Hey everyone. This is my Christmas episode of the Wingbroken saga, and rest assured its timing was completely accidental. I had no idea that I would be posting this around Christmas. Still, the timing does make for a happy coincidence.
I would like to take this opportunity to note that, as far as reviews go, I am taking up far too much space for their responses. Therefore, I am no longer going to respond to reviewers who post the shorter reviews. Rest assured the reviews are read (they're a matter of my pride and they over-indulge my ego… why wouldn't I?) but after this post I can only respond to reviewers who a) ask questions or b) say something I find interesting. And as I find the word 'spadoinkle' interesting, chances are I'll reply to you.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Harry awoke on Christmas Eve's morning feeling tired, sleepy, and not in the best state of health.
He glanced over to the armchair where he'd last seen Snape watching the fire over steepled fingertips, and found it empty.
Someone give the man a white fluffy cat to stroke, and the image would be perfect, he found himself thinking grumpily.
His head ached, and his body was stiff. Harry sat up, and instantly regretted it, and lay down again; a wave of nausea engulfed him. Hestood up again,carefully. He walked jerkily over to the three-seater sofa, and lay down again, but something was missing.
He stood up again, not relishing the way the blood pounded in his temples, or the sudden shivers that seemed to have taken control of his muscles. Glancing around the room, he spotted Snape's cloak. Walking over to it, he carefully unhooked it from the wall and retreated (a little unsteadily) to the sofa. Curling up on the cushions, Harry pulled the thick, heavy material over him and drew his knees up to his chest. Still shivering, he closed his eyes and waited for oblivion.
llllllllll
Snape descended the stairs without much thought to anything other than the disgusting taste in decor the Gryffindors had. Whoever had chosen the colours ought to be drowned in a vat of their own red dye -
Wait, it had been Godric Gryffindor, hadn't it? Oh, well. Pity he was already dead.
Snape's eyes cast over the form on the sofa.
Potter was curled into a ball with Snape's own cloak covering him.
Snape managed to bypass this fact, and instead jumped straight onto Potter's shivering.
The boy was horribly pale and horribly weak-looking. Snape moved around the sofa swiftly and touched the boy on the shoulder.
"Potter! Potter, wake up! Can you hear me?"
Potter opened his eyes, ad squinted up at Snape.
"Whaddyouwant?"
"A reason why you are lying on a couch with, may I add, my cloak, with what looks like some kind of illness?"
"Jus' feel a bit funny," mumbled Potter, and sunk his head underneath Snape's cloak. Snape snarled and ripped the cloak away from Harry. Harry curled up suddenly as the coolness of the room struck him.
"Hospital wing. Now," said Snape venomously.
Harry was still fully dressed. He sat up, swayed a little with dizziness, and stood up. Snape grabbed Harry's elbow as the boy stumbled.
"Good Merlin," muttered Snape irritatedly. He led the boy over to the fireplace, and withdrawing a small bottle from his pocket, he threw its contents onto the fire. The flames began to burn an emerald green. Snape pushed Potter in, stepped after him and snarled "Hospital Wing of Hogwarts!"
This was exactly what Harry did not need.
Fireplace after fireplace flickered past him, and the feeling of nausea in him began to build.
Without warning, his feet hit the hard stone of the Hospital Wing's fireplace, and his knees buckled. Snape quickly pulled on Harry's shoulder to stop him collapsing completely.
"You wouldn't have a favourite bed, by any chance?" remarked Snape snidely. Harry still felt well enough to shoot him a death glare, and simply headed to the one at the furthest end of the Wing. It had the largest window, and caught the morning sunlight quite well.
Madam Pomfrey bustled in.
"What is it this time?" he said with a sigh of resignation. Harry simply glared at Snape. Snape raised his eyes to the rafters.
"God knows, Madam Pomfrey," he drawled. "Symptoms: fever, shaking, nausea -"
"How did you know that one?" demanded Harry, although his voice was weak.
"One look at your face on the way here was enough."
Harry rolled his eyes and flomped onto the bed.
Snape turned his back to Harry, and shook his head.
"What an annoying brat," he muttered.
"Hey, you're not exactly a bundle of roses yourself, sonny jim," came the snarl from behind him.
Madam Pomfrey took one look at Snape's expression and burst into laughter. Snape turned with a feral snarl, drew his wand, and began to advance towards Harry's bed, but Madam Pomfrey grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back.
I'll give him 'sonny jim', thought Snape furiously, but Madam Pomfrey pulled him around.
"He's got a point," she snapped, but there was a twinkle of laughter in her eyes and around the corners of her mouth. "I can take care of him from here."
Snape threw one last vitriolic glare at Potter and stalked from the room, robes flying out behind him.
llllllllll
Harry lay on his back and stared at the afternoon sunlight playing along the ceiling. Pomfrey had given him a potion to counteract his fever, but it wasn't working very well.
He felt a bit like he did after he came out of Snape's Occlumency lessons, but raised to the power of fourteen and a third.
Was it possible that every time someone tried to break into his mind his body's defences were lowered - including his immune system? It was entirely possible...
Harry turned onto his side and tried to sleep.
llllllllll
Snape paced the Gryffindor Common room furiously.
'Sonny Jim?' Jesus Christ! It was arrogant the first time...
Snape turned on his heel and started to stalk away from the window. Angrily, his fist swept around and hit the wall. Turning, he kicked at Potter's trunk, and heard something inside it shatter. It didn't budge much, but then again, it was quite heavy.
Snape stood and silently fumed, clenching and unclenching his hands. The way that brat wound him up was doing his head in -
Snape stood, breathing hard. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself down and think straight.
Right. It was only a comment, a comment that he no doubt had coming.
What right do you have to anger one and then get angry yourself when they return the favour? his mind whispered. Snape smirked. Severus Snape, have a conscience?
Still, the cool calm and collected part of him called to him, hovering in the higher part of his brain:
You know, even thought Dumbledore didn't tell you straight out, it was your job to protect the boy. You have unofficially been delegated the task of to make sure Harry does not end up sliding so far that he sees no point to living any more.
Don't scowl. There are two Potters. They are both different, you know this. Do not confuse them.
You know what it is like to have no-one listening. You, more than anyone, should listen to him.
He could end up turning out like you.
Snape pounded the wall again in frustration. This was not happening! Not only had he been press-ganged into being Potter's baby-sitter, he had to serve as the Golden Boy's therapist and now he was getting a battering from his own conscience!
Am I not being tortured enough? As well as having to spy I have to suffer in Hogwarts?
Snape sat down wearily and rubbed his face. Wasn't The-Boy-Who-Lived having a cushy enough time in the Muggle world? What in the name of all things holy, unholy and Fred and George Weasley was there to help with?
llllllllll
The first ray of light that heralded Christmas crept wonderingly over the horizon, illuminating the snow-capped trees and the frozen ground in a golden gaze.
Everything was quiet for a few long, long seconds. Pure silence: a rare resource that only the fortunate encounter.
The sun raised its face to Hogwarts; golden light cast over the solid stone, the grey brickwork, and reflected from the windows, returning the sun's favour.
The entire castle was bathed in gold. An onlooker would have seen the way that the light caressed even the most sharpest of edges, momentarily rendering them softer and happier. The light slid up the castle, slipped through a window and gently touched the face of a young man who had sat up past midnight to ponder why, on this sweet Earth, that such a thing as Evil could be allowed. And why Good could never win. Equilibrium was not a fine balance, but it was a balance nonetheless. Tip the scales, and there is nothing left to conquer. For good or evil.
There were no onlookers. The boy was asleep. The light illuminated the scar, casting shadows deep within it; if it was possible to believe, you could almost see it fade a little against the golden hues of the rising sun. Light slid over skin, pale and untouched by the years. It glinted on blue highlights deep in his hair, and softened the shadows of his pronounced jawbone.
The light also crept into thin, almost untraceable lines around the boy's eyes. The light appeared to know they should not be here; the brightness of the rays blotted them out completely.
Still, it was silent.
An almost golden glow enveloped the boy sat on the windowsill of Gryffindor tower; a boy who had crept back to the common room in the early hours of the morning so he could know he was safe, so that he could know that he was in a familiar place.
A boy who understood nothing anymore. A man who did not know whose eyes he was looking through.
Where was the distinction? Where was the line that separated the two?
The boy's eyes still did not open. Sleep was a precious mercy.
They say that Christmas is a magical time and it is, oh it is. Just how magical it is, no-one knows. And just what the magic is, no-one will ever know.
Until someone could stay awake and watch this... not dawn, this rebirth of the world, no-one could know. But it will never happen. Some things are not meant to be seen by human eyes.
... but who is to decide what is human anymore?
For now, this boy slept on in peace, unworried and dreamless. Maybe the magic would last, and maybe it wouldn't.
Then again, what does?
What's Next: Chapter 20
Everything seemed different. The forest, the earth itself... had there been a magical overflow? As Harry looked out of the window, he noted that everything seemed... glad. Glad that there was a new day, glad that the white, dead blanket of snow was all part of... well, everything.
one small instrument: May as well respond to your review for Conscienceness here.
Yes, anonymity does usually hold a certain appeal. Damn website. Someone I know had a load of fanfics deleted. Apparently they were chat, which they most blatantly weren't. 's good, but it can get on your nerves sometimes.
Yes... I specialise in blatant subtlety.
Er.
Anyway, I'm glad you read it. I'm responding here because if I ever do write another chapter for Conscienceness, God knows when I would post it.
Reading over this review as I type this response, someone certainly has been reading their dictionary, haven't they? 'Binary deconstruction'... you use longer words than I do. I'm impressed.
Having superimposed personalities on characters is something I will point out in later chapters of Wingbroken - the idea that a person is caricatured by the other, every obvious feature standing out... in Snape's case, all greasy hair, yellow teeth, big nose and evil voice. It is possible to view these characters as human, but it is hard to do so, what with J.K.Rowling presenting the characters as they are... i.e. from one point of view. I think, in Conscienceness, I just wanted to separate minds from faces... perhaps the mental caricatures, and not the physical.
I think, as far as good vs. evil goes, I've always had a kind of obsession with it. This is why as soon as I can access , I'll be posting my first original fic - the idea of Heaven vs. Hell, and what happens when you combine the two. (Yes, I've been reading Paradise Lost again.). Fingers crossed I won't get shot down too badly.
You do have a point about balance... it's a necessity in life.
I don't know if I could have another chapter to this fic. Writing the Snape one gave me, for some reason, a lot of fun, and it was constructed in under twenty minutes. The only problem I have is that, after writing something, I will perpetually go back and alter it... thank God I posted the chapter before it became completely unrecognisable.
Anyway, I've exhausted both POVs. I wondered for a short while if I could write a chapter from the castle's POV... magic seeps into the walls over thousands of years, stone becomes sentient, etc etc etc... but I gave up on that. I didn't know what to write, to put it simply.
Hey, have you ever, like, gone into a field and just screamed? It's called a Primal Scream, and apparently is very good for you. That's where the line "never tried to find time to scream" came from.
As for the Dr Seuss connection, I never thought of it like that... I guess I was too busy filling in the numbers. Should I write a new chapter... hmmm, red for anger, blue for depression... interesting.
I'll have to think about that...
Thirteen Ravens: Several things to say here.
1) Sorry to disappoint you on the whole 'drapes' front... I guess I've read too many stereotypical Snape fics, and romanticizing him to the point of drapes (dear God) was just a little beyond me.
2) Okay - you have a very valid point about the whole 'sonny-jim' thing, but there is an explanation behind that. Which has eluded me. I think it's just because I was writing and the words came out, and I let a little of myself into the characters... humour me, it's a fanfic. : )
3) 'miserable ass' may not be Britishy, but perhaps it could be more in tune with my patriotism if Harry was referring to...er... Snape as a donkey. It ruins the whole context of the sentence, but it fits. It fits, right?
4) 'Snerk'? I totally love that word now. Yayness for snerk.
Okay, generally: I'm glad you like the fic to the point of reviewing almost every chapter, it makes me feel all warm and toasty inside. Nyaaaaw.
starinthedark11: Chrimbo. Yayness!
dead feather: I'm glad you like my writing... this is why I post, you know. All this praise HAS to be going to my head, it's only natural, I suppose.
My chapters?! Short?! Yes, tragic as it may seem... I average 1200 - 1500 words a chapter, to keep it paced right. Ideally, I'd like to post longer, but I've hit a little bit of writer's block at the moment and I need to sort out the storyline... hence short chapters.
Yes, I am fifteen. My beta is even younger than I am and is responsible for checking for spelling mistakes: on average there are three per chapter. Recently she has been complaining of my making her job obsolete (I'm being more careful with the spellchecker), but I wouldn't write without her: she really has an eye for the way I sometimes let characters drift a bit. Although I have to say, with some pride, everything I write is entirely original... my beta, wonderful person as she is, does not help me write it. I still wouldn't post a chapter without letting her review it first, though. She's smarter than she lets on sometimes.
I think the reason you wouldn't have guessed I was fifteen is because (I am frequently told that) I harbour far too much cynicism that would be healthy for my age... plus a small dash of existentialism, which isn't healthy at all.
I would love to accept the title of Bloody Genius and will wear it with pride and not just a touch of egocentricity.
Lil Ole Me 97: Yay. Also, thanks for the inspiration to write a second chapter of Conscienceness... I hope it was readable.
duj: I have now. I've explored some of them, but they're not really to my taste... Harry being Snape's son has never quite clicked... it's too bizarre.
shelly101: I'm happy you like this story. It makes me go all blushy.
A. L. C.: Writing more chaps... actually I'm working on the last ten chapters as we speak, but don't worry, there WILL be plenty more to come.
Shadowed Rains: Yes, you did indeedy write that. You seem to have a classic case of "I'm schizophrenic and so am I" syndrome, i.e. you can talk to yourself coherently. It sounds fun.
Yeah. Snow melted pretty quickly but that's snow for you.
Thanks... keep reviewing!
A. Person: Yes, the author notes are dragging out a bit, but I like to be able to talk to my reviewers. Even if it does take up half of the space of the page. Um er.
I like your style ('why or why not were the character's lives meaningless')... you'd make an excellent philosophy student, you know.
Year eleven is two years above your current grade (you are two years younger than me, right?) so guess that's probably equivalent to eleventh/twelfth grade. Yes, it's spelt twelfth... but your spelling isn't all that bad. It's like no one knows how to pronounce 'sixth'... just one of those 'things'.
sakura saisaka: Green Day totally rock, although they lost a little bit of credibility when they went mainstream... still, if people want to buy their records, you can't stop them. Blvd of Broken Dreams' video was good, because the director took a lit cigarette and a comb to the celluloid on which it as filmed, so you get some really cool visual effects... although in the video, when he says 'I walk alone', he isn't, which is interesting and proves once Again that logic can destroy some of the nicer things in life.
And since when did Billy Joe become suddenly, inexplicably fit?
espergirl04: Voldemort had nothing to do with it. I'm not quite sure where it will go, but it plays a biiiig role in later chapters.
ShadowedHand: My writing is indeed happy. Thankyou!
You make my writing sound like a river... 'purpose, direction, cool'... funky.
Sapphire Starlet: Interactions are the favourite part of my fic I suppose. No, Harry won't become possessed.
Pleione: Keep reviewing!
minathia: 'Blah'?
CharmedKy: I will.
chip: Crimbo. I love Chrimbo... yay!
KrazeyForever: Are you indeed?
Sorry, getting distracted. Anyway, thanks for your comments... they made me go all red and blushy... .
Kalorna Enera: "So there is a subconscious of Harry's that keeps all the memories locked away in the daytime, but unleashes them into nightmares to keep him sane?" Er... yes? Nice way to summarise it. I have read up on this stuff. It's a particular kind of psychosis - for example, Wolverine from X-Men has it (but in a WAAAAY more advanced case). What happens is, the conscious mind REFUSES to pay attention to all this horror, so it gets subdued by the subconscious. The mind heals it over and tries to start again. The problem with this is either a) the victim loses all memory prior to the event, b) the problem is not addressed and it causes major psychological damage, c) the mind tries to vent it in ways like nervous breakdowns, nightmares and suchlike (the equivalent of a safety valve to stop the victim going insane) or any two/all of the above. The most common is c). World War I and II casualties were advised to spend a bit of each day remembering the horrors of the war... it kept them from depression and mental damage.
I do ramble a bit, don't I? Anyway...
Yes, chapters have recently begun to get shorter. Sorry about that. Hoping to rectify the problem.
I think winter's okay... except I have, for the last three days (and today), been bedridden and hacking up chunks of what appears to be lung tissue. Winter's cool (excuse the pun) but the colds/flu/chest infections/viruses-in-general that come with it are no fun. No fun at all.