Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.
I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.
If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.
Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.
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Chapter 08 – The World as He Knows It
When Ibrim finally brought his panic under control, he quickly realised scrabbling like a wild animal at the crack in the rock was not going to do him any good. Taking deep calming breaths, he made his way carefully down the passage, wand at the ready. The blind end of the passage debouched into an office complete with desk and chair, with a letter laid squarely on the blotter addressed in a quite familiar hand.
"If you are reading this, then it's all gone to hell above ground! So, let's get right to it, no time to lose!
Once you really started to study the subject of Occlumency and Legilimency, you knew that a castle was not the best form of Occlumency defence but, well, you did start out very young and this castle has served you well. Obviously, someone has put a lot of thought into destroying you and it's a good thing you built this bunker to protect as much of the important knowledge as you could."
There was no greeting or salutation, just the blunt scribing of… The Snape? Of himself… speaking to himself. Shaking his head, Ibrim continued to read, the words coalescing behind him to form another copy of himself, not quite the same but still…
"You couldn't gather all your memories and recollections for saving as that would have been too close to causing schizophrenia. It would have made what you were doing conspicuous but you copied and brought down all your factual knowledge for safe-keeping. If you had not been attacked, this cache would have lain dormant for as long as necessary. So, this time, when you rebuild your mind, make it into a multilevel construct. You have planned to make the view of your mind into a potions paradise, which would suit your personality and the perceived bent of your mind. Anyone entering your reconstructed mind would get lost without a knowledge of potions or you could choose to lead the person around in circles until the unfortunate was thoroughly disorientated. When you pass through the door, only you can see you all the tools and knowledge necessary to rebuild, but I suggest you re-build slowly and carefully; make it solid to last as you won't be able to recreate yourself again. Even this effort might not work; it was a long shot after all. You have already had to recreate yourself once. This is the second and final time.
Good luck and Merlin help you! There are a few ideas you thought of earlier tacked to the wall inside, I suggest you use them!"
As the letter finished, it crumbled but the bits did not float away. Instead, they coated the figure behind Ibrim, making it more substantial. The slight noise of an indrawn breath made Ibrim turn and gasp too, the two aspects of Ibrim Snape staring at each other for a long time. They did not need to speak; they knew who the other was, how he was, what he was, instantly, without words, and they nodded. Relieved of the burden of being the sole possessor of the will, Ibrim moved back and allowed Snape to take over the guidance of their life as he always had.
Snape accepted the burden without a flicker of strain and watched as Ibrim faded back, sinking through the floor and taking up his accustomed place near… the third's?… spine. Who was the third? He paused and Ibrim paused in his slow return to place but neither could remember. Shaking their heads, puzzled but resigned, Ibrim continued to find his resting place while Snape curiously surveyed his surroundings.
Frowning, Snape looked up and noticed a small door set high in the far wall, hidden in a corner and not at all conspicuous. He instantly knew it was the door the letter referred to, the one nobody could see except him, and his other... two?... aspects. Touching his wand to a corner or the doorframe, it opened onto a narrow, dimly-lit corridor lined with the doors and portholes familiar to Snape, the same type of construct he usually used to organise his memories. Climbing up, Snape slipped through the tiny doorway and carefully descended to the floor below. Strolling up to a porthole, he sampled a few of the nearest snippets then sighed in relief. It was nearly all there, his mind, his knowledge, his life. He was saved!
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Minerva lay on her back in a patch of early blooming heather, the sun warming her belly, the very tip of her tail moving in lazy contentment, her paws folded neatly on her chest. Further down the narrow valley, Albus stood beside the fast flowing burn, a slim fly rod working the water with masterly skill. Minerva didn't think he would catch anything, wrong season for the trout to rise, but it didn't hurt to try and fly fishing could be so relaxing.
They had been at her family cottage a week and were thoroughly enjoying the complete break with the wizarding world. It hadn't been easy to make Albus let go of his cares but the crisp Highland weather and the lure of trout or even salmon in the stream had finally won him over. A wee dram at night on top of a day's worth of fresh, clean air had ensured deep, peaceful sleep and twenty years had fallen from the headmaster's shoulders.
A couple of Hogwarts house-elves assisted her one elderly family house-elf in caring for their needs and cooking for them as necessary. The house-elves even did the shopping, bringing the groceries in from Hogwarts every morning. Minerva had discretely told them to leave the newspapers, particularly the Daily Prophet, out of their care packages. If the wizarding world was teetering on the edge of disaster, then it would just have to do it without any help from them!
Gleeful shouts from further down the valley made Minerva spring to her paws, her tail brisling, but then she huffed in annoyance. The mad old coot capered wildly, his rod bending at an alarming angle under the weight of a beautiful brown trout. Sighing deeply, Minerva stalked down through the heather and gorse bushes knowing her peace and quiet was gone for the rest of the afternoon. She would have to listen attentively to the story of the trout that would get bigger and the fight it put up fiercer at every subsequent telling. Such was the way of men and fishermen and she would bet her last kipper snack that even the headmaster of Hogwarts wasn't immune to that particular trait. If she could have chuckled in her present form, she would have; life was good!
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The Forbidden Forest was deep and dank. The stony river ran between rolling moor-covered hills. The clear blue lake was deep and mysterious. The distant mountains rose steep and jagged. The sea surf pounded the shore. The fierce sun beat down on the sand and stone strewn desert. Snape looked over the domain he had created and found it… a wonderful landscape with every habitat he could think of for perfect potions ingredients.
With single-minded determination, Snape had recalled every minute detail of the places he had visited to collect potions ingredients. The more successful the area, the finer the detail he had managed to recall. He was reasonably sure he could add more details as he visited the real areas, once he was on his feet again, but for now he was satisfied with his work. He gently waved away a butterfly from his nose and turned back to the area he was going to plant as a cultivated potions garden, something to rival the Malfoy or Hogwarts potions gardens, he decided while stalking and pacing out the beds.
The joy of creating this place was not the fact that the work was easy; it was not. The greatest joy was that it came out exactly the way he wanted it to, every single time. He didn't have to rely on gardeners, house-elves, or even nature to shape his world. He did it all with the power of his mind. Here, in this place, he truly was a God. If he wanted dragons in the mountains, then let there be dragons! If he wanted mer-folk in the lake, then there they sang. Lethifoils? Done! Nundu? Naturally! Flobberworms and night crawlers? Buckets of them!
Giggling inanely, Snape suddenly snapped his mouth shut and glared at nothing in particular. There be madness, if he wasn't careful. Perhaps he should rest a while; after all, there was no real way to tell the time. He didn't know if an hour or a day had passed since he found the treasure trove of the mind, of his mind. But where to rest? He had no… And there was a cottage at the edge of the garden, a bit crude but still… Shaking his head in amazement, Snape made his way over to the stone and thatch building and pushed open the door. It was small but clean and best of all, beyond the far door, there was a bed. He sank down gratefully, more tired than he realised and was instantly asleep.
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"Still no change, I'm afraid. He remains completely unresponsive to external stimuli," the Medi-wizard reported to Madam Malfoy who sat with carefully folded hands on his guest chair. Lord Malfoy continued to stare out of the window, his posture relaxed even as he gnawed on his lip.
"Have you tried playing music to him, reading a journal aloud, all the tactile stimuli?" Madam Granger-Malfoy asked again.
Tobias Thornfeld sighed, reminding himself not to lose patience. After all, a witch interested in mind healing was an unusual thing. Usually they just looked boggled and took his word at face value. "I am sure, Madam. After he slipped into the deep coma last week, we did everything we could, including some ventilation spells and heart massage charms to keep his body alive. Yet there was no mental response. Then, when his brain suddenly plunged into mad activity, we tried everything we could to awaken him without result. No outside stimulus seems to penetrate his shields which are now firmly back in place."
"So he could be getting better inside?" Draco asked from his post at the window.
"He could be... On the other hand, he could be having seizures and brain storms and we just wouldn't know."
"Surely an EEG machine could tell the difference?"
"A what?" Thornfeld was forced to ask. "Madam, the monitoring spells pick up magical activity, they don't tell you what it means. Just that it is present. They are, after all, only charms, you realise?" He hadn't meant to be so condescending but, really?
Hermione bristled. "The Muggles have EEG, electro-encephalograph machines which tell you what parts of the brain are active and how they are active. By reading the tracings, the operator can tell the difference between normal brain activity, sleep activities, and blasted seizures!" She finished at a roar, then pressed her lips firmly together. "What does Professor Dumbledore have to say on the matter?"
It was Thornfeld's turn to look grim. "Nothing. We have been unable to contact him and, if the rumours are to be credited, he has left the country on an illicit tryst with a pair of witches barely in their teens." He almost smiled as the two younger people gave him boggled looks, then burst into raucous laughter. "I know, ridiculous, really, but that's the latest rumour. Quite frankly, Professor Dumbledore is the only one capable of penetrating Professor Snape's shields. Until the Headmaster surfaces again, from wherever he has gone off to, we are at a standstill."
"Very well, we will return on Wednesday," Lord Malfoy said decisively as he straightened up. "Continue the treatment and make sure he is well cared for."
"Of course! All our patients are well cared for," Thornfeld muttered indignantly.
"Even the ex-Death Eaters?" Malfoy jibed as he escorted his wife away.
"Even them," Tobias muttered, then sighed. "Yes, even them."
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The curled figure didn't react as the small bones in his finger snapped with a satisfying series of crackles. The long, thin needles forced under the same fingernails didn't elicit any reaction, either. Mike Lonkreith longed to hear him scream and beg as his brother had begged for mercy but there was no response. Even dislocating the filthy Death Eater's shoulder was an exercise in futility as the man never even flinched as the joint wetly popped. It was so satisfying to torture and maim the damned Death Eater. Of course, he had to mend all the damage before the next shift came on duty or he would lose his Medi-wizard licence which would never do. Still, the short-lived maiming did soothe a tiny fraction of the roiling fury in his soul and slaked a minute flake of the thirst for revenge Lonkreith harboured. He had managed to have three full sessions with his victim so far and had a lot worse planned for him in the future!
A noise at the door made the Medi-wizard hurriedly repair the damage to the man's hand and palm the needles from the fingernails before the healer turned a bland, smiling face on the new arrival.
"Any change?" the Medi-witch on the next shift asked as she checked the chart at the end of the bed.
"Nothing to report at all," Mike shrugged, smoothing the sheet back into place. Odd how the fingers had moved of their own accord but no alarms had gone off to say there was some magical activity starting in the patient.
"Oh well, perhaps when Professor Dumbledore returns…"
"Perhaps."
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Snape looked up from the garden bed where he was tending the dandelions to see a huddle of black lying on the footpath between the beds. Curious, he wandered over and stopped in surprise. The man was a tightly curled ball of limbs and robes, his face firmly pressed into his knees, his features completely hidden by material and hair. It was indeed odd and Snape bent to give the figure a shake before he realised it was... himself.
"Severus?" he called in surprise, but there was no response. Shaking his head, he levitated the curled man up and into the cottage, lowering him to the bed and banishing his filthy robes. What had happened to Severus while he had been busy playing in his own paradise? Obviously nothing good! There were bruises and scrapes, swollen joints and half-healed bones sticking out of parchment-thin skin. "Merlin, what a mess!" Snape exclaimed as he began to treat the damaged and dying representation of his physical form, his body.
Severus had always had a knack as a Medi-wizard, knowing more about the effects his potions and spells had on each system than most healers ever began learning. Admittedly, some of his knowledge was acquired during torture sessions and through experiments that would never have been sanctioned under a sane leader, but it was good information nonetheless. Snape used the far-reaching breadth of knowledge now, to brew potions and design charms to heal and strengthen badly abused muscle and shredded sinew, to repair internal and external damage. The hands particularly worried him. As fast as Snape healed them, they became damaged again. Sometimes, even as Snape mended a fine bone, it snapped before his eyes! This was simply not acceptable!
Furious that all his hard work was being abrogated, Snape swept his wand over the whole domain, pulling wards and bindings from the very earth and the sky to wind around the curled figure on his bed. The shield sparkled and bent, then firmed and coalesced into a shining sphere of powerful protection, enclosing them both in its confines. At this, the damage ceased and Snape made a small sound of self-satisfied pleasure as he set to healing once again.
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Mike Lonkreith reared back as a bubble of pure magic suddenly emanated from the patient, repelling the Medi-wizard's hands and expelling the barbed hooks he had forced into the skinny muscles of the Death Eater's forearms and biceps. The bloody chunks of meat the sadist had torn free and neatly laid out on the bedsheet vanished with a sizzle as the magical protection field flowed over, although the blood and the jagged holes in the upper arms remained raw and bloody. The protections sparkled a roiling red and black as some unknown spell seemed to taste the sheets, then edged down to the floor as the protections expanded even further, engulfing everything with a quietly ominous crackle at the interface.
Suddenly a wall hit Mike in the shoulder and he realised he had backed away as far as he could to avoid the force field that was creeping up on him at a steady pace. Edging along carefully, he almost made it to the doorway before the very edge of the bubble touched his robe's hem and the ward snapped alert, pinning him flat against the pale painted plasterboard. The protective magic crawled over him, clawing higher, stopping to dissolve the spots of blood it found on his robes before inching higher.
Whimpering softly, Mike raised his chin, terrified of what would happen when the hot tide covered his face. Would he suffocate? Would he burn? He managed one small scream before the crackling ward engulfed him, flinging the unfortunate sadist into the air, turning, tossing and pummelling him by the opposing forces of wrath!
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