Hey guys! So, here's my new baby - in attempt to kill my block Sheankelor gave me a three word challenge. Her words were:"hot-silent-sleep" Now, I was very liberal with those three words, mind you. But she didn't complain yet so... *sighs* I've got six chapters ready to go, which gives me six weeks to finish this baby. I do hope that will be enough.
We're post war, the story is DH compliant, but ignores the epilogue, Severus is obviously alive, but lives secluded. I think that's all. I hope you will enjoy this as much I enjoy writing it. And as always, my favourite Australian is helping me edit this. Thank you Sexy. Lil. Emo for still sticking with me :3
Oh and the playlist. Instrumental, autumn themed music, the very source of inspiration for this fic can be found here: 8tracks.c_o_m(Slash)captainvulcan(slash)indian-summer
"Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."
― William Cullen Bryant
Indian Summer
- Chapter One: Bargaining Power -
o.O.o
The yellow leaves rustle beneath his feet as he crosses the park. Gentle breeze sweeps through his unruly hair, uncommonly warm, almost taunting him to untie his knitted scarf and tuck it away but he resists in the end and leaves it there around his neck. A part of him still hopes it could help, that this is just a cold and not anything more serious.
He kicks the dry leaves as he steps off the pavement and starts walking on wet grass. He can feel the cold seeping into his shoes, reminding him that the weather might be warm, but autumn is still all around them.
"Harry!"
He turns around, frowning. Hermione quickens her steps and almost runs up to him.
"You can't just walk away every time we start arguing about this."
Harry looks around and when sees no one, he pulls out his wand. "Yes I can," he writes in the air.
The words glow angry red between them, then fade slowly into orange, then disappear completely.
"I know you're frustrated," Hermione starts, trying to place a soothing hand on her friend's shoulder but he shakes it off, stepping back, out of her reach. Lips turning thin as a razor, she raises a hand, pointing her finger at the middle of Harry's chest. "You need help, Harry, whether you accept it or not. It's been two weeks! This is not normal."
Harry brandishes his wand and more words appear in the thin air, pulsing in crimson colour. "It's just a cold."
"No, it's not a cold," she snaps. "And you know it, too, Harry, because nothing helps. I know you took some Pepperup, while you thought I wasn't paying attention."
Harry shrugs, but can feel a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.
"I told you it won't work. It can't work, because whatever you have is caused by some kind of curse. I know I saw this somewhere, but I can't remember where. Please come back and let me cast some more diagnostic spells, at least. We'll talk this over again. Please, Harry, come back with me, we're worried about you…"
Harry takes a deep breath and steps forward hesitantly. Then he nods and Hermione lets out a relieved sigh.
"The more I can find out now, the easier job he'll have."
Harry frowns at her, stopping mid-step, but she does not seem to care as she goes on with only a roll of her eyes. "He is the only one, who could help you, Harry. Why won't you consider him?"
Stubborn, Harry shakes his head vehemently and turns around, waving Hermione off with a jerk of his hand.
Hermione lets out a frustrated groan and stomps on the dry leaves that crunch beneath her foot. "If this thing doesn't kill you, I will, Harry Potter!" She cries after him.
Harry rolls his eyes and points his wand behind him. "I'll get better, Hermione, you'll see. I don't need him. Or anyone else."
The words fade slowly from the air and Hermione turns around to head back home as well. Harry knows she will not give up on this yet, however even he does not realize, just how far Hermione is willing to go to help him.
o.O.o
Severus is standing on his small porch, inhaling the refreshing cold air. He knows, later on the weather would warm up yet again, gaining still some time for summer and not letting the unyielding winter stretch its white wings just yet. But right now, everything is still fresh and cold and he can feel the fall slowly creeping into every inch of his body.
He is grateful for the gentle fall that has graced the lands in the last few weeks. It did wonders to his pumpkins, which had grows almost twice their size just recently. His apple trees are bowing from the weight of the huge red, green and yellow apples in the backyard. Ripe pears hang over the blue and violet asters that have just started blooming on the other side of the house.
He steps down the porch and walks over to his small garden. His tea is lightly steaming in his hands as he paces carefully between the clematis bushes, inhaling the sweet scent of the small white flowers.
The sun is bright over the horizon, promising another warm and peaceful day. Just as he stretches his back and gulps down the last of his Earl Grey, a huge orange tabby cat saunters forward from between the toad lilies, shaking drops of dew off his paws and head.
"There you are," Severus mutters to him. "I thought I finally lost you."
The feline looks up at him disdainfully then meows, demanding breakfast.
Severus just raises an eyebrow at the animal, before he nods towards the cottage. "Inside."
With two elegant jumps the cat is out of the garden and running noiselessly up the stairs and then disappearing through the door. Severus sighs and follows the animal inside. He washes his mug then heads downstairs to his laboratory. If he starts early enough on the potions he needs to deliver today, he might finish clearing the two apple trees in the front yard this weekend. The Granny Smith trees have been standing there patiently, fruits ready to be plucked for a week now. But Severus had been busy, waiting for the weekend to come.
The Pepperups Marcus has requested from him are easy enough to brew but the Invigoration Draught needs time. He decides to begin with that and while it is brewing he can quickly start the Pepperups. He will make some extra, after all, it is autumn already and the cold season will start shortly.
Just as he puts the Invigoration Draught aside to simmer and is about to start on the Pepperup Potions, he hears a knock. Hoping that it is only the blasted cat whacking something off, he listens quietly. He is not expecting anyone; Marcus only promised himself at around eleven and that is still four hours away.
He stands up, his knees cracking just as the fire under the cauldrons. He watches the door of his laboratory as if he could see through the thick wood, up the dark stairs, through the small living room, his gaze piercing through the front door to scare away whoever dares disturb him on a Friday morning.
The intruder does not feel his menacing glare on themselves or maybe they feel brave enough because they knock again. Severus drops the stirring rod and cancels the flames with a swish of his wand. He stalks up the stairs and goes to the door with a grimace on his face.
Upon opening the door, he knows instantly that he made a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs and wait for the visitor to leave. She would have eventually. But perhaps, knowing Granger enough, he might be wrong about that.
"How did you find me, Miss Granger?" is his first question.
"Good morning, Professor Snape," says the girl with a bright smile, not bothered by the cold welcome.
"It is not good, thanks to your visit and I am not your professor anymore," Severus reacts.
"And I'm not Miss Granger anymore, actually," she smiles, showing a wedding band to Severus for a second.
"Mrs. Weasley then, I take it. The question remains: how did you find me, why are you here and do please leave me alone."
"Can't, sorry," she says and the next moment, she ducks under Severus' arm and walks inside. "Nice home you have here, Professor… uhm... Sir… Mr. Snape?" She seems uncertain of the title suddenly.
Severus' frowns at the cheeky chit. "You can call me grandpa for all I care Mrs. Weasley, what you cannot do is march in my home uninvited. Please leave, and take note that this was the last time I asked politely."
Granger raises an eyebrow at the last word, clearly doubting her treatment so far for being polite. Then she looks around for something to sit on and her gaze catches one of the black wooden chairs that stands around the small kitchen table.
Plopping down, she sighs heavily. "It's about Harry," she confesses quietly. "He needs your help, Sir. I wouldn't bother you otherwise."
Anger flares in Severus by the mention of that name, yet he does not pull out his wand to spell the girl out of his kitchen. He runs a hand through his long black hair, sneering still, and then trudges to the table as well.
"What did that imbecile do now?" He spats, pulling out another chair and sitting down.
"He can't speak," Hermione explains, her voice tainted with a hint of fear. "He is insisting that he has the cold but I checked him, he is fine. He is perfectly healthy, only… he cannot utter a word."
"At all?" Severus asks, his ire seemingly vanishing.
"Not at all. Not a sound comes out of his mouth."
Severus smirks. "I do not see any problem here, Granger. In fact I would say, everything is just as it should be." Severus stands, smiling evilly. "And if you would excuse me now, I have… a life to live."
But Granger grabs his arm and pulls him back into the chair, while she rises. Severus' black eyes narrow.
"You can't do this!" Granger shouts, pleading. "You have to help him! He is suffering from something and it could even kill him!"
Severus leans back on the chair, forcing calmness on his raging mind. "I can do this and I will do this. Whatever makes you think that I care about that little twat is beyond me, but let me inform you, Harry Potter can die for all I care. And the longer he suffers, the happier I am."
o.O.o
Hermione apparates back home, fuming, swallowing back her tears. The moment she steps through the threshold she calls for her husband.
"Ron!"
A ginger head peeks out from the doorway to the living room. "I guess he didn't agree to come."
"That arrogant… insufferable…" Hermione presses out then takes a deep breath and hisses, "Git."
Ron pulls her further in the flat and makes her sit down in one of their armchairs.
"He does not even care if this kills Harry! How can he be so… evil?" She hits the soft armrest in frustration. "I'm so worried about that idiot. Why does he not want help, Ron?"
"You know how Harry is, Hermione. He wants to deal with things on his own."
Hermione sweeps a teardrop away from her eyes and looks at Ron. "This is not a common cold."
"I believe you, 'Mione," Ron nods, "but what can we do? The Healers didn't find anything, Pomfrey didn't find anything, even you didn't find anything. Harry will not ask help from Snape, Snape does not care about Harry. He will not listen to McGonagall either. Who else is there we could turn to? There are not many Potioneers who know the Dark Arts well enough and wouldn't sell this to the Prophet."
"I wish Dumbledore was still here. He could convince Snape to help. Or just simply order him," she adds in a darker tone.
"We need someone Snape respects enough, someone who cares for Harry, someone Harry would have to listen to… I wish we could somehow summon his Mom or something."
"Ron!" Hermione cries suddenly. "You're a genius!" She jumps up from the chair and rushes to the fireplace.
Ron watches her, mouth open as she grabs a fistful of Floo Powder. "You can't be serious, Hermione. You can't summon Lily Potter."
"Of course, I can't," she smiles conspiratorially. "But I can do the next best thing."
o.O.o
Harry watches himself in the bathroom mirror as his mouth opens and closes yet not a word comes out of it. He tries again and again, until he is screaming in his mind, yet somehow his vocal cords are not effected in the slightest.
He sighs – noiselessly, and walks out to his bedroom. His gaze keeps wandering over the bed, not because he is tired. He does not even believe anymore that a bit of sleep is going to help him get better. The reason is something entirely different.
Ever since Hermione suggested that he should visit Snape and ask him to help, Harry's mind relentlessly returns to that one spot under his bed. Unable to resist the temptation, he walks there slowly as if afraid of what might be hiding under there. He kneels down and reaches beneath the old mahogany bed. He searches and searches and for a second he thinks, happily, that the box he is looking for is not there anymore. That by some miraculous event it has disappeared into the darkness.
But then his fingers touch the coarse wood and he lets out a soft whine that once again is soundless.
He pulls out the box and opens it slowly. In there are treasures and memories he has not seen in years. On the top, his invisibility cloak covers the other items, still working perfectly, making it look like as if the chest is empty, but Harry knows better. He pulls off the cloak and there they are, his hidden gems.
There is not anything valuable in there: a wooden flute, made by Hagrid's own hands, a Snitch, the first one he has ever caught, a family portrait album.
On the very bottom is a picture he received from Colin Creevey almost three years ago now. After the war, when he and a handful of other people accepted their Order of Merlin, Colin took a myriad of pictures of the ceremony. There was one however, that caught the young man's attention. Colin said it was only a funny mistake and Harry wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that indeed the solution the picture was developed in was wrongly brewed. Or that perhaps, other circumstances could have produce this… this… mistake.
They laughed at it, and it was quickly forgotten by anyone except Harry. Harry took it out of the box day after day and watched it, confused and uncomprehending how this picture could exist. And yet, he could never bring himself to throw it away, though for certain that would have made his life easier. No, he kept it under his bed, and returned to it once in a while.
This time, the picture lies on the bottom undisturbed for more than a year. Harry reaches for it and lifts it out, hoping that this time it will show what it is supposed to and not what Harry now expects to see.
Unchanged through years and years, the two figures are still there doing what they have been doing ever since the picture first emerged from the developing solution. Harry watches it, mesmerized. He cannot help it. It captured his attention once again, just as always, unwilling to let him go, to let him think of anything else just what he is witnessing on that simple piece of photo paper.
The urging knocks save him this time from analysing his own thoughts and reactions to that picture. He stands promptly, sinking the disturbing evidence of his subconscious deep into his pocket. He shuts the box closed and kicks it under the bed.
The next minute, he is out of the bedroom, running down the stairs, rushing towards the loud, angry knocking.
He opens the door but then he wishes he didn't.
"Harry Potter! Why have I not been informed about this?"
Molly Weasley is standing in the doorway of Twelve Grimmauld Place, her hands on her hips, her lips thin, and cheeks pink. She must have apparated right on the threshold from the Burrow, as she is wearing wizarding robes and a pink, messy apron.
Behind her, her youngest son is almost cowering, trying to turn invisible on the spot. Hermione on the other hand has her chin lifted proudly. Her brown eyes are challenging Harry to say a word – as if he could. Silently, the young man just bows his head and steps away from the doorway. Molly walks in with the two conspirators.
"You're mute?" Molly asks strictly once inside.
Harry nods slightly, then raises his wand and writes in the air, "Completely".
Molly's features soften and the next moment Harry is held in a strong embrace. He can hear a soft sigh, which somehow sounds like "Oh, son…" but he is not sure. He draws his hands around Molly and they stand like that for a few seconds, then he is released. Hermione is beaming at them softly, Ron's also smiling, finally daring to look Harry in the eyes.
"Let's sit down," Mrs. Weasley suggests, and she walks to the small, dim kitchen. She flicks her wand and water starts boiling while four tea cups sweep onto the table. Five minutes later, they are all drinking hot ginger tea.
"Ron and Hermione tells me this has been going on for more than two weeks. Why didn't you say a word, Harry?" She asks and Harry feels a sudden knot in his throat that has nothing to do with his illness. He shrugs. Molly reaches out and holds his hand and Harry suddenly feels like he is eleven again, instead of twenty. "Why do you refuse to ask help? Do you not want to get better?"
Harry shakes his head, unsure what to say.
Molly goes on as if reading in his mind. "Or is it that you don't want to ask help from one certain someone?"
Harry looks back at her guiltily. He tries to ignore the other two in the kitchen.
"I understand that asking help from Professor Snape again might be a bit… hard. But if the healers can't help you, he might be your only chance, darling."
Harry brandishes his wand, "He hates me. He would never help", he writes in the air.
Molly puffs up to twice her size, her brown eyes darken. All of a sudden, she resembles a tiger more, than the sweet lady Harry thinks of as his surrogate mother. "We'll see about that," she huffs.
For a moment, Harry feels almost sorry for Snape, then he smiles. "Thanks," burn the red letters in the air between them.
Molly stands and presses a kiss onto the top of Harry's head. "That is what I'm for, sweetheart."
With that she is out of the kitchen and then a moment later Harry can hear the front door shut behind her. He leans back and looks at his friends with a raised eyebrow. He lifts his wand and scribbles in thin air, "That was unfair."
"That was necessary," Hermione answers, ready for another fight.
But Harry does not want to fight. He touches the picture in his pocket and thinks, maybe it is time he faces the other person on the picture. After all, it has been three years that single image has hounted him; it is time to face it.
"When you're be collecting my remnants into a matchbox, remember, I told you this won't end well…"
Hermione huffs a laughter. Ron grins, "I'll risk it. It's too weird not hearing you shouting at us, when we argue."
Harry laughs then reminds his best friend that he is still rather good with non-verbal jinxes.
o.O.o
The morning goes by and potion bottles line the kitchen table, while Severus is finally outside, doing what he wanted to do all week. He is standing on a ladder, reaching for the ripe apples, collecting them in a big bucket that is hanging on a branch. He does not use magic; he knows better. He prefers the traditional ways when harvesting, even if it takes longer. Magic somehow makes his apple pie taste different, anyway.
The sudden loud bang of apparition almost knocks him off the ladder. He is cursing, and the bad happenings are mostly directed towards the Headmistress of Hogwarts even if the woman who's marching towards him is not her – though equally ferocious.
He does not bother to ask how he is found – only Minerva could have told that to anyone -, nor why Molly Weasley graces his estate with her presence. He still speaks up before she could.
"Don't even say it. I refuse."
"No you won't."
"Oh, yes," Severus answers, "And with the greatest pleasure. He might have charmed you, Molly, but to me he is just a little miscreant who made my life a living hell."
"Don't be so dramatic, Severus, he was your student, who occasionally misbehaved." Molly ignores Snape's snort and goes on. "He wasn't as much trouble as my twins anyway. He is just a boy, Severus, who needs your help. And you will indeed help him."
"No, I won't, and you can't make me, either. He is a disrespectful imbecile; not the kind of person I would ever affiliate myself with beyond what is my duty."
"It is your duty to help him, Severus," Molly says patiently.
"It was," Severus spats. "A long, long time ago. He is a grown up wizard now, he can take care of himself. And if not, well… idiots deserve what malice fate offers them."
Molly looks around the garden, her eyes resting on the bucket of apple for a moment, then they return over at Severus. There is calculation in there and when she smiles deviously, Severus suddenly retracts.
"What?" He asks suspicious.
Molly is quiet for a moment, then she all but whispers. "I'll give you my secret apple dumplings recipe."
Severus does not let the surprise set on his face. That recipe has been locked down for years, kept in secret more than the location of the Headquarters of the Order of Phoenix. He looks aside, considering the offer. Whatever bugs Potter, he could probably come up with a cure within a few days. Molly's apple dumplings would take the stoic Marcus off his feet and would probably sell good on the market too. Moreover, if Potter stayed with him during the next few days, he could have him harvest the apples, while he worked on the potion or the counter-curse. He smirks as he looks back at Molly.
"And your pumpkin brûlée."
Molly is taken aback for a moment, and Severus' smirk turns even more self-satisfied. Then she nods rigidly.
Smug as the feline that is brushing against his feet, Severus dusts off his hands, then swipes them into his pants to get rid of all the dirt. He looks at the granny smiths wistfully, but then sighs exasperated, "Bring him here."
The orange tabby cat hisses at his feet.
To Be Continued...