Disclaimer: I dO nOt OwN hArRy PoTtEr!
Chapter 3
Severus Snape looked down at the boy he once knew, sort of. Seeing him, really seeing him, gave the man--although he didn't show it--weak knees and shivers
There before him was a pale ghost of a boy. Too thin, to small. His hair contrasted sharply with his pale (greyish) skin. The infamous scar the came with the package looked inflamed and raw, almost as if someone was dragging a nail down the groove.His small chest was rising and falling sharply, shallowly. He hear rasping breath sucking in and out, past the boys parted lips. He was wearing a tattered, old, dirty Hogwarts uniform. Thats right...they never even gave him time to change...' He frowned at the bruised and cut appearance of the boy's face. They didn't beat people at Azkaban...there was no need. So why...?
The Dementor behind him was uncomfortably close. He stepped forward subtly, when the guard didn't make a move to stop him, he moved forward with more confidence. And in one fluid motion, he scooped the boy up in his arms. The boy's head lolled back, his left arm hanging uselessly out of Severus's protective embrace.
He turned around, his robes billowing as he strode forward. But stopped short, looking at the walls of Potter's cell. His eyebrows were furrowed. What was...no it couldn't be...there was so much. He stepped closer, careful not to bang Potter's head against the stone. But it was, it was-
Blood? the tall (muggle) man questioned in confusion.
Yeah, loads of it...just back there, a short balding man (also muggle) pointed down the dark dirt road.
I reckon one of the trucks carrin' dead animals and such just spring a leak...you know... the tall muggle just scratched his head and got back into his truck. The other man looked down the road, his face taking on a slightly thoughtful, dreamy look.
Funny thing though...didn't see any tire marks... seeming to snap out of it, he shook his head and climbed back into his own respective means of transportation.
The two men never noticed a figure in black robes with an eerie white mask glide into the trees. The only one who noticed things like that were a small boy with vivid green eyes.
Severus kept his eyes strait ahead as he walked down the cold corridors, ignoring the insane cat calls directed at Potter.
Harrrrry, a light voice called from his left. We'll miss your screamsss...they used to keep me warm at night. shrieking laughter followed.
Hey Potter! You can jump my bones any day! The Dark Lords gonna get cha! The Dark Lards gonna get cha!!!
He unconsciously walked faster. Uncomfortably aware of the two Dementors that followed close behind him. Dark chills rolled up and down his spine from being so near to the creatures.
Moans of misery emitted from cells. The smell of sickness and ultimate death laced the air (which was stale). The torch light flickered and cast shadows over the stones and their grooves. Making it look as though there were old withered faces peering intently at them.
Almost there...we're almost there...
He moved his arm slightly, so the boys face rested on his shoulder. His knee's bent over the crook of his arm. Potter wasn't wearing any shoes. He had cute feet. The boy, Harry, was still unconscious. Perspiration glistened on his forehead, his long black lashes curling over his elvish cheek bones.
As he got closer to the exit, the salt air sting his nostrils. He felt a draft swirl his hair. A Dementor was standing hauntingly be the door, holding it ajar. It's faceless hood turned towards him. He could hear the air rasping from it's lungs. He turned his back towards it, so Harry was facing the opposite way. He passed the monster in an ungraceful gate. He felt cold to his bones, his grip on Harry tightened. The creature seemed to be laughing at him.
A blast of stinging wind collided with his body, blowing his robes out behind him. He some what less than gracefully stumbled over the rocky shore to the waiting boat. Sliding into the wooden structure, he held Har...Potter on his lap. Wrapping his cloak securely around the boy's shivering frame, he pulled him closer.
------
The group of people sat around a roaring fire, not one of them felt the warmth. Dumbledore gazed sadly into space. No one interrupted the music of crackling wood. Molly Weasley was blinking back tears to no avail, she hiccupped softly, clutching her husband's robes. The other members of the Weasley family were not doing much better.
Ginny sat with her knees drawn to her chest, silent tears had long sense began there track down her cheeks. Ron's freckles stood out shockingly against his face, he was breathing unevenly and gripping the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. Hermione had her hands over her mouth and nose to muffle the sounds of her sobbing, as if it were a harsh taboo to make noise. Her bushy hair kept falling into her eyes. Reamus Lupin looked like he was supposed to be 6 feet under by now, partly because of the upcoming full moon...partly from awaiting Harry James Potter. Sirius--if possible--looked worse than Reamus. His face was currently buried in his hands, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Reamus, with his more pepper than salt hair, turned to the Headmaster. When he spoke, it came out hoarse.
Albus...what it it's not Harry? Wha---, he cleared his throat, feeling it contract suddenly. What if...he's... the sentence trailed in the air.
Albus Dumbledore turned his head warily in his direction, acknowledging the unspoken question. Everyone turned their attention to the Master of the school.
...Then...it is our burden to bare.
------
Severus warily climbed out of the boat. Holding Potter close to his chest, more than slightly disturbed at how happy he was to feel the tiny flutter of the boys heart. The grey mists of the water still clung to the shore. He walked forward, rubbing his hand against Harry's back in a last ditch effort to give him some warmth. He shook his head, the boy looked so sick, nothing like the little hellion that plagued him in potions.
If someone were to come over the crest of the small hilltop over looking the murky waters, they would see a man in black robes holding a small boy in what looked like tender care. They would see the dark haired man stroke the sleeping child's forehead. Then, with little to no noise, they would see nothing. The boy and the man had disagreed.
Harry felt cold. But he was pressed tightly to something warm. Warmth was nice.
He opened his eyes slightly, see the blurry image of a man with black hair and deep eyes...pools of ebony.
Tendrils of dreary blackness crept back into his vision. His body felt like he was floating, but at the same time weighed down heavily. His whole being ached. Ached like a broken bone, throbbed uncomfortably, pulsed with a different beat then your heart. Then suddenly the pain was going away. Harry knew no more.
All occupants of the room stopped breathing. A man, Severus Snape, slipped quietly into the now completely silent chamber, he was holding a form wrapped in his cloak.
There were several sharp intakes of breath, and a whispered question.
Is he...awake?, Ms. Ginny Weasley asked almost breathlessly. Severus looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, his face missing the usual scowl.
He eased himself over to the couch in the corner of the room, and carefully placed the body of the boy on the soft padding. Most of the other occupants unconsciously moved closer. Albus Dumbledore stood from his chair and swiftly, for a man that age, moved near to the Boy-Who-Lived, peering at the small face in the folds of the cloak over his half-moon spectacles. He frowned.
Severus, what happened to his face?
He answered in his usual silky voice, though slightly horse, I do not know, Headmaster. I found him like that, sprawled out on the floor. Mrs. Weasley burst into a new wave of fresh tears. Sirius made a choking sound.
Severus gently moved his cloak from Potter, folding it in his hands as he went. They gazed upon his ribs, protruding sharply from his body, only seen though a rip in his clothes, though you could see there outline through the fabric. Dark blotches, some yellowed with age, of bruises marked lots of what was visible on the ghostishly white skin. His breathing was evening slightly, though heard with a wheeze. He turned his head a fraction to the left, a thin trail of blood escaping the confines of his mouth.
Echo's of alarm shot through the room. That was the sound a confused Harry woke to.
His body felt soft and sluggish, the way someone would feel after being run over by a herd of unicorns then being dumped in a luke warm lake.
He became aware of many separate things at a time. He was lying on something soft and warm, as far as he knew nothing in Azkaban came close to those classifications. The air was not damp and smelling of sickness, it was warm and dry, like driftwood. The emotions in the room were swirling, different from the ones in Azkaban, warmer, but sad, with an underline of happiness and joy. And ohhh he felt magic, warm magic...magik. It pulsed from everywhere, he didn't even need to open his eyes. He felt the colour, the pure swirling power.
His shoulders stiffened and his back arched as he was overcome by a wave of painful coughs. It felt worse every time, even though it was a regular occurrence, he still couldn't get used to the idea that his lungs were filling with fluid. Vaguely on the edge of his mind he heard notes of panic. It felt like fire ripping up and down his throat, he felt tissue in his esophogus ripping and tearing, his lungs searing and burning an icy cold. His body wouldn't be able to take much more of this, he mentally sighed. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his ribs. He collapsed back down onto the soft...thing he was lying on. Breathing soft and sharp. Every time he exhaled he tasted blood, each inhale he swallowed it.
He was aware now, of people making soothing noises and talking in hushed panicky voices. Where was he?
Shadowy figures moved around the room, like flickering bats in candle light. He kept hearing pulsing in his ears, he supposed it was his heart. His breathing was burning him. Familiar voices swirled around him, arguing. His sight grew clearer, not as sharp as it would be with his glasses, mind you.
He saw their colours and outlines, their distinct features were lost to him, but he got who they were, he knew them anywhere, his beloved ones. He was vaguely aware of someone stroking his hair. Why were they touching him? How could they stand to touch something as low and dirty as him. All his anger towards them had lasted only a few weeks after they threw him in prison. It was his fault, his fault for failing them.
The reality of the situation finally crashed down upon him. With a surge of adrenaline he didn't know he still possessed, he shot forward, sprawling on the plush carpet, and scrambling to a corner. He couldn't let them see him, he was confused, disoriented, scrambled!
He felt them make a jerking movement as one body, you know the one, the one you do when your going to rush to something. He buried his face in his knees, and fisted his hair, he was not stable at the moment. His bruises burned and his cuts ached. How the fuck...what the hell was he supposed to do?!? Why did it matter? What did anything matter anymore. Life was meaningless, at string of meaningless repeating tasks over and over and over. What was suffering? Why was it suffering? It wasn't, nothing was, it was all the fucking same.
Harry's fingers twitched as he knotted his fingers tighter into the matted locks. His grating voice coming from his chest, it sounded like broken glass, Please...just don't touch me...I'm...dirty...
I edited and melded the chapters. I'll update after the exams.
M-ann