Chapter Text
Harry lay sleeping with the warm breeze languidly flowing over his skin. A magically enlarged umbrella stretched over him, reducing the hot sun to a manageable brightness. Red, blue, and green bands of light discolored his chest and the white bandages encasing his left arm.
“Do you really have to wake him?” Candide asked from behind oversized sunglasses when Snape glanced at his pocket watch.
Snape did not reply, simply rose after two attempts at it from the awkwardly low beach chair. With care he crossed the white rocky shore. Unlike the others who had donned swimwear, he wore shorts and a white starched shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Snape tapped Harry on his unbandaged shoulder, saying, “It is time again.”
Harry woke reluctantly, groggy from the heat. It was as though he had been dreaming his surroundings and some time was required to adjust to the coincidental reality.
Rubbing his eyes, Harry asked, “It’s two already?”
“Yes,” Snape said, collecting his shoes to change out of the ridiculous plastic things they had needed to purchase from a vendor.
“If you’re coming back, I’ll stay with the stuff,” Candide said, putting aside the fat magazine she held.
“We’ll come back.” If nothing else, Harry really wanted to finish his nap.
Harry tugged a shirt on but skipped buttoning it, and instead ran his fingers through his sweat-threaded hair. The sunlight sparkling on the water made him squint and he gratefully turned away from it to follow Snape up the beach.
The pervasive scent of brine was stronger inside the small hotel room. Snape selected from the supplies spread out on the tiny dresser. Harry looked around at his things layering the room and considered that he was going to have to make some space when Ron arrived the next day. He held still while the current bandage was unwound with care because they had to reuse it.
“It is doing much better,” Snape observed. “Your forearm is almost completely healed.”
Harry gave a closer look to the row of oval wounds that had been left behind by a powerful spell leaking through a wavering block during Merton’s attack on the Ministry Atrium. On the smallest of the wounds, the skin had even grown in, just lacking hair.
“Well, I have been able to take it easy. Finally.” He watched Snape treating his arm with poultice. “Thank Merlin the Healer let me go.”
“I believe after you shrugged when he threatened to remove all the flesh from your arm upon your return, should that be necessary, he could not argue further.”
Harry spied his Auror books on the marble window sill. They felt farther away than two yards. “I needed a break more than I needed an arm.”
“We all did,” Snape agreed, while methodically rolling the old bandage only to immediately unwind it neatly again around Harry’s arm.
Harry gave his guardian more scrutiny. “How are you doing?” When Snape made a non-committal noise, Harry asked, “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“What sane person could not have second thoughts about something like marriage?” Snape returned with some sharpness. “Let’s arrange one for you, shall we? See how you cope.”
Harry laughed and moved to put his shirt back on. He felt revived after being out of the heat and with his eyes relaxed in the dimmer light. Pushing his shoulders back to bolster himself to return outside he said, “It’s nice in here, but we should get back.”
“Mad dogs and Englishmen,” Snape commented. At Harry’s questioning look, he prompted toward the door, “Go on.”
As they walked down the narrow staircase of the hotel, Harry said, “You two are good together, you know.”
A stiff breeze blew in off the Mediterranean, ruffling the glossy promotional brochures lined up on the end of the front desk, each stack weighted down by a large shell. Snape dropped the rubber-edged, heavy brass key beside them.
Outside, the wind bullied along the curved, cobblestone street and on the shady side it was almost chilly, but as they reached the quay the heat and light poured down again.
Harry returned to his former seat after assuring Candide that he was fine. He clasped his hands over his abdomen and stared out at the red and white ferry passing by just below the horizon. Despite the high-pitched squeals of children playing nearby, he fell deeply back to sleep.
”Can we have pizza again?” Harry asked while they were packing up their things with surreptitious glances in all directions to ensure no one noticed them shrinking the umbrellas down to their normal size.
“Again?” Candide asked at the same time as Snape said, “Whatever you wish.”
They picked their way over the craggy, bleached rock and around potholes filling with the tide.
On the road, the locals were reopening shops for the evening, rolling up gates and unlocking glass doors. Pizza was the only option for anyone wanting to eat before ten in the evening.
After a quick clean up they settled in at a small place open wide to the pavement. While they waited for their order, Harry watched bicycles roll by and the occasional car that he instinctively believed must have been charmed to fit on so narrow a road. Frequent horn honking—which echoed violently in the canyon of stone buildings—seemed a requirement of driving through the old town.
Harry sighed. He had finally found some perspective on recent events. A glance at Snape’s hooked profile reminded him how tenuous life was, but he had a grip on that now, having overcome bad odds once again. It made him feel more confident that should he need to, he could force things to work out again if necessary.
Pizzas arrived. Harry downed two slices in rapid succession, wondering how he could have grown so hungry from not having moved all day. When her salad arrived, Candide pushed her remaining pizza in Harry’s direction.
“Still growing, I see,” she teased him.
Harry’s mouth was full, so he did not reply right away.
Snape said, “It’s the Thewsolve.”
“Is it?” Harry asked after choking down a gooey lump of cheese.
Snape nodded and Harry moved to consolidate Candide’s pizza with his on his plate. He ate another piece while the two of them sat comfortably across from one another, sharing a second beer. Harry felt comfortable with this too and mildly regretted that Ron was arriving the next day because it would disrupt the rhythm the three of them had defaulted into.
By the time they were walking back to the hotel the thrumming of the various small night clubs vibrated through the night air, calling Harry to spend some time out late. He had decided to wait for Ron before exploring the night scene so the allure was strong.
Harry left the others and went to his own room to attempt some assigned reading. He propped a book on the windowsill in the glow of a streetlamp and sat on a chair, hunkered over the pages. Beyond the open shutters, motor scooters whined, bicycles dinged, conversations outside the shops drifted up: all of it fortified by the unceasing wash of the sea surrounding the peninsula. As lulling and relaxing as it was, it made Ministry evidence handling policy a rather meaningless—or at best remote—topic.
Harry read as long as he could bear to and then lay on the bed. The plaster above him had an organic feel as though he were inside a massive handmade clay pot rather than a building. He imagined his own room at home and considered that he could probably just return there in an a matter of seconds.
At Candide’s insistence, they had come by aeroplane, but now that Harry knew where he was, he could slip into the Dark Plane and back to the house again with little effort. The thought made him feel less distant from home than he actually wanted to be.
On the other hand, he could go visit Tonks, which sounded highly appealing and indeed his core warmed at the thought. Except she didn’t know that he had worked out a kind of Apparition to go such a distance and Snape didn’t want him to tell anyone who didn’t absolutely need to know. But Harry wouldn’t mind her knowing and he could spend a few hours with her—if she were not on duty—and return back, and his guardian wouldn’t know the difference. Harry resisted mostly because afterward he would truly not feel properly separated from home the way one on a holiday should be.
As Harry mused upon this, a knock sounded on the door and it opened. Harry sat up. He had forgotten about his next treatment and was relieved that he had not gone anywhere on that whim.
As Snape worked at unwrapping Harry’s arm bandage, he said, “I believe this is very nearly the last treatment you will require.”
“Good, I want to go out to the clubs tomorrow night with Ron,” Harry said.
“Wear the sling in that case.”
“I was hoping to hide the bandages altogether under a long-sleeve shirt.”
“Then you will be tempted to use the arm, which you should not do. Observe, if you will, how well it is healing now that you are fully resting it.”
Harry could not argue with that, the streaks of pinkish new flesh were otherwise perfectly formed. “I can avoid using it,” Harry insisted.
“You will wear the sling or you will not go,” Snape stated.
Harry took that in. He sighed and propped his arm up to be rewrapped. “All right,” he said, staring at the mirror over the dresser.
“Look at me,” Snape said.
Harry did, but his mind was Occluded.
“You have grown far too good at that,” Snape complained.
“I’ll wear the sling,” Harry said. “You’re right, of course. Daft to have it not heal right because I wanted to go dancing one night. Not very good prioritizing.”
Snape did not acknowledge Harry’s reasoning, simply collected the supplies together into a sack and set it aside. He left Harry alone again and Harry returned to reading in the window, this time rereading a favorite book on advanced double blocks. Conversation from the next room drifted in, and despite wanting to pull back out of hearing range, Harry held still.
“...the matter, Severus?” Candide asked.
“Nothing is the matter,” Snape insisted. A chair scraped the floor. A scooter sounded in the distance, blotting out everything else and Harry returned to his reading, nearly forgetting he could overhear. Quiet descended again. Between the calls of a nightingale Harry heard Snape saying in a low tone as though specifically not to be overheard, “There will come a time when he will simply cease to obey.”
Harry forgot his book, certain he was topic of conversation.
Candide’s voice came next, clearer over the low rumble of the waves, “He is very nearly nineteen,” she said, as though that explained everything.
“It isn’t his absolute age that matters. It is that his power is far ahead of his maturity.”
Their voices were drowned out again. Harry ran his fingers through his salty hair, curled into ringlets in the humidity. He didn’t mean to concern his guardian so much. He didn’t mean to be difficult. He was glad he had given in on the sling so easily and extremely relieved that he had not Apparated back home and gone missing. That narrowly missed possibility gave him a spark of panic. That he had contemplated it so long when it should have been so obviously a bad idea supported Snape’s assertion.
Snape’s voice came through again. “…wish to control him. No one could control him. I merely am concerned that he may not submit even to guidance long enough to come to terms with his own power.” His voice dropped, more to make a point than hide his voice. “He is extremely powerful.”
Harry’s skin prickled, even in the presence of the sultry evening breeze.
“At least he understands that he must hide his power, but I fear circumstances will continue to force him to reveal more of it.” Silence fell and a chair moved again. “I am glad his power does not disturb you.”
Again Candide’s bell-clear voice, chastising: “He’s a sweet young man, Severus. I think you’re worrying too much.”
Harry backed up and, carefully and silently, pulled the shutters and windows nearly closed so the noise bounced off them instead of floating in. He took his book to bed and sat back with it, but he didn’t recall what he read after that.
The next morning Harry tried to avoid behaving subdued, but large thoughts weighed upon him. Thoughts he couldn’t shake off even with a bright sunny hot day at the shore ahead of him. He was glad to have something to plan.
At breakfast he said, “Ron is supposed to come in by portkey a few miles up the coast. Then he is catching the bus.”
“Where is he connecting again?” Candide asked, sounding doubtful.
“He wasn’t sure. Said someone at the bank was going to let him use a private portkey but he hadn’t figured out the best connection yet.”
“He may not be in shape for nightclubs this evening,” Snape said. “That distance by portkey is quite nauseating.”
“He’s here three days. He’ll have time to recover.”
When Ron arrived—after waiting four hours for a second portkey in St. Petersburg, and indeed looking peaked—Harry was glad for his company. As soon as they returned to the hotel, Ron fell straightaway onto his narrow bed and lay there moaning until Harry fetched him something from the chemist that Snape recommended.
Eager, Harry sat beside his friend on the bed while he drank the prescribed chalky liquid and asked, “Any chance you’ll be ready to go out tonight?”
“Out?” Ron squeaked. “Like, to drink?”
“Well, you can have soft drinks,” Harry said. “You can hear the music from here…hear it?” The dull thumping was indeed audible if one tuned into it.
“Loud music?” Ron whispered, sounding more pained.
“Tomorrow then,” Harry conceded, wishing for a distraction other than his books, but seeing nothing for it. “I need to read more anyhow. Have a good long rest so you’re better for tomorrow.”
Harry sat on his own bed and opened the top book to a random page. Ron fell back on the bed and, within minutes, began to snore.
The next day flew by. Each new day did this as though it were half the length of the last. Ron spent the day under a large black umbrella, wearing a broad-brimmed hat. He did not seem to mind keeping company with Snape as Harry had feared he might. The day was exceptionally hot and they swam frequently to cool off, especially mindful of the sea urchins hiding dark reddish and spiky among the crevices as they climbed out.
Harry had a waterproofing spell on his bandage, but the edges of it still became wet and salty. By the afternoon he was grateful to have it changed.
Harry sat on the bed, less tired from the sun than previously, while Snape bent to untie the wrappings. Snape’s face had lost its unhealthy paleness and, with his features relaxed, he did not look nearly so harsh and angular. He pulled out the tin of Thewsolve.
Harry asked, “Any chance I can lose the bandage today?”
Snape shook his sun-lightened hair. “I expect you can lose it about the time we depart.”
“Too bad we can’t stay longer,” Harry said, thinking less of getting around freely than that he thought Snape could use a bit more time to get used to being relaxed.
“We have much to do. Moving home, for example.”
“That’ll be nice,” Harry confirmed.
“And you have a birthday party to plan, as well, I believe.” He was rewrapping Harry’s arm as he spoke.
“Hermione said she’d do it while we were gone.” Harry picked up his wand and renewed the waterproofing. “I’m so glad it wasn’t my right arm that got hurt. I think I’d go mad trying to cast with my left.”
“I doubt it would slow you down for long,” Snape said, stashing the supplies away.
Harry would have disregarded this comment, previously. He wanted to say something, to reassure his guardian, but didn’t want to give away that he had overheard anything. He held up the borrowed wand from the Ministry that he was using. It was short, only 9 inches, and made of ash wood.
“This wand is really slowing me down,” he said as a distraction. “Although I like that it is easy to hide.”
“I am surprised you did not replace it sooner.”
“I keep hoping mine will turn up,” Harry said. “I didn’t have it when I transformed back into myself chasing the witch and her husband, so I thought it must have been at Merton’s place. That I’d not held on when I transformed to chase them. It should have just been collected up as evidence, at worst. But no one saw it, and it wasn’t on the inventory list from evidence collection.” Harry slipped the pale thing back into his pocket. “I kept checking. I’d rather it just turn up and make things easier. Now I have to figure out what to do.”
Snape pulled a heavy wooden chair over and sat facing Harry, as though triggered to do this by Harry’s ambivalence.
He steepled his fingers and said in an oddly reassuring tone, “I sense there is some larger issue at work here.”
Harry had a vision then, of Snape’s years placating Voldemort. The careful phrasing and tone sounded too well practiced.
“What is the matter?” Snape then asked more pointedly, which broke the vision.
Harry decided it was best to stick with the first topic. “I sort of want a different wand now.”
“That is understandable.”
“But I want one that works as well.”
“You are unlikely to find one to meet that criterion without duplicating the wood and core. You are a match for such a wand, as I understand it.”
Harry frowned. “I bet if I cut Voldemort out of myself I could use a different one just as well.”
Snape’s dark gaze did not waver, but he held back on repeating what he already had threatened should Harry try that.
“Do you still sense him?” Snape asked instead.
“I had a dream I was in prison the other night.” Harry shrugged as though it were unimportant. “I don’t know if it was just a dream or I was seeing out of his eyes.” He had not planned on confessing any of this, but Snape’s tone was persuasive, even with Harry knowing it was intended to be.
“If it happens again, do let me know.”
“There isn’t anything you can do about it.”
Snape stood and returned the chair to the wall beside the window. “I wish to be kept informed…because I certainly cannot be of help to you if I do not know what is happening to you. We should return. They are going to wonder what became of us.”
Ron and Harry headed out that night, following the siren call of the thumping music. Despite spending the day under a hat and dark umbrella, Ron appeared pink as though stuck mid-blush.
They quickly discovered that the clubs were far quieter in terms of other patrons than their loud music implied. So, at the third one, where only a few people gathered at the bar, he and Ron took their icy beers out on the balcony where they could talk.
For an hour they talked of nothing in particular, a luxury Harry had not considered before. When times were bad it was all planning, worrying, plotting contingencies for the worst case with no room for idle thoughts expressed in no particular order.
Ron, though, grew more serious when he spoke about Gringott’s. “They’ve put me on a promotion track.”
“That’s great, Ron. Congratulations.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s a long-term track. It may never lead anywhere.”
“It’s already lead somewhere,” Harry pointed out. “You said that only Goblins ever got promoted higher than where you are now in your department.”
Ron flipped his tall beer bottle back and forth between his hands. “I heard rumors that they only did it because they realized I was friends with you.”
“What?” Harry burst out. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even have enough Galleons left in their bank to be interested in what they’re doing with them.”
“That’s not the point,” Ron argued. “They, well…” He trailed off.
“They think I’m dangerous,” Harry filled in for him.
Ron nodded reluctantly. “That’s my take. They call it hedging their bets.” At Harry’s shake of the head, Ron said more strongly, “You got your Misfortuna Mutual pay-out on the spot for the house.”
“How’d you know that?” Harry asked, certain he had not bothered to bore anyone with that information.
“I work with the people, Harry, Goblins who process these things.” He leaned forward to add, “Sometimes it can take a year to get gold on a perfectly valid claim.”
Harry couldn’t dispute that because Snape also assumed that Harry’s residency had moved the paperwork along. In the middle of these aggravating thoughts, Ron said, “I wonder now if that’s the reason they hired me in the first place.”
“Ron, don’t be silly. If anything it’s because Bill worked there already.”
Harry immediately wished he had not said that, but Ron came back with a hopeful, “You think so?”
“I’m certain,” Harry confirmed, glad in this case that Ron thought nepotism an acceptable alternative.
Their beers had bottomed out into bowls of foam so Harry fetched two more, thoughts moving faster than being on holiday justified.
“I don’t think their promoting you, or putting you in line for it, has anything to do with placating me, Ron. Think about it. Imagine they believe I’m a dark wizard.”
Ron avoided Harry’s eyes as he sipped his beer.
Harry ignored this and went on. “The last thing they would want is my best friend in a risky position in their bank. Come on, that’s what Voldemort was always doing: getting his Death Eaters into high positions so he could manipulate things more easily. Wouldn’t they expect you to do things for me they wouldn’t like, not that I’d…what…leave them alone because you’re my friend?”
It occurred to Harry only after this speech that using the Dark Plane he could probably slip into any vault he wanted, unless there was such a thing as wards stronger there than those at Hogwarts. On a very small area, there certainly could be. He may have to do some reading on that. McGonagall did invite him to use the Hogwarts library any time he wanted to.
Ron seemed unconvinced. He continued to not look at Harry. “That’s just what I’m hearing.”
Harry took a deep swig of his beer. “Two more days of holiday before we return to this nonsense. I plan to make the most of them.”