My Own, Chapter 10:
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, therefore I do not own any of the characters, and considering how many times the plot has been used, probably not even the plot!
3rd Person POV:
"How is Harry coping?" Albus asked gently.
"He is on the steady road to recovery, although it was probably hindered somewhat after his little stunt today." Snape replied smoothly, unfazed. Dumbledore's games were not unknown to him.
"Severus, I –" Albus began, but was abruptly interrupted by a long hiss from Severus, who was clutching his left arm. Snape swiftly stood up, his cup of tea crashing to the floor and shattering as he made his way to retrieve the Death Eater uniform from a nearby hanger.
"I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, Headmaster, but my other master is calling me." Snape said icily as he donned his personalized mask and death robes.
"I'm not your master." Albus replied softly. Snape just rolled his eyes as he fastened the clasp of the robe.
"Call Poppy to take care of the boy." Snape ordered before he disappeared with the distinct 'pop!' of apparition. Albus let out a shaky breath – now would not be the time to tell. Albus thanked Merlin for the small mercy; only he would know how much Albus wanted to avoid telling Severus…
Severus apparated into a small, dim room. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, only just making out the silhouette of fellow Death-Eaters against the ancient black wall. He looked around to see the Dark Lord walking towards the centre of the room, his pearly white complexion and red eyes illuminating the room.
"Lumos maxima!" Cried Bellatrix. The charm suddenly flooded the room with a dim light. The room was decked in black, the light only illuminating an endless infinity of dark. A few rustic furniture pieces could be seen, but the obvious centre of the room's attention was the Dark Lord. Severus had to commend the Dark Lord for his most creative use of propaganda – the other Death Eaters where hopelessly in awe.
"You are currently in the dining room of the Lestrange Manor, as the Lestranges kindly host me in their home." The Dark Lord explained. The delighted twinkle in Bellatrix's mad eye made it obvious she could not be happier.
"I have called you all here to announce that the time for the Final Battle is nearing, my Death Eater brethren. Several projects are near completion which will ensure our survival to be an outcome of the war, yet there are some projects to begin. Severus, have you news on Potter?"
Weighing his options, he decided to tell the truth…to an extent.
"Potter has been severely injured, from what I gathered from Dumbledore and the Matron Nurse. He has been frequently visited by both members, and so I believe his condition to be critical. When I last saw him, he was barely able to breathe." He surmised, unable to stop the brief flash of bloodied flesh in his mind. Voldemort's eyes visibly lightened, the glowing red startling to see in the dark abyss of the room.
"Perhaps an attack would assist the boy's recovery." One of the younger male Death-Eaters shouted out; a brave if not utterly stupid act, which under normal circumstances would warrant a fatal blow. Even now, Severus struggled to understand the ignorant and stupid.
"What do you say about your brother's suggestion, Severus?"
"Fruitless, as Potter is now protected by members of the Order as well as Dumbledore himself, rather than the disgusting half-life muggle family of his." He spat.
"Ought we to pay a visit to the disgusting creatures? Remove the last familial bond of Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked. Severus seriously considered it for a moment. The deaths of the Dursley's would mean that Harry would have no safe house, unless his father….besides, although the Dursley's were monsters, he couldn't bring himself to kill the last connection to Lily, like he did her.
"I'm afraid, my lord, that it'd be more of a service to Potter rather than not. He hates them, from what I gather." He coolly explained.
"Inform me, then, when Harry is released from the safe house, and keep me updated on his progress. Is there any other news, Severus?"
"No, my Lord. The holidays have rendered my time with Dumbledore short and I'm still not trusted enough by the other Order of the Phoenix members to reside there for any length of time." Severus bowed, the submissive gesture a sign of sorrow.
"Very well, return to your ancestral hovel in Spinner's End." Lord Voldemort casually dismissed. It was perhaps his tone that Severus feared most – it was normal to suffer a blow or four of Crucio, but the Dark Lord must have something brewing in his mind, if he was so distracted. Without further acknowledgment of Severus, Voldemort turned his attention to the other Death Eaters. "Avery, Mulciber, come forward."
Something was brewing, indeed.
When he returned to his house in Spinner's End, he breathed in a big breath, half wishing he could inhale a noxious gas which would instantly kill him. Death seemed to be so much simpler than life. He slowly took off his Death-Eater robes and flung his mask away with lightning speed, as if it burned him. He walked over to the wardrobe to hang the robes and levitated the mask into a drawer where it would be out of his sight, out of mind. When he turned around, he noticed that the tea cup which he had shattered was repaired to perfection. But what surprised Severus more was the little bag next to the cup, surly no bigger than a fist, with a starry blue material. Severus picked up a note left next to it:
Severus,
In dark times, sometimes a little ray of light can be welcome, no matter the form.
Albus.
Severus didn't fail to note the emphasis on an equal relationship. He snorted. Next, he turned his attention to the little blue bag which he expected – and was correct in doing so – a collection of lemon drops. He wondered as to whether Albus truly knew he hated the artificial sweets, for it never seemed as though he'd cared. Sceptical, he cautiously took one lolly out of the bag and placed it in his mouth. The sugar, so rich, announced its immediate presence; for a man of fine tastes, one lolly would be more than enough. He was never able to handle such rich foods, but did enjoy the occasional delight. Severus was about to throw the rest of the lemon drops in the fire, convinced he'd at least be entertained to watch the cursed lollies disintegrate, but a groan from the guest room captured his attention.
Passing Hedwig, he considered giving him the lollies before deciding he wasn't so cruel. Instead, he walked into the guest room without preamble and stuck the bag of lemon drops on Harry's bedside table. Harry was shaking his head from side to side, seeming as if the blankets were pinning him to the bed. A little concerned, Severus noted Harry's pink parlour and a few beads of sweat gathering around his temple. Gently, he lifted his hand to Harry's forehead in a gesture which was completely unnecessary – he was a wizard! – yet which felt so natural, to the point that Severus didn't even pick up on the subtle motion to realize its implications. Instead, his wearied mind swore upon the realization Harry was overdue for another dose.
He grumbled as he poured another potion down the boy's throat, about how disruptive and attention-seeking the boy was even in an unconscious state. He also, while he was at it, grumbled and complained that Harry truly was the bane of his existence.
Upon pouring the third potion down the boy's throat, Harry began to splutter, his eyes flying open. That was another thing he hated about the Chosen One. He was the embodiment of the man he hated, yet the eyes – those eyes! – were hers, of the woman he loves. Harry was an oxymoron himself, being the embodiment of the devil and the angel, it made Severus even wilder with hate. To see Harry sitting in his classroom, pompous with arrogance inflated his anger to extraordinary heights, only to be relieved by the severe deduction of points and numerous detentions. Yet, when he looks into the boy's eyes, he is reeling with other emotions that refuse to disappear. Only making him angrier. He hated that this boy so easily affected him, and that he had become the centre of Severus' universe. His only goal in life was to see Harry survive against the Dark Lord.
There was nothing in the life of the aftermath that would tempt him to linger. Life had deserted him for so, so long that he wanted to take the final revenge and desert life himself. Indeed, he would have, 16 years ago. The moment Lily died, to be exact, if it were not for the continued existence of the Boy–Who–Lived. It wasn't out of cowardice that suicide would have been an option, but rather a vengeful, defiant act that he ought not to be ruled by life. In death, he hoped for some solace, but as Harry blinked a few times and attempted to clear his throat, Severus pushed the ideas into the further depths of his mind. Now wasn't the time. As he looked at the boy who continued to splutter, constantly endangering his life as well as those around him, Severus wondered if he could ever slip into the darkness of night, or if the Boy- Who – Lived would always be needed to be saved.
"Professor Snape, how long do you expect me to in bed?" Harry asked, wincing a little at the contact of air on the raw skin in his throat.
"You've had extensive damage, Potter." Snape replied, as though it were answer enough. Harry snorted. That was an understatement. Snape just raised his trademark eyebrow.
"How long am I to stay in your house?" Harry questioned. Snape nearly flinched as he answered "until you're no longer bedridden" with a mouth full of distaste. Really, the irony of it all was just too much. He'd claimed the fates, Merlin and all of his other long-bearded companions to be harsh and cruel before, but with the coldly ironic situation he presently found himself in, cruelty dawned as another meaning altogether. Could it get much worse? The son of his beloved and spawn of his enemy reliant on him to bring the brat back to life. Having killed the child's parents, he must heal the child. As he once lied to protect the child, he continues to lie to protect the child. The life debt he once owed James Potter now to be fulfilled thanks to the child. His child. The Chosen One.
With the sickening realization that his life was truly centred – just as much as his thoughts – around Harry, Severus' scowl intensified, the harsh lines on his face deepening, giving an eerie glamour to his appearance in the half-light offered by Harry's room. Harry couldn't help but marvel at the man's constantly changing emotions. He once wondered whether professors would be different outside of school and in a different context – the idea of McGonagall swinging back a bottle of Ogden's, or, in particular, Snape being less volatile seemed very farfetched.
Snape span on his heel and made to walk out the door.
"What am I supposed to do for all this time?" Harry blurted, rather anguished.
"Rest and make an effort to get better, for the benefit of us all." Snape replied wittily.
"But it might take days!" Harry exclaimed. It certainly seemed that the Greasy Git remained, regardless of being in the dungeons or not.
"Believe it or not, but my world doesn't revolve around you" Liar! His mind whispered."I'm not here to entertain nor comfort you but merely assist your healing. I'm not obliged to do anymore."
"Surprisingly enough, Sir, I wasn't referring to you, though given your narcissistic predisposition, I suppose you couldn't be blamed." Harry retorted, so sick of being talked down upon. It wasn't his fault that he was injured, nor was it hisfault that Snape was a poor host. Snape glowered at the meddlesome boy, and Harry knew he was making the situation harder than it needed to be – but what could he do? He was up against Snape, Greasy Git, master of the Scowl, Head of Slytherin – and then it dawned on him. To win over Slytherin bests, one must be a Slytherin…or try as much as is possible. Resolved, Harry dissipated his anger and gave a tired sigh.
"I'm sorry sir. I know I'm a burden and I don't mean to intrude." Harry began, hardly able to keep a straight face from the pure shock that was plastered on Snape's face. "But I hardly believe Professor Dumbledore planned me to go mad due to the insanity of my solitude!" He proclaimed, realizing his own lack of tact immediately. Well, he did say he would try to be a Slytherin. Snape's glower disappeared slowly, only leaving a survivable scowl in place.
"I suppose I can supply you with books so as to…keep you from insanity, as you say." Severus said harshly, as though the civil words were treacherous when spoken to Potter. Harry, though happy to be somewhat occupied, was rather worried about Snape's choice of reading – would it be Potion textbooks, or something worse? He had no doubt that Snape would optimize Harry's uncomfortability. Snape had had enough of being in Harry's presence by this point and, without a word, once again spun on his heel and stalked towards the door. Determined to have the last word, Harry said a polite "thank you sir" the moment Severus reached the exit and was convinced the old bat had not heard it – but then Harry could swear Severus snorted!
As expected, it took a number of hours before the books finally arrived. Dobby apparated into the room, a stack of rather large books swaying precariously in his arms. Harry groaned aloud – they were sure to be textbooks! At Harry's groan, Dobby quickened his pace and dumped the stack of books by Harry's bedside table.
"Is Harry Potter in pain?" Dobby asked worriedly, his hands fumbling.
"No, I'm fine Dobby." Harry waved off. With a bow of his pointy head, Dobby disappeared from the room, once again leaving him alone.
Harry simply refused to look at the blasted books, which were large, thick tomes – trust the bastard to twist the knife further in his gut! Harry's once solid Gryffindor stubbornness to abstain from the texts faded as the day wore on, as he quickly grew tired of depicting rather amusing curses to befit Snape – though, not without the unwanted flashbacks of what he dubbed Snape's Worst Memory. Finally, Harry gave in and reached out for one of the several voluminous books. Needless to say, Harry was very shocked to find the book 'Quidditch: When does Sport become and Art?' Harry was not only shocked that Snape possessed such books, but moreover that he'd actually given Harry something he desired!
Finally ready to speak to Dumbledore, Severus shoved his head into the Floo only to reappear in the Headmaster's Office.
"Ready". Was all he said before disappearing back into his own living room, his body whole again. He loathed the undignified manner of head-Floo, but after Patronus, it was the next fastest communication method. Needless to say, his Patronus was reserved for the specialist of occasions.
Mind, as Severus placed his memories into his pensieve for Dumbledore to watch, dignity didn't really have a place in war.
In his bedroom, while gently flicking through the picture-book on different flying techniques, Harry happily savoured the lemon drops that had appeared on his bedside table.
It had taken the boy long enough, and now that he was able to walk again, he was already making hefty demands. Who was he to tell Severus – demand – to be taken to Ollivander's? Severus involuntarily snorted. The Chosen One would be the answer, the impertinent brat.
Harry had begun to move about the room, his bare feet scratching along the marble surface. Severus watched warily the first day, but after a few hours of standing in the corner, arms crossed and scowl in place, he insisted that, inspiring though it was to watch the Boy-Who-Lived to walk, surprisingly enough, he had plenty else to do. Harry felt relieved at seeing the man go; it had drained much of his strength to stand tall and take steady steps. What he was again surprised about was that Snape had ordered Dobby to keep watch, in the case he was to fall.
Snape had also allowed Dobby to bring Harry some mail from Ron and Hermione, figuring that sooner or later the boy would turn to him for someone to talk to. Severus shook his head in disgust at the idea of sitting down, swapping stories about childhood abuse and comparing scars.
As the holidays began to draw near, Severus was under every sort of pressure. Voldemort had taken the liberty to frequently call upon him, ask his opinion on a matter or two, forcing him to partake in whichever festivities – the Lestranges were bent on practicing their abilities to manoeuvre dead bodies for next Halloween's celebrations – and then give him a painful reminder of his loyalties. Whatever was on the Dark Lord's mind previously was obviously no longer so consuming, as the Dark Lord spent more time than monitoring his followers. Severus had seen the black-skulled tattoo so often; he couldn't fathom how the object once enthralled him.
The Order had been highly agitated, unsure and unaware, constantly calling on Severus for new meetings, projecting far-off ideas; Mad-Eye Moody had even been bold enough – after numerous sips of his whiskey flask – to attack Voldemort now, "before he develops into a real monster".
But, it wasn't the dual work life which was taking the most out of Severus; it was home life. Day by day he watched Harry gain strength, witnessed Lily's stubborn determination to do well. When he saw Harry wince, Severus couldn't help but feel remorse that Harry hadn't the benefit of having Lily to help soothe the scars, the pain. She may have made many more scars on Severus than what he earned through his childhood, but Severus was rather convinced that without her, he wouldn't have had make it to Harry's age. Unwillingly, it was Harry's strength of character which Severus admired. Needless to say, such thoughts had been wreaking havoc on him. Before the incident about … Harry's patronage, Lily and all things relating to her had been hidden, stored, suppressed in his mind. Now, however, he thought of her incessantly, his dreams only a making a harsher reality when he woke up. Severus would dream. Dream of the pleasure of waking up to a mass of red, rose-scented curls. Of eating across from an angel, of conversing with an intellect, of being embraced by a lover. Of being a father. Of being married – all these things, these simple dreams, haunt him each day. And in having them so often, he realized what he was missing so much more.
Yet, the conclusion of the holidays also meant Harry needed to fix his wand. It was a day he most dreaded. He had only ever accompanied Lily to Diagon Alley, the other trips he attended alone. The irony of having to take her child – and potential offspring of his own – without Lily felt far too great. But, like with everything, the matter at hand was much greater than him. The Chosen One would indefinitely need his wand to destroy the Dark Lord. With a heavy sigh and brewing scowl, Severus burst into Harry's room, causing Harry to spill his writing ink all over the bed. While not a bit issue – indeed, the Vanishing charm would work in mere seconds – it only provided more of an excuse for Snape's enflamed temperament.
"Get up and get ready Potter, if you expect to have a wand for school. Meet me in the sitting room in five minutes, or I will leave without you." Severus snapped, before elegantly twirling around to exit the room, his black robes doing the regular swirl. Harry scrambled out of bed, knowing better than to test Snape on a bad day. No Gryffindor would do that.
Chucking a sweater over his t-shirt and attempting to flatten his hair – which has become increasingly malleable in the past few months – Harry briskly walked into the sitting room. He tried to ignore the numbing tingle throughout his limbs, all of which just emphasize the extent of the harm on his physique. Sitting down on the edge of a chair, Harry waited for Snape. He looked around a little, realizing just how little he has seen of the house since the beginning of his stay, a month earlier. Only when escorted to the bathroom or the few occasions to the kitchen had Harry ever left his room. He was always too focused on the returning feeling in his limbs at the time to take notice of anything. Moreover, he always felt that somehow, Snape was watching him. Now, he had the energy to entertain his Gryffindor bravery by observing the room.
It wasn't as sinister as could be imagined for a character like Snape. The furniture was miss-matched in form but of the same colour. The most extraordinary feature of the room was the fireplace, composed of large stones. Harry realized that the fireplaces summed up the feel of the room – simple and earthy, yet strong. A fine contrast to what seemed to Harry to be the most complicated man on earth. He couldn't wait to relay the information to Ron and Hermione to see what they would make of it. Harry was beginning to chuckle when the stark figure of Snape entered the room. Snape was buttoning his cuffs when he looked up at Harry at the sound of the chuckle. A mere raise of the eyebrow indicated his immediate displeasure – the last thing he needed on a day like this was James' laugh.
The silence grew long as Snape finished his buttons, the only sound coming from the cackling fire. Harry felt the need to say something, Snape's obviously blunt silence making him nervous.
"I like this room, Sir." Harry said, well, almost blurted, in his bid to shatter the ice. Articulate, Harry! He scolded himself. Snape had to resist the urge of rolling his eyes. Snape just walked over and handed Harry a potion.
"Drink the polyjuice potion quickly and prepare yourself for side-along apparition Potter." Snape said, walking toward Harry and putting a firm hand on his shoulder in a way that seemed almost natural to Harry, like with Sirius, Remus…before he could dwell on the sense of familiarity, his mind and body were warped into the vacuum of earth. Almost as soon as he had disappeared, he appeared on the other side of London. Snape began to immediately move. The sooner this was over, the better it would be.
When Harry began to lag behind, Snape forced himself to slow his pace so that they walked alongside. It was a strange moment for Harry as he usually either followed a livid Snape, or was running away from him. Never had he actually walked the same pace as Snape.
"And just what, Mister Potter, did you expect to find in my living room? Shackles and chains besides the coffin, or maybe a pet bat?" Snape questioned, reeling off his common clichés, his face darkening into a scowl while his voice remained less harsh. Harry looked a little sheepish.
"Not really. They were the things we thought of when we were First and Second years, but not so much after that." Harry explained as they walked towards Ollivander's, cautiously weaving their way through the mass of witches, wizards and toads a like. Well, at least he's honest, Snape thought.
"I was expecting a sinister room, dark and moody, filled with portraits of gaunt looking ancestors and - " Harry was cut off by an amused look from Severus.
"What on earth would give you that impression?" Severus said with such a schooled, blank look that Harry couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. With the heart of Gryffindor's lion, he took the plunge.
"You should be able to work that one out for yourself." He retorted with a little chuckle. The man would surely have been joking. Every witch and wizard past, present and future student of Severus Snape labels the man as 'moody, sinister and gaunt'.
Whether his cheek was well received, Harry would never know as, when he delivered his punch line, they entered a busy Ollivander's. Severus couldn't believe it. Of all days, today Ollivander was run off his feet. So much for being discreet. While Harry was disguised, Ollivander wouldn't be able to help but comment.
"Good day Master Ollivander." Severus greeted. His distinctive baritone hushed the small crowd and immediately captured the attention of Ollivander.
"Good day indeed Professor Snape – can I help you?"
"Yes, I believe you can – I'm here on urgent business. Indeed an appointment for Mister…Murphy here." Severus said, gesturing to Harry's disguised figure. Ollivander's eyes quickly gazed in Harry's direction before turning back to look into Severus' black eyes.
"If you would be so kind as to return in half an hour, Professor." Ollivander suggested. Severus gave him a small nod of acknowledgement before walking out of the cramped store. Harry, despite himself, couldn't help but admire Snape's cool, collected and dignified scene.
Once outside the store, Severus was unsure as to what to do – for Merlin's sake, he hadn't planned for this! He strode into the closest bookshop to look for inspiration. Harry wanted to groan, similarly to when he is forced into a bookstore by Hermione. Trust Snape to have a fetish for books. Lazily, Harry followed Snape in and out of nearly every aisle. Severus couldn't go to his normal book section with the Boy-Who-Lived trailing behind him, so he had to find something else to look at. He walked over to the Magical Creature section to look for some information on the Medicinal properties of a pygmy nail. Harry decided to look at the selection of books and almost surprised himself when 'Hufflepuff Hippogriffs: Loyal Pet"caught his attention.
Eagerly, he reached for the silver-leather tome. Snape watched from the corner of his eye as Harry gently opened the book. Severus was thankful that the boy at least knew how to respect books. They both dissolved into a few moments of reading – both standing aloof in the middle of the aisle – when Harry's stomach, most loudly and embarrassingly, grumbled. Harry didn't dare hope Snape hadn't heard, when the man could hear the faintest curse from a mile away. Snape swiftly shut the book with a 'thud', expelling an array of dust particles, before turning completely to face Harry. Harry attempted to ignore Snape but the man's presence screamed respect and attention. Unwillingly, Harry looked at Snape, who simply said: "Follow."
Snape strode to the counter, the book about medicinal miracle animals under his arm.
"Are you getting anything?" Snape asked Harry as they neared the counter. Harry looked down at the book in his hands, and stared at the picture of a hippogriff that had feathers of a similar sheen to Buckbeak.
"Yes, Sir." Harry replied. Having no money on him, he'd just ask the manager to put it aside.
"I haven't got all day, whether you'd like to think so or not. Hurry up and place it on the counter." Snape itched to spit 'Potter', but out of his physical form, the character didn't deserve the name. Harry looked a little boggled at Snape's subtle insistence. Almost hesitantly, in case he misinterpreted the Git's motives, he placed the book carefully atop Snape's chosen text.
After paying the fee, Snape marched out of the shop, Harry trying to catch up. Severus winced. Where to get the boy food? Most certainly not the Three Broomsticks or the Hogs Head – too much to relive in one day. But where else? Madame Puddifoots? Over his dead body. He wouldn't have taken Lily to that that Merlin-forsaken love shack, let alone Harry.
But that only left one option, unless he was willing to venture into Knockturn Alley: Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
With what was almost a growl, he walked into the store that was disastrously painted in pastels. Snape's scowl only darkened, providing an interesting contrast to the wall paper.
"What do you want?" Snape almost barked. Little toddlers in the store forgot their new ice creams, choosing instead to stare at the scary black wizard. Harry was almost speechless, but managed to spit out something coherent.
"Butterscotch please, Sir." He responded. Snape nodded and stepped forward to the counter.
"One double scoop butterscotch and a single of vanilla." When one was Severus Snape, manners were not necessary. The salesman couldn't believe his eyes – his former professor, in the middle of an ice cream parlour. It was definitely beyond reason.
Ice creams paid, they began to leave the store. Would this boy always be such a nuisance? He asked himself as he was faced with the decision of where to eat the blasted sweet. He planned to occupy an outside table hidden in the corner of the property, when he overheard a child and his mother.
"Mummy, Is that You-Know-Who?" A little boy asked, obnoxiously loud.
"No, no sweetheart. The man has a nose, see?" The mother soothed. With another growl, he decided they could eat while walking back to Ollivander's.
Yes, Potter would always be a nuisance.
When they walked into Ollivander's, the store was completely deserted.
"Hello Severus." Ollivander greeted from behind his counter.
"Good day, Ollivander. I have a bit of an ask of you – my colleague here broke his wand and it's rather vital we restore it."
Snape tenderly passed on the wand to Ollivander's waiting hands. Ollivander gently placed it on his table, and bent his head down closely to observe.
When he stood back up, he looked straight at Harry.
"Well, pleased to see you once again, Mister Potter."
Hello everyone,
Well, it's finally here. This chapter is supposed to be jagged and jumpy, to resemble the range of emotions that both Severus and Harry feel. It's building up, as you can hopefully sense, to a climatic point in their relationship.
I'm so sorry - I hadn't even realized that a year had passed. I feel absolutely horrid, especially as this chapter has been sitting around for months now. To all of you who have been loyal enough to keep reading, thank you for your continued support. Again, I'm horribly sorry!
Thank you to everyone who has continued to send their support and love about the story - it is constant inspiration for me.
Please, read and review to let me know what you think.
Thank you again for your continued support,
Love,
Angela.