AN: First thing's first. Did I ever do a disclaimer? Looking back, yes I
did. Anyways, that's not the most important thing. ^_^ My reviewers are.
So on to thank them.
Clara200: I'm pretty pleased with the way I kept them in character too.
Littletiger: thanks for reviewing again. Harry and Severus kinda took over my writing of them for the complexity.
Pagan witch: ^_^ I think I like you! Thanks for your great review.
Nicky: all will be revealed in time. But I'm not giving away any clues ^_~
~Steph: Yes, I know Sev didn't thank Harry. I was quite annoyed at him for that too. Rest assured, I WILL make him apologise even if I have to lock him away from his potions for a week.
SilverWolf: I try my best to keep them in character. I'm having a bit of trouble moving on with them now. They won't do what I want them to.
SilverMoon: I'm looking forward to 'all hell breaking loose' too! It shouldn't take me too much longer to write the story..
Anyways, thanks for all the reviews.... now feel free to read on...
Chapter Three: Blood and Its Properties
There were several heavy books scattered over the surface of the reading table, bearing such titles as The Magical Anatomy, The Heredities Of Wizards, and Harry's personal favourite, Blood and Its Properties.
This was the book that currently lay open in front of him. He had immediately skipped to the specific properties of the blood-magic type O- sigma, having only a passing interest in the topic. It was simply a way to see time pass. Having been deprived of his new favourite hobby - Snape- watching - Harry had retreated to the library in search of something to help while away the hours.
He had idly wandered up and down the aisles for a while, hoping something would jump out and grab his attention. Something had. Quite literally. Frustrated with the lack of any books to interest him, Harry had thumped his head against the shelves. This had had the unfortunate effect of dislodging a book. The tome had dropped from the shelves and landed, corner first, on Harry's big toe.
After having hoped in circles, clutching his toe and cursing all books everywhere several times, Harry had paused to glare at the offending object. It was then that he had noticed the title of the book: Blood and Its Properties. Given the whole reason Harry was at Hogwarts at this time of year in the first place, he was intrigued. He had finally found a topic to hold his attention for a short time. He had scanned the shelves for several more books on related topics then retreated to one of the reading tables with his finds.
Finally finding the page he was after, Harry spread the book flat and leant over it.
Blood-magic type O-sigma: (it read)
Type O-sigma is the most interesting of all the blood-magic types as it has the most unusual properties. All other types do not affect the casting of magic in any way. O-sigma, on the other hand, is curiously resistant to the use of any charms, potions or spells that alter the carrier's appearance. Generally, the duration of the illusion is simply shortened, but it has been proven that the effect of the O-sigma blood-magic on these charms and potions is indirectly proportional. That is to say: the stronger the witch or wizard, the shorter the duration of the illusion magic.
Type O-sigma is also unusual in that it can be used to replace any other blood-magic type, but it, itself, can only be replaced by more of the same type. A carrier of O-sigma type blood-magic can augment any other witch or wizard's spellcasting, but they themselves can only receive aid from another O-sigma carrier.
It is as yet unclear why this...
'Harry! There you are!' Harry glanced up from the page to see Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, floating toward him out of the bookshelves.
'Hey Sir Nicholas. How are you?' Harry folded his hands atop the book and lent his attention to the friendly spectre.
'Oh, you know who it is,' Harry didn't, never having been a ghost before, but he nodded his head anyway, 'Still trying to join the Headless Hunt. Not likely to ever happen with Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore in charge, what with his...'
Harry was quick to interrupt the ghost. As much as he was glad of the distraction, he didn't feel in the mood to listen to Nearly Headless Nick complain about the properly decapitated leader of the Headless Hunt.
'Where you looking for me Nick? It just sounded as though you were.'
'Hmmm?' the ghost looked slightly put out that Harry didn't seem to want to listen to him rant, but then he recalled the reason he had sought out the boy in the first place: 'Oh, yes! Madam Pomfery asked if I would mind locating you for her. It seems she requires you and your blood in the hospital wing once more.'
Harry sighed, but pushed himself up from the table. He had hoped that now that the Professor was finally awake, he and that vile leech could go their separate ways. Apparently, that wasn't to be.
'Thanks for telling me, Nick.' He left the books sitting on the table, telling himself he would be back for them when he had finished in the hospital wing.
Professor Snape was awake this time, which made the whole process even more uncomfortable than usual for Harry. He carefully avoided looking at his professor as he lay down on what he had began to think of as 'his' bed. Knowing the routine by heart now, Harry extended his left arm and didn't even flinch when Madam Pomfery deposited the vampire leech at his elbow. Although, he couldn't help the tensing of his body as the creature began to draw the blood from his veins.
And all the time, Harry was expecting some scathing remark from the professor. But none came. Harry finally chanced a glance at the man out of the corner of his eye. Snape was watching him, his face impassive. Harry shivered. The Potions Master was acting entirely out of character and it was slightly disturbing.
Harry had entered the ward expecting to be the immediate butt of Snape's sarcastic comments and bitter diatribe. Surely, having been confined to his sick bed for an entire day now since waking, Snape would be irritable as a dragon with her prize egg missing. And who better to take out his frustration on then Harry Potter, his most despised student?
Harry decided not to test his luck just yet by asking how the man was feeling. That might just be the opening he was waiting for. Harry hadn't spent the last four years being singled out by the professor without learning to never leave himself open for insults. Although, he supposed he might be being a little harsh, believing that Snape would insult him for asking after his health. He'd probably just snap at him and tell him to mind his own business again.
Harry sighed. Both Madam Pomfery and Professor Snape slanted glances at him; Madam Pomfery's inquiring, Professor Snape's.... Harry settled for blank, at length. There was something simmering below the surface of the professor's expression, but Harry had no idea what it was, or even what it resembled.
Harry shook his head in response to the matron's glance and smiled when she removed the swollen vampire leech from his arm.
'There now Harry,' Madam Pomfery patted his arm and handed him the ubiquitous slab of chocolate, 'that should be the last time you have to deal with the 'slug thing'.'
She smiled down at him and he grinned back. He propped himself up on his elbow as the medi-witch moved across to the professor's bed and began preparing his arm for the transfusion. Harry wanted to see how Snape took the vampire leech.
Snape seemed to have recovered a portion of his usual demeanour as his lips curled in distaste when Madam Pomfery set the blood red, bloated leech to his arm. But he still hadn't spoken and Harry wondered why. It was simply so unlike the professor Harry knew to sit back and allow anyone to tend to him without making some scathing comment about their incompetence, regardless of whether or not they truly were incompetent.
The leech began to expel Harry's blood into Snape's arm and Harry watched in amusement as the man's face changed to something like disgusted astonishment at the sensation. Harry snickered and received a black stare. He was beginning to wonder if something hadn't happened to the professor's voice, he was being so uncharacteristically silent.
Harry decided he should be doing anything else than questioning his good fortune, so he fixed his eyes on the leech, watching it deflate. He gaze slid further down Snape's arm from the slug and landed on the curious wizard-mark. He still hadn't found out any more about them. Harry fully intended to do so when he returned to the library.
Snape must have noticed the direction of Harry's new interest, because pale fingers suddenly wrapped tightly over the wizard-mark and Harry could feel the dark eyes burning into his shoulder, the nearest part of his body to the occupant of the next bed. Harry felt his own gaze drifting inexorably upwards to meet the dark eyes.
Even knowing he'd regret doing so, Harry was helpless to halt the slide of his eyes. And then he was there, staring transfixed into those obsidian orbs. There were things Harry could see in the depths of those eyes that he could not divine: a clutter of conflicting thoughts and emotions. They swirled, eddied then spread wide to gather Harry and drag him deeper. He was helpless to break free of the pull.
Then, between one moment and the next, two distinct emotions separated themselves from the chaos and Harry was finally able to discern something. The first was one he had expected to find there all along: anger. But this was anger turned inwards, directed back at the source. Snape, Harry realised, was angry with himself. But for what? For being caught in the Death Eaters' trap? That wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. What Harry knew of the man indicated that he prided himself on always being in control and knowing precisely what was going on. Of course, he hadn't gotten the second part down to the fine art that Professor Dumbledore had it at, but he was good enough to catch Harry on more than one occasion. So it was conceivable that he would be mad at himself for failing to see the trap ahead of time.
But surely even that wouldn't rate the kind of virulent anger Harry felt seething there. The emotion seemed somehow more immediate and personal than something so abstract as an event in the past that could not be changed. It felt almost as though Snape was battling himself over something and the anger was the most outward manifestation of this hidden battle.
The other emotion was far more confusing and less distinct. An emotion Harry thought never to see harboured in Snape's heart. It was a... tenderness. A tenderness that was directed outwards, this time away from the source. Harry had the sensation that Snape was battling against this feeling of his, trying to expel it from himself, as though trying to rid himself of a perceived weakness. This shocked Harry. He had known it was naïve to believe so, but he had always felt that Snape *had* no weaknesses. He always seemed so self-contained, so sure of his place in the world, that it had never occurred to Harry that there might be a chink in that armour.
Suddenly, Madam Pomfery swept between them, and Harry felt something being drawn back quickly. He blinked and he was free of the black gaze of his Potions Professor. He felt suddenly bereft of all the multitude of emotions he had been immersed in, but at the same time, immeasurably relieved to be free of the morass.
When Madam Pomfery stepped away from Snape once more, taking the deflated vampire leech with her, the professor's mask was firmly back in place. If Harry hadn't been stunned by the intensity of the emotions he had seen, he would have doubted they had ever been there. The look Snape now sent him was purely cold. There was nothing there, no hint of anger, or contempt, or even some faint stirring of gratitude. Just... nothing. The flawless mask, perfected decades ago. It gave nothing away, and it quite effectively intimidated the observer.
And Harry, being all of fifteen years old - or not quite - was no match for it. In his confusion at the sudden change, he did the easiest thing: he fled. While Madam Pomfery was still fusing over Professor Snape, he slipped from his bed and was out the door in no time flat.
TBC
AN: This chapter was meant to be longer, but I wanted to post today and I was never going to get to finish the chapter.. So I posted. Also, Sev was meant to get around to thanking Harry, but they kind o took over the fic and went of in their own little direction.
I promise I will have several chapters to post on Monday.
Btw, I know Severus is a little OOC in this chapter, but he's meant to be.
Clara200: I'm pretty pleased with the way I kept them in character too.
Littletiger: thanks for reviewing again. Harry and Severus kinda took over my writing of them for the complexity.
Pagan witch: ^_^ I think I like you! Thanks for your great review.
Nicky: all will be revealed in time. But I'm not giving away any clues ^_~
~Steph: Yes, I know Sev didn't thank Harry. I was quite annoyed at him for that too. Rest assured, I WILL make him apologise even if I have to lock him away from his potions for a week.
SilverWolf: I try my best to keep them in character. I'm having a bit of trouble moving on with them now. They won't do what I want them to.
SilverMoon: I'm looking forward to 'all hell breaking loose' too! It shouldn't take me too much longer to write the story..
Anyways, thanks for all the reviews.... now feel free to read on...
Chapter Three: Blood and Its Properties
There were several heavy books scattered over the surface of the reading table, bearing such titles as The Magical Anatomy, The Heredities Of Wizards, and Harry's personal favourite, Blood and Its Properties.
This was the book that currently lay open in front of him. He had immediately skipped to the specific properties of the blood-magic type O- sigma, having only a passing interest in the topic. It was simply a way to see time pass. Having been deprived of his new favourite hobby - Snape- watching - Harry had retreated to the library in search of something to help while away the hours.
He had idly wandered up and down the aisles for a while, hoping something would jump out and grab his attention. Something had. Quite literally. Frustrated with the lack of any books to interest him, Harry had thumped his head against the shelves. This had had the unfortunate effect of dislodging a book. The tome had dropped from the shelves and landed, corner first, on Harry's big toe.
After having hoped in circles, clutching his toe and cursing all books everywhere several times, Harry had paused to glare at the offending object. It was then that he had noticed the title of the book: Blood and Its Properties. Given the whole reason Harry was at Hogwarts at this time of year in the first place, he was intrigued. He had finally found a topic to hold his attention for a short time. He had scanned the shelves for several more books on related topics then retreated to one of the reading tables with his finds.
Finally finding the page he was after, Harry spread the book flat and leant over it.
Blood-magic type O-sigma: (it read)
Type O-sigma is the most interesting of all the blood-magic types as it has the most unusual properties. All other types do not affect the casting of magic in any way. O-sigma, on the other hand, is curiously resistant to the use of any charms, potions or spells that alter the carrier's appearance. Generally, the duration of the illusion is simply shortened, but it has been proven that the effect of the O-sigma blood-magic on these charms and potions is indirectly proportional. That is to say: the stronger the witch or wizard, the shorter the duration of the illusion magic.
Type O-sigma is also unusual in that it can be used to replace any other blood-magic type, but it, itself, can only be replaced by more of the same type. A carrier of O-sigma type blood-magic can augment any other witch or wizard's spellcasting, but they themselves can only receive aid from another O-sigma carrier.
It is as yet unclear why this...
'Harry! There you are!' Harry glanced up from the page to see Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, floating toward him out of the bookshelves.
'Hey Sir Nicholas. How are you?' Harry folded his hands atop the book and lent his attention to the friendly spectre.
'Oh, you know who it is,' Harry didn't, never having been a ghost before, but he nodded his head anyway, 'Still trying to join the Headless Hunt. Not likely to ever happen with Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore in charge, what with his...'
Harry was quick to interrupt the ghost. As much as he was glad of the distraction, he didn't feel in the mood to listen to Nearly Headless Nick complain about the properly decapitated leader of the Headless Hunt.
'Where you looking for me Nick? It just sounded as though you were.'
'Hmmm?' the ghost looked slightly put out that Harry didn't seem to want to listen to him rant, but then he recalled the reason he had sought out the boy in the first place: 'Oh, yes! Madam Pomfery asked if I would mind locating you for her. It seems she requires you and your blood in the hospital wing once more.'
Harry sighed, but pushed himself up from the table. He had hoped that now that the Professor was finally awake, he and that vile leech could go their separate ways. Apparently, that wasn't to be.
'Thanks for telling me, Nick.' He left the books sitting on the table, telling himself he would be back for them when he had finished in the hospital wing.
Professor Snape was awake this time, which made the whole process even more uncomfortable than usual for Harry. He carefully avoided looking at his professor as he lay down on what he had began to think of as 'his' bed. Knowing the routine by heart now, Harry extended his left arm and didn't even flinch when Madam Pomfery deposited the vampire leech at his elbow. Although, he couldn't help the tensing of his body as the creature began to draw the blood from his veins.
And all the time, Harry was expecting some scathing remark from the professor. But none came. Harry finally chanced a glance at the man out of the corner of his eye. Snape was watching him, his face impassive. Harry shivered. The Potions Master was acting entirely out of character and it was slightly disturbing.
Harry had entered the ward expecting to be the immediate butt of Snape's sarcastic comments and bitter diatribe. Surely, having been confined to his sick bed for an entire day now since waking, Snape would be irritable as a dragon with her prize egg missing. And who better to take out his frustration on then Harry Potter, his most despised student?
Harry decided not to test his luck just yet by asking how the man was feeling. That might just be the opening he was waiting for. Harry hadn't spent the last four years being singled out by the professor without learning to never leave himself open for insults. Although, he supposed he might be being a little harsh, believing that Snape would insult him for asking after his health. He'd probably just snap at him and tell him to mind his own business again.
Harry sighed. Both Madam Pomfery and Professor Snape slanted glances at him; Madam Pomfery's inquiring, Professor Snape's.... Harry settled for blank, at length. There was something simmering below the surface of the professor's expression, but Harry had no idea what it was, or even what it resembled.
Harry shook his head in response to the matron's glance and smiled when she removed the swollen vampire leech from his arm.
'There now Harry,' Madam Pomfery patted his arm and handed him the ubiquitous slab of chocolate, 'that should be the last time you have to deal with the 'slug thing'.'
She smiled down at him and he grinned back. He propped himself up on his elbow as the medi-witch moved across to the professor's bed and began preparing his arm for the transfusion. Harry wanted to see how Snape took the vampire leech.
Snape seemed to have recovered a portion of his usual demeanour as his lips curled in distaste when Madam Pomfery set the blood red, bloated leech to his arm. But he still hadn't spoken and Harry wondered why. It was simply so unlike the professor Harry knew to sit back and allow anyone to tend to him without making some scathing comment about their incompetence, regardless of whether or not they truly were incompetent.
The leech began to expel Harry's blood into Snape's arm and Harry watched in amusement as the man's face changed to something like disgusted astonishment at the sensation. Harry snickered and received a black stare. He was beginning to wonder if something hadn't happened to the professor's voice, he was being so uncharacteristically silent.
Harry decided he should be doing anything else than questioning his good fortune, so he fixed his eyes on the leech, watching it deflate. He gaze slid further down Snape's arm from the slug and landed on the curious wizard-mark. He still hadn't found out any more about them. Harry fully intended to do so when he returned to the library.
Snape must have noticed the direction of Harry's new interest, because pale fingers suddenly wrapped tightly over the wizard-mark and Harry could feel the dark eyes burning into his shoulder, the nearest part of his body to the occupant of the next bed. Harry felt his own gaze drifting inexorably upwards to meet the dark eyes.
Even knowing he'd regret doing so, Harry was helpless to halt the slide of his eyes. And then he was there, staring transfixed into those obsidian orbs. There were things Harry could see in the depths of those eyes that he could not divine: a clutter of conflicting thoughts and emotions. They swirled, eddied then spread wide to gather Harry and drag him deeper. He was helpless to break free of the pull.
Then, between one moment and the next, two distinct emotions separated themselves from the chaos and Harry was finally able to discern something. The first was one he had expected to find there all along: anger. But this was anger turned inwards, directed back at the source. Snape, Harry realised, was angry with himself. But for what? For being caught in the Death Eaters' trap? That wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. What Harry knew of the man indicated that he prided himself on always being in control and knowing precisely what was going on. Of course, he hadn't gotten the second part down to the fine art that Professor Dumbledore had it at, but he was good enough to catch Harry on more than one occasion. So it was conceivable that he would be mad at himself for failing to see the trap ahead of time.
But surely even that wouldn't rate the kind of virulent anger Harry felt seething there. The emotion seemed somehow more immediate and personal than something so abstract as an event in the past that could not be changed. It felt almost as though Snape was battling himself over something and the anger was the most outward manifestation of this hidden battle.
The other emotion was far more confusing and less distinct. An emotion Harry thought never to see harboured in Snape's heart. It was a... tenderness. A tenderness that was directed outwards, this time away from the source. Harry had the sensation that Snape was battling against this feeling of his, trying to expel it from himself, as though trying to rid himself of a perceived weakness. This shocked Harry. He had known it was naïve to believe so, but he had always felt that Snape *had* no weaknesses. He always seemed so self-contained, so sure of his place in the world, that it had never occurred to Harry that there might be a chink in that armour.
Suddenly, Madam Pomfery swept between them, and Harry felt something being drawn back quickly. He blinked and he was free of the black gaze of his Potions Professor. He felt suddenly bereft of all the multitude of emotions he had been immersed in, but at the same time, immeasurably relieved to be free of the morass.
When Madam Pomfery stepped away from Snape once more, taking the deflated vampire leech with her, the professor's mask was firmly back in place. If Harry hadn't been stunned by the intensity of the emotions he had seen, he would have doubted they had ever been there. The look Snape now sent him was purely cold. There was nothing there, no hint of anger, or contempt, or even some faint stirring of gratitude. Just... nothing. The flawless mask, perfected decades ago. It gave nothing away, and it quite effectively intimidated the observer.
And Harry, being all of fifteen years old - or not quite - was no match for it. In his confusion at the sudden change, he did the easiest thing: he fled. While Madam Pomfery was still fusing over Professor Snape, he slipped from his bed and was out the door in no time flat.
TBC
AN: This chapter was meant to be longer, but I wanted to post today and I was never going to get to finish the chapter.. So I posted. Also, Sev was meant to get around to thanking Harry, but they kind o took over the fic and went of in their own little direction.
I promise I will have several chapters to post on Monday.
Btw, I know Severus is a little OOC in this chapter, but he's meant to be.