Chapter Eight: The Raids
"Bloody Hell!" grumbled Fred Weasley. "I can't believe they've assigned us to the most remote muggle town in the entire UK! Any more remote, and we'd have to learn a new dialect just to ask where the toilets are."
"This is your first assignment, Fred." Bill shrugged patiently, his dragon fang earring reflecting the light from the street lamp. "What do you expect?"
Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix had been dispatched to strategic locations across the UK in anticipation of the night's Death Eater raid. Having left Hogwarts in the previous school year, Fred and George Weasley, in a logical progression from Dumbledore's Army, served the Order and its members, but were denied admission into the actual Order of the Phoenix itself. George, upon hearing of their assignment to the remote, potentially uneventful location of Beretaniashire, opted to stay behind and catch up on the bookkeeping for their newly opened Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke shop. George had assured Molly and Arthur that he would assist the aurors assigned to that area, if the situation required it.
"All right, Fred?" Bill called his brother's attention. "We must set the deterrent charms straightaway. We've got to get the muggles off the streets before midnight, then watch their homes for any unusual activity."
"Get the Muggles off the streets," Fred parroted. He could not comprehend why the Death Eaters would want to attack such an old fashioned town. Beretaniashire seemed to have no redeeming qualities, save for its capability of inducing slumber in a people afflicted with chronic insomnia. The town looked as though only some of their residents owned a fellytone. Fred concluded that most of the residents probably had the eckeltricity installed only last week, as most residents still used wood stoves and candles.
Rather than wasting precious time casting muggle repelling charms every few metres on the street, Fred released handfuls of dungbombs into random sewer drains.
"Fred!" Bill admonished upon regrouping. "What are you doing?"
"Repelling muggles."Fred replied simply.
"You were supposed to use muggle repelling charms!" Bill roared in a whispering voice, reminding Fred a little too much of their mother.
"This will repel them just as effectively." Fred patted his older brother on the arm a little too roughly to appear reassuring.
"And us! You've used so many dung bombs!" Fred was sure that if human hair could change colours in the same fashion as the skin of chameleons, that Bills hair would have turned white when he saw all the dungbombs floating in the sewer.
"So it will smell like five hundred latrines that haven't been cleaned since Godric Gryffindor was our age! Ahhh you worry too much," Fred replied smugly. "Besides, George and I have been working on these things. They leave no trace once they've been detonated. The muggles will probably blame it on a break in their doosew-er pipes or something."
"You had better be right about this, or mom will kill you for doing such a boneheaded deed, and then hammer me for allowing you to do it!" Bill frowned, scaring Fred when he thought he saw his mother's eyes in Bill's for a moment...or was it Percy?
"Well it's not like I did any magic the muggles could detect right?" Fred brushed off his brother's concerns. "Besides, I only hope the 'ol greasy git didn't send us out here for nothing."
"That's Professor Snape, Fred. You ought to show him a bit more respect." Bill chided. "And the information Professor Snape brings back to us is accurate almost all the time. He checks and re-checks his information as meticulously as he does his potion ingredients, before passing it on the Order. That's a fact you should understand by now, you know how much attention Professor Snape gives to details." Bill paused to stare off into the distance, his cinnamon coloured ponytail blowing behind him in the night air. Although he hoped that things were as calm as they were in Beretaniashire, he paradoxically hoped that the death eaters were indeed attacking muggle villages. That was not because he, as a pure blooded wizard, disliked muggles, but because it would mean grave danger for Professor Snape. False information getting to the order via Hogwarts would surely pinpoint him as a spy, and if Voldemort was ruthless with his minions for even the most minuscule offenses, what would he do to a member willfully engaging in espionage?
Bill did not want to think about that.
A factory shut down for the night, prompting Bill and Fred to take cover in an alley nearby as the workers began filing out, looking haggard and worn. From behind a large skip, Bill and Fred watched intently as the muggles went their separate ways. Most disappeared into nearby homes and apartment complexes, while some stopped on the sidewalk to greet one another.
When a particularly large group of younger muggles loitered near a high picket fence sipping what looked like bottles of butterbeer, Bill became agitated. They needed to get home before the Death Eaters arrived. Seeing that Bill was about to cast a repellent charm, Fred detonated a round of dungbombs in the sewers directly on the opposite end of the street from the gathering.
"Blimey!" a bearded Muggle wearing a union suit said to the one next to him. "Wot 'ave yer been eatin'?"
"Wot 'ave I been eatin', isit?" The second man answered, his face contorted so much from the stink that Fred had to stuff a handkerchief into his mouth to keep from erupting into peals of laughter. "Yor the one 'oo passed wind! Struth!"
"It don't matter wich one of yer farted, I'm gahn 'ome yer blokes!" A third muggle said, his face looking about as green as a shamrock. He threw out his beer, and hurriedly left the corner.
To Fred and Bill's relief, the other muggles left shortly thereafter.
Just in time!
Laughing so hard, Fred choked on the handkerchief. He fell onto the cobblestones and rolled about, alternately choking and laughing.
"It's not funny!" Bill scolded, but Fred only laughed harder when he saw that his older brother could hardly keep the stern expression pasted on his own face.
Just then, Bill and Fred heard faint popping noises on the main street, and gasped when they saw a small group of Death Eaters making their way to houses close to their apparation point.
"Bill," Fred said, looking at the Death Eaters from behind his big bother. "Do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would send his more experienced Death Eaters to a remote place like this?"
"No..." Bill began.
"GOOD!" Fred grinned mischievously, as he detonated another round of dungbombs in the sewers near the hooded figures.
Bill shook his head at his brother's antics. He hoped that the other Order members and Aurors were fairing as well, if a bit neater at their posts.
Professor Severus Snape heard the blunt, grisly sound of Harry's skull impacting the metal bedframe. "Potter!" Genuinely worried, he immediately lifted the frail boy into his arms, then berated himself shortly thereafter with the same zeal he normally reserved for his most dunderheaded students.
He, of all people, should have understood the dangers of moving a person without first determining the extent of the injuries sustained. Surely this boy, even this arrogant boy, did not deserve further injury from such negligent treatment.
Severus would have to maintain this position. Stuck carrying the-boy-who-lived in his lap like some fussy infant until Madam Pomfrey, or other help, arrived. He longed to put the boy back onto his bed, or even to place the boy on the floor, but he dared not move him. Severus may not have liked the son of James Potter, but he did not want him more seriously injured, and he surely did not want him dead.
In normal circumstances, Severus would have used his magic to immobilize the boy, and poured some healing potions down his throat, but his hospital gowns had no pockets into which he could have stowed potions, and because of the Interventio Interferus potion, he could not use his magic either to heal the boy or to summon healing potions for him.
Severus's thoughts brightened. Surely that meddling busybody Dumbledore would be by to visit them before he retired for the night. He was bound to take Harry off of his hands
The burning in his arm hindered Severus's thoughts. There was a Death Eater raid scheduled tonight, and it would have already started. He himself had given a report to Dumbledore upon his return from the last meeting to warn The Order of the upcoming attack. Severus sighed, knowing that Headmaster Dumbledore had in all likelihood rallied The Order of the Phoenix, and might have even been leading a counterstrike at this very moment. No chance of Lupin, Hagrid, or McGonagall paying a visit any time soon either, as they were probably fighting alongside the Headmaster.
Although the Harry Potter was by no means heavy, or even close to being an acceptable weight for his height, the pressure of the boy's body against Severus's own was becoming steadily harder to bear. The burns the chains had left on Severus's legs stung anew, and his bruised chest and side ached all the more as a result of Harry's weight on those areas.
He'd receive far worse for not answering Voldemort's summons in a timely manner. On a good day, turning up late would earn him a severe punishment at the hands of the other Death Eaters. On a bad day, The Dark Lord would kill him. If he failed to make it to the raid at all on this night, he would be killed...slowly.
With Harry's head still resting securely in the crook of Severus's right arm, he gingerly palpated the boy's scalp through his coarse, unruly hair with his free hand. He noted that the hair felt a bit softer than it appeared, and seemed to stand on end less than it did in previous years. Oddly enough, it had almost the same texture as Severus's own when he left it without its usual coating of pomade. If Harry were to allow it to grow more, then perhaps...
Berating himself for even thinking about something as inconsequential as Potter's hair, Severus continued to search for any injuries the railing might have left.
The Dark Mark burned intermittently, and ever more intensely, as though its flames were being fanned by the winds from a storm system originating in the troposphere of the darkest magic. Severus willingly bore the pain as he continued feeling along Harry's scalp, stopping frequently when his fingers encountered the slight indentations of healed cuts or the resolving swellings from blunt impacts. Rage enveloped the potion master when he determined that the wounds were all at varying stages of healing, indicating regular abuse over the several weeks that Harry had been back at the Dursley's residence.
Severus shivered involuntarily, remembering with great reluctance that the condition of his scalp during his own school years hadn't been so different.
Almost like a ritual, young Severus would arrive at the Snape family home. He would immediately put away his trunk and bags, change out of his school uniform, and put on some very absorbent, dark coloured clothing. His father would arrive within the hour and confront the boy about any negative owls the school had sent home during the previous year. His father then would stoutly beat him for each one no matter how minuscule. Severus would normally try not to make a sound, although he would usually fail after paying penance for the third or fourth negative report from the school.
His outcry, no matter how low in volume or intensity, nearly always resulted in his mother running into the room to 'rescue' him from his father's heavy hand. Ultimately, young Severus would end up attempting to save her from being killed. Afterwards, he'd always tend their injuries, and make healing potions in secret, as he held a cold pack on his throbbing head. His dark, absorbent clothing betraying nothing of the bleeding wounds they concealed.
It had gone thus for many years, with little or no variation to the vicious routine. The punishment he had received at the end of his fifth year stood out, for it had been more degrading than most. Severus's head of house had sent an owl home regarding that incident in the courtyard where the Marauders had humiliated him after they had sat their O.W.Ls. Because his Head of House received the details of the Marauder's deeds via spectators and bystanders from the Hogwarts gossip mill, the story was largely exaggerated and fictionalized. Lucien Snape refused to listen to Severus's account on the events however, and the punishment he received for not making James Potter and company pay for their cruelty...
Severus forced himself back from his reverie. James Potter and Sirius Black were long dead, as was Lucien Snape. There was no merit in dwelling on such memories, but why had they suddenly resurfaced? What had triggered them?
A patch of dampness and matted hair drew Severus's attention. There was a gash on Harry's scalp. Not daring to move from the spot, or to use his magic to accio some gauze, Severus pulled the sheet off of the bed next to them, wadded up a portion of it, and gently pressed it to Harry's head in the hopes of halting the trickle of blood.
Unbeknownst to Severus, Harry had been fully conscious all along, and was aware of all that what was transpiring. The blow to his head had rendered him extremely dizzy, and only Professor Snape's cold hands seemed to secure him in a room that appeared to rotate as though the entire castle had been placed in a giant centrifuge.
Harry thought that being in his most despised potion master's arms would be something utterly disgusting. He believed Professor Snape would feel as greasy as his hair looked, and smell of stale perspiration, noxious potion fumes, and unwashed hair. To his surprise, Harry found that his father had very little scent on him at all. All he could detect was the faint smell of soap and medicinal herbs.
There was something so soothing, and comforting to being held this way. Having no memories of being in an adult's arms before, Harry was sure he would feel great awkwardness, and would have wanted to wriggle away in all haste.
Harry had no desire whatsoever to do so. He rather enjoyed the feeling of his father stopping the flow of blood from his head as he rested against the man's chest. He was sure his neck would have hurt so much more if the potion master's strong arms weren't supporting him in such a comfortable position.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but found he could not form any words. A part of him knew that he ought to let Severus know that he was okay, but another knew if he gave any indication that he was in satisfactory condition, his father would put him on the floor or onto the bed without hesitation. At this moment, there was no place he wanted to be more than in a parent's arms. His father's arms.
Hoping that Severus wouldn't react unfavourably, Harry shifted his head ever so slightly at the exact moment the man exhaled deeply. His left ear was now nearly over Severus's heart. It was a feeling Harry could never describe, even if he were given five more lifetimes to attempt to do so. The sound of Severus's heart, after hearing it said by many that the man had no heart whatsoever, was a soothing epiphany. More beautiful than a drumbeat played with perfect accuracy to the nanosecond, filling him with more warmth than all the stars in the Andromeda galaxy going nova simultaneously could ever generate. He never wanted to move from this very spot.
"I doubt very much that you can hear me, Potter," Severus leaned forward as he suddenly spoke, the ends of his hair lightly brushing Harry's cheek. "But I will not tolerate further impertinence from you in he future. Were you not in this condition, and had this been any time between September and June, I would not have hesitated to give you detentions for a month!"
Harry fought to keep his expression unchanged as he listened as the man's heart started beating at a quicker pace. "Yet..." The man's voice grew tense. "Why did you try to prevent from going to the meeting tonight?" Severus dropped the wadded sheet and checked to see if the bleeding had stopped. Harry almost flinched when Severus's hand brushed over a fresh bruise. "Did you in your arrogant way think that you could change my fate? Did you think that you alone could change the destiny of one who had resigned himself to the life..?" Severus paused when he detected a swelling on Harry's forehead just to the left of his infamous lightning bolt scar. "...and death of one who regularly engaged in espionage? Did you in your pride think you could purchase more days...no years, by saving me? More time for an undeserving spy..?"
Harry tried to avoid comparing himself with a hapless creature being examined before being processed for the caldron, even though that was how he felt under Severus's careful ministrations. He was determined more than ever now to build not only a working relationship with his father, but a relationship of mutual respect, need, and perhaps love. He would start by healing his father's physical wounds after Madam Pomfrey returned them back to their beds.
Hermione Granger had been studying for so long, that the words she had read in her text seemed to have lost their contentment with merely residing on paper, and were now floating just centimetres from her eyes. Even though she looked away from her tome, the words pursued her line of sight and floated before her even as she stared at the wall on the far side of her room.
As always, she had lost track of time, studying from early that morning, only stopping to eat, relieve herself and bathe. It was now long past nightfall, and she realized that he wasn't truly retaining much of the new materials she read. Sighing, Hermione put her books back into her school trunk and patted Crookshanks as he lay on her bed nearby. She crooned softly to him, and all he did was raise his head and meow as though he were replying in his own feline language.
Hermione realized that there was once again no one to talk to. Her thoughts wandered to the telephone for a moment, before she remembered that Ron Weasley had no phone, and Harry had no access to any of the phones in the Dursley home. It was probably too late to call anyone besides. She made a note to herself to send Harry and Ron owls later on, and to make sure they were keeping up with their school work. She rolled her eyes, Harry and Ron were so complacent when it came to their studies.
She walked into the hall so see if her parents were still around, but judging from her father's snores, and her mother's frequent "Really, dear! I can't get to sleep with your snoring! I recommend you fashion an oral prosthetic to..." Hermione concluded that her parents had retired for the night one or two hours ago.
Not wanting to retire just yet, Hermione made her way downstairs, her light blue nightdress billowing about her as she descended. She had neither brushed, nor made any attempt whatsoever at taming her brown mane when she washed it earlier, and it appeared to have doubled in volume over the past few hours. 'Bushy' would no longer be the word to describe it now, as it bore a closer resemblance to well-teased 70s style Afro. She reached into her mother's vanity drawers and found a pair elastic bands, which she used to fix her hair into two shaggy braids. Hermione could not be bothered with attempting to do more at this hour of the night.
After helping herself to a pint of premium suger-free cookie dough ice cream, and a can of sugar-free cola, Hermione flopped onto the sofa in the living room, and summoned the remote control for the telly. Being who she was, she could not bring herself to watch the reruns of situation comedies, talk shows, or late night variety shows which virtually all of the networks aired at that time of day. Instead, Hermione switched it on to a twenty four hour news channel and sat back to eat her ice cream.
A news anchor, who wore such thick glasses that he looked like a bug, appeared on the screen. "We have some breaking news to report." The scene changed to show a busy street in muggle London with strangely robed figures randomly appearing among the crowd. "Reports of robed vigilante groups duelling in the streets have been pouring in throughout the evening from all over the United Kingdom."
Hermione nearly choked on a spoonful of ice cream. "Is everyone completely disregarding the magical code of conduct?" Hermione muttered to herself as she chugged her cola. "Being seen in the streets like that...the Wizarding World will be exposed by daybreak."
"We bring you now to Pompous Windbagg in Beretaniashire. Pompous?" The Newscaster went on.
Hermione lost her appetite instantaneously when she saw the scene behind the newscaster. There were no less than eight St. Mary Sewage trucks along the street. People were everywhere, either laying unconscious on the pavement, or else vomiting into nearby trash bins. Hermione gaped at the sight of two robed figures with white masks laying several paces away from the reporter. Even the reporter spoke as though he were desperately attempting not to inhale through his nose. "The peace of the unassuming town of Beretaniashire was disturbed this evening by a mysterious odour. Officials blame it on a break in the sewer lines and ..."
The news anchor at the studio, obviously expecting a report on masked vigilantes, seemed momentarily taken aback somewhat to hear report on a mysterious stench. At the sight of a Hazardous Material van pulling up next to the sewage trucks, the remote news crew moved in, and the anchor pressed the reporter on scene for more information. The reporter then looked for people to interview.
"Wen I said this tahn needed an enema, right," an elderly woman spoke into the reporter's microphone."I didn't mean for everybody in the bloody 'oole tahn ter give themselves enemas all at once. It stinks! Blimey!"
Behind the news crew, Hermione thought she saw two robed figures with bright red hair receding into the darkness. She rolled her eyes, she might have guessed that at least one of the twins had been involved. She wasn't sure which one, as Fred and George were identical down to the last freckle. Her analytically inclined brain switched into overdrive and she immediately concluded that the Voldemort's troops must have been carrying out raids tonight. One or both of the twins must have been sent to Beretaniashire to lead a counterattack, and because nothing can change the inherent mischievous nature of a Weasley twin, tools from the joke shop must have been employed. Probably dungbombs in this case.
Because the news crew in Beretaniashire seemed so focussed on the stench, while completely ignoring the wizarding folk, Hermione reasoned that the Weasleys must have placed charms on them . The scene on the television gave new meaning to the term 'media frenzy.' The reporters and camera crew, along with another network's crew who arrived shortly thereafter, either wrestled their way into the sewage drains or else begged the sewage crew members for interviews.
Although she longed to phone the St. Mary Sewage corporation to inform them that there really was no sewage mishap and that the smell would subside as soon as the fumes from the dungbombs cleared, she didn't want to seem suspicious. The smell would resolve within a few hours anyway.
Hermione dropped her cola to the floor as a new realization dawned on her. As the network switched to yet another location showing masked and robed figures running in and out of the scene, while the news crew on site reported on something as inconsequential as an unusual increase in the local rat population, Hermione knew that memory and attention charms were not effective on viewers watching the live reports from home. The viewers watching the reports all across Britain, and Internationally, would notice the strange occurrences for sure.
Hermione knew she may have been watching the end of the wizarding world's secret existence. Voldemort and the Death Eaters, either through extreme carelessness, or perhaps with great intention, were making their presence known.
And feared.
Harry was not sure how much time had passed. He hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep, and was momentarily disoriented. All he could see was darkness with beams of resurgent moonlight filtering through the high windows.
He had been awakened by a soft snore coming from just above him. Looking up, Harry could barely distinguish his father's pale face from the surrounding darkness of both the night and the man's hair. His obsidian eyes were closed in a fitful slumber, darting under his pale lids as though attempting to watch many frightening occurrences simultaneously. The man's head was bent over as he rested, his face not more than a few centimetres from Harry's own. The ends of the man's hair brushed lightly against his face.
The comfort Harry felt upon realizing that he was still safely enveloped in his father's arms was immense beyond all methods of description. The accompanying sound of his father's heartbeat was the very embodiment of what could only be described as heavenly music. No, not even heavenly music would be a just comparison. Not even every angel's harp playing simultaneously could instill the same feeling in Harry's soul that the sound of his father's heartbeat could.
Being right here, right in this moment was to be truly home. Harry felt as though he had spent twenty lifetimes in purgatory with no hope of a better judgement or release. Even his years in Hogwarts seemed little more than a cooling breeze through his hair as the flames in his purgatory continued to lick at his flesh ravenously. He was finally freed; his father's warm body, his delicate heartbeat, and his surprisingly gentle hands gave Harry a sense of belonging he had never known. A peace that had never existed for him, embraced him fully now. Harry was home, and he never wanted to depart again.
Harry couldn't help but admire his father's incredible discipline. Even though Severus was weakened from injury and his body was shaking with exhaustion, the arm supporting Harry's head hadn't moved an iota. It was almost as though Severus kept just a small part of his mind awake to be sure he would adequately support Harry's head and prevent him from being injured further.
Severus groaned softly in his sleep, and Harry noticed that his left arm was trembling. He could almost feel a dark heat from beneath the man's white sleeve as his arm lay draped over Harry's chest. "How dare Voldemort!" Harry thought with a rage he didn't know he possessed. "Voldemort put father in this state. Tortured him until he could hardly walk and now The Dark Lord has the nerve to expect Father to crawl back to him just because he wills it? Bloody hell! The man's hurt!" Harry was shaking now, but willed himself to stop for fear of rousing his father.
In the past, Harry only resigned himself to his fate of battling Voldemort because it was expected of him to do so. That day in Dumbledore's office, when the prophecy was revealed to him, only reinforced the expectations he felt from many in the wizarding world. Voldemort and he would ultimately battle, and only one of them would survive. That was what was expected of him. And he was expected to win because he was on the side of the light. That is what he was sure even his closest friends expected. It was what his teachers and Dumbledore expected. He was sure that even Professor Snape, expected it.
Yet would Severus Snape, the man who was Harry's sire, expect that of him? Granted, he might expect it, but would he allow it if he knew? Could a father knowingly send his own son to his potential demise? Sure a father COULD do that, but would HIS father, Severus Snape, do it?
All of his years at Hogwarts passed through his mind in a split second. Although Professor Snape supposedly disliked Harry throughout those years, not once had he ever done anything to cause him harm. Indeed, Professor Snape had harmed his pride, but never more. And Professor Snape had saved his life time and again.
Harry was more than determined to return the favour. He knew that Snape had to have been in pain with all the injuries he still had. Harry had suffered greater pain from lesser wounds. Snape would not suffer any longer. Harry tentatively raised his wand had and motioned towards the wand still laying beside his pillow.
Not wanting to awaken Snape, Harry whispered: "Accio..."
"Potter!" Snape interrupted the incantation. The man's voice was still heavy with sleep, and his eyes reflected that state tenfold. Yet his right arm held it's position undaunted.
"Fa-Professor Snape," Harry said, faking the most pained expression he felt would not be construed as going overboard.
"You are in no condition to even attempt wandless magic!" Professor Snape scolded silkily. "Are you so vain that you fail to see that?"
"Like you're so vain that you refused Madam Pomfrey's healings? Like you're so vain you won't even drink a healing potion?" the words came out of Harry's mouth before he could stop them.
If Professor Snape hadn't been so weak and exhausted, Harry was sure that his father would have hurled him a diatribe to rival the best he had ever heard, or would ever hear even if he lived longer than Headmaster Dumbledore. Instead, Snape stared daggers at Harry. In fact, he stared so intensely, and so long, that Harry felt that Snape were staring the contents of an entire cutlery cupboard, an assortment of samurai swords, and a few American-made hunting knives thrown-in-for-good-measure at him. "It is not your concern as to why I haven't been healed. You would do well to concentrate on your own convalescence, Potter!"
"Yes sir," Harry lowered his eyes in contrition, Severus's words stinging more than they ever had before. "I'm sorry...fa-Professor."
Professor Snape merely nodded. To Harry's relief, the man made no move to put him either onto a bed or on the floor. At least not yet. "How are you feeling, Potter?"
"Quite sore," Harry answered with a forced wince, but the words he spoke were entirely true. "How are you feeling, sir?"
As Harry half anticipated, Snape ignored the question. "Then I dare not move you just yet, not until Madam Pomfrey ascertains the safety in doing so."
Harry caught himself a fraction of a second before he nodded, therby giving away his purposeful malingering. "Yes sir. I just...I just want to thank you, Professor Snape."
"Potter, you may be a grandiloquent twit, but I'm only doing what anyone else would have done if they were in similar circumstances." Professor Snape said scathingly.
Harry was about to argue that Snape had saved him more times than all of the other teachers combined had, but he did not want to vex Snape any further. Instead, Harry just stared deeply into his father's eyes, searching for a vestige of his grieving father somewhere beyond the hollow gaze.
Severus averted his eyes as though he had been staring for too long into the sun. Ordinarily, he was unbeatable in staring contests, and frequently put the Marauders and other students to shame whenever anyone dared challenge him. Yet if Harry were to challenge, he'd lose before the referee signalled the contest's start. Those eyes were so much like Lily's...and a certain green eyed angel somewhere on the fringes of his memories. The angel who had appeared in his dreams...as well as while he was awake. Even though Harry looked like James, he possessed eyes identical to the preborn angel.
'No,' Severus chided himself inwardly. 'That angel never existed. There are ghosts, there are premonitions and other supernatural phenomena, but there are no preborn spirits...or were there? There are no preborn spirits...then what did I see all those years ago?'
The turmoil played across his father's face like a refrain so resonant that Harry could hear every haunting note. What was troubling him so much? Why did father look everywhere except directly in his eyes? Was he in a greater amount of pain then he let on, and was too afraid of it showing in his face? Surely the Dark Mark hurt as badly as a welder's torch applied to the skin, and Harry cowered every time he thought about the rest of the unhealed injuries he had seen on Snape's body.
"Potter," Snape asked, still avoiding Harry's gaze as he applied the makeshift compress to another cut on Harry's head. "Why did you try and stop me earlier?"
"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, secretly enjoying his father's attentions, having never had anything but Aunt Petunia's rough combing before.
Severus clutched a lock of unruly hair and let out an exasperated breath. "Surely your memory isn't that short? I am referring to your stopping me from leaving the infirmary? Why did you feel the need to do that?"
Harry searched his mind for an excuse that sounded remotely believable. Although it had been said that the truth was usually best, Harry was unsure in this case. "I did it because Madam Pomfrey said you're not allowed to leave the hospital wing."
"Rubbish!" Snape tugged on one of Harry's locks a little to hard for it to be enjoyable. "You, some one who breaks rules whenever it suits you, would have me believe that?" Snape realized what he was doing and released Harry's hair immediately.
Harry decided on another approach. "All right, all right! I tried to keep you from leaving because you can hardly walk, and you'd probably fall and sprain your ankle...or...or... bump your head or something? And then Madam Pomfrey would have a much harder job of sorting you out."
Severus looked at Harry as though he had just tried to tell him that Dumbledore was really the offspring of a centaur and a chimpanzee and had all the powers of an average squib. "Potter! Do you take me for a fool?"
"No sir." Defeated, Harry decided to be as truthful as he possibly could without risking either of their lives further. "I would never think of you as a fool , Professor Snape. And the reason I tried to stop you tonight...is because...because I really don't want you to get hurt anymore."
Either Severus was too shocked to speak, or else he didn't believe a single word Harry said. He simply stared at Harry with is dark eyes wide. Harry decided to continue. "My scar connects me to Voldemort...I saw what he made the Death Eaters do to you."
"Y-you saw?" Snape paled. "H-ow m-much?"
Harry had never expected to hear the present Severus stammer before, but he decided to press on anyway. If his father wanted the truth, he would give it to him in spades. "I saw everything until Mr. Bacterian started using the pressurized water hose on you. You were suffering so much. I couldn't stand to watch after that. And...and I don't want you hurt like that again." Harry felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes, but Snape didn't see them because he was looking away. "You may not like me, and I may not have liked you before, but I care about you enough that I don't want you to be hurt again."
Harry noticed that the words flowed easier now that he had firmly laid the foundation for them. . "I care about you, sir! I care what happens to you! And I don't want you hurt ever again! Is that so hard for you to believe? You're a very intelligent man, so you'd better understand this: I ACTUALLY GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOU!"
Severus Snape went so pale, it appeared that his very blood had congealed.
End Part Eight
