Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for fun.
Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...
Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...
Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.
Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.
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Circumstance
by Libellule
Chapter 25: Corollary
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Snape's back was to Harry and he seemed to be lost. Touching his arm, Harry turned him around. The moment his fingertips touched him he became white—his hair was white, his skin pale enough to match as well as the clothes he wore—all white.
Harry jumped back as if burned.
"The magic is gone," Snape said in a small, scared voice. "Why is it gone, Harry?"
Not knowing how to answer him, Harry merely shook his head. It was then that he noticed a splotch of pink forming at his side. The splotch became steadily bigger and darker until it seeped bright red through the shirt, spilling down his front in a spectacularly horrifying streak of crimson.
"Everything is gone," Snape whispered. His coal black eyes were also changing, losing pigment as he lost blood, becoming gray and otherworldly until it was Snape's specter staring back at Harry with a despairing, hollow glare.
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"No!"
Harry's eyes snapped open and he forced himself awake. Pushing air from his lungs in determinedly slow measures, Harry tried to calm his racing heart. He had fallen asleep inside the church. There was still daylight, a few hours having passed at most.
Just a dream, he thought, though he had to admit that his dreams were oftentimes warnings.
After all he had been through, a dream like this was to be expected… he hoped. But still, what if it wasn't just a dream… what if this dream turned out like the last one—true.
Two anxieties wrung his heart— first, that Snape was not as well as he appeared to be, that the mortal wounds he had sustained would surely re-manifest, and second, that he had lost all his magic when Harry healed him for Harry hardly understood the nature of this wild magic within him.
Aside from his obvious weakened state, Snape seemed to be fine— no gaping wounds were evident, not even a scratch. If he were hurt, Harry would have to wait until a symptom presented itself.
Harry's second concern, however, was more difficult to dispel. There had been no evidence to support or deny this fear. Snape simply had not done any magic. Whether it was because he could not or because he did not want to, remained to be seen.
Why Harry had this fear, he could not say, only that the dream had shaped it in his mind. Snape felt different to him somehow—somehow less than himself yet somehow more. Pinpointing the exact feeling was impossible. It didn't make any logical sense.
Glancing over to where Snape had settled, Harry realized with a start he was no longer there.
"Of all the fool things," Harry whispered.
It was not a good idea for them to be separated right now. If more Death Eater reinforcements were to come or any bad character for that matter, Snape would be easy prey at the moment. Especially since Harry still had his wand.
Outside, Harry thought suddenly and he scrambled to his feet and made his way from the old church into the afternoon sun. That feeling he couldn't quite understand was luring him in a particular direction and Harry decided not to fight it.
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Harry almost didn't see him at first. Snape was lying on his back in the overgrown grass between two rows of weathered headstones. He was a still shape in the gently swaying weeds.
Something had drawn Harry to him, though he didn't know what he would find, only that he was compelled to venture outside and hoped to find Snape.
The quiet roared around them; nothing but the sound of wind and nature surrounded them, the noise of civilization wholly absent. Two small birds flittered around each other and off around the old church. Bright bunches of yellow goldenrod and sweet specks of purple aster flowers peppered the landscape in sporadic bursts of color.
Snape didn't acknowledge him. Harry could not wait for him to speak before voicing his own intentions.
"I need to talk to you," Harry blurted out, but Snape was not listening to him. He was fixated on something.
"I am abandoned among the dead," Snape whispered.
"What?" Harry questioned, coming around, crouching down beside him.
"I am like the slain lying in their graves, those you have forgotten completely, who are beyond your help…" Snape raised his arm and pointed to the headstone in front of him. "Do you perform miracles for the dead? …Are your miracles seen in that place of darkness or your goodness in the land of forgotten?"
"Is that what it says?" Harry asked squinting at the rows of Latin. He was not nearly so well versed in the dead language as to translate entire sentences into coherent English.
"Psalm 88," Snape read aloud. "How appropriate that I should come to rest here."
"Who would put that on a headstone?" Harry asked.
"The forsaken," he replied. "What is it you needed to tell me?"
Harry hesitated, not knowing how to begin and then launched into a flurry of words. "I should have told you the moment I suspected, but the truth of it was that I couldn't remember any details—it felt like déjà vu— but I didn't know why—."
"Potter, what are you—," Snape ground out, only to be cut off.
"I dreamed that you would be hurt— for days and days before it happened—but didn't realize it until I was running down that corridor and saw you lying there—."
"You couldn't have known it was a prophetic dream," Snape said quickly, "if that is even what it was."
"I'm almost certain it was," Harry insisted, "which is why I have to tell you—"
"You've had another dream," Snape finished.
Harry nodded, then told him about the haunting nightmare he'd just awoken from. "I have to know. Will this one come true?"
"It's your worries preying on your subconscious mind, Harry," Snape reassured him. "You've been through a lot—."
"Do magic for me," Harry interrupted. It was a command, punctuated by a black wand being thrust before the older wizard.
"Oh, Harry," Snape whispered. "Not right now."
"Please," Harry pleaded. "We don't know what my magic did to you—if anything at all. Try something. Whatever you want. Something easy— lumos or protego…"
Snape stared up at the sky, his attention more focused on the clouds above than on Harry. Harry lowered his hand with the proffered wand, realizing that Snape was not going to comply.
"You can't do it. Or you won't do it," Harry said. "Not even for me." It was impossible to remove the hurt from his voice. At this point, Harry would have done just about anything for Snape, but it appeared that this sentiment was unrequited.
How had they ever become so mixed up in one another? Harry had thought this often during the summer and each time it still perplexed him.
Angry with Snape for always being stubborn, Harry was angrier with himself for needing this from Snape.
How can I forget, Harry thought. The man had given him so much already that Harry suddenly felt ashamed that he needed more from him.
For no reason other than the deep down instinct in his gut, Harry knew that his wild magic had changed Snape in some way. He just didn't know exactly how. This anxiety would twist Harry out of shape until he knew precisely what he had unwittingly done to Snape.
Unexpectedly, Harry felt a gentle tug as the wand pulled out of his hand. It flew swiftly across the distance between Harry and Snape to his outstretched hand.
Snape stared at the black wand, gently rolling it between his fingers as if he'd forgotten what it looked like. He then raised his arm above him, pointing the wand purposefully.
"Flagrate," Snape whispered and moving his wand arm from left to right he drew a fiery line in the sky. It burned brightly for a moment before the flame was doused as he ended the spell with a whisper.
Harry could not be sure, the magic was brief and gentle, but he thought he felt a tiny surge within him as Snape cast the spell.
He did magic... for me, he thought. A smile spread across his face. The strange swell in him blossomed from uncertainty into joy. He can do magic.
"Now, you insufferable child, will you let me rest?" Snape asked.
Harry nodded, but did not leave. "You're going to stay here," he began, "between the graves?"
Snape showed no sign that he was going to move from the place where he lay. Instead, he questioned, "Are you afraid of a little dust and crumbling stone?"
"No," Harry scowled. "It's just a little... creepy."
"One day you will return to the ground. From it you were taken— for dust you are and to dust you will return," Snape quoted. "My day to return was very nearly today," he added softly. "Let me lay where I like, Harry."
Realizing that he really was not going to get up, Harry flopped down next to him. "What should we do now?" Harry asked as he lay back on the grass beside him.
The bunched masses of clouds in the bright blue sky drifted without hurry above him, slowly shifting into new forms and semblances.
Staring at the easy motion of the billowy clouds was hypnotic. As they rolled gently along, Harry saw images in the various shapes. A bulky cloud suddenly took specific form to his eyes.
"Whale," Harry said pointing to a large horizontal cloud with a gentle curve and slender tail.
Snape didn't say anything at this outburst. The only indication that he took notice at all was the slight cant of his head as he looked to see where Harry had pointed.
"We should stay here through the night," Snape replied after a long while. "The next town could be miles from here and I do not want to be traveling after dark."
"Okay," Harry said agreeably. He didn't want to travel at night either. He'd had his fill of cold, rainy nights. All the clouds in the sky could mean another wet evening was in store.
"Manticore," Harry stated suddenly, pointing out another shape in the clouds overhead.
"That does not look like a manticore," Snape declared with a derisive smirk.
"Sure it does," Harry replied.
"Have you ever seen a manticore?" Snape asked. "That is not what one looks like."
"Well, what does it look like to you?" Harry retorted.
Snape paused, his eyes fixed on the drifting, white masses high above them. "It's a kneeling man."
"With a tail?" Harry asked skeptically.
"That's not a tail that's the hem of his robe," Snape declared. He shook his head, saying, "I can not believe I am having an argument with you about what shapes the clouds are taking."
Grinning, Harry said, "That's half the fun."
Silence fell between them. Harry had to fill that quiet up with something lest his mind start to wander back to the recent gristly happenings. He did not want Snape to dwell on it either. He wanted them both to forget the blood, pain and suffering they had endured.
"See, that one looks like Mrs. Norris," Harry said gesturing to another cloud. "Do you see it?" Harry prompted.
He turned his head and studied Snape's face. His eyes were half lidded and tension lines creased his pale skin. His exhaustion was evident. It unnerved Harry how eerily still Snape was. As he had observed before, Snape just was not the same and Harry was beginning to worry that he would never be himself again. How long would it take?
Harry almost wished to hear Snape's trademark acerbic wit that never failed to put him back in his place, or even a few notches below it, if it meant that Snape would come back into himself.
"You mean that one that looks like a petrified kneazle?" Snape asked incredulously.
For an instant imaging Hermione's cat Crookshanks who was part kneazle, Harry laughed right out loud— it had been a long time since he'd felt such a light hearted reaction bubble inside him.
From the corner of his eye he could have sworn he'd seen Snape smirk and Harry thought for the first time that maybe everything would be all right.
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The thunder was a low rumble, instantly sobering and ominous of the imminent danger it possessed.
A crow cawed and flew off from its perch to find shelter; the trees shimmied against the violent winds; little drops of rain crackled and spattered against the trees and the remnants of the roof— nature's choir.
Predictably, it was raining. They had moved inside when the sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon and the last rays of orange light stained the decaying gravestones. They had agreed to turn in early, all the better for a head start in the morning.
Harry stared up into the pitch-black ceiling, struggling to remember the clouds from that afternoon. He decided that he didn't like the night, when things quieted down and everything became still except for the mind. It was this time of day that his mind thrived, wild imaginings and remembrances running rampant through his thoughts.
Just as his imagination had seen images in the sky, he saw images in the blackness. Only these figures were not harmless whales or kneeling men but flashes of things that terrified him. Why did the dark bleed blackness into his thoughts?
His thoughts dwelled upon the Death Eaters, particularly Bellatrix, who had hurt both Snape and himself more than either one cared to admit. There was a time when thoughts of revenge against her had consumed him.
His objectives had changed now. What mattered most to him was no longer revenge, but Snape and his welfare.
It didn't matter so much that Bellatrix LeStrange was alive—that any of those Death Eaters who had tortured him were—
Harry sneaked a glace at the man to his right and realized that what mattered most was not the revenge he'd wanted, but the friend he had found.
More than friend, Harry thought.
Snape meant more to him than any retribution against Bellatrix could have. He wasn't turning his back on his father or Sirius or the reckoning he owed the Death Eaters. Harry knew that if he fostered any of these things, that Snape would die, in spirit and corporeally.
Harry had responsibility to him now. The man was fractured and it had been Harry who had selfishly pulled him from peaceful oblivion back into the waking world. Harry had not the courage to ask him what exactly he'd been pulled away from.
Unable to sleep, Harry knew that Snape was also lying awake. He remained in an unnerving quietus that reminded Harry of just how dire his condition had been.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could as if this would block out the thoughts accompanying quietus. This, however, did not work, nor did Harry's mantra of, Don't think about it. Don't think about it. DO NOT think about it…
It was too late, of course. The thoughts had already formed in the darkness of his mind.
"Professor?" Harry whispered, unable to keep quiet.
"Yes, Harry?" came the calm response from the shadows. The overcast evening obscured any light that the moon or stars could offer the nighttime. Harry strained in the dark to make out Snape's features.
"Are you all right… really?" Harry asked. "You seem different."
"I feel different," Snape admitted quietly.
Harry turned his head, staring in the direction of Snape's voice. "Back there…" Harry began, his voice soft. He did not need to clarify where back there was, for they both knew perfectly well to which unspeakable place Harry was referring. "Do you— do you think you… died?"
There was a thoughtful pause before Snape answered, "No, or you would not have been able to restore me. As powerful as you are, I think rejuvenating the dead to back life is beyond even you."
"But you were close?" Harry whispered. His nervous hands played with the hem of his shirt. For a moment Harry was glad for the darkness, glad that it obscured the grief-stricken expression that was surely on his face.
"What's the point of all this Harry?" Snape asked instead. "It is not wise to dwell too long on the past." Somehow, despite the blackness, Snape knew that Harry's heart was bleeding sorrow and offered this sound advice, which Harry completely ignored.
"I want to know," Harry said. I have to know…
"Why must you know?" Snape said sharply. "Why can't it be enough that it is over?"
"I've got to figure this out— this magic thing that's inside of me," Harry blurted out. "I feel that it—that I have changed you, but I don't know how or if for the better or if for the worse— I am afraid of whatever the consequences of this magic turn out to be."
"Why are you so certain you have done something to me?" Snape asked. "This is about your foolish dream?"
Harry hesitated. "I can't explain it with words—it's just you feel different to me."
"I do not have the answer you think I do," Snape said. He sighed, a sorrow of his own enclosed in the soft groan. "I will tell you what I know, if only to set your mind at ease, though I doubt that it will."
Turning over on his side, Harry scrutinized the darkness, his eyes finding focus on Snape's shape.
"It was close," Snape murmured. "I remember very little of what happened after they were through with me… just that everything gradually stopped hurting."
"Oh," Harry said, his voice sounding small to his own ears.
"I can only remember two things; white and your presence," Snape stated.
"What did it feel like?" Harry breathed.
"Like you, I am at a loss to describe in words what I felt at that moment," he said with a tremble.
"Try," Harry pressed.
"There are no words," Snape said with an exasperated tone. "It was power, pure and simple."
"Was it… evil?" Harry whispered. "Could it have come from…Voldemort?" There was that silence that Harry was so keenly aware of.
"Of course not!" Snape ground out. His anger took Harry aback. "You think the Dark Lord knows healing magic—knows love like that? He knows nothing but hatred and base viciousness—"
Snape stopped abruptly realizing what he'd let slip. The magic that had restored him had felt like something very specific to Snape and it happened to be love.
Blushing red despite the cool evening, Harry realized that Snape must have known his sentiment for him as the wild magic overtook him, must have known how deeply his heart had been broken when he thought Snape had died.
"So, the magic was not evil," Harry said lamely, trying to cover his self-consciousness. "That does make me feel better."
"Good," Snape said quietly.
Harry rolled over so that his back was to Snape. "I suppose I should get to sleep if we want to get an early start," he said.
Though Harry closed his eyes, he lay awake for a long time. Snape had been right; his admission had not put Harry's mind at ease.
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Awakening to the sound of his own rumbling stomach, Harry opened his eyes and saw sunlight cutting sharply across the old church.
"Good. You are awake," Snape said, standing over him.
Sitting up, Harry twisted to look at him. "What time is it?"
"Just before seven," he answered. "We should head out soon."
Harry forced himself up and his aching body screamed in protest. What he wouldn't give for a decent bed to sleep in… Simple things like a decent meal and a respectable place to stay in were luxuries now.
Yawning and stretching his arms over his head to loosen his stiff back, Harry made his way outside.
The day was unspectacular. The rain had subsided by morning, but the overcast sky lingered. Though it was windy, Harry didn't think that it would rain. He felt like the weather would hold.
His eyes traveled from the white-gray sky to the top of the old church that had provided them refuge. It had been some kind of miracle that he had spotted the crumbling structure amid the overgrown trees in the first place.
How many people have passed through here seeking sanctuary, Harry wondered. He walked around the side, taking a final look at the place. Who knew the next time that someone would?
The winds picked up again, rustling the trees overhead violently. Harry heard them groaning as they bowed to the wind. The towering yew trees, with their thick and gnarled branches, had survived many hard-earned years on the unkempt property. Some of the trees had dead limbs that looked parched and wrinkled, like an old man's skin.
With his black hair blowing wildly in the wind, Snape emerged from the church. Taking a cursory glance around, Snape called to Harry, "Are you ready?"
Watching him with a keen eye, Harry noted that while he was slow-moving, he was steady. He was fit enough to travel.
There was a loud snap and Harry looked up towards the noise in time to see a massive dead branch from the tree above hurtling towards him.
"Watch out!" Snape shouted.
Harry reached for his wand, but Snape was quicker and moved without thinking.
Snape halted the debris mid flight, straining to hold the bough with a spell that once would have been effortless. It would take time for his magical strength to rebuild but for now he struggled to push it aside.
"Potter, are you all right?" he asked as he magically tossed the large limb harmlessly away from Harry.
Harry was not all right. Staring wide-eyed at Snape he gasped, "Oh, Merlin—."
"What is it?" Snape said scrutinizing the boy.
"That spell— that magic— it came from me," Harry whispered.
Snape stared at him incredulously.
"I felt it as if I had done it myself," Harry divulged, trying to clarify. "That magic was—."
"That's nonsense," Snape said sharply. But Harry could tell that no matter what Snape said, he didn't think it was nonsense. In fact, an expression of panic flashed across his face and he looked like he might believe it to be true.
"You haven't done any serious magic since before—it— happened," Harry reasoned. "Some how I knew—."
"You know nothing," Snape snarled, clearly upset.
"Do another spell," Harry said. "Maybe it will be different…"
Snape stared at him, outraged distress etched in the lines of his face.
"Expelliarmus!" Snape shouted angrily. Harry's wand flew high up in the air. "Accio wand," he said catching the thin wooden instrument in his left hand. He stood a moment staring at Harry with bated breath before he staggered, the magic too aggressive for his weakened frame to withstand.
So shocked was Harry that he did not move to help him. Rooted to his spot, Harry whispered, "I felt that."
Breathing hard Snape threw Harry's wand back at him, too fazed to attempt magic. The message was clear, Try something.
Looking from the wand on the ground to Snape, Harry summoned his wand to him and said, "Expecto Patronum!" A beautiful white stag materialized galloping across the sky streaking silver until it was out of view.
"You felt that, didn't you?" Harry asked, his green eyes bright with concern. "You felt my magic."
A humorless laugh escaped Snape and his cold, forbidding gaze fell upon Harry. "We're linked," he hissed. His voice was caustic and it burned Harry to hear the anger directed at him. "You wanted to know the consequences of your untamed magic. This is your answer."
To Be Continued…
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Author's Notes:
Okay, I admit it. I'm completely terrible and very sorry for not updating in forever. I don't want to make excuses, but I've had a rough summer. If you are still reading this, then you have the patient of a saint. Thank you. Can't tell you how totally awesome it is that folks read this thing.
This chapter has a lot of stuff in it. It's actually longer than my average. Just to cite my sources, I did quote from the Bible in this chapter from Genesis 3:19 and Psalm 88.
Some weeks ago I did some HP art—a scene from chapter 24—as an apology for being crap at updating. If you haven't already, please check out my LJ for the link ( griseldajane . livejournal . com )
Comments are very welcome. I like talking to people. Want to chat about Harry Potter or anything stop on by. Still looking for discussion on story two ideas. Got a really great thought, but needs more scheming to turn it into a story. Feel free to friend me at LJ, no need to ask.
Thanks again everybody! Li