Hope Has a Place
Part Fourteen
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When Arthur Weasley returned to work from his lunch break, he'd found a delightful Muggle bakery that served the most delicious bread, he found the Ministry in an uproar. All his colleagues were wandering around in a daze. Those who had managed to raise their wands to try and combat whatever the threat was, had their wands burned to ash in their hands, but they didn't seem to notice. Some still had their wands, but they were as usless as sticks. Arthur couldn't sense any magic from any of them, nor their wands.

None of them were coherent, they all seemed to be suffering from some form of hysterical insanity. Arthur did the only thing he could in the circumstances, he fire-called St. Mungo's and waited until the healers arrived. A few of his former colleagues seemed to have reverted to childhood and were running around playing tag like five year olds. A couple of times he had to restrain them, as they would quite likely wander off before the healers could get there.

The healers had never seen anything like it and deferred to Arthur as the new Minister for Magic, as no other employee was fit for any duty. Aruthur told them what he suspected, but the healers suspected it too and only needed a few tests to confirm it.

The healers nodded their heads when they were done, their wands put away again.

Not one of the Ministry employees had an ounce of magic left in their bodies. They'd all been rendered Muggle.

***

Harry tripped over something in the darkness and then banged his head on the low ceiling. Next to him, Snape cursed as he bumped into Harry and toppled them both to the ground, landing hard on Harry's back. "Where the hell are we?" asked Snape and Harry couldn't stop himself from giggling.

"Oh, my God!" he laughed wriggling and turning round so that Snape was on top of his stomach, not his back. "We're in my cupboard!"

"A cupboard?" screeched Snape. "A small enclosed space? Do you think you can get us out of here?"

The professor sounded as though he might scream at any moment. Harry had never known anyone who was calustrophobic before. It had never bothered him, being in a cupboard, he felt safe there, but obviously Snape didn't.

Harry waited until Snape stood up so he could rise from the floor and pushed the door, it opened easily. Obviously the Dursleys didn't need to lock it any more, now that their nephew no longer needed to be locked in. He and Snape were soon standing in the hallway. Snape glanced around at the obviously Muggle home in slight distaste.

"What did you do, Harry? What spell did you use to land us here?"

"I was just thinking that I wanted both of us to get home."

"And home to you was a cupboard?"

"It was, for the first ten years I spent here."

"They kept you in a cupboard?" Snape turned to the door of said cupboard and Harry knew he was looking at the locks which were still there, but no longer in use. "They locked you in? And you still thought of this place as home?"

"I was safe there," said Harry softly. "When I was locked in my cupboard, it was the only time I had to myself. It was the only time Vernon couldn't hit me. It was my refuge."

Harry glanced around the hall, the house was quiet, he didn't think anyone was at home. The house had never changed much in all his years there. The same flowery carpet on the hall and stairs, the same wallpaper and the same smell of boiled cabbage that seemed to permeate everything.

"Dumbldore knew, didn't he?" asked Snape.

"Yes, my first Hogwarts letter had the cupboard under the stairs as my address. He knew, but now I don't think he cared much. I was so relieved to get away from here, I never thought that Hogwarts would end up being so much worse."

"I didn't help much, the way I used to treat you, did I?"

"Why did you? Did you really hate my father so much?"

"I did, we were never friends, Harry, despite being in the Order together. James thought that I only got in because I slept with Dumbledore to ensure it."

"You didn't, did you?"

"No, I didn't. But that didn't seem to matter to James. He thought I'd used some sort of Dark Magic in order to seduce the headmaster, working on orders from my other master. He thought I was a Death Eater, I had the Mark, what else would I be? I couldn't like him when he was convinced that everything I said was a lie. When I saw you at Hogwarts for the first time, looking so much like James, I steeled myself to hate you and make your life as miserable as James made mine. It was petty and childish and I'm sorry. You are not your father. You have more honour, more courage in your little finger than James had in his whole body."

Snape turned and made his way down the hallway to the kitchen, eyeing all the Muggle gadgets with an avid curiosity. Harry entered behind him, smiling at Snape in the middle of something that had got to be one of his worst nightmares. "And you cooked on this thing?" he asked, looking at the hob and oven.

"Yes."

"No wonder you couldn't brew a decent potion in a cauldron, the mechanics are entirely different."

"I may not be able to brew a potion, but I can brew a decent cup of tea or coffee. Would you like one?" Harry felt no qualms about being in the Dursleys' house and using their things. Guilt was an emotion he couldn't afford right now.

"Coffee would be acceptable," said Snape. Harry filled the kettle and switched it on, searching through the cupboards until he found a jar of coffee. The Dursleys only had instant, but Harry knew the trick was to put just a bit extra into the mug to make it more palatable. He was aware of Snape watching him as he bustled about, getting cups, spoons and sugar and setting them on the worktop. The thought sent a delicious shiver through him, not quite desire, but certainly something akin to it.

"What is that?" asked Snape, eyeing the jar like one of his more volitile potions ingredients.

"Instant coffee, you just pour hot water on it and stir, adding milk and sugar if you want it."

"I take neither milk nor sugar in coffee."

"I know," said Harry as the kettle boiled. He made the coffee, adding three spoonfuls of sugar to his own, enjoying the grimace Snape gave, and handed the other cup to his former professor.

"I wonder what happened at the Ministry," mused Snape as he took a sip of the coffee.

"Don't know and frankly I don't really care at this point," said Harry. "We had to get out of there, didn't we? I don't really know what happened to me. It was as though I could feel the magic flowing through me. It felt like nothing could touch me, nothing bad. There was a protective spell around both of us, but I didn't know how I did it, does that make sense?"

"How do you feel now? Magic that strong can take a lot out of you."

"Tired. Like I haven't slept in weeks."

"So, what's next, Harry? What do we do now?"

"I don't know, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I just wanted to get us out of there and somewhere safe."

"Well, you don't expect us to stay here, do you?"

"God, no! I've done my time at Privet Drive, thank you! I doubt the Dursleys would want me back anyway. I suppose we could - we could go to the Weasleys'?" he suggested. The cup dropped from Snape's hand and he screamed, clutching at his left forearm, his whole face bathed in sweat.

"He's calling the Death Eaters," he said, white faced and tight lipped.

"You're not going," said Harry, expecting some argument about duty and honour and all that rubbish. He wasn't letting Snape out of his sight ever again. Neither of them would do anyone else's bidding, not now. What use was duty and honour when all they wanted to do was kill you?

"No, I didn't intend to. But, Harry, the Mark is cursed. If any Death Eater doesn't Apparate to Voldemort within a set amount of time, they suffer Cruciatus until the meeting finishes." Harry wondered how the man could be so calm, he was talking about it as though discussing the weather. Harry had been on the receiving end of that curse, he knew how painful it could be.

"How long until it starts?"

"It's normally fifteen minutes, but I was allowed half an hour due to being at Hogwarts, Voldemort knew I may not be able to get away as quickly as the others."

Harry wanted to scream, tear his hair out, rip Voldemort's eyes from his head. Half an hour and then God knows how many hours of torture for Snape. It was so bloody unfair! "I'm going to Apparate you to the Weasley's," said Harry.

"You haven't got your test," gasped Snape as Harry guessed the pain flared on his arm once again. But Harry knew he had to get them both to the Burrow before Harry's scar started aching, he had no doubt that Voldemort's activities would soon have it burning in agony.

"The rules don't apply to me, remember?" he smiled and was relieved when Snape gave him a small smile in return. He wrapped his arms around Snape and Apparated them both to the Burrow. They landed in the Weasleys' kitchen, both of them still standing, but a little wobbly all the same. The house had the same quietness Harry had noticed at the Dursleys', but in Surrey, it didn't feel unnatural. Here it did. There was usually someone about.

Harry led Snape to one of the comfortable, worn sofas and looked at the wizarding clock on the wall. Ron and Ginny's hands were at the spot marked 'school', but the hands for every other Weasley was set at 'mortal peril'.

"NO! NO! NO NO" roared Harry. "Severus, I've got to go, I have to save them. I have to face Vold-" he didn't get any further. Agony ripped through him, starting in his scar and tearing through his entire body. It felt as though his lungs were on fire, he could hardly breathe. Harry slumped to the ground, curling in on himself to try and ease the pain. He was dimly aware of Snape screaming in agony with him, but neither were well enough to help the other. Harry couldn't move from his spot on the floor. He wasn't Harry anymore. He knew nothing but pain. He was pain. His skull split open and he cried as he fell into welcome oblivion.

***

When Harry opened his eyes, he was staring at the warm smiling face of Molly Weasley. "You're not dead," he blurted out, his first thought. And his second was that he hadn't gone to save them. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Calm down, Harry. You're all right. Everyone is all right, so stop fretting. Poppy is tending to Severus as we speak, he hurt himself while trying to fight the Cruciatus."

"What happened?" he asked. "The clock..."

"Are you well enough to stand, Harry? I think you should take a look in the mirror."

"I'm okay," he nodded and pushed himself up from the bed he was lying on. He didn't recognise the room, it wasn't Ron's, but he thought no more of it as he walked over to the mirror above the dresser. It was a while before he realised what he was seeing. His hair was still the same messy mop he was used to, the image was a little fuzzy without his glasses, but even before asking, Molly had handed them to him. Harry shook as he put them on, feeling as if the whole world was slightly disjointed.

"Look, Harry, look," said Molly, pushing his fringe away from his forehead. A forehead that was smooth, pale and unmarked. His knees gave way, and he grabbed hold of the dresser to keep himself upright. He didn't know whether he wanted to cry, faint or throw up, or maybe all three.

It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, a weight that he'd been struggling with for so long that he wasn't aware how heavy it had been until it was removed.

"How? What happened?"

"There was a battle, Harry, but Voldemort was destroyed by fifty Three-Fold spells, he couldn't handle the love that was put into the spells. He's gone for good, Harry. The Immortali saw to that."

"And Dobby? Dobby's okay?"

"He's fine, Harry. Not everyone was so lucky."

"Dumbledore," said Harry, feeling a strange hollow feeling in his chest. He wasn't feeling regret at the man's death, was he? Not after all he'd done to him and Snape? "How?"

"He committed suicide after the battle. There were so many Three-Fold blessings happening at once that some of the magics found other targets, there were a lot of suicides amont the Death Eaters too, the guilt was too much for some of them when they saw into their own dark hearts."

"Is it really over?" he asked when he could find his voice again. Maybe one day he could grieve for Dumbledore, for the man he should have been, but not now. Now he had to concentrate on getting his life back, his and Snape's. They were no-one's slave anymore.

"It is, Harry. It's over," said Molly, clasping him to her and hugging him as if she was afraid to let him go. "Voldemort's gone."

Part Fifteen