Title: Dreams
Summary: Harry, Lupin and Snape.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: I should warn you now, if you haven't caught on, that there is slash in this story. If it gets explicit, i'll upload the explicit parts to Adult I'll write an author's note when i do. But the chapters here won't contain anything NC-17.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.
See You When You Get There
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Harry woke up enfolded in a dusty black coat, his body cushioned by its voluminous folds. His head pounded and his eyes hurt, but he was instantly alert; ears perked to hear. But all he could hear were soft rustlings and the occasional faint whisper.
Slowly he opened his eyes and glanced around the room. It was white and starkly empty, without furniture and only threadbare white curtains filtering the harsh afternoon sun that streamed into the room.
It seemed safe enough, he thought as he gathered his surroundings. Voldemort could hardly be lounging around. That snake seemed only to fit in the darkest murky swamp, or foggy graveyard. He'd never before seen Voldemort in the sun. Maybe he'd shrivel up and die like the wicked witch of the West, wouldn't that be good? Harry mused.
Something cool and smooth settled on his forehead, making him jump and open eyes closed to the sun. Lupin's face was hanging upside down above him, forehead creased with worry and – pain? He sat up hurriedly and moaned as the blood rushed to his head.
"Are you feeling alright, Harry? Lupin asked faintly, his hand hovering in the air as if to reach for his forehead again. "You had a bad fever last night. I was so worried, but I couldn't take you to St. Mungo's…" he ran his hand distractedly through his hair.
"'m fine." Harry mumbled and swallowed. His throat was dry.
"Here," he turned and took Harry's wand from the floor beside the wall and conjured a glass of water, handing it to Harry.
"Thanks." Harry gulped down the water, studying Lupin as he did so. The man appeared exhausted and was visibly slouching against the wall. His hair was grayer than ever, and the lines on his face more pronounced in his pain. Harry could see that he was greatly troubled yet sensed that Lupin wasn't going to tell him much if he asked. But that never stopped him from asking before.
"Why wasn't St. Mungo's an option?"
Lupin looked up in surprise, before he remembered what Harry was talking about. Harry frowned. "It's full. Too many patients. They're not going to treat a fever when they have people dying," he said simply.
"It's started then - for real," Harry murmured. Lupin nodded, his light brown eyes catching the sun and reflecting a beautiful golden sheen. Tonight would be the night of the full moon but he was too exhausted to care. He closed his eyes and leaned farther back into the wall. He was just so tired.
"Lupin!" Harry cried out in alarm as the man almost flopped to the floor. He caught him in his arms and lowered him to the ground, moving off the cloak to make space. "Enervate - "
Lupin turned slightly and moaned, but stayed unconscious. Harry tried the spell again and again, then stopped when thick dark blood began to trickle from Lupin's mouth and nose.
"No!" He got up, and dragged Lupin on the floor by pulling at the cloak before remembering his wand.
"Mobilicorpus!" Harry worried about using magic on Lupin while he was obviously badly injured but decided that it was more dangerous not to. He made Lupin's body float horizontally, then made for the door.
Where could he go? He didn't have any wizard or Muggle money on him; all his belongings were still at Privet Drive. He started down the narrow hallway, floating Lupin in front of him, then down the stairs. It appeared that they were in an abandoned house, the rest of the rooms that he passed were just as bare as the one that he woke up in.
At the foot of the stairs was what appeared to be a living room. This room had a lot of furniture covered in white sheets and blinds on the windows. Harry quickly darted around the room, hoping to see… yes! A fireplace. He gently settled Lupin onto a draped sofa, wincing when the blood stained the fabric. "Incendio."
The bright yellow fire burst into flame, making him sweat. He searched the dusty mantelpiece, knocking down a candelabra and clock before he found a jar that contained as much floo powder as ashes and dust. Tossing it into the flames, he hesitated. Could he floo to Hogwarts? Sirius had done it before, but he remembered Hermione saying that the castle was protected by all kinds of charms and spells. Surely it wouldn't work…
"Hogwarts!" The fire turned bright green and flickered. Harry snatched Lupin from the sofa and stepped into the flames, feeling the spin pull them away.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
((Hogwarts, Dungeons))
The deep dark silence that permeated the room was utterly perfect. Not too loud nor too shrill, this silence was a silence in which soft soothing noises and little murmurs could be heard. Down here, the castle seemed to be at rest, with its upper levels devoid of hurried footsteps and anxious pacing.
The coolness was perfect also. Air lightly chilled, the ambience of cold made him awake and alert, made him feel… refreshed. There was so much to be said about the atmosphere here.
He laid down the ingredients he'd brought from his office on his favorite table; the one where he'd brewed the perfect Polymorph Potion in his sixth year. Then he went back into his office, took his big black cauldron, mortar and pestle and set them down. Next, he got all the ladles, spoons, knives, vials and other shiny utensils that were needed for this particular potion. Setting all neatly in place, he began to work.
It was wonderful work. The chopping motions, grinding and mashing of ingredients, the measuring were all so very prosaic. It calmed his mind and allowed time for him to think of other things, though he never once forgot what he was doing or what he had to do next. By the time he brought the potion to a boil, he had reached that fulfilling feeling of satisfaction.
Stir three times clockwise, twelve anti-clockwise. Figure eights, then a pinch of powdered aconite. Bitter fumes rose in a shimmering green steam from the cauldron and bathed his hair and face, but he didn't mind. It was time to add bezoar slivers.
He continued stirring, leaning against the high tabletop, his eyes slitted against the heat and his hair framing his face. Staring blankly at the door, as was his habit, he sniffed. He'd just had an annoying feeling that he'd forgotten something. Ah. His complimentary handful of dead cockroaches. He summoned a jar from the top shelf and opened it without interrupting the rhythm of stirring nor losing count. Choosing a few of the plumpest he could find from the top of the jar, he dropped them into the cauldron, one by one at intervals and watched as the bubbles decreased and the steam rose steadily. Only the best for Lupin, he thought, his lips curving up slightly as the potion simmered.
After the potion was done, he cleaned everything carefully, flicking his wand several times to cleanse his cauldron till it shined blackly. Then he picked up the flasks that contained the potion and returned to his office. He shook his robes to rid them of the smell and flooed to Lupin's cottage.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
((Lupin's Cottage))
Harry yelled in surprise when after spinning and spinning he was spat out of the fireplace and onto the floor, still cradling Lupin in his arms. He shook his head and sneezed several times, snorting out flakes of ash and soot. Scrubbing his face, he removed his fractured glasses and got to his feet, holding Lupin around the waist.
Lupin was bleeding more profusely and was terribly pale. He felt like shouting and tearing his hair. Storming to the fireplace he took the jar of Floo powder and tossed it, right in Severus Snape's face.
Harry stood stock still, his mouth gaping and his arms slackened. Professor Snape blinked slowly, his long eyelashes glittering with Floo dust and streams of ash puffing from his nostrils. His hair was streaked with crimson sparkles. Harry was strongly reminded of the Hungarian Horntail he had battled in his fourth year. Their cold fiery gazes were exactly the same.
Snape felt his left eye twitch as he contemplated the brat in front of him. Stupid Insolent Potter, he spat. His hand automatically reached out at the perfect height for Harry's neck… No one around, the old fool can't stop me now, he thought gleefully.
Harry quickly regained his senses and shoved Lupin into Snape's arms. "He won't wake up and he's bleeding," he said in a hurry. "What do we do?" It was as if Snape had known he'd been trying to get to Hogwarts. Thank God. He'd never been happy to see him before, but if he could help… Lupin was looking a bit gray around the edges now, and Harry desperately needed someone else to do something.
Snape glared at him then glanced down at the body. "What happened to him?"
"I - I don't know. Yesterday… l-last night…" Stupid. Why was he stammering?
Snape laid Lupin on the sofa and quickly started checking the werewolf, lifting his eyelids and feeling his pulse. Though he'd stopped bleeding he was still dangerously pale and breathed slowly and deeply. His fingernails were almost transparent and hardly regained any colour when Snape pressed them. Obviously, he lacked blood. Nothing could be done about that here, so he lifted him and swept around, unbalancing Potter who quickly stepped out of his way. "Go to Hogwarts," he snapped before stepping back through the fire to his office.
Harry watched wide-eyed as he disappeared. Funny. He didn't look like he was spinning. Then his brain focused on what Snape had said. Go to Hogwarts? He'd been trying to do that! Bloody Snape, he could at least tell him how to get there! He fumed as he tried once more with the floo powder. It had worked for Snape and he hadn't done it any differently! He'd make sure to enunciate carefully this time.
"HOG - WARTS!"
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Snape made his way straight to the Hospital Wing on the third floor. All the while, Lupin lay limply in his arms. As he strode through the long corridors, almost breaking into a run, but not quite, he reminisced about his childhood – and Lupin's.
They'd been on opposite sides almost since coming to Hogwarts. Lupin with his little gang of miscreants. Snape recalled a small boy with wavy light honey brown hair and clear brown eyes. Lupin had loved to read and had never been much of an outgoing personality. Quiet in classes, yet clever, he'd have never attracted much attention if it weren't for his friends. And his looks. Snape growled to himself as he recalled the little crush he'd had for Lupin.
It hadn't even been a surprise to find out that he fancied the werewolf. Ever since he'd seen him across the Great Hall with his nose buried in his glass of pumpkin juice, eyes staring straight at Snape. He'd been surprised at that. Lupin looked at him like he saw him, his eyes didn't pass him by nor did they look scornful. Severus knew he hadn't been comely or likable when he was young. He had been full of resentment and anger.
At first, Snape thought that Lupin wanted to be friends with him. They got along alright, in class. They had even gotten to greeting each other when they passed in the halls. He'd been excited at the prospect. Most of the Slytherin first years were too tiresome to be around. He found them insipid with their petty quarrels and competitive cliques. They curried favor with the seniors and looked down upon him because he didn't and as a result was ignored most of the time. The one thing he hated the most was being ignored. It didn't matter if the people doing it were below his notice.
Anyway, it all crumbled when that Black idiot began to pick on him. He hadn't responded at first because Lupin had always been around and he hadn't wanted to fight in front of him. He knew he'd lose. And Black knew it. He noticed Snape whenever he hung around after class, or in the library. He and that Potter made his life miserable by always poking fun at him and insulting him. Then beating him. And gradually… gradually he didn't care anymore whether Lupin bothered that his almost-friend was being bullied by his mates.
He'd realized that his crush on Lupin was nothing more than admiration of his looks and hope for his friendship. The little werewolf had hardly lived up to his expectation of a friend. So Snape had been complacent with returning the tricks they played on him with spiteful traps of his own.
Then the worse happened. He didn't know what triggered it. Maybe it was because this time he'd hit out at Lily, and Black being the ever faithful mutt that he was had taken it into his head to take revenge for Potter. But he'd always thought that Black had done it for his own satisfaction and revenge.
That evening, he'd been at the owlery, watching as Madam Pomfrey led Lupin across the grounds. He knew they were going to the Shrieking Shack to hide him away. He'd found out all he could about Lupin's condition, fascinated by the thought that the meek boy he saw in the halls would turn into a ferocious dark creature, intent only on spilling blood on the night of the full moon. He'd snuck into the Restricted Section and read all about the condition, its related effects, potions and spells.
He had been wondering, what it was like to have to go through the transformation alone, in pain and feeling your own mind become unrecognizable, as thoughts and desires flowed through veins twisted out of shape. Then Black had come and goaded him into destroying whatever hope he'd had of getting to know Lupin better.
Snape shook himself out of his reverie, snarling softly at his memories. He looked down at Lupin and noted the fading bruises on his face and neck. It was almost evening.
The Hospital Wing had a deserted feeling that he immediately noted when he entered. Madam Pomfrey must not be back from St. Mungo's yet. Snape gently laid Lupin onto a white bed and hurried for her cabinet. Removing a vial of Blood Replenishing Potion, he tipped the contents into Lupin's mouth; carefully stroking his throat to make sure every drop was swallowed. Then he sat down beside the bed and waited, eyes constantly looking out the windows at the stretching shadows and at Lupin's face.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
tbc