Yet Another Snape Meets the Dursley's story: by rabbit
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Still JK Rowling's. *sigh*
Chapter 5: The Cure
Summary: Snape gets to work on saving Harry.
************
Harry couldn't move. He wanted to move, but none of his muscles seemed to be able to respond. He watched with horror as Voldemort raised his wand, ready to kill him, and he tried to make his arm move, tried to move wooden lips to call out "Expelliarmus," and he couldn't… he couldn't…
Abruptly, he was awake, lying on the bed in the room he used at the Dursley's, his blood loud in his ears. He waited for the fear to fade. And waited. Gradually, he realized that something was wrong. Hedwig's perch was on the desk. Aunt Petunia wouldn't allow that. And besides, he had to use a cage here. Hedwig's perch was still at Hogwarts. And why did Dudley's bike still have handlebars? Harry tried to sit up, to get up and see why nothing was the way it should be, and found that he couldn't move.
Not again!
It had to be a dream. A nightmare! If only Harry could move he could wake up. He had to move, had to wake up before the shadows in the corner of the room could coalesce into black robes. If only he could move!
He wanted to weep with frustration, but that didn't seem to work either. He couldn't even cry out. He knew he was sleeping, knew he needed to wake, and somehow knew that if he could just somehow twist himself out of this horrible paralysis he would be free.
The bang of the door flung his eyes open at last, but he tested the new awakening warily. The pressure on his chest was still there, but this time it was the weight of blankets, curiously taut against his body. The sheet near his nose smelt of the dryer softener sheets, like it had come clean from the linen closet. The overhead light came on, and to Harry's relief, his hand could move, coming up to shield his eyes from the glare of the overhead light. But when he looked to see who had come in he wondered afresh if the dream had just taken a new turn as he watched Professor Snape shove Dudley over into the corner and start to pace the room. What was Snape doing here? And why did he have so many blankets, and fresh linens? It wasn't Sunday night yet, was it? And weren't the blankets with Hedwig?
Hedwig!
Abruptly, Harry came completely awake, remembering Hedwig's poisoning, his letter, and Snape's arrival in response to it. He didn't remember clean sheets or blankets, but he knew Snape had put a sleep spell on him, and Madame Pomfrey always managed to refresh the bedding without waking him. That's why the sheets were so taut. He'd been tucked in. Harry had never been tucked in that he could remember before he'd spent a night in the infirmary at Hogwarts, but Madame Pomfrey always did it, and he kind of liked the feeling that he couldn't easily fall out of the bed. Maybe it was part of the bedding spell, after all. Harry wasn't sure whether to be glad that Madam Pomfrey hadn't been fussing over him or sorry, but he was sure that Snape hadn't tucked him out of tenderness.
He pushed against the blankets cautiously, and to his relief they weren't bound to the bed. At least Snape hadn't strapped him down. Carefully, trying not to come to Snape's notice, he sat up far enough to check on Hedwig. To his relief, she seemed no worse than she'd been before – maybe even a bit better – as she watched the Potions Master pace up and down the room. Dudley was trying to fit himself into the smallest space he could, staring wide-eyed at Snape. And Snape…
Harry bit his lip and eased himself back down onto the pillow, trying to look like he was just part of the furniture. Snape was furious. The only time he'd seen him angrier was when Sirius Black had escaped the clutches of the Dementors, and that time Snape hadn't been holding his left arm tight against his chest like it hurt. He had something clutched in that hand which Harry couldn't quite make out. In his right hand he held his wand reversed, as if it were a stake to be pounded into someone's heart, the gripping so tight that his knuckles had gone chalky. Whenever his path led him near the shelves, the things on them rattled like there was an earthquake, but it wasn't something he was doing, Harry thought. Snape didn't even seem to see the room at all, except enough to avoid running into the walls.
What have I done now? Harry thought. He still didn't understand why Snape thought he'd done magic, but the horrid way he'd felt might mean it was true. And he'd been asleep, so he couldn't have done anything more. Maybe it was Dudley who's set him off. He looks like he's working up to kill someone.
Snape turned back toward Harry again and Harry saw that the object in his left hand had started to glow with a blue-white light. It gained brightness rapidly, showing red and shadow through the thickness of Snape's palm. And Snape didn't seem to notice. Harry swallowed hard. Much as he was afraid of Snape, he was more afraid that if Snape did kill Dudley, it would somehow resonate through the dark mark on his arm and summon Voldemort. He took a breath. "Professor?" he said, trying to sound calm and failing. "What's glowing?"
Snape stopped and turned his head sharply to glare at Harry, nostrils pinched white with fury and his black eyes hot with anger, but the question was enough to bring him out of the center of his fury, and he blinked suddenly and held up the object in his left hand to look at it.
It was so bright Harry flinched, but the brightness faded as fast as it had come, and once he'd blinked away the green spot, he recognized the thing for what it was. "Isn't that Aunt Petunia's?" he asked.
"No." Snape didn't hit that deep note often, and it never boded well, but for once Harry wasn't sure that he was the object of the anger. The potions professor stepped closer to the bed and held out the knickknack so that Harry could see it without sitting up. "Look at it with a wizard's eye, boy," he said roughly.
Harry wasn't sure exactly what Snape meant, but he was willing to try just about anything to keep Snape from going off. He concentrated on the globe, trying to look at it as if it were an object in Transformations class, that had to be understood before it could be persuaded to change. Then he gasped. "That's Hogwarts!" The rough modelled castle inside the glass sphere had suddenly gone sharper and clearer, and when he looked even closer he could see that the chips of fake snow weren't snow at all, but owls in flight. He stared at it for a long moment before managing to bring himself to look at Snape instead. "I don't understand. It's been on the mantelpiece ever since I can remember."
"Haven't you ever looked into it, then?" If it hadn't been Snape, Harry would have sworn the man's voice had softened a bit.
"I used to, when I was little," Harry said, looking back into the glass longingly. "I've always wanted to see what it looked like with the snow swirling."
Snape turned his wrist around, to set the little bits of white in motion again. "I assume," he said, with a little more academic dryness creeping into his voice, "by that that statement that you've never touched this?"
"We're not allowed," Dudley said from his corner. Just like Dudley to butt in to a private conversation, Harry thought, but he was surprised a little to find that even Dudley had had some kind of restriction put on him. Dudley, seeing both of them looking at him, expanded a little. "Mum said that I should have it for my own when I was old enough to take care of it properly," Then he faltered, and looked, to Harry's surprise, genuinely disappointed. "But I guess I won't now. Not if you're right about it being Aunt Lily's," he said, addressing Snape.
It was my mother's? Harry wanted to touch it more than ever now, but he held himself still. He couldn't read Snape's expression, and he didn't dare start something that might end up with the snowglobe smashed into a wall.
"No, you shan't," Snape told Dudley. "Now, sit in that chair," he added, pointing with his wand to the one chair in the room. Dudley obeyed quickly. The chair creaked under his weight. As soon as he was settled, Snape said, "Petrificus."
Immediately, Dudley flashed blue and then froze into stillness on the chair from the neck down. His eyes bugged out of their sockets. "I can't move," he cried. "Harry, help me!"
"It's just a spell!" Harry told his cousin, pushing up onto one elbow to get a better look. Half of him wanted to laugh, and the other half was waiting for Snape to do something worse to him. "You'll be all right as soon as he takes it off," he told Dudley, and then added, "if he takes off," just to see the fat lump want to squirm and not be able to.
"Don't interrupt me, and I'll think about it," Snape told Dudley. Dudley's face went white and then pink as he desperately bit back whatever it was he wanted to say, and Harry couldn't help but laugh.
But laughing hurt his stomach and chest, and he slumped back, closing his eyes while he tried not to breathe too fast or hard. He felt Snape's hand on his forehead. "What is it about poisoned that you've failed to understand, Potter? Try not to move around so much."
"Yes, sir," Harry got out. When he finally felt secure enough to open his eyes again he saw Snape using his wand to transform Dudley's bike into a tall stool and float it into place near the bed.
Snape took a seat on it, wearing his lecturing face. "Very well. Now, we are almost ready to deal with the poison, Mr. Potter, but first I must ask you whether or not, in your studies, you have come across mention of the Extractus Toxinus spell.
Harry wished he had, but it wasn't true. "No, sir," he admitted, hoping that Snape would somehow keep on working his way toward calmness from his earlier state of fury.
"I thought not," Snape said becoming more and more the teacher as Harry listened. "It is one of three methods by which poisons of a certain type may be thoroughly removed from a living creature safely. The other two are potions, both of which act most effectively when freshly made, require rather expensive ingredients, and take several hours to be properly prepared; and neither of which would act as quickly as the spell. It is possible to have a basic cleansing potion ready, and then add the final ingredients at the last minute, but there are practical considerations in this case."
Harry nodded, not wanting to interrupt.
"The first disadvantage of the spell is that it requires a component. An inanimate object which has a strong positive association with the victim. Often, the object is a childhood toy, but it can be a photograph of someone who cared strongly for the victim, or an object with a strong positive association to the caring person." Snape held up the snowglobe, looking at it for a moment with thoughtful eyes before looking back at Harry more neutrally. "Frequently, the component is destroyed in the process. But not always."
That was hard. Harry wanted the snowglobe to keep. He had so little of his mother's to remember her by! But he nodded again, "I see," he said reluctantly.
"The second disadvantage of the spell is that it is painful." Snape stopped. Took a breath. Went on. "It works by pulling the toxins out physically, directly past muscles, nerves, and skin. The particles are small, but they tend to clump as they rise, and they can do damage. The spell should never be employed unless the poison is doing more damage where it is than it would as it was removed." He stared into Harry's eyes as he said that, and Harry wished that he were invisible, so that he could think about what Snape meant without letting Snape see how suddenly frightened he was. He wasn't sure when his stomach had started hurting because of the poison and not because he was worried about Hedwig. He couldn't tell if he'd been cold because he had nothing to wrap himself in or because of the poison. He didn't know if he was weak because he was hungry or if it were something worse. He'd wanted to die, if it meant saving Hedwig, but if Snape were right, then Hedwig was saved and now the cost of the bargain seemed very high.
"And if you don't use the spell?" he asked, not letting his voice shake.
"The poison will continue to destroy your liver, sending your blood and bile out of balance, making you weaker, more vulnerable to damage. You might see Hogwarts again, but only if you were very very careful. And by then you'd be in such poor condition you wouldn't be allowed out of the hospital wing until spring."
"Oh," Harry didn't even want to think about what would happen if he met up with Voldemort again before the poison was gone.
"There is this," Snape said slowly, sounding reluctant. "The spell, I'm told, hurts less if the person being spelled trusts the caster."
Trust Snape? The incredulous voice in Harry's head sounded like it was only eleven years old, suddenly. Harry held his breath, trying to weigh what he'd always thought about Snape against what he'd found out to be true. Slowly, reluctantly, he said, "Dumbledore trusts you."
"Dumbledore is powerful enough to take certain risks," Snape said, bringing his left arm up and cupping his right hand around it between elbow and wrist for a moment, frowning. "I'm not sure that you should."
Not with the Imperius Curse out there and Voldemort more than willing to use it. Harry nodded slowly. "I understand." He tried to smile a little, to show that he wasn't too frightened for this. "It can't hurt worse than a Cruciatus Curse."
Snape's eyes went distant, like he was comparing two far too recent experiences. "No," he said. "It can't."
"Then let's get it over with," Harry said, and closed his eyes to wait for it.