Chapter Three
Revelation and Resolution
Harry stood rooted to the spot, frozen in terror. While the seconds seemed to fly by at breakneck speed, his mind faltered and slowed, grinding to an unmitigated halt. Breath held tight and heart racing, he remained as motionless as a statue, emerald eyes wide with confusion and fear. Only when Snape's Protego charm broke apart, dissolving in a shimmer of pearly white mist, did Harry's senses return to him, impelling him into action.
"P-Professor!" he shouted, body lurching forward. He was just about to take a step toward the fallen man crumpled in a heap on the classroom floor, when his common sense kicked in and he stopped abruptly. Forcing himself to assess the danger surrounding him, Harry looked about the room – at the potion splattered across every surface: the floor, walls and ceiling, as well as the entirety of his workstation. It was everywhere except on him, thanks to Snape's shield charm – a charm the man never would have cast unless Harry's botched potion was extremely dangerous to the touch.
Pulling his wand from his robe pocket with trembling hands, Harry swept it in a wide arc and shouted, "Evanesco!" He had to repeat the spell several times before the path to his unconscious professor was clear of the orange splotches, but the moment it was, he darted toward the prone man, falling to his knees and casting yet another Vanishing Spell to clear the potion from the man's skin, hair and clothing.
"Professor! Please wake up!" he cried, dropping his wand onto the stone floor. He reached out as if to touch the man's face, but stopped himself, terrified at what he was seeing. Where before had been the pale skin of his professor's sallow face, now existed an expanse of angry, red blisters, the skin charred, raw and bloody. Harry's outstretched hand hovered mere inches above the marred flesh, shaking violently, before he redirected it to the man's chest instead, palm pressing to the very center in search of a heartbeat.
There wasn't one.
"Oh God," Harry choked out. "What... what have I done?!"
Dumbledore! I have to get Dumbledore! Or Madam Pomfrey... or McGonagall or Flitwick or anybody!
But even as he thought this, he knew there was no time for that. Snape was dying.
No, a voice inside him countered. Not dying – dead. The man is dead.
Harry's body sagged forward in anguished surrender, his fingers squeezing the fabric of the man's robes while tears crowded the corners of his closed eyes and rolled down his cheeks. As his body shook with the force of his silent sobs, that very same voice whispered to him once more, elucidating the only viable solution left to him, terrifying though it was.
The flickering... you must summon the flickering. It's the only way.
As dawning realization blazed into horrid certainty, a surge of fear churned and swelled inside Harry's gut, ice cold and razor sharp. It gnawed and bit at his throat which was already painfully taut and constricted with panic, searing him like acid poured onto torn flesh. His fisted fingers shook, even as their grip on the front of Snape's robes tightened further, knuckles white and bloodless. Releasing another terror-filled sob, Harry sucked in a tremulous breath as if to pluck some unseen courage from the very air surrounding him and then bit down on his bottom lip hard, forcing his gaze back up to the man's disfigured features. He whimpered when his teeth punctured the soft flesh of his lip, but held himself steady, not permitting the pain to diminish his growing determination to do what needed to be done.
Resigned, but more terrified than he could ever remember being, Harry shuffled forward awkwardly on his knees, using his grip on Snape's robes to draw himself closer until their bodies were only inches apart. He unfurled his clenched hands and placed them onto the professor's burnt cheeks, palms flush against the red, raw wounds, wet and warm with fresh blood. Forcing back the reflexive urge to retch, Harry drove his teeth further into his cut lip. The action prompted blood to pool in his mouth, the acrid tang on his tongue intensifying his nausea. Breathing hard through his nose in an attempt to ease his roiling stomach, Harry closed his eyes and centered his focus on his most secret magic, calling forth that fiery heat inside him that had been dormant for so long.
For one agonizingly long moment, Harry felt nothing – nothing but his own prolific panic and the thunderous pounding of his racing heart – until at last, he sensed it. Meager and fledgling, the flickering trembled into being. Although weak at first, its tenacity to emerge soon became unyielding. It thrummed at the very center of Harry's chest causing his whole body to shudder, quivers of nascent energy shooting up his spine and along the contour of his shoulders, neck and head, before surging like fierce bolts of lightning through his arms. Its unfettered heat, increasing in intensity with each passing second, pulsed and swelled as it pooled in his hands and into each one of his splayed fingers, his fingertips burning with white-hot scalding pain.
Harry held on through the pain, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He squeezed his closed eyelids together more tightly, breathing fast shallow draws of air in and out through his nose while the torturous heat in his hands and arms continued to amplify. Soon, his entire body felt as through it were on fire and he cried out, his hands shaking violently now with the effort to maintain their hold on Snape.
"Please," he pleaded, his quavering whisper sounding more like a sob than a desperate cry as his fingernails dug into Snape's wounded flesh for purchase. "Please, God... please let this work!"
All at once, an intense white light assailed him, blinding him even though his closed lids, while an excruciating sharp pain, worse than anything he'd endured so far, ripped through his body. He cried out once more and released his grip on his professor, his limbs becoming almost boneless as he crumpled to the side, tremors wracking every inch of his body. A profound weakness overtook him after he collapsed onto the cold, stone floor. His arms and legs twitched and convulsed, his breathing becoming more and more erratic while his heart pulsed a thready, frail rhythm against his ribs. Using the last of his failing strength, he slid a hand across the coarse grey stones of the dungeon floor until it was only inches from his slitted, tear-filled eyes.
The horrific sight of his burnt and mangled fingers, smeared with dark, oozing blood and trembling uncontrollably, was the last thing Harry saw before succumbing to the shock and debilitating pain.
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Severus gasped – a long, raspy inhalation that seemed to lance his throat and lungs, burning the starved flesh. Several more painful breaths followed the first until soon, the searing pain they inspired lessened and his chest began to fill and empty with ease.
Despite the relief that came with steady, pain-free breathing, Severus found himself engulfed by a suffocating panic. His mind, usually so keen and sharply aware, felt disarranged, his thoughts muddled and incomplete. With mounting dread, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly before sweeping his gaze left and right to better divine what had led him to his current state of disorientation. When his eyes locked upon the prone body of a messy-haired, bespectacled youth curled up in the fetal position at his feet, memories came rushing back to him in a whirlwind of jumbled flashes.
His detention with Potter...
The boy's disastrous attempts at brewing the Draught of Peace...
And the powerful explosion of his last and most deadliest effort.
"Oh God," Severus breathed, voice trembling with fear, "no..."
With his heart in his throat, Severus pushed himself up to sit on his knees and then bent over the boy's prostrate form, placing a hand on one thin shoulder. He turned the motionless figure over and pressed two fingers to the now exposed neck, praying to all the gods in existence that a pulse would be found beneath the sickly pale skin. He sagged forward, nearly crying out in his profound relief, when a steady rhythm met his fingertips. It was weak and very fast, but it was there.
With his worst fears now put to rest, Severus scanned the dungeon floor in search of his wand, intent on performing the necessary diagnostic charms on the boy. He found it lying near his feet and reached for it, his fingers nearly touching the handle before he halted abruptly, withdrawing his hand as if it had been burned.
The ebony wand was almost completely covered, from base to tip, with an orange viscid fluid.
The sight brought more terrifying recollections to the forefront of his mind.
Potter's deadly potion hurtling through the air...
A hastily spelled shield charm to protect the boy...
Every inch of his exposed skin burning, searing with an unfathomable pain...
His limp body slamming into the stone wall with explosive force...
One last terrified breath... then complete and total darkness.
And with these final recollections came a sickening, horrid understanding.
"I should be dead," he murmured, dark eyes still fixed upon his wand. There was a sizable area along the wand's handle that was free from the fatal concoction, its absence indicative of his gripping fingers. "I should have died the instant the potion touched my skin."
Still reeling from shock and confusion, Severus gave himself a mental shake, trying to calm himself. He would think more on this enigma later. For now, he must rid the classroom of any trace of the lethal potion and then tend to his student's health.
Turning away from his tainted wand, he surveyed the floor surrounding them and soon found Potter's holly wand, wedged underneath the boy's hip. He pulled it out from beneath the meager weight covering it and then pointed it at his own wand.
"Evanesco Totalus!" he shouted, sweeping the switch of holly in a wide circular motion to encompass not just his own wand, but the entirety of the room as well. At once, the orange liquid marring the ebony wand disappeared, as did several splotches scattered about the floor and the walls.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Severus refocused his attention on his unconscious student. Discarding the borrowed holly wand, he quickly retrieved his own, taking comfort in its familiar warmth and pulsing energy as he cast several diagnostic charms on the boy.
The results of the charms were puzzling, almost as puzzling as his own survival in the face of imminent death. Potter's vitals were stable. His heartbeat, though still rather fast-paced and weak, was steady. His breathing, too, was normal, albeit a bit shallow. The encephalon scan Severus performed was within the range of typical as well, with only the barest trace of heightened cerebral distress lingering.
His magical scan however, was truly alarming. He was, in a word, depleted. His levels were so low in fact, that Severus doubted the boy had enough current magic to cast a dim Lumos.
His first thought was that Potter had, in the panic of the moment, cast a shield charm in an attempt to protect his teacher, just as he himself had done to protect his student – perhaps this explained his own miraculous survival? – but a mere conjured shield could never account for the boy's severe reduction of magical reserves. Furthermore, shield charms were not taught until the end of fifth year. It was highly unlikely that Potter, a fourth-year student, was even able to cast one, Tri-Wizard Champion or not.
His confusion growing, he peered down at the youth, narrowing his eyes as he drew nearer to him. It was only then that Severus noticed what he hadn't before, so preoccupied with assessing the functionality of Potter's major organs and evaluating his magical levels. The boy's hands were covered in blood. His clenched fingers, curled into tight fists, were smeared with the dark red fluid, a stark contrast to the otherwise pasty color of the boy's skin.
"What in Merlin's name?" Severus breathed out, shocked and terrified by what he was seeing. He tried hard to ignore the slow creep of comprehension beginning to unfurl itself within the depths of his mind as well as the swift increase of his heartbeat. With an escalating sense of alarm, his thoughts now grasping in desperation to a sliver of denial, he reached out to one of the boy's pale wrists, wrapping his long, potion-stained fingers around its meager width and drawing it up for a closer look. With a tenderness no one would associate with the evil bat of the dungeons, he gently uncurled each one of Potter's bloodied fingers, spreading them out so as to study the wounded skin beneath the indecent plash of red.
Severus sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on the boy's thin wrist tightening when his eyes caught their first glimpse of the full extent of boy's injuries, the gruesome sight prompting his stomach to roil and clench convulsively. The boy's hands were nothing short of mutilated. Underneath the thick coating of dark blood, from the pads of his fingers all the way down to where wrist meets palm, were layers of charred, flayed skin, grotesquely blistered and blackened. Whole chunks of flesh were missing altogether with only thin strands of muscle and sinew remaining in place to protect the bone.
As horrifying as Potter's injuries were however, it was what those injuries implied that was infinitely more distressing. For Severus now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what had caused them. The evidence was overwhelming...
The all-too-familiar burns on the boy's hands.
The abrupt depletion of his magical reserves.
And then there was the simple fact that he, Severus, should have died when the potion struck his skin... and yet he did not...
There was just no use denying it. The boy's burns could never have been caused by his exploding potion. Severus had shielded the boy with the strongest Protego he was capable of casting; had he not cast that Protego or had his aim not been true, the child would be dead right now, just as logic dictates he himself should be.
No – nothing external could have caused these burns; no perilous potion, nor the flame blazing beneath it. Therefore, these burns came, not from an outside source, but rather from within...
From within the boy.
Although it had been several years since Severus had seen burns like these, they were not ones that could easily be forgotten – not since he was the one who had suffered them.
"Accio burn salve," Severus bellowed, pointing his wand in the direction of his office. There was a clink of glass upon glass and then the muffled snick and groan of a heavy door being forced open, followed by the sight of the summoned jar whizzing toward him. He released Potter's wrist just long enough to snatch the jar from the air, then immediately set to work, spreading the thick yellow paste onto the boy's flayed flesh and gently rubbing it in.
While he worked, he continued to ponder and speculate, the significance of this discovery bringing him nothing but escalating unease as well as engendering a multitude of burning, all-consuimg questions – questions whose answers, based on this shocking enlightenment, would undoubtedly shatter everything he had once thought to be irrefutable fact regarding the Boy-Who-Lived.
"...arrogant, lazy, spoiled brat... just like your father!"
But no...
No.
Harry Potter cannot possibly be that spoiled, pampered little prince Severus always imagined him to be, can he? That bit doesn't fit now. Perhaps the boy is arrogant and lazy, but even those disparagements do not ring true. Not anymore.
Not considering what the boy is... what he can do...
And why.
Just like you, Severus. Just like you.
Breathing out an encumbered sigh, Severus placed Potter's salve-covered hands down gently onto the boy's stomach while he summoned the remaining supplies needed to tend to his burns. Seconds later, a roll of gauze, followed by two potion vials, obediently zoomed through the air toward him. After wrapping the boy's hands with several layers of thick gauze, he pocketed the potion vials, along with both his and Potter's wands and then slid his arms under the child's back, lifting him up into his arms and holding him close to his chest.
He's too light... far too light for a boy of fourteen. What don't I know, child? What horrors lie in your past that you've kept hidden from the world?
Tightening his grip on the boy, Severus stood up and carried him across the classroom, through his office and into his personal quarters. He laid his too-light burden down onto the worn cushions of his sofa, taking a moment to spread a threadbare blanket over the child's inert form before casting an incendio in the hearth.
While the fire's warmth slowly chased away the chill from his dungeon sitting room, it did nothing to lessen the biting cold stab of guilt and shame that was piercing Severus' aching heart. Closing his eyes, the Potions Master lowered his head and breathed deeply, crossing his arms across his chest as he allowed the night's shocking revelation to root further within his flustered mind. Discovering the truth about Potter's magic – and all that it implies – had done more than just force him to realize – and regret – his false conceptions about the boy's character. It had also stirred up his own horrible childhood memories – memories of a childhood fraught with neglect and abuse and devoid of any kindness, basic compassion or even love. And they were memories that, Severus now had to concede, were most likely synonymous with those endured by the pale, injured boy lying on his sofa at this very moment.
I have failed you, Lily... you and your son. I've been such a fool!
With immense effort, Severus yanked himself away from the downward spiral of his self-recrimination, bringing his thoughts back to the present and to the sick child in front of him. But as he took in the boy's pallid face, softened in recuperative repose, he was surprised to feel a surge of new resolve begin to rise within him, eclipsing some of the debilitating shame that had laid claim to him for so long. For not a day went by without Severus feeling shame for his past sins – sins against the boy's parents, Lily in particular, but also sins against their son. Now however, as this soulful resolve began to flourish and thrive within him, those sins and the shame inspired by them felt almost inconsequential, reduced to the level of trivial in comparison to this newfound calling... this fervent, driving necessity... this profound determination to provide comfort and knowledge and guidance.
Although it may very well be true that he had failed this child for the past four years – failed to see the yearning, battered soul hidden beneath the sickeningly nostalgic facade of unruly black hair and round, wire-framed spectacles – Severus would be damned if he would allow that failure to continue.
The child needed help – plain and simple. He needed the support of someone who knew first-hand that this particular rare facet of magic, both a gift and a scourge, can inspire life – yes – but can also inspire self-doubt, physical and mental suffering, and a soul-deep guilt and fear that festered like cancer. The boy needed someone who could understand his plight, his loveless past and the abuse and neglect responsible for engendering this extraordinary magical ability in the first place.
Yes, the child needed someone who understood it all because they, too, had been through it.
Severus would be that someone for Potter.
For Lily's boy.
For Harry.
Sliding one of his armchairs over to where his unconscious student lay, Severus sat down and withdrew the potion vials, along with his wand, from the pocket of his robe. He wished he could let the boy sleep, but he knew from experience that this much magical depletion required a strong restorative potion to be administered as soon as possible in order to bring those levels back to a normal range. In addition, a pain potion, taken now, would ensure the boy would not suffer too much over the next day or so.
Releasing another encumbered sigh, his determination wavering only slightly, Severus pointed his wand at the boy's chest and said, "Enervate!"
Chapter End - To Be Continued.
A/N: Hello! A BIG thanks to all who've read, reviewed and put this story on alert or on their favorite list! I'm pleasantly surprised and greatly encouraged to see so many alerts for this story! :)
The next chapter will include many more details about the magic of Flickering as well as how exactly it manifests since I'm sure some of you are itching for more info (yes, I purposefully only ALLUDED to what causes Flickering in this chapter – more info to come, I promise). Stay tuned...
And please review! ;P