8. As It Resurfaces
Severus Snape swept through the rows of hospital beds towards the secluded section, where the more severe injured lay. For once, his stride hadn't an aura of foreboding around it. Though the grim mien remained, it was the malice that lacked completely – at least for the trained eye. Catching sight of Neville Longbottom, Snape almost slowed down. Who would have thought that this klutz Neville had such courage in himself? Snape definitely hadn't thought he did, but then again, there must have been a reason why the Sorting Hat had put Neville in Gryffindor – other than it could have been considered a joke. Snape's long-time suspicion that the insufferable Weasley twins had somehow managed to manipulate the Sorting Hat's decision, had been blown into the wind by now. After only a moment's hesitation, the Potions Master averted his eyes from the prone figure of the boy he had considered the clumsiest since Nymphadora Tonks herself.
Whereas Longbottom was merely sleeping due to exhaustion, there were a lot of students who were put into a comatose state, for they weren't capable of coping with their severe injuries in their weakened state in any other form. They would have to transfer a considerable amount of magic to keep them at an acceptable level – where acceptable was merely considered 'medically alive'.
A cool gust from behind ruffled Severus' hair. A faint clicking sound a few moments later indicated that the door had swung closed again. He didn't even need to turn around to be sure that it was the Dream Team who had just entered the Hospital Wing. The air of importance that seemed attached to Potter and his two faithful sidekicks wherever they went, caused Snape's skin to bristle dangerously. But he didn't slow down in the least, finally arriving at his destination. Pulling the curtain, which parted the infirmary aside, he was greeted by a very weary-eyed Filius Flitwick. It appeared – and it was true – that the tiny professor had spent the night through, casting spell after spell, until he'd exhausted himself thoroughly. Dark rings under his glazed eyes indicated even better the lack of sleep.
"Ah, Severus," Flitwick said so softly that not even his squeaking voice was heard properly. "Finally reinforcement."
"Substitute rather," Snape growled. "You are of no help in this state-"
"Severus!" Minerva McGonagall snapped. The Transfigurations Teacher had been tending to Colin Creevy, who had tried to get a good shot of Voldemort for his parents. Scowling through a layer of dishevelled hair, she tried in vain to intimidate the Potions Master. "This is not the place nor the time for your sarcasm. We need every bit of help we can get, so you'll just have to get over your petty antipathies, for Merlin's sake!"
Flitwick flinched and emitted a weak squeak. He didn't like to be the centre of attention. Though it was true that he and Snape weren't really what one considered best friends, not even plain friends at that, but he knew that this time Severus' intention was nothing but a good one – for once.
Snape opted to ignore McGonagall and continued to frown at Flitwick. "I'd recommend a Pepper-Up potion but as we haven't got any left ... you'll need to eat something and rest at least four hours. We can't have you collapsing out of exhaustion, now can we? There aren't any beds left. Go!" Severus watched out of the maizeer of his eyes as Filius smiled weakly and left the Medical Wing. As he was the head of Ravenclaw, he knew that he wasn't of any significant use in his current drained state. Taking a break to refresh him was the best option. Snape then locked eyes with McGonagall whose lips were pressed together into a firm queue, raising one eyebrow. He knew that the Gryffindor would have acted differently. And not only this Gryffindor. 'Ugh. Too stubborn for their own good.'
'-+-+-+-'
Though he was smiling, there wasn't even the tiniest twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he greeted Hermione, Harry and Ron in the ward of the Hospital Wing.
"Headmaster," Hermione nodded and told him what the reason of their visit was. "You said we could give parts of our magic for the infirmary if we wouldn't want or haven't got the time to help ourselves ..."
Dumbledore cocked his head and studied his three students sadly. "Indeed."
"I've been thinking about the wards Voldemort has installed and if we could use the library for research, then maybe we could find a way to speed things a bit up with the extinguishing."
Dumbledore's face lightened up immediately. "An intriguing idea." He knew that if someone could manage it, it would be Hermione Granger.
The girl beamed at the small compliment and went on to explain. "The sooner we are able to put out the wards, the sooner we'd get professional help from St. Mungo's. The confined state we are currently under would be over. I am aware that we're running out of time."
"We'd be more helpful in the library than here, Headmaster," Harry added and even Ron had been convinced by Hermione on their way to the infirmary.
"Very well. You may use the library for your research," Dumbledore said, reaching for his wand.
"Wouldn't we need to get into the Restricted Section, too?" Ron asked. "I mean, if You-Know-Who set up the wards, they are probably related to the darker magic ..."
Dumbledore nodded affirmative. "Very good, Mr. Weasley." He smiled softly and wrote a quick note allowing them into the restricted library area. "Well, Ms. Granger? Would you please extend your right index finger, so I can extract your magical essence?"
Hermione hesitantly complied and watched as Dumbledore's wand touched the tip of her finger lightly. A tingling sensation rushed through her body towards the wand, as she felt a great part of her magic leaving. Not everything, as they'd both need it to survive themselves and to make their research easier. After he finished with Hermione, the headmaster turned to both Harry and Ron.
"And do not worry, your magic will have replaced itself within two days," Dumbledore explained.
Ron reached for his wand and cast a simple Lumos spell. The tip of his wand glowed, not as brightly as usually, but enough to see clearly. It was strange, though, as the usual amount of power that rushed through his arm was greatly reduced. The redhead shrugged it off, as it was as the headmaster had said: No need to worry.
Dumbledore's sighing turned the attention of the three teenagers back. "I believe the three of you will do fine?" It was clear to what the headmaster was referring.
Ron frowned, being forcefully reminded of his deceased sister. "Oh yes." If it hadn't been this situation, nobody would have probably noticed the underlying sarcasm.
"Ron," Harry said, feeling slightly helpless. Hermione tried to put a comforting hand on the redhead's shoulder, but he just shrugged it off. He refused to say anything more on the topic, he needed to cope with it in his own way, even if it seemed so out of character for him.
Dumbledore sighed once more, regarding the students in front of him with an unusual mixture of sorrow and pride. Every one of them had gone through so much already in their young lives and yet ... It was still not enough. Even after Voldemort was finally dead, the perpetuum mobile just went on and on. The true never ending story. "I shall now bring this," he lifted his hand still holding his wand, "to Professor McGonagall. I trust you will report if you found anything of importance?"
"Certainly," Hermione replied, nodding. Rising from their seats, she, Harry and Ron left the Hospital Wing. They had a lot of work ahead of them.
"It has to be pretty bad," Harry commented solemnly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, as the little group walked through the hallways. Was it just him or was it really getting steadily colder?
"That Dumbledore lets us unsupervised into the secluded area or that he took parts of our magical being to keep our school-mates alive?" Hermione asked, trying not to let the meaning of her own words get to her. It was of course still a soft spot for her. Could they have rescued Draco by transferring some magic into him?
"Neither," Harry answered. "He hasn't even offered us a lemon drop once."
'-+-+-+-'
Albus Dumbledore quickly made his way through the infirmary, which was filled with more well people than injured ones. He schooled his features into confident seriousness lightened up with a bit kept-in-check merriness, as to not awake any more unease in his students. It wasn't as if they believed that everything would be all right. Even though nobody had yet said it out loud, every one knew that it had taken too many and that it wasn't over yet. Albus remembered the speech he'd held, as You-Know-Who was definitely dead, vaporized. He recalled how the pupils had cried with joy and relief. It seemed somehow not genuine, now that it had finally ended so abruptly.
And the bucket of ice-cold water had splashed them with realization at once. Being trapped at Hogwarts with no way of getting help for the injured ones was something that made not only Albus feel utterly helpless. How could this be possibly the end?
The headmaster hadn't been the only one who had made up their mind. This wouldn't be the end. You-Know-You-Can-Call-Him-Now-Voldemort wouldn't also try to get the upper hand from wherever he may reside now. Dumbledore would see to it that his students wouldn't part from this world. With all his might.
The parting that Voldemort had tried to accomplish had at long last backfired. The different houses (regardless pure-, half-blood or Muggle-born) at Hogwarts had never been this close before, as they were now. It made Albus' heart swell with a melancholic pride that he was able to witness it with his own eyes, 'melancholic' for he knew how much it had taken to get to it. He had hoped, but never had thought it possible. Seeing Ravenclaws trying to cheer up Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors donating their magic to help Slytherins, Slytherins accepting this help from Gryffindors and even returning the favour. Albus was never so glad he had been mistaken.
Pulling the curtains silently to the side, the headmaster studied the people who worked there. Quite a few sixth and seventh years students, from all houses, professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and even Trelawney.
"I am positively surprised to see how well Gryffindor and Slytherin are able to work together, without so much as a fight – even verbal," Albus announced, as he stood beside where Severus and Minerva were currently tending to one second year Gryffindor girl, who'd come a cropper.
Without looking up, Severus replied softly: "That will die down, eventually."
Minerva shot a quick frown towards her colleague, before turning back to the headmaster. "And why is that?" she asked, already dreading the answer.
"Well, the two heads of the houses are acting as the perfect shining examples," Albus said cheekily, eyes twinkling over the edge of his half-moon glasses.
Realizing that they had indeed worked together without any incident for more than twenty minutes, Snape tried to come up with a nasty comment, but failed miserably. Sighing, he blamed it on his headache. He'd get himself some water, maybe that would help.
After Albus had shared the magic of Ron, Hermione, Harry and the few other students who weren't going to help personally at the infirmary, Severus excused himself.
He pushed the door to one of the small bathrooms open and entered. Letting the cold water pour from the tap, Snape cupped his palms and gathered some, gulping the refreshing moisture down, hastily. The effect wasn't the one he had been looking forward to, as the Potions Master's vision suddenly began to blur. The world around him seemed to spin violently, and hadn't it been for the sink, which Snape had seized with a secure grip, he would have lost his balance for sure. Slumping forward slightly, he relived one memory from the depths of his mind.
'-+-+-+-'
'Lucius Malfoy,' the soft voice whispered gently into Severus' ear, causing his fingers to tighten around the wooden spoon, spasmodically. Snape focused his mind solemnly on the topic at hand, the brewing of Veritaserum, not willing to be sidetracked by the scheming bastard he had to call friend to his face. Pushing the thoughts violently aside – he would have plenty of time afterwards – Snape gave the next ingredient into the cauldron. He wasn't to muff a potion for the Dark Lord, especially Veritaserum. Voldemort's punishment for him would be 'crucial'.
But it wasn't really reassuring that while he brewed this difficult potion, Malfoy tried to blacken his name. Not that Severus expected anything less from him, but sometimes it was more tiring than anything else. How should he watch his back and brew this bloody potion at the same time?
The hours went by too slowly, now that Severus knew that Malfoy had talked about him. Had he been really talking to You-Know-Who? Most likely. Had he already stopped? Hopefully. He wasn't sure how much more of Malfoy's talking Voldemort would take before he finally yielded and inwaistcoatigated if the Potions Master really was not to trust. After all, he was only that, a Potions Master, well, THE Potions Master, but still replaceable. Though, Snape doubted that there was a second expert of the field of his calibre out there, willing to help the dark side.
Adding the finishing touches to his potion and putting the fire down to let it simmer for an additional half hour, Severus put away the ingredients that were left superfluous. Quickly, he surveyed his store and made a mental list as to what he'd need in the next future. Malfoy's calculating figure lurking in the back of his mind, Severus thought about the different ways to sabotage the potion he would have to brew the next time.
'-+-+-+-'
Severus drew in a couple of steadying breaths, while trying to find his balance back. He rubbed his temples roughly, willing the pounding in his head to subside, but it wouldn't work.
"Damn," he cursed silently. "The first potion I managed to muff ... not on purpose." The memory potion he'd invented should have only brought back the memory of this particular day, but this 'vision' he'd just had, was definitely another memory brought back. Caused by the potion or not, Snape was not sure, but he was quite certain that it was indeed his memory, though, he had put it back, deeper into his mind. It wasn't that Malfoy hadn't been suspicious of him non-stop, even justified, Snape would give him credit where it was due. But this specific memory wasn't one he recalled too often. Gritting his teeth, he headed back to the secluded area. He'd have to speak to the headmaster again.