Chapter 13 – Awakening
Terror, horror, fear; flight, fight, freeze. The war inside the completely still figure on the high hospital bed was bloody and all encompassing, leaving no room for rational thought or sense. Paralysed in his personal nightmare, Severus could only cry out silently for help, for someone to save him... yet no one came.
He didn't know what was happening to him while being immobilised, frozen, squeezed, pummelled, pinched, whirled about and hexed, unable to retaliate, unable to escape. Wailing in sheer panic, he did the only thing he was capable of; he passed out into a coma and fell into the potions garden of his mind.
Snape! Snape would save him!
It was gloomy in the garden, the sun was not shining and the sky was a leaden grey that seemed fathomless and disturbingly close. The rows of plants were still perfect but a perfection of the artificial as even the wind did not disturb a single leaf. The trees looked as if they had been painted onto the backdrop of the mountains and hills. Was this his portrait? Had he died when he wasn't looking? He pinched himself but that hurt, so maybe... The cottage was close at hand, the door cracked open and inviting. Again the room looked painted, more-so than outside, the rows of books and potions vials on the far wall looking so flawless. Severus checked but they were real books with genuine writing in them. The vials all could be opened and were filled with real liquid, identifiable by smell, if nothing else. Paintings wouldn't smell, ergo, this was not a painting, but something else.
Having established that much, Severus continued to explore the inside of the cottage but there were very few clues. Shaking his head, he wended his way back outside to the hammock strung between two trees. It was familiar and he had vague memories of lying curled in its depths while another soul looked after him. The other tended the garden, stooping and kneeling, picking and plucking, gathering ingredients. Snape!
Energised now, Severus began to search more diligently now that he had a real goal… to find Snape! The thinking man, rather than himself, the feeling man. Was he the feeling man? Did he have control of the emotions… for whom? For the whole body? For himself? He was Severus Snape, wasn't he? Yes, a Potions Master... who... who was a Professor at the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry! That was him, Severus Snape!
Ridiculously pleased by these deductions, Severus continued to wander through the regimented garden, realising that this was a potions garden and not a place of leisure. And that the Feverfew and the Allheal were ready for harvest. How did he know that? Wasn't Snape supposed to know things like that? He was not supposed to have knowledge, not book-type knowledge, was he? It was all so terrifying.
Severus huddled beside the climbing Witch's Broom Straws, brushing the inquisitive tentacles away from his hair as he buried his hands in the heavy, rich soil. It would need a bit more blood and bone if the broom straws were going to stiffen into anything like useful in the next few weeks. And if he added Nundu dung he could get a much longer, heavier crop to use in the next batch of Skele-gro.
Again, the wild terror of knowing things he shouldn't know drove him to flee to the woods surrounding the property, tripping over Wood Sorrel and stumbling into a Golden Orb spider's web strung between two branches. Oh Merlin! How did he know these horrible things? Why did he know these dreadful things? Where was Snape? This was his knowledge, his domain! Severus was in charge of controlling and restricting the emotions.
Severus stumbled against a mighty Oak tree then shrieked as he began to fall, tumbling top over turkey as he banged down a flight of stairs and slammed head first into a riser, losing all consciousness in a flair of pain.
oo0oo
Poppy stared down at her injured colleague and shook her head sadly. She had tried, Merlin knew how she had tried, to take care of him. But he was slipping further away with each passing day. No matter how much Albus wanted it or how much he wished for it, she was just a school Medi-witch – although she wouldn't say that aloud. If all the skilled healers at St Mungo's couldn't heal Severus, what in the world made Albus think she could? Oh, he may waffle on about sympathetic environment and love being the key, but medical magic was more likely to afford a genuine cure, not simply wishful thinking.
Now Severus had slipped back into a deep coma, much as he had in the hospital and there was nothing to be done except monitor his condition and hope he came out of it. Granted, she could slip nutrition potions into his stomach and make sure he had enough fluids that his body did not suffer but healing him was beyond her. Of course she had a lot of help and she was grateful for that, even if it wasn't trained help. Young Vincent Crabbe and his new wife Lavender were often in the Infirmary to sit with Severus, as well as a lot of Severus' Slytherins, past and present.
Oddly enough, Alastor Moody came and did a stint as a baby sitter, admittedly with much grumbling and glaring, yet he was good at reading aloud and conversing with Severus, never expecting an answer. Of course, that could be because the retired Auror often talked to himself but Poppy didn't like to say so. Albus had convinced Moody to take up the position of Defence against the Dark Arts professor again when they reopened the school. The old Auror had agreed after much humming and hawing. Poppy shook her head at the thought of the student body's reaction and twitched the cover straight over Severus' chest again. It was certainly going to be an interesting year!
oo0oo
Severus had never been in this part of the mind before. This was Snape's province. Snape had mentioned he had stored all of their knowledge in the lower regions so that no passing Legilimens could steal it. When he had first awoken, Severus thought his fall had rendered him blind but no, after a few minutes of swearing and moaning, the torches had spontaneously lit themselves, which turned out to be a mixed blessing. While it was a great relief to be able to see, now he could make out that the entrance to the flight of stairs he had fallen down was tightly closed, trapping him in this underground vault.
Turning slowly, he surveyed the space looking for a way out. He smiled slightly when the torches flickered, their flames pointing to a dark corner illuminating the faintest outline of a small door. Ignoring a desk and the book on it, Severus headed for the small exit with a lighter step.
Unfortunately, the tiny door led only to another corridor. Severus' shoulders slumped, his lower lip pouting out. It just was not fair! 'Life isn't fair, so live with it!' The snide comment echoed faintly in his memory, a fleeting hint of green eyes and a messy head of hair jogging his memory for an instant, but too fast to examine closely. Slouching and dragging his feet, Severus stomped down the corridor, then paused when a wavering of light to his left caught his attention. A small porthole in the wall appeared in the light, where a playlet was taking place inside the room beyond the window.
A grim-faced, upright old woman berated a small, dark boy, her riding crop striking repeatedly on the hunched shoulders of the child. Severus winced as the memory of the beating seemed to trigger other memories of the same type. He remembered these beatings but the hurt, the agony of torn flesh and broken bone were missing, the emotional wounds a dim and distant echo. That wasn't how Severus remembered it; he remembered every screaming nerve ending, every nuance of betrayed trust and crushed hope, not this wishy-washy shadow dance. What was going on?
The next porthole showed the same boy, somewhat older, writhing in torment as four boys of the same age taunted and harassed him. But again, none of the betrayal and hurt accompanied the vision. The girl with the red hair only recalled a faint regret instead of the crushed emotions and bitter betrayal of friendship he thought should have happened. Why could he not feel anything?
Where was the visceral terror when the next porthole in line gave him a glimpse of teeth and claws, the howls of a werewolf echoing through the annals of memory? Where was the grand passion and drama of his great loves, first for Lucius and then Tom? Why did he only feel a dim puzzlement when Tom betrayed him or a mild sense of relief when Dumbledore accepted his, Severus', change of heart? He passed more memories of war, peace, students and explosions without a single flicker of deep emotion. Everything seemed leached of life and heart; left as merely a factual narrative in his head... or in Snape's head, maybe. Was this how Snape dealt with emotions, by bleaching them of all real meaning before analysing them for cause and effect?
Something moved in the corner of his eye. As he whipped around, he saw nothing was there, only a shadow flickering on the wall in the torch-light. Still, he was spooked and hurried through the memory vault to the other side where he discovered himself back in the original room with the blocked stairs and the desk to one side. Shaking his head, he crossed to the almost empty surface of the desk and glanced down at the letter discarded there.
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, you knew that a castle was not the best form of Occlumency defence..."
Occlumency? Castle? But... Severus shrugged and went back to reading.
"… but, well, you did start it very young and it has served you well regardless. 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.
You couldn't bring down all your memories and recollections for saving as that would have come dangerously close to causing schizophrenia. It would have made what you were doing conspicuous. But you copied and stockpiled all your factual knowledge for safe-keeping."
Ah! So that explained the emotion free memories and complete lack of flavour in the hall of portholes. Interesting!
"If you had not been attacked, this cache would have lain dormant for as long as necessary. This time, however, when you rebuild your mind, make it into a multilevel construct. You had planned to make the view of your mind into a potions paradise, suiting your personality and the perceived bent of your mind. Anyone entering your reconstructed mind would get lost if they had no knowledge of potions or if you chose to lead them around in circles until they were mazed. When you pass through the door only you can see, you will find all the tools and knowledge required to rebuild, but I suggest you start slowly and carefully; make it solid, to last, as you won't be able to recreate yourself again. Know that even this effort might not work. It was a long shot after all, and already you've 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!"
Severus flopped down into the padded chair that had appeared out of thin air and scrubbed a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. That explained a lot… the garden, the plants, his knowledge he knew without realising that he did know it. Somehow, Snape had given him everything necessary before he disappeared, everything except his own area of expertise. Still, he could always relearn emotions, he was capable of feeling after all and with Snape's knowledge, he'd be capable of surviving in his own mind, probably. He gnawed a fingernail and briefly remembered someone poking metal slivers down to the nail bed. Shrugging away the memory, he bit back the pain and tried to plan for the future. Although his thoughts were in turmoil, his body needed rest and he slipped into a deep slumber.
oo0oo
There was blackness; oppressive, bitterly cold darkness crushing his mind and soul, not the friendly dark he preferred but a horrifying plunge into disorientation. Terrified, he tried to scream and escape but his eyelids only opened onto a stark, blindingly bright whiteness that was as overwhelming as the black had been. If this was sleep, he wanted to wake up in the tunnel again! Better trapped than in this hellish place!
His throat closed and only a thin, high-pitched squeal escaped. Even the act of opening his eyes caused an avalanche of tremors to cascade through his body, tearing his muscles and ripping his tendons until he arched high. These were not the tremors of the Cruciatus Curse, but something different. If anything, they were even more horrendous as they involved body, mind and soul in a most fundamental way. His movements alerted the nurses who immediately coaxed potions down his tight, unwilling throat. Spells kept him on the firm mattress but did little to ease the distress of either the patient or the watchers.
"Damn them! What have they done to him?" Minerva cursed as her colleague struggled to fight the invisible demons of his mind and the trembling rigors of his body.
"They 'reintegrated' his personalities," Poppy snapped bitterly as she cast yet another anti-convulsive charm and wished dearly that she had more skill in this area. "Well, whatever they did, it was not very successful, and I don't know how to help him!" she nearly wailed.
"Draught of Peace, twelve drops every two hours." The croak was barely unrecognisable but it was Severus dictating his own treatment. "Muscle relaxer and two drops of Belconis solution, dissolved in murtlap sap every four hours."
Poppy nodded and scurried off to get the potions while Minerva stared in complete shock at the still wracked man on the high hospital bed. She leaned over his briefly still form. "Can you hear me… Severus?" she asked tentatively.
"Min... Minerva," he stuttered, a look of relief and fear ghosting over his face before his visage twisted in agony again. "How... not caught by Death Eaters then?"
"No, Severus, you are at Hogwarts. You're safe now," the witch assured him as Poppy ran back with an armful of bottles.
"Good. I feared... I must... I want to go home!" The last word became a wail as lucidity left and he convulsed once again.
oo0oo
Severus woke with a jump and glanced around the office once again, his dream all too real. His bones felt like they'd been ground and pounded for hours. Which world was real? Him? The underground office trap? Or that, where he had spoken to Minerva? Was he dreaming he was trapped or dreaming he was tortured? He shook his head to clear his thoughts and rose to climb the stairs, pressing on the door that blocked the exit. To his surprise, the door gave way and he managed to scramble out into the garden once again.
Usually it was Snape who worked out their situations and applied solutions he concocted, but now Snape was conspicuous by his absence, 'just when he is bloody well needed, too, the traitor', Severus thought in disgust. Although, and Severus straightened with pride, he wasn't doing too badly in the working things out department himself!
Still, he did want to go home he decided, back to his dungeons and his private lab where he could brew to his heart's content... but that was usually Snape's idea of heaven, not his. Severus' idea of heaven was to be held and loved by... someone... but whom? Who did he love? Not Lucius, not anymore. He had seen the fight he and Lucius had and seen the ultimatum the Malfoys had given him through one of the portholes. Someone who loved him back, small, muscular and... hairy? Maybe. Definitely not Tom, who was tall, skinny and as smooth as snakeskin, especially in his last incarnation. Severus shuddered in revulsion at the very thought of touching that pale, scaly flesh.
It was all too hard to fathom and he climbed onto the canopied bed in the cottage and lay down to rest, immediately being flung back into the bright world of pain and potions.
oo0oo
AN: What to say, hope you enjoy.
Regards
Les