Welcome to Melodrama Extraordinaire, Part 1!
Thanks a lot again to Persephone Lupin and lucidity, my wonderful betas!
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Shadows
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She took her time, Madam Pomfrey, to remove all the bandages manually since she did not dare to use magic on the already intricate curse-wound. Snape's eyes were filled with tears of agony; his breath came laboured and rattling between sporadic, low moans. Kingsley, who had eyed him through the whole procedure with growing concern, finally came over to sit beside the bed. He took up a piece of cloth to dab off the beads of sweat, which trickled into his friend's tightly shut eyes.
After the ordeal was finally over, the healer started to examine the wounds, and what she discovered made her inhale sharply.
"Poppy…?" Kingsley asked anxiously, while he carried on dabbing the face of the feverish Slytherin.
His gaze fell on Snape's injured leg, and he jerked back, aghast at the sight. The wound seemed to be severely inflamed, making the surrounding parts of the lower leg deeply red.
"The infection seems to have been caused by the after-effects of the curse," Madam Pomfrey said with a frown on her face. She flicked her wand to do a cooling spell, which gave her patient some relief.
"I'll be right back," she then stated curtly, hurrying off and leaving the ward. The whoosh of a magical fire became audible from the adjoining room, as well as the resolute voice of the nurse.
"St. Mungo's Hospital – Department of Spell Damage!"
This was followed by some murmured snatches of conversation, and after some moments Madam Pomfrey returned to the ward, deep concern furrowing her brow.
"And…?" asked Kingsley. "Could you get answers?"
The nurse took a deep breath. "Nothing concrete, unfortunately. There have been similar cases at St. Mungo's, most of them in correlation with a sudden high fever and an inflammation of the curse-wound; whereas the severity of the symptoms varied with each case. The specialists there speculate about the fact that the curse had not been properly developed yet. Also, it seems to be dependent on the individual magical power of the caster."
Kingsley threw a concerned glance towards Snape, who lay with eyes closed, his breathing laboured and face pale as death. "What would be the worst we could expect?" he asked in a low voice.
Madam Pomfrey surveyed her patient with a worried look. "My colleague at the hospital spoke about some cases of atypical traumatic fevers in combination with a septic shock." Head downcast, she cleared her throat. "Two patients have died from the after-effects of the curse already," she added quietly.
"What about a counter-curse?"
The healer shook her head in frustration. "Not found yet. That curse is still a complete mystery, and the only people who actually know something about it are either dead or on their way to the Dementors. And since they seem to be doomed in any case, they will certainly refrain from cooperating in any way," she added, frowning.
"Severus, I'm going to give you a potion to reduce the pain and the fever, and then dress your leg," she said to the Potions Master, whose fever bouts had intensified to the point that his body was shaking with ague. Like an echo through a thick mist, the nurse's voice reached his ear.
Almost automatically Snape swallowed the potion placed to his lips. He had difficulty keeping his eyes open, while the room around him started to spin. Feeling commencing panic, he tried desperately not to faint. The bandage on his forehead was drenched with sweat and strands of long black hair stuck to his cheeks. Shivering violently, his gasps for air became irregular.
"Poppy…" he pressed out, his voice abnormally high-pitched from angst.
While another tremor passed through his body, his eyelids began to flutter…
It was so cold…
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"Severus…"
"…potion… fever doesn't drop…"
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"Severus…"
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"Severus! Severus, stay with us!"
A hand touched his cheek.
"Severus, don't pass out now! Open your eyes!"
The eyelids were so heavy…
The voice of the nurse slipped into distance and faded in darkness…
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A clearing…
Cold wind…
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"No… please, don't!"… pleading eyes… "Please, let me go!"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
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"Receive now the Dark Mark, your bond to me, your master, from now on…."
"Morsmordre!"
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Green flashes…
Pain…
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"Crucio!"
Damp forest soil…
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It was so cold…
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"Stand up, Severus…"
"I cannot forgive you for what you have done. Yet I can grant you a second chance…"
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"Severusss…"
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"You betrayed me, Severus… betrayed my trust…"
"My Lord, I…"
"I cherished a true viper in my bosom, Severusss…"
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"You disappointed me and my loyal Death Eaters greatly, Severus… CRUCIO!"
Pain…
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Agony…
Screams…
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Screaming…!
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"Severus!"
A touch on his shoulder…
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"Severus…! Wake up, Severus!"
"Kingsley…?" Trembling lips formed the name of the friend.
"Sshh, Severus, do wake up," he heard the deep and comforting voice of the Auror. "You had a bad dream. It's alright now."
Snape felt a tear sneak through his tightly shut eyelids, tracing down his cheek.
"The Dark Lord…" he whispered.
"…is gone, Severus," Kingsley soothed, while brushing away the solitary tear. With great effort the ill wizard opened his eyes, and looked into the friendly but deeply concerned face of the Auror. It was dark and Kingsley's facial features were illuminated only by a weak night light.
"You are at Hogwarts, Severus," the Ravenclaw read the unasked question in Snape's eyes. He straightened the blankets and dried the feverish wizard's forehead and cheeks. Snape drew some deep breaths, while his orientation slowly returned. Another tear escaped the corner of his eye, and made him curse himself for not being able to save face, as well as from the leaden heaviness of his pathetic body, which did not allow him to get rid of that sign of weakness before his friend did it for him.
"Kingsley…" he breathed nearly inaudible. "What's wrong with me?"
"You have a high fever, Severus," Kingsley answered. "It's caused by an infection from the after-effects of the curse." He furrowed his brow. "I'd like to give you something for a dreamless sleep, but Poppy said it doesn't go along with the anti-inflammatory potion from the drip-feeding."
Snape sighed quietly and closed his eyes – fully aware of the fact that he could not escape the bizarre nightmares, which carried on, washing over him like breaking waves.
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It's so cold here…
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"Slytherin! You have been sorted into …SLYTHERIN!"
The voice of the father dripped with disgust, while the mother eyed him bewilderedly.
"Slytherin, that is correct," he heard himself retort defiantly. "It would seem that the Sorting Hat approved of my talents, unlike you …Gryffindors."
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Derisive laughter…
"Look at him, that pathetic git cannot even ride a broom. Should we hold it for you…?"
"Cack-handed, slimy Slytherin!"
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"Snivellus…!"
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"My name is Severus Snape, my Lord."
Piercing, cold eyes… it was so cold…
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It is so cold…
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"Be a loyal instrument for my sake and you will be rewarded. Fail – and you will live to rue it."
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"It would seem that our young apprentice is not yet ready to handle that little matter to his master's satisfaction."
A cruel, disdainful laughter…
Pleading eyes… eyes full of mortal fear…-
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
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Glistening green flashes of light…
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"The traitor!" …the shrill laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange…
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"Crucio!"
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A moan… a pitiful, pathetic moan…
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The healer's voice through the mist…
"Severus…"
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"…change the dressings…"
He flinched… pain…!
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"Crucio!"
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"Calm down, Severus… Sshh…"
A hand gently touched his forehead… caressed his face…
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It's so cold…
Cold, skeletal fingers…
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"MORSMORDRE!"
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No… no…
"No! Don't…!"
It was a mistake... a mistake he must not make… a mistake which he knew would be the gravest of his life…
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"N..no…"
A sharp pain in his head made him flinch. He felt a cool cloth being placed on his forehead.
"Sshh, Severus…"
The voice of the nurse had not been a dream. He was not in that clearing in the Scottish highlands, that clearing, which had become the place of the most crucial mistake of his life.
"Poppy…" he breathed.
"Calm down, Severus… I have got to change the wet dressings."
A hand slipped gingerly under his head, lifting it carefully. Soft bandages touched his fever-hot forehead.
"Forgive me…" he whimpered faintly.
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Forgiveness…
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There are spots that don't come off... Spots that never come off…
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"Severus…"
"You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… If you are prepared…"
"I am."
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"CRUCIO!"
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"Albus!"
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"Forgive me…"
"I cannot forgive you for what you have done. Yet I can grant you a second chance…"
"I will not disappoint you, headmaster. Thank you..."
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Albus…
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Mercy…
Pain…
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Panic…
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Panic tightened his throat; threatened to suffocate him… He couldn't breathe…
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Distant voices…
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"Poppy, what happened?"
"It's sepsis… the curse…"
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Breathe…
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I don't want to die…
Darkness…
Pain…
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I don't want to die…
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"I don't want to die…"
A cool hand took his and clasped it gently.
"No, Severus, you are not going to die."
Albus. Albus was here.
Pulling all his strength together, Snape opened his eyes and looked into the blue eyes of the Headmaster. Dumbledore surveyed him with a serious glance, and then moved the corners of his mouth upwards to an encouraging smile. "No, you are not going to die, Severus," he repeated. "You'll live and recover." He squeezed the feverish Potions Master's hand gently and brushed a drenched lock from the torrid brow.
"Kingsley…?" Snape whispered.
"He is asleep now, Severus," the Headmaster answered. "He watched over you the last two nights and Poppy ordered him to rest now."
"Two nights…?" The voice of the wizard faded away, leaving his words reduced to some weak movements of his lips.
"You are suffering from severe traumatic fever, Severus," Dumbledore explained, caressing Snape's damp, cavernous cheek. "Poppy is doing everything in her power to reduce the fever."
"I am so cold…" the ill wizard whimpered helplessly, while his leaden eyelids fluttered.
"It's the fever, poor child," said the Headmaster sympathetically and wrapped the blanket around the trembling body tightly.
Madam Pomfrey moved her wand over Snape's body. "I still cannot isolate the source of infection, Albus," she said in a low voice, while another shiver passed through her patient's body and made him moan softly.
"Albus, we have run out of options…" she urged the Headmaster, as if wanting to push him to a decision.
Dumbledore's face grew serious; he lowered his gaze and sighed. After some moments he looked at the healer, nodding nearly indiscernibly. "If there is no other way…" he sighed with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"I don't see any, Albus. And time is running out," Madam Pomfrey repeated, while worriedly surveying the bedridden wizard, who could barely keep his eyes open now.
Snape hardly registered the hand of the nurse lifting his head to administer another potion, before he finally fainted into darkness.
"Forgive me, Severus…"
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A/N: I am well aware of the fact that this story is rather predictable – sorry about that! So you all know what will happen, certainly. Erm… (looks out for shrubbery to hide)
Just a few words: I have been influenced on this chapter by the play "Professor Bernhardi" by Arthur Schnitzler (the idea of the sepsis came from there, although that is not at all important in said play itself) and the book "Winnetou" by Karl May, in which the protagonist suffers from severe traumatic fever. And some of the scenes in the fever delirium are taken from a not translated one-shot of mine.