Disclaimer: Harry Potter and certain other elements of the Potterverse does not belong to me. TT_TT
It is finally up. And sad to say, it is rather short. A bit more of a progress, though, in the storyline.
=I've also noticed that somehow my titles no longer make it out to the final pages, so, I will leave it at that. No titles for the rest of the way.=
Severus Snape strolled alongside the Headmaster, both men's cloaks swishing lightly against the ground they passed. A small wind kicked up now and then, making their cloaks rise up briefly in that momentary whisk. Their boots clicked in time, Snape keeping his stride equal to that of Albus'.
They had Apparated into a desolate street some ways behind them amongst rows of abandoned houses. There was no life anywhere to be seen in this place. No green grass. No stray basketballs or dolls. No lights. Nothing.
Nothing. Silence. An eerie silence of dread and suspicion. Snape began to regret coming along.
However, Dumbledore pushed on, knowing exactly where he was headed. The man always did. This was something Snape found himself admiring the man for.
The more houses they passed, the darker it seemed to get, and colder. Potions Professor wrapped his arms in his cloak, crossing them across his chest. Albus did not pause. No matter how old the man, he could outrun a teenager if he wanted to.
Suddenly, he stopped, Snape nearly colliding into him. Black eyes rose up from the asphalt and grew wide at the sight. "Albus-"
"Yes, Severus."
"But- how? This is not-" Snape spun around, searching the landscape again. No. Nothing was familiar. The houses remained black, and the street lay in silence. He rounded on Albus, confusion and disbelief etched into every shadow on his face.
Dumbledore held their eyes, then turned his focus on the run-down house before them. "A simple stroll, Severus, as I normally do on days when I need to think. I found a liking to this place a few months ago, as you can see to why."
Snape took in the quiet and solitude.
"A perfect place, I should say, for one with much thinking to do," the Headmaster continued, adjusting his position, hands behind his back, neck slightly inclined, looking up at the house. "It was not here last week."
Severus slowly looked up to the foreboding memory of so long ago. His arms dropped to his sides. "Is this some kind of trickery?"
"No, my boy," came Dumbledore's soft reply. "I regret to say, this house no longer resides in Godric's Hollow."
The dark, run-down form stood amongst wild brushes and brambles, tall weeds forming around the sides and nearly swallowing the windows whole. The house chipped away slowly with each passing breeze, the sound of emptiness echoing in the wind.
Snape felt a tug on his heart, pulling him to check inside. But, as the many times before, there would be nothing there except for shattered glass, weeds poking from the floorboards, toys burnt to a crisp, and a broken crib with age-old sheets laying within.
No Lily.
"How-"
Dumbledore cleared his throat, a crinkling sound made evident into the silence. Snape turned just in time to see the elder man pop something into his mouth. One of those Muggle sweets, he gathered. Placing the empty wrapped into the pocket of his robes, Dumbledore spoke.
"I have only guesses. However, Harry is most likely the reason. Shall we go inside?" The old man dared to open his arm in invitation. He should know how much he despised coming here despite the many visits he gave it.
Snape stared at the Potter house, feeling guilt and hate reside within him at the same time. Breathing in sharply, he strode forward, briskly walking up the stone steps and turning the knob.
He paused, Dumbledore behind him. Slowly, he pushed the door open and the sound of wood cracking and peeling away met their ears as the door swung. Gingerly, Snape took a step. The floorboards groaned, dirt and rocks grinding under his boots.
A light illuminated behind him and he pressed forward, inching inside enough so that Dumbledore had room to come in. The lit wand pierced through the darkness, bringing Snape to take out his and do the illumination charm as well.
His Headmaster walked pass him, the wood craning and moaning, dangerously to the limit of caving beneath them. Dust swarm around them, at times engulfing so much air Severus had to wave his wand to disperse the clouds.
They climbed the old, worn, rickety stairs. Snape had to keep reminding himself he would not find Lily's dead body above them. There would be no crying baby. Nothing. There would be nothing.
They were at the top, standing before a long hallway. Dumbledore kept his voice low, afraid that a small tremor may upset the house. "Stick close, my boy. I would not want you wandering…"
Snape knew what that meant.
Wandering into my thoughts and getting lost, as you normally always did when you came here. Damn the old git for knowing him this much.
"Come." And the professor followed, nostalgia yanking at his heart. His feet knew this trail, this agonizing walk towards that room. Why were they here?
No, more importantly, why was this house here in the middle of nowhere? How? When? Where is this place?
So many unanswered questions, and the beginning to know them all resided in one person: Harry James fucking Potter. He groaned aloud, his free hand swiping at the sweat forming on his forehead. The air was thick and humid, dirty and ragged. Snape waved his wand again to clean what air he could.
And they were there, standing before the open door with their wands pointing forward to flood the room with light.
For the second time that night, Severus Snape felt his knees buckle and heart fall into the pit of his stomach. "Take a deep breath, Severus, my boy," Dumbledore instructed, a hand lightly grasping each shoulder in turn, steering the Potions Professor into the obstructed room.
Everything was the same. The burned crib and sheets, the decaying toys. Everything. Except for one.
"Is that-?" Severus managed to whisper, voice lost in denial.
Gravely, Dumbledore nodded, a cascade of silvery hair blocking his face from Snape's view.
There, in the middle, stood a golden hourglass, shimmering blue sand that filled more than halfway on the top dripped agonizingly slow. It stood just above the men's kneecaps, easy to pick up, though neither did. Neither even thought of touching the object.
Snape gaped at the hourglass, immediately taking in the embroidered signet so small that normally people would overlook it. Though, having seen this object before, only in picture form, Snape found it rather easily.
Encrusted was a circle with a line through it and a triangle entrapping both shapes. "The Hourglass of Borrowed Time," Dumbledore answered Severus' already knowing mind. "Or, as we most likely know it, the Deathly Hallow that never was. Deaths-"
"-own toy," Snape finished, one foot retreating, the sand making the softest of noise as it fell gracefully to the bottom. "The boy-"
"It is most likely him it is bound to." Albus paused, a tongue jutting out to wet parched and dusted lips. Snape sighed.
"I, at first, did not enter here, thinking dark magic was afoot. However," the old wizard stalked around the object, grey eyes never leaving the falling sand. "After a few roundabouts and analyzing, there were no charms or shields protecting this place. Nothing."
Snape adjusted his posture, lowing his wand to his side, feeling his elbows ache at holding it up for so long. Dumbledore continued his walk and speech. "Peculiar. Very much so. So, I took a step inside. Once again, nothing." He stopped behind the hourglass so that Snape and himself were on opposite sides.
"And then, I came upon this."
Snape rose his dark eyes, glimpsing greys with anxiety. "This house had been here since Harry's amazing ability to root out Crouch in the form of Alastor. Never before. However, just last night the Hourglass made an appearance."
Severus stood quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The sand continued its decent into its small pile below, blue sparkling, a small glimpse of green reflecting here and there. "You only bring this up to me now?"
A quiet sigh drifted in the room. "Yes."
Snape nodded. "So, what you are saying is that the boy has tampered with this?"
"Tampered, no. It made a calling, I would gather," Dumbledore spoke with seriousness. "Called Harry to it in his time of need."
"In his time, no less?"
"Precisely. And it has followed him here, stowing itself where Harry's heart and fears collide. The birthplace of the beginning of loss." Albus lowered his wand as well, feeling the ache in his elbow reaching his shoulder.
Potions Master and Headmaster fixed their eyes for a few more seconds, watching the sand. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an hour. None moved, immobilized by the tinkling of the grains. Finally, when Snape's eyes began to water, he pulled himself away, finding greys staring back at him with a worn and tired look.
"So what now?" came the expected question, Severus dousing out his wand light leaving only Dumbledore's to keep them out from darkness.
The older male gave a small smile, forced. "It is bound to him in a contract, Severus. You should know this." Snape dropped his gaze to the floorboards. "We can only wait and see if he accomplishes what the Hourglass wants him to do."
Snape swallowed a lump in his throat, the pit of his stomach lurching. The scene from Harry's mind replayed itself in his head again; where he had been dying, his very own blood pooling around his black-covered form, Harry Potter above him, green eyes holding his.
What if the boy managed to save him, if he was to die at all? Though, seeing the way things were going now, it could be possible his death awaited in just a few years. He spoke, louder than needed. "And what of the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore paused, his eyes falling between the Hourglass and Severus. "I do not know where he resides. Only you would know, my boy." Grey eyes flittered back onto blacks, brows rising, then dropping his gaze to the Potions Master's left arm.
Snape, on instinct, grabbed his arm as if to block it from view, lips thinning. He had during the course of the year felt a pull from the branded tattoo of his, though he feigned importance of it much to a certain Durmstrang Headmaster's dismay. It was not strong enough yet to put fear in his life.
Dumbledore nodded then, once again placing his stare on the hourglass, tongue clicking. "Lily's boy is proving to be more troublesome than ever."
"He does have James Potter's blood within him," Snape retorted, spitting out the name like some foul bile in the back of his throat. Dumbledore chuckled, grey orbs relighting with its twinkle.
"Yes, yes, that he does. But," he lifted his eyes to Snape, the twinkle never fading. "He bears his mother's way to sacrifice himself better than anything else. I would like to admit he resembles more of Lily than James."
Severus stiffened. "Albus," he dropped his voice low and dangerous.
Headmaster only shook his head, bringing both hands behind his back and noxing his wand, the only light illuminating the room coming from the glowing Hourglass before them and the shimmering sand. It would have been a beautiful sight to behold were it not for the situations it held for the future.
"It is only my opinion, my boy. Now," Albus took a deep breath, bringing it out slowly. "I do believe it is time to put your sole focus on Harry." Dumbledore ignored the roll of the male's eyes. "More than ever. I will be away for some time. He will only have you to depend on."
Grey eyes peered intently over half-moon spectacles and Severus looked away, not wanting to be pulled into that forceful stare. "Or he will only have me to run down."
A light chuckle filled the room. "I am sure you can keep a hold on a fourteen year old."
"You forget," Snape retorted. "He is no longer fourteen."
The Headmaster sighed, once again worn down. "Let us hope that he still thinks like one, then."
The servant bided his time, twitching now and then with nervousness and unease, feet pacing back and forth in front of the broken four-poster bed. What if it didn't work? Then the Dark Lord would have his hide… and more. Wormtail shuddered, hugging his cloak closer around him.
He hated this place, but he needed to be here, needed to be as close as possible to that wretched brat. There were many possibilities of how he could approach The Boy Who Lived, but many of them involved getting caught. He could not allow that.
One thing Peter Pettigrew hated the most was being on the receiving end of torture and hate. He wanted to be loved and protected, fear always surrounding him. Especially now that the Dark Lord was back and needing assistance.
More than once, Pettigrew wanted to run away, but that would most definitely have him dead when the Dark Lord came back in full form without his help. No, he could not have not. So, now, he was stuck trying to find a way to bring that blasted Potter into his arms again and drain him of his blood.
If only luck would grant me this one need.
An answering click made Peter Pettigrew's heart grow alight with fear and triumph.
Dumbledore had not come back yet. Neither had Snape. Good. All the better.
Harry was now reaching desperately for the Sorting Hat which sat high on a shelf. Grunting, he pulled out his wand and accioed it, not surprised when it refused to budge from its pedestal. Hurrying, he grabbed a chair and made a reach for it again. This time, his fingers brushed the edges and he whipped it off.
The Hat moved as if stretching its limbs, the ruffled edges waving about. "Nnngh," it groaned, the wrinkles folded in the Hat moving in time with the sound. "Aaah~…it is you, young Gryffindor. Oh? What have we here? Not so young, now are we?"
Harry pursed his lips, eyes growing wide. "How'd you know?"
The Hat laughed, a rusty sound, aged. "I am sure, Mr. Potter, I am not the only one that suspects." The seams slanted into a sly smile. "You cannot belie the old and wizened nor the past and gone."
A lightbulb clicked in Harry's head. "Ghosts! They can tell, too?" The Hat grunted.
It all made sense now: Headless Nick, even Peeves when he had strolled through corridors in the dungeons sang him his unjust doings, calling him wicked even. And his mother. His dearest mother who kept visiting his dreams.
They were just spirits, though. Right?
"Hrmmm. You are a very troubled boy. But, as the Muggles say, 'things happen for a reason'."
"Yeah. And that's why this is happening. For a reason. A damn good one, too," Harry retorted, feeling anger boil in himself. The Hat had no right to judge him on that. He knew what he was doing was bad, but didn't need a reminder everywhere he turned. He had enough whenever his eyes closed.
The Hat snorted. "And you are here now for the sword, yes?"
Harry's hands gripped the Hat's edges, his breath stilling. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes."
The Hat gave a long sigh, its tip slouching. "You will probably die."
"I know that."
"You are willing to sacrifice everything?"
Harry was about to answer 'yes', though caught himself before doing so. "No. Not everything. Just me."
The Hat grew silent, and then it stopped moving altogether. Something long and silvery fell from inside the Hat and landed square on Harry's foot, falling onto the ground with a sounding thud. Wincing, he seethed through his teeth, green eyes dropping to the floor to see what he had been wanting all along.
Brave, loyal, courageous, and prominent, Godric Gryffindor's sword lay before him, glinting in the candlelight. Harry bent down and picked it up by it's hilt, the blade pointed out in front of him. Looking back at the Hat, the boy whispered a thanks and placed it back to its home, a small quiver of acknowledgement running in the edges.
Harry bolted from the office then, his knapsack waiting for him by the Gargoyle which watched him with unmoving eyes disappear around the corner. He ran out onto the grounds, threw his treasured invisibility cloak over himself, and made his way to the Whomping Willow, deactivated its movements, and slithered his way into the hole, flying down the dark pathway only lit by his wand.
He clambered out of the trapdoor, wriggling himself out, propping himself on the edge, then abruptly stopped, finding a wand pointed straight at his nose. "Playing hooky, are we now, Potter?"Before he could react, his wand was kicked out of his hand and a stupefy sent him into a dark world.
He did not see that same form fall shortly afterwards. He did not feel strong arms pick him up. He did not feel the light brush of his hair so that his scar was revealed.
Harry did not hear the whispered words of a man, breathing against his forehead. "Just like your father."
Severus Disapparated into Hogsmeade, leaving a very disgruntled Albus Dumbledore in the company of the Hourglass of Borrowed Time. Their fascinated stares in silence at the object had been abruptly interrupted by a silvery, wispy penguin which proceeded to squawk in Dumbledore's ears.
Snape only nodded when Dumbledore made a face which clearly suggested the man leave now, the penguin being the very Patronus of the Minister of Magic. Bartimus Crouch did not need to know why two professors of Hogwarts were out of grounds and talking in an area where darkness crawled in every corner.
It was a good thing that Patronuses only seeked out the person it needed, not map out where it had been. Of course, if the owner wanted to, they could find out very easily. However, there was hardly any doubt that the Minister would likely feel the need to know the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore. He could simply be at home, for all he cared.
Snape raised his wand, casually flicking it so that the gate grated open, the sound echoing loudly in the dawning presence of the quiet, dew morning. The glow of the sun just peeking over the horizon sent glorious rays of soft pink and creamy orange, purple clouds riding along the distance.
The warmth of the big star comfortably nestled on Snape's back, which had grown quite cold during his visit in that God-forsaken place. He welcomed the heat which now spread onto his arms and cheeks. It quickly disappeared, though, as he entered into the castle, making way immediately to his study.
Snape was just about to round a corner when he heard feet pounding the ground in a rapid speed. He pushed himself against the wall just in time to see a bustled Harry Potter fly past him, not knowing black eyes trailed his retreating form, one brow rising.
The world tipped uneasily, making Harry feel the need to spill whatever contents he had left in his stomach onto the floor. He clenched the side of the bed with both hands, pulling himself closer to the edge, searching for a trash bin. When none was found, he retreated back under the covers, determined to keep his food down.
He was staring at the ceiling of one of the most visited places in his life: the Hospital Wing. Harry had yet to figure out how he had gotten there and much more. Wormtail came and fell from his memories, his trek to the Shrieking Shack not much to dote on.
However, he could not figure out why Wormtail was there in the first place. Was he seriously thinking of taking on Harry Potter on his own? Did he know that he would be there? Was Voldemort infiltrating his mind now, doing what Harry had done in the past and track him down via mind-connecting?
That wouldn't be a surprise.
And then, of course, came the question of the day: how the hell did he end up back in Hogwarts? He was sure when he had first woken up, pain would be inviting him back to reality. When that was not the case, instead a very pestering and rustled-up Pomfrey came into vision, poking and prodding him with her wand, telling him he should just live in here, Harry fought the urge to push the bustling woman away.
The sun had long since dipped back behind the mountains, night slowly taking over. The candles lit by themselves as shadows danced into the nursery. Harry laid in his pajamas with both hands behind his head, glasses off on the bedside table, blanket carelessly thrown on, and his ankle overlapping the other.
Hermione and Ron had come in for a brief visit while he was unconscious in the early morning when Snape had told them he had an accident on the Quidditch field from practicing in the morning. Madam Pomfrey had been the one to tell him while she was doing her analysis on his perfectly fine self. Of course, she being one to worry, insisted he stay one night with a dose of Dreamless Sleep.
"Helps you rest better, dear," she explained, Harry downing the contents in one go. He knew much about this potion as he had once been addicted to it, his thoughts about his past echoing every waking thought, and dream. Hermione and Ron helped him out of taking too much to not taking any at all, stating that he had children to take care of, and suddenly falling asleep on the dinner table without any warning would not make things better.
That had been just a few moments ago, and the potion had yet to work its way into his mind and shut him down for the night. It was probably taking a long time due to his enormous intake from before.
Should be fine with this body, though, right?
Sighing, Harry closed his eyes, finding the need to calm his mind. At least he would not have to worry about dreaming of anything tonight.
The world nearly slipped away before a clicking sound arose Harry back into wakeville. The sound of the door sliding back into place made him sit up on his elbows and peer into the shadows near the entrance, eyes dooping in restraint.
Footfalls began shortly after, the echoing clicks of hard soles rapping the marble flooring, making its way down between the beds towards him. Harry reached for his glasses in a hurried manner, practically smashing them on his face just in time to see a dark, looming form stop at the foot of his bed. A familiar sneer snaked its way across thin, pale lips.
"Awake, are we, Mr. Potter?" the snide remark rolled across a bitter tongue, arms folding across a broad chest, robes rustling in his movements.
The Gryffindor adjusted his glasses, eyes fixated on the professor before him. "I was about to fall asleep, 'til you came in."
Harry caught a flicker of amusement and mockery in the black eyes of Snape. Thin lips quirked slightly higher, the sneer becoming more of a fascinated smirk.
"Pity. Perhaps I should have come at a better time, however, I am sorry to say, Potter, I do not care about luxuries such as sleep and bed wrinkling." Harry fisted the sheets, lips drawing in.
Bed wrinkling? Really?
"However," Snape continued in that spiteful tone, "I can overlook your incompetence if you explain as to why you left Hogwarts grounds early this morning with a knapsack and your invisibility cloak."
Harry's head spun. Of all people to catch him, Snape had to be it. And now the potion was taking a toll on his wearied body and mind.
Brilliant. Bloody great fucking time, damn potion.
Despite all that, Harry been damn sure no one was around. He had checked and double-checked the Marauder's Map before running off to the Shrieking Shack, noting that he should have also checked to make sure no one was in the bloody place.
Running a hand through his hair, Harry managed to lift his eyes and stare determined into dark ones. They were unwavering, concrete, and annoyed. Harry would not be able to lie himself out of this one. "Why not just legilimens me and get it over with, then? It'd be much faster. Maybe more to your enjoyment, even," the green-eyed boy retorted, being fed-up at getting caught so many times by the damn bat-bloke.
And also because sleep was weighing heavy on him. A bad mix.
Snape pursed his lips, glaring daggers, and the boy did likewise, though with a much tired look in his eyes, and his breath was fast becoming ragged and uncontrolled. Potions Master noted this as a sign of a certain draught, eyes catching the glimpse of a small bottle on the bedside table.
Of course. Should have known Poppy would give the boy something to knock him out, and stay knocked out a good while.
Grunting in disapproval, but seeing the droopy-eyed Potter do his damnest to keep the glare on, Snape decided to leave the boy be and come back when it would be a better time. Perhaps in the morning.
He dropped his arms to the sides, wand in hand flicking in Harry's direction. The boy's body flung back onto the bed, head colliding rather harshly with the backboard earning a surprised groan, and the white sheets fitted themselves snuggly around the moaning form.
"Sleep, Potter. You are no use for me under the potion's spell." Harry made a noise in response, something akin to a curse. Snape disregarded it, pocketing his wand and turning on his heel to head out. "I will be back in the morning. There had better be an explanation ready without any delay."
And he was out the door, the sound of it closing bringing immediate peace to Harry's nerves, the Dreamless Sleep taking effect faster as there was no reason for Harry to stay awake now.
Until tomorrow.
A~N: I want to personally thank Puzzle Me This for encouraging me into continuing with this piece. Thank you~ ;D
And to others who have found interest in this story as well, THANK YOU!
Mucho love~ Nyte