Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, no matter how much I wish I did.
Chapter Sixteen: Repercussions
Harry bolted awake from another nightmare. His fingers tingled with the last vestiges of adrenaline in his system, and he kept his eyes wide open for the snakes that chased him in his dream. He hadn't been asleep for an hour yet, that much he could tell by the light coming in the windows.
Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office. "Awake, I see?" she asked rhetorically, setting a tray of several potions down next to the bed. "Come on then," she said, helping him into a sitting position. He was still shaking as he drank the first potion down.
He stopped shaking almost as soon as it touched his lips. "Feel better?" madam Pomfrey asked with a small smile. Harry nodded. "Much," he said, relaxing. Madam Pomfrey, however, looked the opposite of relaxed.
"Come again, dear?" she asked, visibly stirred.
"I said I feel much better," Harry said, worry etched into his brow. "What's wrong?"
Madam Pomfrey shot straight out of her seat. "Sit tight while I go and fetch Severus," she said, hurrying out of the room as though she expected Harry to chase after her or something.
Harry felt utterly bemused, which quickly slipped away into boredom. He entertained himself by turning a glass of potion this way and that. The liquid inside was a kind of metallic, opaque silver, but light shined through it easily and left stunning displays of refraction on the tray beneath it.
Harry was just growing bored of his little game (Trying to see shapes in the refracted light) when the doors opened again. He looked up and smiled briefly. Snape was there, but he didn't look to happy. Harry's smile turned to a frown almost immediately.
"A word alone, if you don't mind, Madam," said Snape, curtly drawing the curtains around Harry and himself. "What have you been doing now?" asked Snape in a very exasperated voice. "Madam Pomfrey was nearly screaming. Something about an exorcist."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "I haven't been doing anything sir," he said, and, to his amazement, Snape collapsed into a chair, head in his hands.
"What's wrong, sir?" Harry asked, but Snape held up a hand to silence him.
"Keep quite or Madam Pomfrey really will call for an exorcist," Snape said, rubbing his eyes vigorously. "I take it you don't know you're speaking Parsletounge?" asked Snape, and Harry's eyebrow arched steeply. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and instead shook his head.
Even as he did so, he became very light headed, and the shivers began again.
Snape looked at him sharply. "Did you finish taking your potions?"
"No, sir," said Harry. It was Snape's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"Now you're speaking English. Kindly find one language and stick to it, if you please," said Snape, voicing the epitome of tired. "Where you shaking before you took the potions?" he asked.
Harry nodded. "It was just the one potion, though," he said, nodding to the empty glass. Snape lifted the glass and held it under his beak-like nose for a brief moment. "That explains the lack of shaking, but not the Parsletounge."
Harry again looked bewildered. "W-w-what d-d-does?" he asked, his shaking increasing to the point of a stutter.
"It was a coping potion. You're obviously traumatized," said Snape in an offhand manor, trying to be aloof so he could keep the emotion out of his voice. "The next few potions would have put you to sleep to aid it, but as you've stayed awake this long, it's already passed through your system. Your symptoms are coming back.
"W-w-w-why w-w-wasn't I sh-sh..." Harry couldn't complete his question, partly due to the stutter and partly to the embarrassment from it.
"Why weren't you shaking before?" Snape asked for him. Harry nodded jerkily. Snape gave a half shrug. "I'm not a psychologist, but it might be a late coping mechanism. Did you dream about anything while you were asleep?"
Harry nodded in that jerky way again, as though trying to pop his neck. In fact, as one particularly nasty tremor rattled his body, his back popped like machine gun fire. "S-s-s-snakes," he answered as best he could.
Snape nodded and stood up. "I'll be back momentarily." He walked through the curtain, leaving Harry to jitter in his bed like he was being electrocuted.
Snape returned after a while with a very shaken looking Madam Pomfrey. "And I trust you'll be keeping quite, Madam Pomfrey?" Snape asked, looking over his shoulder.
"To the grave, Severus," she responded. "Here you are, then. It should be spelled right into his stomach if you want him to take any of it in that state." She handed Snape a small vial and removed herself to her office, where, no doubt, there was a bottle of firewhiskey with her name on it.
Snape inspected the vial and pulled out his wand. Harry pulled himself back against the wall, away from Snape.
"It's just a muscle relaxer," said Snape, answering Harry's unasked question. Harry relaxed, or appeared to as he continued to shake. Snape muttered something and the liquid in the vial drained away, as if there was a hole in the bottom. Harry felt the shaking lessen, then stop.
"Come on, then," said Snape. "It will only last a few hours and I don't want to give you another dose. It's not all that good for you."
Harry got out of the hospital bed and swayed on the spot. It felt like every part of his body had gone to sleep and was only just starting to wake up, pins and needles and all.
"Here," said Snape, offering Harry a cane. "I don't think you'll do to well on crutches. We need to go see the Headmaster."
Harry, using the cane to support himself, limped after Snape, continually shaking himself out. The feeling was too much like having ones foot go to sleep to stop the involuntary action. Snape watched him carefully to make sure they were harmless shakes before leading Harry on.
A thought struck Snape as they made a bee-line to the Stone gargoyle that concealed the entrance to the headmaster's office. It was lunch time, and perhaps he wouldn't be in. Snape paused and thought about going to the great hall to see, but Harry took that moment to trip over his feet trying to stop. Snape helped him up and decided that trying the office first would be for the best.
Snape helped Harry the rest of the way to Dumbledore's office entrance and realized he didn't know the password. "Err, lemon sherbet?" he said to the gargoyle, who remained impassive. "Damn."
"Sir?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, Dumbledore's office requires a password for entry," Snape explained. "It's usually some kind of sweet. The man loves candy more than most children. Can you think of any?"
"Liquorish wand?" guessed Harry out loud, and the Gargoyle moved aside.
"Lucky guess," said Snape in a kind way. Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. "Even more lucky, the stairs move, so you don't have to worry about climbing them," continued Snape, helping Harry onto a step and following after.
They both stood at the landing, Harry leaning heavily on the cane. The pins and needles had left, and in their stead was total numbness. It made his head swim, and he blinked slowly as though fighting sleep.
Snape knocked on the door, hoping he didn't have to drag the boy all over the castle to find the old Headmaster.
"Enter," came the reply from inside. Snape opened the door and helped Harry inside.
"Severus," said Dumbledore, smiling. "And Mr. Potter. What a surprise."
"Hi," offered Harry, whose mouth was going numb.
Dumbledore motioned for them to sit down, and they did.
"To what can I owe this visit?" Dumbledore asked, setting aside his meal.
"Mr. Potter seems to be having an adverse reaction to the Coping Drought," intoned Snape. "Shortly after administration, he began speaking in Parsletongue."
"Is that so?" asked Dumbledore, quirking his eyebrow. "Has anything else happened? I believe Mr. Potter has not exhibited normal symptoms associated with trauma?"
"Actually, before taking the potion, but after a brief nap, Mr. Potter began to shake violently," said Snape. Harry watched them talk, unwilling to interrupt.
Dumbledore seemed to consider this before getting up and walking around the table. He knelled in front of Harry and examined him. He pulled out his wand and muttered "Lumos" then passed it in front of his eyes, back and forth.
"His eyes are not reacting to the light," said Dumbledore in a thoughtful voice.
"He was administered a Muscle relaxant to make the trip here, as his shaking returned. He was not given the follow-up sleeping potion, and his system burned through the Coping Drought. I feared his shaking might cause damage to his person," said Snape, watching Dumbledore.
"Of course," said Dumbledore perfunctorily. "Did you check his reflexes before giving him the potion?"
"I must say, I didn't consider it. His shaking was rather extreme."
Dumbledore nodded and stood up. "What about his speaking in Parsletongue? How did you find out? Surely you did not spend your entire time next to the boy's bedside, Severus?" The old man's eyes twinkled like little lights.
"I would have," thought Snape. "I was informed by a rather distraught Madam Pomfrey," he said.
Dumbledore's eyes stopped twinkling. "Oh dear," he said, the wind out of his sails. "Is she alright?"
"She seems to have recovered well," said Snape. "In any case, we keep going off on tangents. Do you know why he would react in such a way to a Coping Drought?"
Dumbledore sat behind his desk once more and steepled his fingers. "He wasn't shaking before the nap, you say?"
Harry took then to interject. "Er, sir," he said, not knowing if he was allowed to speak. In most cases when the adults talked, it was only the adults talking. When Dumbledore looked over to him and smiled, Harry continued. "I felt fine before I took the nap, sir. When I woke up, I was shaking."
"Did you dream about anything that you can remember?" asked Dumbledore.
Harry nodded. "Snakes. I dreamed about them before, just before the...er..." He stopped talking, looking down. He didn't feel like talking about it.
"The incident," said Dumbledore lightly. Harry nodded to his shoes.
"Harry, would you please tell me about your school life?" asked Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair.
Harry looked up. "What do you mean, sir?"
"Well, how do you feel about school? How did you feel about school? Why, if you do, do you feel differently than you did before?" Dumbledore smiled under his half-moon spectacles.
"Oh, er, well." Harry hadn't really ever thought about it. He just went day to day. "When I started," he said after he thought about it for a few seconds. "I was really happy, you know, 'cuz the Sorting Hat told me it would put me where I could do the most good. You know, do my best and all that."
Harry blushed and, if possible, looked even further than down. "Then I felt really sad and angry, because no one liked me," he told his stomach. The numbness had subsided and left him feeling alright, if a bit loose and limp like cooked noodles.
"But then," he continued, looking up, noticing Dumbledore still had his undivided attention. "Draco and Blaise and Theodor helped me out on my first day, so I guess I felt better then, because I had friends." He twiddled his thumbs in his lap.
Dumbledore nodded. "And how do you feel now?" he asked.
Harry chewed his lip. "I-I really don't know, sir. I just..." He trailed off, and pulled his knees up to his chest in the chair. Snape was going to tell him off for lack of decorum, but stopped himself.
"I'm just confused," said Harry after awhile. He gave a great sniff, and Snape realized he'd been crying. "Everyone seems to love me for something I can't remember, or hate me for it. Then, when I do something else, I get the same reaction, like I'm something in a zoo."
"Like what?" asked Dumbledore, calmly.
"Like when the Slytherins found out I could speak Parsletongue," said Harry. "Everyone just kind of stared at me."
"Children will do that," said Dumbledore in an understanding kind of voice.
"That boy, Rowle, he was really angry about it, though. That's what he said." Harry found himself speaking on automatic, feeling like he was on the outside looking in. "He said that I was going to 'just walk in, say a few funny words, and take over'," said Harry to his knees.
"I think we may have found the root of the problem," said Dumbledore, standing up again. "Let's go back to the Hospital Wing and we'll talk about it there."
Harry and Snape both stood up. Harry blinked slowly once more, but settled his head, and followed Dumbledore out of the office. Snape walked behind him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The trip back to the Hospital Wing was uneventful, but by the time Harry got into bed, he was nearly asleep. The muscle relaxing potion fogged his brain.
"There we are," said Dumbledore smiling. He drew up two chairs for Snape and himself before sitting down primly. "I believe the problem lays with Gregory's accusation."
Snape considered this for a moment while Harry looked up at them from the bed, catching the barest threads of conversation.
"How do you mean?" asked Snape.
"Well, a Coping Drought holds off the effects of trauma so that one may recover, correct?"
Snape nodded.
"In Harry's case, the trauma is directly linked to his ability to speak Parsletongue. Therefore, one can infer that his method of coping is trying to bury the root of the problem. In this case, Harry was traumatized because he is a Parlsemouth. He is burying his ability to prevent further conflict. If he can't do it, no one will bother him about it," responded Dumbledore. "However, I'm sure that Harry's ability is so far ingrained that any attempts to bury it will be met with serious resistance."
"What an astute response. And how prompt. Perhaps we should endanger your students more often. Maybe then we'll get more direct answers from you," sneered Snape, back to his old self again now that it seemed Harry's problem had been weaseled out. However, it illicited a bad response from Dumbledore, who's eyes flashed.
"I'll thank you not to joke about that, Severus."
Snape flinched inwardly while his face remained impassive. "What will we do about it, then? If he copes naturally, he will be stuck speaking Parseltongue for the rest of his life."
"I think that perhaps some therapy is in order. Humans are, after all, social creatures. A potion might be able to fix things, but only using as much steam as one person has. A helping hand, however, can give so much more," said Dumbledore. "In the mean time, however, I believe you have a class to prepare?"
Snape nodded and stood up. "Thank you for clearing the matter." He turned to Harry to tell him to get some rest, but found he was already sleeping. He settled on a small smile before turning from the room and leaving with Dumbledore.
"The boy will have me gray or dead before the year is out, Albus," said Snape.
"Such is youth, Severus," smiled the old man, clapping Snape firmly on the back and walking back to his office. Snape watched the man go, disappointed at not having gotten the last word.
AN: WHERE HAVE I BEEN!?!?!? I DON'T KNOW! Sorry for the super late chapter, folks. I was suffering from total, unashamed laziness. Not writers block, just laziness. At one point I had the whole chapter written out, save for the last sentence, and I just put it away. For, like, a week. Sorry, folks, really am. I'll try to be more punctual with the next chapters. Also, my One Shot Horror will be up soon, look for it on my page. A hearty thanks to all my reviewers and the warm fuzzy feelings they provide me with, and a hug and squeeze for everyone who has pointed out stuff I needed to fix. To the Lurkers, may I offer a Smoke an'a pancake? Ta-Ta Fo' Now!