FicWad

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"Words." English
"Words." Ancient Greek

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"I don't pretend to comprehend your reasons for choosing this... place for our meeting, Fletcher, but I suggest that you not do so again," Severus growled as he slid gingerly into the booth. "For your own safety."

Mundungus "Dung" Fletcher grinned at the dour man, incidentally baring his yellow, tobacco-stained teeth to the world. "Aw, c'mon now, Severus! You need to get out more, socialize a little, y'know? Bein' cooped up all year in those dungeons o' yours can't be good for you."

The Slytherin glared poisonously at the man. "Be that as it may," he bit out, "why are we in a /muggle bar/, of all places?"

Fletcher looked genuinely hurt. "What? I like this bar, you overgrown bat. The drinks are decent, an' the food's damn good."

Severus scowled at him, and the wizard was quick to come up with another reason that wouldn't get him used as ingredients in a potion. "An' you hafta admit, no Death Eater would ever think to look for us 'ere."

"That's because I normally wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this," the potions master grumbled, eyeing the roomful of noisy muggles. "Now, you said you had information that couldn't wait until the next Order meeting?" he prompted impatiently, not wanting to spend any more time in the muggle world than was necessary.

The ruffian grinned, looking like the cat that'd eaten the canary. "Patience, Severus! 'Sides, it ain't so much information as somethin' to see." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "An' I kinda wasn't sure it was 'im, so I wanted someone to come confirm it 'fore I made a fool o' meself at the next meetin'."

Severus couldn't hide a slight frown. He'd never seen Fletcher so seriously smug about something that didn't somehow involve grand larceny. Either the other wizard had finally lost the few brain cells he had left after years of alcohol and substance abuse... or whatever this was about was actually important. "And just whom might you be speaking of?"

The man didn't answer directly, instead gazing distantly across the bar in the general direction of the bar's small stage, where a band was just starting to set up. "I've been comin' 'ere for, oh, two or three months now. I saw 'im then, o' course, but I didn't really think it could be /'im/, cos 'ow could someone be in two places at once, y'know? But then the werewolf said 'e'd gone an' disappeared, an'..." He shrugged, still looking away.

By this time a dubious suspicion had begun to take root in the Slytherin's mind. Could he possibly mean... "/Who/, Fletcher? Who disappeared?"

Not that he really needed to ask, since there was only one recently vanished person that the Order of the Phoenix was actively trying to find, but if it wasn't the boy...

There was silence for a moment in their booth, then Fletcher raised an arm and pointed at one of the people setting up instruments on the stage, a dark-haired young man who was currently plugging several cords into a keyboard. "There. That's 'im, I'm almost sure o' it. That's 'arry Potter."

For a few seconds Severus stared at him (for he would never do something so undignified as to gape incredulously), then at the teenager on the other side of the room. "Are you mad, or simply blind?" he asked sarcastically. "That can't be Potter. For one thing, he's too old!"

The small-time criminal scowled, stung. "You think I don't know that? It's why I never mentioned 'im to anyone! But I've 'eard 'is friends call 'im 'arry, an' I saw the scar for meself just last night!"

Unable to think of anything to say to express the depths of his disbelief, Severus abruptly stood. "Wait," Fletcher said, grabbing his arm. "They're about to start a set. 'E's been 'ere for months, 'e ain't goin' to just disappear again cos we found 'im."

The wizard glared venomously at him, shrugging off his hand. "That is precisely the same kind reasoning that allowed the brat to slip away the first time," he hissed. He turned again towards the stage, and this time his progress went unimpeded.

Severus was able to add several things to the catalogue of why this could not possibly be Potter as he approached the youth. Besides being too old by a year or two, the boy had much longer hair, pulled back into a tail at the nape of his neck, and was also a bit taller than the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Him.

Though, Potter had always been rather small for his age. Perhaps he'd finally hit a growth spurt?

"Potter?" he asked tersely, stopping in front of him. The youth looked up, and Severus was shocked to find that for once in his misbegotten life, Mundungus Fletcher was actually right about something. Sure enough, there was the infamous lightning bolt scar beneath still-messy bangs, and the dazzling green eyes in a surprisingly tanned face that could belong to no one but Harry Potter.

"Yes? Can I help you, sir?" the boy replied, looking curiously at him, and the potions master felt a thrill of rage run through him. How dare the imbecilic little brat run away, then act like nothing had happened /to his very face/?!

He was so enraged, in fact, that his normally very observant mind failed to notice the slight, distinctly foreign accent that overlaid his student's words.

"Potter, where the hell have you been? The entire Order has been looking for you for a /week/!" Severus paused and glared at the boy, waiting impatiently for an answer.

And why the hell was Potter looking so damn confused?

The youth's words reflected Severus' exasperated observation. "...Sir? I'm afraid I don't quite know what you're talking about... What is this 'Order', and why would it be looking for me?" he asked with a puzzled frown.

The Slytherin blinked, stunned even further by the boy's sheer insolence. "Potter, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but it is not amusing. You know perfectly what the damn Order is! Now, just what imbecilic thought was going through your empty skull when you decided to disappear like that?! What if Death Eaters had found you instead of that idiot Fletcher? You are extremely lucky the Dark Lord hasn't gotten his hands on you yet, you fool boy!"

By now Potter was beginning to look more annoyed than confused, and there was just enough time for the vague thought that something wasn't right to pass through the professor's mind before the teenager decided enough was enough. "Look," he stated, his green eyes clouded with genuine anger as he thrust an unyielding finger into Severus' chest, "I don't know what the hell your 'Order' is, or about this 'Dark Lord', and I don't particularly care! But if your only purpose in being here is to insult me, then I think perhaps it's time for you to leave, /sir/."

"Harry? Are you all right?" The wizard glanced to the side and saw a slim brunette standing there, staring suspiciously at him. "This man isn't bothering you, is he?" she asked Potter.

The young man watched Severus for a moment with wary eyes, then reluctantly shook his head. "No, Sam, I'm fine. He was just leaving," he said firmly, staring pointedly at the potions master to make sure he got the message.

"Good, 'cause we've got to get started /now/." Giving Severus another hard look, the muggle girl grabbed Potter by the hand and pulled him back onto the stage. "Tony says there's something wrong with one of his feeds, and he wants to know if you have any ideas..."

The wizard stared after them for a few more seconds, his face even paler than it usually was. Then he turned and went back to where Fletcher still sat in their booth. "We may have a problem," he said quietly. "Go and contact Albus. I have a feeling we're going to need him before long."

Puzzled, nonetheless the Order member nodded and got up, darting out the bar's doors. Severus glanced back at the stage as he heard the first bars of music waft over from the small group of teenagers, and the brunette from before stepped forward, mike in hand. "Spare a little candle, save some light for me/," she sang softly, accompanied by Potter on his keyboard. "/Figures up ahead, moving in the trees. White skin in linen, perfume on my wrist, and the full moon that hangs over these dreams in the mist..."

These dreams go on when I close my eyes.
Every second of the night, I live another life.
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside.
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away...

Darkness on the edge, shadows where I stand,
I search for the time on a watch with no hands.
I want to see you clearly, come closer than this.
But all I remember are the dreams in the mist...

These dreams go on when I close my eyes.
Every second of the night, I live another life.
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside.
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away...

Is it cloak and dagger, could it be spring or fall?
I walk without a cut through a stain glass wall.
Weaker in my eyesight, the candle in my grip,
And words that have no form are falling from my lips...

These dreams go on when I close my eyes.
Every second of the night, I live another life.
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside.
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away...

There's something out there I can't resist.
I need to hide away from the pain.
There's something out there I can't resist...

The sweetest song is silence, that I've ever heard.
Funny how your feet in dreams never touch the earth.
In a wood full of princes, freedom is a kiss,
But the prince hides his face from dreams in the mist...

These dreams go on when I close my eyes.
Every second of the night, I live another life.
These dreams that sleep when it's cold outside.
Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away...

These dreams go on when I close my eyes.
Every second of the night, I live another life...

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Harry groaned as light streamed painfully through his eyelids, leaving violently red afterimages on his retinas. Every limb, every extremity ached, and he could feel his back muscles cramping from their contact with the chillingly cold stone floor. The first vestiges of what promised to be a truly monumental headache lurked at the boundaries of his mind.

All in all, he would have much preferred to delay his awakening by, oh, a few weeks or so.

"He's waking up."

The young wizard groaned again as the sudden voice sent a wave of pain through his skull, though it had spoken in little more than a whisper. Please, please, whoever you are, don't talk again...

No such luck. "Who are you?" the voice demanded, and Harry felt a toe nudge him in the side. He whimpered in pain, and a second, kinder voice scolded the first.

"There was no need to do that, Egan. Can you not see he is hurt?"

"He is also trespassing, Master. For all we know, he is a criminal suffering for his misdeeds!"

"He is but a boy, my son. And would a hardened criminal lie so before our Lord's altar?"

Harry simply lay there, listening to the incomprehensible conversation going on overhead until it occurred to his pain-befuddled mind that they were most likely arguing over his fate. He sluggishly opened his eyes, flinching as the relatively harsh light of what turned out to be a torch burned his eyes.

After a couple of moments he summoned all his courage and opened them again, and was relieved to find that this time the contrast wasn't nearly so bad. Everything was blurry, though, and he realized his glasses must have fallen off at some point.

He could make out two men in what looked like white robes standing over him. One was bald, and the other held the burning torch high in one hand. The one with hair- whom he suspected to be younger, as well- said something to the other man, gesturing down towards the boy on the floor, and Harry recognized his was the voice belonging to the man who had poked him.

The bald man nodded and laboriously knelt, finally bringing his face into Harry's range of vision. He was old, though not nearly so old as Dumbledore, with deep lines carved into his kindly face and a salt-and-pepper beard. "What is your name, my child?" he asked, and Harry was genuinely distressed that he couldn't understand the question to answer it.

"I..." he croaked out, the word barely recognizable even to him. "I can't... I'm sorry..."

The old man frowned, obviously puzzled by the strange words. He asked another question, but this time Harry couldn't even offer a rudimentary answer.

He was too busy fainting again.