Up From the Dust

Chapter 4:
Scattered Memories

"Hermione?"

"Mmph? What? Oh, sorry Ron!"

Hermione Granger picked her head up from Ron Weasley's shoulder and yawned. "Did something happen?"

"Madam Pomfrey's gone to see the Headmaster," said Ron. The sight of Harry sleeping peacefully had done much to improve Ron's mood, even if the source of his friend's slumber was unnatural and a bit violent.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and sat up straighter. She had been up late the previous night working on some advanced Arithmancy work for Professor Vector and had barely been in bed for an hour that night before Harry's screaming had woken up all of Gryffindor Tower, including herself.

"How's Harry?" she asked, looking over to their friend's still form. The bright-red lightning bolt shape still hovered over his forehead.

"No change. But Madam Pomfrey zapped him good. He wouldn't wake up on his own even if nothing else were wrong with him…" Ron hesitated, then spoke again.

"Hermione? You won't tell anybody about… you know…"

Ah yes, thought Hermione affectionately, his masculine pride. Her pajamas were still wet where he had cried on them.

"No, of course not, Ron. Besides, it's OK to be upset. Everything has been a mess around here since Saturday, even counting the extra credit work I've been allowed to do." Her companion rolled his eyes.

Hermione thought back to the events of half an hour ago. She knew Ron must have been mortified when he turned his tear-streaked face to the other end of the room to see his batlike Potions professor in the other bed.

"Where do you reckon old Snape's gotten off to anyway?" asked Ron

Hermione sniffed indignantly, remembering Snape's stubborn label-reading. She was, after all, at the top of Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class. "I suppose he's gone to find out what's going on with You-Know-Who that would do such a thing." Her expression softened. "His composure was most definitely lacking, though. I hope he's all right."

"It would serve the old git right to squirm a bit after six years of making us do the same."

"Yes, but I'm sure even Harry wouldn't want him to die."

The thought silenced Ron Weasley quite effectively.

- - - -

The fire was going out.

After two hours, the red flames ceased their dance and slowly folded down in reverence to the two figures that stood within them.

Lord Voldemort banished the remainder of the flames with a flick of his wand, dissipating the cloud of Dark magic that had permeated the area.

Beside him stood a woman with pale, corpselike skin and deep red eyes. She held her thin hands over her belly protectively and surveyed her followers.

They bowed.

- - - -

The jagged line of red faded to blue above the forehead of Harry Potter, and his friends sighed with relief.

Madam Pomfrey, after shooing then out of the wing, sat down in a high-backed chair and began to wait for Severus.

- - - -

"Don't forget to mention that I had no choice!" hissed Severus Snape as he walked briskly down the corridor next to his long-time acquaintance. "If I'm reduced to a pile of ashes due to your negligence, Lucius, I will haunt you until the day you die. I'll make you give clothes to all your house-elves – and I've always been better than you at the Imperius Curse." His tone indicated that he was not kidding.

"Oh do try not to get your knickers in a twist, Severus. As you say, 'you can brew poisons that most people can't even pronounce.' The Dark Lord can make better use of you if you're still alive." Lucius stopped in front of a massive oak door and muttered a password. The door swung open to reveal a richly furnished guest bedroom.

"You should be a motivational speaker," Snape said dryly, turning to face him. "Your comments send a thrill of self-confidence through the very center of my being." He stepped backward into the room, leaving the threshold between himself and Malfoy.

"Isn't that what friends are for?" asked Lucius, a devious grin spreading over his face.

"I am not your friend, Lucius. Don't deny that you are using me. After all, I am using you." He shut the door; a gale of arrogant laughter emanated from behind it.

Sighing, Severus removed his black cloak and tossed it onto a chair.

"You can't pronounce them either," he muttered. After casting half a dozen wards on the room, he sat down at the desk with a quill and parchment and began to write.

When he had finished his note, he sealed it with a charm and then tossed a bit of glittery powder into the fireplace. "Hogwarts, hospital wing," he muttered, throwing the letter into the flames.

When he finally went to sleep, he dreamt of endlessly falling onto hard, cold stone below.

- - - -

Severus Snape awoke to darkness for the fourth time and cursed under his breath. Usually, he was able to push aside the minor nightmares that plagued him and gain a few more hours of sleep, but tonight his demons refused to rest.

Severus was worried.

He missed his plain, dark and somewhat gloomy dungeon rooms, for one thing. The Malfoys liked to flaunt their wealth, and the huge room with its high ceiling gave him an agoraphobic feeling.

Sad to say, he missed his gray nightshirt, too. Lucius hadn't given him anything to sleep in, and he refused to face the snobbish look Narcissa would give him in the morning if he slept in his clothes. Therefore he not only felt small, but exposed, sleeping in socks and shorts.

He missed being in a position of power, instead of groveling at the feet of one of the most evil men in the country. What he would give to just be back at the school, giving detention to some disobedient Gryffindor…

Damn, did he miss the false feeling of security he'd had at Hogwarts, before this whole fiasco started. His vision of the future had been radically changed and then changed back in the past few hours: it had gone from "I'm a dead man" to "I just might have a chance at living" to "I'll be spending the rest of my life in hiding" to "I just might have a chance at living" once again. Although he hated to admit it, in the few hours in which he'd thought he would never come back to the Death Eaters he had begun to get used to the thought. Severus was terrified at the prospect of trying to gain back Voldemort's good favor, even if he had Lucius to back him up. The first time had been hard and painful enough, and though he was loath to admit it to even himself, he seriously doubted that Voldemort would trust him a second time.

Although he trusted Lucius Malfoy, Severus had doubts that the man had the leverage necessary to convince the Dark Lord. Back during his first year at Hogwarts, Lucius had been something of a protector to him, and he had been his best man at that horrible wedding all those years ago. That made him a potential ally to Severus, and if Voldemort was already set in his beliefs, he might just kill them both instead of keeping them. Well, he thought ironically, at least I'd take Lucius out with me.

Severus dressed and began to pace the room. Lucius expected him to remain at the manor until morning, as a sign of "friendship". He could just imagine what breakfast would be like: Lucius and Narcissa would occupy both ends of that ridiculously large dining-room table, placing Severus in the middle. He would then be subjected to half an hour of arrogant talk about the manor. "Did you like your room?" would be one question, to which he would have to answer an untruthful "yes." This would lead to a five-minute discussion about how old the room was, who designed it, and how much it cost to furnish – their favorite part. Then they would ask another question, which would be followed by another five minutes of bragging. The Malfoys would make arrogant hints about Voldemort and racist comments about Muggles. Of course young Draco would be mentioned, along with the ineptness of that "bumbling, sentimental fool" Dumbledore. Severus would have to agree with this comment and complain about how he was stuck playing the role of a loyal professor, all along keeping his voice in the snottiest, most Malfoy-esque tone possible.

He just couldn't do it. He'd have an aneurism.

And his head hurt enough as it was.

Severus ceased his pacing and walked to the door, slowly pushing the ten-foot-tall door open. Carrying his mask, with his wand up his sleeve, Severus prepared to do what he did second best: skulk. (The thing he did best was sweep around like a… what did Albus call him once? Ah, yes. A large, malevolent bat.)

"Severus! Not leaving so soon, I hope?" The false mirth in Lucius's voice made the hairs on Severus's neck stand on end.

Severus turned around to face his "friend," who had suddenly appeared in the corridor. He probably had a house-elf stake out the hallway.

"I had heard that when one has a stick up one's posterior, using the lavatory becomes an endeavor far too difficult to undertake. I, however, do not have such a handicap, Lucius." The look on Snape's face could have frozen the sun.

Lucius stepped behind Severus and clapped him on the back with a bit more force than was necessary. He then placed that hand around his shoulders and steered him back into the guest room and to a somewhat smaller door. A private bathroom, of course. Severus cursed inwardly at his poor excuse.

"I trust you'll be at breakfast. Good night, Severus. Pleasant dreams."

With a smirk, Lucius left the room, closing the door behind him.

Upon trying it, Severus found that it was locked.

And warded.

Heavily.

Defeated, he began to pace again.

- - - -

"Therefore it came to be that the very social class system that had led to the greatness of the High Elven Empire was to lead to its downfall, as an eventual revolt of the Lesser Mages caused those Greater Mages to whom the power of upholding the empire had been allocated to turn to the Human wizards of the day for…"

The only sound to be heard in Professor Binns's seventh-year history class on Tuesday morning was the droning voice of the apparition himself. In fact, the monotone of his voice had much the same effect as a Muggle white-noise machine, causing many of those subjected to the sound of him for extended periods of time to simply doze off.

Ronald Weasley was no exception to the rule. He was slumped over his desk in the back row of the room, sleeping peacefully with his head pillowed on his textbook. Next to him sat Hermione, leaning on her elbow, a slightly stupefied expression on her face. The rest of the class was not much better, including the usually studious Ravenclaws with whom the Gryffindors shared History of Magic.

Ron Weasley abruptly let out a great snore. Startled awake by the sound of his own making, he bolted upright, wide-eyed, looking from side to side with an air of paranoia. Next to him, Hermione struggled not to laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. This succeeded in causing her to snort in a most unladylike way, which in turn caused a ripple of giggles to travel through the half-anesthetized class.

Professor Binns took no notice of the scene playing out in the back of his classroom and continued the lesson.

- - - -

Harry Potter woke to find himself in his usual spot in the hospital wing. Upon trying to get up, he found that he couldn't move. Further examination led him to believe that he had been tied to the bed, and quite securely at that.

"Um… Madam Pomfrey?" He was surprised to find that his voice was hoarse, and tried to remember why he was in the Hospital Wing in the first place. He'd been up last night due to nightmares…

Memory returned to him at lightning speed, flooding his consciousness. Last night he'd been plagued by what would have been daydreams if they had not been so utterly disturbing. He shuddered as much as a very tightly bound person could as he remembered them.

- - - -

In the first vision, he'd been a spirit without a body. For the first part it had been rather pleasant, simply floating along, watching Muggles, machines, and animals. It seemed as if years went by in those few minutes. Then, he had felt a pulling sensation around his belly, as if an invisible and infinitely strong tether were pulling him back to the masses of living people below. He'd flown at incredible speed through the crowds and empty spaces, crossing the oceans, searching, searching… but he didn't know what he was searching for.

He found her in America… a witch, tall and strong. She was a pregnant, but probably didn't know it yet.

Before, he had felt like he were being pulled along by a rope. Now, he felt himself, or whoever he was, pull back, diving into the woman's belly, poisoning her womb, and the words avada kedavra had flowed, like a deadly caress, toward the child.

The woman had felt a brief pain, and then nothing. Harry knew what she never really would… that her child was no longer her own.

He'd snapped awake from that particular vision to find himself staring into his cauldron in Potions. Professor Flitwick was covering the class for Snape, and until he had zoned out, it had been a rather pleasant class. Hermione was shaking him and telling him to add the eye of newt. He'd shrugged off the bizarre dream and reached for the jar.

- - - -

In the second vision, he'd been an observer. The woman that he had seen before was in labor. She gave birth easily, but it quickly became apparent that something was wrong. While she and her husband were both tall and large-boned, with skin as dark and perfect as polished ebony, the baby was small, frail, pale, and blonde-haired. The puzzled mediwizard asked if they had used any spells on the fetus to change her appearance, and had performed an identity spell. Neither the man nor the woman registered as the child's biological parents. The woman had cried, even as her newborn child remained unnaturally silent.

The vision had flashed to perhaps a year and a half later. The blonde child was walking around with disconcerting ease, and her "father" was watching, smiling, offering encouraging words to her. The baby girl grabbed her father's wand from a loop in his pants, and he let her play with it. Harry watched the scene with a feeling of dread.

"That's a wand, darling. WAND. You'll have one someday. And you can go to Blakewood Academy, just like your mama and I did."

"Wand."

"Ooh, good girl!"

"Wand. Good girl."

The man looked thrilled. "Hey, Monica! Come here!" He turned his head to call for his wife.

The girl waved the wand like a much older person and pointed it at her father.

"Avada Kedavra!" she intoned, the awful words made no less terrible by the delicate sound of her baby's voice. Her father died instantly and fell to the floor.

Harry had snapped awake from that dream to find himself sweating, his heart hammering in his chest. He was sitting in a chair in the common room, and Ron was asking him if he was all right. He'd said that he'd just been daydreaming and took up Ron's offer to play chess.

- - - -

The final vision had been the worst. Harry had found himself, once again, playing the role of another person. This time, as he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he recognized himself as Monica, the blonde girl's mother.

"Hey, Monica! Come here!" came a voice from downstairs.

Monica turned and walked out of the bedroom, where she had been practicing an advanced levitation charm, and stepped over the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs and into the living room. She felt the blood drain out of her face as she saw the father of her child lying on the carpet. Her daughter was nowhere to be found.

She rushed to check on the fallen man and, finding him dead, picked his upper body off the ground and cradled him in her arms. She sobbed over the poor dead man's lifeless body until a single word caused her to look up.

"Mama." The child walked into the room, carrying thirteen inches of ash with a dragon heartstring core. Her husband's wand.

So shocked was Monica that she missed the chance to save herself. The girl rattled off a string of Latin words, using the dead man's wand to cast the spell on her mother. Harry, in Monica's body, felt the room blur and spin as a wave of weakness washed over her. Her strong muscles became slack and her body thinned out as the draining spell took effect, and she toppled to the floor, nearly lifeless. A blonde-haired, teenaged girl stood over her with a look of evil triumph on her face.

The last thing Harry remembered was the sound of the killing curse leaving the girl's lips, and then there was only blackness.

He'd woken violently from the last vision, standing up abruptly and toppling his chair behind him. Ron, sitting on one side of the chessboard, was looking at him worriedly, and Hermione, on the other side, was also staring. He'd sat down again quickly, missing the toppled chair and instead finding the floor. His friends had helped him up and taken him to bed.

Perhaps that hadn't been a very good idea, but they'd had his best interest in mind.

- - - - - -

Many Thanks to Suzuki-chan, Silverthreads, kip, and Katie for reviewing my fic. Woo hoo! Regular readers! :: dies and goes to heaven, then realizes that she can't update fic from heaven and gets reincarnated:: Since I went through this (god-awful) week at school without updating, I'll do my best to get another chapter up this weekend. : )

Shameless Plug: If you like the Snape parts of this fic, especially Snape's confession to Pomfrey from last chapter, you should read "The Furnace." If you're feeling really nice, you can read my poem "Underwater." (If you notice discrepancies between what Severus tells Poppy and what actually happens… think about whether you would have told her the whole truth…)