Once again- MournfulSeverity stands as the source of inspiration. In her very first review of the first chapter of "Love Empowered Empathy- Prologue," she had mentioned the word "Obscurial". That got me researching like a mad hare. Thoughts of "venom" and some sequel of "Spiderman" flooded my mind. And with the emotionally loaded "Mute" and the huge fantastic tale weaving in the backdrop of "Love Empowered Empathy"- Baby's Breath was quietly born in one of my sleepless nights. I hope against hope I shall not disappoint my readers.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling. This story was knocking its head in my mind for the last decade or so. Finally, I could gather the courage to pen it down, or better type it down. My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet. My very first attempt at writing a fanfiction ever.
Chapter 1
Year 2004
It is summer break. The corridors, the halls, the classrooms, the dorms are quiet and empty. But ghosts roam about. Noiselessly. Ghosts of young students, ghosts of men and women, who loved this castle in their lifetimes, too much to even desert it in their afterlife. But they are mindful of its young Headmaster. He is perhaps the youngest to take up the responsibility, but his experience of life has seen to it that he ages faster enough.
Just like his days as a potion professor and head of the Slytherin house, the habit to lazily stroll around the castle at odd hours never seize to tire him. The very first thing he did, after his prolonged recovery from Nagini's bite, was to walk about aimlessly around the castle. Slipping away from the Infirmary was an easy affair. But returning to it at the early hours of the day was a bitter experience. First, there was one angry Poppy Pomphrey to deal with, then the overtly concerned Minerva McGonagall to shrug off. But respite was yet to come. Aurors had marched in and quite unceremoniously hauled and whisked him away to Azkaban. He was glad for once. After a long wait for gruesome ten weeks, he could now die a fitting death. The Dementor's Kiss was a welcoming embrace from Death.
Even as a master of both legilimency and occlumency, a man can handle as much. His job was no less complicated. By the day be a dour and malicious Potions professor, tend to the whims and fancies of future death eaters under his tutelage, and by night, wear a hideous mask and submit to one megalomaniac's bidding. Oh no! make that two. For even Dumbledore could fit well into that twisted description at times. And those horrendous regales dotted with unfathomable torture of innocent Muggles. It was long since he has forgotten to count the numerous scars crisscrossing his body. Hell! His nerves have been set to fire too many times. Now each time, he holds the quill or the stirring rod, he is at awe with himself. How is it that I am still alive? My heart should have stopped beating, my nervous system and brain should have given up by now!
It took him days and months to come into terms. To accept the fact that he was alive because of one benevolent witch. And he was out of Azkaban because three of the most unlikely students had given rather passionate discourses to demand justice on his behalf. In those drear moments in the Shrieking Shack, he had failed to segregate his memories. The fact that he had the will to let them flow freely towards the wonder boy, Harry Potter was a miracle indeed. And that buffoon had shared such personal details with one bushy, hand waving know-it-all. Had he not been sequestered into that pathetic birdcage in front of the entire Wizengamot, he would have had the opportunity to shut their singsong praises about his sacrifices and chivalry. They were just kids trying out adult shoes!
Miss Granger had truly turned into one powerful young witch. Her points had been irrefutable. Her evidences and her references to several of those ancient case studies and trials held in this very court, perhaps decades and centuries ago- made her a formidable spokesperson. Someone who can only be tackled with proof and evidence. But surprisingly neither the prosecution nor jury had anything substantial to present against her findings. He could only battle with two emotions throughout her presentation. Scowl and detest etched on his face, but pride threatening to spill from his glistening eyes. Finally, she had turned, looked at him with those doe-like honey-dipped eyes and had said, "I was a stupid bookworm and you rightfully called me a know-it-all. I was blind, Sir, blind and foolish, not to understand sooner, that while other teachers were praising me for submitting extra inches of essays, you were pressed on to make me learn how to start thinking. Only a person with the very best interests in their heart would do something like that for someone like me."
And as if blowing cauldron after cauldron in his classroom was not enough, the snake slayer Neville Longbottom had told the gathered distinguished magical folks in the court, "Professor Snape as Headmaster saw to it, that we escaped the brutal punishments handed down by Carrows. Even when I took many of the tortures voluntarily giving the younger ones reprieve, Headmaster would try to dissuade them in his way. I know, for many of my essays are riddled with his handwriting. He was the one sending discreet notes with phials of potions to be applied to our wounds. Notes that would burn out, the moment we have read them. Who in their right mind would otherwise give detentions to the ones like us, and send us off to Hagrid? And in all these seven years, not once did Professor Snape taunt me about my parents. "
Well! That lanky boy had said all that without a stutter. Hell did not freeze over when he had readily submitted his memories to attest his statements. He was not surprised to see one proud Promona Sprouts been tailed by a tall and handsome Longbottom two years ago. The existing herbology professor was putting forth her recommendation for accepting the Gryffindor as her apprentice and Snape could hardly argue. Grudgingly, he had given his assent, but not without casting a cold stare at the young man. Amazingly, Longbottom had blushed a little and had nodded back at him. And before leaving he had simply turned and politely thanked him, "I, know now sir, you were the one all along, sending potions to keep my parents alive. Since I am of age, I am privy to the confidential documents regarding my parents' medical history. And for that, I cannot thank you enough."
The man had then left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
"I did try to harden them, but never in my dreams, Albus, did I imagine them to grow into such fine wizards and witches."
He had turned to the former headmaster's portrait and had accepted the inevitable. That the dour and unfriendly man, nightmare of every Hogwarts attending student, was genuinely proud of the ones which stood to defend the very school Voldermort had sworn to demolish.
But tonight, a strange ominous feeling is pressing on his heart. He is too restless even to recline on his armchair and pretend to busy himself with a potions periodical. The weather is acting up as well. Even in this summer month, there is a storm raging outside since the afternoon. And as dusk rolled in like all the other days, heavy clouds eclipsed the half-moon and for hours now. It is pouring like cats and dogs. The window panes with droplets of incessant rain add to the gloominess of the lonely castle. the heavy sheets of rain covering the grounds around Hogwarts envelope the castle. To an outsider, the whole scene would look like peering into a glass ball, with a medieval castle encased within it.
Few members of the staff are residing in the castle. Surprisingly Apprentice Longbottom has stayed back to tend to the greenhouses and catch up with his many voluntary projects. Snape had found it amusing when the young man had started sending him massive about his speculations regarding medicinal plants and there, not so popular, role in potion-making. It had lasted only a week. Then the irate Headmaster had simply hauled up the young man and made him seat across him in his gargoyle guarding office and had just demanded in the following precise sentence. "Ask, any intelligently formed question and I shall answer them to my capacity."
This evening, when the headmaster and his deputy headmistress had settled in the staff room, formulating the next year's course plan and browsing over the school budget, Longbottom had unceremoniously barged in and had pleaded to be excused for the rest of the day.
It only needed one concerned look from Minerva and the boy had given out everything. "Madam, It's Hermione. I have just received an owl from Harry. She is at St. Mungo's. They have admitted her to the spell damage ward. I don't know the specifics. I don't quite like the way the letter sounds." Turning to the headmaster, he pleaded desperately," May I leave, Sir, Hermione, after all, is a dear friend?"
Severus had stood up and crossed the room in two long strides. Extending his palm in front of the astonished man, he had simply said, "The letter, Longbottom."
The flabbergasted herbology apprentice had fumbled over his words. But was in his right mind to extent his hand and deliver a bunched up parchment.
He had quickly read through it and handed it to Minerva. The woman had turned ashen by the time she had finished the short write up.
"Miss Granger is ill… The healers suspect it to be a case of Obscurus- What Blasphemy! Severus…"
"Potter was never clever enough to write a decent and meaningful letter. Yes, Longbottom, you may leave. And no, Minerva, all of us, cannot go at once. It will draw unwanted attention. Something we just don't wish for. Especially the kind of drivel the Prophet is capable of printing. Now! Pick up your hanging mouth from the floor and get out."
Neville had left as fast as his long legs could carry him.
A/N: As always, your support fuels my thought engine. I hope the present summary is up to your expectations. But it might change, depending on what surprises the main plot has to deliver. This is going to be a short fic as far as my current calculations go. Hope to see you all again.