Hey! A new chater! I'm sorry if it look like ther isn't space, but it doesn't want to add some... I don't know I think its a bug, and I'll fix it as soon as I can! I add lines for the gig separation int the meantime.
Chap 10:
The voice had echoed in silence as a reminder to the world. Two pairs of eyes had fixed on his provenance, with a similar expression.
And then, slowly, Harry got up. He reactivated all his muscles, felt again his whole body. He felt the burn on his forehead, the pain in his knees, in his hands.
Snape watched him stand up, as he would have watched a ghost parted from his body. But Harry was not paying him any attention.
No, Harry's mind was immediately fixed on the little girl who was standing in front of him, shivering, wrapped in a scarf much too big for her, trying to mask the anxiety that gnawed at her.
Harry wanted to smile at her, to reassure her, but he could not. Night still surrounded them, the stars still staring at him, and his heart was still dying. He could see the bruise on the little girl's cheek. A blue spot, a simple little blue spot that meant so much. A small blue spot that spoiled these adorable spots of redness, which gave a sad look to these large eyes.
Harry trembled, but he was sure nobody could see him. He held out his bloody hand to the little one. There was something going on between them, a sort of agreement, recognition. A pact which witnessed the dark form of the professor and the red spots on the ground, which had as its judge the wind and the emptiness. It was so dark that Harry should not have distinguished the little girl, but her form stood out on the white mantle.
Hot little fingers snuggled in his hand. Harry held them firmly, ignoring the blood flowing over the child's hands.
Without a word, he turned and went back to the manor, taking the little one with him. He was more or less conscious that a dark form always followed them; but he would deal with it later.
They passed through the village in silence, until Mia shook her hand. He turned as the little girl pointed to a door. The street around them was deserted. The boy watched the door for a moment, then continued to the manor. He could not do anything for now.
His own mansion looks lugubrious at night, until the door opens on the little elf, with his big worried eyes and disproportionate ears floating at every head movement. The golden light of the leaves of the two trees deposited points of light on the snow in front of the entrance.
Harry did not understand how these trees kept on living when his brother was dying. He took a deep breath and entered the manor, taking the little girl behind him.
The door closed and cut off the cold air.
"Gladis, take this child to one of the rooms, and make sure she sleeps the rest of the night. Come and find me immediately when Damien wakes up."
His voice was broken, hoarse. When the elf disappeared with the child, Harry collapsed on the floor.
Severus saw the child fall, and did not move. He did not know what to do. He could not touch him. He could not leave it. He did not know how to comfort him. The child now holds his hands on his eyes, chanting his magnificent, terrible jades, which reminded everyone that he should have died a long time ago in his baby bed, and never know all this pain. Those eyes which were those of Lily, but those of the woman he had known, no, those whom she had fixed for ever to heaven, dead, terrible.
Harry remained for a long time on the ground at the foot of the stairs, lying between the two trees whose leaves fell on his raven hair, and all around him, forming a bed all around his distorted and trembling body.
How did he get there? How did the world let this happen?
But he was calm now. Fatality had become incrusted in his bones, in his flesh. He could no longer do anything to prevent the world from falling upon the thing which was most precious to him.
Then Harry regained consciousness of the man who was watching him. Damn, he did not even take his wand. He kept on laughing. Because he had been stupid. Stupid to believe he could save his brother, stupid to believe that things were going to be arranged, stupid to have brought to the only sure place that he knew the only man whose mind he could not read , Stupid not to have taken what is defending himself, stupid to have cracked before him, to have shown what was in him. He felt the trembling of his sobs transform a little laugh. There was nothing joyful about that laugh. There was nothing of the child he could have been. Something had been taken away from him, gently, over the years, something whose void was heard in the silence of the manor. Oh, he'd been stupid ...
He was exhausted, just exhausted. Exhausted to live.
But he no longer had time to pander to his fate. Slowly, he got up and snapped Snape into the same room he had left a little earlier. It was three in the morning.
The professor sat down in one of the sofas, watching Harry. He was used to situations of crisis, years surrounded by Death Eaters had ensured, but he did not expect that. Where had the unbearable, rich, spoiled kid been, that little lion who had had the misfortune to set foot in his snake's pit? He saw in front of him only a phantom of that being.
Harry also watched Snape. Or rather, he reflected on the various means he could have to make the professor disappear.
"To whom are you loyal?"
The question exploded like a shot in the middle of a concert. Snape looked at the child without understanding. Then he saw that his gaze remained fixed on his mark which he had not yet covered. With a quick movement he lowered his sleeve.
"Why?"
Harry sighed. He did not have the patience to turn around, or even to answer silly questions.
"Because you are a Death Eater who works for Dumbledore, who is a professor at Hogwarts, who was denounced as a servant of the Dark Lord, then as spy of The Order
of the will understand that the information about you is somewhat contradictory."
Snape was lost. What did all this have to do with the present situation? How could Harry go from a broken child to an interrogator in just a few minutes? He had not expected to have to answer these questions again. All this belonged to the past, it was behind him. He had accepted Dumbledore's offer, he had become a professor to avoid Azkaban. A gilded prison, and his life would continue forever.
No, the professor realized that he was wrong. The child's hands were always open, the blood drying slowly. His breath was still trembling. There was an urgency, something pressing behind the question. He had already heard that, he had already seen that. The specter of war hovered behind the child. Harry was already engulfed, alone, in something that Snape could not define.
"Professor." The face of the child had softened in a certain way. He had approached Snape, hardly overhanging him. Snape suddenly realized how small and thin he was, even for his age. "Professor, I need you to swear to me not to tell anyone to anyone, not to Dumbledore, not to your friends, not to anyone to whom you have been able to swear allegiance." If you do not, I can not let you get out of here. "
Severus' heart froze as the ticking of the clock resounded in his head. He understood. He finally understood. Harry looked at him, compassion filling his features. How could this child have compassion for him?
"I promise."
"It's not enough."
Snape looked at him with shock. He could distinctly feel the magic emanating from the little dark form which was cut out on the flames of the chimney. "I do not trust spies." Added the child gently. "Swear."
It was not even an offer. It was no longer a question. Hardly a supplication. Harry could no longer embrace questions, doubts. He would remain with his brother all the years he had available. No one would stop him, nobody would put him in danger. And Harry knew one thing. He had discovered it that night.
He could not do that alone.
Harry held his blood-stained hand to Severus. The professor caught her in his, gently.
"Me, Severus Tobias Snape, swear on my magic never to betray my word to Harry James Potter about the events of this night, or any information that could flow from it."
The air froze for a moment as magic formed the oath's knot. Harry left his hand for a moment between Snape's, then pulled it away. He had a migraine. He watched the clock, which continued to resonate, gnawing the seconds.
"You should go back to Hogwarts, Professor. If my memory is good you'll be running in the early hours tomorrow." "Elf!"
A small creature appeared and grabbed Snape's hand, teleporting it to Hogwarts before he had time to say a word.
Harry knew he should not have sent Snape back in this way, but he did not have the patience to bear anything. He no longer had the strength, He mounted the stairs silent as death, and sat on the edge of the bed. Damien was lying there, his face peaceful, white, so white, his hair in battle hiding his eyes. Harry put the locks in place with a trembling hand, then took the one of his brother, delicately. He was afraid of breaking these thin and fragile fingers.
Under the rays of the moon, scars could not be seen. He looked normal, drowsy, a child among so many others. He could have been a poet, he could have been a great wizard, maybe a professor, who knows? But he was there, unconscious.
Harry put his head on the boy's torque. He needed to hear his heart beat, to feel the toracic cage rising, lowering, feeling the warmth of a living body.
He stayed there until dawn. Maybe he was asleep, maybe he had fixed the wall for several hours. It seemed to him that if he moved an inch, life would escape from this little body, spinning between his fingers. He did not notice the comings and goings of Gladis, who watched the two boys with tears in his big eyes, or even that Mia had sat down and slumbered in an armchair behind him.
The pale rays of the winter sun finally filtered through the window, caressing the intertwined hands of the two boys, then Harry's black raven hair before coming to hit his eyes. Under this light their green seemed to dilute to a bright and luminous jade.
The world had returned to life to awoke the children.
Reluctantly, Harry finally got up. He seemed to leave a part of him on this bed. He stretched, rolled his muscles, coated as much as he could his untaimeable hair. Mia watched him move, motionless.
"Take care of him," Harry said with a sad smile. "I'll come back tomorrow, if you need something, ask the elves." She nodded and he got ready to go out, when something came back to him? . " Your mother?" He asked.
"I'll get by." Said she, proudly raising her chin.
Harry approached her and gently passed a finger over her cheek, wrapping the mark that had become blackish during the night.
He nodded with contentment, put his clothes in order as much as he could, and ordered Gladis to make him reappear at the castle. This little girl was brave, more than most people he'd met. She could do it.
Harry managed to catch up with Draco in front of the transfiguration class. The boy looked at him suspiciously but did not ask any questions.
His hands had already healed.
Harry sat down at his usual table near one of the windows. It was always the same weather gray, snowy outside. A few flakes fell softly here and there, dressing the whole castle of a majestic white cloak.
There was anger in Harry. All his sadness had dissipated in the night, no, had frozen in a cold will. A small trampled flake turning into a cutting gel. It swirled in him. It tapped against the parishes to go out, it sticking against his skin. A small layer of death. A thin patch of gel against the glass, which extended, cracking it.
But there was something else. Something he didn't know. Something was singing in him, singing in his veins. Something sweet, sad, something of a promise. Something in the corner of his eye that waited wisely, as patient as those little drops that fell, as sure to touch the ground.
Harry jumped slightly. The glass had frozen from the inside. Draco, sitting next to him, had put on his scarf and was shivering. Harry swore softly and cast a discreet spell to warm the room, concentrating to control his magic.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked up at McGonagall. He must have looked very pitiful, because his expression was softened immediately. Harry knew that there was no point in feigning indifference, the marks of the night were probably still on his face.
He was astonished himself to be able to pretend, to reflect on his expression, to sit on this seat to listen to a useless course he had already mastered months before, to go back to class, Live when the world should have stopped spinning. Deep down, he hated himself for that. Deep down, he hated himself for so many things... And yet...
Yet he was cold.
He could catch the teacher by the hair. Jump over the table, grab his head and explode his forehead against the table. One, two, three times. Blood reverted to the desk. Gicles would reach the faces of the pupils of the first rank, who would scream, and he would continue to strike. It was useless. That would be good, to see the innocence leave their eyes. The shock enlarge their pupils, open their mouths in an expression of witch. And he, who would continue to strike. He would not take pleasure in it, no, but something would make him lighter. And finally, out of breath, he would sit in the seat behind the desk, while the corpse would collapse on the floor. Maybe he wouldn't even have the enery to scream.
But it would not help. It would not change anything. It would only make one more corpse on the ground and on his conscience.
"Mr. Potter." Renew Mcgonagall "Can you please give us a demonstration and try to change this rat into a goblet?"
Harry executed himself, delighted to have an outlet for his magic. He murmured the spell by making a movement with his wand. He concentrated on the little rat, sending his will on him through the spell, cutting off his energies, shaping the force that emanated from the animal. The heart of the little creature resonated in concert with his. They had the same veins, the same eyes, the same life. But Harry had magic. No, Harry had the will. An iron will. A will that enclosed the rat and ordered: change. Who said to him, "You are a goblet." Who said to the world: "I want, and so it is".
The rat squealed and then changed. His skin expanded, hardened, his skull twisted, he took first the shape of the foot, then of the cup, which was finely chiselled. Small metal snakes ran to the right places, creating arabesques on the edges of the silver goblet. With a little metallic noise, it was finished.
She looked at him with round eyes, and murmurs spread in the room.
"This is a perfectly accomplished transfiguration, and I must say, to perfection for a professor." Congratulations, Mr. Potter, your talents in this matter are really impressive! Twenty points for Slytherin. " She said, masking her trouble very well.
How can he have such a level from the first lesson, at his age! And raised by Muggles! I'll have to talk to Dumbledore, this child could very well reach the power of the headmaster by the time his magic stabilizes ...
Harry shook his head. At another moment he would have been flattered and annoyed. But now he did not care. He just wanted to get out of the room and run to the dungeons, bring Snape to Damien, take care of his brother. Find a way to save him. Get out of here. Get out of here. Get out of here.
He squeezed a relieved smile on his face, and Mcgonagall looked at him with obvious sympathy, of which Harry had nothing to do. Some Slytherins applauded, or smiled broadly. Draco raised his head of pride, and he felt the half-smile of Daphne and Blaise sitting behind them. In a way, he felt a little better. And then the frightful weight of the pendulum fell again on his shoulders. He did not have time to feel better.
He did not have time ...
The different pupils returned to work, with more or less attention, for the same pitiful results. Harry did not look at them, he had gone back to daydreaming in the window, or rather trying to prevent his magic from spilling out of the middle of the course. He had to use it.
He saw that Draco was still struggling with a somewhat deformed rat, but he stubbornly remained a rat. The two boys exchanged a glance, and with a discreet bagette movement, Harry turned the rat, this time into a simple goblet, barely polished. More complexity would have attracted suspicion.
Harry sighed. The world was still was horrible, it was cruel. But in one way or another, he would turn with it.
He felt weak. He knew that the only reason he did not collapse was that he was working on his nerves. But that would not last long.
For a moment he remembered the state in which Voldemort was. He wanted to laugh, and a feeling of pure admiration rose in him. Hell, so much will, concentrated in one being, that was admirable. How did he go about living under these conditions? How horribly desesperate one must be...
But, looking into himslef, Harry realized that he too wanted to live, deseperatly. Something was still hanging him here, something tenacious. He could do something. He had to do something.
And his magic crystallized around this single thought. Carry on.
Harry spent the rest of his day in the same state, his thoughts turning in his head. He watched axiomically all the dark corners, expecting at any moment to see Gladis appear and make a sign to him, but nothing came. His small luster in Macgonagall's class earned him the congratulations of all the first-year Slytherins he could meet. He thanked everyone with a big smile, a handshake, a few polite comments, re-echoing in one corner of his head all the information he was grabbing.
Damien still did not wake up. Harry could not afford to leave the castle many times in a row without result, even using the house elves he would eventually grab the attention of Dumbledore, which was the thing he wanted to avoid at all costs.
It was only in the late afternoon that he saw a pair of pointed ears protruding behind one of the pillars of the corridor.
Snape knew perfectly well that Potter was going to come back and find him. The professor had not slept the night, and had already prepared all the necessary potions for the other child, whose names he still did not know. Many questions were turning in his head, but he had been trained in that, and accustomed to never having all the answers. But one of them tapped him a lot more than the others.
Professor, swear that you will not tell any of this to Dumbledore or any other person to whom you swore allegiance.
Snape was not a person who was easily afraid. He was not coward, far from it. Mas this sentence, this simple phrase resounded lugubriously in him and sent chills along his spine.
Whatever, Potter was the only person who could answer his questions. For years he had been a slave to Voldemort, oh he had certainly admired the man, but a servant remained a servant. He had paid the high price, and then he had become the servant of Dumbledore, his captive. He knew that the old man had wanted to do well, or rather wanted to arrange things to the maximum according to his morality, which he obviously concurred as universal, but he was angry with him. An anger slow, thin, but tenacious.
Potter might be his way out.
And then there was something else. When he had seen these children, three now, wounded, bruised, something in him had asked him to protect them. It was his role, as an adult, as a teacher, but also as the only person familiar with the situation, who already had such a great debt to one of these child.
The professor shook his head, and black locks of black hair, rendered fat by the vapors of spotion he prepared every day, fell before his eyes. An obscurial one. He had never seen it before, and hoped I'd ever have to be confronted with any of them. Especially as the boy had passed the tenth years ... his power would only increase. Obscurials were supposed to have disappeared! This kind of thing was not supposed to happen ... Since Grindelwald, the ministry had taken measures ...
And what about Potter, who had thrown himself into the cloud of black magic without any hesitation? How long did it last?
Frustrated and worried, the teacher rose to pass behind his pupils - sixth years of which he wondered how they could have arrived there. Hell, but only two of them had succeeded in giving an almost successful potion!
Snape was hard on his students for three reasons: potions deserved better than that, he hated teenagers, and he knew that if they ever needed a potion to save their miserable life, the slightest mistake would be fatal . But these children had no idea of what could be beyond their pretty castle ... except a few. Some still bore the marks of war.
The bell finally rang, and the students rushed to put a sample of their potion in the appropriate vials on his desk before going out of the room. Snape sat down with a sigh, at least his lessons of the day were over. And to his colleagues, he had found the perfect means of not inflicting hundreds of mediocre copies on the same subject: practical work.
He began to note the different vials that were on his desk, and was not surprised when he heard the door of his room locked itself.
He looked up to see the young Potter, accompanied by his house elf (who looked suspiciously at Snape), standing in front of the door now closed, arms folded.
The child's gaze was cold. The dark circles around his eyes only made them stand out and made him look more sickly. God, what had happened to her son...
It was only when he noticed the little cloud of mist forming above him that Snape realized that the temperature of the room had dropped by several degrees. By reflex, he wanted to see in the mind of the child if he had done it voluntarily, but was again confronted with ... a void. The occlumens, to protect their minds, formed walls around their thoughts and sometimes voluntarily let some escape, but Potter ... his ideas, his memories were all there, within range, but they were fleeing. Snape attempted to search every time he thought he saw something, but the image faded away in favor of his own thoughts, and he found himself alone in the abyss of this foreign spirit.
"You have finished?"
Harry looked at him as if he had caught a child in the act of being stupid, an eyebrow rising from boredom.
Snape did not bother to answer. Potter usually did not show as much insolence, and he put it on the account of the crisis situation. After all, who knows how long the boy had not slept? He went into the little room at the back of his potions lab. The reserve, the most convoyed and best kept place of the dungeons.
The room was small and cluttered with shelves, themselves cluttered with hundreds of different ingredients. Although it was felt that the person holding the room had a sense of impeccable order, the room was stuffy and full of nooks, crumbs, dust. There were plants, claws, bags, things more or less alive. Snape immediately went to the heap of potions he had already prepared and carefully packed them into his bag.
He heard a little tinkling and turned around with vivacity.
"Potter, do not touch ..."
He stopped as he saw the boy put a small vial of silver liquid on one of the shelves.
"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"
The boy gave him an amused look despite his fatigue.
"Let's say it's a small reward for your services, Muggles are calling it overtime, you see, they have to be paid." He stopped for a moment, then stared at him with an inwardness that took the breath away from the professor. "I do not like to have debts, Professor Snape." He let out a cold voice.
Severus nodded. Blood of unicorn. But where did a first-year find unicorn blood? One moment, the idea that Harry went to kill one of these animals to save the other boy crossed his mind, but no, he would not have given it if that was the case. And Potter was... way to smart to do something that deseperate.
The room was cooler than before. And Harry'eyes weren't as soft as they used to be.
He's loosing control!
Without more politeness, the boy grabbed him by the arm and ordered his elf to make them apparate to the manor.
Harry ran almost to the first floor. His heart would accelerate, he was afraid, yes afraid, to discover only a corpse when he opened the door. He stopped for a moment on the landing, sighed, then pushed the door slowly, Snape on his heels.
He could not let himself be destroyed. He had no right to do so. He was not the one who was ill; his only duty was to protect Damien.
Damien was sitting on his bed, his back resting on many cushions. He was talking in a low voice with Mia, a little smile on his lips. The setting sun gave red hair to his hair and made his gray eye shine, warming the room. Mia had brought back the chair on which she slept the night before on the edge of the bed, listening patiently to what Damien was telling her.
It was peaceful.
They both stopped talking and turned to Harry with a big smile, which disappeared as soon as they saw Snape's shadow behind him. Harry raised his hands as a sign of appeasement, and Damien put away the little knife that immediately appeared in his hand.
"Damien, Mia, let me introduce you to Professor Severus Snape. He came to help us."
The tention of the room dropped a little.
Harry had blocked all his emotions, but his brother saw his features drawn, his eyes circled, his hair even more ruffled than usual.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on his brother's forehead, reflex more than anything else, while Snape took the spotions out of his bag and placed them on the desk under the window a little further.
With a little laugh, Damien withdrew his hand from his forehead.
"Good to meet you, Professor. I guess you helped me in the little incident yesterday?" He said softly.
Snape nodded without turning around, his face as impenetrable as usual. Damien looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged, then grabbed his hand.
He's a former Death Eater. He has taken a vow, he will not speak about yesterday. The best healer I could find.
Damien opted discreetly and Harry withdrew his mind, although he left his hand on the other boy's. Just in case. "Gladis!"
At the call of his master, the little being appeared.
"Bring us some hot chocolates and something to eat, and ... Professor, do you want something?"
"Coffee, please."
Harry gestured with his hand and Gladis disappeared, returning a few moments later with a tray.
"Master Potter?"
"Yes?"
Harry could see tears in the eyes of the elf. He frowned.
"Is Master Damien going to get better?"
"Yes, Gladis, do not worry. Go now."
The boy's eyes lost for a moment, he did not see the look Snape gave to him. Once Gladis had gone, he turned to Damien, who wore an innocent smile. He knew.
"Now, dear brother, I want an explanation in detail of what happened." He said in a falsely joyful voice. Mia's lips tightened to form a thin line.
"You can read it in the head ..."
"I want to hear it from your mouth." It was an order that did not bother about discussion. Of course Harry could read everything that had happened in his brother's mind, but he was afraid to touch him with his magic. Talking through their ties was much less burdensome to him than to be searched. And in his state, Harry was pretty sure that he would hurt him, that he would cause damage, even if he could not confess it in front of Snape and Mia. But Damien understood. He knew what Harry could do with his mind, and he sure wasn't willing to try it on himself.
"Yes, mom." He sight sarcasticly, before returnong to serious. " As I tolf you in my letter I was worried because Mia wasn't answering the phone, or contacting us in any way.
I had a bad feeling. We both had a hard time talking about these things. Anyway, I went to see her. I think I was very afraid of what I was going to see. I hid myself from a window like you did for me, and there ... "
Damiens' fingers creeped on his brother's hand, who had to resist with all his strength not to send him a wave of magic to comfort him, not knowing if it would have a postive or negative impact on him.
"She hit me." Mia interrupted in a harsh voice.
Harry looked at her, surprised. She defied her gaze, defying him to say that she was weak, that she was wrong, that she was a victim. She had a spark in her eyes that made Harry laugh, with a tender laugh. He saw the same in the single eye of Damien. Pride.
He asked Damien to continue with a look.
"I did not know what to do ... and I felt ... like the last time. I do not remember much after that, except you ran to me and did everything for ... for. .. that it does not touch you ... "
Harry smiled at him with compassion. He had blocked all other emotions deep within himself. It was not up to him to be angry, he only had to act so that it would not happen again. Never again. Oh he could let his anger explode, let his magic unwind the room, scare poor Mia, desperate Damien, but for what? No, he had to remain master of himself, and he had to think. It was like that, and only that way they got away with it so far.
"I see." He said calmly, a slight trembling in his voice, almost imperceptible, betraying his emotions. "Mia, can you please go out? I think Professor Snape is going to want to look at Damien." He said, observing the dark, silent silhouette that had stood in a corner of the room, watching them closely, sipping his coffee.
Mia stood up, bowed and went out.
"I'm going to have to explain why everyone is bowing like that ..." Harry sighed, ignoring Snape, who had squinted at the little girl's gesture.
"Because you deserve it, dear brother!" Damien laughed.
Haryr rolled his eyes and stood up, giving Snape room, but watching the teacher's slightest gesture with suspicion. For all he knew, Snape was a traitor, one way or another. And Harry detested the traitors. But he knew there was something else. Nothing was so simple, so he looked, standing beside the bed. And then he could learn. It was the first time he saw a real healer in action.
He wondered if he was good at the time.
He was, and still is, whistled a familiar voice in the back of his skull.
Oh, it's been a long time.
Despite the sarcasm, he watched Snape more closely. That the Dark Lord finds someone useful is one thing, but having earned his respect, deserves all his attention.
Harry did not really distrust the voice. Something, his instinct, told him it was not Voldemort, not the one who lived in Quirell. It was the same magic, the same being, but yet different. If the voice could communicate with what Harry called the trunk, Voldemort would have already eliminated him. No in a strange, twisted way it was and wasn't him, and he didn't had time to solve this riddle right now.
So he watched Snape carefully look over each scar once again, checking the eye, the bones, whispering things for himself.
It was facsimile. Even Harry could see that the man was really good at it. The last bruises were reabsorbed, the last cuts disappeared. Then the professor got up, his robes swirling around him (but how did he do that? Did he have a spell that was always ready to move his robes and then make them fall perfectly?), And brought Flasks that he had released a little earlier.
"This is to counter the pain." He said, raising a bluish potion. "Drink twice a day for a week, then when necessary, not to take a sip at each intake." This one, "he now lifted a flask filled with a transparent liquid that radiated in the last rays of the Evening, "is a calming potion, you have to take it when you feel an emotion too much that could trigger a crisis. Then he took out a last vial, much smaller, of a dark red. And this is to be taken if the crisis is already triggered, but ... It will stop the crisis, but it will provoke a very great pain, and you must drink the whole flask."
Snape had spoken of his eternal cold and contemptuous voice, but his gestures were calm and sure. Damien nodded.
That was the moment. The moment that lifted Harry's heart. He did not want, oh god, oh Merlin, he did not want to, but he had to tell him.
That made everything true, too true. It was a sentence, which he was about to utter, a sentence on an innocent man. If at least it had been read! He had killed, he had wounded, he deserved it in a certain way, or at least he could have understood it. But Damien ...
He had no right to lack courage, not now. Then he put a mask on his face, and sat down on the other side of the bed. He felt his mouth move, he heard his voice say these things, these horrible things. He felt dirty. He felt different. His voice was calm, soft, and he saw the sweetness in his own eyes as he took Damien's hand in a futile, absurd gest.
Damien's smile brought him back to reality. The boy had locked his eye in Harry's, and this reversal shocked the boy.
"It's okay, Harry." Murmured Damien.
He did not look sad. He looked melancholy. Happy. The air of a Sunday afternoon, the air he had always sported since they were brought here. The air of someone on whom life slips like the wind on a mountain.
Harry smiled. He'd been silly, of course it would, everything would be fine. They would find a solution.
"On the other hand, I think we will be able to cancel my reservation at the retirement home ..."
Harry burst out laughing, quickly followed by Damien. Snape looked at them as if he had pushed them a second head, and they had trouble getting serious again. Then Damien glanced at the door.
"You should go see what Mia is doing, knowing the little one, she's already trying to grind at one of the trees ..."
They heard something fall, followed by a curse worthy of the greatest drunks.
Harry stood to see, closing the door behind him.
As soon as he came out, the smile faded from Damien's lips. He turned his only eye toward Snape.
"Professor, I know that what I'm going to say to you will seem ungrateful to you after what you've just done, but know that I'm really good, but neither I nor my brother know your intentions. And please, don't try to look into my mind. He did towards you a great gesture of confidence in bringing you here, choosing you when he could be the weakest, taking you to his home, asking for your help and then bringing you back, which means he is trying to put trust in you. Whatever you want to do, whatever your purpose or how you do it (I know you do not like him), whatever it may be happens: Do. Never. Betray. Him."
Snape could not say whether the child before him threatened, or warned him, or gave him advice. He could not say how much force could be released from a dying child. He could not tell if the brilliance he saw in that one eye was amusement, anger, fear, wisdom. He could not say why these words touched him so much. He could not say how this child had survived until then, how Harry had survived until then, and why he even worried about it, why he felt the strange need to do something. He could not say if it was wrong or right, who it would please or upset. But only one thing fell from his lips, something real, that he did not know that he was thinking before uttering it:
"I won't."
