Chapter Two: Ever meet the vampire leech?
Harry eyed the great white leech with trepidation.
Only two hours previously he had been serving tea to the Dursleys and wishing he could be anywhere but at Number 4, Privet Drive. And now, here he was, wish granted, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, contemplating the albino abomination that was about to - excuse the term - leach the very blood from his veins.
'You mean that... thing sucks the blood from my arm?' Harry's lip curled in distaste, 'Couldn't you just use a needle?'
He glanced up at the matron, carefully avoiding any glimpse of the brutalised figure in the bed next to his. Professor Snape was out cold and not likely to wake for several days, which, Madam Pomfery assured Harry, was a good thing. And Harry was quite willing to believe it, considering he had *never* in his life imagined a person could be so horribly wounded and still be alive to tell the tale.
Harry was just thankful that his blood-magic type did, indeed, match that of his professor.
Upon his arrival at the school, Professor Dumbledore had hurried Harry directly to the hospital wing and, with an excess of enthusiasm, propelled Harry into Madam Pomfery's arms. She had looked rather shocked when the tests had shown Harry to be a carrier of the blood-magic type, O-sigma. Harry had noticed her casting a startled glance at the Headmaster who was looking, Harry determined, decidedly smug.
Once Poppy had ushered Harry to a bed and settled him to her satisfaction, she had ripped back the curtains about Professor Snape's bed and Harry had paled. He had retched and turned his head away, suddenly glad he was the one giving the blood, not receiving it.
He just wished the method of transfusion wasn't so distasteful.
Madam Pomfery bustled over to Harry's bed, carrying the object of his distaste with her. She sat the pale slug on Harry's night table.
'Yes Harry,' she explained, taking hold of his left arm, 'The vampire leech is a very useful animal in wizarding medicine.'
Harry shuddered. See? Even the name was invocative of distaste. Madam Pomfery smiled at his reaction and patted his hand before pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder and proceeding to bind his arm just above his elbow.
'It's really quite simple, Mr Potter. I simply place the leech here' - she tapped the inside of his elbow - 'it draws out a pint of your blood and detaches. Then I take the leech, and place it on Severus's arm and your blood is expelled into his body.'
Harry turned slightly green at the thought and closed his eyes. They snapped open again when he felt something cold and slimy on the inside of his left arm. Madam Pomfery had summarily dumped the leech there. It was about two inches long, one inch round and the colour of waterlogged flesh. Harry was beginning to feel nauseous.
But just when he thought it couldn't possible get any worse, the thing bit him. It sank a dozen tiny teeth into the flesh in the crock of his elbow and *sucked*. Harry was aware of the most unpleasant sensation of his blood being inhaled into the slug. He watched in morbid fascination as the leech swelled and slowly changed from white, through pink, to a faint red.
By the time it finally detached itself from Harry's arm, the vampire leech had swelled to the size of his two fists and was the vivid colour of the blood it had consumed. Harry's arm was cold and the tips of his fingers were tingling. When Madam Pomfery lifted the bloated slug away, he had perfectly round bruise marring the skin of his inner arm.
Suddenly, he was feeling light-headed and bleary. When Madam Pomfery pressed a slab of chocolate into his hand and urged him to eat it, he complied meekly. Moments later, Harry was feeling significantly better and pushed himself up on his pillows, positioning himself to watch Madam Pomfery administer to his Potions Professor.
Snape's right arm was lying palm-up at his side and Madam Pomfery had bound it much the same as she had bound Harry's. As she stepped away to retrieve the vampire leech Harry noticed something he had never seen before.
On the inside of Snape's right wrist there was a mark. It looked for all the world like a birthmark, but it was too regular. Harry leant closer, trying to see what the mark depicted. It appeared to be an elongated starburst, cut through by a quill. Harry's brow furrowed. It didn't *look* like a tattoo, but it was simply too neat to be a naturally occurring birthmark. Harry asked Madam Pomfery about it.
'This?' she seemed distracted as she ran her thumb idly over the mark, 'This is a wizard-mark.'
'A wizard-mark?' Harry queried.
'Mmm,' Madam Pomfery was checking the progress of the leech as it discharged Harry's blood into Snape's veins, 'its like the muggles' birthmark, only a wizard-mark runs in the family.'
Harry wasn't satisfied with that answer but he could see that Madam Pomfery was busy. The leech had subsided to its original size and colour now, and Madam Pomfery set it aside, taking up her wand instead. Harry watched it fascination as she began to cast the appropriate healing spells.
Most urgently, she addressed the still seeping gash on his abdomen. Under Harry's avid gaze, the bleeding ceased and the wound began to knit. The flesh was flush with itself once again before the matron turned her attention elsewhere. Next, she cast spells to set the broken shinbones. Harry gagged slightly when twin cracks heralded the shifting of the bones and he was glad that the Professor was unconscious. Finally, the medi-witch reset the dislocated shoulder, casting spells to knit the torn muscles about it.
That done, she set down her wand and stepped away from the bed. Harry stared blankly from her, to the still badly wounded Snape and back again. Madam Pomfery noticed his expression.
'Oh, I know what you're going to say: Why didn't I finish healing him?' Harry nodded mutely. Madam Pomfery sighed and nudged at his hip until he scooted over, giving the witch room to sit on the edge of his bed.
'He still doesn't have enough blood for me to do more than the most urgent healing.'
'But you just gave him an entire pint of mine!' Harry protested.
'And he probably lost six times that! He'll need more of your blood before he's done. I took as much from you as you could afford to give in one sitting.'
Harry swallowed, hard. He didn't begrudge Snape the blood, but...
'You mean I have to go through that slug thing again?'
Madam Pomfery laughed at the expression of horror on Harry's face.
'Yes, Mr Potter, you'll have to go through that 'slug thing' again.' She stood up and pulled the blankets up under Harry's chin, 'Now, I want you get some rest. I'll need to take some more blood in an hour or so.'
Suddenly Harry's eyelids felt impossibly heavy and he realised the medi- witch must have laced the chocolate with a sedative. His eyes slid shut against his will as Madam Pomfery pulled the curtains shut behind her.
Harry was standing at the bottom of Professor Snape's bed, watching him sleep.
It had been three days since Professor Dumbledore had apparated to Surrey and brought Harry back with him. Three days in which Harry had given up his blood a total of five times. There seemed to be a permanent bruise on his forearm now; the vampire leech was never unattached long enough for it to heal.
Harry had been allowed to leave the hospital wing that first evening and discovered his things had been moved into one of the guestrooms on the castle's ground floor. He had unpacked his trunk that night and promptly taken to the Quidditch pitch with his Firebolt. But he had quickly discovered that flying wasn't nearly as much fun when you didn't have someone to share it with. Eventually, he had come to a halt in mid air above the golden rings and lain down on his broomstick, allowing himself to drift as he had watched the day fade into twilight.
His thoughts had drifted too, finally coming to rest on his Potions Master. No matter how hard he had tried, he hadn't be able to stop his imagination showing him precisely what had to have been done to the Professor Snape to leave the man in such a state. The sun's last rays hitting his glasses had awoken him from his daze and he had turned the broom back towards the school.
He had encountered no one on the way back to his appointed room, but had found a tray of food sitting on the desk. He had devoured it, not having realised how hungry he was, and then he had fallen into bed and slept the sleep of the just.
Harry had quickly discovered it wasn't nearly so wonderful to be back at Hogwarts for the summer as he had thought it would be. In fact, it was rather.... dull with all the students and most of the faculty away on vacation. Much to his chagrin, Harry had found himself actually looking forward to his appointments with the vampire leech, simply for something to fill in his time.
And in between his regularly scheduled visits to the hospital wing, Harry had found himself gravitating back towards the ward and it occupant.
Three days and five blood transfusions - and the corresponding healing spells - had done much to improve Snape's appearance. The blood had been cleaned off him and most of the bruises and abrasions had faded to pale shades of yellow, green and pink. Both legs were in casts and his ribs were tightly bound, as was his shoulder. His skin had a healthier flush to it now, but he still hadn't woken up.
Madam Pomfery had told Harry that the Professor's body had shut down and he had gone into a deep, healing slumber. She said he wasn't likely to wake for at least another day or more yet. That didn't stop Harry standing at the foot of his bed and staring as though he could wake the man by will alone.
He wasn't entirely sure where his... obsession was probably the best word for it... where his obsession with watching the Potions Master had come from. Perhaps it was a desire for him to wake up so Harry could see that he truly was okay. Or perhaps Harry wanted him to wake up so he could tell him that the debt had been paid, that he no longer owed his Professor for saving his life in first year.
Or perhaps it was simply the desire to have someone - anyone - to talk to. Harry sighed. It didn't really matter why he was here. All that truly mattered was that he couldn't tear himself away.
It was then that Harry noticed the addition to the nightstand. He stepped closer. Someone, sometime between Harry's last visit and now, had left a photograph propped against the water glass. Harry stepped closer again. His curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know whom the picture was of, and who it was that had left it there.
Standing half a metre from it, Harry could clearly see one of the subjects of the photo. It was a younger Severus Snape. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wasn't glaring. In fact, he seemed almost to be smiling. He held in his arms a bundle that Harry belatedly realised was a child. A black-haired baby to be precise. There was something about the child's eyes that Harry thought odd. He turned his attention to the last person in the photo. A dark-haired someone stood half behind Snape. The face was obscured by a fall of unruly hair as the figure bent forward over the child.
It was clear that the photo was a wizarding one, but none of the subjects seemed to be moving very much. They seemed too engrossed in one another to be interested in anyone else.
Harry stepped closer a third time and went to pick the photo up for closer examination. A pale, long-fingered hand flipped the photo facedown and pressed it to the nightstand's surface. Harry's eyes darted up and met the black glare of his Potions Professor.
Harry stood frozen, locked in Snape's gaze, one hand still extended toward the photo. Never removing his eyes from Harry's face, Snape drew the photo off the nightstand and to his chest. Finally he looked away and Harry took the opportunity to blink. Snape glanced briefly at the photo, then pressed it tighter to his chest and stared at the ceiling. His eyes did not return to Harry as he spoke in a flat tone.
'This is a personal item, Mr Potter. What did you think you were doing?'
'I -' Harry stammered, '- I didn't think...'
'It is quite apparent that you did not think.'
Harry snorted under his breath. What was quite apparent was that the brush with death hadn't changed Snape's attitude one whit..
'In future I trust you will refrain from nosing about what is none of your business?'
Then again.... Harry noticed Snape was slanting a peculiar look at him out of the corner of his eye. When Snape realised Harry had noticed, his gaze snapped immediately back to the ceiling.
'I am currently an invalid, Potter, and your presence wears on me.'
Harry stood there, both arms hanging loosely at his sides. He didn't know what he was waiting for; the Professor had clearly dismissed him. But it seemed there was something hanging unsaid in the air. Harry didn't know what it was, or even who was meant to say it, but it was there and he wanted to hear it.
Clearly, Snape had no such desire to hear what was going unsaid. His deep black eyes latched onto Harry's and the voice was harsh now.
'Do you deliberately disconnect your brain come holiday time, Harry? I told you to leave.'
Harry responded automatically to the command in that voice and, turning, started for the door. He had recovered enough concious control of his body by the time he reached it to turn his head for a last glance as he passed over the threshold. That last glance showed Snape staring almost wistfully down at the photograph in his hand. Harry could not begin to fathom the emotion in the man's eyes.
It was only when Harry had reached the foot of the stairs that he realised the Professor had called him by his given name.
TBC
AN: thanks to bramblerose, SammiSnape and Littletiger for reviewing. I'm really quite proud of this story. Btw, bramblerose, this update is just for you. I shall try and up date most of my stories over the weekend. ^_^
Harry eyed the great white leech with trepidation.
Only two hours previously he had been serving tea to the Dursleys and wishing he could be anywhere but at Number 4, Privet Drive. And now, here he was, wish granted, in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, contemplating the albino abomination that was about to - excuse the term - leach the very blood from his veins.
'You mean that... thing sucks the blood from my arm?' Harry's lip curled in distaste, 'Couldn't you just use a needle?'
He glanced up at the matron, carefully avoiding any glimpse of the brutalised figure in the bed next to his. Professor Snape was out cold and not likely to wake for several days, which, Madam Pomfery assured Harry, was a good thing. And Harry was quite willing to believe it, considering he had *never* in his life imagined a person could be so horribly wounded and still be alive to tell the tale.
Harry was just thankful that his blood-magic type did, indeed, match that of his professor.
Upon his arrival at the school, Professor Dumbledore had hurried Harry directly to the hospital wing and, with an excess of enthusiasm, propelled Harry into Madam Pomfery's arms. She had looked rather shocked when the tests had shown Harry to be a carrier of the blood-magic type, O-sigma. Harry had noticed her casting a startled glance at the Headmaster who was looking, Harry determined, decidedly smug.
Once Poppy had ushered Harry to a bed and settled him to her satisfaction, she had ripped back the curtains about Professor Snape's bed and Harry had paled. He had retched and turned his head away, suddenly glad he was the one giving the blood, not receiving it.
He just wished the method of transfusion wasn't so distasteful.
Madam Pomfery bustled over to Harry's bed, carrying the object of his distaste with her. She sat the pale slug on Harry's night table.
'Yes Harry,' she explained, taking hold of his left arm, 'The vampire leech is a very useful animal in wizarding medicine.'
Harry shuddered. See? Even the name was invocative of distaste. Madam Pomfery smiled at his reaction and patted his hand before pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder and proceeding to bind his arm just above his elbow.
'It's really quite simple, Mr Potter. I simply place the leech here' - she tapped the inside of his elbow - 'it draws out a pint of your blood and detaches. Then I take the leech, and place it on Severus's arm and your blood is expelled into his body.'
Harry turned slightly green at the thought and closed his eyes. They snapped open again when he felt something cold and slimy on the inside of his left arm. Madam Pomfery had summarily dumped the leech there. It was about two inches long, one inch round and the colour of waterlogged flesh. Harry was beginning to feel nauseous.
But just when he thought it couldn't possible get any worse, the thing bit him. It sank a dozen tiny teeth into the flesh in the crock of his elbow and *sucked*. Harry was aware of the most unpleasant sensation of his blood being inhaled into the slug. He watched in morbid fascination as the leech swelled and slowly changed from white, through pink, to a faint red.
By the time it finally detached itself from Harry's arm, the vampire leech had swelled to the size of his two fists and was the vivid colour of the blood it had consumed. Harry's arm was cold and the tips of his fingers were tingling. When Madam Pomfery lifted the bloated slug away, he had perfectly round bruise marring the skin of his inner arm.
Suddenly, he was feeling light-headed and bleary. When Madam Pomfery pressed a slab of chocolate into his hand and urged him to eat it, he complied meekly. Moments later, Harry was feeling significantly better and pushed himself up on his pillows, positioning himself to watch Madam Pomfery administer to his Potions Professor.
Snape's right arm was lying palm-up at his side and Madam Pomfery had bound it much the same as she had bound Harry's. As she stepped away to retrieve the vampire leech Harry noticed something he had never seen before.
On the inside of Snape's right wrist there was a mark. It looked for all the world like a birthmark, but it was too regular. Harry leant closer, trying to see what the mark depicted. It appeared to be an elongated starburst, cut through by a quill. Harry's brow furrowed. It didn't *look* like a tattoo, but it was simply too neat to be a naturally occurring birthmark. Harry asked Madam Pomfery about it.
'This?' she seemed distracted as she ran her thumb idly over the mark, 'This is a wizard-mark.'
'A wizard-mark?' Harry queried.
'Mmm,' Madam Pomfery was checking the progress of the leech as it discharged Harry's blood into Snape's veins, 'its like the muggles' birthmark, only a wizard-mark runs in the family.'
Harry wasn't satisfied with that answer but he could see that Madam Pomfery was busy. The leech had subsided to its original size and colour now, and Madam Pomfery set it aside, taking up her wand instead. Harry watched it fascination as she began to cast the appropriate healing spells.
Most urgently, she addressed the still seeping gash on his abdomen. Under Harry's avid gaze, the bleeding ceased and the wound began to knit. The flesh was flush with itself once again before the matron turned her attention elsewhere. Next, she cast spells to set the broken shinbones. Harry gagged slightly when twin cracks heralded the shifting of the bones and he was glad that the Professor was unconscious. Finally, the medi-witch reset the dislocated shoulder, casting spells to knit the torn muscles about it.
That done, she set down her wand and stepped away from the bed. Harry stared blankly from her, to the still badly wounded Snape and back again. Madam Pomfery noticed his expression.
'Oh, I know what you're going to say: Why didn't I finish healing him?' Harry nodded mutely. Madam Pomfery sighed and nudged at his hip until he scooted over, giving the witch room to sit on the edge of his bed.
'He still doesn't have enough blood for me to do more than the most urgent healing.'
'But you just gave him an entire pint of mine!' Harry protested.
'And he probably lost six times that! He'll need more of your blood before he's done. I took as much from you as you could afford to give in one sitting.'
Harry swallowed, hard. He didn't begrudge Snape the blood, but...
'You mean I have to go through that slug thing again?'
Madam Pomfery laughed at the expression of horror on Harry's face.
'Yes, Mr Potter, you'll have to go through that 'slug thing' again.' She stood up and pulled the blankets up under Harry's chin, 'Now, I want you get some rest. I'll need to take some more blood in an hour or so.'
Suddenly Harry's eyelids felt impossibly heavy and he realised the medi- witch must have laced the chocolate with a sedative. His eyes slid shut against his will as Madam Pomfery pulled the curtains shut behind her.
Harry was standing at the bottom of Professor Snape's bed, watching him sleep.
It had been three days since Professor Dumbledore had apparated to Surrey and brought Harry back with him. Three days in which Harry had given up his blood a total of five times. There seemed to be a permanent bruise on his forearm now; the vampire leech was never unattached long enough for it to heal.
Harry had been allowed to leave the hospital wing that first evening and discovered his things had been moved into one of the guestrooms on the castle's ground floor. He had unpacked his trunk that night and promptly taken to the Quidditch pitch with his Firebolt. But he had quickly discovered that flying wasn't nearly as much fun when you didn't have someone to share it with. Eventually, he had come to a halt in mid air above the golden rings and lain down on his broomstick, allowing himself to drift as he had watched the day fade into twilight.
His thoughts had drifted too, finally coming to rest on his Potions Master. No matter how hard he had tried, he hadn't be able to stop his imagination showing him precisely what had to have been done to the Professor Snape to leave the man in such a state. The sun's last rays hitting his glasses had awoken him from his daze and he had turned the broom back towards the school.
He had encountered no one on the way back to his appointed room, but had found a tray of food sitting on the desk. He had devoured it, not having realised how hungry he was, and then he had fallen into bed and slept the sleep of the just.
Harry had quickly discovered it wasn't nearly so wonderful to be back at Hogwarts for the summer as he had thought it would be. In fact, it was rather.... dull with all the students and most of the faculty away on vacation. Much to his chagrin, Harry had found himself actually looking forward to his appointments with the vampire leech, simply for something to fill in his time.
And in between his regularly scheduled visits to the hospital wing, Harry had found himself gravitating back towards the ward and it occupant.
Three days and five blood transfusions - and the corresponding healing spells - had done much to improve Snape's appearance. The blood had been cleaned off him and most of the bruises and abrasions had faded to pale shades of yellow, green and pink. Both legs were in casts and his ribs were tightly bound, as was his shoulder. His skin had a healthier flush to it now, but he still hadn't woken up.
Madam Pomfery had told Harry that the Professor's body had shut down and he had gone into a deep, healing slumber. She said he wasn't likely to wake for at least another day or more yet. That didn't stop Harry standing at the foot of his bed and staring as though he could wake the man by will alone.
He wasn't entirely sure where his... obsession was probably the best word for it... where his obsession with watching the Potions Master had come from. Perhaps it was a desire for him to wake up so Harry could see that he truly was okay. Or perhaps Harry wanted him to wake up so he could tell him that the debt had been paid, that he no longer owed his Professor for saving his life in first year.
Or perhaps it was simply the desire to have someone - anyone - to talk to. Harry sighed. It didn't really matter why he was here. All that truly mattered was that he couldn't tear himself away.
It was then that Harry noticed the addition to the nightstand. He stepped closer. Someone, sometime between Harry's last visit and now, had left a photograph propped against the water glass. Harry stepped closer again. His curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know whom the picture was of, and who it was that had left it there.
Standing half a metre from it, Harry could clearly see one of the subjects of the photo. It was a younger Severus Snape. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wasn't glaring. In fact, he seemed almost to be smiling. He held in his arms a bundle that Harry belatedly realised was a child. A black-haired baby to be precise. There was something about the child's eyes that Harry thought odd. He turned his attention to the last person in the photo. A dark-haired someone stood half behind Snape. The face was obscured by a fall of unruly hair as the figure bent forward over the child.
It was clear that the photo was a wizarding one, but none of the subjects seemed to be moving very much. They seemed too engrossed in one another to be interested in anyone else.
Harry stepped closer a third time and went to pick the photo up for closer examination. A pale, long-fingered hand flipped the photo facedown and pressed it to the nightstand's surface. Harry's eyes darted up and met the black glare of his Potions Professor.
Harry stood frozen, locked in Snape's gaze, one hand still extended toward the photo. Never removing his eyes from Harry's face, Snape drew the photo off the nightstand and to his chest. Finally he looked away and Harry took the opportunity to blink. Snape glanced briefly at the photo, then pressed it tighter to his chest and stared at the ceiling. His eyes did not return to Harry as he spoke in a flat tone.
'This is a personal item, Mr Potter. What did you think you were doing?'
'I -' Harry stammered, '- I didn't think...'
'It is quite apparent that you did not think.'
Harry snorted under his breath. What was quite apparent was that the brush with death hadn't changed Snape's attitude one whit..
'In future I trust you will refrain from nosing about what is none of your business?'
Then again.... Harry noticed Snape was slanting a peculiar look at him out of the corner of his eye. When Snape realised Harry had noticed, his gaze snapped immediately back to the ceiling.
'I am currently an invalid, Potter, and your presence wears on me.'
Harry stood there, both arms hanging loosely at his sides. He didn't know what he was waiting for; the Professor had clearly dismissed him. But it seemed there was something hanging unsaid in the air. Harry didn't know what it was, or even who was meant to say it, but it was there and he wanted to hear it.
Clearly, Snape had no such desire to hear what was going unsaid. His deep black eyes latched onto Harry's and the voice was harsh now.
'Do you deliberately disconnect your brain come holiday time, Harry? I told you to leave.'
Harry responded automatically to the command in that voice and, turning, started for the door. He had recovered enough concious control of his body by the time he reached it to turn his head for a last glance as he passed over the threshold. That last glance showed Snape staring almost wistfully down at the photograph in his hand. Harry could not begin to fathom the emotion in the man's eyes.
It was only when Harry had reached the foot of the stairs that he realised the Professor had called him by his given name.
TBC
AN: thanks to bramblerose, SammiSnape and Littletiger for reviewing. I'm really quite proud of this story. Btw, bramblerose, this update is just for you. I shall try and up date most of my stories over the weekend. ^_^