Title: The Quandary's Hope
Author: Intrepid Aarcher
Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.
Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.
"Parseltongue"
"normal speech"
Thoughts
CHAPTER SEVEN
And Call Me Severus
Snape could have sworn he'd heard a scuffling noise near the door to the classroom, but when he snapped his head around to check there was nobody there.
Turning back to Harry, he eased the young man's upper body onto the floor before casting a Levitation charm and moving him to a small alcove nearby. Gently lowering the hovering form onto the cushions of a stone bench, he knelt down and wiped away the few drops of potion that had spilled onto his cheek, along with the thin trickle of blood.
Harry gave a soft groan as he stirred, his eyes unfocussed for a moment as he tried to take in his surroundings.
"Severus?" he whispered, peering into his professor's face.
"Care to explain why you failed to ingest your latest dose on time?" he snapped, though his eyes were soft.
Harry grimaced and at least had the grace to look sheepish. "Hermione and Ron are on my case. As hard as I try, I'm not pulling off the act like I used to. Just before the lesson, sir, we had somewhat of an argument. I must have forgotten, sorry." His voice trailed off weakly.
Snape drew his brows together in consternation.
"Well if those two have noticed then the situation is grave indeed. I will strengthen the Glamour Charms surrounding you, however in addition to your Monday evening 'detentions,' you will join me each night after dinner and I will devise a sensible training regime to regain your physical strength." Harry paled at this but Severus held up his hand and was quick to mention the appeal of such a plan. "Quidditch season is fast approaching and you must not appear anything less than your usual self. Your performance on the pitch cannot suffer, or else we may have to deal with some unwarranted attention.
"To assist your physical wellbeing, I will provide you with a nutrient supplement, Muggle of course, which you must consume regularly to counter the destructive effect the antidote is having on your system." Snape paused. "I don't know how you've managed to make it this far, Harry. You have inner strength to you that most people would never hope to witness in another soul, yet here you are before my eyes, enduring such terrible ordeals day after day and growing the stronger for it." He finished softly.
"Sev, you're making me blush," was the cheeky response.
"I may like you," he sneered, "but that does not permit such a desecration of my name." and with that he stalked back to his forsaken Potions class, allowing the Gryffindor to stay and rest.
Harry lay still while he absorbed all that Severus had said. Physical exercise. This would prove to be an interesting challenge. While Harry had always had a high level of fitness due to constant running from bullies and more recently Quidditch, his endurance levels now paled to what they once were. Simply getting from class to class was enough to force the breath from his lungs and leave him light-headed for the rest of the lesson. But Severus would make it all right. He always did.
He was used being lectured by the Potions Master, although now it was in an altogether friendly way. Over the past few weeks the two had grown close. It was inevitable with the amount of trust they were placing on each other, and Harry was grateful that he had someone who would see him through the trials that lay ahead.
Sighing to himself, he closed his eyes, the familiar tones of his Potions Master drifting along the hall lulling him into a light sleep.
That night at dinner the young Gryffindor wolfed his dinner down quickly, all the while keeping an ear open to his friends. Ron and Hermione were pelting him with questions they hadn't been able to ask in their other classes; why was he dragged out of Potions, what had Dumbledore said? He answered as ambiguously as possible, through grunts with his mouth full. They got the message and turned to have their own conversation.
Harry sighed as he listened to the two of them happily chatting away about Lavender's latest midnight sojourn, each putting forth suggestions of who she could be visiting. The possible suitors got more and more outrageous until finally Filch and even Hagrid were named.
Swallowing the lump that was lodged in his throat at the desire to be so carefree, he stood up and left the Great Hall.
He was twenty minutes early for his session with Snape, and not wanting to intrude on the Professor's free time - he sank to the floor and closed his eyes. The cool stone wall he was leaning against was having a calming effect on his nerves. He was nowhere near as scared of Snape as he was, but he remained insecure about the man's promise to help him. Was he putting the Slytherin Head of House in too much danger? What if he simply got sick of the Gryffindor? He wasn't sure what he'd done to warrant the man's help, he could only hope he was a man of his word.
Harry thought back to an evening two weeks ago.
---
Snape had invited him into his sitting room rather than talk in his office as they usually did. While the Potions Master busied himself with resetting the wards and establishing extra privacy charms, the raven haired boy perched himself on the edge of a surprisingly comfy couch, and tentatively looked about the room.He had been in there once before, though he hardly remembered the place from his first chaotic visit.
The ceiling was quite low as you would expect in a dungeon, with heavy wooden rafters supporting the weight above it. There were two other entrances besides the one he came through, leading presumably to a bedroom and bathroom. On one wall there was a small alcove of sorts beginning from about waist height and arching to a point just shy of the ceiling. Sitting on the ledge was a simple candelabra of a gothic fashion, casting an austere light against the wall and ornate mirror behind it.
Any wall space that was not occupied by an opening was hidden from floor to ceiling by bookshelves. What Harry found interesting was that each was a different size ranging from thick planks of wood to support ominous tomes, to small pigeon-hole type slots that housed well-labelled scrolls. Although he couldn't begin to discern the method, there was clearly an ordering system of sorts in place.
Snape had finished what he was doing and was quietly observing the curious teen.
"Is it quite to your standards, Mr Potter?" he teased.
"This place is cool, sir!" Harry replied and then blushed at his enthusiasm.
"Well it's not much, but it is home whilst I teach at Hogwarts. My family's main dwelling is situated on the North York Moors. I try to avoid it if possible." He sneered.
"Why? Where do you go then in the holidays?" He asked.
Snape peered at him with a raised eyebrow and Harry cursed inwardly at his tactlessness.
"It is not the only other place I am able to inhabit. I have a specialised Potions Laboratory in Dublin were most of the world's leading research is done in that field. And as to the manor, well apart from being frightfully breezy, the place holds few happy memories for me." He turned to the bookshelves leaving the Gryffindor feeling guilty for bringing it up.
Just as Harry was about to apologise for his rudeness, the man turned around and handed him a dusty leather-bound journal. Looking back up at his mentor, he followed Snape's responding gaze back down to the document and decided to inspect it more closely.
Stamped around the edge of the stiff leather were Moorish designs, the patterns made up of intricate geometric shapes. Cautiously lifting the cover, he squinted at the text written there. The calligraphy was elaborate with curves and sweeping diagonal flourishes. He guessed the script was Arabic.
Harry glanced up as the Potions Master muttered a translating charm and returned to the text to find he could understand it.
His eyes became as round as saucers when he saw what was written in the centre of the title page:
"Herein lies the ordeal of Yerasimos, Deceiver, Betrayer of Secrets and Disloyal Servant to Her Majesty, Queen Rai of the Erudite Race."
Stunned, he felt his jaw drop and gaped like a fish. "Sir, how did you...? What the..? When was..? Huh?"
Snape chuckled as he put two fingers under Harry's jaw and closed it.
"This priceless artefact has been in my family for generations. While it contains the narrative of Yerasimos' tale leading up to and after the ingestion of the poison, it does not shed any light into how it was made. It does however describe the antidote, which is why I grew suspicious when certain ingredients were taken." He paused long enough to glare at Harry, the theft still a sore point between them.
His expression relaxed and he began again. "It makes for an extremely entertaining read. I want you to have it."
"What?" The boy spluttered. "Sir you can't give it to me! I'll lose it – damage it – destroy it!"
"Which is why, Harry, I have place several impervious charms upon it to prevent exactly that from happening."
"Sir…I, I don't know what to say…"
"Not in the least bit unexpected I assure you." the man snapped. "Say you'll take it, you useless child, and call me Severus."
---
Harry smiled at the memory and shifted on the cold flag stones. He had since made it halfway through the journal, unable to put it down at times as the thrilling tale of unrequited love, betrayal and lust unfolded before him.
Severus wasn't going anywhere, he told himself. He had trusted him enough to give him an irreplaceable heirloom that had survived plagues, war and Ministry investigations; the least he could do was trust Severus to stay.
His musings were interrupted all of a sudden by the most unwelcome voice imaginable.
"Harry Potter," the voice cooed. "What are you doing on the floor?" A smooth hand was placed under his chin, forcing him to look up into chocolate brown eyes.
End chapter 7
A/N: Congrats to Rai who was my one hundredth reviewer! As a prize I asked her what she would like, and as it so happened she fit perfectly into the role of the Queen, whose story will come to light a little later. Perhaps for the 150th reviewer there can be a prize too!
I just wanted to give my deepest thanks to those who sent such lovely messages via reviews in the last chapter. Your condolences were truly appreciated.