"Well-reasoned," the headmaster commented. "As soon as Lucius knew you had to be somewhere nearby, he cast a spell over the entire area, a spell that alerts him to any use of Parseltongue. It seems they've used this before, to try to locate you. Well. The spell was of no use whilst you stayed inside the house, but once you left its confines?"
Harry nodded. "And what happened to Sals? Did she make it back upstairs to warn Remus?"
"Your brave little snake nearly expired from the effort, but yes, she did. She wrapped herself around Professor Lupin's ankle and pulled and tugged until he got the message and went into the cellar as she seemed to want. He put his head through the vent she indicated, and after that, it was fairly clear what had happened. Apparently the warding on Grimmauld Place meant that nobody inside could hear the blast itself, but thanks to your snake, Professor Lupin alerted Severus and me at once."
"But Sals is okay, now?"
"Harry, in between trying to find you, and rescue you, and then endeavoring to heal you once Severus had you safe, there hasn't been time to spare to look for your snake. No doubt she's still in your house, and doing fine."
"No, she was sick, really sick..." Harry suddenly stopped speaking, then resumed. "Oh, no. You don't think she was a Voldemort plant put there to get me to speak Parseltongue, do you? Tell me you don't think that."
"She could not have been," Dumbledore softly assured him. "Nothing with evil intent toward you could have been introduced into that house, not after Severus and Remus spent most of a night spelling it specifically to safeguard you. And that, Harry, isn't even counting the Fidelius Charm which guarantees that Voldemort could not have found where to plant her. Have no worries on that account; your snake is entirely blameless."
"Well, I know that," Harry murmured. "I just didn't want anybody else getting het up over it. Um, would you send some of the old crowd over there to look for her? Sals was so cold, I don't know how much longer she might have had... Please?"
"Certainly," Albus agreed, "though Harry, you should know that it's been a few days since Samhain."
"I've been lying here unconscious for days? Again?"
"Most of the time you were actually unconscious in an unplottable shack in Devon. Severus patched you up, kept you safe until the Death Eaters stopped swarming the Apparation boundary surrounding Hogwarts."
"I didn't go to St. Mungo's again?"
"It was safe to go there last time, since Voldemort was unaware you'd been injured donating marrow. This time, he anticipated such a move. It was being watched."
"Yeah..." Harry thought back to St. Mungo's. "Snape said then that it would have been better to take me somewhere safe, and summon a healer."
"Yes. He did exactly that, but as your magic is still... somewhat in flux, the treatments Marjygold recommended were largely, though not exclusively, Muggle in nature."
Vague memories stirred in Harry, then, memories less substantial than dreams. Mere wisps, only. Something tight wrapped around one wrist, and fragrant poultices laid across his brow... no, over his eyes, or what remained of them. And spells, so many spells, interspersed with bouts of swearing. He supposed he must be remembering Snape's frustration that magical cures didn't work quite as they should on him, any longer. But most of what he'd taken for dreams didn't seem magical at all, just as the headmaster had said. Thin broth spooned into him, hour after hour, while he lay barely able to swallow. And lemonade, and something a bit thicker, something that had tasted of barley, or oats.
The more he pondered it, the more the fog in his mind began to part. Warm fires banked each evening, and gentle fingers applying salve to each and every wound that dotted his body. Whimpering, and being rocked to sleep, the arms around him tightening every time the nightmares sprang to life. Those same arms again, holding him through awful chills. A hand lovingly clasping his. Lovingly? Well, maybe not. But caringly, at least.... and a voice, that voice, quiet and soft, talking to him hour past hour as he lay enduring pain and fever that the potions couldn't cure. Talking of... well, nonsense, really. Harry couldn't put it together. Stories? Something about a yellow-eyed cat, and a herd of hippogriffs in Ireland, and cookies that made you sneeze.
He hadn't been awake, but he hadn't been asleep, and he actually didn't think he'd been unconscious, either. Just... drifting.
Harry brought his mind back to the story. "Um... so after Remus saw the cellar, he firecalled you, right?"
The headmaster hesitated, then divulged, "Severus immediately left his Potions lab and found some pretext for contacting key Death Eaters. He sounded them out, but not even Lucius would admit that you had been taken, let alone tell him where you were being held."
"They suspected he was a spy," Harry breathed.
"No, I think not. They know how to guard their secrets, that is all. However, there is no doubt now that Severus' true loyalties are known. In full view of Voldemort, he portkeyed you away."
The Dark Mark, Harry thought. Voldemort will torture him now, through the Dark Mark.
Harry lifted his water to his mouth, but his hand was shaking so much he spilled most of it down the soft pajama top he was wearing.
The headmaster took the glass away, set it down with a decisive clink, and cleared his throat. Then he waited until Harry calmed. "Severus and I have talked, though your condition made it rather superfluous. It is quite obvious what he allowed to happen to you at that meeting, but I understand it went beyond that, Harry." A long pause. "That he held you... for them. Harry, it may take some time, as I said, but we will see you healed of all your injuries. I must tell you, my boy... I am so very sorry for all that Severus had to do."
Had to do. Even the sound of the phrase made him sort of sick. "Um..." he answered, swallowing hard, then reaching out for his glass, finding it, and drinking what little was left of the water. "Um, well..." His voice cracked. "I know."
"Harry, Severus does not often... he does not care to show emotion, but---"
A roiling nausea rocked through Harry. "I need Stomach Calming Draught," he choked out, struggling not to disgrace himself.
It took only a moment, and a whispered conversation, for Dumbledore to procure some from Madame Pomfrey. "There, there, drink it all," he murmured as he held it to Harry's lips. By then, the boy's hands were shaking so bad there was no question of his managing on his own. "Better now, Harry?"
"A bit," Harry admitted, drawing in a few deep breaths. "Potions sort of halfway work on me just now."
"Yes. Severus mentioned as much. You may have to be in the hospital wing a little longer than the usual."
Harry shrugged, not really caring about that. He was pretty well used to it, even if his typical visits had him patched up overnight and ready for Quidditch again in the morning. "So, the story. S-- er, S-- Snape, nobody would tell him where I was being held. And...?"
"With Samhain just two days away, he deduced that you would be presented by Voldemort to be... sacrificed. We delegated the search for you to several dozen Aurors, Tonks included. Then, Severus and I devoted ourselves to the question of how to rescue you from the meeting itself, assuming the Aurors' search efforts failed."
Harry drew in another breath. The Stomach Calming Draught was helping a bit more, now. "Okay, it's simple then. Snape brought a portkey to the meeting."
"You cannot believe things are as simple as that," the headmaster chided. Harry heard robes rustle as he leaned forward, and flinched back a bit, but the old wizard merely rested his hands on the bed sheets, not touching Harry. "You must know, Harry, that Severus would have portkeyed you out of there instantly had that been an option."