Quondam

Summary: Sometimes happily ever after is only in books

Status: WIP

His traitorous and thieving legs began to cramp and he gasped in pain as he tried to extricate himself from Severus' hold. He felt the loss immediately and wanted to go back but the pain made it impossible. Falling back onto his back he began to grapple with one of his spastic legs while Severus began massaging the other. It felt like heaven and he stopped his own actions and relaxed under the touch of another.

Severus sighs and rolled his eyes as he went limp under his touch, he must have been insufferable and lazy again. The thought made the both of them smile.

After what felt like mere seconds, the cramps eased and he removed his hands. Laying there with his eyes closed he can still feel the long fingers as they dug into muscle and skin. Severus was staring, he could feel that too and then he's turning toward him because he's so close that he can reach out so easily and pull him even closer.

He still didn't understand why he's there but he is sure that Severus doesn't know why either. There were a lot of things he didn't understand about the way his life worked but he knew himself. He knew what he needed. Moving to prop himself up on his elbow Severus is even closer and he moved even closer, chest to chest close and reached behind him to the nightstand. His breath quickens and he tries to hold it in but it escapes in a hush.

He retrieves a notebook and muggle pen from the nightstand, not trusting his voice enough to hold a conversation yet, the notebook would have to suffice.

He moved back down, sliding against him as much as he could. He can't help it. He's aching for touch.

He swallowed nervously and looked into Severus' dark eyes that don't have as much shadow as they did before and he started to write.

'My vocal cords were severely damaged and it has only been in the last year that I've begun speaking again.' He sighed and looked at him as he reads. He can see the confusion and anger writhing on his face, warring with each other.

"Why haven't they repaired your vocal cords? That is first year mediwizardry." He sounds impatient.

'They told me the damage was too extensive, irreparable. I've tried potions, healing, herbs, and even muggle surgery. Nothing will help.'

He snorted. The man had the nerve to snort at his plight.

"Who has supplied your potions? I know I haven't."

Ahh, there was his Severus Snape, he'd been hiding. 'Raoul Roctoff, of Bolivia. He was highly recommended by St. Mungo's. He supplies all my potions.'

Severus snorted again the sound incongruous with his personality. "He cannot be very good, I've never heard of him and you are still damaged. There is little potions cannot cure. As usual Potter, someone will have to take care of you."

Severus proceeded to slide out of the bed, the coverlet sliding off him as he went, exposing his thin pale body. Apparently the conversation had ended; he'd never been one for long discussions.

"Where are my clothes?"

Harry pointed toward the hallway at the soggy puddle that lay there.

"You couldn't be arsed to care for them could you? Those were nice robes and now they are likely mildewed and ruined." He stalked toward the puddle of clothes and gingerly picked at them.

Rolling his eyes he began to wonder why he'd missed the nasty Potions Professor of his youth. It wasn't as though he had good manners or was polite company. Perhaps it was his familiarity, his sarcasm and his ability to be grounding.

Severus sighed and turned back into the room, heading for the closet. He felt no hesitation in reaching in and liberating a robe. Quickly shrugging it over his shoulders he left the room again and Harry heard him rummaging around in the kitchen; presumably looking at the potions and salves stored there.

Grumbling he pulled himself out of bed and stepped into the jeans and t-shirt that were half-shoved under his bed. He limped out of the room towards the errant Professor.

He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as he poked at the salves and smelling them, then massaging into the skin. He muttered under his breath and moved onto the potions. Taking salt from the larder he poured the healing potions over it to watch for the reaction, smug satisfaction crossed his face and he found sugar and processed them in the same way. Finding a knife in the drawer he sliced open the pad of his finger and poured one of the potions over it.

He washed off his hand and pressed a kitchen towel over the bleeding wound and turned to look at Harry. "You've used these potions for how long? Did I not teach you anything? I know you weren't the brightest student but honestly, this is pitiful. These are nothing more than colored and flavoured water. How could you be so stupid?" He threw each of the bottles in the rubbish bin with disgust. "Why didn't you come to me? We may not have liked each other but I wouldn't have let you suffer." He leaned on the counter and stared down at it as though seeing something that wasn't really there.

Harry sat down heavily in a chair. "Why?"

Severus turned to look at him, "I thought you couldn't speak."

He shrugged, "short words."

"You honestly have to ask why? If you stayed lame you were less of a threat."

He fished for a tablet and pen that were buried underneath the junk on the table. 'That explains my situation, what about you? Why do you look like you crawled through the nine levels of hell?'

With a snort, he sat down in a chair and shoving papers and books aside. "Voldemort used me just as much as Dumbledore did. I just didn't fully realize it until the end. Both were willing to sacrifice me to win their war. When Voldemort realized you were truly going to kill him, he turned on me. He cast the same spell on me that he cast on you. He made our worst nightmares come true."

Puzzlement must have shown on my face as it started him on a tirade.

"Stupid boy, you are terrified of being alone. Never loved, never wanted. Isn't that your life right now? Aren't you exiled from the only world you cared about? You have no family that cares about you, your only friends deserted you, and your idol turned his back on you. You live alone and crippled in a remote part of Scotland. Each time you venture out there are dozen of Aurors following you around to make certain you don't interact with anyone and to make sure you go back home. You may as well be in Azkaban."

He took a deep breath and tried to will down the tears stinging in his eyes. The brutality of it all struck him hard and even though he knew all this it hurt to have it pointed out so blatant and harsh. "You?"

"That I'll save for another day, right now you need new potions in order to recuperate." Severus found an owl order catalog underneath the last few weeks of the Daily Prophet. Confiscating Harry's paper and pen he began flipping through the pages and making a long list of potions ingredients. "I don't suppose you actually HAVE any raw ingredients do you?" He looked up at Harry with a narrowed gaze.

He really felt like telling him to take his supply list and shove it but decided that having his life back was more important if that meant helping Snape, he'd do it. He pointed out a small cupboard on the far end of the kitchen. "Herb garden"

Severus nodded and took his catalog and paper to the cupboard and crouched down in front, digging through it and scowling. He tossed more bottles into the rubbish bin and wrote even more on his list.

Watching him, he tried not to think of the outcome. The 'what if's' would drive him crazy otherwise. He wanted Severus to be wrong, wanting to be incurable because then the safe world he'd created would not be destroyed. He elected to stay in the house when Severus stormed out the back door and into the garden, list in hand. He started when his stomach growled and then stood and began gathering items to make breakfast. Toast and eggs, the same thing he had every day.

Severus blew back into the kitchen, borrowed robes flying behind him showing off bits of white leg. "Tell me everything that is wrong with you so I can make certain I have everything I need." He stared at the remnants of Harry's breakfast and then back up at Harry.

Finding another tablet he wrote as Severus prepared eggs and toast for his own breakfast. The extent of his injuries was quite large, the most obvious being the damage to the legs and voice. The more insidious were the arthritis in his hands and even his fear of flying.

Severus poured over the list and made adjustments adding more items. "It's really amazing you are still alive."

That stung and he shoved back from the table, the chair skittering across the floor and hitting the counter. Trying to stalk away with dignity when a limp prevents you from walking normally is near impossible but he had to try anyway. He made it to the library and slammed the door in a fit of anger.

Looking around his sanctuary he choked on the laughter that threatened to spill hysterically from his throat. Everything that used to mean something was in this room. The old brooms were in a case along one wall, one was in working order the others were smashed into bits. His wand lay next to it in a dark box that couldn't be seen into. He liked it hidden, because it reminded him too much of the way things were, not the way they are.

Old schoolbooks filled a portion of the bookshelves and even pieces of a school uniform hung in a closet. He still had the map and invisibility cloak though the cloak was half the size it used to be. It hadn't survived a fight with fire and half was burned off. He kept it even though he couldn't use it because it was one last piece of a life he'd never have.

Severus was right, he should be dead. Maybe the world would be a better place if he were to go away. He could fix that and save Severus the trouble of trying to heal his pathetic self. He thought he'd found peace with his life and his self until Severus crashed in on it. The closed mouth bastard wouldn't even say how he got here or why he looked the way he did, but he expected it of him. Limping over to the wand case, he opened it and stared inside.

He never opened the case because it made him feel what he didn't want to feel any longer. The wand no longer resembled the wand he'd bought so long ago; this was dinged, scratched and fading. He'd heard once that wands feed from their owners and that when they die, the wand dies with them. He wasn't dead yet but he didn't use it any longer and apparently it wasn't just death that killed wands.

He took it out of the case and it flared bright in his hand, recognizing its owner. Carrying it almost reverently in his palm he sat and laid it across his lap. It'd be quick, so very quick, if he could manage to say the words.

--

Severus stared at the door Harry had exited through and sighed. When things didn't go his way, Harry still threw tantrums. He searched the house for a fireplace to floo his order. He needed to send off this order. It would take him several days to complete all the potions and the sooner he started the sooner he'd be proven right. That's all he cared about; he certainly didn't care about Harry Potter.

He'd planned to send the list to a friend of his that wouldn't alert the authorities about his order. A Master of his skill wouldn't need such rudimentary supplies and it would look suspicious to the Ministry. What he hadn't told Harry is that they watched him just as closely and that he'd ran from his own home to escape them. He still didn't know how he ended up here but for the moment he wasn't going to complain, too loudly anyway.

Finding a small fireplace with a small container of floo powder he proceeded to make his call. His contact was of the less than reputable sort but that was exactly what he needed right now. He was assured the packages would be sent post haste via return floo. Satisfied, he left and went to search the rest of the house for a place to set up his lab. He stopped at the only closed door he found and touched it with his fingertips. He closed his eyes a moment and then walked off, leaving his fingers to trail along behind him, holding the touch as long as possible.

He found a room in the basement and began cleaning and procuring random pieces of furniture from the rest of the house to furnish it. Eventually he was satisfied with the results and he returned upstairs. It was past tea time and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He often forgot to eat, usually too caught up in worrying to pay attention. Today though, he forgot because he was busy setting up his lab.

The door was still closed and he wondered, briefly, very briefly if Harry was OK. He reached for the knob and his hand hovered over it. He didn't hear anything inside but that wouldn't be abnormal since Harry didn't talk but he was still concerned. He was also hungry and he didn't cook anything but eggs and he'd already had those.

Coming to a decision he turned the knob slowly and eased open the door, peeking through the widening crack. He saw a foot sticking out at an odd angle from the wingback chair and he walked on cat's feet inside.

Harry was slouched in the chair. His head hung off to one side, mouth gaping open and wand clutched in his hand.