A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first ever story, Helpless Agony. I hope you enjoy it, and any feedback is appreciated.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Warnings and Guidlines: Not Slash, Snape and Harry mentor relationship (helper, trusted adult etc.), Cannon pairings, Cannon personalities. Possible mentions of child abuse, self harm - nothing explicit.
Summary: Harry is in trouble once again, but this time there is someone to help him. As Harry screams in pain and tries to escape this illness that has overcome him, Severus Snape is the only one who can save him. "Potter! Keep fighting! Now is not the time for weakness!" Will Harry pull through? Snape and Harry mentor relationship, Cannon pairings, mentions of abuse.
Chapter 1: Dark Pain
It was hot…too hot. And painful; the type of pain that consumes your body relentlessly. He writhed against the heat and pain, then opened his eyes in shock as he found the source; a dragon. It was circling him, cutting off oxygen and breathing fire down his back…it slashed at his skin with claws, ripping the flesh from his body. He screamed and arched his back…trying fruitlessly to rid himself of the pain…and the heat; he was so hot. He felt like his head was burning from the inside out, like his organs were melting…his lungs were the worst. He couldn't breathe; the heat and pain seizing the organ and causing him to gasp. But he wasn't allowed to; the dragon got even angrier when he made noise…
In a sudden attack, the dragon dove down and sunk its claws into the boy's body. The pain was beyond comprehension, and he felt himself slipping away from the pain and heat…comforting himself in the darkness…
But noise interrupted his downfall, so loudly and abruptly that he fought the urge to cover his ears as protection. The sounds reverberated throughout his skull, and he cursed it for bringing the dragon's attention back to his burning body…the heat started again, worse than before…
"Harry!"
He wanted them to be quiet as he screamed in agony…he felt like he was in the middle of a cruciatus curse, only it never stopped…
"Harry-"
Why couldn't they be quiet?
"Harry! Listen to us! Can you hear me Harry?"
And then a sudden idea came to him… they could help… Perhaps they could defeat the dragon before the heat and pain killed him…his voice was getting hoarse from the screaming. He tried to scream for them to help him, to make the pain stop, but nothing happened…he wanted to die. He wanted for this to end, so that he could see his parents again, and Sirius…
Sirius.
The name made the pain worse as emotional turmoil mixed with physical…
And as the pain intensified to the worst level yet, he felt himself choking on air. He couldn't do this anymore, he was so hot…
"Potter! Keep fighting! Now is not the time for weakness!"
The new voice sounded horrible, snarky and demanding… It wasn't his place to tell him what to do; he was finally drifting away from the dragon. He almost smiled as the pain receded. He would never complain of a paper cut again…
"God damn you Potter! Stay with us, you will not die yet! Think of all the people who will suffer if their Golden Boy was dead… Fight this!"
And suddenly, it was as if everything made sense again. The fog was lifted from his conscious and Harry knew…he had to fight this because he couldn't die yet. Ron, Hermione and Ginny needed him…he had to fight the dragon.
But he was so hot.
And it hurt so much.
"Think of Sirius."
He would fight this.
Ron was awakened from a weird dream by the sound of heavy breathing and quiet sobs. Deciding that the noise was coming from Harry's bed, he thought it best to leave his friend alone for a while. He was probably still grieving over the loss of Sirius, and would be intensely embarrassed if anyone saw him crying. So he rolled over and closed his eyes, fully expecting to be fast asleep in seconds.
But for the first time he could ever remember, Ron couldn't fall asleep. He couldn't sleep, as weird as that was. Ronald Weasley, the non-sleeper.
He scoffed.
As if.
Deciding it was probably the angle he was laying on, he turned and tossed until he finally felt comfortable. Smiling to himself, his eyes drifted shut. But just as he was dozing off, a pained gasp brought him back to his senses. He sat up, alarmed, and was out of his bed in seconds. Wrenching open the curtains to Harry's bed, Ron felt sick at the sight.
His friend was tangled in his sheets, sweat pouring off his face and features tightened into a pained expression. Every few seconds he would grimace or gasp in pain, and his body would spasm in time. Ron knew this was not normal, and not due to his scar; the symptoms were too different. Not knowing what he was meant to do, he woke up Neville.
"I don't know what's wrong with Harry, but I think he's sick. He needs help."
"Blimey, Ron! I'll go get someone."
But just as he was about to leave their dorm, Harry screamed loudly and arched his back. Smashing his head against the post, his body began to writhe against whatever force was paining him. Ron ran over to his friend and tried to hold his limbs down to prevent further injury. But it was hard; Harry was strong. Another scream left his lips, louder than before, but this time he didn't stop screaming. Ron sobbed silently as he tried to hold down his friend, barely noticing the rest of his dorm mates crowding them.
"Help me, you gits!" He yelled at them, eyes not leaving Harry's screaming form. He leant over so that he was closer to his ears, yelling his name loudly in an attempt to wake him up. But he could barely hear himself over Harry's noise.
"Harry!"
And then the room seemed to be thrown into more of a corruption.
Snape had been patrolling the corridors for the past hour, and his mood was spiralling rapidly. He had decided to stand near the Gryffindor Tower entrance in the hope of catching a rule breaker, but so far nothing had happened. He thought it greatly irritating that the one night of the week that he could catch a rogue Gryffindor nothing happened. It was as if the little brats knew he was out here, waiting for them and had decided to behave for once.
He scowled.
But a little hope flared in his chest as the door suddenly swung open and Neville Longbottom stepped out. Ignoring the anything the boy was going to say, he stalked up to the sixth year with a menacing gleam in his eye.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little Gryffindor trying to sneak out after curfew? I think that merits some detentions… Perhaps two weeks' worth?"
But instead of looking frightened, the boy actually looked into his eyes.
"Sir, there is someone that is gravely ill in the tower and needs assistance right now!" The boy squeaked, trying to appear brave and forceful. Snape scowled; he couldn't very well ignore a child who was ill but it angered him that it had to be a Gryffindor. More than likely, it was a small cough that could wait until morning. Deciding that it would be more prudent to see for himself, but unwilling to enter the tower unless necessary, Snape forced the boy to look into his eyes as he performed legilimency.
A boy was lying in his bed, writhing in agony and suffering spasms every few seconds. His face was pained and covered in sweat… he turned around to leave, thoughts of help running through his head when the boy screamed loudly.
"Damn Potter brat!" Snape cursed, before stalking into the tower quickly, Longbottom following him.
He strode up the stairs, ignoring the looks of students who'd come to investigate the noise, and swung open the door to Potter's dorm loudly.
The reality was worse than Longbottom's memory.
Three boys, one with red hair, were trying to hold down Potter as he screamed and writhed. Weasley was attempting to wake him up by shouting in his ears, but nothing was having any effect. Striding over to the boy, he quickly assessed the situation before turning around to face a terrified Neville.
"You are to go and find Professor McGonagall immediately and bring her here without delay. Do you understand?" The boy nodded his head and Snape gave him a look that clearly said 'hurry, or else'. He then cast a Patronus charm and sent it out to alert Dumbledore of the situation before looking back towards Potter.
Casting a few charms he was quickly able to discern that the situation was dire; his temperature was well above normal and he also showed signs of organ failure, especially at the lungs. He also would not respond to anyone, and his heart rate was too high and breathing too shallow.
Severus feared for Harry's life in that moment.
"Move, everybody move!" He barked as he cast a weak Pertificus Totalus at Potter so that movement from him was sluggish. Then he tried to determine what was wrong with the boy quickly before he was lost. Spells only told him so much, and all that he could learn was that there was an infection somewhere in his body that was combined with an illness. But without a specific diagnosis, there was little to be done. Summoning a fever potion from his stores along with a lung relaxant, Snape was about to administer them when two things happened at once.
McGonagall and Dumbledore entered the room, concern written on their faces.
And Potter started choking violently before ceasing to breathe at all.
"Damn it!" He whispered, ignoring the panic from those in the room. "Potter! Keep fighting! Now is not the time for weakness!" He forced the failing boy to swallow the two potions, before making him breathe again with a quick wind spell. But while the fever seemed to lower quickly and his lungs relaxed, the wind spell only monitored breathing.
Potter's pulse weakened before stopping, ignorant to Snape's efforts.
"God damn you Potter! Stay with us, you will not die yet! Think of all the people who will suffer if their Golden Boy was dead… Fight this!" He snarled, before beginning Muggle CPR tactics, fury at the boy fuelling his haste. Dumbledore, who'd taken his place beside the bed the moment he entered, continued the wind spell and whispered ancient magic in an effort to put life back into the body. But none of it worked.
Potter had to do this himself. Desperately trying to think of something more he could do, Snape barely heard Dumbledore's words.
"Think of Sirius."
And for some miraculous reason, Potter started fighting again.
Once he was stable, the Professors saw to moving Harry from his dorm and into the hospital wing where Madam Pomphrey would care for him. After receiving a strong pain potion, Potter had stopped screaming and writhing but was still unconscious and quietly gasping.
Snape didn't know what to do, and he felt his calm composure slowly morphing into panic.
The only thing he knew was that they had to find the reason behind this illness before something permanent could be done. And it needed to be discovered fast, or this fight would not last much longer. And Snape could not let that happen; not in this way. He may not be overly fond of the boy, but he didn't deserve to die. And looking down at the fragile form, he couldn't help thinking that the boy looked so much like Lily in this state; innocent, strong and pained.
He followed Dumbledore and McGonagall out of the tower and through the corridor. His steps were quiet, and his breathing silent so it was surprising when he heard another two sets of footsteps. Understanding came to him suddenly, and he went to catch the brats who dared to follow them under a cloak when a husky voice warned him.
"Severus."
So the old man knew. Annoyance sprung up from within at the blatant ignorance of rule-breaking. But before he had a chance to say anything, Dumbledore spoke again.
"Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, please reveal yourself."
There was a slight pause in the footsteps before two bodies appeared. And then, predictably, the apologies began.
"Sir, we're really sorry-"
"We just wanted to,"
"He's our best friend!"
"We were worried!"
"Please just let us,"
"Maybe we could,"
"Enough!" Snape snarled. "You are breaking rules, and slowing us down! Potter needs to be examined immediately!"
"Which is precisely why I suggest you take off that cloak so you may walk faster with us." Dumbledore intervened.
Snape stared at him in shock.
"Come, Severus, we have not much farther to go."
If only looks could kill…
Madam Pomphrey had been examining Potter for only a matter of minutes when she called Snape over. Dumbledore was staying in Poppy's office with the two Gryffindors, claiming that if he was needed they could call him. Snape suspected emotion was threatening to overcome the headmaster if he stayed in Harry's presence much longer, and had not questioned it.
"Severus, see here. I believe this is the original cause of Mr Potter's illness," she began, holding up Potter's hand. "He has been covering it with a basic glamour charm for the past two days of term, which has dampened its healing." Looking at what she showed him, Snape felt considerably confused. The hand was red and swollen, with puss weeping from the wound that was slightly raised. It was a long wound that decorated much of the boy's small hand, and it seemed to run deep and be shadowed by scarring. Upon closer inspection, he could even make out words.
I must not tell lies.
"What is that from?" He asked, horrified.
"I don't know. The scarring is deep, but it looks like it has only been reopened recently."
"Self-harm?" He questioned, slightly shocked. It was not something that he would ever have considered before. But on reflection, the boy had seemed even moodier than usual and walked around as though trying to curl in on himself. Not that he cared, he reasoned, it was obvious.
"Perhaps."
"And now?"
"Well, it seems it is indeed infected, and it is likely that the infection has spread into the blood stream. In Harry's case, I assume it has been attacking his nervous system based on his earlier symptoms. But the fever and pallor of his face suggests that he has also picked up a virus." She stated, eyes suspiciously misty. "He also has severe damage to his lungs. I believe that the virus he caught while his systems have been down has turned into mild bronchitis, worsened by the attack on his nervous system."
Snape took a deep breath. "And what do we do now?"
"I am going to try and heal his hand. Once that is done, we can treat him accordingly."
She waved her wand over his hand, a look of intense concentration crossing her features as she muttered in Latin. His hand glowed pink before returning to its natural colour. Madam Pomphrey shook her head in confusion.
"It didn't work," she whispered, fear lacing her voice.
"Poppy?"
"You know what this means, Severus."
He nodded grimly. "Dark magic has been involved."
And at this revelation, the nasty wound on his hand began to weep again and Harry began to scream in agony once more.