Hiding Under the Ninth Earth
Book 02 : A Bit Of All Right
by I Got Tired of Waiting

Part III : Conflict
Chapter Thirty Five : Nothing Less Than Everything

22 June 2003 (Continued)

Severus' mind reeled, the phrases twisting in his thoughts like a vertiginous dance. "...stands on his own two feet now... Harry, a man who loves you... a compassionate man... Harry wants to be with his lover... no finer man than you, Severus... you and others moulded me into who I am today... I'm sorry I hurt you... the tempering of Harry... you know what it means to give all you can and then keep giving more..."

Harry's words slid up through his ribs and pierced his heart as surely as a dagger could steal his life. Bleeding inside, he lay exposed, vulnerable and naked to Harry's words, and the light shining out of Harry's eyes. Slicing through him, they cut his defences, opening his soul for the whole world to see, leaving it bare to the sunshine, and he was alarmed at the burn he could feel from its golden regard. He was a creature of the night, not of the daylight. His was a soul of shadows, not meant to be exposed to the light of openness.

Harry wanted no less than all of him. Unshielded, uncovered, revealing all the festering things as well as those that shone. And gods help him, despite all that was happening now, he knew he would eventually give it to him. He had no resistance. For all that Harry professed to want and need him, he needed Harry like air to breathe. He could no more leave him than he could not love him. And that was the problem right now. He didn't know if he could afford to continue loving him. Didn't know if he could close himself back up again should he let Harry continue to open him. For if he did so and Harry betrayed him again, he knew that everything he was, everything he would ever be, would bleed out of the remaining, gaping wounds, leaving him with nothing. Absolutely nothing. A black pit of nothingness so deep, the darkest despair would be the sun to light it.

He knew that for all of Harry's professions of adulthood, for all his declarations of love, Harry had no real concept of what he was asking of him, of what Harry himself had not invested yet. Or had he? And Severus knew what the truth was--he was being asked to stake his life on a future he could not even begin to see, let alone fathom.

But he also knew, and this is what kept him from just walking away from such a horrible risk, he had never let Harry know the depth of his own investment in their relationship. Never told him how deeply buried Harry was in him. He had let his own fears and assumptions dictate his actions, his own untruths, for hadn't he always been convinced no one could ever truly love Severus Snape? No one could ever accept him, scars and all?

And yet--yet, Harry had, hadn't he? Severus didn't think he was that obtuse--was that where his true weakness lay? He couldn't distrust his own instincts in this? Hadn't it always been there in every touch, in every glance, in every beat of Harry's heart against his own? While he'd once thought so, Severus didn't know anymore, it was too much to take in at one time; he was not sure he could see around this apparent betrayal to see the truth behind it.

Although, Harry was right, damn him, there was much Severus had never told him, but Harry had accepted it anyway, never questioned him on it, always assumed there was a good reason for Severus' silence. Could he assume any less for Harry?

He knew he loved the Harry who had coaxed his reluctant spirit into the light. Was this Harry any different? And therein lay the small hope he was feeling. He needed time to think, time alone to reconcile his own thoughts, but for right now, he had a greater need, one he could fulfill with only one tiny step. Such a small thing, and he was ashamed of needing it, but not enough to not take this small comfort he knew Harry would give him if he only asked for it. Or took it.

And finally looking at Harry, seeing the worry and the love shining out of his eyes, Severus folded him in his arms in the full light of the day, uncaring who should see, unmindful of what they might say. He needed the solace, needed to reclaim him, regardless of which Harry was here right now. He was lost, urgent in his need for contact, the moment fleeting. Their lips met and fused, the longing sucking at them both, leaving them breathless. They lost track of time and when it was right to end it, they did.

Severus put his arm around Harry's shoulders, kissed his cheek, and said softly, "Let's go back, where we can be private."

Harry looked over at Severus, feeling a strange mixture of hope and alarm.

She called him back to the window, waking him from a catnap. He was a little cross until he saw the two men embracing in the yard. There was something in their stance telling him their resolution was closer.

"See, I told you it would be fine," she said smugly. "Now all we've to face is Severus getting his trust back. And while that may take some time, at least now they're talking."

He smiled, "You know, I almost hate it when you're right." And he loosed his hold on the drapery, letting it fall closed, giving them their privacy.

When they made it back to their quarters, Severus gave Harry one final kiss on the cheek and let go of his shoulder. Harry immediately flopped gracelessly into the corner of the couch in the sitting room, stretching his legs out before him, half-on, half-off the seat. Severus thought about joining him, but his nerves were strung so taut, he knew he would never sit still. His mind ran in endless circles, leading him nowhere, shattering the thin peace he'd found outside. He still wasn't seeing what Albus was trying to tell him but knew he needed to find the message within the circumstance.

However, there was something he could do right now. Something woven as much into the whole fabric of it as the deception itself. Pacing the floor behind Harry, he spoke up, implacable. "I want to read your paper."

"All right, I'll get it for you in a bit." Harry vacillated.

Severus stopped and peered at his lover. Harry was afraid to give him the paper? Why would that be? Certainly not for the work itself--Quiesta was not the type to just hand out good marks for the sake of doing so. Severus knew she valued her reputation too much and, being not much of a risk-taker, taught only the best and the brightest. Besides, she would not have the final say in Harry's success; the review board, in front of which Harry would have had to defend his dissertation, had that privilege. The members, all known to him personally, had a well earned reputation for their tough fairness.

No, it must be him; Harry was afraid of his reaction. He thought back on all the years they'd shared both before and after their intimate relationship and began to get a glimmer of what the problem might be. It made it more urgent he see it. "No, Harry, I need to read it right now," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

"Why? Why now?" Harry queried, clearly confused.

Severus considered him a moment, his eyes shuttered. "I don't rightly know. I just know I need to read it right now if I want to stop thinking in circles, which I assure you, I do in a very bad way."

Harry reluctantly acceded and walked into his study to retrieve the fairly thick volume. Severus followed him and sat down in the chair opposite the desk, holding out his hand, his eyes neutral. Harry gave it to him with open trepidation and settled back at his desk to wait, watching his fish for a distraction. Eventually, he tired of their antics and went over to sit cross-legged in the tall window seat, looking out the glass at nothing, his back to the room. He stubbornly refused to look at Severus.

Severus opened the bound cover, reading the title:

Sanos Healing and its Effects on the Long-Term Impairment of Victims of the Cruciatus Curse

His eyes widened when he read Quiesta's comments done in royal blue ink, her official summation and marks, affixed by her seal under the title:

Finis
Summa Cum Laude
Degree conferred by the Board of Regents: Master Healer, Sanos Specialist in the Reversal of the Dark Arts

It's well done of you, Mr. Potter. My best to you and your future endeavours. My 'Letter of Recommendation and Commendation' is under separate cover (enclosed).
Professor Carlotta Quiesta, Academic Advisor

He opened the enclosed letter he found tucked in the front cover of the thesis. He swiftly read the handwritten lines, hearing Carlotta's cultured voice in his head as she sang Harry's praises 'To Whom It Might Concern'. With a letter such as this, Harry could get almost any position he wanted, anywhere he wanted. He felt such pride in him. There was, however, a small nagging concern in the back of his mind that Harry might not need him as much anymore. He chided himself--there were all types of needs and if Harry no longer required him for this particular one, that could only be to the good. They could meet as equals now, something which, on further reflection, held quite a bit of appeal to him. He refolded the letter and placed it in the back cover.

He turned back to the paper and quickly scanned the Table of Contents. Fascinated, he turned to the Abstract, stunned by what he found in the rather long summary. While the subject matter itself, within the discipline, could almost be considered pedestrian, the postulated theories behind the methods Harry purported to have used were nothing short of controversial. Assuming his paper proved his premise, Severus regretted he'd not been there to see Harry defend his work--it would have been something to see.

No, this was no mediocre effort. He knew somehow it could not have been. Not if Harry was as driven as he said he was. And he'd no doubt he got the truth then. In fact, he could find nowhere Harry had actively 'lied' to him. Not about school, as he'd never asked nor questioned, too caught up in his own routine--assuming things were as they appeared. Harry had told the truth about his feelings. And Severus could feel the honesty today about his motives, even if he didn't understand them.

No, all of the problems to date were a result of omissions of information; something of which he himself was guilty, if truth be known, but not in this manner and not of this magnitude. Well, maybe it had been, but it hadn't felt that way at the time. He was trying to ascertain whether Harry's subterfuge had been worth it; he had no doubts his was. He couldn't explain his feelings and this overwhelming need to justify the lost time when Harry had been so secretive about his work. He had to know if the reasons were within Harry or because of him or maybe both. And although he didn't know why, he suspected their future together depended on it.

He didn't skim the pages written by hand to preserve the anonymity of the author from prying eyes at the printers. Instead, he found himself drawn into the brilliance of Harry's research. His hands itched for a quill to make notes in the straight margins. There were fifteen patients involved in the study, each with varying degrees of damage due to repeated use of the Cruciatus Curse. Reading the blind case studies, he realised just how fortunate he'd been that his own brains hadn't been scrambled, as many times as he'd been subjected to the Curse himself. Some of these people had only been hit with it once, and he could find no reason within the pages of this report why some were affected more than others; there probably was no answer to the question--yet.

Reaching the end of the dissertation, he concluded the prose itself was striking, the passion for what Harry pursued clear in every word, and his closing comments and results were concise and believable, despite their initial appearance of sunstruck phantasm. There were absolutely no doubts as to the accomplishments; they'd been the stuff of newspaper articles and inquiries for months with no one the wiser as to how it had been done. In that, he approved of Harry's secrecy about the work itself and although there were no names given, with the circumstances outlined in the paper and his knowledge of the Death Eater's activities at the time, he could figure out who most of the victims were; he marvelled Harry been able to keep it so private.

He did quickly scan the data charts and references comprising the bulk of the volume; there would be more time to study them later and he fully intended to do so. This was ground-breaking work and, professionally, he was intrigued. It was also purely Harry; there was no trace of Quiesta in here. He was impressed Harry had managed to shut her influence out, considering how overbearing she was. However, he would not be surprised either, he thought uncharitably, if the reason she'd had little say in the authorship was because she had no clue as to what Harry was doing, but because he was succeeding, she let him keep on doing it.

When finished, Severus closed the thick document with a snap and sat back in the chair, thinking hard. He was starting to draw some disturbing conclusions of his own, although he had some questions. He twisted in the chair to look at Harry's back and tapped the leather cover with his fingertips. "You can actually do this? Reverse the effects of the Cruciatus Curse?" he asked quietly as if to a colleague.

Harry, still sitting in the tall window seat, turned away from the view, a thoughtful look on his face. He replied somewhat bitterly, "Quiesta thought me mad to try; she was afraid I'd either burn her star student out or make the situations worse." He went on in a more even tone, "It took months of multiple sessions to gather the data in there, but yes, in certain cases, with varying degrees of success, it can be done."

Harry hesitated. He could see their faces and still felt their pain. An indefinable sadness filled him that had nothing to do with his current situation. Despite the cures, despite the triumphs, there had been enough failures and partial successes to keep him from feeling fully good about the work he'd done. He was unsure how he could convey all this to Severus. It couldn't be contained in the dry pages of a study. He weighed his professionalism and its related secrecy about his patients against his trust in Severus. The trust won out. "I had to try. I'd see them every time I was at St. Mungos and it ripped me to see their families coming every week to visit their empty shells."

He turned back to the window, staring at the moors with unseeing eyes. "Their hope and trust was almost more than I could bear at times. For each advance, there were set-backs, but they never lost faith in me. Neville's parents, I'm afraid, were too far gone for too long to do much more than bring them a small way out of their fog; they have short moments of clarity--the wife more so than the husband, and they know their son at times. He was so happy when it was safe to finally take them home. I'm only sorry Neville's grandmother died before he could. I still work with them every now and again at their home. Each time it's a little better. Maybe someday I'll get to know them as they once were, although I don't hold out much hope for it."

Severus got out of the chair and moved to stand behind Harry. He wrapped his long arms around him and, pulling him close, laid his cheek against Harry's. He knew more than most the depth of the self-investment Harry had to have with each of his patients and their loved ones. The Sanos spells required an intimacy with the people being healed; one could not stand back with any real objectivity and succeed. After all, the Sanos and Schema lessons with each other, when Harry was still a student at Hogwarts, had played no small part of what had eventually mitigated their initial hostility to each other. "It's never easy, is it?" he asked, trying to let Harry know he understood.

Harry rested his head gratefully back on Severus' shoulder, taking the implied acceptance and continued, "Bill Weasley took some time but in the end was fairly easy to bring back. The wrench was choosing between his magic or his many physical infirmities, not knowing what he wanted." He dropped his head in remembered defeat. "I couldn't cure anything completely; too many connections were destroyed. Arthur, Molly, and Fleur made the difficult choices of what handicaps he would have to deal with and kept my involvement secret. They told everyone else he'd come out of it on his own."

He sighed. "But Ron--I had to try. He was in there, so deep--but I could feel him. There was no one else who--I broke every rule healing someone so close to me--a brother as it were." He chuckled, "Quiesta remarked afterwards I had earned my reputation as a reckless Gryffindor." Severus chuckled lightly with him; Quiesta had been a Slytherin three years ahead of him. Harry leaned closer for more support which Severus gladly gave him.

Harry choked out, "I would have traded my whole future for that single moment of pure joy in Hermione's face the day Ron spoke to her, lucid, for the first time in two years." He dropped his head, his hands fidgeting in his lap. In a small voice, he continued, "But he hated me for it, for the things he lost when I healed him. We'd not spoken since that time until last night."

Severus coaxed him to turn around, and settling between Harry's legs, surrounded him with his arms, absorbing the soft tears against his shirt. This was one of the things he loved the most about Harry--the way he threw his whole heart, his entire self into whatever he was doing, regardless the personal cost. It was one thing they had in common--only his inclination was to hide it from everyone, including Harry at times, whereas Harry hid it from most except those to whom he was close. Then it was open and bright and shining. Severus envied him that openness sometimes, others he despaired as it left Harry open to hurt if he chose the wrong person to trust, although that didn't happen as much as it used to. No, he supposed Harry had finally learned discretion, and he wasn't too certain this was a good thing anymore, not if it meant he himself was the one left out in the dark.

He remembered the incident with Ron when it happened and Harry's initial angry reaction to it and subsequent sorrow. Ron Weasley, a fine Auror, had come back from a routine mop-up raid a year after the final battle with his wits scrambled 'beyond cure' from three continuous Death Eater curses at once. At the time of his 'miraculously recovery' a year ago, there'd been public speculation about it being 'in the blood' as Bill, his brother, now a blind Wizard still working for Gringotts had 'spontaneously' recovered as well six months before.

"And this is what you and Ron reconciled last night? He accepts what had to be done?" Severus asked gently, not understanding what had been involved, but he was quite clear on the cost to Harry. He tightened his hold when he felt Harry's half-expected racking sobs, placing his cheek on his hair. Severus said nothing, just ran his hand in random comforting circles on his back as Harry rid himself of his excess emotion. Severus had been subjected to enough hysterics from students over the years to know that this was a purge, possibly a combination from the events of this afternoon as much as last night. He wistfully wished he could join him if it would bring him some peace, but alas, it was not in his nature to do so.

Harry sniffled and pulled away, embarrassed. "Sorry--I thought I was beyond all that. I guess seeing Ron last night affected me more than I realised." Severus kissed his forehead and silently handed him a handkerchief pulled from his pocket, deciding not to satisfy his curiosity over the incident. He got a partial answer when Harry said, "I missed him so much, I just couldn't let him go, not while I could still try to reach him."

And there was the key to the whole thing. Letting go. Holding him, Severus realised, in a perverse way, why Harry'd had to do it on his own. Like Carlotta, he wasn't sure he could've been calm about Harry taking such awful risks; the depth he'd gone to reach Ron alone (as he'd read in the paper) could had sucked out his own sanity had he lost control. However, unlike Quiesta, he had far more influence over Harry to have stopped him from taking those risks.

Severus cleared his throat. Measuring his readiness, he thought Harry had moved on enough to absorb Severus' next words. "I think understand why you had to do it alone. Without me. And I don't blame you for it, although I am not sure I understand why you went about it the way you did."

Harry raised wet, questioning eyes to him. "I find I was, perhaps, guilty of looking down on you in small ways, perhaps protecting you overmuch. I might have held you back because of my fears and you would have been unhappy for it, perhaps making you unconsciously taking the road I wanted and not your own. It could have torn us apart, eventually." He bent down for a redemptive kiss, which Harry gave him, moving his legs around on either side of him to draw him closer.

Severus chuckled ruefully. "Painful for me to realise, of course; I find my own base imperfections hard to swallow at times."

He echoed Harry's sigh. "However, I confess, I am curious why you did not give me enough credit to understand--and give you--what it was you needed. I have never been able to deny you anything. Nor do I fully understand the subterfuge. We're not talking about a few days or a few isolated incidents; I admit I'm as guilty of those as you. It's never easy to tell someone one must do something even if it means making the other person unhappy as a result. And sometimes the best solution is to not say anything at all. This I understand."

He held Harry tight, afraid he could not live with himself if he were not honest. His heart was almost frozen, the words coming out reluctantly, inevitably. "No, we're talking about two hidden years. A lie of omissions so profound I still can't fathom it. I can dimly understand the problem now and I can accept I might not have then, but I am appalled you thought so little of me you could not share even the smallest part of something so important as your future. There is so much missing. It has gone on for so long it makes me wonder what else you have not told me. What other surprises do I have to look forward to? What other lies are waiting to rip my heart out?"

Severus could feel Harry's heart pounding against him and could feel the anguish in the curl of his shoulders. Harry whispered, "Nothing more, Severus. I swear."

He lifted Harry's down-turned face and caught his eyes, holding them with his steady gaze. "I'm sorry, Harry. Gods know, I wish I could believe you. Now is not the time to discuss it. I need some space and time away to think."

Harry's eyes held fear now. Severus closed his eyes against the pain he'd caused, truly sorry there was no other way. He was not trying to punish Harry, it was only that the situation called from him a brutal honesty from which he could not hide. Not this time.

He opened his eyes and searched Harry's face. He tried to temper his words to contain coherently what was jumbled up inside him. "However, having said that and deceptions aside, I've not words enough to tell you what's in me right now. I feel so full--and empty at the same time. But know this. I do feel such pride for you and all you have accomplished. Your final paper is brilliant and something I want to go back and study in more depth. It is a shame more people will never see it; the work is sound and many could benefit from your investigation, both patients and other Healers. You've laid a good, solid foundation from which other research can be built. Well done."

Harry's eyes filled again. Never a man to praise anyone highly, Severus suspected the response was more than he'd bargained for, but this he could give him, freely and without reservations. He kissed him, drawing him closer, trying to convey with his body what his words could not.

"So tell me, Harry. With all your courage and perseverance," he grazed Harry's lips with his own, "and your abilities and talents--" he lowered his hands, pulling him tight into him. Harry groaned into his mouth. "I only have one question," he whispered, cupping his cheek. Harry raised his brows. "Is there enough left in you? In me? To heal us?"

Harry answered him the only way a sensible man should.

23 June 2003 (Early morning)

A few hours before dawn, Severus roused for the last time from what was the worst sleep he'd ever had. Actually, 'sleep' was a misnomer. The twilight somnolence, full of the vaguest dreams, would suddenly turn into wide-eyed wakefulness every time Harry twitched. And given the previous amount of movement in front of him, Harry was as restless as he was.

After the third or fourth round of his insomnia he finally settled Harry in front of him, their bodies and legs curled around each other. He wondered briefly why he had awakened this time; Harry was unusually still, but somehow he knew he was awake. Hyperaware, his senses honed in the dark, he heard it. The sound that had brought him around.

He gently tugged at Harry's waist, coaxing him around to face him. The reluctance with which he came reminded him of a morning four years ago when he'd had to let go of his own shame and embarrassment and native distrust to allow a then 19-year old Harry to heal him, to earn some of the trust he felt broken tonight. He pulled Harry lovingly to him and just held him, letting his lover's hot, silent tears run down his chest. He let his own flow into the pillow and Harry's hair, hardly aware they were there.

"I'm not going anywhere right now," he murmured hoarsely, kissing the top of Harry's head. "I just need time to sort this out." He thought sadly, 'I love you so much. I just don't know if love is enough, anymore.'

"For now, maybe," Harry replied softly. "I'm such a fool."

Severus mused out loud, "I just don't know, my love. You have lived with this for four years, I for 16 hours. Everything is very clear to you; it's not to me. I find myself at a loss--I can't even sort out what I think--let alone act on it." Only one thing was clear to him--right now, he hurt inside. He nudged Harry's unruly hair off of his forehead with his nose and kissed the jagged scar. "I need to find out what is making me feel this way. Once I figure that out, then--maybe then, I'll know what to do."

Harry took what hope he could from the endearment, one obviously made unconsciously, the first of any kind he'd ever received from Severus; he'd take his victories one at a time and snuggled deeper into Severus as if it were the last time he would ever be there.

End Part III. To be continued in Part IV : Reconciliation