As for my reviewers:
Lady Lunar Phoenix: I come to disprove your hypothesis... New installment, AFTER you encouraged me to write!
Joyce: I feel warm at heart to have earned Snape a sympathetic soul. Heh.
Na Rain cy na Ra: Well, I doubt that the evil of the Universe will just evaporate because one lousy mutated overlord got killed, wouldn't you think so?
Nemo Sequester: Your wish is my command. The more the wishes, the faster the command is carried out.
Now on with the story!
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Thank goodness for potions. The organism seems to give priority to the effect of a potion rather than that of a charm. It was what saved Harry from the Anima Vaccus, because it prevented him from falling asleep, thereby rendering him incapable of fighting for his soul and possession of his body.
But the sleeplessness potion did not save him from the dark creature's rage.
I watch him from where I am sitting, trying to find anything on the Anima Vaccus apart from the usual description. He is curled up in front of the fire, shivering and staring at it with bloodshot eyes. His stamina is going down fast, and if I keep feeding him the potion for too long, his body will just shut down, and then all will have been in vain. I dare not leave him alone anymore. Either I or Lupin are always with him, to help him in case he slips into another trance.
It worries me that his scar never stops bleeding. The creature is relentlessly biding its time, waiting for the chance to attack the boy. I am perfectly certain that, like me, it knows that this unnatural complete awareness of Harry's is bound to end. Soon.
Just as well I can work under pressure. I have had endless practice.
The boy seems to feel I am staring at him, and he turns warily to me. He looks so worn. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself with a straight face. Potter cannot see my worry. I cannot add to his worries. And I do not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me so vulnerable. It is a question of prestige, at least.
"Have you found it, Professor?" he says in a hoarse whisper.
"I have told you Potter, that should I find the way not to babysit you 24 - 7, you shall be the first to be informed," I tell him, but I can't make my voice biting. Not when Lily's eyes are looking at me with quiet despair, as if I am the last hope that is dwindling.
"Professor..." Harry's voice breaks.
"Yes?"
"I won't make it. Promise me something, please, Professor."
I have the distinct impression I will not like what I am about to hear.
"Don't start the pity trip, Potter. You are going to make it and live on to tear down Hogwarts with your rule breaking."
He doesn't take notice. Shutting his eyes, he takes a deep breath and I do not interrupt him this time.
"Professor. Promise me. I know you keep every single promise you give... please... promise me that... that if I don't make it... you kill me before it... takes me."
It makes my eyes feel like hot needles are going through them. I even have to try to find my voice.
"Don't go there, Harry."
But the damn Golden Boy is relentless.
"Promise me, Professor Snape. If you ever loved anyone. If you ever cared about anyone."
It is all I can do not to cover my face, not to avert my eyes or bite my lips, to stay composed and calm. If I ever loved anyone.
So be it. For Lily.
"I promise, Harry."
From the boy's shut eyes, tears roll down. Tears of relief. Why does life, nature, anything that controls our destinies, allow that a boy cry in relief because someone promises to kill him? It is unfair. It is not right.
I will not let it last. I get up abruptly.
"Lupin is coming as we speak, Harry." I inform him and he opens his eyes again, questioningly.
"I have to use a bit heavier research methods... As God, Merlin or whoever is my witness, I will not shed Lily's blood, even when diluted with Potter's."
I just could not resist saying that, as I brush past Lupin entering the room on my way out. I summon my broom -an old trusty Starlight, not even the school brooms are this old- and fly out of Hogwarts grounds, almost into Hogsmeade. Then I apparate to a place I try to avoid most of the times.
My house.
I cannot call it my home, because the old Snape manor definitely does not qualify as such. But it is my house, where I grew up the first 10 years of my life. Contrary to popular belief, I was not abused in my house, or left to starve, or crucioed within inches of my life, or was otherwise involved in arcane, twisted and occult dark magic rituals.
I was simply ignored.
After my mother's death there was hardly any source of cheer or joy in my house. It is a huge house, after all, and not counting the house elves only I and Father lived in it. It housed more echoes and sighs and regrets than any other place I ever knew. At about the age of 6, months after mother's death, I glimpsed Father's odd black tattoo. Then I realised that it was important, that it signified something that was big and dark and terrible. However, I never believed it would touch me in my life, in any way.
After all, my father never thought me to be important. Curses and charms were important to him. Potions did not chalk up to real magic. And so I was mercifully spared of the darkness even though I felt it closing in as I grew.
I feel it, even now, after all the years I was away, after all that I have been through. There is so much darkness here, settled like dust on the heavy antique oak furniture, the leather study, the sombre gallery... I could go on and on. But I am not here to reminisce or delve into my childhood, however tempting that might sound.
I am here for research, and there is only a specific room that interests me. My father's secret, personal library.
It is a concealed room behind Father's big painting. It is ironic that I was not allowed in this room, ever, and yet the portrait that guards its entrance has both my father, a tall and severe man, and myself at age 10, a rather bitter, introverted little rascal, as I can see by the scowl.
I speak the password. "Morsmodre."
The portrait creaks just as I remember it did, and I enter in a room whose candles light up immediately, shedding uneven light on a large bookcase and a black desk. The room sends shivers down my spine, just as it did when I was young. And I pause for a few moments, expecting my father to jump me and curse me out of the room, just as he had done the one night I had ventured in here.
I had barely recovered in time for King's Cross.
But this time, silence reigns, and nothing happens. And so I walk up to the bookcase and peer at the row of books for the one I am positive my father should have. This is, after all, a compilation of all the illegal Dark Arts books of the highest quality. My father was always exacting and perseverant in everything he wanted to do. That is one of the few qualities I can claim I inherited from him.
I pull out a dusty book that feels somehow hostile to my touch, and clammy. It is pewter black, and in slightly off-black letters it reads Darkness Unleashed: Magic no wizard performs.
I look in the index. I find half a page of listings under 'Anima Vaccus'. I smile to myself.
Finally.
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Yet another chapter up! A bit of sappiness in there, perhaps? Anyway, in the upcoming chapter, we learn more details on the odd charm Harry keeps fighting, and Severus starts to suspect what the entity is. And that perhaps will help him seek out those that can help him battle it.
Oh and... time starts to run out bout Harry. Don't you just love such sticky fixes?