Just Coincidental
Disclaimer: ...no seriously, you can't be that daft...and for those who are, I don't own Harry Potter or Card Captor Sakura.
Start Date: May 5, 2007
End Date: October 20, 2007
Reviewers:
Sharingan Hikari: Thank you for the review. I'm sorry this took so long.
womp lover(Diamonde now is it?): Yeah, I was trying to go a depressing flashback mood. I'm glad you thought it was well written. It sure makes me happy. And even though it's no longer Easter…Happy Easter. Here's the follow up.
PersonaJXR: Sorry, here's the update. D:
yumesakurayuki: Thank you for thinking so.
A/N: Ack it's been 5-6 months already! I'm so sorry. My full explanation is at the end of the story as to not distract you any longer.
Tuck up with some anti-depressant laced popcorn and enjoy. I'm terrible at…any branch off of horror or scary. You have been warned.
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Harry's back hit the side of the doorframe as he took a leap backwards in horror and surprise. The door swung heavily almost to a close. Before escape had crossed his mind, the ragged prisoner reacted.
A starved hand shot out from within the darkness and latched onto the boy's thin ankle. Harry managed an undignified yelp as he fell onto the cold, dirty floor, the dry bony fingers pressed painfully into his skin. He coughed and sputtered from a sharp intake of breath filled with dust.
The filthy man giggled eerily, the sound echoing off the enclosed chamber, as he watched his captive squirm and whimper on the floor with sick glee dancing in his dull pupils.
Harry couldn't bring himself to pull at the man's horrid appendages, nor could he shake the man off to get free. For a ravenous, weak looking man, he had an astoundingly solid grip. The hand seemed to grow gradually colder against his skin. The scarred child let out a subdued cry when a particularly sharp nail pressed against his delicate skin, prompting another squeal of sadistic delight.
Out of habit, Harry covered his mouth to hold in any of his outcries. Haunting memories of his relatives' harsh demeaning words about the racket he would make flood into his mind in full colour. Even the darkness of the cell room was not unlike that of his cupboard under the stairs. But while the cupboard brought sanctity to his everyday life, the cell room highlighted and escalated any notion of terror within, the darkness pressing on him in a crushing, suffocating smog.
Something warm trickled down his face. A tear, he recognized. Something he did not often do anymore. He was not allowed to. He promised himself that. And here he was, breaking his own promise. Just what kind of person was he? Untrustworthy even to himself.
"Scared, little one?" his captor crooned softly, startling him. He had forgotten he was there. The white of the man's eyes shone brightly in the sliver of light coming in through the miniscule crack from the door.
Harry shook his head vehemently; hands still clasped to his mouth as though he feared his soul might fly out of it.
"No? Why that be one a' the flimsiest bluffs I've ever laid my ears upon," he sneered, accompanied with a short, dry cough of a laugh. "Think you're safe, eh? Safe from my master? I tell you. I tell you that you ain't. Not a place anywhere that can keep you safe, brat. As soon as my master...as soon as the Dark Lord comes, he'll free me from this dreadful excuse for a prison. Yes...yes he will...and you know what? He'll reward me beyond my wildest dreams for capturing you...'
He looked away wildly at the darkness around him as though hopeful his master would materialize in the cell.
"Think you're safe until my master arrives? That won't be the case, m'boy, there's time to have…a little fun…yes…before I present you to the Dark Lord…plenty of time…imagine all the things...all the things I could do, could do to you, yes, you...a simple curse? No that wouldn't do, no no, if only I had my wand…I could flip you inside out, wouldn't you fancy that, eh? Or a neat unravelling hex like a mummy! Your skin should come off nicely…" he broke off with a hysterical snort, eyes glowing with brutality at the thought.
Small hands slipping from his mouth to clasp tightly on his ears, Harry tried to stifle the noise, wrecked with sobs. It was a futile effort, as each and every gory detail issued from the creature that was less than a man before him, through his paper thin hands. He hiccupped, cheeks blotchy from tears. The scar on his forehead throbbed violently with his every escalated heartbeat. The words echoed in the confines of his head even as the deranged man continued to babble on.
"…those fools they are, thinking my master is gone, and that you," he snarled and growled animalistic-like, digging his cracked and blackened finger nails deeper into his ankle, causing him to wince. ', somehow you, are poor."
"Defenseless."
"Weak."
"Little child," he spat, each word expressing his utmost disgust, 'defeated my master. Died at the hands of a baby!"
"No no, those mudbloods and blood traitors have got it all wrong, they all lied so terribly so, and people, even my comrades, were convinced by their sorry little false tales... but they are so so wrong because it's you, " his eyes shined, a strip of white and, black briefly with malevolence. His rickety hand tightened, his discontent magic forcing its way through and singing the skin he was grasping. Harry choked out half a scream, biting down on his lip in pain.
"Who's going to die?"
The one hand holding onto him retracted suddenly and dragged him across the dirt covered tiles without warning, the other one darting out in an advantageous strike. He clenched his eyes shut once more, waiting for the blow.
But the hand never hit.
It was as if time had stopped, or had slowed down, but he had no way to tell with his eyes closed. Fearful that the moment he looked, the illusion would break, Harry opened an eye reluctantly.
A wand was pointed sharply at the man who moaned and nursed a singed red hand tenderly. The holder of the wand, Dumbledore, held a dark expression about his white bearded face, completely different from what the little boy was used to seeing. The air crackled with livid magical presence.
Before he could move an inch, the boy was swamped in a swirl of dark cloth. A cold hand rubbed where the lightning shaped curse mark on his forehead was dulling the pain abysmally, smudging something wet on the skin. Harry was dimly aware of the obscene shrieks issuing from behind the bars when he was lifted into the air.
"Bring him to the hospital wing, Severus," Dumbledore said needlessly. Severus, who apparently was the one carrying him, was already sweeping pass him in long distraught strides. He grunted with approval and continued onwards.
"Take the shortcut to save time."
The world was alternating between blurry and in focus after they entered the torch lit hall. The light blared into his sensitive eyes, making them water.
Suddenly they came to a stop; the potions master carrying him was examining something on the wall in front of him, whispering in an undertone.
Finally he took a short step back and said,
"Harlequin."
The wall in front of them shook and shuddered, disappearing into the ground in a cloud of dust and soon they were hurtling along a corridor thick with cobwebs. The absence of a slight bobbing movement that usually accompanied a step, told Harry that they were on some sort of moving platform, and hopefully a safe one.
The platform moved sharply and abruptly to the right, and the two swayed dangerously from the change in direction.
Moments later, the platform started to ascend, twisting upwards like a corkscrew elevator.
Harry shifted, oppressed, curling up. The spiralling journey ended and they were deposited through a wall illusion, and into a side corridor on the main floor.
Heartbeat starting to settle and a warm, a lethargic feeling soaked into his tired little bones coaxing him to slumber. Harry fell into a state of halfway between conscious, and not. Drifting in and out, his sense of the passage of time was warped as it seemed they had reached the hospital wing in no time at all.
The double doors were flung open carelessly, banging against the walls and rousing the temper of the resident school nurse from her office, the silent alarm thrown off.
"What in the blazes are you doing, Severus?! I have sleeping patients in here! How many times-" she halted in her angry protests when she noticed the prone form within the folds of the potions master's black sleeved arms, and rushed over, whipping out her wand.
Over at the windowsill, the two teens turned to look at the new arrivals, still embracing. Sakura, blotchy from crying, gasped from realization and broke off from the Chinese teen who let go willingly. Rubbing her face with a sleeve, she rushed over, stopping a couple feet away as if afraid to get close.
"Harry…?" she asked, needing confirmation. Severus answered with a curt nod, ghostly white.
Poppy tutted and tsked, making offhand comments while she directed them over to an empty hospital bed and summoned a basin of warm water and a towel. After laying the child on the bed, she began to analyze his status and checking for any wounds in need of immediate attention with flicks and waves of her wand, healing the bruises. Lifting the wooden frame glasses and setting them on the little bedside table, Severus set to work, wiping the sweat off Harry's contorted face, affected by whatever nightmare plaguing him.
Sakura lingered in the background, wringing her hands. A sympathetic Syaoran appeared at her side and offered her consolation in the form of a firm one armed hug. She sniffed and leaned into the embrace, eyes never leaving the dark haired child on the bed.
The lightning bolt scar, reopened, was scabbed with partially dried blood, tainting the white cloth rouge. By the time Severus was finished, the basin water was tinted pink. Poppy investigated the burn on his ankle with a critical eye, inspecting it closely. The unconscious boy flinched with every touch, his face scrunching with pangs of pain.
"Is…is he going to be okay?" Sakura inquired in a meek, dry voice. The mediwitch gave her a reassuring smile.
"Can you fetch me some burn healing salve from my office, Miss Kinomoto? It's in the first cupboard," she asked politely. Sakura inclined her head once, and rushed off to do so. She returned moments later with a glass jar.
"Is this it?" Poppy took it from here as she unscrewed the lid and looked at the orange paste. She nodded, and started to apply ample amounts of the salve onto the burn, in silence.
After the salve was applied, Poppy set it onto the bedside table next to Harry's glasses, and looked over Harry with poignant eyes.
"He'll be fine," she said finally. "He only sustained a few bruises and a burn, also a cut on the lip. Nothing too serious. He'll need plenty of rest to recuperate his strength. And he'll need plenty of food as well. The little mite's a bit small for his age. Lack of nourishment is probably the case here. He'll probably suffer from some mental trauma…but it shouldn't have a huge effect on him."
"There are traces of dark aura on his burn and around his head," Syaoran said suddenly. All three pairs of eyes flickered to him. He stared impassively back. "His mind may have been addled with by dark magic."
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and looked worriedly at the slumbering boy who turned in his sleep. Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Chinese male, crossing his arms.
"I'm sorry," the Japanese teen whispered; her hands clasped tightly together. "This is my fault. I should've…I should've been watching over him. This would've happened if I was…but I…" She looked to Syaoran here. The instant their eyes met, she looked away. "I'm sorry."
"Now, it's not your fault, Miss Kinomoto. Don't put all the blame on yourself. You look dead on your feet, you poor thing. I know what would cheer you up," Poppy cooed, heading in the direction of her office. "Now where did I put that bar of chocolate…"
Severus decided he was no longer needed, and turned to leave, his black robes billowing behind him.
"U-um!" Sakura blurted out, wanting to catch his attention. He stopped but did not turn around.
"I…I think…Harry would appreciate it if you stayed by his side when he wakes up…" she trailed off uncertainly. She wanted to give the man a reason to stay. It seemed like he wanted to anyways.
He did not respond. The seconds stretched by before he started walking again. As he was pulling the doors closed behind him, he paused for a moment and said,
"I have my own things to do, Miss Kinomoto, as do you. Good Night."
Sakura continued to stare at the closed double doors, tight lipped. Syaoran gave her a firm squeeze on the shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts. She looked down depressed and let out an exasperated sigh, resting her head on his shoulder, pondering the mechanics of a man's mind.
From her office door, Poppy watched the whole ordeal from afar. She retreated silently, tucking the bar of Honeydukes chocolate back into her desk drawer.
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As the double doors closed behind him, he pulled out his wand and locked it magically. As he turned to leave, stowing his wand away into his pocket, out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white. Instinctively, he stepped away, holding his weapon at ready, pointing it at the intruder.
To his relief it was only Albus. He lowered his guard and dropped his wand arm to his side.
"Headmaster." The wizen old man regarded him with a twinkling smile, shaking out the folds in his purple robes.
"If you have nothing to say, I shall be in my lab," he said curtly, wanting to leave and turned to do so.
"Severus, you don't need to pretend and keep lying to yourself. No one is going to judge you if you change now. Lily would be disappointed if she could see, you know that."
The dark man clenched his fists tightly, knuckles white. Even his back was lonely and difficult to look at.
"She has nothing to do with this."
Each step he took away from the hospital wing echoed bleakly through the hall.
"Nothing at all," he added in a thick whisper to himself.
Albus could do nothing but watch the man burdened with the weight of his past choices walk away from him in silence. He adjusted the half moon spectacles on his nose, and looked at the hospital wing doors as though he could see through them into the room where a small dark haired child was sleeping, waging an internal war with his nightmares.
To the empty hall, he spoke, wise and heavy-hearted.
"You are your own worst critic."
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Hours later in the orange tinged night time of five in the morning, Harry awoke to a cold empty room. He shivered, wondering how it could be so chilly when it was still the middle of summer, and tried to sit up in the bed, but found that he was too weak to do so by himself. In the glowing light of morning, he noticed a big red armchair to the left of his bed.
Sakura, honey brown hair dishevelled, and clothes deeply creased under a thin, white, hospital blanket, sat sleeping upon it. The calming sight brought a slight smile to his face. He also noticed that the bed on the other side was occupied, a white curtain only half drawn closed.
Most likely it was that Chinese man that morning, who Sakura seemed to know. He seemed kind of scary but he knew that even though some people may appear to be terrifying at first, they might not actually be as bad as you think, when you get to know them properly.
Harry hoped that this person was like that too.
There was another hope in his heart at the moment. One he had little confidence in, but still existed. With a hesitant motion, he turned his head and looked to the other side of his bed, holding in his breath.
He let it out disappointed, when he found no one there. The wooden visitor chair was pushed up behind his bedside table where his glasses, a glass jar, and a lamp laid.
His tired and hungry body was starting to put an effect on him, making him drowsy and wanting more sleep. He couldn't quite remember who he was hoping to find sitting there next to him when he woke up.
Concentrating intensely, he tried to gather his wits to recall a name, a face, a voice. But his mind, tired from the commotion that had occurred that day, disallowed this, and dragged him deeper into a sluggish haze. His eyelids felt heavy as lead, desperately wanting to rest.
"Who…" he croaked, throat dry, managing only a syllable before he fell fast asleep.
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Several floors down in the recess of the dungeons, a man was drowning his sorrows, throwing all his effort and concentration into his work, empty bottle after empty bottle of firewhisky lay strewn at his feet.
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A/N: Ouch, that was only 5 pages of story. I'm deeply sorry. I kept putting this off until I finally school started and everything went out of whack including my life schedule. Plus the weather hasn't been helping. I don't prefer to force myself to write when I have free time to relax so I generally do what I feel I'm up to (though I did have to use force to make myself finish this, it's 11:23 pm by the way). It's been reading and drawing lately. But there you have it! Chapter 14! I couldn't work more into it and for that I'm once again really sorry. This story will be finished. I just need to work out the details.
On a lighter note, if you think my writing has changed in the slightest bit that might be due to lots of practice writing on other Harry Potter fanfiction stories (which will most likely never see the light of at the rate they are going). Though I don't think it had actually change at all.
I also apologize for that sad excuse for a…scary scene? Yeah. Sorry. I don't do scary too well. Forgive me. Deathly Hallows had put me into a sort of depression for while and I had to resort to immersing myself in fanfics in a desperate attempt of therapy. I think it worked. Kind of.
Beta's Comment: I'm so disappointed, just five pages, lol its okay…its midnight and I'm tired too…way to get Deathly Hallows Lily/Snape reference into there XD Snape? Drinking? Oh dears. Sorry for the RTF.
Thanks for reading Just Coincidental, reader(s)! Reviews are extremely appreciated!!! I hope you'll come back next time for a new installment but until then, chin up, shoulders square, and back straight! Until then!