It was all white. All that disturbing white colour.
And the scent… the scent of hospitals.
Where am I? What happened? Who am I? How did I get here? Why don't I remember anything?
And he couldn't. Places and a few faces came to mind: a large castle… an immaculate house with perfect gardens… a dark forest… a rat-faced man… a fluttering veil… a flash of white-blonde hair… a large man with no neck…
But that's all.
He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it.
The blinding white of the walls reflected the light of the sun that streamed in through the windows.
He squinted, and through the small gap, he peered around the room.
From the looks of it he was in some sort of small hospital room. There were seven beds around him, four to the right of the double doors, and four on the left side, including the one he was in.
He could faintly hear the sounds of activity, of human voices – a lot of them – floating in through one of the partially open windows across the room.
He lay there for a while, just taking in his surroundings. Presently, a woman came in. She was dressed in a blue button-up dress and a white apron. A nurse, he supposed. There was a thin stick tucked behind her ear – the word came to mind, a wand.
As soon as he recognised it, he wondered how he knew it. Why would I remember that, but not know my own name?
The nurse, seeing her charge was awake and alert, hustled over, taking her wand out.
He tensed, vividly reminded of the large man doing the same thing, but with a sharp, blooded knife.
She came closer, and he scrambled to get away, falling off the other side of the bed. The nurse, concerned for him, nearly ran over, causing him to back under the next bed to get away from her.
Unable to reach him, the nurse hurried out of the room.
He stayed there, huddled under the bed, wings wrapped around him, reminded of other times he barely recognised, that came with feelings of fear and pain.
He jumped as the nurse suddenly came back, throwing open the double doors, followed by an old man with a fake smile and a beard down to his toes. Another woman was following him; her hair tied up in a tight bun. She caught him looking at her from his refuge under the bed, and shot him a thin-lipped look he shrank away from.
The next man came in, and strangely enough, this was the one he knew wouldn't hurt him.
This man was dressed in long black robes, with pale skin, an angular face and greasy hair. He didn't look happy at all, shooting him a fierce glare.
Despite the obvious annoyance he caused the man, he felt safer that he was there.
--
When Poppy had come running, knocking frantically at his portrait, he opened it, intending to give her a thorough chewing out, but was stopped in his tracks when she burst out "He's awake!" He shot her a look. "I didn't do anything, honest! He just scrambled away from me! Fell clean off the bed and kept backing up!" Poppy blabbered, flustered.
Severus just shot her a sharp glare that made her close her mouth with an audible 'snap'.
He swept past her, heading toward the staff room to collect Minerva, and the Headmasters Office to inform Dumbledore.
He was bewildered as to why Poppy chose to come to him first, instead of going to Albus, which was protocol.
He thought of the boy, lying there broken and battered on the Great Hall floor. The boy with his face.
There were no other families with facial features like that. And to his knowledge, his father never had any more children after him.
That means… No! Severus thought. It can't be!
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Poppy banging the Infirmary doors open.
He looked to the bed the boy was in that afternoon, but found it empty. He swept his eyes around the room, and was drawn to a movement under the next bed.
The boy was huddled there.
To his surprise, when he shot a fierce glare at the boy, he didn't shrink back. Instead, the boy's fear seemed to lift a little, and his black-green eyes lightened. In what, he didn't know, but took it as a good sign.
--
Who are these people? What are they here for? The boy thought.
He slid under the bed a bit more, determined to make it as hard for them to hurt him as possible.
The dark man – the safe man, he thought – noticed this with no further reaction than a widening of his eyes.
He then turned to his companions, conversing in voices just too low to hear.
They seemed to be having an argument about something, with both the beared man and the stern woman looking shocked, disbelieving and angry. The dark man had a face of black thunder, looking at him every couple of second.
The argument seemed to come to a close after a while, and all four just stood there, looking at the figure huddled under the bed.
It was making him uncomfortable, so he moved further into the shadows cast by the bed.
The dark man approached him slowly, holding out one hand and moving towards his refuge. As he reached the bed, the dark man crouched down to his level, peering at him.
He figured that the dark man wouldn't hurt him, so he uncurled himself, tucking his wings back, and crept forward a little.
The dark man smiled softly, and in a voice so low he almost didn't hear it, said "That's it. Come on out. I won't let anyone hurt you while I am here."
The boy gave him a fleeting smile in reply, then crawled out from under the bed, eyes darting about he room looking for danger.
"Hey." The dark man spoke again. "Can you tell us who you are and where you're from?"
What? How can I tell then something I don't even know? His wings fluttered in consternation.
Mistaking the frustration on his face for confusion, the dark man switched languages, talking in a dialect he didn't recognise.
He shook his head, and the man switched languages again. They repeated this for a while, going through about nine languages.
This impressed him, because somewhere he knew that most people could only master about three or four fluently, before they began to run into problems.
Frustrated, the dark man turned to the bearded man, shooting him a look that told everything. The bearded man took a step forward and did the same thing. He had understood most of the languages both of them spokes, but was reluctant to say anything.
Finally the nurse, noting what was going on, brushed the bearded man aside.
She started talking in English, gesturing with her hands at the same time. The meaning of each gesture immediately sprung to mind.
" Who are you? How did you get into our Hall? We don't want to hurt you, we just need some answers."
She waited and to the other three she explained. "I'm a half-blood. My muggle mother was deaf, so I learned universal sign language to talk to her. Sign language is a form of silent talking by using had movements, and every movement means something. I noticed the boy was watching your every move, and my mother used to do that as well. That's how deaf people get a sense of what you're talking about. Some can also read lips, and can get meanings from the shape of your mouth when you say things."
The three nodded, understanding.
--
The boy sighed, and his hands flew in reply.
"I don't know. The last thing I actually remember is waking up here. There are a few things that are running round in my head, but none of them make any sense. I don't know my name, my parents, where I live… nothing about myself."
The nurse translated for the other three.
For a second, the boy's lips curved upward in a small smile as he signed again. "By the way, you might want to tell the dark man that I actually know English. His face was funny though."
The nurse laughed, then turned back to continue as translator.
-- --
Severus stood there as Poppy and the boy – his son – conversed with their hands. How could anyone talk like that? Stupid muggles. He thought.
Severus was annoyed that Minerva and Dumbledore didn't believe that the boy had been abused. He knew the sign, and the boy had all of them.
Pushing Poppy to one side, he advanced on the boy, muttering, "I'm sorry about this."
The boy looked confused for a second until Severus forced an angry look on his face, moving towards him. He raised his fist as if to strike the boy.
The effect was instantaneous.