Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Potter stared at him blankly.

Samuel took another ragged breath. Too late to back out now. "Make your deal with me."

Strong fingers bit into his shoulder and turned him around. "No!" John's eyes were haunted and feral. "Unacceptable. I won't lose you again." He pushed past Samuel and trapped Potter against the couch. "Harry, find another way."

"This doesn't concern you, John." Samuel had no desire to deal with the Alpha Wolf in addition to Harry Bloody Potter. "And I'm coming home. Potter wouldn't jeopardize Amanda's care." Samuel stared at the boy in challenge.

"I said that I could clear your name. I wouldn't lie about that." Potter's voice wavered behind the bravado.

"Harry, I need to shout at Samuel privately. Don't go far. You're next on my list." Something deeper than rage glimmered in John's eyes. Potter bolted into the hall.

"You, Troy, and Amanda. Or are my loyalties meant to dissolve under the mildest pressure?"

John looked at the floor. "You have to realize that you're walking into the lions' den..."

"Seems more like a vipers' nest."

"This isn't funny, Samuel."

"No? Well, if you can't see the humor, I'm hardly the one to explain it. I'll be in my office." Samuel turned on his heel before John could argue.

The first book he grabbed was 'Potions Compendium'. He was flipping to the letter 'F' when he willed his hand to stop. It's time to make a deliberate choice, Potions or psychology, past or future? With disgust, he dropped the book beside his chair and returned to the shelves. He'd need more than a few hours of luck in any event. DSM-IV-TR in one hand, and a battered copy of Fromme in the other, Samuel began stacking books on his desk.

He looked up from his growing pile, realizing that he'd been in the office for nearly an hour. The silence in the house left Samuel wondering if he would be helping Remus hide a body. Bloody wolf. We need Potter and his influence. Maybe he could stave off trouble by playing doting host. He made a side-trip to the kitchen and then moved down the hall.

Shifting both mugs of coffee into one hand, he reached for the doorknob, but froze as hushed words slipped through the crack. "That's not good enough, Harry. Your intentions aside, I have little faith in the triumph of reason over passion in this matter."

"Remus, it'll be fine. Do you need an Unbreakable Vow?" Samuel found perverse pleasure in listening to Potter sass John.

"You can make any vow you please. That will be cold comfort when it's taken out of your hands. I won't help unless you present solid assurance of his protection."

He stood in the hall like an eavesdropping fool as John argued with Potter over the futility of protective charms and vows. Annoyance warred with gratitude until he heard John's temper crack. "There's nothing to discuss. It can't come from you, and it won't come from me until you present a foolproof plan." He was close enough to the door to be certain that Potter had no answer.

Irritation won, and he shoved the door open without preamble. "Are you both done gossiping like old hags? Potter, I require your assistance for this to work. Wait in my office, and do bring your brain. You have much to learn and little time to absorb it." He turned to John. "Keats, I don't know what the problem is, but we need to solve it. Now."

"Samuel, that was a long time ago. It's not fair to use old endearments to get your way." John crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.

Fine. Samuel was experienced in the art of posturing. He rested a hip against the back of the couch, a scant arm's length from John, braced his hands there as well, and crossed his leg over in a relaxed pose. The message was intentionally clear; he could comfortably wait out any idiocy. "John, I've been babied long enough. I accepted sanctuary from Albus with the understanding that I would do my part to destroy that organization. I allowed you to shelter me when Potter desperately needed inside information, but I won't back down this time. I don't have your way with words, nor a hero's cache, but I can write a press release." He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Actually, I think you'll find that you can't write this one, but you're welcome to try, Samuel." Can't? Holy Merlin! John, you idiot. "I can freely give my name, my address, and credentials. What, exactly, do you control, John?"

"I control the association of past and present. You can introduce yourself as Samuel Crane. You can even answer to Severus Snape among those who are in on the secret..."

"Okay, I get it. So I can go back as an obscure American psychiatrist whom no one will recognize or as a presumed dead Death Eater traitor with no way to vindicate myself? Thanks for painting me into a corner, John, but I owe this to Albus." Samuel stopped when he couldn't control the tremor in his voice.

"Samuel, I'm not trying to prove a point here." John's voice shook as well.

"You're doing what you must, and so am I. Let's not end this on bad terms, Keats. Give me two hours with the boy wonder, and then we'll eat out, make an evening of it, okay?"

John folded, sitting on the floor in defeat. "You win. I'll break it."

Samuel didn't feel victorious, just exhausted and depressed. "That's fine, John. Two hours."

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Samuel wanted to enjoy the fine food. He knew that the chef took great pride in re-imagining ethnic dishes and that Cathy's sister had done them a huge favor by seating them without a reservation. None of that lessened the taste of ash in his mouth.

John shaved another bite of chicken and chewed mechanically. Samuel stared at his own stack of paper thin vegetables and squashed it with his fork. This felt like goodbye, and that wasn't his intent. "Let's make a reservation for next Saturday. We'll celebrate a long incarceration for Yaxley." John looked up sharply at the suggestion.

"You want...Okay, but we'd better let them know we enjoy the food." John offering practical advise was a good sign.

Take a deep breath, Samuel. You can do this. "I can do this, John, as long as I know you're taking care of things here. Give me something to fight for, and I'll move heaven and earth to return. It will be okay."

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Through the rest of the evening, late into the night, John kept two things very close. One was his laptop, the other, Samuel. That was all right, though, as Amanda was immersed in knitting something large and brown. She claimed it was a sweater and then turned back to marking off stitches on her infernal chart. Samuel tried squinting to see the pattern until John jabbed him in the ribs and gave a subtle shake of his head.

He brought himself up short, then, as he glanced over at Potter's blanching face. That boy didn't understand enough of human complexity to be reading Erich Fromme. "Potter?" he interrupted sharply.

"They were lording their status over the mock prisoners, just because they could..."

"Skip to Fromme's conclusions. They differ from Zimbardo's significantly."

"I see that he disagrees, but..."

"Fromme argues, Mr. Potter, that our choices are influenced by our appetites, not determined by our station. He further postulates that, in the large majority, humans abide by a code of humane morality, that we are not all sociopaths waiting to happen." Samuel stared as Potter swallowed slowly. "You are the least likely of anyone to enjoy the suffering of another."

Later, in the darkness of their bedroom, John ghosted his fingers along Samuel's arm. "Thank you for that."

"Potter truly needs to learn to apply a healthy level of skepticism to what he reads. And what he's told about what he reads. John, I want you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"Gryffindor, I should hold you to that, but I won't. Consider telling Bill Weasley about your current struggle with alcoholic escapism. I fear this week may become especially difficult."

The room was silent as John pressed his forehead to Samuel's back. The tears were hot on his skin as he turned to hold his lover.

John's voice was raw as he held Samuel in place. "No. Wait. I'm all right. You're coming back, dammit."

"That's the plan, Keats."

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A/N: The book that Harry is reading is 'The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness' by Erich Fromme. Yes, I do realize that Severus grossly over-simplified Fromme's position on the Stanford 'mock prison' experiment.