Chapter 5: Delirious
"Calm yourself, Remus."
"Professor!" Remus gasped, staring around the Headmaster's office wildly. "You must come! Harry is - in dungeons asking Snape - to poison him - right now!"
"I know," said Dumbledore quietly.
"You - know?" gaped Lupin. "But," He looked around wildly. "But..." He felt his knees go weak, making him collapse onto a chair.
"Severus is going to poison Harry Potter?" came a disbelieving tone from a dark corner. "Ha! Then maybe all is not lost!"
"Enough, thank you Desmodus, or I will silence as well as impede you!" returned Dumbledore coolly.
"Yes, please do silence him, Dumbledore," drawled across the tone of Phineas Nigellus. "One can only take a certain amount of noise from a family such as that. That being; no amount at all!"
Dumbledore pretended he hadn't heard. "Severus will not give poison to Harry, Remus."
"And why not?" enquired Lupin.
"Because, Remus, because. There are certain things I would like to keep confidential," replied Dumbledore gently. "But I can tell you this: he cannot."
"He's a Potions Master who got straight 'O's in his NEWTS, with a twenty year grudge fresh as this morning's milk; but he can't poison Harry?'" whispered Lupin faintly.
"I'm not considering Severus' natural strengths in Potions," said Dumbledore quietly. "I'm considering Harry's natural protection against harm."
"Natural protection!" spluttered out the voice from the corner. "Well! I just don-"
"Silencio!" Cut in Dumbledore swiftly. Desmodus looked like he was about to bounce off the walls. He whirled about, sneered, snarled and showed his fangs, before finally shaking a clawed finger at the Headmaster, while mouthing something extremely rude.
"Well - I have been saying it for near two hundred years, Albus, and I will say it again," droned a sarcastic voice. "Be loyal to your wizarding blood. Once you start mixing it with the lower species, results show themselves plainly for what they are."
"Thank you kindly Phineas, for your ever enlightening wisdom," replied Dumbledore testily, his moustache twitching in irritation.
"Natural protection - Professor?" prompted Lupin.
"Ah yes, Remus, thank you for reminding me. As I have always known, Harry has a natural aspect, which will...ah...protect him," Dumbledore said simply. He paused to reach inside his robes, pulling out some sweets. "Care for a sherbet lemon?"
Remus Lupin couldn't keep a scowl from his face. He was renowned for his calmness in dire situations. But when poison, Snape and Harry were in the same equation; the uncontrollable urge to stick a sherbet lemon up somewhere was the first thing which had come to Lupin's mind.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he demanded. "Harry is-"
"Fine, Remus."
"But the door's sealed! - I couldn't-"
"I sealed it."
"...You...?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes. I know that many people have questioned my trust in Professor Snape, and I expect many more will query like them. But I cannot elaborate on what is confidential. That would be misplacing his trust."
Lupin looked very confused. "Then, why shut Harry in with Severus?"
"Oh, good point," mused Dumbledore absent-mindedly, unwrapping another sweet.
Lupin looked him in the eye. There was a sense of mischief in their twinkle...
"Because, Remus - I was bored."
Lupin stared. Even Phineas Nigellus raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore's 'so- called eccentricity' at times like this could easily be read as 'so-called insanity.'
"That is, Remus, bored of watching them continually struggle to see eye to eye," the headmaster elaborated brightly. "I am pleased, though, that Severus - now circumstances have quietened down a bit - has almost managed to overcome his dislike for you."
"So you would like Harry Potter and Severus Snape to, to - like each other?" asked Lupin in undisguised shock.
"Well...tolerate, would do; we mustn't wish for miracles," replied Dumbledore. "The hostility, particularly since last term is beginning to prove more destructive rather than productive. Up to now I have purposefully allowed Severus's - er - inclinations to-"
"Rampage?" came a sly comment
"For want of a better word, yes," stated Dumbledore, his moustache twitching again. "I wanted to prepare Harry for his future. But, unfortunately, despite my efforts, Harry's self control is still-"
"Like a Snape's?" the reedy voice cut in again.
"No," remarked Dumbledore more firmly. "Like a teenager's."
Phineas raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't speak well for our dear Severus then."
Dumbledore continued, unabashed. "And I know they do have things in common, which they absolutely, and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. Hm.sounds like a Muggle novel I read once...quite a long time ago," he chuckled to himself.
"Things in common?" exclaimed Lupin wildly, the back of his neck prickling. "What by Merlin do you mean?!"
For a split second Lupin thought of the portrait still ranting in the corner behind him. His heart skipped a beat. Now he considered it, Harry was getting rather vicious...
Dumbledore let out a long, weary sigh. "I saw things when teaching Severus Occlumency, which I really would rather have not. And with Harry..." he paused looking up into the younger man's eyes. "Well..."
"He does seem very depressed," mumbled Lupin. "I - I have tried to comfort him, but with my own grief to deal with, and the work for the Order, it has been, rather difficult. He just won't talk to me."
"We are all grieving for Sirius," said Dumbledore sadly. "But unlike your lifetime, Remus, Sirius has played only a small - if important - part in Harry's. This grief at the surface of his conscious is only uprooting much deeper buried horrors, which I know he has never confided to anyone. I believe this is causing his detachment."
Lupin's eyes wandered to the fuming picture in the corner. Desmodus arched his black eyebrows and smirked back at him evilly. He had always felt uncomfortable when James and Sirius fought Snape back at school. Snape had always been so jealous of them, surly, vindictive, scruffy git that he was.
But they had nicknamed him Snivellus for a reason. On his first train journey to Hogwarts, Lupin had been comparing frog cards and talking Quidditch with a chatty, confident boy, with dark hair and glasses, when a wild, mischievous looking livewire of a boy had bounded into their carriage.
"Did you know someone's been hogging that bloody toilet for over an hour!'" he'd said. The boy then introduced himself as Sirius Black, and went on to exclaim that he'd knocked on the door several times, but the occupant had just sworn viciously at him and refused to come out. Up for some amusement, the two of them had followed him. Then James had dared Sirius to blast open the door.
'That was the first time I should have stood up for Snape,' thought Lupin bitterly. A bad tempered Slytherin, or not, the boy had shut himself away to cry for a reason. But Lupin at eleven already knew too much about loneliness, and so had been scared of losing his new friends.
"I suppose I realise how lucky I am now, Dumbledore,' he sighed wearily. 'At least Lycanthrophy doesn't lean you naturally toward evil."
"Severus is not naturally evil, Remus. He just had an extremely unfortunate start to life."
"Which has made him somewhat, unhinged. In my day I would never have allowed a vampire like that near a wand," commented Phineas dryly.
"Phineas," remarked Dumbledore wearily, as if he had heard this one many times before. "Severus is human, as I keep telling you. I know he may tend to the - more favourable - temperaments of the vampire, but as you full well know he is quarter-blood. Unlike vampires, he is very much alive, and inherently more tractable. His mother was a very capable witch, and thus I have no misgivings with allowing him to carry a wand."
"Don't expect me to figure out how the half-breed thinks, Albus!" sneered Phineas. "I prefer to judge for myself, and all the ones I met in my lifetime all turned out to be dangerously unstable."
"But Headmaster: Severus AND Harry?" cut in Lupin doubtfully.
Dumbledore turned to Lupin with the aim of coolly ignoring the indignant portrait.
"He is sixteen, Remus. And now his Occlumency skills have become strong enough to block out Voldemort's prying eyes, I feel that it would be harmful to allow the prejudice to carry on any longer."
"But can't you talk with Harry, instead of Snape?" suggested Lupin, desperately clutching at straws.
"No Remus," sighed Dumbledore. "Heavens, I have already tried. My calmness seems to antagonise him. And his high energies make him a little too - spirited - for me to handle."
"Spirited, Albus!" exclaimed a reedy voice, more insistent than ever. "More trollish if you ask me! Have you conveniently forgotten the finer details of that occasion? I nearly had my canvas ripped through by flying table legs!"
'I'm sorry, Phineas, you know I am," Dumbledore sighed again. He shifted a heavy gaze on to Lupin. "But you see, Remus, you youngsters do insist on making us oldies feel our age."
Lupin looked up, and saw the old wizard's pale eyes were twinkling rather oddly again. He also noted his voice continued with a gentleness, that almost sounded fearful.
"Out of the few hopeful thoughts I've had for their futures, this is the one hope, however far fetched it may seem, I will always refuse to loose sight of."
Severus Snape stood still as if in a trance. He knew the boy wasn't dead without needing to check for a pulse. When it was quiet enough he could often sense others' heartbeats some distance away. It was one family trait he had inherited which actually came in useful.
He bent down, prised the phial from Harry's clenched fist, and sniffed it. He frowned. Dusk nightshade and Grey-eye venom.
Where the hell did Potter get hold of such things?
"Most likely where I would get hold of them - in Knockturn Alley," he muttered to himself darkly.
Going by the strength of the smell Snape guessed the concentration of nightshade was higher than the venom. This meant he had approximately two minutes to save the boy, before the poison seeped its way to his heart.
He shivered feverishly; feeling as ill as he did, he could have done with longer.
He wrenched the top off a jar of bezoar stones. He needed two of these. He crossed to a shelf of venoms behind his desk. The jars rattled and rotated, until a tall thin bottle came into view. The liquid in it was a pale, cloudy yellow.
Grinding the bezoars proved difficult, as the muscles in his arms kept cramping from the fever. Finally, though they became powder, and he could add the venom. It hissed and bubbled violently, turning a dirty ochre.
Pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow, Snape then retrieved something from a pocket in his robes. He stared at it, his lip curling. He always thought it ironic; the fact that it was a simple -Muggle- invention. Yet it had come in useful to him before. Removing the cap he placed the end into the antidote. Hands trembling, he drew up the plunger.
Crouching down by the crumpled body, he took hold of the teenager's arm, scowling as he did so, and twisted it round. Snape couldn't stop himself from shuddering, and pulling a face.
He was disgusted with his reaction. Dealing with all sorts of vile, noxious things (Not including students) every day, and he, a Potions Master, was bothered by a simple injection! As he stood up, quivering all over, he felt relieved that Potter was out cold.
He collapsed into a chair and waited. He felt like he was burning up; his muscles were aching, and his forehead was dripping sweat into his eyes. But as the minutes crept by he became confident that the fever was subsiding. A good sign: the obnoxious brat was recovering. He could sense the boy's heart was becoming less erratic.
He would gladly take alcohol if he wasn't so sure he would be sick. He closed his eyes to stop the room sliding about. Damn the Potters! Damn Dumbledore! Damn Lily...
"MUM! - DAD!"
Snape nearly hit the roof. His eyes darted wildly around the room. Harry had come round, and was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.
Snape groaned. The boy was only hallucinating-
"Be quiet, Potter. I've got a splitting headache," Snape answered, trying his best to growl irritably.
Harry's eyes were wandering around the room. "Oh...but I want to stay here," he moaned. "Don't make me-"
"Potter! Don't make me come over there!" hissed Snape. Inane rambling, this was more than he could stand. He got up, and made a determined effort to reach the door. The boy would be going to the hospital wing, directly.
His office door was stuck.
No - it was sealed with a charm. One even he couldn't identify. He swung round. His jar of Floo powder had disappeared as well. His eyes darkened as they fixed upon the likely culprit.
"Potter, remove this charm at once!"
"I have dreams about you so often," murmured Harry, sleepily.
"Oh - marvellous..."
"But you want me to - are you sure?" The boy began to wail and moan. 'No - I can't – please, oh please don't make me! But why would I? I don't?'
Snape clenched his jaw, and stalked back to his chair. How wondrously superb. Trapped in his office with one delirious Harry Potter, while still ailing from the after-effects of a fever. This would be an ideal memory to permanently leave in the pensieve.
"No! Please don't let me go - I can't do this! No! Mum – Muuum...!" At this last haunting cry Harry fell silent, a look of bitter disappointment twisting his face. Then he shuddered, and sat up suddenly.
Snape smiled at the disorientated boy grimly. "Hello, Potter. How was Laa laa land this time? Clement weather, was it? You really ought to consider sending me a postcard."
Harry looked around dazed before he realised who was speaking. He was still alive! Realising this brought with it a flood of emotions, the most prominent one being panic. Dragging himself up he ran awkwardly to the door. It wouldn't budge. He banged on it frantically.
"Let me out!" cried Harry.
"Tell me how, and I gladly will" sneered back Snape.
"B-but it's not me, sir!"
"That's getting cliché, Potter," came the dangerous tone.
Harry's stared, his eyes narrowing meanly. Somehow, he knew Snape really didn't know how to open it. But - this didn't mean he needed to admit that he himself couldn't, if he could use it to advantage.
"Okay, sir," he hissed. "Since as you don't seem to want me dead, I will open this door; BUT, only if you tell me what is wrong with my blood."
"You think you could handle the truth, Potter?" returned the cold, sneering voice. "Almost killing yourself pathetically over a beast like Black, I doubt you could."
"So you were a perfectly stable sixteen year old then, were you?" shot back Harry. "Want to give me any good advice?"
Snape snarled. He hated how Harry was beginning to understand him. If only he felt better he would have the noisy idiot out in the corridor in a second.
And if only he could open the door.
"You have no right to backchat a teacher in this way!" he spat. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
"That's getting cliché, Professor Snape," replied Harry just as dangerously.
They stared at one another hatefully. Harry tensed; Snape's eyes seemed to pierce into him.
"Snape's charmed the door but he says it's me. What does this mean? Does he really not want me to leave? Ugh! What a creepy thought!" thought Harry, concentrating his hardest.
Snape hissed. Surely this thought was false? If that was so, the boy's powers at Occlumency were much better than he had thought.
"Sit down, Potter, and be quiet," he muttered coldly. If he could block his attempts, he could certainly block the Dark Lord's. Maybe he should congratulate Potter, but, then again. Snape grimaced and put his hands to his brow. Unfortunately, he was sure he could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on-
Meanwhile, Harry had sat back down in front of Snape's desk, and trained his eyes on his face. How he wished he could do Legilimency too.
To figure out the man who had been trying for six years to get him expelled, and who had made sure his life was as miserable as he could make it along the way.
To an onlooker it could seem like Snape didn't understand Harry at all. Harry shivered; How he hoped it really was that straightforward.
Because Snape, despite everything, was always the one to sense when Harry was up to something. Now after months of ransacking memories in Occlumency, Harry knew Snape, with all his other obsessions, suspicions and intuitions, knew him far better than any other professor or adult did. And this closeness was the thought he dreaded to linger on.
Snape was still looking dishevelled, and rather paler than usual. Which, compared with the other Snape hues, was dangerously pale.
"Are you not well, sir?" he asked.
"No I am not," Snape replied harshly, raising his head to glare at his questioner. "I believe someone saw to that, earlier."
"You can't blame me for every little thing," scowled Harry.
"Ah...but I can blame you for this little thing, Potter, because you have indeed made me ill."
"I suppose you'll try and get me expelled now saying how I poisoned you," muttered Harry.
"That would be an excellent suggestion," came the sarcastic tone. "If, you had poisoned me. Directly..."
"Oh, come on! How - how else could I have poisoned you?" flustered Harry, going red in the face with anger. "INDIRECTLY??!!"
"Now; it seems this subject is getting interestingly near your original question," said Snape softly, sitting back in his chair, his black eyes glittering strangely.
Harry went quiet. His original question? "About what's wrong with my blood?" he sneered suspiciously. He leaned forward. "What the hell has that got to do with me poisoning you?"
A sly grin spread across the Potion Master's face. Mustering up enough strength, he leaned forward over the desk, until Harry's sneer was barely a foot from his own.
"Now that greatly unfortunate disadvantage is something only Dumbledore, myself..." he bared his yellow teeth, "...and your mother - knew about."