Warnings: Discussions of graphic violence.
Spell Notes:
Consano Corporis: "Cure Body." Cure-all for poisonings and diseases.
Silencio Motus: "Silence Movements."
Sero: Locks an object.
AN: Because the downtime kept me from posting for so long, I'm giving you 3 chapters tonight. ^_^
CHAPTER 9
A Heart Divided
3 DECEMBER
Severus woke with a terrible headache, miserable pain in his chest, and various other aches and pains, but the fact that he had woken at all shocked him. The Dark Lord had ended Severus' torture with a Sectumsempra straight to his chest. The curse should have been fatal within a minute, if that long, and Albus wouldn't have been able to make it to his side so quickly even with his emergency alarms on standby.
Who had saved him? And how?
"Ah, I see you're awake."
Albus' voice went straight through Severus' aching skull. He groaned and buried his head in the pillow.
"Go away."
Albus chuckled. "Not until you have had some potions and a bit of breakfast. I imagine some pain reliever will go quite a ways towards making you more sociable."
"I don't do sociable, old man." Nevertheless, Severus grabbed the phial of blessed blue potion in his uninjured wrist and drank it down, but choked halfway through.
"Slowly, Severus. That sword wound did rather significant damage."
"Sword wound?" Severus coughed and wiped his mouth. "What ruddy sword wound?"
Albus frowned. "The one that nearly killed you, I presume."
"That wasn't a sword wound. The Dark Lord thought it would be amusing to kill me with my own bloody curse." Severus rubbed his chest and winced at the sharp pain of a healing wound. "H-how am I alive?"
Albus' eyes went as wide as galleons. "Oh dear Merlin. That is a good question."
Severus swallowed the rest of the potion and set the phial aside. "You didn't heal it?"
"No. By the time I arrived, it would have been far too late."
"Who?"
Albus gave him a wan smile. "Who else could it have been, Severus? Who else knew of your suspension?"
Severus went rigid, dread pooling in his gut. "Albus… who did you inform?"
But before Albus said a word, Severus already knew. He had thought it a dream—or perhaps a nightmare—when he woke in agony with a blood-streaked Potter kneeling over him. He hadn't seen much beyond a flash of shock on Potter's features, hadn't stayed conscious long enough to hear much beyond an affirmation of the boy's identity. He had thought Potter had come to exact revenge while he was weak, to gloat over him while his life bled away. Instead, it appeared he owed Potter his life.
Of all the fucked up ways to survive certain death.
"Potter!" Severus regretted shouting immediately. He swayed under a sharp surge of pain and gripped his chest.
"Do calm yourself, Severus." Albus handed him a phial of calming draught. "I do mean that. You are in neither the condition nor the standing to become violent."
Severus shuddered and drank the potion against his better judgment. "Potter, Albus? W-why? How? I never taught him the counter."
"I do not know how, but why is quite simple, my boy. He knew the minute I told him you were suspended that Tom would punish you, and he did not believe you deserved to be tortured to death."
Severus stared, unable to comprehend. "But… that… no. It cannot be. That is…."
"The truth, Severus." Albus gave him a sheepish look. "I am afraid I have annoyed him again. You see, when you did not make an appearance around the castle yesterday, he came to my office after dinner believing I had terminated your teaching contract. The first words out of his mouth were a demand to know if I had let you go. At first, I admit, I thought he may have been hoping for such an outcome, and thus I was reluctant to tell him anything. Then he made eye-contact—for the first time in days—and willingly showed me his thoughts. He was furious, but not at you. He believed I had sent you out of the castle, knowing the danger, and was out for my blood."
Severus choked and clutched at the sheets. "That's preposterous! He would not—for Merlin's sake, Albus, I have been a monster to him. Why should he even care?"
Albus chuckled wryly. "He asked me the same question."
Severus opened and closed his mouth, utterly gobsmacked. "And… and what was your answer?"
"He cares because he is too kind not to care, even to those who have harmed him. As for why he cares about you specifically, when you have indeed been monstrously cruel, I suspect there is more I do not know. I had the sense that he identifies with you on some level when he allowed me access to his mind, but I do not know how he has come to that conclusion."
"I-identifies with me? Our lives could not be more different if we tried."
Albus gave him a sad smile. "On the contrary, Severus, I fear you are much more alike than you will ever admit."
"I admit nothing! He is an arrogant, foolish… and… and I…." Severus could not stop himself from hugging his chest for comfort, unbalanced and weak as he was. He regretted it immediately and let his hands fall. "A-Albus, I do not understand. Why would he save me?"
"Perhaps you might ask him yourself, if you can do so without being cruel."
Severus closed his eyes, his brain hurting from all the wild thoughts racing within. "You never explained how he learned the counter."
"Because I do not know. I am aware he was up for several hours last night studying healing, but—"
"Why would he even want to go to all that trouble, Albus? Why did he insist on coming to my aid when he knew you were aware of the situation?"
Albus gave a deep sigh. "Because I have let him down, Severus. Repeatedly. Every year, I have promised him he is safe here, and every year, he has been harmed greatly in some fashion or another. I imagine he believed my protection would prove inadequate." He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "And, once again, he was correct to doubt me."
"Albus…." Severus gave the man a sorrowful look. "You have sheltered me all these years. And yesterday—any other headmaster would have dismissed me, if not thrown me in prison."
"But last night, I was not the one to save you, Severus. Indeed, my aid would have come far too late. Harry saved your life. Harry, and Miss Lovegood, though I am convinced Harry did the brunt of the healing magic. He appears to have a great aptitude for it, to my relief."
"You must be joking."
Albus raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, I do not know what state you arrived in, but there was little enough left for me to patch up by the time I arrived, and it could not have been more than ten minutes since I had first heard your portkey alarm. In that time, Harry had healed you of everything but a broken wrist and the lash wounds on your thigh and back."
"That…." Severus frowned. "I would think the lash wounds would have been the most serious injury behind Sectumsempra, then my wrist. Why did he leave those?"
Albus shook his head. "I cannot say for certain. I believe he simply missed your wrist in his urgency to heal your chest and breathing, but as far as your lash wounds, I surmise he left those intentionally to preserve your modesty. Your clothing was… well, I had to Vanish it to treat you. Still, the boy did well, especially for his first time. Beyond your wrist, chest, and the lash wounds, I am not even aware of what other injuries you may have had."
Severus stared, stunned. "Albus, I was tortured for hours. I was injured from head to toe. H-how is it possible any sixth year could have healed so much, let alone Potter?"
"As I said, he was up for many hours studying with Miss Lovegood and brewing potions to save your life—"
"He fed me potions he brewed, and I am not poisoned?"
Albus fixed him with a sharp look. "I believe Miss Lovegood brewed the potions as I am sure Harry anticipated such a reaction. However, he is more skilled than you give him credit for. I am almost certain he has been brewing potions to help with aftercare for his visions all term. Which includes Anti-Cruciatus draught, Severus, and you know that is high NEWT level."
"So, in other words, Miss Granger has been brewing for him."
"No. Harry has distanced himself from his friends, and you are well aware of this." Albus sighed. "Severus, will you never see the truth of him?"
"I am the only one who does," Severus grumbled.
"I had hoped yesterday morning would have proved you quite wrong on that point."
Severus flinched. He had certainly been wrong about many things, but this? He… simply couldn't wrap his head around it. Or anything else for that matter. Gods, had he fallen into an alternate dimension somehow?
"Just… let me rest, Albus. Please. I am in quite a lot of pain." It wasn't even a lie. He felt as though he had been hit by a lorry.
"Very well." Albus stood. "Your opinions are your own, Severus, but I will not have you hurting the boy. Not for this. We would have certainly lost you without his assistance."
"And Lovegood. I am inclined to attribute the bulk of my survival to her, much as it baffles me."
Albus stroked his beard, eyes thoughtful. "I suppose it is possible; however, I do not believe that is the case. When I arrived, Miss Lovegood was Vanishing your blood, cleaning up a stack of empty phials, and tucking several full potions back into her bag. Harry was holding you across his lap, washing the blood from your face, and…."
Albus kept talking, but Severus heard little beyond….
"He had me in his lap?"
Albus snorted. "No, not quite. Harry had you lying astride his legs and his arm supporting your shoulders. I believe they had placed you in such a position so as to administer potions without suffocating you, as you were still quite unconscious. Did you hear the rest of what I said beyond that?"
"Nothing beyond he was washing my… my face? Are you sure he… I simply cannot imagine it."
Albus tapped his temple. "See for yourself."
Severus gulped and forced himself to meet Albus' eyes. The old man lowered his barriers enough to show Severus a scene out of… if not nightmares, certainly the strangest dream he ever saw.
~-M-~
Albus approached the gates at a run, as fast as his creaking knees would carry him—a considerable speed for a hundred and fifteen year old man, but far too slow to save Severus' life. Merlin help him, he should have listened to Harry. The boy had been right about his failures—again—but gods, how was Albus to know an attack of Dragon Pox would hit the Infirmary ten minutes before Severus needed Poppy?
There was no help for it. Albus just had to hope Harry had taken the bait earlier and somehow managed to find the skill to bring Severus back from the brink of death.
It wouldn't be the first time the boy had pulled off a miracle.
Albus gasped at the sight of emerald green light glowing around three silhouettes, one prone. Merlin—Harry was healing Severus. Along with a friend. Mister Longbottom, perhaps? The light flickered on and off—was their magic failing or were they using several spells in quick succession?
He shook himself and put on another burst of speed, using magic to aid him. He would not arrive in time to find out unless he hurried.
And yet, a few yards before the gates, he skidded to a halt, speechless and rooted to the spot.
Miss Lovegood was in the middle of Vanishing a massive pool of blood and Banishing potion phials into a brightly coloured purse, but the boy… Merlin! It appeared even Albus could still be shocked.
Harry held Severus across his lap, cradling the man's head against his shoulder. He dabbed at the unconscious man's face with unbelievable gentleness, considering how cruel Severus had been just that morning. Soft murmurs fell from his lips along with bursts of healing light.
Albus stared, awe and hope flooding his chest. Not even Poppy had been able to heal like this at Harry's age. Maybe Severus would pull through after all. He came a few steps closer, straining to make out Harry's incantations.
"Episkey… Sarcio Vulnera… Consano Corporis…." The boy paused and rested his cheek against Severus' mouth, his expression focused. "Damn. Still not strong enough." He moved his face back again. "Auxilium Spiritus…."
Albus' heart stilled. Dear gods. Severus couldn't breathe!
He shook off his shock and dashed towards the gates again, just as Harry had started another round of healing spells, almost in the form of a chant. The light from his hands and wand glowed bright green, bright enough to eclipse the light from Miss Lovegood's wand.
Harry looked up just as Albus arrived and glared. "That was some plan of protection you had in place, sir."
"I…." Albus panted and rubbed his forehead, bemused and gobsmacked at the evening's strange events. "You are right. It did not go as I had planned. Is he well?"
"I hardly call nearly bleeding to death before we could save him well, but I think he'll survive now."
~-M-~
Severus pulled back shaking. The way Potter had held him, had touched his face to heal him, gods. He hadn't felt such touch in twenty years—and never without an ulterior motive. He might have thought Potter had one too, had Severus been conscious. There could be no manipulation or abuse if Severus hadn't even been aware of his touch. And Potter hadn't taken advantage either. He had simply cared for Severus' wounds, held him and washed his face as if… as if he cared and wanted to ease Severus' pain.
No one had ever shown him such gentleness. Of course Poppy had cleaned his wounds and Albus had sometimes treated injuries or comforted him after particularly bad Death Eater meetings, but this… no. Severus had no experience of it. Poppy used her wand to clean him after being injured. Albus was a bit more tactile in that he would pat Severus' shoulder or rub his back.
Not since his early youth had anyone washed Severus' face by hand. Nor had anyone held him or cradled his head against their shoulder. Neither had anyone ever touched Severus so softly, so gently, as if they cared about more than just his physical well-being. Besides his mother, the only person who had ever touched him beyond a purely physical release or the barest affection had used touch as a weapon against him, and he had certainly never been so tender.
It clawed at Severus, tore at his heart that the first person to have shown him such gentle, unadulterated care was none other than the same boy he had abused terribly not twelve hours before.
Shite. He couldn't process this. It called everything he had ever known into question.
"Albus, I… I need a drink." His voice came out rough and shaky. He hoped Albus would blame the quality of it on his injuries and not his emotional state.
Albus laughed. "No, you most certainly do not, not in this condition. You need rest."
He draped a blanket over Severus' shoulders, and the kind gesture reiterated the younger man's raw, desperate ache for someone, anyone to care about him. Someone he could trust.
Well, perhaps Albus cared in his way, but Severus could not reveal his broken heart to him, even if the old man was the closest thing he had to a father. Albus was a general first and foremost. He would use Severus' weaknesses against him in a heartbeat, if the greater good required it. Severus couldn't begin to trust such a manipulative man with the softer parts of him—never again—but Merlin, how he wished one trustworthy person would show him unconditional love. Just once.
His mental voice interjected, "One did, just last night. Have you already forgotten?"
Severus growled and huddled into the covers. No… not Potter. There had to be a catch.
"Or you have simply been wrong about him this entire time."
No. He couldn't believe that. It was Potter, the son of the man who had so ruthlessly tortured him and the godson of his partner-in-crime. The laws of genetics alone insisted that Potter couldn't be so different from his family.
"But he also has Lily's genes. And he is no more blood relation to the Mutt than you. Less, probably."
Severus bit back a whimper and buried his face into the pillow. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.
Even if Potter was better than Severus had given him credit for, even if he wasn't the spoiled brat Severus had always made him out to be, Severus had been brutal to the boy. Who could possibly have such capability for forgiveness within them? Daphne had always been one of his favourites, and even she had turned away from him in disgust. Of course, Daphne did not and could not know of his double life, but even if she had known Severus was in trouble, he doubted the girl would have rushed to his aid had he spent years making her out to be subhuman and using her pain for his amusement.
How was it possible that he owed his life to the one person he had hurt more than any other? He would have liked to insist that Lovegood had brought him back from the brink for the sake of his sanity, but no. after seeing that image in Albus' mind, Severus could not deny that Potter had saved him. Perhaps she had assisted, in her way, but those rapid-fire healing spells Albus had seen took more raw power than Lovegood possessed.
So did the counterchant for Sectumsempra, come to think of it. Where in Merlin's name had Potter learned it?
And how could the boy have found it within him to care, to have enough forgiveness and concern for his abuser to have touched him with more gentleness and love than Severus had ever known? How could he have dredged up enough love for his abuser to heal Severus at all?
Gods help him, what did all of this mean?
Albus' voice broke into Severus' troubled thoughts. "Are you hungry, Severus?"
"N-no," Severus breathed. "No, I cannot eat at the moment." His churning stomach would reject anything he dared put in it.
Albus nodded. "I thought you might not be up to it. It is rather shocking to have one's world turned upside-down overnight."
Severus shot him a dark glare.
Albus chuckled. "No need to shoot the messenger, as it were." He stood and brushed off his robes. "Well, if you are not hungry, at least try to rest. I must leave for the Great Hall now, but I will return after breakfast. If you require aid before then, please call for Dobby and he will retrieve whatever you need."
He left the room, leaving the door partially open, and Severus whispered a thank you into his purple chintz pillow. Wait. Purple chintz? So he was in Albus' quarters then. Curiosity got the better of him, but he soon wished he hadn't looked. Neon pink, orange, and green paisley wallpaper? Merlin. It was as if a radioactive fairy had vomited all over the walls. And the furniture wasn't much better.
"He is trying to murder me by bad taste alone," Severus muttered and tugged the covers over his head.
The shelter of his blankets blocked out the horrendous décor, but it did nothing to stop Severus' crushing shame or the terrible, creeping feeling that he had been wrong all this time.
With a whimper he couldn't prevent, Severus Occluded everything from his mind and let sleep bring him some semblance of peace, at least as long as it lasted.
Harry woke the next morning with a heavy pit of grief shadowing his spirit and a nagging shard of fear twanging at his spine. As he prepared himself for the day, he sorted through his wild emotions, struggling to think of what had inspired that creeping, sick feeling of dread. He cast a laundering charm on his clothing, and as he remembered where he had learned it, he realised what had frightened him so. He was worried about Snape, despite his bafflement that he should care at all.
Dumbledore hadn't sent word that Snape had survived the night. Harry supposed he could reasonably expect to learn the truth at breakfast as the old man planned to announce Snape's suspension then—if Snape had died in his sleep, he would be announcing a funeral instead—but Harry wasn't hungry. Grief and dread had turned his guts into a churning mess. He had no desire to deal with his classmates anyway, not when their betrayal still cut too deep and the nagging feeling that he had missed something with Snape would not leave him be.
Harry sat up and stared out the window. Dawn had come and gone. His classmates would have already dressed and showered and been on their way to the Great Hall—without Harry. The pain in his chest doubled, but he ignored it. The cold pit of fear in his gut was stronger.
He pondered over the situation as he washed up and brushed his teeth. Snape was safe in Dumbledore's care, and yet, Harry knew something was wrong. But what? They had sealed his serious wounds last night. Could he have developed an infection that Dumbledore had missed? Luna hadn't had time to worry about cleanliness when she pressed the wound on Snape's chest closed. Maybe it was possible.
Either way, Harry couldn't rest until he knew what was going on.
With a sigh, he decided there was nothing else for it but to go to Dumbledore's office and see Snape for himself. The man would probably excoriate him for it, but if Snape did have the strength to cut Harry with the sharp side of his tongue, at least Harry would know he had a fighting chance. Harry doubted he could concentrate on his classes with this strange prickling sensation down his spine anyway.
He ran over all the healing spells he knew as he tugged on his clothing from the night before, both those he had learned last night and others picked up over a thousand run-ins with the Infirmary. Confident he would at least be able to stabilise the man until he could get help, he went to tug on his cloak and frowned when it wasn't there. Oh. Right—he had placed it under Snape's back while they were healing him last night. The man must still have it then.
Seemed Harry had a reason to head to the headmaster's office beyond instinct after all. It was too bloody cold on the grounds to go outside without a cloak and Hagrid wouldn't mind if he was a bit late.
With a shrug, Harry buttoned his robe and tucked his wand in his pocket. "Dobby."
The house elf appeared dressed in several pairs of Bermuda shorts, a purple and blue scarf, and a red jumper with tiny Christmas trees on the front. He had a Santa hat over one ear and a candy cane hanging off the other like an earring. The little creature fretted as if he was nervous, but hugged Harry in greeting as usual.
"Hello, Great Master Harry Potter sir. How's can Dobby be helping you?"
"Um, I couldn't sleep in the dorm last night and I don't have time to go back. Would you mind to grab my books for transfiguration and charms, my knapsack, and my supplies, please?"
Dobby's ears perked up. "Yes, Dobby will get it. I's not have much more time than that though, Great Master Harry Potter, sir."
"That's fine, Dobby. I'm running short of it myself."
"Oh! Then I's will be right back." The little elf vanished and reappeared with Harry's belongings, already packed into his knapsack. "Here you are, Great Master Harry Potter, sir."
Harry took his bag with a smile. "Brilliant! Thanks, Dobby."
The elf wailed and gushed, but popped away much faster than Harry could usually calm him.
"Merlin, he really is in a hurry." Harry frowned and slung his bag over his shoulder. "And so should I be, if I plan to make it to charms in time. Into the lions' den we go."
Steeling himself against the lion's—or rather, the snake's—sharp teeth, he threw on his invisibility cloak and made his way towards the headmaster's office, though he took his hood off to identify himself to the gargoyle. Dumbledore had changed the password, but it didn't take long to guess.
"Drooble's best."
The gargoyle gave Harry a worried look as it leapt aside and jerked its head towards the staircase.
Harry swallowed hard, nerves on edge. "Is something… wrong?"
But the gargoyle couldn't speak. Heart hammering in his chest, Harry started up the staircase, but froze as soon as his eyes landed on the headmaster's door.
It was open.
The headmaster would never leave an injured, vulnerable Snape behind an open door.
'Shite. Something isn't right about this. Silencio Motus!'
The nonverbal spell—one of only a few Harry had mastered—silenced his movements and footsteps. Between his cloak and his spell, if there was anyone in the office who shouldn't be, they would never know Harry was there. He tugged his hood back down, hid his wand under his sleeve, and hurried up the stairs.
All was quiet in the office. Fawkes had gone from his perch—why? Surely Dumbledore would have left the phoenix to guard Snape?
A tiny chirping from the bottom of the perch answered his question. The phoenix had gone through a burning day, but that made no sense. Yesterday, he had been in his prime, all red and gold plumage and tinkling trills. He should have been fine.
Unless someone had killed him—or tried to. Nothing could kill a phoenix permanently, but a well-placed curse might certainly render an otherwise capable bird helpless.
The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. Someone was here, someone out to get either Dumbledore or Snape. And as everyone knew the headmaster would be at breakfast at this hour, Harry had a fair idea which one they wanted.
'Fuck. Dumbledore's protection fails again. Should have known.'
Harry crept into the office and quietly closed the door behind him, searching for any sign of movement, straining his ears for the slightest sound. A door over the main office was open and, seeing nothing in the office area, Harry raced up the back stairs and slipped through it.
He found himself in an explosion of purple, yellow, and chintz that could only be Dumbledore's quarters. A pink polka dot sofa and two lime-green chairs sat by the fireplace. Just ahead of them, a mahogany coffee table held a stack of transfiguration journals and a charms magazine. Bookcases of books and more of Dumbledore's gadgets lined the walls, all except for three doors and a handful of scattered paintings consisting of a couple modern art pieces, a portrait of a young woman Harry didn't know, and another of a young couple he guessed must have been Dumbledore's parents. Two doors in the back beside a small kitchenette were closed, but faint snores resonated from behind the third door, hanging ajar near the painting of the young woman.
Thank Merlin, Snape was still alive. But where was his would-be attacker? Gods help him, were they already in the room? By the way all the portraits stared at a spot near the open door, eyes wide with horror, Harry judged whoever had come to hurt Snape was far too close to succeeding. He followed their gaze, but saw nothing until—
A tiny squeak at floor level caught his attention, and Harry jerked his eyes downward, wand trained on the place it had come from. There! A fat rat with a suspicious silver paw was creeping along the wall, heading for Snape's door. Pettigrew!
Rage and terror surged to life in Harry's blood. 'Oh no you don't. Not this time!'
"Stupefy!"
The snores halted with a jerk, and a vicious little rat went down in a cloud of red light. Triumph and vindication rang throughout Harry's body and flooded him with a grim sort of joy. His parents and Sirius would be avenged soon, at least in part.
The portrait girl applauded him, but didn't speak.
With a whoop, Harry ran to the rat and made sure the bastard was really down. "And stay out, you bloody menace! Incarcerous!" Ropes bound the foul beast, but they wouldn't hold him for long. "Fuck. What now?"
"P-Potter?" Snape's voice had never sounded so frightened.
"It's all right, sir." Harry poked his head out of his cloak and around Snape's door, scowling at the awful décor. "Merlin, what a colour scheme."
Snape glared and pointed his wand at Harry. "I am not as helpless as I look, Potter, so do put aside any misplaced ideas of revenge."
"Sir, please." Harry sighed. He should have known Snape wouldn't trust him. "I'm not after you. I actually just came by to make sure you were all right. The headmaster didn't tell me if you survived the night and I was… I had a bad feeling." He glowered. "And I was right to."
Snape moved as if he wanted to sit, but Harry shook his head and motioned him to stay. "Please, don't get up, sir. You're still recovering. I just… would you happen to have an idea on how to contain a stunned Animagus until the headmaster returns?"
All the colour blanched from Severus' face. "Pettigrew."
"Yeah. I just caught him, sir. That was what you heard. I wasn't attacking you."
Snape stared at him, eyes sharp with disbelief.
With a sad shake of his head, Harry turned and went back into the main room. "I'll just have to find something myself then." He muttered to himself as he searched Dumbledore's quarters and kept one eye on the rat. "Maybe a cage? No, that wouldn't work. The bastard would just slip through the bars. Hmm. I need something solid, something he can't chew through or transform to break out of."
The portrait girl mimed a box.
"Oh, right. A box would do." Harry gave her a curious look. "Can't you talk?"
She shrugged and looked away, and Harry gathered she had no interest in talking. Or couldn't.
"Oh. I'm sorry. Um, thanks for the help."
She smiled hesitantly and moved her arm like she was flicking a wand.
It took Harry a second to understand. "Oh. I guess I could try to conjure a box, only I'm not that good. And a metal box… damn. I don't think I can transfigure that."
A steel box with holes in the top levitated from Snape's room and landed in front of the door.
"Oh! That's good. Thanks, sir."
Harry grabbed the rat by the tail and dropped the bastard into the box. "Sero!" The lid clicked and locked. "That'll keep you." He returned to Snape's door. "Are you all right, sir?"
Snape dragged the covers up to his chest and snapped, "I will be better when you and that detestable rodent are out of my presence! I don't know what game you're playing by trying to place me in your debt, Potter, but I assure you, this only makes us even!"
"Debts." Harry gave a bitter, dry laugh. "I should have known you would see it that way, sir. Don't know why I… never mind." With a sorrowful sigh, he turned and slipped out of the room. "You're welcome," he whispered, not that he had expected any thanks. He'd only saved the man's life twice in twelve hours, but what did that matter when Snape was determined to see the worst in him? He should know by now not to get his hopes up.
"A-Accio box." He caught Pettigrew's prison and carried it under one arm, despair and hurt sharp in his chest. He began to wonder if he would ever stop bleeding inside.
He paused at the door to Dumbledore's quarters and called, "Professor, I'm locking this door behind me so no one else can get in." At least for the moment. Once Dumbledore returned, Harry was going to have a little chat with him about his idea of security measures.
He had expected another tongue-lashing, but Snape said nothing. Perhaps the silent treatment was an improvement. Or perhaps he was just being silent for fear of giving himself away to their uninvited guest. Either way, it was probably best for Harry to just lock the door and leave him be. The portrait girl waved on his way out. Harry gave her a weak smile and closed the door.
Back downstairs, Harry set the box on the desk and knelt before Fawkes' perch, helping the infant phoenix out of a pile of ash and burned feathers.
"Poor little guy. Never saw it coming, did you?"
The baby phoenix gave a tiny twitter and curled up in Harry's hand. He held the bird to his chest to keep him warm and sat in the seat before Dumbledore's desk, wand trained on the box. A terrified squeak emerged from the holes a moment later, and Harry smirked.
"Don't get too comfortable, traitor. You'll be getting a bigger box very soon."
Harry sat back and watched the rat squirm.
After the boy had gone, Severus stared at his bedroom door in utter disbelief. Again. Not twelve hours had passed, and Potter had just saved his life again.
What was he playing at? Potter had said he was worried about him, but Merlin, why would he be? Severus had been terrible to him, and Potter had done his part, hadn't he?
And yet… here Severus was, alive and whole, only because Harry Potter had the grace to check on his well-being and the intelligence to seek out and eliminate a threat to his life. Unless… what if the boy had sold him out? No. Surely he wouldn't—not after going to so much trouble to save him. It boggled the mind.
Even so, Severus simply comprehend this level of forgiveness.
He contemplated the situation for a long time, trying to fit pieces together that didn't mesh, until, at last, he recalled the elf. Perhaps Dobby could give him some insight into Potter's true motives.
"Dobby!"
An elf wearing the strangest array of clothing Severus had ever seen appeared. Festive clothing. Severus contained the urge to scowl.
"How can Dobby be's helping Master Snapey?"
"I would like you to… to find Harry Potter. Do not interact with him or show yourself—stay hidden. I would only like you to observe him and report to me what he is doing."
Dobby narrowed his eyes. "Is you being hurting Great Master Harry Potter, sir?"
Severus choked back a snarl. Another Potter sycophant. Lovely.
"No. I only wish to know what he is doing."
Dobby gave him a bemused look. "I's be checking on him, but you is not to hurt him, you hear? He saved Dobby's life."
Severus snorted. "Join the club, elf. He has saved mine twice in twelve hours, and I would like to know why."
The elf cocked his head, making his candy cane earring dangle. "You is a strange human, Master Snapey. He is saving you because he is good. Just like he is saving me."
Severus rubbed his forehead, already irritated beyond measure. "Will you just check, please?"
The elf's eyes widened. "Please? Oh, I is just an elf, sir. You is not needing to…." He smiled and shook tears down his face. "You is a good human too." With that, he popped away, leaving a thoroughly shocked Severus behind.
"What in Merlin's name just happened here?"
With a shake of his head, Severus settled back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling—painted purple and covered in Muggle glow-in-the-dark stars—to avoid looking at the walls. The elf's words twisted something in his chest.
"You is a good human…."
But how good was he when he couldn't believe a child capable of saving a man's life out of pure kindness?
The elf apparated in and startled Severus.
"Great Master Harry Potter sir is being sitting in Master Dumbles' office."
Severus frowned. "Yes? And?"
"And he is having a metal box on the desk. He is pointing his wand at it and holding a baby bird against his chest." Dobby frowned. "I's didn't think Fawkes was ready to burn."
Severus shuddered. Pettigrew must have 'killed' the bird to take out his guard. "No. He was not. Will you please retrieve Professor Dumbledore? There is a Death Eater in that metal box, so I am obviously not as safe here as we thought."
The elf squeaked and leapt back, flopping his Santa hat into his eyes. "Dobby will be getting him right away!"
With that, the elf vanished, leaving Severus alone with his troubled thoughts.
