Snape slept, waking briefly late in the evening and taking a few bites of stew at McGonagall's insistence. Harry was disconcerted by the presence of his Potions professor. While He had long since given up his suspicions of his teacher, he still saw the man as a cruel and imposing figure. Having a weakened, and apparently helpless, Snape lying on the floor nearby seemed wrong.
Moody, McGonagall and Krux held a whispered conference near the back of the cave, out of Harry's hearing. He finally set up his sleeping area near the cook stove around midnight. He lay listening to the woods outside. A breeze rustled the trees from time to time, drowning out the voices of the rest of the party. Harry did not drift off to sleep until everyone else finally rolled out their mats over an hour later.
The pain that woke Harry was sharp and blinding. It drove any memory of his dreams out of his mind, as well as any awareness of his surroundings. Harry's lank body drew in upon itself convulsively and he screamed without self consciousness. When the pain abated somewhat, he became aware of the dark cave around him and of the sounds of movement.
"Is he alright?" It was Krux's voice.
"I think so," responded McGonagall. "How about Harry?"
Harry looked up to see Moody bent over him.
"Your scar paining you, my boy?"
Harry nodded and then groaned as another milder wave of pain came over him. He heard an answering grunt across the cave and realized that it was Snape. The pain intensified and Harry's hand rose to press against his scar. He gasped for breath, willing his muscles to relax as his legs and back threatened to cramp with the tension. After a few minutes, the pain passed. Harry was relieved to see that Moody had moved away, not wanting to embarrass him further.
Harry wondered idly what time of night it was. He still felt completely exhausted and was already drifting back to sleep. His last thoughts as he nodded off were of Snape, lying across the cave. Somehow, it felt significant to Harry that Snape was also experiencing the pain of Voldemort's anger. There was a kind of comfort in having someone share his experience that felt more real than the concerned sympathy of his dorm mates.
The next morning, Harry awoke to a high pitched wheezing sound. He was irritated for a moment, before he became aware of his surroundings and came fully to consciousness. The cave was bright with mid morning sun. Harry sat up and saw that he was nearly alone. The others had apparently already left to implement whatever plan they had arrived at the night before.
Snape lay on the sleeping mat facing toward the wall. His legs were pulled up in a somewhat childlike display of tension. The wheezing noise was emanating from his greasy head. Harry smiled at this, wondering at how air could possibly be impeded when moving through Snape's enormous nose.
Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the dark form of his professor. He felt as though he were doing something wrong. Perhaps because Snape had hurled a jar at his head the last time he had seen his professor in a vulnerable position.
He got himself up and, deciding not to bother with a change of clothes, slipped on his shoes and went outside to urinate. He returned inside and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out one of the chocolate frogs he had smuggled along, wincing at the noise of the wrapper.
Harry sat on his own sleeping mat, facing the cave entrance in an attempt to avoid staring at Snape. He contemplated making a hot breakfast in order to have something to do. Settling upon the chocolate as a more attractive alternative, he began to unwrap it. He pulled gently at the wrapper, wincing again as it crackled loudly without opening.
The snoring stopped abruptly. Harry glanced up at Snape to see the man shifting. Snape turned on to his back, face still hidden by lank hair. The professor sighed softly before his breathing again evened out.
Harry grasped the chocolate wrapper and yanked, ripping it in two and spilling a frog on to his lap. Harry slapped his hands over the treat and again peaked at Snape who appeared to be sleeping soundly. Harry took a bite of his frog.
"Potter," Snape rasped. Although the sound was quiet, Harry started violently. He sat frozen with half-chewed frog in his mouth. Snape turned his head toward Harry in a slow and pained movement. Hair slid from the Potion Master's face to lie limply on the floor. He squinted across the room at Harry.
"Erm…yes?" Harry said, gagging on hastily swallowed chocolate.
Snape closed his eyes. Harry wasn't sure if the man was exasperated or merely exhausted. Harry stood, dumping the remains of his frog onto the mat, and crossed the room. He stood near the professor uncertainly, not wanting distance to strain Snape's voice yet feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of looming over the older man.
Snape lay silently, eyes remaining closed. Harry stood and fidgeted for nearly a minute, wondering if the man may have fallen asleep again. The Potion Master seemed almost human as he lay quietly on the floor. Harry felt as though he were looking at an entirely different man. Snape took a deep breath.
"It is a wonder," he said softly. "that your foolish need to seek out danger has gone to this extreme," Snape's voice shook with the effort of speaking. "It is more boggling still, that the supposedly responsible adults in your life have apparently decided to aid you in your suicide."
Harry was suddenly able to reconcile the man lying before him with the snarky bastard that was his Potions Professor. The man was tired and weak, but he was undoubtedly Snape.
"I suppose," Snape continued. "That Albus Dumbledore himself supported your coming here?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again. He considered explaining his reasoning regarding the mission to Snape, but experience told him that this would only earn him further scorn. Besides having little wish to be mocked, as he was already uncertain as to whether he was doing the right thing, Harry had a bizarre desire to save his professor the energy.
"I suppose I see Minerva's reasoning in bringing you along." Snape went on. "I am sure that you could be of great use on a long journey. As a pack animal."
"Oh," Harry said. "Speaking of which," He paused for a moment, mentally patting himself on the back for ignoring Snape's jibe, a skill that he had been working on in the past year. "The Headmaster asked me to carry along a box of potions. I don't know what's in there…"
Snape opened his eyes and looked at Harry with an unguarded and hopeful expression. It was somewhat disconcerting to the younger man, as he had only experienced glares and sneers from his professor in the past.
"I'll get it." Harry said, and crossed to his bag to retrieve the box. He returned to Snape and kneeled next to him, placing the box on the floor and pulling out his wand.
"That will not work," Snape informed him. Snape shifted onto his side to face the box, wincing at a pain in his ribs. He slowly extended a hand to the side of the box and, with one slender finger, traced an intricate and graceful pattern over a symbol on the lid. Rather than ballooning up, like other magically shrunken objects Harry had seen, the box seemed to blink out of existence for a moment before returning to its natural size.
Snape flipped two brass clasps open and exposed the contents of the box. The inside was broken up by wooden dividers, with four unlabeled vials resting in each section. Snape lifted his head with considerable strain, trying to improve his view of the box's contents. Harry felt an instinctual desire to help, but could not think of a way to do so. He certainly wasn't going to hold up Snape's head. Snape closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to clear his vision. He focused again on the box.
Snape began muttering under his breath, apparently inventorying the potions. After a minute, he slowly lowered his head down to the mat and eased onto his back. He reached into the box and fumbled at the vials with a shaking hand, brow knitting with concentration.
"Sir?" Harry said softly, reminding Snape of his presence.
"White," Snape said, withdrawing his hand from the box. He managed a weak sneer. "Second section from the left along the back row."
Harry peered into the box and removed the appropriate vial. He held it out to Snape who took it with a trembling hand. When Snape made an attempt at removing the cork, his grip slipped and the vial was only saved by Harry's seeker reflexes. Harry removed the cork and met his Professor's eyes. Snape sighed in resignation.
"How much do you need?" Harry asked.
"Half," Snape whispered.
Harry extended the hand holding the potion, concentrating on keeping it steady when he too began to tremble. Snape closed his eyes, mouth pulling down in displeasure. He parted his lips and allowed Harry to tip half of the potion between them. Harry quickly re-corked the vial and returned it to the box, flipping the lid shut and rising to his feet. Snape's eyes remained closed, his face impassive except for a sickly pink tinge in his cheeks. The color was a washed out shadow of the heated flush that Harry wore.
Harry retreated to his side of the cave, overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the situation. It was just too strange a position to be in, having to help a teacher, having to help Snape, in such an intimate fashion. He retrieved his chocolate from the mat and, sitting down, began nibbling on it. He avoided looking in Snape's direction and, by the time he was finished eating, the blush had faded. Harry's mind drew a parallel between Snape and the dementors he had encountered in his third year. The effects of the man and the creatures were similar, he reflected, so it made sense that chocolate would be the counter for both. He smiled at the thought.
As the minutes past, Harry began to feel uneasy again. He had no desire to move from his spot on the cave floor. He did not want to risk interacting with, or even looking at Snape. However, his muscles began to protest his sitting rigidly in place. Harry also began to feel some ticklings of guilt. Snape was injured, probably tortured mercilessly by Death Eaters, and Harry should at least offer to bring him some food.
He glanced in Snape's direction and saw that he was still lying on his back. Harry thought that he was sleeping for a moment, before he realized that the Professor's lips were moving. Snape was talking rapidly. Harry watched him for a few moments and it occurred to him that it was a chant of some sort. Snape was weaving a spell around himself, probably boosting the power of the potion he had just taken.
Decided to take a cue from his Professor, Harry relaxed on to his own sleeping mat, removing his glasses and placing them on the floor beside him. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. Once he was able to ignore the sore muscles in his back and legs, he began working on one of the meditations he had practiced for Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore. The headmaster had suggested that he give his mind a focus in order to relax, rather than attempting to empty it altogether. Dumbledore had instructed Harry to concentrate on something joyful. The old wizard's suggested that every young man should find sufficient pleasure in envisioning the taste and texture of their favorite candy. The Headmaster's expression had become wistful and unfocused as he enumerated the fine qualities of butterscotch that one could evoke with proper concentration.
Harry, finding that candy did not invoke pure bliss, chose another tact, taking a suggestion from a book on peaceful meditations that Hermione had dug up. A mother's perfect love. He envisioned himself surrounded by the warmth of this love, a love completely without judgment or condition. As the feeling became more and more real and tangible, Harry's muscles began to relax. His body felt pleasantly warm.
When Harry opened his eyes, it was late afternoon. Meditation was almost always a bed time activity for him and habit has caused him to drift off to sleep. Harry stretched and sat up. His stomach, already feeling hollow, grumbled loudly when he caught the scent of garlic.
Harry saw that Snape's blurred form was up and moving. Putting on his glasses, he observed the older man bent over a boiling pot, meticulously adding pinches of powder from his hand, pausing to stir and sniff the concoction. Despite himself, Harry smiled at the image. The Potion Master was brewing lunch.
"That smells good," Harry offered hesitantly.
Snape nodded absently. "As I am trying to regain my strength, I thought it best to have something descent to eat, rather than wait to see what sort of slop you would come up with if you ever deemed to raise your spoiled hide out of bed."
Harry shrugged, considering the statement to be fair, if a little underestimating of his cooking abilities. After a moment, Snape glanced up at Harry, disappointed that the boy had not offered him fodder by trying to defend himself.
"Just what is your function on this little excursion, Potter? Is Dumbledore concerned that the Dark Lord might challenge his little team of spies to an impromptu Quidditch match?"
"I asked to come," Harry responded evenly, earning him a snort from Snape. "It's the prophecy. You know about it, right?" He took Snape's exasperated sigh as an affirmative. "When Dumbledore told me…"
Harry's voice trailed off as pain flared in his scar. It was minor, compared to the night before, but it was enough to blur his vision and elicit a groan. The pain eased and Harry looked up to see Snape bent over and grimacing, holding his forearm to his stomach. After a moment Snape straitened. He knelt to grab a bowl from the supply box that sat near the stove. Serving himself a helping of the soup he had prepared, he retreated to sit on his mat.
Harry stood looking at him, lost in thought. He considered the pain that he shared with his Professor. It occurred to him that Voldemort might be looking for Snape. Perhaps, Harry's scar was reacting to the Dark Lord's anger.
"What are you gawking at?"
Harry was startled by Snape's voice and he flushed when he realized that he had been staring. His stomach chose that moment to give another loud rumble.
"For the love of heaven, Potter, it's not poisoned."
"Oh…thanks," Harry said weakly, taking Snape's words as the closest the man would come to a polite offering of soup.
The two sat and ate in silence. Harry was impressed to find that the soup was delicious, a large feat considering their limited supplies. As he reached the bottom of his bowl, he heard noise outside. Within seconds, McGonagall Moody and Krux entered the cave. McGonagall nodded her greeting to Harry before turning to Snape.
"I see that you are feeling better. You had no serious injuries?"
"No. I am nearly completely healed. However, I am receiving…messages."
McGonagall seemed to understand, looking concerned.
"We need a full report from you, especially regarding anything you know about the wards around the structure where the Death Eaters are gathering. We have made very little progress so far." At this, Moody gave an annoyed snort. Apparently, the reconnaissance team's day had been dull. "Do you think you will be up to beginning to journey back to Hogwarts tomorrow?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Back to Hogwarts? Why would I go back now? No, I am far more useful to Dumbledore here. I am your best chance to get through those wards."
"I think that Dumbledore should be consulted in that regard." McGonagall replied.
"Well, unfortunately," Snape replied in a patronizing tone that Harry was quite familiar with. "Dumbledore is not here and we have no safe way of consulting to him. Now, if you want to waste all of our time by having me trek all the way back to the school I will, of course, defer to your judgment."
McGonagall sighed. "Why don't we leave the decision for now? First thing is first. What happened to you, Severus? Obviously, your role has been uncovered. Did you escape from You-Know-Who? Does he know that you are alive?"
"I am sure that he knows. We do have a rudimentary communication system," Snape waggled his left arm at McGonagall, looking a bit silly. "I don't believe he cares much either way, though. He is too arrogant to worry about his pet Potion Master. He released me of his own accord. I was, as you saw, not in the best condition after he and I had our…discussion. I suppose he was leaving me to either die out here, or return to Dumbledore as a warning."
Snape paused, and seemed to suddenly become aware of everyone's focus on him. He scowled when he met McGonagall's concerned eyes.
"Shall we talk about those wards, then?" He said.