This chapter is dedicated to everyone at the GSFI website and especially GC, whose diligence keeps it going when nothing else does. Thank you GC! And too my muse, Severus, *he raises his glass* who has been working especially hard to try and get my brain back on track after "Carousel".
Chapter 3- The "Glorious" Morning
Consciousness returned to the raven-haired teen in a slow trickle, his nightmares reluctant to release him from their grasp. Emerald eyes slit open and darted around, carefully taking his surroundings. Memories flowed like a swollen river to his brain and a scowl settled over his delicate features. School, classes, students, crowds, torture. What fun. With barely a whisper of fabric he sat up and stretched his sore muscles, the bruise on his left side mildly protesting. Without so much as a sound he pushed his curtains aside and swung out of bed. His spell must have worked for his slumber had gone undisturbed (by outside influence at any rate). It had been a mixture of an illusion and repelling charm, perfected for just this occasion. Treading lightly to the bathroom with his clothes, he was again silent. It was one of the only attributes of himself that he liked and that was his ability to perform tasks, even magic, and remain absolutely silent.
Carefully locking the door behind him, Harry waved his hand, switching on one of the shower heads, allowing it to warm before he entered. As is did so, he began to remove his rumpled nightclothes, exposing the scared skin beneath. The mirror gasped.
"My goodness, child, what happened to you?" Its sympathy grated on the boy's nerves and he snapped out.
"Nothing," before casting a silencing spell over the object. All he needed was it sputtering the entire time he was in here, that would certainly improve his mood. Note the sarcasm. The water was scalding, almost to the point it would damage his skin but he did not mind, enjoyed the pain. It was a welcome respite from the numbing emptiness that left a vague uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. It was almost as though his insides had been scrambled around and emptied, leaving him hollow. At times, when this seemed all he could feel, his vision would become obscured by a strange dark cloud. He had come to know that cloud for it constantly hung around hm; he'd yet to figure how to be rid of it. But, since he found himself relying on the strength it provided, he was somewhat reluctant to be rid of it. With the cloud had come other abilities, ones he had yet to fully master. But there was nothing he could do right now, he decided, stepping from the shower. His alabaster skin was flushed red from the heat and burned in one or two places he noted with some satisfaction. Quickly slipping the cool clothes on he un-hexed the mirror before casting a Memory Charm on it. There was nothing more he could do or he would; the Memory Charm was risky for it could be broken and then his secret would be known. The raven-haired Gryffindor, however, had complete confidence in his spell and knew no one would break it.
Taking up a brush, he began to run it through the rat's nest he called hair. Over the summer the raven locks had grown out and surprisingly curled up. From their pictures, Harry knew neither of his parents had curly hair. Now that the teenager had allowed it too lengthen he found it much easier to manage, even it did seem as though he'd gotten a perm. It was sort of like a lazy corkscrew curl; he tied back with a bit of black ribbon he'd taken from Aunt Petunia's arts and crafts supplies. One would think it would give a feminine look but it did not. Some men (or teenagers in this case) looked fine with long hair; he happened to be one of them. The one lock that fell free accented his high cheekbones and graceful arch of his thing eyebrows. His eyes were hidden emeralds behind long dark lashes.
Giving himself one last look over, he quietly exited the bathroom, gathering his books from his trunk. A soft mumble made him freeze in the middle of closing his trunk-lid and hold his breath. The sound was not repeated, he was relieved to note that one of his dorm-mates was merely talking in his sleep and not actually awake. Good, that meant no confrontations this morning, or at least for a couple of hours. He would go downstairs and eat then disappear until it was time to go to class. He pasued for a moment on the way down to the common room. How was he going to get his schedule if he wasn't at breakfast with everyone else? Surely there was a way around this problem. And there was, he would just need to come up with it in time. Rolling around potential plans in his mind, the Gryffindor left the Tower and descended down to the Great Hall. So deep in thought was he that he paid no attention to his surroundings. That is, until he reached the bottom of the stairs. Something told him to glance up after he stepped off the last step ad he did. Immediately he wished he hadn't. With a strangled gasp he stumbled back and tripped, falling hard on the stone floor. With inhumanly wide eyes he watched the creatures of all shapes, sizes and types crawl on the walls and floor. Ghosts that he knew he had never seen before floated past, staring straight ahead. Most had a haunted (no pun intended) look upon their faces while others chatted among themselves but they were still unfamiliar. At his strangled gasp the creatures and some of the spirits turned to him. They all came to the decision that he could see them and started towards him. His breathing quickened and he curled into a ball, rocking back and forth.
"It's not real. It's not real. It is not real." He repeated over and over to himself as he drew in even tighter. The faint whispers disappeared and after a moment the teenager summoned the courage to look up. The images were gone, the hall bare of anything but himself. For a moment he paused before standing and straightening his robes. He had been seeing things, that was all, he tried to convince himself as he walked down to the Great Hall.
The Potions Master was slammed back into consciousness as if he'd been hit over the head with a bat. Had he not been wrapped so tightly in the green blanket and in the middle of his bed, his flailing limbs would have sent him sprawling to the floor. With a fist of iron he clamped down on his emotions and commanded his body to still. It complied slowly, clearly fighting the adrenaline that had been pumped into it moments before. When he was in full control once more he carefully began to de- tangle himself from the blanket. Arduous though the struggled proved, he nevertheless prevailed as he rolled free of the binding object. When he was a sufficient distance he took it into his hands and began to examine it thoroughly. It was obviously new, the green showed no wear but upon discovering what it was made of, that was no surprise. The wool of the Heaven's Helpers, no wonder it appeared new. If the Potions Master was correct it would remain doing so for years to come. Heaven's Helpers were a cross between a sheep and a wolf. Bodies built like sheep with legs and claws of wolves these creatures were almost impossible to find and even more difficult to domesticate thanks to their wild natures and unpredictable behavior. It was believed theses creatures earned their names when a hapless wizard stumbled across a herd and was confronted by the leader. According to accounts from the man, he swore he saw blood dripping from the beasts mouth. Later discoveries proved that it was merely a red colouration around the mouth (the rest of the body was white) to give the false appearance of blood. Their hair had to be removed with a special Shearing Charm and collected quickly before the stunned beast could charge. When the man had first seen the beast, the first words out of his mouth were "Heaven help us" and the name remained.
The wool had been woven in the shape of a large quilt, clearly made for two people or even three and enough for one to get lost in if they so wished. What made the wool so prized besides its rarity were two qualities: softness and durability. Once processed fully the wool was as strong as thick steel bars but as soft and light as a feather. It was quite amazing to behold and to have it dyed green....it only enhanced its beauty. It was while examining it that Severus noticed something odd; there was a silver phoenix in one of the corners. He passed a hand over it, muttering to himself.
"Now why would....." He trailed off. As his hand moved away, the phoenix appeared to have changed. In the center of its body were two letters: SS. The Potions Master had no doubt they stood for his name. But how (and from whom) had he gotten it? Surely no one would just give this away?
His musings were interrupted by the squawking phoenix as it chimed the sixth hour. Ah, he thought, time for breakfast. A scowl settled briefly over his features; he wished to dine in his quarters but the Headmaster would never allow it, proclaiming he did not socialize enough. Socialize, pah! Who needed to socialize? He enjoyed being alone. So, since he was not allowed to eat in the dungeons he had gotten up early every morning to eat before everyone else. It served his purpose and he didn't mind getting up at six; he was normally awake by then anyhow.
Rising from the bed with his normal fluid grace he wrapped the blanket around himself as he searched for his clothes, going over what had happened the night before. He remembered being at the feast but not much else. There had been someone who had put him to bed, (wrapping in the comfortable blanket!) and fed him because for the first time in two days (now three) he wasn't hungry. Or dizzy. Or lightheaded. It was a blessing. But who would have done this for him?
The answer was elementary: the Headmaster. No one else would have bothered or even dared. Added to the fact that no one else could even get past his wards but the venerable man. It was distinctly comforting to know it had been him.
Letting the blanket fall to the floor he pulled on the black slacks and shirt, buttoning up the front and cuffs. It was cold in the dungeons so he always wore warm outfits, whether it be summer or winter. Shouldering the robe on and pulling on his boots, he clicked his wand into its sheath on his arm and was just about to leave when he glanced back and saw the blanket. Pausing from momentary indecision he suddenly turned back and snatched the gift from the floor. Folding it carefully he tapped it once with his wand, shrinking it, and placed it within his pocket. He did not know shy he did it, but it being there gave him an unusual sense of security.
When Harry entered the Hall it was to find it empty. That was perfect and unsurprising in his opinion. No one else would be up at this hour if they didn't have to be. Drifting over to the Gryffindor table he allowed a small smile when a plate of his favorite food appeared. It seemed Dobby was up and knew the Gryffindor was as well. Picking up one of the golden utensils he carefully picked out a bit of egg and took a bite. Too salty, so much so he almost spit it back out. Clamping his mouth shut he resolutely chewed and swallowed then took another bit. His tongue was merely unused to the taste; salt was a commodity not spared upon him at the Dursleys when he was allowed to eat. He would just have to readjust, but after a few more mouthfuls of the egg and sausage, he was full.
He was taking a long drink of his orange juice when the soft click of a closing door caught his attention and he looked up. The juice came from his mouth in a fine mist, him choking on what was left. It was Snape but with an added feature: wings. Silver feathers passed seamlessly into black at the tips, one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Strangely, though, they seemed to droop and Harry saw that there were steel chains wrapped tightly around them. Feeling as though he were swimming through water he blinked as the black eyes met his.
Severus took his time going to the Great Hall; there was no real reason to hurry, he wouldn't eat much as he was still a bit full from the night before. The paintings, most still asleep, greeted him casually and with a sudden turn of personality, he returned their greetings with a few of his own. The paintings took this as a good sign and speculated amongst themselves exactly what could have caused this turn. He ignored them and patted his pocket where the small blanket resided, allowing its presence to calm him. It was al that did. Since he'd left his rooms, the feeling that he was being watched had not lifted. A few times he had stopped and looked back to see if there was anyone but always found nothing. Yet, he could not shake the feeling; it was like an itch under his skin, one he could not scratch.
These thoughts were still on his mind when he entered the Great Hall. However, a gasp and choking sound pulled him from them and he looked up. He found himself trapped by emerald eyes.
When their eyes looked, Harry suddenly saw something new. The light of the wings outlined the Potions Master's body before engulfing it and extending to the surroundings. Instead of obscuring his view, the silver light seemed to lift a veil, revealing what he had seen earlier in the hall. This time the creatures were immediately aware he could see them and started forward. His breath caught in his throat as they neared, fighting the want to curl up and disappear.
Before they could get too close, however, the strange light pushed them back and reached for him, brushing over his in invitation. He desperately wanted to give in to the protection he felt there, the want to help but he couldn't. No, it was better to be alone; he could always count on himself. Reluctantly he pulled away, declining the invitation to join. The light seemed to understand and pulled away though, unbeknownst to him, a thread remained, providing a tentative connection. The creatures were still unable to approach even as the light retreated. Harry found he could once again see the Potions Master and another. Behind him and to his left was the spectral form of a woman. Black encompassed her body and torrents of gold fell in rivers from her head. Eyes, darker green than the Forbidden Forest, stared back at him, acknowledging the fact that he could see her. A spark of recogniztion passed through him. Her?!
She touched the Potions Master's shoulder, earning a shiver, her lips moving. It was then that the student realised: Snape could hear her! But with the shiver the spell over them broke and Harry found himself able to look away. He closed his eyes and vainly tried to catch his breath. What had happened? Every nerve in his body was at the state of hypersensitivity and endorphins ran through his brain in an attempt to kill the pain. But with the pain came pleasure, the knowledge that he had been a part of something special. With the pleasure came more pain; the truth that he was once more alone and would remain so. He clutched his head with a moan and squinted up at the older man. He seemed to have fallen into the Headmaster's chair and laid his own head against the table in his arms. Perfect, he could beat a hasty retreat this way. Lurching to his feet, he grabbed his cane and bag and stumbled clumsly from the hall.
I could not escape them; they held me as a dying man holds onto life. What occurred the night before, the image of the golden aura flashed through my mind and quite suddenly I could see it again. It was not as clear as it had been in the dream and now, black and red seemed to dominate over the gold. From the student's back arched wings. They were decrepit, flesh discoloured and rotting, the once golden feathers lacking all luster or falling off completely. The sight turned my stomach and I wanted to be rid of last night's dinner but something would not allow me. Those eyes, it was them. They still held me, and I was not putting up a fight. Every emotion known to the human race was held there, frothing like a storm-tossed sea. Four emotions stood out from the rest: fear, anger, pain and hope.
When I saw him as I did no, I could feel something pass through and out of me. Silver light emanated from my body and towards the boy. Why it was reaching for him, I don't know, but when it touched him, pain seared through my gut. I wanted to cry out but found that was impossible, my lips were sealed as if by a spell. The light seemed to have another affect; it seemd to have opened my ears. Whispers of all types bombarded me, increasing my pain. A lone voice above the chaos penetrated my haze of sensory overload.
"Severus?" I shuddered; so familiar, the haunting quality of the tone sent shivers down my spine. The word also seemed to have broken the spell; I found I could look away. Finding the nearest chair I collapsed unceremoniously into it, pillowing my aching head in my arms. Faintly registering the scrapping of wood against stone, I realised Harry must be running. Away more than likely; it would be a cold day in hell before that child ever came to my aid.
When relief was at least marginal enough for me to stand, I hauled myself up and headed back to my room. Taking a potion for this migraine and more sleep would do me wonders at the moment.
A/N: Stop glaring at me like that, Severus, your face might freeze. *The Potions Master's scowl grew darker.* Don't mind him, he just doesn't know what happened and it's driving him to drink. *Eyes the man as he downs a shot of whiskey.* Literally. But what did happen? Do you know? Stay tuned to find out!
