Chapter 3: For Better, For Worse; In Sickness and In....More Sickness

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"You could have knocked," the ashen faced boy said as he tried to stand, but fell back against the wall. He grimaced in what was obviously pain.

"What happened?" Snape demanded again more forcefully, ignoring Harry's weak attempt at humour. "What is going on here? What's wrong with you, boy?" Harry shrugged weakly and closed his eyes. Snape crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt down beside the shadow of a boy. He placed his cool fingers on Harry's brow, frowning at the heat he felt radiating from his skin. "Mala locus," he murmured, brushing his wand over Harry's huddled body. A faint aura of reddish pink surrounded him, appearing more crimson in the areas around his head, chest and stomach.

"Wha-?" Harry opened his eyes, startled by the appearance of the red cloud.

"You're sick," Snape said, pocketing his wand as the cloud faded. "Dammit, boy, you'd better tell me what happened. And you can start with why you locked yourself in here when you're obviously ill and in need of proper medical care."

Harry stared at Snape as if though he had not heard the words, or if he had heard, not registered their meaning. He opened his mouth once or twice as if to speak, but no sound emerged. He simply stared at his Professor with pain filled eyes. Just as Snape was about to lose his patience completely, they both turned as they heard a horrified gasp from the doorway. Vernon Dursley stood in what remained of the doorframe, eyes wide as he stared at his nephew. Relieved to find someone else to take his frustrations out on, Snape rose and descended on Vernon like a deranged raven. As much as he would have liked to, even Snape had to admit that would be unfair to blame Potter for his misfortunes.

"Out. In the hallway. Now." Snape didn't wait for Vernon to respond, he simply grabbed the man by the collar of his dressing gown and hauled him out into the empty corridor. Luckily, Vernon was too shocked by his nephew's appearance to resist. Otherwise, Snape would have had a difficult time getting him to budge an inch, judging by his girth. Although nowhere near the size of his own son, Vernon Dursley was still a solid man and Snape doubted he could have physically handled him even when at his best. Which he was not.

"Explain," he snapped, shoving the larger man against the wall. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"I don't know-" Vernon began, eyes still wide and unfocused. "I just don't know. He's- I don't- I-"

"You have got to be joking!" Snape snarled viciously and whirled around. "First I'm summoned back to the school in the middle of holiday to check on a boy I would rather see turned into a newt," he growled as he paced the narrow hallway. "Then I have to deal with his irritating little companions and their equally irritating guardians. Now I come here and find the boy himself locked in a room while he wastes away for some reason I can't even begin to guess at! Does somebody mind telling me what in the name of Merlin is going on here?"

The last words were shouted from a distance of mere inches away from Vernon's now pale face. Snape lowered his voice as his eyes narrowed. "I figured that maybe- just maybe- his own bloody family will be able to tell me something as to why at least, he is in the state he is. But no. Nothing. Not one bloody thing."

"Now hold on a minute!" Vernon roared, his fear overcome for the time being at Snape's implications. "You presume he's like that because of something we did?" He drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't very much compared to Snape's imposing form. "I haven't touched that boy since he came back from that blasted school of his! Barely even spoke! We have an agreement in this house- the boy keeps quiet and stays out of trouble, we don't bother him. Just as long as there's none of that foolishness you- people- meddle in!" His face reddened with the effort of his shouting. "He locked himself in that blasted room! We never had anything to do with it! He just-"

But Snape had ceased to listen after Vernon's last statement. He froze in mid-stride, turning his head to stare at the blustering Dursley. "He- what?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. "He locked himself in there?"

"Of course!" Vernon gestured angrily to the wreckage of the door. "Didn't you notice the locks were all facing in?"

Snape spun around, eyes wide as he mentally berated himself. He had seen the locks but hadn't registered the implications. He gave himself a mental shake- he was obviously more tired and drained than he had thought. It was unlike him to miss such an obvious incongruity.

He knelt and picked up a fragment of the door, no more than a mass of splinters. Well, whatever evidence the door had once given, it was lost now in a pile of kindling-

Idiot! Snape clenched his fists at his sides and would have slapped himself in the forehead had Vernon not been watching. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the door. "Reparo," he said, ignoring Vernon's gasp of outrage as the door magicked itself back to its original form. He needed rest and soon. His mental weariness was beginning to show as he forgot even the most elementary of spells.

Back turned Harry's uncle, Snape bent to examine the door more closely. Nearly two dozen locks ran from the top of the door down to a point mere inches from the floor. Looking more closely, Snape saw what had foiled his attempts at more mundane methods of entering. The boy had done something to the latch itself, adhering it to the doorframe. No amount of unlocking would break through that seal.

"Impressive," he muttered. But why? Why go through so much trouble to keep people out when he was so blatantly in need of medical attention? Mysteries upon mysteries.

"Professor?" Harry's weak voice drifted out into the hallway, wrenching Snape from his contemplation. Cursing, he realized with a start that he had forgotten all about the boy himself.

"Can you walk?" he asked, kneeling beside the sickened boy. Harry shook his head, wincing at the pain the simple movement caused.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't even think I can stand at this point." Sweat beaded his brow as he fought back pain and waves of nausea.

Snape scowled, but his expression softened as he took in Harry's thin face and trembling limbs. "Fine. That means I'm going to have to fix you up here and now." He sighed.

"You can't just give me a potion to stop whatever's making me feel this way?"

Snape gave him a Look. "Do you think I just carry a complete supply of potion around with me wherever I go?" he asked slowly, as if though speaking to a very small- or very stupid- child. "Dumbledore didn't tell me what was wrong, just that something might be wrong. I don't even he knew what to expect." Snape drew his wand for what felt like the countless time that evening. His hands shook marginally as he leveled it at the body on the bed. He had done far more spell casting than advisable considering his current state and, drained as he was, he feared that pushing his limits would result him collapsed on the floor beside the bed, of no help to anyone.

For now, he pushed his fatigue aside and concentrated. "You're going to feel dizzy," he told Potter. "Like the walls are spinning and the floor dropped out from under you. It's likely that you're also going to be sick. If it gets to the point where you feel as if you're going to pass out, let me know immediately. The spell won't do a bit of good unless the subject's conscious and there's a very good chance that it'll do more harm than anything."

Potter nodded, his face ashen. "Just do it," he whispered as he closed his eyes against another wave of pain and nausea. "I don't know how much longer I can stay awake."

Snape wasted no time. He drew the sleeve of his robe tight around his arm and held the wand gently in his fingers. The spell he was about to attempt was by no means an easy one, and he would not have been completely comfortable about casting it even with full resources. As it was, there was no help for it. The boy had to be cured and there was neither time nor means to brew him a potion to do the job. Snape took a deep breath and readied himself for when the floor dropped from under his feet-

"Terminus Malordium," he intoned, holding the wand a few inches above the boy's body. The red cloud returned, covering Harry with its eerie glow, but Snape was too busy to notice. As soon as the words had left his mouth, he felt as if someone had taken the room and shaken it, tossing its living contents around like so many dried peas. Somehow, out of sheer practice he managed to keep his feet and slowly drew the wand up and down the length of Harry's body, knowing the boy was feeling the same way. As the wand passed over the areas where the sickness had taken firmer hold, the red mist began to congeal and gather together like beads of vaporous mercury. "Recipe," he muttered. Take thou. The red streams began to rise from Harry's body and flow into the tip of Snape's wand. As that began to happen, Snape felt as if though his arm was being torn from his body. It began to clench and shake, the violent tremors spasming through his entire body. He grit his teeth and held on, biting back small sounds of pain. Halfway through- two thirds- the pain was getting worse and he didn't know how much longer he could keep his feet- three quarters of the way- damn, but it hurt- almost done- almost- just a moment longer-

There. Snape allowed his arm to fall as the last traces of the cloud were absorbed into his wand. Sweat matted strands of his long hair to his forehead and drops of it stung his eyes. He wiped his sleeve over his brow and waited.

Harry opened his eyes, slowly, and took several deep shuddering breaths. "Is it over?" he whispered. Snape nodded, relieved to hear that most of the hoarseness was gone from his voice. But getting the sickness itself out was only half the problem. He couldn't very well leave the boy here in the room, and certainly not alone with the family that had allowed him to arrive at that sorry state. Not until he had found some answers, at least.

Snape made up his mind. "Do you trust me?" The question was sudden, abrupt. It took Harry quite by surprise.

"Huh?" Harry's eyes were glazed as he stared up at his Potions Professor.

"Do. You. Trust. Me? It's not exactly a difficult question." Or maybe it is...moreso than I would ever expect it to be. That Weasley boy wouldn't hesitate to tell me to go soak my head, but Potter has been known to be surprising now and again...

"I- yeah, I guess I do." The blankness hadn't quite left his eyes yet, but it was obvious Harry knew what he was saying. But what affected Snape tenfold more was the hesitance in the boy's voice, the unsureity. I may be curt, nasty and downright mean, Snape thought to himself as he readied his wand. But do they really think that I would actually harm one of my own students? They fear me as a teacher- but as a man? Don't they know I would never, never physically harm a child under my care? Not even when I was De-

"Good." Snape broke his own train of thought before he entered realms he wasn't prepared to handle. He would be no good to the boy if his attentions were directed at beating back ghosts of his past. "I'm going to put you in a full body bind, then use the Mobilicorpus spell to bring you to a different room. If you're not comfortable with this-" Snape's face twisted at the words, each one a more than bitter pill, "then I'll use more conventional means."

"No- I trust you." Harry's words were surprising, but even moreso was the conviction with which he spoke them. He grimaced. "Besides, anything you do to me isn't going to be half as bad as how I feel now."

"Try and relax, then." Snape held his wand out and murmured the words that would lock Harry's body in a ridged paralysis, allowing him to cast the next spell. "Mobiliscorpus," he whispered, and slowly led the floating body from the room. As he walked, Snape tried not to look at Harry's frozen face- his eyes were open and unmoving, the most unnerving thing about the full body bind. In retrospect, Snape wished he had instructed Potter to close his eyes before casting the spell.

They passed Vernon Dursley out in the hallway. The man's eyes bulged at the sight of his nephew hovering above the floor and opened his mouth, but could make no sound other than a choked whimper. He gaped like a fish yearning for water; Snape paid him no mind but continued on into the only other open door. The master bedroom. As Snape directed Harry's body onto the large bed, Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spluttered, following close on their heels. "You can't just bring him in here!"

"Sir." Snape turned to face Vernon, his black eyes blazing. "This boy is still sick. If you wish to have a death on your hands, fine. Leave him in that room. As long as I am present, however, and as long as I am responsible for the boy, he remains in here."

"But- but where are we expected to sleep, then?" Vernon protested, trying to find a way to get both the man and the boy out of his room.

"I noticed a perfectly serviceable couch on my way in," Snape said, mercilessly. "If not, there is always the floor. Enough!" he snapped as Vernon opened his mouth to protest still further. "I am running out of patience with you, sir. If you wish to remain whole, healthy and in full command of your facilities as a human being, then I recommend you get out. Now." Exasperated, Snape turned his back quite deliberately on a shocked and speechless Vernon, ignoring the man completely.

"Finite Incantatum." As he spoke the words, Harry's body abruptly lost its stiffness and fell the few inches down to the bed. "Potter?"

Harry looked up at him and shrugged. "I'm alright," he said, running his hands over various parts of his body as if to make certain he was in full possession of himself again. "It was a little strange, but I guess I'm okay now." He seemed to suddenly realize where he was. "Uh- is this...am I going to be-"

Snape guessed what he was going to ask and saved him the trouble of completing the sentence. "Your uncle won't be a problem, if that's what you're worried about," he said smoothly. "He and I have reached an- agreement of sorts." He heard Vernon's muffled burst of outrage behind him and smiled thinly. The smile faded as he scanned Potter's thin body on the bed. "Are you coherent enough to tell me what happened?"

Harry's eyes grew wide with- fear? surprise?- and glanced quickly over at his uncle. Snape thought he understood. "He doesn't need to be here," he assured the boy. "If you don't want him present, I'll send him away."

"Now see here!" Vernon tried to regain his composure after being dressed down by a strange man in his own house. "The boy is under my care and is my legal responsibility. If he has anything to say, he can damn well say it in front of me."

"Silentus."

Abruptly, Vernon was moving his mouth, but no sound came out. He blinked, did a double take and stared with horror at Snape as he opened his mouth in what appeared to be a scream. A silent scream. Eye bulging, Vernon turned a rather interesting shade of red, then white as the blood drained from his face. Without wasting another second, he turned and ran from the room. Harry chuckled appreciatively, but the sound was weak and hoarse.

"Will that wear off?" he asked, his voice suddenly hinted with real worry. The thought of his uncle a permanent mute was not something Harry wanted to experience.

"Yes." Snape gazed at the door Vernon had fled from, a slight smile on his face. "Eventually." His eyes grew serious as he turned them back on the boy in the bed. The piercing stare was enough to make Harry shudder. "I think, Mr. Potter, it is time for you to tell me what's been going on here. From what I've seen, the events are...highly unusual. Start from the beginning."

"I'm going to need to start from much farther back than that," Harry informed him grimly. "Unless Dumbledore has already filled you in on the history of my not so ideal family life."

"Not Dumbledore. Your friend Miss Granger." There, got you one, Potter. Harry blinked in surprise, taken aback.

"Hermione?" he asked, incredulous. "What did Hermione have anything to do with this?"

"Use your head, Potter," Snape snapped at him. "She and your friend Mr. Weasley wrote to Dumbledore asking for assistance. He, in turn, sent me. Or did you think that I just happened to show up on your doorstep when you needed assistance?"

Harry had the grace to look ashamed. "I wasn't thinking," he admitted. "Put it down to the sickness. I wasn't thinking straight much at all, I guess. Sorry."

Snape cursed himself mentally as Harry apologized. He hadn't meant to snap at the boy, but the pounding in his head had grown considerably worse since he had finished the healing spell. All he wanted to do now was find a dark hole to curl up in and sleep for a year or two. He wouldn't say no to a bath just then, either. But he had things to take care of first.

"How are you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Alright, I guess. I don't hurt anymore, but I still don't feel great. I'm really tired, too."

"Side effects." Snape tried to stifle a yawn. "You won't feel back to normal for another few days at least. What I still need to know is how you came to be like that in the first place. However-" He held up his hand as Harry opened his mouth to explain. "That can wait until morning. If you are feeling well enough to sleep without waking, I'm going to retire for the night."

"But- where? And what about my uncle and-"

"They won't be a problem," Snape told him. At Harry's questioning look, he allowed himself another small smile. "Dumbledore himself would have a difficult time getting through the wall of charms I put on that door. They won't be bothering anyone until morning." He placed his wand on the bedside table and switched off the light. There was a blanket on the foot of the bed, and Snape used this to make himself a makeshift bed on the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but tired as he was, Snape could have slept on concrete and not cared.

Before he closed his eyes himself, he listened to make sure Potter's breathing was slow and even, not harsh or gasping. Satisfied that he would be alright until the morning, Snape closed his eyes and allowed sleep to finally overtake him, hoping against hope that morning would never come.