Prometheus Bound

by Dius Corvus

Harry survives an unbearable summer and returns to Hogwarts to learn secrets about himself that he really could have done without. He’s lost his sight, all illusions about his parentage, and now will he lose himself? COMPLETE

5. A Letter from Lily

Chapter 5: A Letter from Lily

"How is he, Poppy?"

The nurse finished writing something in a heavy ledger before snapping it shut. She glared up at the two men sitting in the office. Both the headmaster and the werewolf looked outwardly calm, but she could see the signs: the penetrating blue eyes that had completely lost their twinkle and the smoldering behind the irises of greenish brown in the eyes of the other man.

She sighed, face grim.

"It depends on how you define 'fine,' Albus," the nurse explained. "I'm going to be blunt with you. He's been abused, beaten, blinded, and raped, and before that, there may have been more. Magic can heal most physical injuries in no time at all, but the mental and emotional problems often run much deeper."

The headmaster closed his eyes for a moment as the werewolf beside him clenched his fists tightly.

"I haven't observed Harry enough to determine the extent of the damage," Pomfrey began carefully, "but I know it's there. For example, he can't stand being touched. He's quiet and isn't seeking company, and I haven't seen him broken down or cry or show any emotion ever since the episode in the bathtub."

Lupin looked up. "Bathtub?"

Pomfrey nodded. "He was trying to cleanse himself of the memory. I monitored him in case anything would happen… I don't think he noticed. That was yesterday."

The man looked as though he were going to cry. "I want to see Harry," he said firmly, though his voice was a little hoarse.

The nurse hesitated.

"Will Harry be in any condition for me to ask him a few questions?" Albus Dumbledore asked in a low, soft voice. He very nearly flinched when two glares skewered him.

"What do you think, Albus?" she snapped, about to say more but stopping herself. The unspoken words hung in the air: even if Harry weren't really, would you stop?

The old wizard sighed. "I do not know."

"He's just a boy, Albus," Remus Lupin said, more than a hint of anger in his voice.

"Do you think he can be 'just a boy' after everything?" Dumbledore asked, glancing up sharply at the two others. "Harry has a very important part to play in this war, and play it he must. He will suffer, and he has suffered already." He let out a deep breath. "He is just human. We are all just human."

"You're just human," Poppy Pomfrey said after a pause.

Dumbledore's smiled wearily. "Yes. I am."

Pomfrey looked from one to the other before sighing in resignation. "I'll let you see him, Albus. My spells show that he's awake now. But remember"—her voice became firm—"he has suffered enough already. Try not to make him suffer even more." Even if he inevitably will.

Had they looked, they would have seen a flash of pain and implacable remorse pass over the old wizard's eyes, but those eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened, they were just as calm and kind as before. "I know, Poppy. You know I would never wish to hurt him."

"Now," Pomfrey said, bustling out of her office, "make sure you keep in mind what I say—be gentle, no matter what he does or say, and don't touch him. I repeat: do not touch him. He has a severe negative reaction to being touched. Severus will come around sometime today to give him a potion to heal some of the trickier wounds in his kidneys. I'll be in my office."

She directed then to the bed at the far end of the wing. "Mr. Potter?" she called in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Mr. Potter, you have visitors." She slowly drew the curtains back.

qpqpqp

Not the hands. Please, not the hands.

A voice crooned as the touches roamed over him, butterfly soft.

I can't see. I can't see. Just go away please.

Quivering, roughening, a sharp, humiliating pain that drove everything from his mind except for tears that wouldn't come.

Go. Please. Go away, I can't see, someone help, please oh God I can't see go away please

But they wouldn't go. They'd never, ever go away. Cruel, grappling him roughly, trying to make him respond Oh God please no roughly violating him until stop please make it stop I can't see he was retching between his gasps stop please I can't see go away go away help please I can't see …

Cool, cleansing air. A breath that peeled away his skin and left it new as a baby's. The hands gone as quickly as they came. His shaking stopped and he could see again: red hair the bright green eyes. They smiled.

Stay.

It was a happy smile, but it made him feel unquenchably sad, because already he knew they were going. They had driven the hands away, but they weren't staying.

Stay. Please. Don't leave me alone.

But she hadn't heard, or wouldn't listen. The smile was still heartbreakingly beautiful and full of love, but he all he could feel was the gloom of imminent loss. Panic crept in.

Don't go.

His sensations were blurred a bit, and he was aware of being rocked—in someone's lap? or in a cradle, perhaps?—but he was certain about the damp little square of paper in his hands. It was there: solid, soiled, but cherished, giving him a slight tug of hope whenever he touched it.

She was going now. A fog had drifted down, and when he could see clearly again, he was surprised to see her again—but she was different. The red hair was black as night, and the green eyes were obsidian; the face, too, had changed, especially with the sharper cheekbones and more aristocratic nose, but the love and the smile were still the same. He gazed in awe before he felt himself floating away, led as though by the gentlest of threads from the damp envelope in his fingers—

Harry awoke feeling as though he had bubbled up from immeasurable depths. He kept his eyes closed, preferring the illusion that once he opened them, he would be able to see again. His fingers gently stroked the damp envelope in his right hand. Strange how he felt… calmer, safer after touching it gently. It reminded him of something he couldn't remember yet.

From far down the wing, he heard the rustling of robes and the quiet murmur of voices. For a moment, he simply lay there, willing his mind to be clear of all thought and feeling, reveling in the texture of sounds: three voices, rising and falling and weaving, garbling above the background sounds of rustling cloth and chirping birds from outside the open window.

That was before he distinctly heard Remus Lupin's voice, followed by the headmaster's unmistakable timbre and the characteristic rustling of Madam Pomfrey's starched skirts. I wonder what they're talking about. Then he snorted, though lightly, still cautious about his newly healed ribs. The choices are Harry, Potter, and The-Boy-Who-Lived. Not much to choose from, is there? He didn't know what he hated more: people right in front of him going on and on about him as if he weren't there, or people timidly whispering about him behind his back.

He shuddered instinctively as he shifted into a more comfortable position. Hands. But they weren't here: he was safe, for the time being. The sensation of lightness was lost, though, and he felt the pains all over his body all the more acutely just as the darkness became more oppressive.

Footsteps coming his way.

"Mr. Potter?" came Pomfrey's surprisingly gentle voice. "Mr. Potter, you have visitors."

Oh no, Harry moaned in his head. Please don't let them be—

"Hello, Harry," said a familiar voice.

—Dumbledore. Well. Great.

Harry listened to Dumbledore and someone else—Lupin, probably—shuffle around. There was a faint pop, one of someone conjuring a chair, he realized after he heard four wooden legs clunk on the ground.

Then Remus's voice, hesitant and reassuring at the same time. "Harry…"

Harry forced a ghostly smile on his face.

"We hope you're feeling better today," Dumbledore said in his gentle voice.

Better. If better meant drifting carefully in a haze, hazardously treading over the ice-brimmed crater of darkness and pain, feeling numb and then agonizingly sensitive all at once… then he supposed he was 'better.'

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to ask you a few questions," Dumbledore went on in a heavy voice.

"We'll be very quick," Remus Lupin assured. "And if you feel worn, just say it, we'll stop…"

"Go ahead sir," Harry interrupted. "I'm fine. Ask your questions, professor."

There was a pause. "Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "I know I asked this before, but I need you to tell me again if you have been having dreams of Voldemort over the summer."

Voldemort. For the first time, Harry understood why people shivered when they said Voldemort, though for him in place of fear there was a heaviness that weighed down his soul and quashed out all thoughts of hope or happiness. Voldemort. One word, a stupid sounding name that dictated his life. He marveled at how he had tossed the name around so easily those years ago.

Dumbledore was talking, his voice even gentler than before. "I'm sure you know how crucial this information is for us. He has been altogether too quiet this summer."

So now I'm the Voldie-meter, am I? Harry thought darkly, though he shoved the thought away. What could he expect? It was better than being an utterly worthless freak that nobody wanted…

"We know that he's plotting something," Remus Lupin added. "But he's hidden it from us."

As if I would know what it is, Harry thought, a bit bitterly. He sincerely wished that he knew. "Shouldn't you have a more… reliable source, sir, other than my visions?" Snape, Harry thought. There has to be a reason why Snape wouldn't know, unless they're lying to me yet again…

"Our… er… source hasn't managed to get back into the inner circle yet," Remus explained after a pause.

Voldemort's not too keen on the whole forgive and forget thing, I suppose, Harry mused. "I don't think I'd be of much help either. I barely had a single Voldemort vision this summer." Vision, not nightmares. You can never run out of nightmares. "He does seem to be laying low." Harry hesitated. Before he could convince himself that it wasn't important, he said slowly, "There seemed to be… wall, between him an I."

"A wall?" Remus Lupin repeated blankly.

"Occlumency?" Dumbledore asked, sounding a bit hopeful.

Harry gently shook his head. "Not my doing, sir. It's his wall. He's hiding something, I think. Something he doesn't want me to see."

"Yes…" Dumbledore murmured, though he sounded a bit troubled. "All the signs point that way…"

A silence settled. Harry idly stroked the envelope in his hand beneath the blankets, but stopped when he realized what he was doing. He wondered if they saw.

"Albus, are you done?" Remus Lupin murmured. "Harry looks a bit worn…"

"I'm fine," Harry asserted. "In fact, I have a few questions myself that I'd like to ask. They're about my… possessions." His Firebolt disappeared into the flames and his beloved Hedwig's snowy plumage charred to black… "I'm sure you know that they destroyed all my things…"

"Not all, Harry," Remus interrupted. "Arthur found your photo album in your room."

"Oh, did he?" A wave of relief swept over him. "That's good." Harry felt a smile stretch his face, pulling at the scabs, until he remembered that he was blind and would never again see the beaming faces in the treasured photographs.

"Well, all my books are gone, and my trunk, and my wand," Harry continued slowly. "I—did Mr. Weasley find my dad's invisibility cloak?"

"No." The werewolf sounded concerned. "Was it still there?"

Harry frowned. "I thought it was. That's the last I remember…" Falling—a splintering pain—darkness. Please don't let it be lost… Hedwig, his sight, his Firebolt, and his photo album for he would never see the pictures again: please not his father's invisibility cloak on top of it all…

"We'll keep looking," Dumbledore said gently.

Harry swallowed. "I would like to get a replacement wand, as well as replacements for my robes and other supplies." He was tired of hospital garments.

"Of course. I have already placed an order for a duplicate of your wand with Mr. Ollivander."

"Thank you," Harry said, a bit stiffly, smothering the irritation that rose whenever Dumbledore meddled in his affairs without asking him first.

"There's only one more thing, Harry, before I let you rest," said Dumbledore. "I don't believe Madam Pomfrey has approached you yet concerning this, but St. Mungo's has many skilled therapists, healers, and trainers that can help you recover."

"I won't require any kind of—counselor, sir," Harry replied tightly.

"I understand, my child, but I believe it would be truly advantageous if you had someone help you get used to the ways of the blind."

Blind. Despite the sincere gentleness of Dumbledore's tone, the words echoed cold and hard. Perhaps he could scavenge something from this mess and not be too utterly pathetic when Voldemort finally decided to end it all… "That would… be a good idea."

"Yes, and I was thinking," Dumbledore went on, now sounding ominously conversational, "that instead of inviting someone from St. Mungo's, I believe we should ask our… resident specialist for some help."

Resident specialist? of helping blind people? at Hogwarts? "I… who?"

Dumbledore went on in a blithe manner. "I doubt you are aware of this, but eight years ago, Professor Snape suffered a potions accident that left him blind for a year. In that year, he learned and became quite skilled with the ways of the blind in the wizarding world—"

Snape. "Headmaster, I understand your motivations, but it won't work."

"Harry, while I know you and Professor Snape have your differences, you must see past them and learn to cooperate—"

Harry cut him off coldly, feeling anger and resentment beginning to boil in him. "It won't work. Last year was a perfect example, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Ah, but perhaps this year won't be like last year, will it?" Harry could hear the twinkle in the voice and the sternness underneath. "You are… much more than you were, even just last year."

Harry fancied that he heard a deep regret in that aged voice, along with… pride? He swallowed uncomfortably.

"I know it will be difficult, but you must try, Harry, and it's for your own safety. There are little outside of the old crowd whom we may trust—"

"For my own safety?" Harry wanted to laugh. Where were you and your Order in that month of hell? A broken sob that had been slumbering as he had slowly recovered burst to life and swam, weeping, to the surface. "Professor Snape may have saved my life many times, but he's never helped making this life of mine worth living. I sincerely doubt that I would be… compatible with his teaching methods, as years in the Potions classroom have shown." His voice had taken on a biting edge, and he relished in the silence that followed. But he didn't say what he had been desperately wanting to cry: why, why didn't they come check on him, why did it have to be him?

Harry heard Dumbledore sigh. The old wizard so weary, but the rage was still too near the surface for Harry to really notice it. "Think about it, will you, Harry?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I shall."

"He saved your life, you know."

He felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. "Then I should save his by granting his deepest wishes and staying away from him." He snorted, ignoring the pain, and felt some of the rage pass. They mean well, and they didn't know what was happening to you, he told himself. Dumbledore has a point: he can't let non-Order members get too close, not with Voldemort around. His thoughts took on a sneering edge. And you can't blame them if they're going to make your choices for you. Not exactly deserving of making your own decisions, are you, freak? Harry sighed, feeling dirty again, and helpless and confused. "I'm sorry for snapping." He sighed again. "Good day, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's voice was gentle as always, doing nothing to assuage Harry's lingering guilt. "Rest well, Harry."

I want to take a bath again, Harry thought, suddenly very tired. He realized that someone was next to him, and after thinking for a moment, pulling himself out of a soporific daze, he remembered who it was. A little smile crept onto his face. "Hello, Professor Lupin."

"Please call me Remus, Harry."

The werewolf sounded rather… garroted. "Okay… Remus." He paused. "Are you—all right?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine? Fancy you asking me! I should be the one asking you..." Harry realized to his dismay how close the last Marauder, who had always been calm, controlled, and soothing, was to tears. "It's just that—first Sirius, and now—"

"Hush, Remus," Harry murmured automatically. "It'll be fine. I'm all right." He heard the werewolf sniff and take a deep breath, stemming the tears. I wish I could cry, Harry thought vaguely. But he did feel a bit better. Being able to comfort somebody made him feel… not as dirty, not as small. Not as lost.

"Thanks, Harry, I…" Harry stiffened as he felt a slight movement of air brush his face. "I'm sorry, Harry. I keep forgetting that I'm not allowed to touch you."

Harry forced himself to relax. "I'm… I'm fine." He took in as deep a breath as he could and exhaled slowly.

"I don't think I'll be seeing you in a day or two," the werewolf went on, trying to smooth over the tense silence. "Mission for the old crowd."

Another one of those 'missions. "You can't tell me, can you?"

Harry could almost hear the wince in the werewolf's voice. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I could, but…" He paused. "Is there anything you want? Maybe a little to eat?"

Harry couldn't stop the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. "Sorry, but you reminded me a bit of Mrs. Weasley." He paused, feeling a trickle of dread. "Remus, how are they? The Weasleys, I mean. Do they know? About me and—" He moved his left hand around a bit to encompass himself, unwilling to think of words.

"Only the Order members know about it, and Albus has made us swear to secrecy."

Harry felt a wave of gratitude for the old wizard, one that overshadowed the slight irritation at how Dumbledore had once again meddled in matters that were his, Harry's. "Thank him for me, will you?"

"I will."

A gentle silence fell, the kind that swept over the sky as the sun tipped over the mountains. Harry absently stroked the envelope in his hand before he suddenly stilled. "Remus, I… sort of just remembered something, actually." He lifted the little square of paper from above the crisp hospital sheets. "Here, this is a letter I got in the prison—"

The werewolf sounded faintly alarmed. "You got a letter? In the prison?"

"Yes, and it's safe, I know, because I've had it for… a few days already, and it's been in my mouth, Remus."

"Oh."

Harry held out the letter. He felt a momentary pang as he felt it leaving his hand, as though he had lost a piece of himself. "Can you read it for me?"

"Of course."

Harry waited in silence, listening to the nearly inaudible sounds of damp paper unfolding. He couldn't help it: he felt slightly nervous, but what harm could come from something that had led him through his shades of misery and made him feel so…? He couldn't find a word for it.

Harry heard the soft clinking of a fine chain, and the werewolf drew in a sharp breath.

"What is it?"

"This…" The werewolf sounded bewildered and awed. "This is an Order pendant."

"An Order pendant?"

"Yes… All members of the Order have something like this. They're emergency portkeys. I don't know whose this is, though."

"What's in the letter?"

More damp paper unfolding. Silence.

"Harry…" Remus's voice was suddenly hoarse and shaking. "This letter… It's from Lily. Your mother."

Mother… Harry drew in a sharp breath, and after the sharp surprise faded, he felt another flicker of nervous anticipation. Images from the photo album floated to his mind, pictures of his parents waving happily, but over it all, he heard her voice… Not Harry! Please… Have mercy… Another voice: Your parents were freaks just like you, and they'll be glad that you're dead, disgusting freak… But just as the icy coldness began to take over, another image formed, one that he had almost forgotten the moment he had awakened: red hair, green eyed, the presence in his dreams… Mum?

Anxious curiosity wiped his mind clean as Remus began reading.

"'Dearest Harry,

'If you are reading this, I imagine I am quite dead and am unable to tell you the secret that was kept for fifteen years. But let me first say this: I love you, Harry, even from where I am. You have the most beautiful eyes (James says they're mine, but they're yours, Harry), the funniest smile, and the silliest affection for that snitch that Sirius got for you for your first birthday. Someday, you will become a great Seeker, though James seems to think you'll do well as a Beater, the way you wave your arms so fiercely.'"

Harry felt a knot grow and throb in his throat. Though it was Remus who was reading, he could nearly hear his mother's voice. There was something about it that was transcendently different, something he could not remember having heard coming his way, and after a moment, he realized what it was: love, love for him, love of the kind that burned quietly and gently in even the darkest of places.

He lowered his head and the voices flashed through his head again—not Harry—please—have mercy—but above the fear, above the coldness, above the deadly green light, he heard and felt it like an explosion of new taste on his tongue: love.

'I could talk about you forever, and Sirius seems to think that I do, but I must stop now. You probably know that your father and I, along with you, went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm. I fervently hope that we will make it—a family, unbroken—and emerge into a world where the war is over, but as you are reading this, this hope has probably not come to pass.'"

No, it hasn't, Harry replied silently, feeling a throb at the back of his eyes. You died, and father, too.

"'I wrote this letter because certain secrets cannot die with me, secrets that aren't mine alone to keep. Whatever the consequences of this letter be, know this: I love you, and you are my Harry forever.'"

Harry smiled before feeling the stirrings of dread. What had she meant by 'consequences of this letter'?

"'To start from the beginning, your father and I fell in love in our seventh year (James says he loved me all along, the prat), and we married soon after we left Hogwarts. Some days before the wedding, in the beginning of November, a band of Death Eaters kidnapped as many Muggle-born women they could, and I was… abducted.'" There was a shocked silence as the werewolf stopped reading. "James never—they never told us," he whispered.

Abducted. Harry felt a cold shiver of dread. He swallowed with difficulty. "Go on."

"' They put masks onto our faces and blindfolded us. Then they did… unspeakable things to us. I was lucky: I survived, the only one who did so, and the only reason I did was because the Death Eater who took me was a spy for the Order. This that I have concealed in the envelope was the pendant that he gave to me, risking his cover in the process.

'I married James soon after, even though he wanted to give me time to recover. Nine months later, you were born. I loved you the moment I felt your life force awakening in me; I loved you as you swung your beater fists in my belly; I loved you when were finally born and I realized that you weren't'"—the werewolf's voice suddenly choked—"'J-James's son.'"

Silence. Harry's ears rung with shock. What is this rubbish, is this some kind of stupid joke? Harry wanted to say, wanted to yell, but the next words were uttered, coming relentlessly:

"'Your biological father, Harry, is the man who saved my life that November night. That man was (or is) our spy…" A silence as the werewolf's voice caught. "'Severus Snape.'"

"That's not true," said Harry immediately. "It's a lie, some stupid joke." Snape? His father? The thought was ridiculous. "Snape's not my father, it's some—some fucked up lie." But even as he said the words, doubt drowned his mind—what if it was true? It was utterly preposterous, but—what if—?

"It's—it—"

"Remus?" Damn it, Harry swore in his head, wishing he could see so he could snatch the letter and see what was really written there. The thought of Snape as his father… it was—

"Shall I—shall I go on?"

"Yes," said Harry. "But it can't be true." Vaguely he thought that he sounded like he was begging, but that was because it couldn't be true, it simply couldn't. "Go on. What does the rest of it say?"

Remus Lupin took a deep breath and resumed reading.

"'I'm sure you're quite shocked at this, Harry, but remember that Severus is not a bad person. He never was. He is a spy for the Order, and that requires a courage and sacrifice even the bravest of Gryffindors may not know how to give. In his own way, he has faced Voldemort far more times than anyone else—even Albus Dumbledore.

'I am sorry I am not here to tell this to you, but this is the truth, and if you are anything like your father, you will want to know the truth, damn the consequences. Perhaps I should have told the truth earlier or voiced my suspicions when I still had you, but when you were born and I was sure, the war's demands made it impossible for me to speak, and before that, I loved you too much to care. A month after your birth, I gave you a potion to make you look almost identical (your eyes simply wouldn't change) to James. This potion is unlike a glamour: the change is physical, but it eventually wears off, and you will change—physically—once again. This potion's effects will have faded by the time you are sixteen, and over the next six weeks, your looks will change dramatically to reflect how you would look had you not taken the potion.

'Take this to heart, Harry. Severus is not a bad person. Give him time; be patient. Voldemort hurt him just as much as he hurt me, and you, and all the rest of us. Give this letter to James if he is there to read it. Tell him that he has never been less than what any girl could wish for in a kind and loving husband, and tell him that I love him deeply.

'Harry, never forget that I love you. I only regret that I will no longer be there to say it so myself. And so I'll kiss your one-year-old forehead and seal this letter with a kiss and all my love, and wish you all the happiness a mother can wish for her child.'

'Your loving mother,

'Lily Potter'"

It was Remus who broke the silence.

"Harry… We should bring this to Albus, he'd—"

Harry felt a rush of white anger fill him, bursting through the daze of his shock. "Dumbledore!" he spat. "Don't you dare tell Dumbledore, Remus, or anybody else!" His voice had risen but through his throat it came out as a painful rasp, but he didn't care: he needed the anger to keep away the swirl of confused emotions that raged inside him.

"But Harry, think, this is far too big a secret to keep, and Albus has to know—"

"IT'S MY BLOODY SECRET, AND NOBODY WILL KNOW IF YOU DON'T SAY A THING!"

"Harry! It's too big a secret, people will notice in—what, a month's time?—and then what?"

SO WHAT? Harry wanted to snarl out, but after his outburst, his anger had faded somewhat, clearing his mind enough for room for thought. He's right. If the potion wore off the way his mother said it would, he'd have little time left before he was surrounded by whispers and the headlines would begin screaming about his dubious origins. I am a bastard, after all, he thought, quelling the urge to succumb to hysterical laugh.

But a darker though took its place: what if Voldemort found it? He was protected by his mother's blood magic, and if Snape was his blood… That leaden feeling came over him again. It was as though a dead weight had settled over his stomach.

Remus was still speaking, his tone rushed but placating. "I know you're still rather resentful of Professor Dumbledore, Harry. Frankly, I am too, but we can't afford to hold back information, and you have to—we have to—"

"Get over my stupidity and tell the professor," Harry interrupted caustically. His voice sunk into hoarse, painful depths as he remembered. He felt suddenly weary. "Like I should have done last year, with Sirius."

"Harry, it's not your fault…"

"I never said it's my fault!" he snarled. Is it Dumbledore's fault that I was beaten and then raped? He took a calming breath, ignoring the ache in his ribs, ignoring the guilt that gnawed at his soul. "But how can it be true?" He felt angry but confused and—lost, all at once. All those comments about how he looked so much like his 'father,' James, how similar they were, how brilliant his 'father' was—none of it was really true. His father wasn't and had never been James. He felt a part of him crumbling. "I—Snape—"

"Harry, don't worry, it'll be fine—"

"Do you care?" Harry blurted out. He lowered his head. "I'm—I'm not James's son anymore. Do you…" Don't hate me. You'll hate me now. I hate myself.

"N-no! Of course not. What made you think…"

Harry gave an involuntary sigh of relief, feeling tired. "Thanks, Remus," he muttered. "I… What do I look like? There's about two weeks worth of change already, I think. Do I… look like him already?"

Harry heard the werewolf hesitate, and when Remus finally spoke, he sounded reluctant. Is it really that bad? Harry wondered with dread. "A bit… around the nose and hair…"

Harry groaned. "You're right, Remus, about the secret being too big to keep." He frowned. "People will suspect, and I doubt a glamour will be enough to fool everyone. Dumbledore will find out, but I'm telling him, Remus, and on my own terms." He lifted his head abruptly to face the werewolf. "Swear, Remus, that you'll never to speak of this unless I give permission."

"Harry…"

Both of them froze: there were footsteps, sharp and swift, coming from the corridor outside the hospital wing.

Shit! "Now, Remus! Someone's coming! If you don't swear—if you don't swear, this'll the last time you'll hear me speak to you again." He was exhausted, fatigued, but he went on. "I mean it, Remus, and I swear it, I swear it by—by Sirius."

"Harry! I—You—"

Footsteps, closer.

"Fine, I'll—I'll swear."

The person had paused at the end of the hospital wing before advancing, quicker.

"By what?" Harry demanded fiercely. "Swear it, the whole thing! By Sirius." Damn it, hurry up! And those footsteps were awfully familiar. Oh, no, please, please don't let it be him, anyone but him…

Finally, hesitantly, the werewolf spoke. "I—I swear by Sirius that I won't say a thing about this unless you let me—"

Those footsteps. They couldn't be anyone else's. Shit. He was nearly overcome with the desire close his eyes in exhaustion and curl up away from all the troubles in the world. "Remus, give me the envelope, and the letter, and the pendant." Rustling sounds of paper, footsteps coming more quickly—"Hurry!"

"What do you have there, Potter, Lupin? I would think…"

The iridescent clinking of the Order pendant, and suddenly Harry had the familiar weight in his hand. Quickly he withdrew it, hiding it under the covers, on his chest.

"Lupin, why did I just see you sneak an Order pendant to Potter?"

Don't say a thing, Remus, Harry growled in his head, his own heart pounding. He couldn't remember Snape ever sounding so ominous, so cold.

"Um…"

"It's between Remus and me, Professor," Harry cut in, his hands closing more tightly around his envelope.

"Potter." Harry stiffened at the tone. Its hatred was too similar to the loathing in Vernon's voice. "Give it to me."

Harry suppressed a shiver. Hands. He could feel them at the edge of his mind, ready to plunge in.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Harry's still unwell…"

"POTTER." Harry flinched at the potion master's harsh snarl. "Hand it over. Now."

"N-no." He took another shuddering breath, but before he could say anything else, there was a rush of air, and cold, steely hands were on him—

"Snape, you can't touch—"

You disgusting little freak—

Panic overwhelmed, stampeded his mind—

"STOP IT, CAN'T YOU SEE HE'S RELAPSING—"

Rough hands drifting over him and bruising his hips—

He jerked into a little ball, clamping his legs together as tightly as he could; he pushed himself as far away as he could from the hands, gasping desperately—

Where are you freakish friends now, eh? Not so high and mighty anymore…

"REMUS! SEVERUS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PATIENT?"

Another hand—he jerked away with a strangled cry, and felt himself slipping before he fell and hit something cold and hard—

Quiet now, my little… son…

He was jerked into the air, felt the hands all over him—

Touching—

Then someone shouted something, he with a sudden rush, darkness fell.