Chapter Text
Harry arrived five minutes early to the morning brief, and still he didn’t get a good seat.
Fortunately, Ron had him covered. The red-head tapped the seat to his right, and Harry slid into it gratefully as he dropped his field bag at his feet.
Ron leaned over. “You look like hell.”
Harry yawned into his fist. “You say that like you’re any better. How’s baby Hugo?”
His oldest friend laughed. “Luckily Hermione’s kept us both topped up on pepper-ups for all of the middle of the night wakeups. Want me to see if she’ll pick up some for you?”
“Naw, I’ll be right. Plus I reckon she’s still mad about the Department of Mysteries making her take so much leave for this baby. I mean, three years is a lot. Don’t think she needs me making any requests right now.”
“Yeah, she’s not pleased. I dunno why. Mum always stayed home with us.” He shrugged. “Oh, here comes Robards.”
They both stared at the front of the room, where Auror Chief Robards had just walked in, still conferring quietly with two other department heads and a witch from Legal. Every auror straightened as the Chief stepped up to the podium.
“Morning team. Let’s get right into the brief, got a lot on our plates,” the Chief said. “First up, we have confirmed intel on an active illegal potion lab operating out of a derelict muggle textile mill in Bristol.”
A chorus of grumbling filtered through the room. No one liked it when muggles were involved. As the only muggle-born senior Auror, Harry knew he’d be top bill for the assignment.
“Two days ago,” the Chief continued, “a pair of Muggle engineers were doing structural surveys on the site. They reported hearing screaming from inside the building and seeing brightly colored fumes. When they returned with police, the mill was locked down and warded. If you see an obliviator in the hall today, give em a kudos. That was a rough night for them.”
A map of Bristol lit up above the podium with an X over the target location.
“Based on witness statements, we believe it’s possible multiple witches are being held inside against their will.”
Merlin
“The lab is not registered with the Ministry. We do not yet know its potioneer nor its purpose.”
A few aurors shifted uneasily.
“Whatever they’re doing in there,” the Chief said, “they don’t want witnesses.
Harry’s hand curled into a fist on the tabletop.
“As of this morning,” the Chief went on, “we have confirmation that the lab is still active. Evidence preservation is critical, only surpassed by the criticality of survivors. No lethal force unless absolutely necessary.”
He paused, letting the aurors nod.
“This will be a quiet breach. Team One will handle perimeter wards and entry. Weasley, you’ll head up that. Take McMaster and Douglas with you. Team Two will go in second for evidence containment and captive extraction.”
Harry knew what was coming next.
“Team Two will be led by Auror Potter,” the Chief confirmed.
Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. “Right on. We haven’t been on an assignment together in a while.”
Harry murmured, “Yeah, pretty cool.”
Another day, another raid. (Though it wasn’t every day they were rescuing captives.)
Then the Chief cleared his throat. “Due to the unknown nature of the potions on site, a Ministry-certified potioneer will accompany you, Potter, on Team Two for hazard identification and evidence classification.”
Harry blinked. That was new. He leaned slightly toward Ron. “Since when do they drag potioneers into live ops?”
Ron frowned. “They don’t. Not unless something’s gone sideways already.”
The Chief glanced down at his clipboard. “Potions Master assigned to Team Two is Severus Snape.”
The entire room, mostly composed of Hogwarts graduates, went dead.
For half a second, he was seventeen again, kneeling on a floor slick with blood while a man he hated and didn’t understand cried out precious memories of his mother.
For another half second, he was holding a Pensieve memory that should have been his years ago.
Ron whispered, “Oh, fuck.”
Harry stared straight ahead.
The Chief kept talking, but Harry didn’t hear a word of it.
Snape
The bastard hadn’t said a word to him since the war. Eight bloody years of continuous avoidance. Not so much as a “thank you for saving my sorry life” or even a “sorry I waited until I was dying to give you those memories of your mother” as they occasionally crossed paths in the atrium.
And now he was being dropped into Harry’s team. That was bullshit.
Harry’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Potter,” the Chief said, with the faintest sigh.
“With all due respect,” Harry said tightly, “is there really no one else available?”
The Chief raised an eyebrow. “On what grounds?”
Harry hesitated.
Then, because he was an idiot and because his mouth had always betrayed him, he said, “Isn’t Greengrass in Potions Regulation & Compliance now?”
There was a faint ripple of awkward amusement around the room at Harry’s gambit.
The Chief glanced down at his clipboard again.
“Greengrass is on leave.”
Harry tried to keep his voice light. “What about Heyer?”
“Out sick.”
Harry exhaled, clearly annoyed. “You’re telling me Severus Snape is the only Ministry potioneer in all of Britain who can be spared today.”
The witch from Legal, having stayed so silent for the briefing that Harry’d forgotten her presence, cleared her throat.
“Mr. Snape is the only available Master-level potioneer with clearance to identify and neutralize unregistered compounds on site,” she said briskly. “Your request for substitution is noted and denied.”
The Chief nodded once. “Come on Potter. He’s not your professor anymore. Buck up.”
Harry opened his mouth. Then closed it.
“Yes, sir,” he said, because that was what you said when the Ministry decided to ruin your day before your first coffee break.
-
Harry stood too fast as the brief finally ended, nearly knocking his chair over. Ron caught his arm. “Mate. Harry. Hey.”
Harry shook him off gently “Don’t.”
They filed out into the corridor with the rest of the team. Ron jogged to keep up. “I’m sorry.”
Harry pulled his face back together. “For what? It’s fine.”
“No. You don’t have to pretend this doesn’t matter, even if you have to do it. I know Snape is terrible.”
Harry stopped walking as the other aurors streamed around them towards the break room.
“He kept my mum’s memories,” Harry said quietly. “Well, his memories of her. For years. He had them. And he didn’t give them to me until he was actively bleeding out. I’m not even sure he knows I have them.”
Ron’s face fell.
“That’s actually horrific,” he said.
Harry stared at the wall. “It’s been eight years, Ron. He had eight years to say something.”
Ron hesitated. “Look. I know it’s awful. But it’s one raid. Quick in, quick out. You barely have to speak to him.”
Harry snorted. “Think he resents me for saving his life?”
Ron rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, probably. I’ll take you for a drink after.”
Harry didn’t smile. “Nah, Hermione will have my head.”
“Ok, come for dinner then. You can keep Rosie busy while I cook and Mione’s on baby duty.”
“That’s better.”
-~-~-
Harry stood alone in the brass-and-glass cage as it dropped past floors that hadn’t existed before the most recent war such as Magical Infrastructure Recovery and the Department of Magical Population Restoration. All built over older things, of course. Time, and wizarding kind, marched forward.
He pressed the button for Sublevel Five: Department of Potions Regulations & Compliance.
The lift lurched downward.
Harry leaned back against the mirrored wall and exhaled dramatically, though no one else was present to hear it. In his hand, he spun a set of Muggle car keys around his index finger. He’d nicked them from the Auror motor pool, which was a collaboration between DMLE and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. The keys fit a battered Vauxhall from the 1980s with a dent in the boot that suggested it had once lost a fight with a bollard. It would do. Team One had beaten him to the cabinet and took the better wheels.
For this raid, they were going in Muggle. It had been Harry’s idea. Bringing an Auror convoy down there by way of apparition would light up every surveillance camera in Bristol. This would also save the Obliviators another round of sweeping all of the muggles who watched the cameras. Harry flicked the keys again.
The doors slid apart with a soft hiss, and Harry stepped out into a hallway so damp it might as well have been the Hogwarts dungeons.
His keys chimed softly as he tossed and caught them.
He followed the corridor past a row of locked doors with carved nameplates until he reached one ominously labeled with Authorized Personnel Only. Harry knocked once, then pushed it open without waiting.
Severus Snape was standing at the far workbench, his back to the door. Though his frame obscured the cauldron, he could see that the man was decanting a viscous black liquid into a narrow vial.
Harry stopped just inside the doorway.
Just like old times, he thought.
But unlike old times, Snape looked… wrong. (Or at least different.)
A little thinner. A bit greyer around the edges, for sure. Harry decided not to think about it too closely.
The potions master’s hair was tied back in a low, practical knot instead of hanging loose. There was no billowing cloak. Just a plain fitted black jumper and a well worn satchel on the bench beside him.
Harry cleared his throat.
Snape’s shoulders stiffened. He set the vial down, stoppered it, and turned gracefully. Still hadn’t lost his touch, then. His dark eyes flicked to Harry’s auror gear. His boots. His wand holster.
“Potter,” he said.
“Snape,” Harry responded firmly, because he was not thirteen anymore and he refused to be cowed by his own surname delivered with Slytherin attitude.
A brief silence hung between them as Snape's eyes drifted to the car keys spinning lazily around Harry’s finger.
“We’re approaching the site by Muggle vehicle,” he said in brisk explanation. “Saves the Obliviators some work. Have you been briefed, then?”
Snape inclined his head once, stiffly. “Yes.”
Harry waited for an argument or snarky remark, but none came.
Snape reached for his satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and motioned for Harry to lead the way. They didn’t make eye contact again.
Harry felt a strange, unwelcome twist in his chest.
“Right,” he said. “Then let’s go.”
They reached the lift. Harry jabbed the call button harder than necessary, which probably explained the excessive rattling of the cage as it descended.
“So,” he said, because he couldn’t stand the silence. “You don’t have to come in with us. You can hang back at the perimeter if you want until the lab is cleared of dark wizards and hostages.”
Snape shook his head.
“I was embedded with Team Two,” he said quietly. “I will perform my assigned function on the team. Need I remind you of my experience with dark wizards? I will be fine.”
Harry nodded.
He didn’t know why that irritated him.
-~-~-
Harry killed the engine and sat for a moment with both hands still on the wheel, staring at the dark outline of the textile mill through the rain-speckled windscreen.
The mill was made of three storeys of soot-blackened brick. Boarded windows and a sagging loading bay door with faded yellow hazard stripes really nailed the this-place-is-definitely-abandoned look.
(Which meant it absolutely wasn’t.)
Severus sat in the back seat, perfectly still, satchel at his feet, hands folded loosely in his lap.
Harry twisted in his seat. “Team One’s clearing the perimeter wards first,” he said quietly. “We go in for recovery once they give the all-clear.”
Severus inclined his head. “Understood.”
After ten minutes, the enchanted car stereo came to life.
“Outer wards neutralized. Suspect is down. Extensive recovery is needed. Team Two clear to proceed.”
Harry exhaled. “That’s our cue.”
They cut in through a side access door that had once led to a boiler room. The inside of the mill was cavernous and cold. Harry took three steps in before his spine began to tingle.
“Lumos.”
They hadn’t gone far when they heard it. A scream that was thin and decidedly human.
Harry broke into a run.
They reached a wide corridor lined with heavy steel doors. Fumes drifted out from beneath one of them. pink and green, coiling in wandering tendrils along the floor.
Harry slammed his shoulder into the door, and it burst inward.
The room beyond was a horror.
Three witches were chained to metal chairs bolted into the concrete floor. Their wrists were raw. One of them was sobbing openly. Worse, a fourth lay crumpled on the floor. If she was breathing, it was certainly shallow.
Harry’s stomach dropped.
“Oh fuck,” he breathed.
One of the chained witches looked up at him. Her face collapsed in relief.
“You’re here,” she whispered. “You’re really here.”
Harry dropped to his knees in front of her.
“You’re safe,” he said. “We’re getting you out.”
He worked the first set of chains loose with wandwork that appeared more confidently executed than he felt inwards.
Behind him, Severus moved past without a word. Harry barely registered it as he freed the second witch. Then the third.
Ron’s voice echoed faintly down the corridor.
Harry turned back toward Severus. He was standing at a long steel workbench at the back of the room. Upon the bench were a series of mortars filled with Merlin only knew what, capped at the end with a cauldron simmering faintly indigo.
Snape wasn’t touching anything, just looking and scrawling something into a notepad from his satchel.
“You done?” he called. “We need to get out of here.”
Severus didn’t look at him. “Another minute,” he said sternly. “These compounds are not standard. I need to catalogue what I can.”
Harry swallowed his anger.
“Make it fast.”
Not fast enough, apparently
It happened in less than three seconds.
The last of the freed witches let out an otherworldly scream.
Harry spun.
She lunged across the room at Severus, eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Get down!” Harry shouted. (Too late.)
The witch slammed herself into the workbench without an iota of self preservation. The cauldron tipped off its flame-stand, and a wave of iridescent liquid arced through the air until it splattered straight onto Harry’s chest.
“What the-” he gasped.
The cauldron itself followed, flung by her bruised hands and striking Harry squarely on the temple. White exploded behind his eyes. Then the floor was cold, and the ceiling was spinning.
Somewhere far away, someone was screaming.
Severus’s voice cut through it. “Finite incantatem!”
A body thudded.
Harry tried to sit up. The room lurched violently. His stomach heaved.
“Don’t move,” Severus said sharply, suddenly right in front of him.
Harry blinked up at him. Everything was double. Maybe even triple? He lacked the capacity to even count.
“I’m fine,” he slurred.
(That was definitely not true.)
Severus’s face was white. He grabbed Harry under the arms and hauled him up. Harry’s feet dragged uselessly along the floor.
“I said I’m fine,” Harry protested weakly. “Give me a sec.”
“You are not and I will not,” Severus snapped.
The last thing he remembered was Severus dragging him down the corridor toward the exit, boots skidding on concrete, the sound of begging and sobbing fading behind them.
Then everything went dark.