Chapter 11 - Fallout
While Minerva was headed down the hallway, mentally promising Poppy several good bottles of Scotch for Christmas that year, Severus Snape was yet again in the infirmary—only this time as a patient.
Harry, having been cleared by Madam Pomfrey to sit up for a few hours after receiving his second concussion in as many days, was sitting next to his beside, quietly and nervously twiddling his fingers as he waited for his professor to wake up. The man had now saved him a total of four times in two years; a bit unnerving for anyone, he supposed, but it especially bothered him.
Besides, waiting was not really Harry's strong suit, and it bothered him that he was upright when the man lying so pale and drawn beside him was not. Hermione had waited for a while with him, but then had seemed to have second thoughts about the whole thing and had flounced off down the hall, mumbling something ridiculous about helping Neville with his potions homework before, during and after dinner.
True, Harry had hit his head rather hard that day, but he was still pretty sure that it was still only Monday.
In the bed hidden by a full set of curtains—and a silencing spell, hospital issue—lay his friend Ron, following his collapse after class. Harry was a bit hazy on the details, but apparently, shortly after a shard of glass had cracked its self violently into his skull, Ron had gone mad and the objects in the classroom had taken turns exploding. And that's all he could get out of Hermione, who presently was the only one who was talking about that afternoon.
It frustrated him to only hear the story from one, vaguely hysterical, point of view; particularly because it was completely aberrant to his understanding of how his best mate thought and interacted with the world around them.
More disturbing than that was the thought that if they didn't figure out a way to make Ron stop freaking out, the school would likely call his parents and force him to be taken home for a term, or a year.
Or forever, his brain gulped nervously at him.
No. He wouldn't let that happen. They would just get through it somehow. He just didn't know how exactly, because that was more in Hermione's ballpark of thinking. Only, she seemed to be in enough trouble of her own, considering the increasingly bizarre forms of classroom behavior she had been exhibiting as of late.
He wanted to groan angrily at the unfairness of the world around him, but he didn't want any unwarranted attention from the dragon lady.
If Ron were awake right now, we would laugh about that, he thought mournfully to himself.
…
He had made it a firmly ingrained habit to wake without letting anyone notice. He had been using the trick since he had been a child, and it had served him well on more than one noted occasion. Plus, given his high-tuned sense of smell, he often could tell who was around him by just their own underlying unique aroma.
Most people, as he had discovered through a series of long and unofficial trials that he had conducted on his own as a young man, smelled okay, yet consistently unique to them alone, regardless of whatever kinds of cologne or perfume they chose to hide themselves behind.
He had also discovered another important tidbit about his sense of smell when he had been involved with the Death Eaters. The more genuine a person is, the more available their smell was to his nose. Furthermore, the smells of kind people seem to rise to the top, above the others, making it infinitely easier for him to identify the trustworthy ones in a room before ever making their acquaintance.
There was a boy beside his bed who smelled like a cold moonlit night.
There was only one boy with that smell, and so he knew before opening his eyes that Potter was there, just an arm's length away.
"Child," he said, annoyed at the weak sound of his voice. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" He asked, having already prepared himself for the surprise that would surely meet him on the boy's face once he opened his eyes.
"Madam Pomfrey said that it was all right if I sat up for a bit next to your bed," the boy meekly said to him.
"Oh she did, did she?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy who sat beside him looking far too pale and wan.
"I just wanted to say," the boy's voice dropped into a very quiet whisper. Severus fought to focus his mind and ears better in order to hear his words.
"I just wanted to thank you for saving me again," the boy whispered, before dropping his eyes ashamedly, as he tried to hide himself from the man who was probably sick to death of his presence.
Severus, sensing what was probably not being said, carefully lifted a bandaged hand out to the boy and gestured that he move closer. The boy obeyed, but with some trepidation. It comforted Severus to see that the boy was still not automatically trusting of him, regardless of his recent actions.
With any luck, this boy may grow to be an old man, Severus thought determinedly.
"I appreciate that you thanked me for saving you, as opposed to some heady concept like my saving your 'life.'" Severus said, looking intently up at the boy's pale face.
The boy cracked a small grin at the potion master's slight praise.
"Do you still hurt terribly?" The boy asked, suddenly shy again.
"I've hurt worse," Severus replied truthfully.
"And?" The boy asked perceptively.
"I've felt better," he admitted quietly.
"But if you repeat that to anyone," Severus added, raising a finger and pointing it at the boy forcefully, "I'll deny every word. Understand?"
The boy nodded vigorously, before reaching out and surprising Severus yet again.
He wrapped his hand delicately around the much larger bandaged one that was still wagging in his face, bringing it up to touch his cheek. There, he leaned into the man's touch and closed his eyes. Severus watched in amazement as a blissful expression crept across the boy's face.
Feeling as though he would regret his next words, he sighed and gave into the boy's unspoken wishes resignedly.
"Okay," he said gruffly, feeling guilty as the boy winced a small bit inadvertently at his tone.
"Climb on already," he said, resolutely not looking at the boy and staring firmly at the exciting plain white cloth of the blankets covering his body. He was forced to look back up when the boy continued to stare at him in amazement.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" He asked haughtily, already regretting his words.
"I'm cold, so climb up." He said, noticeably softening the tone of his voice as the boy's face broke out in a genuine smile this time.
"Just try to avoid throwing any elbows or knees into my gut, please," he said in a decidedly un-Snapeish tone.
The boy scampered to do as he said, and soon he had a warm armful of sleepy, smiling boy.
I am getting senile in my old age, he decided, as his words bounced around rather unconvincingly in his mind.
…
Ron was stuck in the place that sometimes occurs directly before waking. He could hear and think—more or less—but he couldn't move, which included not being able to open his eyes.
All around him, he could hear people moving and talking in low voices. They were talking about the people currently laid up in the infirmary, which he supposed included him.
"They've all three snapped, it seems," spoke a phantom voice at the foot of his bed.
"'Cept for Potter," another voice responded morosely.
"Um, he's sleeping on top of Snape! Or have you lost the use of your eyes as well as your dick?!?" The voice snapped back, presumably at Draco.
"Big fucking deal," the voice that was likely Draco's responded. "I'm going back to bed. Pomfrey will also start drilling holes in my neck soon if she finds me out of bed." The boy stalked off, leaving the original speaker alone.
"Like a fucking Frankenstein," the boy responded as he snarked to quietly to himself.
"And you," the boy had turned towards Ron now and seemed to be speaking with his unconscious prone form. "You're just too fucked up for words. They say that your parents have been called; they say that they're carting you off to St. Mungos before the end of the term."
Ron suddenly found the ability to moan harshly at the boy's suggestions of all too realistic scenarios.
"Yeah, that's right. Moan. Cry. Hide. Cower. That's all you seem to be good for lately, bitch," the boy spat out at him, just next to his head—when had he gotten so close?
Abruptly Ron realized that he could move. And so he did.
He opened his eyes and sat up in a flash, grabbing the shirtfront of one extremely surprised looking Blaise Zabini, before pulling him in closer, so that they were only centimeters away from one another.
"So you do have some fight left in you," Zabini smirked, covering his surprise with a speed that surprised Ron.
"You don't know shit," Ron bitterly ground out; finally glad that he could be openly angry with someone, even if they were just a Slytherin.
"I know that you demolished a classroom and landed a professor in the infirmary." Zabini said, still staring resolutely back at Ron.
"Fucking Snape," Ron spat back, trying to ignore the tension-filled bubble that was currently growing in the pit of stomach.
"Yeah, real smart to nearly take out someone that you gotta deal with on a regular basis at least through your fifth year, dumbass." Zabini grimaced at him.
"Not if he don't make it through my second," Ron said, dropping his voice into a steely whisper, and pointing at his chest with the thumbed hand not currently responsible for holding Zabini still.
"Ooo, a threat," Zabini mocked, rolling his eyes. He still wasn't smiling though, which rather ruined the effect, in Ron's mind.
"Do you have any idea how many threats I hear on an average, everyday basis???" Zabini asked, his eyes blazing brightly in his dark face.
"No," Ron said, suddenly winded. He released Zabini's shirtfront with a mild push and slumped back on his pillows, exhausted. He could feel sweat beading up on his forehead, and found himself wondering what exactly had happened to land him there in the first place?
"Man, I didn't know that it was possible to look any worse than you did a few moments ago," Zabini said, amusement dancing across his face.
"Shut it you." Ron said, his entire body aching now. The ball of tension in his gut was still there though, and the longer he stayed awake, the more he could feel it expanding itself back through his whole.
He looked at his hands and noticed his fingers were now trembling violently. Scowling in response, he made his hands into fists and shoved them beneath the bedclothes.
"You look like you could seriously use some Fless." Zabini said suddenly, after watching tremors work their way through Ron's lean body.
"Fless?" Ron asked, turning his head only as he looked at the smaller boy in confusion.
"Short for 'Fearless.'" The boy stated quietly, obviously not wanting to draw attention now.
Fearless, the word rolled itself around Ron's mind excitedly like a wildfire through a rain deprived forest.
"What is it?" Ron asked mildly, trying to sound disinterested.
"It's the answer to fear." Zabini said cryptically.
Ron raised an eyebrow at him and his pathetically exciting answer.
"It's made from the leftover dregs of another potion. The makers take the bottom scrapings out, dry them on a rack, and then grind them up." Zabini said, shrugging nonchalantly.
What's the other potion? Ron suddenly wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut. He wasn't sure if he was willing to get that involved. His father's voice could be heard in the back of his mind suddenly: "Knowledge is power." The less he knew, the safer he'd be; that was the way he figured it anyways.
"Where do you get it?" Ron asked, crossing his arms securely in front of him, in an effort to keep from leaning in excitedly.
"I happen to be carrying some on me right now." Zabini said, crossing his arms in imitation and smiling cockily.
"I don't have any money on me here," Ron said, failing to mention that he rarely had any money on him, anywhere.
"First three tries are free. It's like a trial version," Zabini said, unconsciously borrowing a commonly used muggle phrase.
Free. Ron was very much enamored of that word.
"When are you getting out of here?" Zabini asked, changing directions on him abruptly.
"I dunno? Tonight maybe? Tomorrow morning at the latest, I should think," Ron said, his brow knitted together in sudden confusion at Zabini's question.
"If I don't see you at dinner tonight, then I'll catch you at breakfast." Zabini said, nodding to himself.
"Wait, you said you had it on you now," Ron said, a flush rising in his pale cheeks at the idea that Zabini might be trying to double-cross him.
"Listen man, this is the home of the dragon lady," Zabini said, whispering the last two words urgently.
"So?" Ron asked, whispering too.
"So," Zabini rolled his eyes emphatically, "she'll know."
"Oh." Ron said, suddenly understanding.
"Gotta go," Zabini said, his rabbit like instincts becoming ridiculously clear as Madam Pomfrey suddenly rounded the corner of Ron's bed.
"Bye." The Slytherin boy called out as he walked away.
"Bye." Ron sat pondering the other boy's words long after Madam Pomfrey had finished poking and prodding on him for the night. She was keeping him overnight for observation, but then it was back to normal the next morning.
Normal, he thought sardonically, yeah fuckin' right.
