Disclaimer: Characters and situations all belong to JK Rowlings, not me. Caius the raven belongs to Draqonelle, who has kindly allowed me to borrow him (Vesta McGonagall is hers too). She also owns the Remus-in-the-closet incident, Caligula Snape, and young Sirius's boggart. In addition, I got the name Polaris Black for Sirius's sister from someone else's fanfic, but I can't remember whose (her character, however, belongs entirely to me and Draqonelle). The graphic description of what it feels like to pass out is courtesy of the Red Cross Blood Drive, who came to my campus this spring (tip: when they offer you juice after giving blood, drink it, even if you don't like the kind of juice. Fainting heads the list as the most embarrassing way possible to get out of English Class).
Posted by: Elspeth (also known as L Squared)
Ships: Professor Sinistra and an adorable black dog, hopefully hints at a future Snape/McGonagall
Chapter Ten: In Which There is Much Patching Up and Tending of Wounds.
Draco felt reality give a slow, wrenching lurch around him as he apparated into the delightfully familiar confines of the Forbidden Forest. The looming, monster-infested trees now seemed a haven of safety. Nothing here could possibly be as dangerous as Voldemort.
The massive black trunks surrounding him solidified, and Draco sagged exhaustedly against the rough, moss covered bark of the one nearest to him. Apparating was a difficult and taxing spell at the best of times, and performing it when exhausted and in pain—not to mention with a passenger who possessed half again as much mass as he did—was even more difficult. He and Professor Snape had come closer to being splinched than Draco ever planned to admit.
Snape himself was now leaning heavily against another of the trees, face so pale that Draco suspected that the big oak was the only thing keeping him upright. After a moment, he straightened, almost visibly bracing himself, and moved away from the tree.
"Good job, Mr. Malfoy," he managed, voice hoarse and faint but still commanding. "Now come on, we have to get back to the castle."
Easier said than done. Much, much easier said than done. The distance from the castle itself to the line of demicartion in the Forbidden Forest where the anti-apparition barriers ran out was only a half-mile. On a good day, Draco could run it in less than four minutes (and had, in the past, as part of his quidditch training). Tonight it took him and Professor Snape a good twenty minutes to make the trek across the grounds, twenty very long minutes, during which Draco was sure that his teacher was going to keel over any second.
At some point in the past two hours, the Great Hall had been cleared out and the students presumably sent back to their common rooms, leaving a blessedly empty set of corridors for the two of them to limp through. Draco could have sworn he could hear the pictures whispering to each other as they passed by them.
They paused for several minutes at the bottom of the stairs to the dungeons, before Professor Snape released his white-knuckled grip on the stair-rail and he and Draco made it the last few hundred yards to his office.
When Draco pushed open the office door—usually locked unless you were a Slytherin or had been invited in—a streak of black feathers shot past him like a muggle bullet and launched itself at Professor Snape, shrieking.
"Sev-ah-rus! Sev-ah-rus! Snake Snake Snake! Ten points from Sly-ther-in!"
"Caius, please be quiet. It's okay." Snape attempted to detach his frantic familiar from the shoulder of his robes, finally succeeding in getting the raven to at least remain still and silent, though not managing to remove him.
Once Caius had been dealt with, Snape limped across the room to his desk and half sat, half fell into the wooden chair behind it. For a moment, he leaned an elbow on the desk and rested his head in his unhurt right hand. Then he raised his head again and looked at Draco.
"Come here, Mr. Malfoy. You cannot go back to your common room looking like that."
Draco crossed over to stand before the front of the massive wooden desk, the same spot, he remember suddenly, that he had stood in that night in January, before his Death Eater induction. He stood silently while Snape looked him over, knowing what the potions master must be seeing. The drying mud in his face and hair, the swollen and bleeding lower lip that he had bitten straight through while under the cruciatus curse, the pain in his side—he could feel a bruise starting and was sure a rib must be cracked—that prevented him from standing completely straight, all would be dead give-aways that he had been outside of the castle that night.
Sighing, Professor Snape withdrew his wand from inside his right sleeve and pointed it at Draco's face, then touched it to his lower lip. "Ablutio, integro labrum."
Draco felt the mud peeling away from his face and the swelling and pain in his lip disappearing. Snape sagged back in the chair, looking, if possible, even paler than before.
"You didn't have to do that," Draco protested, uncharacteristically alarmed at the slightly glassy look in his teacher's eyes. Adults weren't supposed to get sick or hurt, they were supposed to be invincible—at least, Lucius and Professor Snape were.
"It will prevent any…awkward questions." Snape waved his right hand tiredly at a row of three vials lined up at the edge of his desk. His left hand was still out of sight below the desk. Draco could vividly remember the crunching sound he had heard when Avery had stepped on it, and was sure something must be broken.
"I want you to drink these."
"What are they?" Draco picked up the largest of the vials first, inspecting the liquid inside.
"That one… is reverse engineered Skele-Gro. I suggest you drink the white one first. It's a pain potion. The blue one is a sleeping potion, for when you get back to your room." Snape fininished his explanation, then closed his eyes and leaned his head on his hand again.
Draco set down the pseudo-Skele-gro, picking up the pain potion and cracking the seal. It was thick and chalky, and tasted bitter, but the moment he swallowed it he could feel the aches in his muscles and bones diminish. He tucked the Skele-Gro and sleeping potion into a pocket of his robes. "Thank you, sir."
Professor Snape seemed to sense that he was referring to more than just the cleaning up and the potions. "Don't thank me. I'm your Head of House. I stand in loco parentis for you during the school year; I'm supposed to take care of you."
"Thank you anyway. Do you need any—"
Snape cut him off. "I am fine, Mr. Malfoy. Go back to your dormitory and take care of the other Slytherins before it turns into a bedlam in there, if it hasn't already. I don't need any help."
"Help," Caius repeated. "Draco. Help." He pulled his beak out of Professor Snape's hair, which he was preening obsessively, and cast his beady black eyes at Draco in a meaningful stare. Draco nodded back ever so slightly before leaving the office. Great Ravens truly were astonishingly smart birds.
Once the door had swung shut behind him, Draco paused indecisively in the corridor. Caius had asked—or at least, he thought Caius had asked—for him to bring help. But who could he go to? The hospital wing was out of the question. The first thing Madame Pomfrey would do would be to look at Professor Snape's left hand, and wrist, and forearm, after which point none of his injuries would matter, because he'd be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban, with Draco for company. Most of the other teachers could be ruled out for similar reasons. Who in the school could be relied upon to provide assistance without asking awkward questions? Suddenly, inspiration struck. Professor Lupin. He needed Professor Snape to stay at Hogwarts and make the wolfsbane potion for him, otherwise he himself would be forced to leave. Under those circumstances, Draco imagined, he wouldn't be too eager to ask many difficult questions. And if he did, well, he was a werewolf, a dark creature, and everyone knew a werewolf's voice was worth next to nothing in a court of law. People would far less likely to listen to Lupin's suspicions than to those of, say, Professor McGonagall.
Even as the idea passed through Draco's mind, he was turning back toward the stairs out of the dungeon. The quarters for those teachers who were not heads of houses, he remembered with an inward groan, were all on the fifth floor.
By some stroke of luck, Professor Lupin turned out not to be in his inconveniently far away quarters. As Draco began labourously climbing the staircase between the first and second floors, he ran into the Dark Arts professor coming down in the opposite direction.
"Draco?" Lupin asked, sounding curious but vaguely disapproving. "What are you doing up here?"
"Looking for you, sir." Always be polite when you want something, Draco reminded himself. It makes people more likely to give it to you.
"Can't it wait until tomorrow morning? It's nearly four A.M."
"Er, no, no it can't." Draco took a deep breath. "I think you should go and check on Professor Snape. Sir. He looked kind of tired earlier. And he hasn't come to explain anything to our house yet." That was good, establish that he had been in the Slytherin dormitory where he was supposed to be and not out of the castle. Fortunately, Hogwarts robes were black, so the mud and grass stains didn't show. Much. Well, at least the stairway was dimly lit.
Lupin looked thoughtful. "He hasn't been back to the dungeons? He left the Great Hall a good two hours ago."
"I didn't say he hadn't been back to the dungeons, just not back to our dormitory. We're worried about him." Draco tried to look concerned and mournful, hoping to play for sympathy. Lupin was notoriously soft-hearted. "Maybe you should go check his office. Sir."
Professor Lupin looked slightly surprised at Draco's admission of worry, but quickly relented. "Alright, I'll go and check Severus's office," he said. "You, Draco, need to go back to your dormitory. I'll walk you downstairs."
Lupin took Draco by the elbow and steered him down the steps back to the first floor, and then down the second, longer set of stairs into the dungeons. As he followed in the DaDA teacher's wake, Draco was very glad of the pain potion he had taken earlier. Without it, his limping and stiff movements would have been far too obvious for Professor Lupin to miss.
At the bottom of the final flight of stairs, Lupin turned toward the Potions classroom, and Snape's office and quarters. Draco hung back in the hallway, watching him.
"Draco, go to bed. I promise, I will check on Professor Snape for you. You and the other Slytherins can find out all about what happened this evening at breakfast. I can assure you, the castle is perfectly safe. Now Go. To. Bed."
Sensing that Lupin was about to lose patience, Draco quickly turned and started towards the stretch of wall that contained the entrance to the Serpents' Lair—a much more stylish name than Eagles' Eyrie, Lions' Den, or, God forbid, Badgers' Burrow. Bed was beginning to sound very, very good.
"Carpe diem," he mumbled tiredly at the damp stone, stepping back to wait while the hidden door ground slowly open. But when he stepped through the entrance into the common room, his hopes of finally retreating to bed to take his Skele-Gro and sleeping potion were dashed. There, waiting for him in the armchairs in front of the fire, were Crabbe, Goyle, and Gordon Nott.
"Malfoy," Nott greeted him, rising to his feet. "Just the wizard we were waiting for." Draco felt a sudden sinking in his stomach. Oh no, oh no, I don't want to have to do this.
"Crabbe and Goyle here want to know if their dads are okay, and I want to hear about my uncle. We know that you know, so come on, spill."
For an instant, Draco could once again see the older Nott's mangled body, throat laid open like so much raw meat.
"What? What is it?" Goyle demanded, seeing the look on Draco's face. "They're okay, aren't they?"
^_~
As soon as the door swung shut behind Draco's departing form, Snape laid his right arm across his desk and sagged forward to rest his head on his forearm. His left hand he kept in his lap, trying to ignore the dull throbs of pain that pulsed through it in time to his heartbeat. Everything hurt, his muscles, his bones, his head… He could feel sharp, stabbing pains in his midsection where Avery had kicked him, and his thought process felt oddly blurry. He had set out potions earlier in the evening to deal with the expected result of Voldemort's wrath, but he had given them to Draco. There were more in the cupboards on the other side of his office, but they seemed unimaginably far away. Besides, he wasn't sure he'd be able to pour out the proper doses anyway. He really should go and report to Dumbledore. The Headmaster would want to know about Lestrange and Nott's deaths. Maybe in a few minutes.
Nott…he had always rather liked Nott. The man had been much more intelligent than Crabbe and Goyle, who were really little more than a pair of thugs, and not nearly as fanatical and obsessive as Lestrange. Nott…He had been alive, and now he was not. You're rambling, a little voice in the back of his head remarked sharply. Probably going into shock. Somehow, he could not bring himself to care.
A few moments later—or was it longer, he couldn't be sure—Caius cocked his head towards the doorway, listening to a series of muffled sounds that drifted in from the hall.
"Severus," Lupin's voice penetrated unmistakably through the thick wooden door, hesitant and concerned. "Are you in there?"
Snape didn't respond. Maybe, if he stayed very still and kept his eyes closed, the werewolf would go away.
"Severus?" The voice was more insistent now, definitely worried sounding. Snape considered snarling at Lupin to leave him alone, but couldn't work up the energy. A moment later, Caius decided to take the matter into his own talons, denying Snape the opportunity.
"Wolf," he croaked, voice uncannily loud for so small a bird. "Wolf wolf. Sev-ah-rus. In in in!"
Why, Snape wondered fuzzily as he heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open, had he ever decided to get a familiar that could talk?
"Severus, are you alright?"
"Go away, Lupin," he managed to mumble. "I don't care what you want, you can get it tomorrow."
"I don't want anything." Lupin's voice got closer. His head still resting on his arm, Snape heard the werewolf's soft tread moving across the flagstones.
"Then why are you here?'
"Actually, Draco Malfoy sent me to check on you," Lupin said, sounding slightly bemused at the notion. "Considering that it was the first time I had ever seen him display an iota of concern for another human being, I assumed you must be in pretty bad shape."
"I'm fine."
"Like Hell. I can tell there's something wrong with you. I'm a werewolf, remember? I can smell pain. Look at me, Severus."
With an effort, Snape raised his head and looked at Lupin. His left eye was beginning to swell shut, and the werewolf's image was somewhat blurry.
Lupin drew his breath in sharply at the sight of Snape's face. "Merlin's beard! What happened to you?" He leaned forward and peered closely at the swollen and bruised flesh. "Is your entire body like this?"
"Voldemort does not like losing. He decided to express his displeasure."
"Did he curse you? He cursed you, didn't he? What are you doing down here? You should be in the hospital wing."
Snape shook his head, ignoring the flashes of pain the motion brought. "No, I can't go there yet. I need to report to the Headmaster first."
"I've just come from his office; he's still explaining things to Polaris. There will be plenty of time for you to go see Poppy before he gets done with her." Lupin was insistent.
"Leave off, Lupin." Snape gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, leaning on his desk. "I will go see her in my own good time."
"Fine, fine. If you insist on seeing Dumbledore first, we'll go see him first." Lupin took hold of Snape's upper arm and began to guide him out the door and towards the stairway. Snape bit back a hiss of pain as the werewolf's fingers pressed into the bruises left by Macnair's hands. He kept his left hand firmly cradled against his chest, resisting Lupin's attempts to pull it free and look at it.
Patches of purple and yellow fuzz began to cloud the edges of Snape's vision, and there was an odd, ringing noise in his ears as he began to mount the steps of the first flight of stairs leading up out of the dungeon. His face and ears tingled, and the rest of his body was ice cold. With no noticeable lapse of time in between, he suddenly found himself lying flat on the floor at the base of the staircase, with Lupin bending over him in obvious concern.
"What happened?" he asked, much more faintly than he had intended to. It shouldn't have been so hard to talk.
"You passed out." Lupin pushed him gently but firmly back down as he tried to sit up. It wasn't difficult. Moving brought the purple fuzz back.
"Let me up. I'm fine. I need to go report to Dumbledore…"
"People who are "fine" do not lie unconscious on the floor," Lupin said sharply. "I'm taking you to the hospital wing."
Snape gave up. Lupin was plainly determined, and he didn't feel up to the effort of arguing. A bed in the hospital wing was beginning to seem awfully attractive, and maybe Poppy could do something about his hand… Abruptly, he realized that Lupin had his wand out, obviously preparing to cast a mobilicorpus spell.
"No levitating spells," he managed to snarl. "I can walk."
Lupin looked doubtful, but lowered his wand, tucking it away in his robes and carefully pulling Snape to his feet, slinging the other man's right arm over his shoulders.
Walking turned out to be a bit more difficult than Snape had anticipated. His knees didn't seem to want to work correctly, and he couldn't feel the floor under his feet. Just keep moving, he told himself. You'll get there soon. All you have to do is keep walking.
^_~
Remus made his way slowly up the stairs toward the first floor, Snape's weight an awkward burden on his left. In a way, it was rather like coming home from pub-crawling with Sirius, back when they were young, though minus the off-key singing in his ear. Both men were thin enough that bearing their weight was not completely impossible, but tall enough that he kept nearly tripping over their feet.
Caius had flown ahead of them and was now waiting at the top of the steps, fluffing his feathers impatiently and looking meaningfully from the two of them to the hospital wing door.
Remus could hear a muted murmur of voices as he approached the door to the hospital wing, but all conversation ceased when he and Snape entered. Ranged around the room, staring at the two of them in shocked silence, were Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, Xiomora Hooch, and, surrounding the bed where Sirius's unconscious form lay, Claire Sinistra, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Polaris Black.
"Oh God," Snape moaned in his ear. "Why couldn't you just leave me in my office to die?"
Poppy was the first to speak. Almost visible shaking herself out of her frozen trance, she moved over to Snape's other side, taking some of his weight from Remus and steering the two of them toward the nearest bed. She let out a sharp hiss when she saw his left hand, which Remus realized with a jolt was bruising nearly black, and had three fingers sticking out at odd angles.
"What has the idiot done to himself now?"
"S'not my fault this time," Snape mumbled, collapsing back onto the bed.
"Snape, if there's one thing I've learned in the past twenty years, it's that it's always somehow your fault, no matter who's holding the knife." Poppy's lips were pressed in a thin, angry line as she began to clean the blood off his face, examining the damage. "I think you've fractured your left zygomatic."
"What?"
"Your face bone." Poppy began probing his cheekbone with careful fingers, eliciting a hiss of pain. A mummer of shocked voices from the crowd around Sirius's bed made her look up sharply.
"Everyone who's not either injured or directly related to someone who is, leave," she ordered, glaring around indiscriminately. "Out! I can't work if it's too crowded to move! Not you, Remus."
Claire, Ron, and Hermione reluctantly left the room, casting anxious glances back over their shoulders the entire time, while Xiomora began limping unobtrusively toward the door.
"Xiomora Rolanda Hooch! I haven't looked at your ankle yet, so sit down and stay here until I can get to you."
Xiomora resumed her seat. Minerva, who hadn't made a single move towards the doorway, crossed her arms and glared at Poppy, as if daring the mediwitch to make her leave. Caius, now perching on the headboard of the bed, eyed her with a remarkably similar expression. Poppy glanced at them both, then chose to ignore them.
"Snape, I'm going to have to cut your robes off. I need to see what's wrong with your side."
Snape eyed Polaris. "I'm not taking my robes off in front of her."
"Too bad." Poppy pointed her wand at him and snapped out a cutting spell. Bloodstained black robes slid apart, followed by an equally stained black linen shirt.
The bruises were really quite impressive. In several places, Remus could actually see the outline of somebody's boot. Behind him, he heard Minerva catch her breath.
"What the hell happened to him?" Polaris asked sharply, leaving her chair by Sirius's bed and striding across the room. She halted a good three feet away from Snape when Caius fluffed his feathers angrily and glared at her with blatant menace in his eyes.
"Auror. Auror," he spat. Then he said a word that would have gotten any student detention for a month.
Polaris's nostrils flared and her lips thinned, but she determinedly ignored the insult—though she didn't come any closer to the bed. Great Ravens had been known to inflict some fairly gruesome damage on unwary wizards. "He was fine three hours ago," she continued.
"Voldemort happened," Remus told her absently. Most of his attention was currently focused on subduing the desire to chase Voldemort and his Death Eaters down and rip them to shreds, one by one. Death to all who invaded his territory and harmed his pack! With a shock, he realized that the wolf had extended his definition of "pack" to cover nearly everyone in the room. Not just Sirius, lying motionless in the other bed, so frighteningly pale, and Harry, who sat with his hand clamped around one of Sirius's, horrified eyes staring steadily across the room, but Xiomora and Minerva as well, and even Snape. "Apparently, he wasn't too pleased about the failure of the attack."
"He dug his own grave, then," Polaris sniffed, eyes going hard. "It's like the IRA; once in, never out." Her attention shifted to the pattern of livid bruises imprinted on Snape's upper body. "Odd," she said meditatively. "There's no bruising on his forearms, or right hand. No marks at all, except…" her gaze shifted to the Dark Mark, a raw, half-healed burn scar, surrounded by a series of thin, white slashes.
Snape shifted, trying to pull his arm in closer to his body, out of sight. Poppy's gentle but firm grip on his left wrist prevented him.
"It's true then," Polaris said. "You have it and he doesn't." She was speaking directly to Snape now, her voice curiously intent. "You wear the Mark, and he doesn't have one. I should have thought of that, back then. I should have checked for it."
"Go away…" Snape groaned, closing his eyes. "Stop staring at me. M'not a lab specimen…"
"Keep them open, please," Poppy said. "I want to check the size of your pupils." She leaned in, inspecting his eyes closely. "Hmm… You would have to have black eyes, wouldn't you? I can't tell where the pupils end and the irises begin."
"Are they s'possed to be different sizes like that?" Xiomora Hooch was peering over Poppy's shoulder, head cocked in a very bird-like attitude of curiousity.
"Go sit down, Xiomora. You're blocking the light. So are you, Auror Black." Xiomora obeyed. Polaris, somewhat predictably, did not.
"They say that Pettigrew is alive. That you've seen him," she said, eyes still fixed intently on Snape. "Is it true?"
"Of course he's alive." Snape's voice, normally silky and sarcastic, was now merely hoarse and bitter. "Cowards die a thousand times before their deaths, and he's only managed about eight hundred."
"Definitely yes on the concussion." Poppy nodded grimly to herself, carefully taking Snape's left hand in both of hers. "Snape, I'm going to set your fingers now," she said gently. "I'm fairly sure that you have a concussion, so I'm afraid I can't give you any pain potions..."
"Get on with it."
"One of you distract him," Poppy said to the crowd of onlookers. "Not you, Auror Black. I thought I told you to sit down. And not you, either." This last was to Minerva, whose face had been growing steadily angrier over the past few minutes, until her very hair seemed ready to bristle out of it's bun.
Remus stepped forward, crouching down by the bed so that his eyes were on a level with Snape's. "Don't look at her, look at me." The fact that Snape actually obeyed the command was somewhat disquieting. "You said you needed to report to Dumbledore, right? Why don't you tell me everything right now, and I'll go and tell him later."
"Report." Snape closed his eyes again, flinching slightly as Poppy began to probe his mangled hand.
"Definitely three phalanges," she was muttering, "and I think, yes, one, no, two metacarpals."
"Report," Snape repeated. "Yes, well, we lost, obviously. The Dark Lord wasn't pleased. Thought there was a traitor, someone at Hogwarts. Convinced him it was me, but he thinks it was an accident." He broke off with a strangled gasp as Poppy slowly charmed one of his fingers straight. Minerva made a faint sound in her throat, and Caius cocked his head menacingly at Poppy, eyes glinting beadily. Even Polaris looked a little pale.
"Voldemort thinks it was an accident," Remus prompted.
Black eyes fixed on his. "An accident, yes. We're not allowed to make mistakes, it's too expensive. Too dangerous." Poppy was getting ready to set the second finger, but now held her wand motionless, listening. "Ripley Nott and Antoine Lestrange are dead. Goyle's arm has been injured, might be able to get him on that." He paused, then continued in a flat monotone. "Nott and Lestrange are dead, did I say that? Nott…his throat was gone, ripped out by something, some curse, I don't know. Antoine…the killing curse. I think Therezia's gone over the edge completely. She and Lestrange have been together since fourth year. They love each other as much as Potter and Evans, maybe more."
Remus glanced involuntarily at Polaris, who was listening to Snape's account with a set, emotionless face. At the mention of Lestrange's name, she didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.
"The Dark Lord wasn't pleased. He doesn't like failure. He wanted to make…make an example. Mistakes can't be tolerated. But it wasn't a mistake. There really is a traitor..." Snape's voice trailed off again as Poppy set to work on another broken bone.
"You can't possibly feel guilty about informing on that scum," Polaris said tightly. "It's probably the only decent thing you've ever done."
Remus stared at Polaris with something approaching shock. I can't believe she just said that. No, wait, I can. She has no mercy. Absolutely no mercy. Poppy gave her a particularly venomous version of her patented "don't disturb my patient" glare.
"We can't all throw our friends and relations in prison without twitching an eyebrow." Surprisingly, it was not a snarl. He didn't even sound angry, just very tired.
"I… I… Duty has to take precedence over feelings." Polaris sounded abnormally defensive. "You can't… Just because someone is related to you doesn't make them exempt from justice." She turned away, looking back across the room at Sirius. "We didn't know. I didn't know. We all thought…" She broke off abruptly and turned back to Snape, eyes glinting oddly. "I don't have to defend myself to the likes of you."
"No," Snape agreed, voice catching oddly as Poppy began working on the last finger. "You don't."
"Auror Black," Poppy began, voice heavy with warning. Polaris could take a hint, though in Remus's experience she normally chose not to. She fell silent and backed off a bit to where Minerva stood against the wall. The transfiguration teacher glared pointedly at her and took a step away. Xiomora, unusually silent, was regarding Polaris with a kind of horrified awe. Surely, Remus could almost see her thinking, Caius would attack the auror any minute now.
"Okay, that's the last finger." Poppy had resumed her brisk, businesslike "bedside" voice. "I'm going to start on your palm now. We're almost done, I promise."
"Oh, God…" Snape went, if possible, even paler, and sagged back against the pillow, eyes losing focus.
"Snape? Snape! Don't you dare pass out, do you hear me?"
"'course I hear. You're yelling."
"Yes, I know," Poppy apologized. "I'm sorry. But you can't go to sleep yet, not for a few hours. It's important." She tapped her wand lightly against the back of Snape's hand a final time, then pulled it away. "There. All finished. Be glad you're not in a muggle hospital; they would have had to piece your metacarpals back together with steel screws."
"Steel screws?" Xiomora said faintly. Harry, across the room, looked sick—probably thinking of his own Lockhart-induced hand injury in second year.
Snape didn't respond, merely eyed the beaker of Skele-Grow Poppy was now preparing with obvious trepidation.
"You can wait until morning when the concussion has started to wear off, if you would like," she offered. "I can give you pain potions then. Or, you can take it now and your bones will be mostly knit by then."
"Now."
"Fine, then." Poppy stood over Snape while he drank the potion, then took the empty beaker and placed it on the table by the bed. "Lupin," she ordered, "take the blanket off that empty bed and bring it here. Thank you." She spread the blanket over Snape and proceeded to charm it in place with the sort of tight corners that would leave the person under it totally unable to move. "Now, I want you to go sit down by your friend and have some hot chocolate. I know you haven't had any yet. Black's going to be alright, by the way. Shock and bloodloss, but we've got him warmed up again and seen to the slice on his back. Once he wakes up, and we give him some hot chocolate and pepperup potion, he should be fine. Except for the vitamin deficiency." She broke off to direct a glare at Snape. "Make that two cases of vitamin deficiency. Food is not something that exists only for other people, you know."
"She's there at dinner…glaring. Like I'd poisoned her... her food. As if I'd be that obvious."
"I don't glare," Polaris stated absently, turning to face Poppy. "Are you sure? You're sure he's alright?"
"Physically, yes," Poppy told her, as she fetched a mug of hot chocolate that had been waiting on a table in the corner and handed it to Remus. "I've been keeping it hot for you. Drink it, Lupin. Now." She returned her attention to the auror. "As for the rest, we'll see when he wakes up. It shouldn't be much longer now."
"The rest?" Polaris echoed. She sounded distinctly worried now, more like the bossy and overprotective older sister Remus remembered from their days at Hogwarts. "He isn't going to wake up… like Denise?" Polaris, Remus remembered suddenly, had worked with the Longbottoms. Perhaps there had been more to her killing of Lestrange than mere cold-bloodedness.
"No, no, nothing like that," Poppy assured her, steering the auror toward Sirius (and incidentally, away from Snape) as she spoke. "But dementors are rather tricky things. He may not remember anything that happened tonight, last night," she corrected herself. "Or he may remember a bit more than he wants to." Reassuranced delivered, she returned to the other side of the room to have a few words with Minerva. Remus's ears picked out the phrases "concussion" and "make sure he doesn't fall asleep." Minerva nodded and seated herself next to Snape's bed, face set.
Polaris looked at her for a moment, then looked at Sirius. She hovered uncertainly in the center of the room, appearing as though she were contemplating something deeply unpleasant, the determinedly crossed back over to stand next to Minerva.
"I'm only going to say this once, so you had better pay attention." She broke off and took a deep breath. "I… I may have been just a little bit too harsh just now."
"May have been?" Minerva said dryly.
"I'm not apologizing to you," Polaris snapped at her. "May have been," she repeated. "I've heard the whole 'I'm a traitor to my House' bit from Vesta a thousand times, and I think it's absolute drivel, but I suppose it's understandable drivel, given what you are." She sniffed. "I still think you've sold your soul, but at least you're trying to buy it back. There's not enough gold in Gringotts to ever accomplish that, but at least you're trying." Having apparently spoken her piece, she returned to Harry and Remus and stood somewhat awkwardly beside the bed containing Sirius's limp form. Snape stared after her, blank-faced in total shock. Remus somewhat echoed the sentiments. An apology from Polaris, as close as such a thing was to an actual admission of error, was a rare thing indeed.
Shaking his head, Remus pulled a chair over next to the one occupied by Harry and sat down.
"Are you alright?" he asked the boy in an undertone, noticing the wide eyes and unusually pale face. The preceding scene had not been one he had needed to see. What a way to find out that your teachers were human.
"I'm fine," Harry said. "Is Professor Snape going to be okay?"
"Madame Pomfrey says so. She says Sirius will be okay too."
"I know; I heard." Harry shook his head sadly. "It's all because of me. Sirius wouldn't have come here if it wasn't for me."
"Don't be silly," Polaris told him sharply. "Of course it's not your fault. You're not the one who sent the dementors, or lowered the school's defences to the Death Eaters."
"Yes, but-"
"No buts, Harry," Remus put in. "Tonight was in no way due to you."
Their conversation was interrupted by a faint moan from Sirius. Remus's attention was redirected in an instant as his friend's eyes opened and slowly focused on him.
"Moony. What happened? Is everyone alright? Is Harry alright?"
Remus could feel his face breaking into a huge smile of relief, which was more than matched by an equally wide grin from Harry. "Harry's fine. He's right here. He's a hero, Padfoot. Cast a patronus in the Great Hall and helped drive the dementors out."
Sirius's eyes shifted to Harry, almost visible assessing him for damages. Then, he caught sight of Polaris over Harry's shoulder, and his entire body went stiff.
"Pols," he whispered, eyes widening. "I… you…" his voice trailed off. "When are the Ministry coming?"
"They're not." Polaris looked away, not meeting her brother's eyes. "I haven't contacted them yet."
"You haven't? But… but why not?" He shook his head slightly, closed his eyes. "Guess it doesn't matter. But please, please don't tell them about me. I didn't do it. Ask Remus, ask Dumbledore, hell, ask Snape. They can tell you."
"I already have. That's why I haven't called the Ministry yet."
Sirius's face, which had been shuttered and weary a moment before, lit up. "You believe them? You believe me?"
"You don't have the Mark." Polaris blinked several times, hard. "Sirius, I…" She looked at him, then looked away again, blue eyes oddly bright. "I'm so sorry. Oh God, Sirius, I'm so, so sorry that we did this to you. The Hufflepuff aurors were right; I am worse than Barty Crouch. At last his son was actually guilty."
Sirius reached a hand up and folded it around his sister's. The other hand had already found it's way into one of Harry's. "You thought I was guilty. I would have thought I was the traitor, after everything that happened. You couldn't do anything else. I didn't really expect you to."
Poppy, noticing almost instantly that her other patient was now awake, made a beeline from Xiomora, who looked relieved to put off the inspection of her injured ankle by another few minutes, towards Sirius.
"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?"
"Cold, actually," Sirius said. He shivered. "Really cold. They were all around me, weren't they?"
"They were, but we chased them away," Remus said. "Did you know that Dementor's will burn if you cast an incendio spell on them? Or at least, their robes will."
"Good," Sirius said. "I hope you torched the sodding bastards." Poppy, an eyebrow raised at his language, thrust a mug of hot chocolate into his hand. Sirius absent-mindedly took a sip, then drained the cup in one gulp, color coming almost visibly back into his face. "Thank you," he said quietly. He directed the words toward Poppy, but his eyes were on Remus. Then he started, obviously remembering something.
"Pols, you AKed Lestrange, didn't you? I remember, I looked up and he was right behind you…" His voice trailed off and he shuddered. "Moony, did I really rip someone's throat out?"
"We can talk about that tomorrow," Remus said quickly.
"Yes," Poppy said. "Most definitely tomorrow. Now that's you've all seen that he's alright, you can all go off to your own beds. Black needs sleep."
Sirius chose that moment to yawn. He eyed Poppy suspiciously. "There was something in that chocolate, wasn't there?"
"Just dormouse extract and chamomile."
"Dormouse extract?" Sirius wrinkled his nose, an oddly canine gesture. "I don't wanna know."
"No," she agreed. "You probably don't. Lupin, Auror Black, Potter—yes, you too; I see you trying to play invisible in that chair. Out. You can all come back tomorrow." She turned away from the four of them and strode purposefully over toward Xiomora.
"Alright, Hooch, I'll see to that ankle now."
Xiomora, sitting on one of the empty beds, pulled her foot up into her lap protectively. "It's not broken," she said quickly. "You don't need to set it or give me Skele-Grow, or- "
"Grow up and give me your foot. I'm sure your ankle's only twisted." Poppy shook her head disapprovingly. "Quidditch players."
^_~
Next up: Chapter Eleven: In Which There are Revelations and Reconciliations.
Featuring Vesta McGonagall. She's Minerva's little sister, she's Polaris's ex-partner, she's Snape's ex-girlfriend! (yes, she is a bit mad). Special cameo appearance by Percy Weasley! (alright, gratuitous cameo—I like him, okay).
I want to extend a special thanks to all of the people who have reviewed me over the course of this fic. Your feedback has supported me through a rather unpleasant Creative Writing class with a somewhat less than supportive teacher. For a while I was actually considering putting off choosing a major a bit longer instead of going into Creative writing right away, but y'all helped change my mind. Unfortunately, the last chapter of the story will probably be somewhat delayed (possibly even another month again) because I am leaving college for the summer, losing both my steady internet access and my beta writer (I'm also going to Switzerland next week).
Thank you to Draquonelle, who has helped me brainstorm and search out plotholes over the past four months, and puts up with me sitting next to her in the computer lab at three in the morning asking questions like "If someone stepped on my hand, how many bones do you think I'd break?" I'll miss you over the summer.
Andromache Cassandra, Luna Rose, Shila (actually, the title are a take off on the book Dealing with Dragons ), Moonlight, Alla, Leila C. Snape, Alchemine, and Bloodfly: Thank you! I am so sorry that it took me such an endless amount of time to update. This chapter was difficult to write (lots of emotion from people who don't normally display much) and I was ambushed by end of the year paper and finals. Over the past month, I've written three thesis papers and put together a poetry portfolio, signed up for next year's classes, chosen an academic major, and taken four final exams. But I did finally find time to get back to "Scars" once I took my last test.
Moonfire, Snidgy, Firebrand, Kit Cloudkicker, & Erin: Thank you! I feel the same way (I don't derive sick, twisted, Avery-esque pleasure from torturing my boys, really I don't—the plot required it!).
A Tye, odyssey, Elektra, & St. Fool: Thank you! I'm so glad that y'all think I have good characterization—I try very hard to keep everyone believable, especially Snape (he's the hardest to write).
Demeter: Thank you! Exactly! Draco is only a sixteen year-old—he's not an evil monster yet (if he's ever going to be).
Enfluerage: Thank you! Yes, Polaris doesn't like admitting that she's wrong, or that things aren't all neat and tidy or black and white. About incidences of Snape's Gryffindor tendencies in canon, I've always thought taking on Fluffy by himself qualified, and going to the Shreiking Shack to confront the convicted murder & werewolf (during a full moon) by himself.
Chary: Thank you! Yes, Draco is slowly developing a conscience (but slowly, mind you—he's not going to become heroic overnight). I kept Avery toned down on purpose. There are some places my mind doesn't want to go, and it has to go there before it can write them.
Sova: Thank you! I debated over whether or not to stick in that snipe at Microsoft, and couldn't resist.
Ozma & Faith Accompli: Thank you! I put a lot of thought into the Malfoy family dynamic. Given how Draco seems to look up to him, Lucius has to hold a certain amount of affection toward his son—and angsty tortured abused Draco annoys me as well.
Iuvat equus: Thank you! Nope, sorry. No Harry perspective on the horizon, Try as I might, I just can't seem to write him (which is why he and Ron and Hermione aren't in this much). I can do sixteen year-old Severus and seventeen year-old Sirius, but for some reason, fifteen year-old Harry eludes me.
MB: Thank you! If only you knew how long I've had some of those lines stored in my head—good clever dialogue is hard to write without getting corny.
ChoChang913: Thank you! Actually, I wasn't planning on having Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the infirmary, but after reading your review I decided to put them in.
Chad-Catsmeat: Thank you! I have a big black dog who looks a lot like Padfoot. Amd she's scary as hell when strange people come into our yard and she gets protective, so I thought I'd try to work some of that into Padfoot (Wyleigh would never bite out someone's throat, though). The chapter names and previews are actually some of my favorite parts to write—they're fun to come up with
RADKA: Thank you! Yes, the Lestranges are human too. I tried to get more of that across in this chapter.
Silent Onion: Thank you! I making you like Snape? I'm glad; he's one of the more complex characters in the series, and one of the most interesting. In the attack, Harry fought in the Great Hall (last line of defence). The Death Eaters all attacked at one point because the protective charms guarding the castle could only be lowered for a finite area—taking them all down would be impossible for one wizard (except maybe Dumbledore). As it is, Flitwick is going to do some major revamping of the charms. Only the Heads of houses can touch them, but one head of House isn't supposed to be able to bypass them on his or her own. The Dark side's version of a flanking attack was the dementors that they sent in to the Great Hall.
I Light: Thank you! About the display, displace thing: Voldemort is displaying his anger, but he is also displacing it in a sense (it's likely that much of it is actually directed toward the light side, who have defeated his troops, but they're not there, and the Death eaters are a convenient target). I admit that I didn't use the term in exactly the appropriate sense, though (But it made such a nice sounding title).