Missed Opportunities

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Eleven

I hummed a spell as I drew the glass for a basic stirring rod, working quickly, the familiar, repetitive tempo to the work easy to maintain.  I intended to build a supply of student kits for Potions classes, before the late spring and summer months, hoping to spend those on research and more advanced products.  I had in mind a set of vials for a basic home healthcare kit, as well as some special vials for potentially poisonous potions, prompted by my discussions with Severus and some readings I had done in the Crystal Masters’ Guild’s monthly journal Casting in Crystal.

The charm on the door alerted me to someone entering the shop, which I had dubbed The Crystal Cave, in tribute to Merlin, based on a book of that name that I had read about his life.  I eyed the rod I was working on, estimating that it needed more time than I could give it, if I was to attend to my customer.  Fortunately, it was simple glass, a first-level rod, and I could return to it later, with no impact on its effectiveness.  I set it on the flame-proof mat on the table to the side of the burner, and removed my safety glasses, wiping my forehead with the back of my arm.  Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was nearly time to quit for the day, so turned the burner off.  As it was, I would have to hurry to shower and change in time to meet Severus.

Putting a smile on my face, I left the workroom and entered the front of the shop.  A dark-haired man was bent over the vials closest to the front window – basic vials whose properties would not be affected by sitting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows each morning.  They were set purposefully, throwing bright prisms of color onto the walls of the shop, attracting the attention of anyone who so much as glanced at the window, often drawing them inside.  In the afternoons, the fireplace on the left threw off a different light, and the resulting colors were deeper, warmer, inviting.

The customer had a hand raised toward the vials, but was blocked by the basic ward I had set to protect against accidental damage and the wandering hands of children, who sometimes came in with their parents, and were unable to keep their fingers from wanting to play with the “pretty things” on my shelves.

“Afternoon,” I said cheerfully, untying the strings of my leather apron, lifting it over my head, and tossing it onto the counter behind me.

The man straightened and turned around, and my stomach clenched.  He strode over to me aggressively, his cold blue eyes sizing me up.  I twitched my left arm, just to make sure my wand was up my sleeve, relaxing slightly when I felt its familiar shape.

“Mr. Daltry,” I said.  I did not extend my hand, remembering our encounter at the conference.  “What can I do for you?”

“Heard you opened shop.  Thinking to corner the crystal vial market, are you?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, and widened my stance, unconsciously taking up Severus’ posture from long-ago Potions classes, suddenly appreciating that it was both defensive and made offensive access to my wand easier.  “Just making my own contribution.  I’m hardly looking to corner a market that has been in existence for hundreds of years.”

He stopped in front of me, bouncing slowly on his toes while he looked me up and down.  “Heard you’re a… what do they call it in Britain?  Oh, yeah – a poof,” he said.

I frowned.  “Not that it’s anyone’s business, but what would that matter – if I were?”

“Don’t buy from poofs.”

“Then I fail to see why you bothered entering my shop.”

He hummed tunelessly.

“Did you need something, or will you be on your way?  I’m about to close up.”

“Some wizards don’t take kindly to poofs.  Could…”  He raised a hand and flicked a finger against the nearest crystal vial.  It gave off a clear ring that my mind automatically noted and approved.  “… ruin a man, to have that get out.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, but I think this discussion is over,” I said.  “I suggest you take your business elsewhere.  Somewhere in America, for example.”  I was shaking, but whether with shock or anger, I wasn’t certain.  Both, probably. 

He smirked, and turned away – to leave, I thought.  But then he turned back and… I didn’t see it coming.  You’d think, after all that happened in the war, I would have seen it coming, but...  His fist connected with my face before I could do more than draw my wand.  I heard my nose break, felt blood gush down my face, but worse than that by far was the sound of falling crystal and glass, brushed back by my touch, which swept through the protective wards as if they were not there, as I struggled to regain my balance and put some distance between myself and my attacker.  My glasses had fallen off, and things were blurry.

Several other things happened, in rapid order, too quickly for me to register.  A second man entered the store, waved in by Daltry, who grabbed me from behind and pulled my arms back, elbow to elbow, making my shoulders burn.  I kicked out, but the second man was too fast, and evaded my boots, landing a punch in my mid-section that was hard enough to knock the breath out of me.  I wheezed and coughed, and I thought I tasted blood, but that could have been from my nose.  I kicked again, and got another punch for my troubles.  I desperately tried to wrench away from Daltry, and felt my left shoulder pop out of joint, nearly passing out from the pain.

The second man reached toward my face.  All I could see was a black mass coming toward me.  His gloved hand grabbed my jaw and squeezed, and again, I nearly blacked out, prevented from doing so only by sheer determination not to let them do something to me because I let myself go unconscious.  Apparently my jaw was broken, too. 

“Not good enough for you, am I?” the second man said, and I froze.  Mario.  I recognized his voice.  I made some sound of protest, but couldn’t move my jaw enough to speak.  “Hold him,” he directed at Daltry, who tightened his grip, yanking my elbows closer together behind my back.

I screamed wordlessly as my left shoulder separated more, and then choked when Mario slid a vial between my teeth.  I pushed at it with my tongue, trying not to touch the lip of it, afraid I’d ingest whatever it was they were trying to dose me with, trying not to move my torso more than necessary.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Mario chided roughly.  “None of that!”  He tightened his grip on my jaw, upended the vial in my mouth, and shoved my jaw shut.  The pain of that made me gasp again, which caused me to inadvertently swallow the potion, or whatever it was.  It burned on its way down.  I tried desperately to make myself vomit, but Mario kept jerking at my jaw, knocking me off balance, both physically and mentally.  My shoulder screamed with pain, and I could feel muscles tearing.

I tried to fight off the effect of the potion, but it was hard to do that when I didn’t know what the potion was supposed to do, and when I couldn’t concentrate, and gradually, I felt myself succumb to its effects, slumping in Richard’s grip, despite the strain on my shoulder, my muscles as limp and unprotesting as my mind.  When Mario took out his wand and pointed it in my direction, I felt curiosity rather than fear, and my only reaction when he bit out an impatient “Episkey!” followed by “Evanesco!” was only a grunt as my broken jaw reset and the blood vanished from my face. 

Mario said something in a disgusted voice, but my disinterested, disconnected mind neither followed nor cared.  I vaguely catalogued the symptoms and the bitter, burning taste of the potion, and some part of my mind labeled it Liquid Imperio, and was alarmed. 

It was only when he said, “Kiss me,” that the potion took full effect, triggered by a direct order. 

My body started to move to obey, despite the sharp protest in my mind.  Richard laughed and let go of my arms, moving out from behind me.  Mario shoved me up against the counter, and moved into me, one hand, bare now – I must have missed him removing his gloves – threading into my hair, grabbing at it and twisting, yanking my head up to meet his.  The sounds of tinkling glass accompanied the taste of Mario’s lips and the tongue he forced past my teeth.  He had not mended my broken nose or whatever was wrong with my shoulder, and pain lanced through me, making me cry out, which only made him laugh in satisfaction.

“Ma chère,” he drawled in a mocking, harsh voice, pulling away slightly.  “Harry Potter… vanquisher of the Dark Lord.  I will have you.”  He slid his hand down my shirt, grabbing at my chest, digging his fingers in and twisting painfully.  The pain was good – it helped clear my mind, despite the potion flowing through my veins.  He yanked my shirt out of my pants and jammed his leg against my groin.  He was hard, and ground himself against me, and I knew exactly how he intended to have me.  He grabbed my crotch and squeezed, saying, “You will come for me, Ma chère.  You will beg me to take you.” 

His phrasing freed me from immediate compliance, and the pain separated my mind from my body.  My wand was still up my sleeve, though it had shifted around to the back of my arm.  I thought a spell, praying that my nonverbal skills and my desperation would be enough, and it shifted until it pressed against my hand, dangling limply at my side.  His hand moved to my belt, yanking it open and shoving my trousers down around my knees.

Left hand, I noted, thinking past what he was doing.

No matter.  You can do this.  I heard that in Snape’s voice, as if I were standing in some DADA tutorial that had never happened, the demanding Snape of my past blending with the encouraging Severus of my present.

Left hand, can’t raise my arm… non-verbal… what spell?

You’re overthinking this, Potter.  Stop thinking and ACT!  The Severus in my mind raised his wand…

On the last word, the knock-back spell I had used on Severus  - Everte Statum! – burst from my mind – and my wand, thank Merlin, despite that it merely nudged my left hand.  Breaking glass, tumbling crystal, and thuds of shelves collapsing did nothing to quell my panic.  Trembling in the effort to fight the potion, I grabbed my useless left arm, withdrew my wand, held it in my right hand, and thrust it shakily at each man in turn.  “Stupefy!  Expelliarmus!”  I didn’t bother to try to catch the wands, merely flicking my arm to send them over the counter toward the studio.

I pulled at my trousers and pinned them to my waist with my elbow as I stumbled toward the fireplace, pain at each step keeping me from sliding back into potion-induced lethargy.  I grabbed at the small container of floo powder I kept on the mantle as a courtesy to customers.  It took me two tries to fumble the lid off, one-handed, and I dropped the box.  I bent to grab a handful of the green powder, not bothering to shift my wand to my other hand, trying not to take my eyes off the two men.  I backed into the fireplace, dropping the powder, rather than tossing it, but managing to hold onto my wand, and hoped desperately that tossing was not required for it to work.

“Snape’s lair,” I gasped.  I shut my eyes and prayed.  Merlin, Snape – let me in!

I landed as I usually did after floo travel – stumbling from the floo at the other end and falling to my knees, catching myself on my right hand, my left arm swinging forward loosely, tearing at muscles and ligaments.  I screamed, retched, and vomited.  Better out than in, I heard, in Hagrid’s voice.

Boot heels beat a rapid tattoo on the flagstones underneath me.  I couldn’t even look up.  There was nothing I could do to defend myself.

“What the…  Harry?  What happened?”

“Severus…”

“What happened?” he demanded.  There was something calming about the panic in his voice. 

Severus grabbed at my left arm and spun me to face him.  I screamed again, and felt myself start to pass out, but raised my right hand to grab at him.  He had let go of my arm, and eased me to the floor with a cushioning charm.  His face was pale.  He flicked his wand – when had he pulled his wand? – at the fireplace, muttering a tracing spell that simultaneously sealed the floo and created a kind of stasis that would let him backtrack my journey, then turned back to me.

“Where are you injured?” he demanded, beginning to run his hands over my chest and neck.  I flinched and raised an ineffectual hand to knock him away.

“Liquid… Imperius,” I managed.

“Who?” he demanded.

“Mario… Daltry…”

“Mario Daltry?  Who…?  You mean both…?”  He growled, shifted, and raised his wand again.  “Expecto Patronum!” My vision was greying at the edges, but I could have sworn his patronus, the silvery doe that I had always assumed was a representation of my mother, snuffled at my neck, while Severus told it, “Go to Kingsley.  Tell him...”

I drifted in and out of consciousness, called to awareness by a voice saying, “Come on, Harry, wake up,” struggling to obey, still under the influence of the potion, but repeatedly passing out due to pain.  Finally, I drifted awake, recognizing Hermione’s soft, concerned voice, alternating with Severus’ deeper tones, forcibly patient, I recognized.  Hermione’s voice went shrill for a moment, only to be shushed by Severus’ insistence that she, “Keep it down, Miss Granger.”  Both voices lulled me to sleep, letting me abandon awareness from something other than pain.

I woke again to find McGonagall and Pomfrey bending over me, and for a moment, wondered if I had dreamed the last five and a half years or more… if Voldemort was still alive, and I still a student at Hogwarts, but the room I was in was not the infirmary.  Severus’ voice came from somewhere to my left, and I shifted in that direction, then moaned at renewed pain.

“Harry.  Don’t move.”  Severus was at my side, a hand hovering over my shoulder as if he were hesitant to touch me.  I froze.

“Sever…” I could barely speak through the pain.

“Hush.  I’m here.”

“The shop…”

“It’s alright, Harry.  Don’t worry about that now.”  Thoughts of the shop faded from my mind.  Severus leaned over to make eye contact with me, but I looked toward my toes, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“Are they…”  I gulped and was horrified to find tears welling in my eyes.

“They are in custody.”  His voice turned hard.  “They will never hurt you again, I promise.”  I shivered at the threat in his voice.  I was sure they would never hurt anyone again.  I would have wondered if he had left them alive, if he hadn’t said they were “in custody”.

“Drink this,” he said, and I realized he was holding a potion vial to my mouth, which opened without my conscious volition.  “Swallow,” he said, and my throat convulsed, again without conscious intent.  

“Imperius,” I protested.

“I know.  I’m sorry, but there’s no help for it.  This is the antidote, but it will take a while to work its way through your system, I’m afraid.  Would you rather have had the antidote first, or pain potion?”

“Antidote,” I answered.

His lips twitched.  “I thought you might.  It will be about a half hour before I can give you anything else, or the antidote will not be effective.  Will you be alright?”

“Yes,” I ground out, wincing in contradiction. 

“Sleep, Harry,” he said, and my eyes closed as I drifted off, obedient to his command.

I startled awake to his touch on my right shoulder, a whimper of pain and protest as I tried to move, but found myself restrained.  “Pain potion,” he said, holding a vial to my lips.  I swallowed dutifully, wondering if I was still under the effects of the Liquid Imperius.  “I placed an Imobilus on you to keep you from further injuring yourself.  Poppy cannot heal you until you are able to stay awake.  This will get you through the worst of it.”

I avoided his eyes as he talked.

“Harry… look at me.”

My eyes went to his face, but I kept them on his lips.  Well – that answers that question.

“Look in my eyes, Harry,” he said.

I did so, resenting that he was using the Imperio potion against me, allowing anger to replace… whatever else it was I was feeling, my stomach sinking, thinking he planned to Legilimize me.

“Don’t,” I said.  “Please don’t.”  My stomach clenched, and I was sure I would vomit up the potion he had just given me.

He bent closer to me.  “I will not enter your mind without your consent,” he whispered, and I felt the reassuring weight of his hand on my head, and nearly wept in relief.  “Poppy is going to work on your shoulder,” he continued quietly.  “It will hurt, despite the pain potion.  I wish I could do more, but we cannot chance it.  You have abdominal injuries.  She will take care of those first, but you will not be able to withstand a stronger potion.” He hesitated and I saw his face go blank and still, as it had not in years – not since his need to dissemble before the Dark Lord – or me.  His eyes were the only thing that showed emotion, and they were bleak.  “Were you…  Did they violate you?” he asked tonelessly.

I gasped and tears rolled down the sides of my face into my ears.  His face paled.  “No!” I choked out.  “No.  They didn’t… they didn’t rape me.”  They just intended to.

“I will…  I’m sorry, Harry, but the Wizengemot… will wish to verify that…  Would you… prefer that someone else…  They will use a combination of Veritaserum and Legilimancy.  I’m sure someone else…”

“No!  No.  Why do they need to Legilimize me?”  I struggled to sit up, but the Imobilus held me down.

“Not you – your attackers,” he clarified.  “Lie still,” he commanded.  The Liquid Imperius had not completely lost effect, but I could fight it, and did.  “Harry – stop struggling.  It will worsen your injuries.  Please,” he said, and the final word caused me to sink back into the bed and give it up.

“Why?”  I asked.  He did not ask for clarification.

“They will want to know the whole of the attack.  A physical attack complicated by an intent to… do other harm… carries more severe penalties.

I blinked my understanding, and tears that, as I was immobilized, I could do nothing to wipe away, continued to leak down the sides of my face.  He cleared them from my face, efficiently and without a word.

“How is he doing, Severus?”  Poppy’s voice came from the foot of the bed, and Severus impatiently motioned her closer.

“He can’t see you, all the way over there.  He’s awake.  I’ve given him the pain potion.  The other should be just about out of his system.  It’s safe enough.”

“What…?  What are you going to do to me?” I asked.

“First, we are going to scan you again, to assess your injuries,” Poppy said, as businesslike as ever.  “Then, with Severus’ help, we will set you to rights.  Now, hold still, dear.  Severus, if you would…”

“Finite Incantatum,” he said, waving his wand over me, and my body sank a bit more into the bed.  I wiggled my toes in relief, but his hand on my knees kept me from drawing them up.  He stood, and I realized he had been sitting on the bed next to me.  I reached for him as he withdrew, but he patted my hand down against the blanket. “Lie still and let Poppy scan you.  I’ll be right here.”

I wondered how many times I had been through this.  At least once a year, when I was a student, and then immediately following the Battle… and as a health check before I started my training – though I hardly counted that assessment… and once when I’d inhaled some fumes, before I learned to work safely…  More than my share, in any case.  By the time I was done counting, Poppy was handing Severus a list of symptoms that had appeared on a parchment floating over me.

“Well?” I asked at an attempt at humor.  “What’s the damage this time?”  I couldn’t see Severus’ face with the parchment between us.  He turned away, and took a step toward a table on which several potions were standing, and rearranged them without speaking for several moments.  Then he turned back to me, his face carefully composed.

“Spleen, liver, diaphragm…  And your nose,” he said, his hand twitching in the direction of my face.  He took a breath.  “Your arm, of course.  No broken ribs.”

“Here, let’s start with the easiest,” Poppy said, nudging Severus out of the way with her hip.  She aimed her wand between my eyes and said, “Episkey!” 

There was a crunch and a sharp, familiar pain in my nose.  “Ow!  Oh – that’s better!”  I raised my right hand to feel the familiar shape and size, then turned to Severus.  “So, why’s yours crooked, then?” 

His lips twitched in a smirk, and amusement replaced the bleakness in his eyes.  “Brat!  It’s not broken – it’s Patrician!” 

“Is that what you call it?” I asked, trying not to wince as Poppy continued to murmur spells and wave her wand, doing strange things to my insides.  “Well,” I ground out at a particularly painful twist of my innards, “whatever you call it, I like it.  Makes you look handsome… distinguished.” 

His smile widened and he shook his head.  “I may have given you too much pain potion.”  He raised his eyes to Poppy, and I turned my head to see a fond smile on her face that I somehow knew was meant for him, despite the fact that she was concentrating on her wand, now moving over to my left side.

“Help me with this, Severus,” she said.  “Now, Mister Potter, brace yourself.  This will hurt…”  Severus put one hand on my right shoulder, and another on my chest, and I relaxed into the warmth of that.  Then Poppy twisted my useless arm athwart my left shoulder, and I passed out.