Forsaken Scion
Chapter Seven - Family Dynamic
"Severus."
The sound of his name, breathed out in a soft whisper, echoed somewhere close to Severus' ear. It infiltrated his mind like a wisp of dream-like resonance, tugging gently at his semi-conscious mind and causing a sliver of lucidity to snake its way into his thoughts.
Despite the familiarity of the call and the cognizance it was beginning to inspire, Severus' wake-resistant condition seemed to prevent him from discerning it as either real or imagined. Nevertheless, it continued to flit through his torpid brain like a long-forgotten memory, coaxing him into reluctant awareness and steadily rousing him into a more wakeful state.
"Severus."
Again the beckoning voice sounded, clearer this time and louder. The increase in volume encouraged a stronger spark of comprehension to fire within Severus' muddled mind, prompting him to reason that the voice was indeed real, that someone – and by the softness and elevated pitch of that someone's tone, it could only be a woman – was doing her best to yank him from his slumbrous haven.
Rather than give in to the summons however, Severus strove to ignore it, his brow knitting in annoyance as his head slumped onto his shoulder, eyelids clamped tightly together and lips thinned and taut. The muscles in his lower back seized up at the abrupt shift in position and as a result, a jolt of pain raced up his spine, settling at the base of his unnaturally bent neck. Grunting in discomfort, Severus arched his now throbbing back and then turned to the side, away from the bothersome voice and further into the back of the hard surface he must have fallen asleep on at some point.
How long ago was that?… an hour?… two?...
"Severus Snape! I know you're awake, so don't you dare play possum with me!"
This latest surge in volume succeeded in vanquishing the last vestiges of sleep from Severus' disinclined consciousness. With a reactive gasp, he bolted upright, eyes snapping open and fingers clenching around two pieces of wood on either side of him. Disoriented, heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, he whipped around and stared at the pair of chestnut brown orbs fixing him with an expression steeped in something resembling amused irritation.
"Poppy! What in the name of Merlin are you playing at, woman?!" he growled, one hand coming up to massage the back of his spasming neck. "Is this how you wake every sleeping occupant of your ward?"
The mediwitch snorted in amusement as she turned away from him to grab something from the small bedside table behind her. When she turned back around, she was holding out a vial to him. Even in the dim light currently suffusing the Hospital Wing, Severus could tell it was a Pain Relieving Draught, recognizing its telltale pale yellow hue and pearly sheen at a glance.
"It's one of your extra-strength draughts, so I suggest you take only half," she instructed, crossing her arms over her chest when Severus relieved her of the vial. "Though I suppose you may very well need the rest of it by breakfast after having slept in that wretched chair all night. For goodness' sake, Severus, why didn't you transfigure the thing into a more comfortable chair or at least move to one of the unoccupied beds?"
Severus winced as he withdrew the vial from his lips and replaced the cork, unable to mask his aversion of the draught's foul aftertaste. Even after all these years of imbibing this particular brew – whether as a post-Cruciatus treatment after the Dark Lord's twisted punishments during the war, or as relief from his current propensity to suffer debilitating migraines – he was still unable to get used to its strong bitter flavor. He was grateful for its other effects though and was pleased to already feel his tight muscles loosening, those jolts of sharp pain lessening to a more manageable level.
Keeping his eyes averted from the inquisitive ones still focused on him, Severus breathed out a slow, calming breath and then reached over to place the vial back onto the bedside table. After another fortifying breath in and then out, his eyes closing wearily, he collapsed back into the wretched chair Poppy so descriptively spoke of moments ago.
"I hadn't meant to stay the entirety of the night," he replied softly, trying to conceal the embarrassment behind his words. After opening his eyes once more and meeting Poppy's still expectant gaze, he lifted a hand to his hair and forced his fingers through the knotted strands, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction at the sting brought on by the tangled snags snapping. "I came in just after curfew to check on Harry. I had only intended to sit with him for a while... but I suppose time must have gotten away from me."
Concerned brown orbs darted up to the large clock hanging on the far wall and then back to Severus' own as their owner released a exasperated sigh, her head shaking in disapproval. "Just after curfew? You mean to tell me you've been crumpled in a twisted heap in that chair since ten o'clock last night? It's nearly daybreak, Severus! No wonder your neck is sore!"
Severus belatedly realized he was once again massaging his neck with his right hand. Despite the relief offered by the potion, the ache at the base of his skull was still causing him a good bit of discomfort. Poppy was right; he would be needing the rest of that pain-relieving draught by breakfast.
Truth be told, his lack of sound judgment resulting in his unintentional all-night visit to the Hospital Wing was only half of it. Severus had been out of sorts ever since leaving Albus' office following his viewing of Lily's second memory, wandering the castle and its grounds in a numb and trance-like state.
After being dispelled from the Pensieve and landing in a trembling mass of raw emotion on the stone floor for the second time in the span of an hour, Severus was helped to his feet by a worried Albus who ushered him to sit in that same obnoxious chintz armchair he had collapsed into before. Trying to quell his body's violent shaking, his heart feeling as though it had just shattered into a billion bleeding fragments in his chest, Severus – for once in his life, perhaps – was rendered speechless, his voice muted by grief and regret... by festering fury... and above all else, by absolute shock. He did not – could not – answer his mentor when the man repeatedly asked him what it was he saw in the Pensieve and what he needed in order to break free from his near-catatonic state of distress.
Belated awareness only returned to Severus after he looked up and saw the Headmaster standing at the fireplace with a fistful of floo powder in his hand. Realizing Albus was most likely calling for the mediwitch's assistance, Severus forced himself to his feet and staggered over to him, not wanting Poppy to force bed rest and calming draughts upon him. He couldn't recall how he had persuaded the Headmaster not to request Poppy's help, but his next recollection was of Albus guiding him to his office door, a comforting hand squeezing his shoulder and a fatherly voice telling him to take care of himself until their next meeting which was to be the following morning... this morning, that is.
How Severus had spent the next twelve or so hours after leaving Albus' office was a blur of jumbled and dim recollections. He clearly remembered walking the winding halls of the seventh floor in a daze, roaming mindlessly from passage to passage. At some point, after descending several floors, he remembered ending up in the kitchens where droves of bowing and curtseying house-elves presented him with tray after tray of Hogwarts' delicious offerings. Severus was fairly certain he had eaten at least a portion of those offerings as his stomach currently did not pain him as it would have had he refused, though for the life of him, he could not remember what it was he had eaten.
He recalled needing fresh air sometime after that, wanting to clear his head and sift through his confused and bitter thoughts, to make some sense of the horrific truths he had discovered in Albus' Pensieve. As a result, Severus had found himself sitting under a crooked birch tree situated on the far bank of the Black Lake, his eyes transfixed on the glints of sun reflecting off the murky water's surface. Somehow, he had garnered the presence of mind to cast a disillusionment charm on himself. The last thing he had wanted was to attract the prying eyes of students out celebrating the end of another school year and the warm late spring weather.
And so there he sat, for hours on end it had seemed, invisible to the world and with no other choice but to acknowledge the terrible truth wreaking havoc within his mind. It was there, under a shroud of magicked seclusion, that the details of Lily's latest bombshell were finally allowed to unfurl themselves inside Severus' slowly reawakening mind, the horror and implication of it all penetrating his thoughts like a slow-acting poison, slashing at his already wounded heart and wringing his soul dry.
James Potter had struck his wife – he had abused her and not been in the least bit remorseful. He had taken his hatred for Severus out on Lily – beautiful, kindhearted and selfless Lily Evans, Severus' one and only childhood friend and the woman he had loved his entire life. And almost more disturbing than the physical blow that had reddened her cheek and triggered her tears, was the threat that had accompanied it. Potter had ordered his new wife to never meet with Severus again and to hell with protecting the Dark Lord's would-be victims.
This thread of thought soon led Severus to the disturbing conclusion that perhaps this was what had prompted Lily to stand down, to put an end to her campaign to destroy the monster from within with Severus acting as spy for the Order. It was this development – her husband's heavy hand and vicious threats – that caused her change of heart and not, as Severus had believed prior to witnessing Lily's memory, because she had become pregnant, despite the timing being right for such a thing.
Did this mean that Lily had heeded Potter's warning and ceased seeing Severus altogether? Had she given in to her husband's jealous demands and avoided all contact with Severus?
No, Severus decided. That could not have been the case. Despite Severus' initial misunderstanding regarding the reason behind Lily's withdrawal from the fight, the timeline still pointed to Harry's conception occurring around the time of Potter's violent threat. Severus supposed that it was possible that Harry could have been born earlier than his initial due date, that his conception took place later than October, perhaps as much as a month after that scene he'd just watched in Albus' Pensieve.
But Poppy had mentioned just yesterday that his son was of normal weight and size when she examined him not long after his birth. This fact seemed to contradict the notion that Harry was born premature. So if Poppy was to believed – and Severus was convinced that she was – then Harry's birth date, July 31st, must have either been his exact due date or very near it. Yes – Lily must have conceived in October, either just before the time of Potter's physical attack on her, or just after. Probably the latter.
...which of course suggested that Lily did not do as her husband had demanded. She had not stayed away from Severus. Otherwise, Harry would never have come to be – not with both of his soon-to-be biological parents forced to stay apart from one another.
This must mean Severus and Lily must have continued to see one another in secret. And so perhaps – ironic though the notion may seem – perhaps it was actually James Potter's actions – his cruelty and his insecurity fueled by blind jealousy – that was the deciding factor in all this, the catalyst that drove Lily away from her husband and straight into Severus' arms, a self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will. What a paradox to think that Potter could be the one ultimately responsible for Harry coming into this world – unintentional though it undoubtedly was.
"Severus?"
"What?" Severus replied, confused for a moment, Poppy's voice slow to reach him and drag from his intense contemplation. He lifted his gaze to meet hers again and seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head to free himself of his thoughts. "I apologize, Poppy. I find myself quite distracted of late. I have a lot on my–"
"...on your mind," she finished for him, nodding, a pinched look to her features. "Yes, I expect you do have much to sort through... to make sense of and piece together. I do as well, though not as much as yourself, I'm sure." She drew her wand from her robe pocket and within seconds, the uncomfortable straight-backed chair Severus had spent the night in transformed into an oversized armchair with thick, squashy cushions and a small ottoman which proceeded to prop itself under his feet. Waving her wand a second time, a duplicate chair materialized in front of the first and Poppy collapsed into it, her eyes closing for a long moment as she leaned back into the chair's plush cushions, wand now idle, held loosely in her folded hands.
Silence reigned down on the dimly lit ward. The only sound pervading it was the soft murmurs of their breathing – Severus', Poppy's and those of the unconscious boy oblivious to the changed world around him.
At length, Severus lifted his feet from the ottoman and placed them back onto the stone floor, abandoning his momentary comfort so that he could lean forward, forearms supported by his thighs with hands hanging limp, sore shoulders slumping and back curving into a severe arc. After straightening up again and drawing in a deep breath – a long, slow, resigned breath that seemed to come from his very soul – Severus let it out in steady rush of warm air, the release taking with it some of his pent-up tension. Feeling his mind relieved of some of the incessant fog obscuring it, he lifted dark eyes to study his sleeping son, just as he had hours ago upon entering the ward.
"Has he explained?"
Severus' mouth twisted into a lopsided smirk at Poppy's vague question, at the obscure way in which the words were haphazardly thrown together. Had this been any other day, any other situation, he would have mocked her for posing such an ill-defined query, demanding that she put better use to that Hogwarts educated brain of hers than to spurt out such unclear utterances.
But not today. Not now.
He hadn't the energy for such sanctimonious chiding, nor did he have any valid reason for it beyond his own personal gratification at her expanse.
"No," Severus answered, sighing heavily. "Albus did not explain and will not – not directly anyway. He is educating me regarding my lost past via another source – one he is only allowing me to utilize at a very controlled and moderate pacing of his choosing and at his insistence."
Seeing Poppy's brown eyes narrowed in confusion, Severus elaborated.
"He's allowing me to use his Pensieve to watch memories of these events – Lily's memories."
The confused look on the mediwitch's face morphed into instant surprise before falling into an expression of hollow sadness, her face paling. Then her eyes slid shut and she lowered her head, shaking it slowly from side to side. When she opened them once more, her lips parted as if to say something but closed seconds later, thinning as they were pressed together.
Severus watched her grapple with what to say next, readying himself for the onslaught of questions that was sure to come, his body becoming more and more tense with each passing silence-filled second. He was not in any way keen on speaking about this latest memory he had witnessed in Albus' office – not to Albus and certainly not to Poppy. Even after hours of near constant soul-searching deliberation about it, Severus felt he had barely had the chance to accept that Potter had abused Lily, his heart still tightening in raw grief and remorse every time the truth of it filtered back into his thoughts. No – it was bad enough just to know about it, to go on living with the harsh knowledge of it. If he were required to share what he knew with another, Severus wasn't certain he could speak of it without breaking down.
He was surprised when Poppy's voice finally did reach his ears, her words not at all what he had expected.
"I'm so sorry, Severus," she whispered, leaning forward and placing a hand on his wrist. "Seeing Lily again... after all these years... it must be very difficult for you."
Severus nodded, swallowing past the lump forming at the top of his throat and blinking rapidly when his eyes began to sting.
"How many memories did you watch?"
"Only two," he replied, his voice coming out much weaker and shakier than he had intended. Wetting his lips, he swallowed again, wincing as the pain in his throat intensified. Lowering his gaze, he watched as Poppy withdrew her hand from his wrist and placed it back in her lap. He cleared his throat and continued, his tone stronger.
"I am still in the dark as to how I came to be Harry's biological father, but I've at least a dozen more memories to watch. The truth is there, hidden somewhere within those remaining vials, and I will watch every one of them until that truth is revealed, no matter what horrible discoveries are unearthed along with it."
A pained sigh followed his resolved words, prompting Severus to snap his gaze up, dark eyes locking with Poppy's. For a fleeting moment, he thought perhaps she had understood the significance of his words, that she was somehow aware of the violence that had existed behind the Potters' closed door. But then logic returned to him and he realized that she could not possibly know. She may have always had her suspicions as to the level of marital bliss shared between Lily and James, a theory no doubt inferred after Lily's change of heart about having children with her husband, but there was no way she could know about the abuse.
As far as Severus knew, only Potter and Lily – and now himself – were privy to that very well-kept secret. Of course, Albus probably knew as well; there wasn't much the Headmaster didn't know, after all.
Shifting slightly in his chair, Severus glanced away from Poppy and let his eyes rest on his son, feeling the tightness in his throat flare once more when he considered the kind of family dynamic Harry might have grown up around... had Potter and Lily lived... and had they stayed together. It was pointless, Severus knew, to play the 'what if' game. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder... if James Potter could raise a violent hand to his beloved wife so easily... could he have raised one to Harry as well, to the boy he thought to be his own flesh and blood?
Severus' stomach suddenly roiled and clenched as he realized the ugly truth of his own wandering thoughts. In the memory he had seen in Albus' Pensieve, Potter's violent attack was triggered by one thing and one thing only: his all-consuming hatred for Severus. If the Potters had survived that horrible night in Godric's Hollow and if James Potter were to have somehow learned of Harry's true paternity, that powerful slap to Lily's cheek could just as easily have escalated to a closed fist to Harry's jaw... or perhaps a belt to his back...
Severus knew firsthand that abusers didn't just stop abusing; his father certainly never did, too consumed by fear and rage about Severus' unnaturalness to see the error of his ways. Severus had no doubt that Potter, too, would have continued to be blinded by his hatred, lashing out anytime a supposed threat to his perfect family presented itself. It pained him to consider such things – to dwell on the similarities between Severus' violent upbringing and what might very well have been Harry's had the circumstances been different – but at least there was comfort in the knowledge that Potter had not been afforded the opportunity to extend his hatred for Severus onto his secret scion.
Yes, this particular family dynamic ended the night Potter died.
"Harry's healing quite well," Poppy said, startling Severus out of his spiraling thoughts, "both physically and magically. I expect he will wake tomorrow, perhaps even sometime this evening."
Severus nodded absently, his eyes still fixed on his son's sleeping form, on the steady rise and fall of his thin chest. Unbidden, his gaze lifted, searching for the infamous scar marring the boy's forehead and hoping it was not as inflamed as it had been before. When he'd arrived in the Hospital Wing late last night, he had not been able to discern any details, the ward's sconces already put out for the night. Had he been in his right mind, he would have cast a subdued Lumos in order to examine the boy, but logic had simply not been forthcoming in his distressed state. Somehow, with everything else he'd had to endure throughout the day, the darkness of the Hospital Wing just seemed too great an obstacle to overcome. He had just contented himself with sitting in that damned, muscle-cramping chair, staring at the indistinct form of his sleeping son and listening to the boy's slow, measured breaths until sleep had claimed him.
Now however, with at least a portion of his wits returned to him and the first rays of sunlight peeking in through the vaulted windows behind him, Severus brought a hand up to Harry's face, noting the boy's softened features reposed in curative slumber, and brushed aside the stray clumps of black hair that were covering the notorious lightning-shaped scar. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he noticed the healthy tinge of pink to the boy's skin, his scar only a few shades darker and not nearly as raised and angry-looking. Feeling some previously undetected tension leave him, he withdrew his hand and made to lean back again when his retreating gaze caught something that made him do a double take.
Harry's right elbow, just barely visible peeking out from the pulled-up sheet covering the majority of his arm, was red – red and swollen.
Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Severus leaned forward again, grasping the edge of the sheet and pulling it down a few more inches. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, not used to bestowing gentle touches to anyone, let alone a child, but soon shook off his discomfort and wrapped his fingers carefully around Harry's upper arm, turning it slightly so as to examine the swollen joint. It looked as if it had been broken recently, the skin covering the bone puffy and flushed-looking. He was just about to ask Poppy if Harry had suffered the injury during his confrontation with Quirrell when the sheet slipped another couple of inches, revealing Harry's wrist, thumb and all four fingers looking just as swollen and red as his elbow.
Whipping his head around to demand answers, Severus' eyes stopped on a nearly empty bottle of Skele-Gro on the bedside table next to another vial of pale yellow potion he instantly recognized as the same extra-strength Pain Relieving Draught Poppy had given him earlier.
"Poppy...? How...? Did Quirrell do this?!" he bit out, abruptly turning the rest of the way to face the mediwitch, his features twisted in barely controlled rage. If that two-faced, stuttering excuse for a wizard had deliberately broken several of Harry's bones, in addition to leaving him to the mad whim of a half-dead Dark Lord, Severus would... he would... well, he supposed he wouldn't do anything to the bastard, would he? The man was already dead. Nevertheless, Severus wanted to make someone pay for this. He could barely think through his fury right now, his heart slamming painfully hard against his ribs and his blood roaring in his ears.
"No, Severus. I'm afraid Quirrell was not to blame for this," she said, her eyes lowering to her own hands in her lap. They were no longer neatly folded, Severus noticed. Instead, they were twisted into a tight ball, the fingers wringing together so fiercely, the knuckles appeared white and bloodless.
"Poppy!" Severus growled, his patience fading as rapidly as his panic was rising. "Who did this to my son?!"
"It was me, Severus," she whispered, choking slightly on her words. Her brown eyes lifted to meet his, sorrow and reluctance seemingly battling for dominance within their depths as she continued with haste. "While running a full-body diagnostic charm on Harry yesterday afternoon, I discovered several old injuries – severely broken and crushed bones – that had never been set properly. I believe they were healed by magic – most likely Harry's magic – but because he was so young at the time, his magical core was simply not developed enough to heal them correctly, I'm afraid. I had no choice but to re-break them and set them correctly. Had I not, I'm certain Harry would have been condemned to suffer many painful side-effects in the future. He felt no pain during the re-breaking procedure, I assure you. His unconscious state almost guarantees this, but as a precaution, I spelled a full dose of Pain Relieving Draught directly into his blood before I proceeded. By the time he wakes, the re-set bones will be healed completely and his discomfort will be minimal, if he feels any at all."
Severus' mind was racing, his thoughts spinning so fast he could hardly make sense of them through the fog of mounting fury pulsing through his veins. Fragments of Poppy's hurried explanation were competing for his immediate attention, some more insistently than others, the distressing words deepening the growing sense of cold dread in his gut as they echoed inside his head.
...several old injuries...
...never set properly...
...Harry was so young at the time...
What was Poppy trying to tell him? Or rather... what was she trying not to tell him?
Out of desperation, Severus searched his brain for some plausible explanation, something that might explain away Poppy's troubling words, something that could have occurred in Harry's childhood that might shed light on these injuries and dissolve the disquieting theory Severus was so fervently attempting to shove from his mind.
Perhaps a Muggle car accident or a fall from a treehouse? Yes – just one of those scenarios could account for the occurrences of so many broken bones but… no. No, if either a car accident or a fall from a great height were at fault for these injuries, surely Petunia and her husband would have rushed Harry to a hospital for treatment. In fact, no matter the cause his injuries, the boy should have been given immediate medical attention so that his bones could be set properly. Yet Poppy said this had not taken place and that Harry's budding magic was forced to attempt to mend them.
Which means that Harry's injuries – however they had occurred – were ignored completely.
Lily's sister and her husband had neglected Harry… mistreated him and… Oh God!… had they abused him too? Were they the ones who caused Harry's injuries?!
Teeth grinding together, his jaw rigid and tight with the effort not to voice his swelling rage, Severus turned his head partway toward the very still and anxious-looking form of Poppy and asked her the one question he needed answered more than any other right now – one that would either prove or disprove his horrifying theory.
"These injuries… were they the result of one single incident? Or did they occur separately… over time?"
Strained silence met his question, but Severus refused to turn his head another inch to look at the mediwitch more fully, not yet ready to see the truth that was no doubt evident in her eyes. Instead he waited, listening to his son's soft, even breaths while he wrapped shaking fingers around the thin forearm – the only part of Harry's arm bereft of swelling – and traced small circles on his skin with a calloused thumb.
At length, Poppy replied, the tremor to her whispered words betraying her understanding of the significance behind the question.
"Separately, Severus. I'm sorry."
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: Sadly, I find myself once again having to apologize for my lateness in getting this chapter out to you. This year has kicked off in a whirlwind of chaos for me and my fitful muse didn't help things either. I will try very hard to get the next chapter posted more quickly!
I would like to thank YenGirl for her assistance with this chapter. As always, her brilliance makes such a difference! Thanks, Yen!
I hope to post chapter 8 by March 22nd… sooner, if I can manage to free myself from the chaos that surrounds me! ;)
Please review.
