Trading My Sorrows

By Shadow Ballad
Genre: Drama/Spiritual
Pairings: None so far
Timeline: AU fifth year, Sirius Black has been pardoned and is the DADA assistant to Lupin
Warnings: T for violence and some language. This is a story detailing a person's conversion to Christianity, so it will contain religious themes. If this offends you, please do not read and then flame me for offending you. Reader, thou hast been warned. : )

A/N: Thanks to Jacir and houquilter, my two reviewers, and of course to Ominous Voices, my very lovely and very patient beta. Lots of hugs go out to you all. I'm really sorry this is out so late – really sorry! But, Real Life Adventures got in the way of Writing Fanfiction, so…it's not my fault…really, it's not! You've got to believe me!!!

Anyway…soon, Snape will accept Christ, and then it's back to Hogwarts for the real fun!

Chapter Seven: One Step Closer

Hitherto Thy love hast blessed me
Thou hast brought me to this place
And I know Thy hand will bring me
Safely home by Thy good grace

Jesus saw me when a stranger
Wandering from the fold of God
He to rescue me from danger
Bought me with his precious blood.

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, traditional hymn

Harry Potter walked with his two friends toward the Great Hall, stuck between being grateful and annoyed that it was Monday.

"On the one hand, it's the end of the weekend and that's no fun," he told Ron as they ambled down the stairs. "On the other, there's no Potions. That's something to be thankful for."

"Yeah, until tomorrow," said Ron glumly as they entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table. Above them huge white clouds drifted lazily across the enchanted blue sky of the ceiling. Harry felt distinctly like one of those clouds; not really up to doing anything that required fast movement. He doubted he could even play a decent game of Quidditch in his current state.

The fault lay with the teachers, naturally. It was the O.W.L. year, and they all seemed determined to lay on the class work and homework as if the world was about to end. Especially Snape, the Greasy Git himself.

"All right, Harry?" asked a tired voice near his elbow. The Boy-Who-Lived glanced up to see Neville Longbottom stifling a yawn as he plopped down at the table next to the Trio.

"Morning, Neville," said Harry, yawning despite himself. "You didn't happen to finish the Herbology homework from Thursday, did you?" He felt a little guilty allowing the Herbology assignment to sit undone in his book bag, but with all the difficult Transfigurations and Potions homework McGonagall and Snape loaded the fifth years with, he just didn't have the time to focus on a relatively easy class.

"Yah," said Neville absently as he picked at a muffin. "I…you can borrow it if you want to…"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, that's okay," he said. The only subject Neville ever did well in happened to be Herbology, and leeching off of him just seemed wrong. He got enough flack from Snape, and even McGonagall; he deserved to shine a little in his best and favourite subject.

"He isn't at breakfast again," said Hermione quietly. Harry turned to see who she was talking about and, following her gaze, found himself staring at the Head Table.

Ron, who was busy stuffing his face with eggs and sausage without regards to manners, didn't even bother to look for himself. "Who?" he asked, mouth full of food.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him, but years of badgering Ron on proper table etiquette hadn't worked, and she seemed to have given up the nagging. "Professor Snape, Ron," she said, her brows knitting together in worry instead of disgust.

Ron swallowed a large mouthful of food and gave Hermione a strange look. "Who cares what the git is up to?" he asked, reaching for the pitcher of orange juice and pouring himself a glass. "For all we know he's lurking around somewhere, waiting to take points off anyone who breathes!"

Harry snickered at this, but Hermione wasn't amused at all. "Honestly! When will you ever show teachers proper respect?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and turning back around to stare at the Head Table. "He hasn't been at a meal since Friday morning," she said, as if to herself. "I wonder if he's sick or something."

Harry was just about to say that if that happened to be true, he hoped the git wouldn't get better when a thought came to him. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen Snape anywhere since Friday," he said as he musingly cut up a waffle and took a bite. "I'll bet he's –"

But before Harry got a chance to finish speaking, Dumbledore stood up at the Head Table. In moments the entire Great Hall fell silent in respect for the Headmaster. Even from his vantage point near the end of the Gryffindor table, Harry could tell Dumbledore was smiling and his blue eyes were twinkling.

"I have a quick announcement I would like to make before you leave for morning classes," the elderly wizard said amiably.

"I wonder if it's about Professor Snape?" whispered Hermione.

"Who cares…"

"Ron!"

Harry leaned away from his bickering friends, trying to hear what Dumbledore had to say. "…been informed that Professor Snape is away on personal business –" here the Great Hall erupted in excited, happy whispers – "and does not know when he will return," finished the Headmaster, a slightly disapproving look on his face as he gazed out at the students cheering the absence of their Potions Master.

"Oh, no! I hope nobody in his family has died or something awful like that!" exclaimed Hermione.

"All right! No more Potions class!"

"Ron! Honestly, if you're ever going to be an Auror, you need to take Potions more seriously, or –"

"But," said Dumbledore, interrupting Hermione and doubtless many happy conversations, "you will all still be able to attend Potions classes, as I will be taking over until Professor Snape is able to return."

"'Able to attend Potions', he said? Is he mad? No one in their right mind likes that class!"

"Ronald Weasley!"

"Ouch! That hurt, 'Mione!"

"It was meant to! Maybe it'll knock some sense into your empty head!"

Harry, perfectly used to such displays, turned back to his breakfast when the Headmaster sat back down and engaged McGonagall in conversation. The other Gryffindors ignored their two squabbling housemates in favour of their food as well. He shrugged to himself as he tucked into his meal. With all the strange dreams about corridors he'd been having lately, he couldn't bring himself to care much about where his least favourite teacher happened to be. Well, maybe that time he'd woken up screaming for some reason he couldn't remember had something to do with Snape, but really –

"Do you…do you think anything bad has happened to him? Professor Snape, I mean?" Neville asked tentatively, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

Harry, a little shocked that Neville would actually care about the welfare of his most feared professor, just gaped at him as egg dripped off his fork. Neville flushed and turned his gaze to his plate, contemplating his half-eaten sausage in deep embarrassment.

"Neville, I don't really care where Snape is or what has happened to him," said Harry rather bluntly (but only for Neville's ears lest Hermione hear and start harping on him as well). "Wherever he is, you know he's up to no good."

Neville shrugged at that. "Maybe," he mumbled. "But I'm still worried about him."

Again, Harry found himself gaping at his friend in disbelief. "But Neville, he's awful to you! He treats you like yesterday's garbage and goes out of his way to make sure you fail in Potions, no matter what you do! How can you possibly worry about that –" Hermione flashed him a Warning Look – "man?" he finished lamely, catching Ron's gaze and rolling his eyes in Hermione's direction.

Neville shook his head, appearing very flustered. "I don't know," he said in a small voice. "I just…have this feeling…that I should."

Harry was about to comment on that when the bell rang to signal the end of breakfast and send students off to their morning classes. Neville mumbled something Harry didn't catch and picked up his book bag and shuffled out of the Great Hall.

As his friends rose to leave, Harry filled them in on his conversation with Neville. "I dunno about Neville," said Ron as they walked down the hallway toward the large front doors. "He's actually worried about the Greasy Git? Mad, he is."

"No, he's not!" exclaimed Hermione, walking briskly to keep up with Ron's longer strides. "He's a good person, unlike some people around here!" She gave both Ron and Harry meaningful glares before stepping up her pace and disappearing in the directions of the greenhouses.

"What's wrong with Hermione this morning, mate?" asked Ron as he and Harry walked along at a more leisurely pace. "It's just Snape, after all. You'd think she actually liked him or something."

A cool morning breeze mussed Harry's unruly black hair even more as he laughed at Ron's statement. "In what way?" he asked slyly, earning a horrified look from his best friend.

"Don't, Harry, that's disgusting," he said, looking faintly green. "I just ate a big breakfast!" Harry chuckled at his friend's discomfort and, waving at Hagrid, whose class they had after Herbology, walked up to Greenhouse Four. Any thoughts of Snape fled his mind as he made up many excuses on why he hadn't finished his homework.

The object of the students' ruminations had woken relatively early the exact same day – around 7 am – eager to get his hands on whatever books Lawrence had to offer him. Not only did he want to read anything about redemption and forgiveness, but anything dealing with holy magic as well. Lawrence had piqued his curiosity, and now it demanded to be satisfied.

After dressing and taking care of the morning's ablutions, he made his way to Pastor Beckett's quarters. Snape rapped smartly on the door with the back of his knuckles, fidgeting in place when his knock wasn't immediately answered. A smirk curved his lips at what his students would say if they saw their stoic Potions Master now, as excited as a small child in Honeyduke's. They'd probably faint with shock, the precious little darlings.

Only the thought of procuring new knowledge interested him more than potions, which would make his students die with shock, to be sure. He knew they thought he lived, ate and drank the subject with no other interests in between.

He was just entertaining the thoughts of their darling little faces contorted in disbelief if he ever told them he enjoyed classical music and Muggle crime novels when Pastor Beckett's door creaked open. Any thoughts of torturing his students fled his mind after taking one look at his friend.

"You look like you've been blown up," he said bluntly.

A rather muss-haired, wide-eyed, soot-covered pastor stared back at him. "I know," he coughed, square glasses dangling precariously off his left ear.

"What have you been doing in here? Illegal potions experiments?" asked Snape, gently shoving Lawrence aside to peek inside and assess the damage. A small cauldron and table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by debris. Scorch marks marred the walls and ceiling, and papers of all sorts littered the floor.

"I've been trying to make a healing potion since five o' clock this morning," said Lawrence as Snape gaped at the wreckage. Bits of the bedspread smoked ominously, as did one leg of his desk. Only the bookshelves and their precious occupants remained undamaged.

"A healing potion," repeated Snape, suddenly overcome with images of Neville Longbottom destroying his classroom back at Hogwarts. He felt the sudden urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and wander back into his bedroom and hide under the blankets.

He stepped further into the room, putting out the smoking bedspread and desk leg with an absent swish of his wand so. Nearing the cauldron, he found it still partially filled with whatever combustible substance Lawrence had accidentally concocted. The pale brown liquid sloshed and bubbled, emitting a foul, salty smell whenever one of the bubbles popped.

"A healing potion," Snape said again, looking at the cauldron and wondering just what Lawrence did to make exploding goo instead of what he had intended to brew.

"Yes," said Lawrence with a defeated sigh. "I can't help it if Potions was my worst subject in school. I thought I'd learn it and forget it and never have to use it again, seeing as how I was going into ministry. I didn't figure that I'd need to make healing potions for whatever town in which I served as a pastor, you know." His voiced seemed slightly pinched, as though something was lodged in his throat.

Snape didn't really hear anything beyond "Potions was my worst subject in school." He glanced incredulously at Lawrence. "It is beyond me how anyone could be a disaster at Potions," he said firmly. "All it entails is adding the correct ingredients in the correct order and stirring the correct amount of times. Simple."

Lawrence huffed at this, wiping off his face with the sleeve of a green plaid flannel shirt. Snape did a double-take. For the first time since he had met Lawrence, the man wasn't wearing his black pastor's robes. Instead, he had donned a pair of jeans a pair of Muggle trainers.

"For me, it's a little more difficult than that," he said, whipping out his wand, repairing his glasses and perching them on the end of his slightly pointed nose. "Most people would agree with me."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Most people aren't Potions Masters though, are they?"

"Ah, no. No, they're not."

Snape inclined his head in triumph and, Lawrence effectively silenced, he turned to ponder the pastor's cauldron and discover how his concoction had become a mess instead of a potion.

"You never mentioned that about yourself before, you know," said Lawrence few moments later. Snape rolled his eyes. Well, almost effectively silenced.

"I didn't think it pertinent at the time," he said shortly, bending carefully over the cauldron and wafting the fumes toward his nose. To his complete surprise he felt uncomfortable with such words hanging between them, and immediately apologized. "I'm sorry Lawrence, but I really do not like to be interrupted when I'm working." He glanced ruefully over at the pastor, who was smiling for some odd reason.

"Perfectly all right, Severus," he said mildly. "I'll just go make us a pot of coffee while you work on my mess, O Master of Potions." He chuckled as he disappeared into his small kitchen.

Snape rolled his eyes, not even noticing that he, too, had a smile on his face.

He turned and bent back over the cauldron, tapping his finger absently against his chin. Lawrence began humming a hymn loudly in the kitchen, but long years of practice allowed Snape to ignore almost any noise not related to potion making; including but certainly not limited to insufferable students, Peeves, and headmasters trying to get him to go on social outings with the rest of the staff.

A particularly loud bang and rather colourful swear word didn't even phase him as he bent closer, peering critically into the cauldron's depths. A finger to the edge of the cauldron came back quickly; a bit burned, but nothing he couldn't deal with later. Absently he rubbed the abused skin against his thumb, muttering to himself about liquid density and consistency before picking up the ladle next to the cauldron and dipping it inside.

He immediately regretted doing so. As soon as he lifted the ladle from the liquid, a bubble burst all over the front of his robes. "Damn!" he exclaimed, jumping back a little and plugging his nose as the foul, salty smell inundated him. Gagging, he dropped the ladle and scrabbled for his wand just as the liquid burned through his robes and hissed as it met his skin.

He gasped and doubled over, letting his wand drop from suddenly limp fingers as pain wracked his body. It felt like knives heated in a fire were pressing against his skin from the inside out; sharp and white hot and utterly unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A hiss escaped from behind clenched teeth as his knees hit the stone floor, jolting him and only increasing the torment he felt. Pain – raw, aching, burning pain – it consumed him; set his nerves on fire and his skin ablaze and he just knew his skin glowed red hot, it must, for he was burning up from the inside out and –

He heard someone screaming – it was him, he knew it was him; his throat felt raw and his chest heaved with the effort of taking in air; it burned to breathe, and yet he must, if he wanted to live; but why should he live through such torment? It would be better to die than to live with the fire and burning and pain and –

"SEVERUS! Oh Lord, my God, give me strength – Finite Incantatem!"

Burning and fire, like whips of flame torching his skin and – wait…a coolness began spreading from his chest, tentative at first, but it felt so good not to be burning. He sobbed in relief, not noticing the hot tears streaking down his cheeks, but flinching away from tentative hands that touched still-burning skin.

"No…don't touch me…it hurtssss…" he hissed, curling into a foetal position as the blessed coolness enveloped his body, slowly putting out the flames.

"Severus…are you…what happened?" asked a soft voice filled with worry above him. He could only shake his head miserably as the icy feeling surrounded his body, almost to the point of discomfort, then began to fade away.

"Dump it," he rasped, voice hoarse and throat raw. "Dump the potion out; better yet, Evanesco it." He took in a shaking, rattling breath and looked up into Lawrence's concerned brown eyes. "I don't know how, but you've managed to brew something worse than the Cruciatus curse."

The blood drained from the pastor's face and he made a peculiar motion, moving his hand from chin to chest and across both shoulders. "Evanesco," he fairly whispered, flicking his wand at the cauldron and the liquid inside. Both wavered as if seen through great heat, then slowly disappeared from view.

The two men stayed that way for several moments: Severus curled up in a ball on the floor, and Lawrence kneeling next to him. When he thought he could, Snape rose a shaking hand to his brow and swiped off the hot sweat that had accumulated there during his ordeal. He took deep, calming breaths and slowly pushed himself off the cold stone floor – which curiously had had no effect on him whilst under the potion's influence. A shiver wracked his thin body, and when he wrapped his arms instinctively about his torso, skin met skin.

Shocked, he looked down at his body and could not stifle a gasp at what he saw. The remains of his clothing hung in tatters about his elbows and pooled in his lap. His skin, once a sickly pale, was now a mottled deep scarlet, covered in tiny blisters. Some had popped, leaking a clear amber liquid that burned the still-sensitive skin.

Severus hunched over on himself, drawing at what clothing he had left to return whatever remained of his dignity. He felt his cheeks flush in shame and couldn't look his friend in the eye.

"I was making coffee when I heard you start screaming," said Lawrence quietly, a few moments later. "I rushed in and panicked when I saw you on the ground, clawing at your skin as if it burned you." He tried to meet Severus's eyes, but Snape still avoided his gaze. He reached out, but at Snape's involuntary flinch, drew back immediately. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I should have helped you the moment I realised what had happened, but I couldn't make myself move, I was frozen and – I'm making excuses, aren't I?" The pastor made a disgusted sound in his throat, then rose swiftly to his feet.

The sudden movement surprised Severus, who watched as Lawrence snatched the white-and-green patterned bedspread from his bed and, coming to kneel once again next to the hurt man, draped it gently across his shoulders. "Thank God Himself that you're no worse off. Could you forgive me, Severus?" he asked, finally catching and holding the Potions Master's gaze.

Completely dumbfounded, Snape slowly nodded as he pulled the blanket about himself. "Of course," he rasped, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Of course. You…saved my life. Why shouldn't I forgive you?" Somehow, having had his life saved by Lawrence didn't bother Snape as much as it would have had the same incident happened only a week earlier.

Lawrence blinked. "Really? I rather thought you were angry with me, you know, since you wouldn't look at me," he said.

Snape found his lips drawing back into a rueful smile. "Of course I am not angry with you! I was just…feeling a bit awkward, sitting half-nude in your…bedroom."

The comment hung in the air for exactly one second before both wizards burst out laughing. "That's…absurd!" wheezed Lawrence between guffaws, pounding the floor with a fist.

"Isn't it, though?" gasped Snape, holding his sides in the first real laugh he'd had in…quite a while, actually.

The two men might have kept laughing for minutes longer had the blisters on Severus's chest, abdomen and thighs not burst a moment later. Severus gasped in pain, feeling his eyes water up as the clear liquid seeped agonisingly slow from the burst blisters and onto still sensitive skin.

Lawrence noticed and immediately stopped laughing, leaning toward his friend in renewed concern. "Blisters," said Snape shortly as he opened his mouth, no doubt to ask what was wrong. The pastor winced in sympathy, then got up from the floor.

"Here, give me your hand," he said. Snape tentatively reached out – his hands ached from clawing at the floor and his skin – and allowed Lawrence to gently help him to his feet. After seating himself on the surprisingly comfortable bed, Lawrence went to the wardrobe and began digging around inside.

"I don't have any healing potions or salves, unfortunately," he said, voice somewhat muffled as he shuffled various garments about. "We'll have to go into town; there's a small apothecary just two blocks away from the pub. I'm sure old Gert will have something that will help you; she's an excellent herbologist, you know."

Snape watched somewhat bemusedly as he emerged from the wardrobe a moment later, a pair of black denim pants and a black Muggle turtleneck in his hands. A slender eyebrow rose as he inspected the clothing, but he reached out without comment and Lawrence passed the garments over.

He gave the pastor a pointed look. "Shoo," he said, making a dismissive gesture with one slender hand. Lawrence quirked an eyebrow at him in a disturbingly familiar gesture, then gave him a deep bow.

"As you wish, O Master of Potions," he said, making a grand sweep with his arm and backing into the kitchen. Snape shook his head in amusement – some people just never could stay serious for very long – and then stripped off what was left of his robes and slacks.

"The coffee is still in here," floated Lawrence's voice out of the kitchen as Snape tried to navigate his way into the turtleneck without popping any more blisters. "I could heat some up if you want; it should still be good, you know."

"Mmrf," said Snape, head stuck inside the turtleneck.

"Severus? Did you hear me?"

Snape popped his head out the top of the infuriating garment and rolled the long collar down off of his mouth. "Yes to both questions," he replied, a little testily he supposed, for Lawrence almost stuck his head into the bedroom to ask what was wrong and nearly got hexed for his trouble.

"Sorry," said Snape unrepentantly. "It's just this turtleneck…I never liked them as a child and still don't, if you want to know the truth." He straightened it over his torso, hissing whenever the soft wool hitched on a blister or sensitive spot on his skin. The denim slacks went on much easier, though they fit loosely and the rougher material hurt the sores on his thighs.

"Well, it was that or something not black in nature," came the pastor's voice. "Unless of course you happen to like red tartan?"

Snape gave a little sneer, though the mention of tartan made him think of McGonagall. He briefly wondered how the fiery Scot was doing before he replied, "Not really, no."

"I thought as much," chuckled Lawrence from the kitchen. Severus straightened the turtleneck and pants and thanked God that his leather boots had been spared from the potion's destruction. Fleetingly he wished he could have analyzed the substance in his lab, but immediately dismissed the thought. It was much too dangerous to keep around, even if it was a fluke and probably could never be made again.

Sure that his borrowed clothing looked as good as it could on his slighter frame, he walked over to the kitchen door and knocked on the jamb. "Is the coffee ready? I find myself positively needing a mug at the moment."

In answer the pastor sat a large mug of the steaming beverage onto the table. Snape swooped down on the coffee, plopping himself down in front of it and inhaling the bittersweet aroma.

A chuckle to his left caught his attention, and he glanced sideways to see Lawrence loading his coffee up – predictably – with plenty of cream and sugar. "Addicted are we?" he asked teasingly, sitting down next to the Potions Master. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up, grin back in place. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Indeed," said Snape, shrugging and bringing the mug to his lips. "And a fine addiction it is."

Lawrence chuckled again. "One day, Severus, you'll need ten cups of coffee just to feel alive, you know."

"Indeed," repeated Snape. Lawrence shook his head in mock disappointment, and for a few moments the two men sat quietly, enjoying the hot drink and each other's company after their harrowing experience that morning.

Taking a large sip of coffee and feeling much better after having done so, Snape turned his attention to his friend. "I originally came to ask if I could borrow some books from you," he said, picking at a defect in the wood of the table. "May I?"

"Of course, Severus," replied Pastor Beckett immediately. "Take whatever you like; you're welcome to anything I have, you know."

Snape nodded, then gave him a sly sideways glance. "I suppose that includes cauldrons full of dangerous, slightly corrosive and mildly painful torture potions?"

Lawrence gave a hearty mock sigh. "That was my fifth – and last – cauldron," he lamented with a sip of sugar-and-creamed coffee.

Snape shot him an amused look. "Fifth? My, my; we are incompetent, aren't we?" he said, giving the pastor a small smile to take the edge off his words. The two Slytherins shared a smirk, then finished off their coffee and prepared to leave.

"Feel free to ask me any questions you may have on the way there and back again," offered Lawrence as he once again plucked Snape's empty mug from his hands and washed it in the sink. Severus just let him do it, knowing that arguing would get him nowhere.

"Of course," he replied, waiting for Lawrence to dry his hands on a small light green towel. Both wizards then exited the pastor's quarters, making a quick detour so Snape could grab his cloak ("What about you?" "Oh no, I'm fine; used to it by now") and then heading into the cool, crisp morning.

A/N: Well, what does anyone think? It's a bit noticeable that there's not much mention of God here; since next chapter is going to be really heavy on theology, I thought I'd just set up a little characterization and some (badly needed) action. : )

Once again, a thousand apologies for taking so long for posting this. I have only two more weeks of school, and then the whole month of December to catch up on writing stuff! Yay! Wish me luck in Stats: )

Cheers,

Ballad