A/N: Sorry this took me so long. For some reason, this chapter was hard for me. Probably because of all the stuff happening with other characters. It's all preparation. I consider it the gathering winds before the storm.
Fear. Dread. Panic. These emotions both paralyze us, and scream out for us to run. Hypocrites of their own nature. They are our saviours of emotions, foreshadowing evil things to come, yet the very feelings themselves cause us to freeze, prevent us from acting. Self-preservation and self-destruction all in one. They make us weak, pliable, human. Shall we think of ourselves? Or others? At what cost? Is bravery always in preserving the other before the self? We cannot protect the other forever, for in the end, one truth is inevitable: saving the innocent will still result in their demise if that is what has been ordained. After all, it is the will of the Fates. The Fates shall not be denied.
Albus Dumbledore sat in quiet thought in a chair pulled to the side of Severus Snape's bed, where the younger man lay comatose, his dark hair and sallow skin contrasting dramatically with the crisp white sheets of the Hospital Wing. Snape hadn't moved or uttered a sound in nearly an hour. His eyes, staring eerily beneath half-closed lids, were unmoved, except to blink reflexively when Madame Pomfrey placed drops in them to keep them moist. Each time she lowered his eyelids to cover his eyes, they slid slowly open again, undaunted in their haunted stare.
Dumbledore was drawn from his thoughts by a thin hand on his shoulder. He blinked as if newly awoken, and looked up at his Deputy Headmaster.
"What happened, Albus?" she asked, her frail voice betraying her own fears in the young professor's health.
"I was careless," he answered, looking back at Snape. "I allowed my own concentration to waver, and it placed him in danger."
McGonagall merely watched the Headmaster watching Snape, pushing down the fear and sadness at his own frail state.
"Harry is distraught," she told him finally in a low voice. "I'm finding it impossible to comfort him. Perhaps we should send for Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley to stay with him."
"No." The shortness and voracity of the answer caused McGonagall to jump. "No," he said much more gently. "Do not allow either Mr. Weasley or Ms. Granger to visit Harry tonight. Contact Remus or go yourself, but do not allow the others into his room."
"Albus, Harry could not have injured Severus like this. Do not punish him-."
"I am not punishing him, Minerva. And I agree, Harry alone could not have injured Severus, not in this way."
"What do you mean?"
"There was a surge in Harry's mind, causing all of his most haunting and terrifying memories to be pushed forth, against Severus' will. It was this surge, I believe, which has caused this current state."
"Albus?"
A sigh of great weight followed.
"Voldemort, Minerva. I believe he was attempting to enter Harry's mind after a month of silence. Perhaps he perceived that I, too, was there and attempted to strike out at me, in which case, Severus absorbed the mental blow. Or perhaps he has become much stronger than even he knows, and this was purely an accident. I do not know. But for the time being, I do not want another student to be allowed to visit Harry, for their own safety."
It was not until much later in the evening, when the rest of the castle was long asleep, that Dumbledore found his way up to Harry's room. He knocked softly and was greeted by a somber looking Remus Lupin, who slipped into the hallway to speak with his former Headmaster.
"How's Severus?" he asked in a low voice.
"His state is unchanged," came the grave answer. "Poppy refuses to even venture a guess when he will awaken." Remus nodded. "How is Harry?"
"Scared, mostly. Scared of the memories he saw, scared of what happened to Severus, scared of what's happening to him."
"Did he tell you about his memories?"
"Only that they terrified him." Remus looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Did he really remember being thrown down the stairs?"
A solemn nod was his answer.
"I can't imagine what it must be like for him," Remus continued, "to have these terrible nightmares of truth in his head, but unable to recall much else in them."
Another nod.
"Is he sleeping now?"
"No," Remus answered. "He's curled up on his bed, but I don't think he's even blinked since I came. It's as if he's afraid to fall asleep."
¤¤¤¤
Harry, indeed, lay on his bed, knees drawn up protectively, staring at a spider spinning its silken web in the corner. He dared not fall asleep or even close his eyes. Were it not absolutely necessary, he probably wouldn't allow himself to blink. Each blink of his eyes was sheer terror. Would those images of violence and hatred dance again before the black curtain of his closed eyelids? Would the voice return? Would it continue to whisper? Harry kept his eyes open until they burned and he was forced to blink, the terror always gripping him tightly in that split second of darkness.
It's all your fault.
Harry stiffened. Was it the voice? Or his own conscience?"
Silly, weak little boy, trying to play grownup-
Harry buried his face in his pillow, willing the words to stay out if his mind.
-see what you've done? Do you see the pain you've caused?
"No," he whimpered into the thick pillow. "I didn't mean to."
Haven't you seen the way they look at you? They loathe you. Can't you see it in their faces? The way they avoid you?
"It's not true."
Where is the headmaster? Where are your friends? They've left you to the half-breed, the werewolf. Perhaps he'll kill you.
"He wouldn't."
They fear you, just as the Muggles did.
"They didn't."
Freak. That's what they called you. They tried to kill you too.
"It- it was an accident."
And your headmaster tried to protect them for it. He wanted you dead.
"No."
They fear you.
"No!"
They all fear you.
"Stop!"
They want you dead.
"STOP!"
The door slammed open and both Lupin and Dumbledore were in the room instantly, wands out. Seeing Harry face down on the bed, his faced pressed into a pillow, screaming, Dumbledore put away his wand and went to the side of the bed, while Lupin began checking the room.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, taking him by the shoulders and gently turning him over. The boy looked up at him with round terrified eyes, cheeks glistening with tears. "What is it?"
"Lies," he whispered. "They were all lies." He shrugged out of the headmaster's hands and scooted as far across the bed as he could, placing himself out of reach to those who would comfort him. He didn't want to hurt them too.
¤¤¤¤
Early the next morning, Minerva McGonagall stood rigidly next to Snape's bed, her gaze worried and motherly as she looked down over his still form.
"Severus, how you manage to get yourself into this position…" She smiled wryly, imagining the prone professor to suddenly animate if only to argue with her that it was not his doing, and that his idea of a good time was not poking about in Potter's empty head looking for intelligence or the remnants of a Dark Wizard. No doubt his razor tongue would spew more descriptive, and more vulgar, terms for Potter upon his awakening.
Potter.
The smile fell from McGonagall's face. There were so many questions still surrounding Potter and his link to Voldemort, most especially with Snape in his current condition. Most worrisome was that Dumbledore didn't seem to really understand what was happening either.
But how Potter was suffering over this. And though McGonagall would never question it aloud or even seriously, a very small portion of her mind had to wonder, just how dangerous was he?
She reached down and gently squeezed Snape's hand, which lay lax next to his body.
"Don't worry, Severus," she told him in a low voice. "We'll find a way to bring you back." She studied his face for just a moment, looking for any sign of life in the death stare he maintained. Any blink, any minute shift in his eyes would not have escaped her attention. Alas, nothing. She brushed a stray hair away from his face, then turned and left the Hospital Wing. Classes would begin soon.
Silence hung heavily over the long room containing two long rows of beds and only one patient. The room was darkening. Shadows creeped into the corners and farther into the room. Darkness fell.
One waxy hand lay next to the body of the Potions Master, whose only movement in twenty-four hours had been the rise and fall of his chest. Ever so slightly, the fingers on that hand straightened, then curled again into a loose fist, before relaxing to their original position. A reassuring squeeze of a hand, which had left his several hours before.
¤¤¤¤
A tall figure appeared framed in the doorway before moving swiftly to the side of the only occupied bed. There was a rustle of cloth as the figure sat, his long white beard touching the top his lap as he leaned toward the Potions Master, catching the dark half-moon eyes in his own.
"Leglimens," was whispered. A surge of disjointed thoughts rushed forth.
"Tell me, Severus, how long have you been in the service of Lord Voldemort?"
"Three years," came the meek reply. Dark eyes flicked toward Dumbledore's face, but refused to meet his gaze.
"Need I tell you how I feel about this?"
No answer. Silence stretched as the young man sat absolutely still. Finally, in a motion so quick it startled the old Headmaster, Snape rose to his feet.
"I will turn myself in. I have no fear of paying my due for my crimes."
"No, Severus," came the answer with an outstretched hand. The younger man halted. "What will be the good of suffering the rest of your life in Azkaban?"
"Sir?"
"It will right none of your wrongs, except that you will suffer your mistakes until you die or are insane."
"Isn't that fitting?"
"For some, perhaps. But perhaps, there is a way for you to give back what you have taken."
"What do you mean?"
"You will return to the Master you serve. You will spy on him. Help us bring him down."
"You don't know what you ask." His voice wavered, in one of the boy's few moments of true fear.
"I know exactly what I ask. And I know what the risk will be to you. My question for you, Severus, is how badly do you wish to make amends for your crimes?"
"Spy for you? What makes you think you can trust me?"
"The mere fact that you are here."
"Perhaps I am here for the Dark Lord, trying to find weakness in an old fool."
"Are you?" Those dark eyes raised for the first time, meeting his in fierceness and anger. They were aged beyond his years, tired, scared, but angry beyond all else.
"No," came the stout answer. "I would take my own life before I serve him again."
¤¤¤¤
Remus Lupin was dozing upright in a chair, his chin to his chest, when he was disturbed by a small sound. He raised his head, eyes closed, listening intently. There it was again: a whimper, soft, as if someone was hiding their pain.
Lupin rose from his chair and crossed the room to where Harry lay curled on the bed. Exhaustion had finally overtaken him, forcing his eyes to close, but with it came nightmares Lupin could only guess at. He reached out, gently grasping Harry's shoulder, and the boy stilled. Whether he was awake or merely comforted by the presence of another in his tormental rest, the former professor did not know, but Harry relaxed, and after several minutes, his breathing steadied again. Silence prevailed.
¤¤¤¤
Sirius Black paced. It was a habit he had always had, whether he was nervous or angry or thinking. Right now, he was all three. Something had happened during Harry's lessons with Snape, and Snape had been injured. Remus had been summoned to stay with Harry.
Remus. Not Sirius.
But what had happened? Not that Sirius liked the slimy git, but that he had been injured worried Sirius. No, how he had been injured. Poking about in Harry's head during an Occlumency lesson. From what Remus had said, Snape was a vegetable.
Harry's not capable of that.
Impossible.
Who else was in Harry's head?
Sirius didn't even need to ask the question before he knew the answer.
Voldemort was obviously still firmly imbedded in his godson's head, and he was not happy to have someone else tampering with it.
Running a shaking hand through his hair, Sirius stood indecisive for a few seconds, looking around at the faded furniture of his inherited house. He was told to stay put. Dumbledore's direct order. But Harry needed him. After what seemed to him an eternity, Sirius transformed into the huge black dog mid-turn, and bounded down the hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and out the door.
He had to protect Harry.
¤¤¤¤
Severus? It's time to come back now. You cannot allow yourself to be tortured by your past. There is nothing that can be done about it. You must move on.
A seven year old Severus Snape cowered in a corner as his parents screamed back and forth in front of him. He tucked his head under his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wanted to disappear.
You're not a child anymore. These are only memories. They cannot harm you unless you allow them to.
The same scared little boy stood before Lord Voldemort. His jaw was set resolutely, but the same fear existed in his eyes as he held out his left arm. A glowing white brand was pressed into the soft underside of his forearm, but the boy did not scream. He bit down on his lip, holding in all the pain and fear at his decision. His lips reddened with his own blood.
Do you still believe you are that same scared little boy? You're not helpless. And you're not alone. You do not have to face this alone. We can help you.
Again, the same seven year old, dressed in Snape's black Death Eater robes, stood before the Headmaster's desk, a mask clutched in his trembling hand. He looked so tiny standing there, a miniature version of himself. The young boy cast Dumbledore a look of pure fear, then crossed to the door.
"Never question my allegiance, Albus." His voice sounded so impossibly small as he spoke these words. "I would take my own life before I would willingly give it back to him."
Don't you see, Severus? This is not a moment of fear, but of strength. It was not the scared little boy who spoke to me that evening, but a full grown man who had faced his fears. You cannot convince me that anyone but an adult Severus Snape would say those words to me. Or perhaps you were afraid I truly did not trust you?
An adult Snape had replaced the child, his hand still on the door, frozen, rather than leaving the room as he had in reality. He looked at his memory of Dumbledore, sitting behind the large oak desk, then turned and looked at the Dumbledore standing right next to him, watching the memory unfold.
"Perhaps you should stay out of my head."
So you can continue your walk down memory lane? Do you even know where you are, Severus? Your body is in the hospital wing. You are not dead. This is not your personal hell.
"I beg to differ."
Is this how you choose to finish your days? Wallowing in your own weakness? Perhaps I did not know you so well as I thought I did.
"Perhaps not."
No. Severus Snape would never allowed himself to become trapped like this. He had a natural aversion to such public displays of weakness.
"Public? What are you talking about?"
I told you, you are in the hospital wing. You are lying in a hospital gown near the door, where any curious students can see you. Unless, of course, you ask Poppy to move you into your private room.
"Bastard!"
¤¤¤¤
Ron and Hermione were quietly playing chess near the fire of the Gryffindor Common Room, stealing secretive glances at each other and exchanging small smiles. Practically everyone in the room knew what they were about, but that was no reason to go running about like third years with their first boyfriend or girlfriend. After all, they were fifth years, and Prefects to boot, with a first relationship.
Suddenly, a shadow descended over the board. Ron glanced up to find two identical red heads hovering over them.
"So, are you guys going to see Harry tonight?" Fred asked.
"No," Ron answered, moving his knight. "McGonagall said he wasn't feeling well."
"What's wrong with him?" George asked.
"Headache."
"Headache?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, "He's had a lot of them since the- you know."
The twins exchanged a perplexed look.
"It's been two days."
"Well, you know he doesn't get normal headaches," Hermione stressed softly. "This one might be particularly bad."
"And you haven't seen him since we were at the Quidditch pitch?"
"No, we haven't, Fred. Now will you go away?" Ron shot both of his brothers a look that clearly said he did not appreciate their company.
"Oh." Fred frowned, feigning thought. "So when are you going?"
"We're not," Ron answered in exasperation. "We're sitting here playing chess, and then we'll go to bed just like all the other students."
"So, you're not going," George said.
"No," Ron nearly shouted. He shot an annoyed look at his brother. "Harry is resting and we are playing chess. Now will you go away?"
The twins' mouths gaped, faux fear in their eyes.
"You sounded just like Mum," Fred told him, as they shuffled away.
"Now I remember why we don't claim him as our brother," George said.
"Your move, Hermione," Ron mumbled. He glanced up. She was frowning at him. "What?"
"You didn't need to snap at them."
"They were annoying me."
"And you don't need to snap at me."
"I wasn't snapping."
Her mouth flattened into a thin line as she reached out automatically and moved her king forward one space. Now it was Ron's turn to frown.
"Hermione, you do realize that you just placed your own king into check, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't feel like playing anymore."
"Why? We were having fun!"
"Ron, lower your voice!" she hissed. Ron glanced around. Everyone in the Common Room was watching them.
"Mind your own business!" he snapped, drawing glares from several upperclassmen. He turned back to Hermione. "What's wrong?" he asked in a lower, though no less angry voice.
"Nothing!" she huffed back, removing her pieces from the board.
"Then why did you just commit royal suicide?"
Hermione sighed, dropped her pieces onto the board, and leaned forward on the little table on her elbows.
"Ron, your brothers just wanted to know how Harry was. They've only just found out he was alive, and got to talk to him for about an hour. You had no right to snap at them. He's their friend too."
"You know very well that had nothing to do with Harry. They were just trying to annoy me!"
"If they were just trying to annoy you, they would have teased you about one of the myriad of things they usually tease you about." She snapped shut the box that held her chess pieces. "But Ron, I hate to break it to you, but I really don't think you were the center of their attention this time."
"You think I'm jealous."
"I didn't, but now that you mention it-. Ever since we've found Harry, you've been two completely different people. You've been you, Ron, who I love to hang out with and play chess with and talk to and everything else we do together. And then you've been Ron, who can't keep his temper around little annoyances and snaps at people for no reason and who seems to be angry at the world for some deed no one else knows about."
"What?" Ron's mind instantly returned to that night. The night they had learned about Harry's death. The night he had admitted to Hermione what he had never admitted to himself.
"You heard me," she hissed.
"That's a low blow."
"I'm not saying this to try and hurt you, Ron." She took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. "It's like you're worried you're going to get shoved backstage once Harry comes back, but you're not. You never were. Nobody ever thought you were less than Harry. At least, not anyone important."
"You did."
"No, I didn't." She cocked her head to the side, studying him for a long moment. "Ron, is that what you're afraid of? That we'll go back to how we were? That things will change between us once Harry is better?"
Ron's lack of a response was all the answer Hermione needed.
"Ron, I swear to you, nothing will change between us once Harry's back. I will not think that you're lacking anything compared to him. And I will not suddenly decide he's better than you. I promise."
¤¤¤¤
Albus Dumbledore waited patiently for some sign that Snape had returned from his memories. He broke his connection and watched. Slowly, Snape's hand moved, clutching the sheets that covered his body. The eyes shifted over to him, staring daggers at the old man's amused face.
The Potions Master's mouth moved, first into a slight sneer, then to form a soundless word.
Liar.
Dumbledore smiled.
"Welcome back, Severus."
More soundless words.
Thank you.
His dark eyes finally closed, and the man slept.