were fixed squarely on him. Harry sensed that Snape wanted to avert his gaze again, but, as many disagreeable traits as the Potions master had, cowardice wasn't among them.
Snape squarely met his eyes. After a moment's silence, Snape said in a low voice. "What you did before – drawing your wand on Aurors – that was an ill conceived action that could have resulted in your death or incarceration."
"I know," Harry agreed, wondering if Snape were going to chew him out now, or if he'd wait until McGregor and Martin were gone.
Harry couldn't read a thing in those bottomless eyes.
After a prolonged pause, Snape said, "Ill conceived and rash as it may have been, I am nonetheless . . . grateful . . . ." Snape fairly choked out that last word, ". . . for your intervention."
Shocked, Harry opened his mouth to reply, only to have a commotion at the fireplace interrupt him.
With all the usual awkwardness involved with flooing, Hermione stumbled out of the hearth and turned quickly to steady Minerva McGonagall as she flooed through directly behind her.
Minerva didn't waste any time, but got straight to the point with her typical directness. "Harry, Madam Pomfrey thinks Mr. Westfield is up to questioning. He has agreed to see you." She turned her gaze to Snape. "Severus, Ron has asked that you remain here until after he has spoken to his superior."
"Of course," Snape replied with ill grace.
"We'll stay here with the professor," McGregor volunteered, still visibly distrustful of Snape.
Harry looked back to Snape. He hated leaving him alone with the Aurors, but knew he had no choice if they were to prove Snape's innocence.
"Do you have any suggestions on how to handle this?" Harry asked Snape. "If the memory adjustment was strong enough to withstand Veritaserum, it's got to be pretty flawless."
Snape nodded. "If there is a weak link at all, it will be in the minute details."
The minute details – of the rape of a thirteen year old. Right.
Harry gave a grim nod and followed Hermione and Minerva back through the floo to the infirmary.
The room they entered was barely large enough to hold a floo-sized hearth. It was cramped with shelves of medicinal potions on one side of the room, and heavy medispell books on the other, with a small desk by the window filling the space between.
When Minerva, Hermione, and Harry appeared, they filled all available floor space.
A white-robed figure hovered just outside the open door.
"Hello, Harry." Poppy met them as they stumbled out of her office fireplace. Her kind features were atypically shadowed beneath her wimple. There was a touch more grey in her blond hair than there'd been during his schooldays, but, like Minerva, she was nearly unchanged by the decade that had passed. "Thank you for your offer to help. I knew there had to be some other explanation."
Harry crossed to the petite mediwitch and gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. "How is he doing?"
"As well as can be expected, the poor dear. I've never, I mean . . . ." Her calm was tenuous. Harry could see how upset the gentle-hearted healer was by the nature of her patient's affliction. It was a testament to the school and the Wizarding World in general that this type of assault was uncommon.
"I know," Harry nodded. "It's terrible. But Carl's got the best care to be found. He will recover, Poppy, and we'll find the monster who did this to him and make sure he never hurts another child."
"Azkaban's too good for him," Minerva muttered under her breath, her fury almost a palpable presence. "It's bad enough this villain would rape a child, but to implicate an innocent man . . . ."
"Harry will get to the bottom of it all," Hermione assured.
Harry wished he had her certainty.
"I'm just so relieved that you were able to clear poor Severus. I can't believe any of this," Madam Pomfrey said, smoothing down her already straight robes in a nervous gesture. "A Hogwarts professor accused of molesting a student . . . it's horrible."
"Harry will help him," Hermione promised. She seemed to have taken the job of supporting the Headmistress and mediwitch through this crisis upon herself. Hermione had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout most of the argument with the Aurors. Harry could sense how upset she was by the attack, and how much she was holding back. She looked around the office and asked, "Where's Ron?"
