Furry Magic

Title: Furry Magic, chapter 66

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.


Severus Snape allowed himself to pace. Ten long strides in one direction, then a turn on his boot heel and ten strides back the other direction. The sound of his steps on the stone tiles were sharp in the silence. He kept the strides measured and in control, none of the franticness that was building internally was permitted to show outwardly.

The Seer's council was sequestered with the ruling contingent of two lycanthrope groups, wolf and leopard. There were decisions being made, ones that would effect both groups more than they thought, and those decisions were ones that Snape wanted desperately to hear, immediately. The need to know ate at him.

The decisions affected Potter, a boy he had gradually and unwillingly come to care for. The wrong verdict would destroy the boy. But what Snape knew of lycanthrope culture told him that was not always a factor taken into consideration in circumstances such as these. Neither lycanthrope group seemed to grasp just how frightening the power Harry had was. Nor did them comprehend how different the youth conceived things. He was not a lycanthrope yet.

Seven years of study at Hogwarts had not washed away the foul taint of his horrific Muggle raising. Now, with less than half a year as a lycanthrope, they thought he should be behaving like one of their own. Severus sighed. They treated him as they would any other young-ling. Had the same expectations of him, expected him to know what they wanted, all without acknowledging he had never been made aware of how differently wizarding families raised their children. Without telling him what he was supposed to know, what Snape blamed Dumbledore for Harry not knowing. What Snape had tried to teach him, but for the most part had not had the time to do all that much. The war against Voldemort had taken that time away.

Of course, when it came to Potter, it was not unusual for his feelings and needs not to be a factor in decisions made about him. Like the decision to place him with that appalling Muggle family, the Dursleys, and to leave him there despite years of abuse that Dumbledore *was* aware of. When Harry had finally been permitted to come to Hogwarts and see the wizarding world, it had been almost to late. He had grown, immensely. But he was in pain. He didn't understand what he was supposed to do. And now here he was, in the same situation, an outsider, looking in. But, this time, the ghods willing it would be different for the boy. This time, maybe, he would belong, and find a family to care for him. If the seers made the right decision. The alternative was to, essentially, deliver Harry into an unknown man's bed.

Snape paced. Dumbledore was a coldly practical man. His outward demeanor was nothing like the true heart of a cold, calculating politician the man really was. The grandfatherly outside was all window dressing, convenient to use to reassure clingy students and wary parents, but it was not the real Dumbledore. For Merlin's sake, he had survived 200 years of machinations in various positions of power in the wizarding world. There was not a wizard or witch in an office of responsibility that didn't owe the old man something. And Dumbledore was ruthless about calling those favors in.

Then there was how the deliberations now going on in the lycanthrope Arena might affect Draco. Draco had developed an unexpectedly firm friendship with Potter. He would be strongly impacted by what happened to the young man. If Potter was forced to leave the pride, Snape had little doubt Draco would try to get him back, using any means at his disposal, with danger to himself not a consideration. Draco Malfoy, the unfeeling, icy Slytherin to outsiders, was in reality, fantastically loyal. Reliable. And determined when it came to aiding friends.

Snape had let his attention drift and was recalled to his situation when he stubbed his toe sharply on an ornately carved, very sturdy table leg. The pain shot up his foot and into his leg. He stopped his pacing, sucking in a deep breath. He stood, propping his hands on the damn table until the pain decreased to a bearable level. Then he turned his mind back to the current problem he was contemplating. It was impossible to hold still and think the problem through, he resumed pacing, this time with a slight limp.

Lucius Malfoy, his friend and king of the were-leopard pride would be shattered if Potter was taken away. Snape was beginning to suspect there was more to the relationship he shared with the Chosen, (it was strange thinking of the raven haired, emerald eyed, troublesome young man as that), than was initially obvious. When he had been in the company of both men, Severus had noted a power signature that did not match what he had expected to find. He was sensitive to such things, all forms of magic, very intuitive, though his students would no doubt laugh at such an idea, that he was sensitive in any way at all. He was certain that the association between the king and his Chosen, was far more than Lucius was letting on.

And his own personal problem. Amrys. Despite knowing the man was Draco's, Snape found himself thinking about the broad shoulders and strong body far too often. He'd woken from no less than half a dozen dreams featuring the man in this one week alone. Things on that front were decidedly out of control, and they had to be addressed. Soon.

He had once again lost his awareness of his surroundings and this time took a far worse tumble, falling over the tea table that should have been well out of his way, if he hadn't wandered off to one side of the room in the course of his pacing. He was never this clumsy he thought to himself, impatiently. He struggled to a sitting position. His foot throbbed from the first stubbing. And now the ankle of the other foot hurt far more. With an exasperated sigh he carefully worked his boots off. It was not a pleasant experience, and sweat dewed his face before he had completed the task.

His right great toe was a rapidly purpling, swollen mess. Freed from the shoe, it made it's displeasure with his lack of attention plain. Then Snape looked at the other foot. That one was worse, naturally. Pain throbbed through the swollen ankle. No way was he going to get that back into his footwear. He sighed again, a fine mess. He was to blame of course, if he had just maintained his concentration, instead of losing it like a school boy...

"Well." The rich voice whispered over every nerve he had. He snapped his head around and faced the half amused face of the pride's second. "It looks as if you could use a little help."

Snape waved that away. "In due time," He exclaimed, "What about he ruling?"

"Harry will remain with the pride as Lucius' Chosen." Amrys came around the back of the couch and squatted down. Before Severus could object he slid his powerful arms under Snape's knees and behind his back. He rose as if it were no effort to lift the tall wizard at all.

"Wait!" Severus said. "My shoes." He finished lamely when Amrys did stop.

"I prefer my men barefoot." Amrys said.

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