keelywolfe

A Lacking of Foresight: Chapter Twenty-Six
by Keelywolfe
Fandom: Harry Potter
Harry/Ron
NC-17

Notes: All past chapters can be found here.

Chapter 26

In which there there is a meeting of old enemies.

~*~

It was like swimming through liquid darkness, dragging himself upward through smothering, silvery pain that threatened to drown him. Clinging, sticky blackness surrounded him and he fought against it, trying to struggle away, lungs bursting with a need for air and the darkness was growing, encompassing him with jagged edges.

All at once, Harry found that he could move, dragging in a pained gasp of air that eased his dizziness. He could barely get enough air to satisfy him and after a moment, he realized there was a heavy weight on top of him, suffocating him, and with strength born of panic Harry managed to push it off of him enough that he could sit up. It looked like a bundle of black cloth and Harry blinked at it stupidly, trying to think of how he'd come to be here.

The world around him was a blur that wouldn't be blinked away and his befuddled brain finally grasped that he wasn't wearing his glasses. Wherever he was, he felt a sudden urge to move and be out of here. Every part of him ached like he'd been playing Quidditch for hours straight but it had been some time since he'd done that, not since he'd left the team to teach at Hogwarts. His legs hurt the worst, the weight still on them turning them numb and he reached down to push it off.

The first thing his hand came into contact with was hair, slick and wet, and Harry jerked back with a gasp, staring dumbly at the crimson smear on his hand. There was a cut on it as well, a darker line of dried blood and everything came back to him in a rush, the mirror, the spell, Snape…

"Snape!" he tried to whisper, hardly a croak of sound coming from his aching throat. With a grunt of effort, he rolled the other man off of him, squinting at him as he fumbled at his throat with his unhurt hand. Still a pulse, so at least he was alive, if unconscious. Whatever they were facing, it didn't seem that Snape was going to be much help.

Without his glasses, it was difficult to see much of anything but they seemed to be in a large room of some sort. There was hardly enough light to help and it smelled musty and old, large objects looming out of the murky blur. There was one behind him as well and a touch told him it was cardboard. Packing boxes, he realized, stacked in haphazard piles all about them.

"Ready to join us then, Potter?"

Harry jerked at the voice, looking around him wildly. Nothing but dark blurs, nothing seemed to be moving. Shoving Snape off to the side, he crawled to his hands and knees, searching the floor frantically for his glasses.

His fingertips stumbled over something that moved, skittering away from him and he reached for it, the hoped-for wire frames instead something smooth and rounded. His wand, he realized, some measure of relief melting into him.

Footsteps were coming from the side and Harry backed away from them as best he could, feeling his way along as he slipped behind another stack of boxes. It felt like a betrayal to Snape to leave him there unconscious and helpless but Harry wouldn't be in any condition to help any of them if he were caught.

A soft sound came from his left and he swerved away from it, backing into more boxes and his heart sank as he felt them shift, falling around him in a cascade of cardboard and noise. One of them struck him on the back and Harry gritted his teeth against a groan that tried to escape. Every part of him was aching madly, the cut on his hand pressed firmly against the base of his wand sending little throbs of pain out in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't think about that now, any of it. Ron and Snape were both counting on him now and there was no telling just how many people were against him. Only one voice had spoken, it was true, but that meant little; Voldemort never traveled alone.

"Come now, Mr. Potter, you can hardly expect to escape from me. Won't you come out and play with us?"

There was something in that voice that told him he should recognize it, a strange honeyed persuasiveness in it that slipped in the ear and urged obedience. But it couldn't be Voldemort, he realized; the only part of his body that didn't seem to hurt was the scar on his forehead and this close to him, Harry should be half-blind with pain as well as the lack of glasses.

In any case, he didn't have any trouble ignoring it, sliding on his knees away from the scattered boxes.

"I rather expected you sooner or later. Always the meddler, you are."

Closer now and there was a peculiar sort of smell seeping into the air around him; sweet and nauseating, it was like the breath of a dragon, the odor of rotting meat. He was close to a light, what seemed to be a bare bulb hanging over him. Carefully, Harry eased to his feet, feeling his way backwards, away from that voice. Still only the one and it seemed if there were anyone else, he would have heard them by now, their footsteps or something.

Somewhere to his left, he did hear a sound and turned towards it. The scrape of a shoe on concrete and then a hard thump, like a kick. There was a sound like a moan and Harry knew it must be Snape. He winced in sympathy as he heard another kick land.

"And I see that you brought a gift with you, how thoughtful. Voldemort's greatest enemy as well as his betrayer, both falling right into my hands." Another scrape of shoe, light footsteps on concrete. "Oh, the games we will play tonight."

All he could do just now was think a silent apology in Snape's direction and hope that the other man didn't just kill him outright. Half-blind and barely able to stay upright, Harry wasn't certain he could cast a hex to save his life.

You'd better be ready to try, he told himself fiercely. He was the only one who could help Ron and he'd dragged Snape into this stupidity when all he'd wanted to do was go back to bed.

"Since we both know why you're here, I don't mind telling you that Mr. Weasley is still alive. I could take you to him, if you like. I'm sure the opportunity to die together is more than either of you deserve, but I am, at heart a very generous man."

It was pure, cold anger that finally cleared his thoughts, all the mad aching in his limbs fading back. There wasn't any time for pain or for anything else. Ron was alive and no matter what this bastard thought about it, he was staying that way. He couldn't see clearly but he hardly needed to, so long as he kept back and waited for his moment. It would come, he knew it with a distant sort of calmness. It would.

"I almost can't decide which one of you to kill first," he mused. "If I find you, we may not have a choice, why not come out? Wouldn't you like to see him again? Of course, I'm afraid I won't be able to let him fuck you, he's probably not in the mood."

A strange, coughing laughter came from the other side of the room, nearly making Harry jump. "Awfully obsessed with the thought of us fucking, aren't you, Malfoy?" Ron, he realized, his voice hoarse and choked but it was him. And the name…

Malfoy.

"Guess you must like boys, too," he continued, practically gagging out the words. "Like father, like son, is it?"

"Shut up." Softly, right next to him, Harry held his breath, gripping his wand with a sweat-slick hand. One good curse while he was distracted and…

"I think he bent over for every boy is the school," Ron went on in his raspy, barely there voice. "Especially the Mudbloods. I bet your boy got off on that the most."

"Shut your mouth you filthy, disease-infested whore!"

Fast footsteps and Harry followed them as best he could, towards Ron's harsh laughter.

The maze of boxes suddenly gave way to a clearing in the middle and Harry just caught himself before he blundered out into it. He could make out two figures in the dim light, one seemed to be suspended in the air and the man standing on the floor was shaking him violently like a dog might shake a rat.

They were too close together and the world was too blurred for anything like aim but they had finally run out of time.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, aiming for them both. Both figures rocked backwards in a cloud of red light and a sudden wave of dust, and Harry realized with horror that some of the boards that made up the rafters must have been rotted through. He watched as Ron fell heavily to the ground, a clatter of broken wood falling on top of him.

Harry didn't cry out, barely kept from rushing forward as he tried desperately to see anything, rising dust blocking light and vision. He moved blindly forward, wand out but all he heard with the rushing, raindrop-sound of settling dirt.

The pain bit into him before he even heard the curse, hot and raw, tearing down his already aching nerves. There was laughter as he blinked stupidly up at what he supposed was the ceiling, stupid, stupid…

"Very nice, Potter." Someone was standing at his feet. Malfoy, sinking to his knees and he crawled slowly forward, up towards Harry's face. Harry tried to raise his hands, instinctively trying to ward him off; he could smell the fetid stink of putrefaction. His arms refused to obey him, lying heavily on the ground at his sides.

Malfoy was close enough now that Harry could see his rotting face and he flinched away from it, barely able to process what he was seeing. The man looked and smelled like a week-old corpse. He straddled Harry's waist, damp, mossy hands cupping his face.

"Don't you have a kiss for me?" Cold, stinking breath against his mouth, each inhalation bubbled wetly, the only sound Harry could hear and it echoed in his ears like insanity.

Harry didn't think, strength coming from whatever space that was reserved inside him for raw desperation. Yanking his wand between them, he forced words out of his lungs.

"Stupefy!" he shouted again, just to knock him off and then, it wasn't a choice or a decision, just the deep, unspoken knowledge of what had to be. "Avada Kedavra!"

It echoed, much louder than his own voice and when it faded there was no sound at all.

Painfully, Harry pushed his way to his feet, his shaking hand keeping his wand pointed at the motionless form on the floor in front of him. There was a tap at his shoulder and Harry leapt, a scream strangling in his throat as he jerked his wand towards it. It was a very innocuous looking hand, holding out his glasses. "I believe these are yours? They were underneath me in a very uncomfortable place."

Harry fumbled them on one-handed, always watching the still body on the floor. Aside from being a little bent and smudgy, his glasses worked as they always had.

Snape looked somewhat the worse for wear, his clothes splattered with blood and dirt, and Harry noted with detached bemusement that he had a great deal of blood on his clothes as well. Strange, considering that neither of them had much in the way of injury aside from bruises.

Without the blur of nearsightedness, the body looked worse than Harry would have believed, rotting flesh barely clinging to the bones. "I killed him," Harry murmured, tasting the words. Now that the rush of adrenaline was fading, he could barely stay on his feet and a peculiar sort of numbness was settling in.

"Hardly. It was my spell that hit him."

"But I--

"Potter, I doubt you could manage to cast a simple jelly-legs hex in your condition."

Harry's eyes narrowed on Snape's oddly bland expression. "Fine, then. You killed him."

"Honestly, doubt that's true, either. Lucius Malfoy seems to have been dead for quite some time." He toed the sludgy pile of clothes with distaste. "An ugly bit of magic, that. Regardless, it wouldn’t have mattered if I had. Mr. Weasley here could have given me clearance to use necessary force, something I’m sure he’ll do when he is conscious."

"Ron!" Harry was filled with horrified shame that he'd forgotten Ron for even a moment. He whirled towards the pile of debris, stumbling to his knees as he saw Ron had already been pulled free.

"He's alive and breathing, never fear, Potter." Snape sighed deeply, a sound filled with profound annoyance. "I suppose we will have to contact the Ministry now. The living dead aren't what one would call a trifle."

Harry didn't hear a word of it. He crawled to Ron on shaking limbs, nearly collapsing when he got to his head and saw the raw wounds on his face. His scalp was mostly bare of hair, longish patches here and there between cuts only adding to his horrific appearance. It didn't seem possible that anyone could have suffered so many injuries and still live. With a hand that trembled far too much, Harry touched his throat, just to feel the throb of his heartbeat.

Blue eyes flickered open, landing on him and the faintest curve came to Ron's lips. "Idiot," he croaked out. "What the Hell possessed you to come after me?"

"Sheer stupidity?" Harry tried, horrified at his own shaky voice.

Ron gave a watery chuckle that melted into a soft groan.

"We need to get you to a hospital."

"Better'n a coffin," Ron said, coughing painfully before he settled back with a sigh. "Rather go to Hogsmeade and get pissed."

"Be awhile before you’ll be doing that."

Ron barely managed a nod. His brow creased suddenly, his tongue flickering over chapped lips. "Can' feel...an'thin'."

"That's because I've blocked your Sight, for now," Snape voice came from the side, crisp and tart as ever. That was hardly a shock; that he could stumble through Hell and come out only needing a good cleaning spell. "You hardly need a vision to pop in on top of everything."

"'ll make me feel worse later…"

"We'll worry about later when it comes." Not quite gentle and Harry didn't have time to wonder at Snape's tone before Ron fumbled for his hand and caught it, surely squeezing it as hard as he could.

"Don't go," Ron whispered, voice shattered and low. "Don't go, don't, don't go."

Harry held his hand as tightly as he could, whispering again and again that he wouldn't, that he would stay. That Ron wasn't alone.

end chapter 26