Chapter Two: Words Unspoken

Severus could no longer count how many times he'd lost, then regained consciousness. Why he still lived, he didn't know.

Was it his will to live?

Most definitely not.

Good fortune?

If he weren't in such agony, he'd laugh.

Could it be divine intervention?

No, his father's religion never stuck.

All Severus knew was that he had a shit life, and now, he was having a shit death.

Since the Dark Lord had sicked Nagini on him and left him a forgotten heap of despair and torment, he had felt himself grow weaker and weaker with every shallow inhale. But as unpleasant as a slow demise was, he knew this in-between state would eventually pass.

With night fast approaching outside the grimy windows, his last breath was only an eventuality.

Thump…

Severus frowned, hearing something unlike the Shrieking Shack's usual creaking and popping. He concentrated on it.

Thump, thump, thump, thump…

Were those…footfalls?

He would yell to ask if anyone was there, but with his neck being mince, he couldn't.

Suddenly, Severus' body stiffened painfully before going into convulsions. Instead of feeling colder, as he'd expect, he felt like hot coals were being crushed by his organs and scattered throughout his insides.

Writhing, he groaned and collapsed from his sitting position onto his side.

The steps stopped, then resumed at a run. They sounded close.

As the repetitive stomps neared, they loudened to such a deafening volume that Severus thought an Erumpent was galloping towards him. His sight flickered between sharp brightness and blurry dimness. He gritted his teeth, the burning inside his chest intensifying.

Severus' lids unwillingly shut, and his awareness expanded into a horizon of a starless night.

When he opened them, Harry Potter stood above him, the tip of his wand lit. Potter wore layers of drab Muggle clothing. But his eyes were as captivating as ever. To most, Potter had green eyes, Lily's eyes. However, because of Severus' skill in differentiating hues, he knew better: Lily's had been lighter like a tart lime, while Potter's were a richer shade; gazing into them was like glimpsing underneath a forest's canopy with sunlight and blue sky beaming through.

Potter gasped, noticing Severus' not-dead condition. "Fucking Merlin, you're alive!"

After stating the bloody obvious and nothing more, he vanished from sight.

With the protections around Hogwarts down, Harry Apparated directly into the busy Hospital Wing. His abrupt appearance caused two first- or second-years to shriek.

He cringed. "Sorry," he said as they scurried away.

Harry stood on his tiptoes and stretched his neck to see above the throng. A moment later, he spotted Madam Pomfrey exiting her office.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted, almost bowling someone over as he sprinted towards her. "Emergency! I need Blood-Replenishing Potion! Lots of it!"

"Potter," she chided, hurrying to a cupboard, "this is a place of healing, not a Quidditch match. Please keep her voice down." She collected an armful of clean towels and linens. "If you require Blood-Replenishing Potion, a fresh batch was just completed." She pointed at a group of about a dozen bottles on a nearby table. "Potter, who is—"

"It's Professor Snape!" he said with a wide grin. "He's not dead!"

Not knowing the whole truth, Madam Pomfrey stared at him with incredulity.

As he stuffed his pockets with crimson-filled bottles, he said, "Hopefully, these will stabilise him enough to move him." He smiled at her gratefully. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

"Do be careful," she warned, then pursed her lips. "I'm already quite busy…" She sniffed with contempt. "Taking him elsewhere may be best."

Sensing her aversion to treating Professor Snape, Harry glared.

"You don't know, so I'm telling you," he said passionately. "Professor Snape is a hero; he helped save us all. So the least we can do is the same."

With that, he Apparated to the Shrieking Shack.

Harry found Professor Snape lying in the same position, impassively staring at him. He hurried next to his side and knelt.

"Sir, I've brought potions," he said, shoving a hand into a potion-stuffed pocket and removing two bottles.

When they clinked together, Professor Snape winced at the sound.

Harry quickly unstoppered one. As he leant over to give it, he realised Professor Snape wasn't in an ideal position.

"I need to move you," Harry said, setting the bottles down. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

He crawled and relocated himself above Professor Snape's head. Then, using both hands, he eased him onto his back, revealing a macabre mask of tacky blood on the left side of his face.

Professor Snape gasped, his breathing worriedly speeding up.

Harry scurried to his original spot and scooped up the opened potion.

"Professor, here," he said, moving the bottle an inch away from his mouth.

In evident pain, Professor Snape pressed his lips together into an angry line. Warring thoughts seemed to flash across his eyes as if Harry were dangling forbidden fruit rather than a simple healing potion.

Finally, Professor Snape opened his mouth.

Harry exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed. Slightly elevating Professor Snape's head, he tipped in some of the red liquid. Professor Snape's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Harry continued administering small sips until Professor Snape no longer opened his mouth like an eager hatchling. The final count totalled five bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion, a staggering amount.

Suddenly, Professor Snape cried out and bowed his back, limbs thrashing.

"Professor!" Harry shouted, feeling like the connective tissue around his heart had let go. He grabbed Professor Snape's flailing hand.

He was about to Side-Along-Apparate him, regardless of the increased chance of Splinching, because losing a body part was better than being dead, when he noticed something strange.

Professor Snape's nails were changing, becoming almost glass-like and more pointed. He lifted his gaze and watched in fascinated horror as Professor Snape's ears and teeth followed suit. His ears lengthened into elegant points, and from between his grimacing lips, his canines elongated and sharpened, not to the frightening extent of a vampire's but noticeably. His hair also grew, transforming into long satiny strands.

Panting, Professor Snape peered straight at him as if enthralled. Harry's breath caught when the black of Professor Snape's irises started bleeding into his sclera, filling the glossy milkiness and leaving behind rings of white flecked with copper. Eventually, both eyes, from corner to corner, looked like dark inkwells, except for the contrasting halos encircling each pupil.

After a sharp inhale, Professor Snape went lax, a dazed expression on his face.

Harry couldn't stop staring; Professor Snape looked striking and otherworldly. His nose was still prominent, but he was now breathtaking in a way that made Harry's heart, skin, and mind sigh with longing.

First panicking at his abnormal reaction, then at Professor Snape's drastic change in appearance, he wondered if he'd somehow given him the wrong potion.

But when the skin around Professor Snape's wound melded together into perfect flesh, leaving no scarring or discolouration, Harry could only gape. Maybe the batch of Blood-Replenishing Potion had somehow become contaminated.

Luckily, he was holding the hand of the one person likely to know.

He squeezed Professor Snape's fingers. "Sir?"

Professor Snape's eyelids slowly shut. His breathing soon deepened, and peace relaxed his features.

Harry sighed. Although it would be easy to stare at Professor Snape until dawn, he couldn't be sure Professor Snape was alright. He caressed the back of Professor Snape's soft hand, reluctant to let go, then set it down.

Harry frowned.

Was Professor Snape's chest broader than before?

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time. What he needed most at the moment was some help.

Harry pointed his wand: "Expecto Patronum!"

Severus opened his eyes, then immediately shut them, the brightness and clarity overwhelming. As he made his first inhale while conscious, his throat tightened, and he was struck by a round of coughing.

He had a sensitive nose and could discern the difference between Fluxweed and Crinklewort, but the current overabundance of smells made his olfactory nerves want to ignite. To name a few: citrusy detergents and woody soap; pungent florals; stale earl grey; parchment; items he knew were inert and shouldn't have an odour, such as glass and stainless steel; and potions. Now, through scent alone, Severus could not only name brews but also each ingredient inside them. The ones nearest him were Draught of Peace and Sustenance Supplement.

Sliding a hand over the blanket atop him, he frowned. He could differentiate each thread woven into the fabric and provide a count if asked.

Another oddity was out-of-sync drums playing nearby as if Hogwarts' band had come to personally haunt him. Listening more closely, Severus realised the rhythmic sounds were heartbeats, his included.

He rationalised he must still be asleep. Seeing, feeling, and hearing the world in such detail were things he read as a boy in Muggle comics. Even with magic, enhancing the senses to such an extent required complicated potions or Dark rituals.

Wanting this dream to end, he forced his eyes wide.

Again he was met with a sunny but sterile hospital room and had to squint.

Turning his head, he found his hooked-nose mother and a starry-eyed Potter rising from matching camp beds. Potter wore the clothes he last saw him in, wrinkles criss-crossing them like hard-earned scars.

Severus groaned. He must still be asleep. He hadn't spoken to or seen Mum since his father's much-deserved death; the occasional obligatory letter was all that remained of their relationship. And the very idea that Potter had kept vigil at his bedside was ludicrous at best.

Potter hurried to him. "Sir, how are you feeling? Do you need a pain potion?"

"You needn't worry so, Mr Potter," Mum said. "The only thing that will be ailing Severus is his new reality."

Shutting his eyes, Severus slowly inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. Upon opening them and still finding Mum and Potter, he sighed. "Not a dream, then," he muttered.

At least his senses seemed to have returned to normal.

"Mother," Severus said, "what is this 'new reality' you speak of?"

"Don't 'mother' me," she scolded. "I'm your mum. You've called me mum since you were a child, and no matter how much you might wish otherwise, you will always be my son."

Huffing, he rolled his eyes.

Mum continued, ignoring Severus' exasperation: "Now, since your question requires more than a few simple sentences, let us sit." She transfigured their camp beds into chairs and summoned them closer.

After Mum and Potter were settled, she began: "When you were born, Severus, you were a beautiful baby—too beautiful."

Severus snorted. "You mean 'I had a face only a mother could love.'"

She scowled at him. "No. I wasn't waxing poetry; I was stating a fact. Mr Potter, I presume you have Severus' wand."

"Er, yes, Mrs Snape."

"If you would please return it to him."

"Right." Potter opened the mokeskin pouch hanging from his neck and dug through it with his fingers. Once he pulled Severus' wand out, he leant forwards, offering it. "Here you go, sir."

Severus narrowed his eyes at him for having his wand in the first place. As he snatched it back, their hands accidentally touched. With a shiver, goose pimples broke across his body, their new connection resonating between them, causing them both to startle.

Angry at his reaction and circumstance, Severus clenched his teeth together. Potter had to save him like his imbecilic father, forging another life debt.

"Severus," she said, reclaiming his attention, "conjure a mirror."

"This is cruel, even for you, Mum." Did she want him to view the scars on his neck; see his failure; say, "I told you so"?

Extending his right arm, he noticed his skin seemed to glow with vitality, no longer sallow, and his nails were glossy, not potion-stained. However, he disregarded the strange changes, knowing certain healing potions affected the integumentary system.

His deduction was further confirmed when he ran a hand through his hair and discovered it had grown to his hips and felt softer than fine silk.

Severus glanced at Potter and found him staring disconcertingly, a light blush on his cheeks.

Not wanting to contemplate why Potter might look at him in such a way, he hastily checked his left wrist.

His lungs froze.

The Dark Mark was gone with no magical scarring to be seen.

He shut his eyes for a moment to stave off his emotions, the ever-present heaviness he'd carried on his back since Lily's demise transforming, making him feel like he could soar away.

The Dark Lord was truly dead.

Severus' gaze darted to his left, and he stifled a snort. At least Potter could do one thing right.

Casting the spell to create a mirror, Severus waved his wand in an oval: "Videse."

Nothing happened.

He stared at the empty space in front of him with consternation. Had Nagini's venom or some combination of potions affected his magic? Was he now a Squib?

Severus closed his eyes and concentrated. No. He could feel himself brimming with power.

His brows furrowing, he asked, "Have I been diagnosed with any ailments that may hinder my magic?"

"Not that we were told," Potter answered. "Maybe we should ask a Healer."

Severus thought for a moment. "No," he said, slowly shaking his head. "I want to try something first." He moved his wand in a loop-the-loop and cast the first charm his mum had ever taught him: "Lumos."

Instead of the usual soft glow, the tip of his wand burst into flames. His eyes widened, and he shook his hand to put it out.

"Er…" Potter fidgeted. "Should we call for a Healer now?"

"I don't need a bloody Healer," Severus growled, gritting his teeth.

"Severus," Mum chastised him.

"Although my magic is slightly unsettled, I'm clearly able to use it," he said. "I don't need a Healer to tell me what I already know. Now, let me think."

He studied his wand. Maybe the issue was with it.

Severus set his wand down on his lap, then outstretched his arm. Performing the mirror-conjuring spell wandlessly wouldn't be easy, but he knew he was capable.

"Videse," he said, rotating his hand.

They all gasped when a round sheet of obsidian appeared in the air rather than a framed silvered-glass mirror the spell typically created. Remarkably, Severus didn't feel magically depleted.

"That's…different," Potter commented.

Severus focused on his reflection, and it immediately stole his breath. His irises were now pale, and his sclera was as black as the volcanic glass hovering in front of him. His ears had elongated to graceful tips.

"Sir," Potter said. He tapped his mouth distractingly. "Look at your teeth."

Spreading his lips, Severus leant forwards and saw that his canines were markedly sharper.

He sat back, still staring. His new looks were at odds with the mundane blue-and-white-striped hospital gown he wore.

Light and dark, heavier on the dark, were steadfast characteristics of his appearance, even more so because of these recent physical changes. Now, he was no longer merely harsh and intimidating; his features were more delicate and graceful, like a swan's. And yet, something about him also exuded other, like distinctive markings on a dangerous creature.

The reality Mum had spoken about slammed into him.

"I'm fae," Severus said in monotone when he really wanted to smash his fist into the floating mirror while shouting his anger, betrayal, and disbelief.

He motioned at the mirror: "Evanesco," he said, and it thankfully disappeared as it should.

Severus turned to look at his supposed mother. "You said I am your son. Am I really?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Where else would you have got that beak you call a nose?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but her glare stopped him.

"Now," Mum coolly said, "I would hope you're…mature enough to learn how you came to be."

Potter became bright red while he strengthened his Occlumency to hide his disgust.

As he and Potter squirmed, Mum recounted how she'd met and saved a gorgeous sídhe warrior, resulting in them making "passionate" love for hours.

"When you were born," she went on to say, "your true heritage was apparent, and I feared you would be stolen back. So I created a potion that would suppress it."

"That's why I was such a sickly child," Severus interrupted with a sneer. "You used iron."

"I did," Mum said, nodding. "It took me years to develop a permanent formula, or not so permanent, now."

"If this sídhe was indeed my father, why did you stay with Tobias?" Just saying his name caused him to make a face. He could honestly say he loathed his step -father even more than the Dark Lord. The world was a better place without a Tobias Snape, so much so that the day Severus had watched him foolishly step in front of a rusty Rover 800 should be proclaimed a national holiday.

"Severus…" She sighed. "You'll never understand. Tobias… He loved me… He loved us. I know he did."

Mum cleared her throat. "I believe I've answered all that I'm able," she said with pained, watery eyes.

She rose to her feet. "I bid you both goodbye."

"Goodbye," Potter said automatically, but he remained silent.

Her gaze lingered on Severus before she turned away. Silently, she strode towards the room's exit.

Mum paused at the door. "Be well, Severus," she said, not looking at him.

With her head down, possibly because of regret, possibly because of words left unsaid, she opened the door, and it shut behind her with a soft thud.

When he met Potter's gaze, an awkwardness pervaded the short space between them. The distance grew even shorter a moment later when Potter transferred himself to Mum's former seat.

"Sir?" Potter asked hesitatingly.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "I assume you want to discuss your newly acquired life debt."

Potter's jaw dropped. "My what?"

"Like your detestable father,"—Potter's nostrils flared, but he didn't immediately start defending James Potter—"you managed to save what amounts to my farce of a life, so, once again, I am in debt to a Potter." He sneered. "But I'd rather not have such an obligation hanging over me for years."

Staring daggers, Severus asked, "So, what do you want? What will finally allow me a ha'p'orth of peace?"

Potter exhales a long breath. "Merlin, your outsides may have changed"—he flushed—"but you're still so…argh!" He ran a hand through his ridiculously tousled hair. "I understand you a tad better now, having watched your memories. You were loyal to Dumbledore and my mum; when you were younger, you were kind; I could see you cared about her.

"Sir, you're not just a heartless Potions master or Death Eater. You had to put on a mask for the war." Potter's gaze turned piercing. "But the war's over now! You don't need to keep acting so stroppy."

"Don't presume to know me," Severus growled, hating the jabs to his heart Potter's words elicited. "I am not kind." He scornfully laughed to cover up his unease. "I have never gone out of my way to be nice," he said the last word as if it were the foulest of crimes. "Lily was the exception, never the rule.

"And you, you are…" His eyes took in Potter's unruly black mop; his eyes, mesmerising and alight with fire; the stubble around his lips; and the lips themselves… Potter's natural scent of dark amber and a hint of golden syrup broke against him, and every beat of Potter's fevered heart boomed in his ears.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Severus shook his head, and his senses calmed. He scowled, weirdly having to squash a rising blush, then refocused on Potter.

"Potter, you have always stuck your nose where it doesn't belong, making incorrect assumptions. I am who I've always been and look forward to the day I can be away from you."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "So I ask again:" he spat, "what do you want so that I can be rid of you?"

Potter's wounded gaze became hard. He stood and approached him. "You know what I want?" he said through gritted teeth. "I wish you'd not be such a sodding, buttoned-up bastard and actually be happy for once."

Severus gasped as his magic, wilder than he remembered, surged within his body. Then, like a shockwave, it exploded from him, hitting Potter and causing him to groan and clutch at his head before returning and striking Severus like an electric shock.

Potter collapsed onto his chest, winding him. As Severus struggled to inhale, he felt his mental shields shatter. He choked out a cry, the fragments of all his emotions stinging him like pieces of ice and embers: fear, confusion, and worry for Potter burning strongest of all. Severus attempted to reconstruct his Occlumency, but his memories and emotions kept slipping from his mental grasp.

Growling in frustration, he surfaced from his mind and quickly realised Potter was still sprawled atop him, panting. The sensation of Potter's chest expanding and contracting against his own confused his body, and he swallowed hard.

Bloody Potter, he thought.

"Did you say something?" Potter asked between heavy breaths.

"No," he said, shoving at Potter's right arm. "But now I'm saying get off."

Get off, Potter softly repeated, tittering.

Severus huffed at the crude, immature remark but otherwise remained quiet; after teaching for over a decade, he'd become nearly immune to them.

As Potter pushed himself up, his hands flexed on Severus' chest. Yeah, Potter said, his shoulders are definitely broader. And Merlin, does he feel fit.

"What did you say about me?" Severus asked sharply, heat suffusing his face.

Potter looked indignant. "I didn't say anything." He met Severus' eyes, then quickly glanced away. "Unless you were reading my mind," he said with a light laugh. His eyes suddenly widened, and colour flooded his cheeks.

Oh shit! Potter thought, Severus hearing it through no effort of his own.

"Were you just in my head?" Potter asked. "Wait. I thought you needed eye contact to use Legilimency."

Idiot, Severus thought.

"Hey—" Potter began to protest, but Severus interrupted: "Eye contact may make Legilimency easier, but it's by no means necessary for a skilled Legilimens. Regardless, I wasn't practising the art. Something else is going on. And it seems I'm not the only one who can hear—"

Suddenly, a wind blew throughout the room, billowing the window curtains into a frenzied dance. A second later, a man—no—a sídhe, materialised at the foot of the bed.

Potter and Severus pointed their wands at the intruder, Severus holding it more out of habit than actual threat because of its current worthless state.

The sídhe narrowed his eyes on their wands, and his lip curled. He wore white silken robes embellished with golden embroidery of arabesque patterns, and a sheathed sword hung at his side. Half of his long black hair was tied back with a jewelled clip. What struck Severus the most were his eyes. The sídhe's eyes were the same as his: white irises with black sclera. And the similarities didn't end there. They could easily be mistaken as brothers.

"Don't move," Potter ordered, but the sídhe ignored him. Waving his hand, the sídhe's magic struck the wooden chairs at Severus' bedside. They rose an inch off the ground and floated out of the way, branches, buds, and leaves sprouting from them as they landed.

"Stupefy!" Potter shouted.

But with another wave of the sídhe's hand, the burst of red light instantly transformed into cascading petals.

Fuck! Severus and Potter simultaneously thought. They shared a quick look of surprise before refocusing on the possible threat ahead.

As the sídhe leisurely approached, he scrutinised Severus, glanced at Potter, then, frowning, returned his gaze to Potter, studying him more closely.

"Unexpected," the sídhe commented with an inscrutable twist of his lips.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Potter thought, again mirroring Severus' own.

"Who are you?" Severus asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"I am known as Cégirmir, King of Óirysos." He grinned, sharp and mischievous. "But, Severus, you may call me Dad."

Before Severus or Potter could react, he grabbed them by the arm, snatching them right out of St Mungo's.