The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 22

The silver sand faded into view, and Harry raised his head to look out over the sea. The full moon still shone full and heavy in the starry sky, but far in the distance he thought he could see a storm gathering. He stared out at it and, in this place where no fear could upset his mind and cloud his thoughts, he wondered what Snape could possibly do with the news he was about to give him. Would the shock push him out of this strange mental world? Maybe there was a book in that library – some memory he hadn't strained out into the Pensieve – that would show him a way out.

Harry turned towards the door in the rock face. It stood open, a full rectangle of darkness in the pale stone. He frowned. Why was this door open when the one into the library was half closed? It would make more sense to close the door that led to the outside and leave the inner one open, wouldn't it? And why only half shut?

Harry began to walk towards the door, an idea forming. He took a firm hold of the handle, and pulled hard. The door wouldn't move. He nodded slowly. Just like the library door, which hadn't moved in the slightest, even when he ran head first into it. He had forgotten to tell Dumbledore about the doors – but these were surely the crucial detail in Snape's dream world. This was the way in, every time. Surely – obviously! – this had to be the way out? Harry turned from the door and ran as fast as he could for the library.

Moody leaned down, wand raised in one hand. Potter had his head in his hands, apparently unable to look; he was leaning against Minerva as if in a swoon. No doubt the charm was absorbing him; there really was no more time to lose. Moody was loath to follow this course of action; strong though Snape's heart was, he was still suffering under deadly physical wounds and a Dementor attack which might well have drained his will to live. But as things stood, he was dying and so was Harry. This was the only chance they had. But it was an ugly one.

Harry ran, up the stairs, along the corridor. A much narrower strip of light escaped the open door than before, but he slid sideways past it without breaking his run, and headed for the fireplace. He stared wildly around for Snape. There was no sign of him.

'Sir!' he shouted, 'Professor Snape!' No answer. 'SEVERUS!'

'Harry?' the voice came from far away from the giant window, down in the most shadowed corner of the library. Harry ran towards it. Snape appeared, young and healthy, one long finger marking his place in the book he was holding.

'They're going to kill you!' Harry blurted. 'Moody's going to kill you to break the spell! He says it's the only way!'

The book slipped out of Snape's fingers. 'No,' he whispered, his dark eyes widening.

'Yes! He says you're dying anyway, and I'll die too, but this way they could save me…'

Snape gazed down almost blankly at him.

'… but listen, I think I know a way out. You're dying – and the door to this room is closing. It was only half closed the last time I came in, but now it's almost shut. But the one downstairs, leading to the beach where I always arrive, that one's still wide open.'

Harry paused for breath, gazing earnestly up at Snape, willing him to understand. 'I think that when the door closes, you'll be trapped in here – that will be when you die. But if you were to walk out of this room before it closes – back with me onto the beach – then maybe you could leave properly, wake up in the real world…'

Snape's gaze had drifted away from Harry, over his head towards the giant window and its view of the stars. 'No,' he whispered. 'I can't leave here. He told me to wait for him, if I leave he won't be able to find me…'

This wasn't the answer Harry had been expecting, but there was no time for random questions. 'Whoever it is won't be able to find you at all if you die,' he said, grabbing Snape's arm.

But Snape shook him off with a scowl, the distant expression suddenly gone. 'And if the spell is lifted or broken you'll be exposed.'

He strode up the room towards the window, robes billowing. Outside the clouds began to gather as the storm headed up from the sea.

Moody placed his hand on Snape's naked chest. The skin was so tight against the ribs that he could feel the heart beating beneath them; but it was a steady rhythm, and strong. He spread his fingers, the tip of his thumbnail almost touching one nipple while his ring finger brushed the other. Gently he pressed his fingers into the thin flesh, reaching out for the life force flowing beneath his fingers, fathoming its unique shape and melody.

He concentrated, letting himself sink into a trance in which he was aware of nothing but that fragile life force, a silver thread in the dark. He felt his own emotions stir deep inside, a profound awareness of the sacred responsibility he was now assuming. He began to chant in a slow, deep voice.

The room darkened as the clouds thickened. Snape stood in the middle of the window, glaring defiantly into the oncoming darkness as it engulfed the stars. Harry stood just behind him, knowing rather than feeling a kind of fear. The only light was from the fire, but what had previously been a welcoming blaze was beginning to die, the logs turning to grey ash before collapsing in the grate.

There was a deep rumble of thunder from the horizon, then a blinding flash of lightning tore across the sky. Snape clutched his chest and fell gasping to his knees.

Snape's ghostly hand clawed at the bedclothes, sinking through them.

'He's fighting it,' murmured Lupin.

Moody focused harder, his voice taking on a deeper, more powerful tone.

Snape gasped, soiling the fine silk with perspiration as he clutched frantically at his heart. He turned towards the lightning with a ferocious scowl, a long-nailed hand raised, claw-like, towards the storm. In a guttural voice he snarled an incantation. The clouds and darkness were abruptly pushed back, and in the empty grate, the ashes burst into flame.

A gleam of sweat was visible on Snape's face and body, and under the sheets his legs gave a sudden, jolting kick. Dumbledore put his hand on Snape's brow, and softly began to whisper words of comfort: 'It's all right, Severus, trust us, we are going to bring you back. You are safe, you are safe, just give in, it's all right…'

There was a deafening crash of thunder, and the darkness rushed back with a force that knocked Harry off his feet. Snape wailed, and Harry crawled towards the sound, reaching out with a shaking hand. He could feel the barrier created to separate him from his negative emotions melt like a sheet of ice; and terror rose in its place. His fingers closed on silk, and Snape grabbed at him with a terrible desperation.

Harsh, blinding flashes of lightning split a darkness that was almost total, and in the intermittent bursts of light Harry could see the room begin to vanish. The walls had already faded, and in the encroaching shadow, bookcases shivered and disappeared, a creeping, darkening fog filling the space they had left. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as the rug-covered settees vanished, then the hearthrugs, and finally the huge inglenook fireplace.

Snape gasped and clung, sinking his long-nailed fingers into Harry's shoulders. Harry buried his face in Snape's hair and held on tightly, willing him to fight it, offering him whatever strength he had left to give.

McGonagall tightened her grasp on Harry as he keeled into her lap with a groan.

Snape's body twitched and convulsed under Moody's hand. The old wizard held him, never breaking his grip or the rhythm of his chant, while Dumbledore clasped Snape's hand and whispered in a low, soothing voice.

The dark eyes sprang open, staring upwards. A guttural moan issued from his throat, and his body arched under Moody's heavy palm.

Harry and Snape clutched each other in the dark like terrified children. Harry began to feel weak, light headed and insubstantial. His fought against his sapping strength, but the body he was trying to hold was already loosing substance as it slid from his grasp. He moaned, desperately fighting to keep a grip. But it was no good.

A last drifting sensation of silk; then he was kneeling alone in the void, his arms empty.

Moody never faltered in his chant, but in the dim light Lupin could see his hand strain against the body pressing against it.

And then it was over. Snape's skeletal body went limp, his open eyes glazing. He sank back with a last rattling breath, deeper into the mattress than when he had lain unconscious.

Harry opened his eyes and sat up in the almost utter silence. He was wide awake, feeling as refreshed as if he had slept for a week. He stood up, and McGonagall's hand fell from his shoulder as he gazed around, taking in Lupin's bloodless countenance and the tears streaking Tonks' face. The only sound in the room was Moody, still chanting steadily under his breath, his palm still heavy on Snape's chest. Dumbledore sat with his head bowed, the long fingered hand held in both of his.

Harry moved over to the bed, his mind immobile as he took in the sight of Snape's fragile, wasted body and the blank, staring eyes. As he watched, the ghost of Snape's hand faded and disappeared.

There was a moment of utter stillness in Harry's mind, as if all his thoughts were a pendulum that had come to rest, bringing time to a halt. He dropped his gaze from the dead face and the bandaged stump, turning away to the only light in the room: the street light shining through the thin curtains between Lupin and Tonks. He stared vacantly at it; and then something incredible happened.

In the centre of the dim light, one point seemed to intensify. It lengthened, then broadened, then took on a shape… and suddenly Snape was standing at the end of his own bed. Harry stared, transfixed. The contrast between the emaciated figure in the bed and the ghost standing at its foot was profound. He looked as he had in the dream world, strong and youthful, with a noble, aquiline profile and long flowing hair. It seemed incredible that this could ever have been Severus Snape. Harry had been prepared to believe that the person he had seen in the dream world was a fantasy – but a person couldn't fantasise the appearance of his own ghost, could he? The creature now turning away from its corpse in anguish was almost a stranger.

Moody reached into his pocket for the tiny bottle McGonagall had brought him. One-handed and still chanting under his breath, he removed the stopper. Carefully, without lifting his hand from Snape's chest, he allowed the dark liquid inside to ooze under his fingers and into Snape's skin.

Harry became aware the indistinguishable words had changed, the rhythm subtly altering, the voice rising in tone and power. Snape's ghost halted as it reached the window, and seemed to struggle slightly, as if caught by an unseen web. It turned, wide-eyed, then moved forward, walking slowly through the bed and through his body. As Harry watched, Snape reached out long, pearly white hands to clasp his own dead face; and then he was gone.

There was another moment of silence, then the silvery shape of Snap's missing forearm reappeared. Snape's body heaved; his mouth opened, noisily sucking in air. There was a collective gasp of relief around the room and a few claps of applause. Dumbledore smiled as the hand in his suddenly tightened. 'Welcome back, Severus,' he smiled warmly. Snape blinked at him, looking confused.

Moody took his hand off Snape's chest and sat back, his satisfied expression hiding the intense relief at his own success. 'Okay folks,' he said, 'Thank you very much, I think we can say the operation was a success. But –' he raised a warning hand as Tonks and Lupin came forward, ' – he still needs a lot of care and rest. I must ask you all to leave now, please.'

Everyone started to file out, but Harry stayed where he was until Lupin's hand landed on his shoulder. 'C'mon,' said Lupin, 'time for bed, I think.' Harry allowed himself to be pulled away, but noticed that Dumbledore had shown no sign of leaving, while Shacklebolt was exchanging urgent words with Moody. Then he was being steered into his own room next door.

'I'll see you tomorrow, alright?' said Lupin. He looked more tired than usual, and Tonks looked exhausted, despite the bright look of joy in her eyes. Harry nodded, and the door closed.

Alone in his room, wide awake and filled with a strange sense of confusion, Harry picked up his watch from the chair beside his bed. It was almost midnight.

Happy new year everyone! And thank you very much for the kind reviews! Hope you like the new chapter - and I hope it's readable! I keep putting in rows of stars or lines to denote section breaks, and keeps taking them out sigh. I've gone through putting them all back in with the QuickEdit thing, but I'm not sure how successful it's been.

Anyway, hope you all like it :D Warmest wishes and blessings to you all :D