Chapter 3
I came from a nightmare of horror and destruction to find that there was something wrong with the scene. There was no screaming.
My eyelids felt heavy, but I managed to open them slightly so that I could see through slits. Immediately a bright white light filled my vision, so I hastily shut them again.
At that point I realised something else very abnormal. My fever was gone, and I was in barely any pain. In fact, I felt practically energetic. Astonished by this, I tried to sit up. I managed to get about half way before my head started swimming, and lay down again.
Okay, so maybe I wasn't as well as I thought.
Able to think properly for the first time in months (the Death Eaters ask themselves, "Hey, when we're not there, and the Dementors aren't there, how else can we make our guests' lives living hells?" And answer, "Pump them with hallucinogenic potions, of course!") I catalogued what my senses were telling me. The sheets felt rough and the bed was hard, and the smell of air freshener flowed around the room. I felt behind me, and touched the metal bed-frame. My hand moved above that, and encountered a plaster wall. It seemed to be slightly chipped in places.
Okay, time to try something I'd learnt from Snape.
I stopped breathing, and went completely still. At the same time I sent small Legilimency waves out around me. They were too small to read thoughts, but they would show if a person was standing nearby.
I searched directly around me, finding nothing. I then tried to go out further, but when I'd hardly gone far at all I was stopped by a barrier.
I let out the breath I had been holding. The room was warded. Interesting...
How about an experiment then?
"HELLO? CAN SOMEONE GET OVER HERE, PLEASE?" I shouted, then listened. There were no footsteps, and no muttered talking.
That didn't necessarily mean no one was around, though. They could just be out at the moment, or maybe the wards cut off noise. Or, it could also be that the people were smarter than me, and waiting outside, listening to what I was doing.
Not knowing what to do, I lay back down, pushing the sheet around me down to my waist when I started to feel hot. There must have been some spell on the room, maybe to sweat out my fever.
The memories of my recent past flowed back across me, and I winced at the remembrance of all that pain.
"You're nothing, boy."
You sound like uncle Vernon, Keleria
"You don't even deserve a name."
That's what he thought. Howd'ya like being compared to a muggle?
"And I'm going to cut,"
Pain,
"Oh yes, I'll cut,"
Don't talk, don't plead never plead,
Until all that resistence is bled out of you. Or I – sorry, I mean you – will die trying."
But I survived, apparently, and was now in some form of hospital. It was certainly a lot better than the ones we Vipers had, as I could actually smell the magical sterilization, and taste the slightly tangy residue of pain-stoppering potions on my tongue.
I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was angry, of course. I'd wanted to die, and then I'd apparently been saved and brought here before that could happen. I honestly didn't know why; almost everyone in Britain hated me with a fiery rage, and they'd sooner suicide than save me. I actually knew of someone who had.
And how could I have been brought here in the first place? I had been in Azkaban, an impenetrable fortress run by Dementors and Death Eaters, and ruled over by Voldemort. It was impossible for anyone to get in or out.
But then, how did I know what had been happening the last six months? My thoughts were based on assumptions. Maybe there'd been a spy within the Death Eaters, and they'd managed to get me out?
Okay, unlikely. Surely they would have done it sooner, unless of course they were sadistic and hated me anyway.
But I shouldn't think about things without any proof.
Hah. The one good thing I'd learnt since leaving school was how to think logically.
Slowly, I opened my eyes again, and this time I could keep them open. I took in what was around me.
The ceiling was a faded white, uncomfortable against my sensitive eyes. There were curtains surrounding my bed, were a dull grey with brown patterns. It might be a good hospital, but the interior decorator needed to be sacked.
There was the sound of a door opening, and I quickly closed my eyes again.
"–know-it-all Granger's. Wow, she got rabies once! Where the hell has she been? And – oh Harry, come look! Malfoy's come here at least twenty times for acne problems! Doesn't help the bloody git any, though." I froze completely, not even breathing. That voice. Familiar...
"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.
"Yes..." said Ron softly, "it's the only way... I've got to be taken."
"Well, you're expelling us, aren't you?" said Ron.
"Scabbers, keep still," Ron hissed, clamping his hand over his chest.
"You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photocall or something."
"Blimey!" said Ron.
"How did you get away?" I asked.
"Couple of stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx."
Ron grinned and slapped me on the shoulder. "Don't worry mate, I'll always support you, no matter what. You can count on me."
Screams.
Tears.
Blood.
Death.
Flames.
Shouting.
"Harry, go! You have to hold back Voldemort."
"I'm not leaving you guys!"
"We'll be fine! Me and Herms'll look after the tower. You have a job to do!"
Head shaking.
"But Albus is dead, Ron! How can we win?"
Shove.
"If you don't go right now, Harry, I swear I'll hex you right into tomorrow. Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted you to give up!"
"Ron..."
A tear. Ron, crying?
"Do it for Ginny, if not for anyone else. She would have wanted it."
I jerked out of my reverie as the sounds of boots pierced my ears. I quickly blanked my anguished expression and made my breathing calm and steady.
The curtain drew apart, and someone gasped. I didn't really notice; I was thinking about Ron's voice, and why the hell was here. It didn't sound like something my mind had conjured up.
Other footsteps came closer, and my breath became imperceptibly quicker. Ron...
The person stops walking, and I assume he's looking at me.
"And Professor Dumbledore said he was mostly fixed up."
Okay. What the hell? That was my voice, but from a very long time ago. I sounded completely different now.
What was happening?
I was starting to get angry. I hoped no one was playing around with my mind. But no one could any more, I realized, and smiled inwardly. Not with me having mastered Occlumency.
A door, not the one to my room, slammed shut, and footsteps came closer. I hoped that whoever it was, he or she would make things less confusing.
"Under the bed," the person who's voice sounded the same as mine whispered. I couldn't help but grin a little; if it was an actor, he was doing a bloody good impression of me in sixth year.
The footsteps stopped at the doorway, and I made my expression blank again.
"Poppy?" I flinched involuntarily, it was Snape! Calling Mme. Pomfrey, who he definitely knew was dead. Something very bizarre was happening...
The door closed, and Snape walked forward. "Getting senile in her old age," he muttered. Now that I concentrated, I could hear a slight difference in his tone from the Snape I knew. He sounded... lighter, slightly, from what I remembered. Less world weary, a bit less cynical. His footsteps were heavier, anyway, showing that he didn't care if anyone heard him.
He walked up to me. I tried not to show any reaction.
"That's strange," he murmured.
There was a slight jingle; the keys, I assumed. I realised then that the two boys sounding like Ron and me might not actually be allowed into the room. Bit of an idiot for not noticing it sooner, really.
"Where–" Snape said, paused for a second, then "Oh..." Then he stopped moving, and went completely silent.
It was this, more than anything else, that made me believe it was actually Snape. He was using the same technique that he'd taught me.
A few seconds later he spoke. "Come out, you two," he said.
There was no movement.
"I assure you, making me bend down and pull you out from beneath the bed would make your punishment one-thousand times worse than it will already be. Come. Out."
There were sounds of scuffling, and I assumed the boys were getting out of the bed. There were a few seconds of silence, then, "Well, well, well, Potter and Weasley. I should have guessed." I shivered slightly; that sentence was freakily familiar to me. Not able to stand not seeing, my eyes snapped open and looked to the side. Luckily, no one noticed.
It was definitely Ron, Snape and me standing to the right of my bed, but they were a lot younger than they would be now.
I felt like screaming. This was so bloody confusing...
"Only you two," Snape but not Snape said, "would have enough dumb luck to find such a closely kept secret that not even all Professors know about it. Only you two would be stupid enough to attempt to find out more about said secret. Only you two–"
"Sir, don't blame Ron," the person who was me but younger said.. "He didn't do anything; this was all my idea."
"Hey, that's not right!" Ron... "I did just as many things wrong as you."
"Don't worry, Potter," Snape said nastily, that sentence making him seem like the Snape I knew from earlier years. "I know you thought up this little stunt; it reeks of arrogance and disregard of the rules. I can see you're taking after your father–"
Me but not me interrupted. "DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT DAD LIKE THAT!" Well, that definitely brought back memories.
"My, my, Potter, what a big temper you have there. That will be thirty points for shouting at a Professor. We'll go up to the Commander now, shall we?"
Commander? Who was that? Didn't Snape mean "Headmaster"?
"Hmm, let's dock some points, shall we? Well..."
As Snape reeled off offences and took points, I suddenly came to a decision. Sitting here listening to conversations hadn't brought any answers, and if I got any more confused I feared I'd go insane. Time to get some answers.
I sat up slowly, and cut off Snape's tirade. "Excuse me, but can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?"
000
Snape looked at the patient with shock, dimly seeing Potter and Weasley do the same. Now that the redeemer was awake, he looked a lot less dead than he had before, probably due to his flashing green eyes. For a second Severus was sharply reminded of Lily.
Potter spoke first, of course. Never thinking that anything wasn't his business. "What do you mean 'what's going on'?" he said arrogantly. "You're the secret patient everyone's whispering about; I think you'd know more than us. Why isn't anyone allowed to know about you?"
Snape glared, and before the man could speak, said silkily, "Potter, cease your blatant disregard to those much wiser than yourself and get out. Take Weasley with you. I expect to see you both in detention on Saturday night."
They didn't leave immediately. No respect for authority figures. "Out," Snape growled, lacing his voice with venom. The boys flew from the room, the door slamming behind them.
Severus looked back at the man, to see a slight grin on his face. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"What, may I ask, is so amusing?"
"Oh, nothing," the man said airily. Then he leaned forward in the bed. "Now, can you please explain how I have come from a place no one can enter or leave anymore and have been brought here? Oh, and what's your name?"
"Severus Snape," the Potions Master answered. It was the only question he knew how to answer.
This was rather strange, really. As much as he had thought the Redeemer was a man and not a being, he had assumed that when he woke up he would be distant and arrogant, above it all.
He decided to try being a little more civil. "And what would your name be, for I can't go around calling you the Redeemer all the time, can I?"
The calm manner on the man's face vanished instantly. "What did you just call me?" he said softly, dangerously.
Snape's brow creased. "I believe I just asked what you wanted to be called."
"I heard what you said. You called me the Redeemerdidn't you?"
"Yes..." Why didn't the man want to be known by his formal name?
"Why the hell did you call me that?"
"That is what you are called in the prophecy of the sorcerer scroll." Snape said slowly, as if to an infant. He paused. "Of course, you already know this."
The man stared at him for a while, until a sudden horrible recognition lit his face. His eyes darkened, and his hands shook slightly.
"No," he said.
"You don't know this?"
"Oh, I think I get the gist of this prophecy you're speaking about," he said bitterly. "You and your friends have stuffed everything up, and are now coming to me to make it all better. I'm saying, no, I will not participate."
Snape's jaw dropped slightly. "But... you were made to complete the prophecy, weren't you? That's why we could bring you through worlds with the Sacred Mirror."
Fury shone through the man. He seemed to get up off the bed through willpower alone.
"You brought me cross-worlds?" he whispered.
Snape took a step back, not quite knowing why. He'd faced worse things before without flinching. "The rest of the Decagon and I, yes."
The man's fists were clenched, and his teeth bared in a snarl.
"You fucking, fucking bastards. Do you have any idea what you have done to me?"
Now Snape was starting to get angry. "You are obviously the person the prophecy was talking about, because you are here now. Your whole life was made to complete this prophecy. Why do you not want to do this?"
The man shook his head. "No. You have absolutely no idea." He walked closer to Snape, slowly, as though he was in pain. When he was only two feet away, he spoke. "I wanted to die. I was about to, and then you came and saved me and screwed everything up. Just once, I wanted to be normal like everyone else." He gave a hollow laugh. "But of course, I couldn't possibly be normal. Not me; I had to survive yet again. And now, people are expecting me to do something else. Right when I think nobody wants anything more from me."
He spat on the floor in front of Snape, then walked toward the door. "I will not become a tool again," he said. "I will not be used. I will not have people take me for granted, then become furious when I cannot live up to their expectations. I am leaving."
"But Redeemer–"
The man whirled around. "Don't you dare call me that!" he snarled. "You have no fucking idea what memories I have associated with that word."
Severus strode up to the man. "Look here, whoever or whatever you are," he murmured angrily. "There was a prophecy made almost a millennium ago, by one of Rowena Ravenclaw's descendants. If this prophecy is not followed through, it will be the end of the world as we know it. Life will be wreathed in darkness forevermore."
The man sneered. "I've lived in darkness for over seven years. It's nothing special. People die. More people die. People get tortured, and more people die. Don't be melodramatic, Snape."
"So, you don't care if everyone dies?" Severus couldn't believe the disregard the man was giving. He was the Redeemer, yet he hated his name. He was destined to save a country, yet he wanted nothing to do with it.
He decided to get him to agree by using his greed against him. "Don't you want the rewards you'll get from defeating evil? Don't you want fame?"
The man snorted. "And the stupidest question of the year goes to..." He turned toward the door.
Snape glared at the Redeemer's back, put off that his idea had been rebuffed. "Where will you go, then?" he hissed. "You couldn't go twenty steps without falling."
"I'll manage," was the only answer the man gave, as he reached the door. He tried to turn it, but his hands seemed too sweaty and the knob didn't move. Swearing, the man kicked the door.
He spasmed in pain, yelling out and falling on the ground. Severus was by his side in an instant.
"Shit," the man whispered, face white. "Oh, bloody – don't aggravate newly grown bones, I tell myself, then I go and kick a door. What a brilliant idea, there. I think I'll go shoot the hell out of my brains now."
"Shut up and be still," Snape told the man sharply, checking his foot. It was bent to the side at a rather disturbing angle.
"Be grateful you know how to kick properly," Snape said. "At least it's just your ankle. What would be a lot worse would be if you didn't lift your foot up properly, and ended up breaking all your toes. They're a lot more complicated to put back properly."
"Whatever," the man said through clenched teeth. "If you wouldn't mind helping me back to my bed, because I think I'm going to be unconscious within a minute. Resulting gifts of torture." He gave a hollow laugh.
Snape hauled the Redeemer up and dragged him back to the bed, finding him disturbingly light. He'd have to get Poppy to give him more food, he thought.
Then he berated himself. I sound like a fussing mother.
He laid the man back onto his bed, and saw him wince slightly. "Couldn't you have used a mobilicorpus?"
"I use my wand as little as possible these days," Snape told him bluntly. "There are reasons; all to do with the war that's going on. The one that you could finish."
The Redeemer sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them he looked tired and weary.
"Snape..." he paused, then suddenly seeming to come to a decision.
"There was once a little baby boy, growing up in the world," he said softly. "Not growing perfectly, perhaps, but growing normally. Then one day, a prophecy was made." He took a deep breath and continued. "Because of this prophecy, a disturbed man with a wish to be immortal killed the boy's parents, and from there on, it became the boy's job to stop the mass murderer. No matter that he was just human, no matter that his magic level was just average, no matter that hundreds of much more talented people had gone against this man and lost; he was the child of the prophecy, of course he would win." The Redeemer's eye's shut tightly.
Snape sat, waiting for the rest of the story. He started to get irritated, suspecting that the man was just waiting for him to ask. He told himself that he would wait for the man to talk.
He lasted three minutes, before his curiosity and aggravation got the better of him. "Well?" he asked tersely, looking at the Redeemer. Who was lying with his mouth slightly open, and his breathing slow and steady.
Asleep.
Snape felt ever so slightly embarrassed, but there was no one to see his mistake so he didn't dwell on it much. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated the enigma that was the Redeemer.
There was a lot to think about.