FIRST A/N:
I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to update sooner, I've found out that my family is more technologically deficient than I first thought and being stuck in the (very beautiful) back end of a long dirt track in the middle of a forest doesn't help.
I'll try and update as soon as I can, but I can't promise anything. I've also realised that FF. net won't allow emails in reviews, so it'll take a while to reply to you guys (if at all). I'll try to get back to individual reviews, but lately it's been hectic moving around a lot without internet.
SECOND A/N:
AAAAAAAAAAAAH I'm SO SO SORRY! I had my files on a disk, and left my laptop behind for two weeks when I went into the city to where they have internet connection, only to find out the files on the disk were corrupt! Two weeks of stressing every time I saw the disk or a computer.
But I'd like to send out a HUGE THANK YOU, hugs, and of course Harry/Snape plushies and cookies to everyone who has reviewed the last few chapters. And who has stuck around during this dry spell cries
Yay extra long chapter with boring talk and explanations! This is how I reward you (so so sorry) it had to be done to round this off a bit so I could have a level playing field to take it forward.
Onwards to awareness!
SS
Severus felt himself crawl out of the darkness, his eyes slowly opening, to be shut quickly against the harsh light.
His whole body felt like it had been drained of energy, his muscles protesting when he tried to shift the uncomfortable position he was in.
Opening his mouth to ask what the hell was going on he felt his tongue thick and useless against the back of his teeth.
Fear spiked through him as he stopped to listen to unfamiliar sounds that ground into the already tender space at the back of his eyes. Where was he? What had happened?
Had there been a 'meeting', it felt worse than usual, maybe he had been found out. Maybe he had been attacked. His mind spat out different scenarios which could have ended with him lying here, wherever here was.
None of them were positive.
"…think, so I…"
A sudden voice, and Severus tried to sit up, open his eyes again, speak, but his body wouldn't obey him. Instead the words that reached his ears faded and the unfamiliar sounds returned. He lay there trying hard not to let the fear that was sending chills along his spine spread any further.
His mind supplied him with a number of times he had woken in unfamiliar places, it had always set his hair on end. His neurosis had saved him a few times but Poppy had numerous times been forced to calm him when he hadn't fully recognised the hospital wing, it was also the reason why the hospital wing no longer had curtains.
He tried listening out for the voice again but straining he could only hear that unfamiliar sound that he couldn't recognise.
"…once, that's when…" A different voice, he wanted to scream, get them to notice him, but his throat wouldn't work and his eyes would no longer open, no matter how hard he tried to pry them apart.
"…sure, be alright?…"
Severus thought he could recognise the voice, but it was hard catching only fragments, and he had to fight off his frustration when the clues fell away under him.
"….Harry…be fine…Severus….strong…"
That was the headmaster. The small victory sent a jolt through his body, he knew he was safe, he had to be in the hospital ward or somewhere. Probably something to do with the Potter brat, the headmaster had said his name. He couldn't remember anything clearly just yet and his mind didn't seem to be up for supplying any further information.
"…survivor…"
The voice was a quiet murmur and Severus wondered whose it was before he found himself sinking back into the darkness, he had no energy to try and crawl out of it.
HP
Harry watched the boy in the bed as he slept, unaware of the danger he had escaped. Long eyelashes fluttered on skin drained of life, it looked almost like paper stretched delicately and translucently over the sleeping features and Harry had to thank the gods that he could watch the simple rise and fall of the man's chest.
The room they had been brought into was one of many separate small rooms off the side of the hospital wing, used to house patients either with contagious diseases which could be easier contained with spells and wards in an enclosed area, or for those who needed their privacy and were in for a longer stay.
Harry had spoken to the headmaster as soon as he had woken, two days, having passed out after dragging himself and the half dead boy out of the bowels of the castle. He had been reassured that Severus would be alright, he didn't miss the twinkle in the older man's eyes when he had asked, but he had chosen to ignore it. Like the feather light touches of the other man in his mind, he didn't have the strength to even hinder, let alone stop the powerful wizard, and he knew his protests would fall on deaf ears. He merely guided the man in the right direction, showing what he wanted to be seen, leaving certain sections out.
It was his fault he hadn't learnt to protect his mind anyway, and he trusted Dumbledore to follow his directions and only take the information he needed, he didn't feel the need to explain what had happened during the night and this was so much easier. Maybe it was also the fact he had just sunk into a chair, his recovering body lending apathy and exhaustion to haze his mind.
He didn't even notice as the man let himself out, his eyes closing.
SS
Severus woke to the unfamiliar noise again, with enough strength to open his eyes and to shift the numbness out of his left shoulder. There was a figure slouched in a chair beside his bed, and he felt himself frown.
"Potter." It was more a croak than an actually word, but it managed to snap the man out of his sleep. Severus smirked as the boy jumped, but let the effort of holding his lips up slip.
"You're awake sir." Severus fought the wave of frustration as he bit off the comment about the boys inherit ability to state the obvious, his throat having had enough exercise with the simple name. He merely let his glare speak for him. The boy seemed to understand, if the flush that spread across his cheeks was any sign.
"Of course you are. It's been almost three days. Do you need a drink? A potion? Are you in pain? An extra pillow? Or maybe another blanket?" The questions bombarded in quick concession caught him off guard, as the mention of him sleeping for three days and the worry behind it all. He opened his mouth to snap at the boy, he didn't need this extra information to worry about, especially with his memory still half shot to pieces, instead his voice revolted and all he managed was a croak, which seemed to tear at his throat. He shifted again and the boy seemed to jump in to action.
"You want to sit up? It seems your voice doesn't want to work. That never happened to me, but I was never drawn so deep as you." Severus blinked as the boy stooped over him, hands slipping up and around him, pillows being pulled, clothing shifting, and suddenly he was sitting a little unsteadily, his head luckily propped on pillows as even that small movement had drained him of energy.
Drawn? The boy knew what had happened to him? What was going on?
"There you are. Do you need anything else?" The boy continued to blather on and Severus wondered where Poppy was, uncomfortable in the way the younger man had suddenly taken over the nurse maids role.
"Maybe you should have a drink." Severus blinked as the straw was shoved in his face. He thought of refusing it, but as Poppy seemed not to be wanting to rescue him for the moment and his parched throat was screaming out for liquid he accepted the straw with a quick glare at the boy. But for some reason he didn't seem to be in the mood to scorch the boy with his worst sneers, he was just so tired. As soon as the straw left his lips he felt his eyes closing, his body satisfied now that he had something to drink.
HP
Harry watched as his questions washed over the man sitting in his body, he knew he wasn't listening to them, but he also knew that they would drown out the humming in the back of the other man's head. It was residue of the magic he had possessed, the irresistible call to be consumed and to consume.
He'd resettled the man in the teenage boy's body back into a prone position, watching as he had turned onto his side, a fist clutched close under his chin. He couldn't help smiling as he sat back down.
Harry wasn't ready to move far from his seat, content to just let the calm silence of the hospital ward wash over him. He knew Poppy had given him the all clear after she had given him a few potions to help heal the burns on his hands and the few scrapes and bruises he had received. She had told him that all he needed was some more good rest and he could have that back at his rooms. But for some reason he wanted to stay, wanted to be there for Severus.
He told himself it was because it was his fault the man was in this mess, but another part of him flashed a quick image of what he had seen reflected back at him. Frowning, he ignored the small voice that told him he couldn't hide any more.
Licking his lips he sat back, the chair beside the hospital bed comfortably moulding itself to his back as if to encourage him to let sleep steal him away. He wouldn't have been surprised if Madam Pomfrey had charmed it that way.
Fighting sleep he watched the boy in the hospital bed. There were so many questions he was too afraid to ask, so many things he couldn't bring himself to confess. And they all revolved around this man who had been drawn deeper into his life by a simple mistake on his part or by his connection to a mad man.
Harry frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he supported his chin. The silence of the room was so clear, not even the sound of a breath. It was noticeable to him as he was usually a quiet breather himself, and the first time he had shared a dorm room with his housemates, he had been surprised by the level that each boy made in their sleep. Sure he had snored when he had first slept in Snape's body, but the man must have trained himself not to sleep so loudly, Harry just hoped he had mastered the technique and that he didn't snore anymore.
Watching the man's chest rise and fall Harry let himself get lost in the pattern, his mind wandering, touching only lightly on topics. He was in no mood for heavy thinking, floating on a concoction of healing potions, fatigue, and magic residue. He smiled as his mind flittered over the subject of Hermione.
He had been surprised by the fact she hadn't figured out this little farce yet, maybe he had given her more credit than he had thought. But they hadn't been spending a lot of time together, as he had dragged Snape off every chance he could get, saving them from discovery as well as that toad of a woman, Umbridge.
Besides Hermione had been a little preoccupied lately, Harry's small smile spread, Hermione and Draco, it had a nice ring to it, both were passionate as well as loyal, he could see how they could compliment each other well. He really did wish the two of them good luck, even though he was a little jealous.
He wished he could have something so simple as a school yard crush, go through the dramas of a normal teenager. Fights with friends over stupid little things, worry about the fashions, who was taking who to the next ball, how she liked him, but he liked her and she was her cousin so it could never work. Harry paused, well maybe he didn't exactly want that kind of teenage drama, but he would have liked to be normal.
Instead he had to contend with fights with friends over seriously fatal issues, worry about the conviction of his Godfather, who was going to kill him next and how and when the dark lord was going to take over his mind, send him visions and have him wake screaming with blood on his hands, because every person the dark lord killed was someone he hadn't saved in time.
Harry wanted to be normal.
He looked up from the rising falling chest, to the closed eyes that shielded the thorny presence of the potions master. Even though he would have given anything to be normal, Harry doubted he would have changed these circumstances. He knew he was being selfish by admitting it, but through his simple mistake he had grown closer to the sleeping man, he had found out things that drew him in, attracted him, fascinated him, frightened but intrigued him.
The more layers he was shown the more he wanted to explore.
And that scared him, he wanted so much to know more about the man, but knew if he followed through he would be leaving himself open as well. He didn't know if he could handle being so vulnerable with another person, he'd been alone for most of his life, having been burnt more than once.
The flame of a promised companionship, though alluring could burn badly. When he had been younger he had blindly reached out to Petunia, had seen the way mothers had treated their children, had wanted someone who would treat him the same. That was one lesson learnt well.
He wasn't wanted.
It was a lesson that was repeated often enough during his childhood. He didn't have parents, he didn't have friends and those who were curious about the quiet boy in the back, didn't dare look much further than the plump boy with the hard fists.
It was even harder seeing how everyone loved Dudley so much more, the contrast was harsh and painful, the point driven home harder with the small talk of children. He'd caught snatches of conversation about sleep overs, Christmas presents and playing in the park. It had always been hard for him to fit in, but when he knew nothing of these, but small chores, the books he escaped into, the inside of his cupboard walls, and the kitchen sink, he knew he was an outsider. The small spiders that lived with him, his only companions.
Then when he had found out he was a wizard, Harry Potter the anonymous boy had turned into a star over night. Of course he never related the two, Harry who lived with the Dursleys was different to Harry Potter the poster boy. And he kept it that way, sometimes struggling to keep up appearances, he didn't want people to find out about the real him, he wasn't sure if the real him ashamed him, or if he wanted to protect himself.
It had been difficult, the first time when someone had actually gone out of their way to speak to him, Draco Malfoy, he had been so scared, snapping back at him, to keep the boy at a distance, not trusting himself. When he had been stuck in the train with the Weasley's he had been forced to deal with the situation of people wanting to know him, the red haired freckle faced family had been his first step into life which included something other than himself and his eight legged friends.
Of course there had been Hagrid, but he hadn't been one of Harry's peers, and the man had gravitated to the position of a lovable uncle, if Harry had ever had one.
Thinking back over his first few years at Hogwarts, Harry smiled, he had learnt so much, not just in the ways of magic. But about people, about himself. He had gained friends, the first he had ever had apart from his books. He had always loved to read whenever he could, escaping into the library at school whenever he knew Dudley was after him.
The librarian had been a friendly lady, always ready with a good suggestion, she had helped him better his reading, and had travelled with him on his journeys through Narnia, Middle Earth, to India with Alexander the Great, across the Middle East with the Crusades, he had even remembered travelling across the cosmos and back in time, held hands with Winnie the Pooh, had solved mysteries with Ms Marple and Pierrot, ducking into dark alleys with Phillip Marlowe.
She had been someone he could talk to about the worlds they had both seen, the people they had both met, captured on the pages between hard covers. He had looked up to her, she read thick books which even he couldn't wade through, trapped in the world of a 10 year old child, he had of course developed a childish crush, bringing her small handfuls of flowers which she accepted with a soft smile. She had never said anything, and Harry knew he was grateful for that, he couldn't have faced another rejection.
It had always taken him extra long to read his books, either because his glasses had broken again or because the cupboard in which he was kept in had only the light from under the door and through the air vent. He tried to read whenever he was at school, getting caught out more than once by teachers.
He remembered the last day he ever went to the library, it had been raining and everyone had just been let out late for lunch, he had raced over to the low building, letting himself in, the smell of different worlds, infinitely better than his own greeted him.
He had just finished reading 'Through the Looking Glass' and now found himself hoping every time he touched the clear glass where his reflection peered at him he would fall through, into a world where he would never have to see Petunia's horse like face or the hulking whale like forms of the two male members of the family.
He had proudly memorised Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum's poem, and had recited it without fail to the smiling lady behind the desk, who stamped his new book, 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory', before he had stepped outside in search of a quiet place to read.
He hadn't gotten far before he had felt a hard shove to his back. He could only cry out in dismay as he had tried to protect the book from getting wet in the puddles as he fell. A sure kick to the stomach had him drop his precious possession as he gasped for breath, tears fogging up his already broken and taped glasses. Dudley and his friends had snatched the book up, tossing it around as he had tried to weakly reach for it, as all the while they had taunted him for reading 'girly' books, before tripping him over.
It hadn't dawned on him why those who circled him were laughing until the pale leaves fell around him rustling. They had left him, wet and muddy, breath hitching not because of his aching ribs but because of the tears that streamed down his face, ink catching the drops, words blurring and worlds collapsing into muddy puddles.
He hadn't returned the ruined book and hadn't stepped through the doors again, he had been too frightened, too ashamed. Even now Harry frowned, he hadn't read a book for pure enjoyment, hadn't wanted to step into a world which he couldn't share with anyone, didn't want to remember the utter wretched feeling he had when he had watched his escape disappear into a dark smudge. It was perhaps another reason why his studies weren't exactly what they could be.
"A Dementor hanging over you shoulder boy?" Harry glanced up from his musings, the man in the bed had woken and somehow moved himself into a sitting position without him even noticing. The voice was still raw, but it was no longer a croak. How long had he been here sitting and thinking?
Harry frowned at the expectant look the potions master was giving him, before stretching, his back cracking as it protested the bad position he had held himself in.
"Just thinking."
"No wonder you looked like you were in pain." Was the dry reply and Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes, muttering a quick Tempus charm under his breath. The time showed 11:24pm, he hadn't realised it was so late, but then again he had been sleeping all day.
"Wandless." Was the breathless whisper, and Harry looked up to meet the astounded eyes of the potions professor. It took a while for him to figure out what the man looked so shocked about, considering he had almost destroyed the whole dungeon with wandless magic.
"You don't remember." Harry stated.
"What are you blathering on about boy?"
"That's why you asked me why I was down in the dungeons again. You don't remember."
"I asked you a question." The raised eyebrow and unimpressed glare demanded answers.
"The other night." A minute pull of the lips and Harry knew the man was interested. Different body, same quirks.
Harry related as best as he could what he had felt that night, leaving out certain parts, what he had seen in the mirror, the mention of Sirius, and the almost fatal attack. He had swallowed heavily, feeling the phantom magic constrict around his throat as he skimmed over the uncontrolled power. By the end of the simplified version Snape did not look impressed.
"I want the full story later Potter." Harry winced, of course the man would have figured out that he wasn't telling the whole tale. "However I'm not surprised about wandless magic itself Potter, it is more common than you students are led to believe. I am more amazed that at your age and limited concentration, you were able to learn and prefect such an art. It has taken powerful wizards years to come to terms with the very concept and theory of wandless magic. It should not be possible until full maturity is reached, when the magic is stable enough to be moulded and realigned into a wandless form."
The man snorted and Harry cringed at the sound.
"However, with your connection to the Dark Lord, a known user of wandless magic, it should have been at least considered that you may have the gift as well, having his level of maturity inherit in your own abilities."
Harry tried not to pout, he hadn't toiled for months with the house elves to be told that his ability was merely another by-product of the mad man.
"But I had to learn it all on my own."
A raised eyebrow.
"Throwing temper tantrums is not a way of learning."
Harry winced, that one hurt.
"No, the…" The house elves taught him, he paused, he had given his word that he wouldn't speak of it to anyone. "I was taught. It took over a year, but I can do a few things."
Green eyes watched him, and Harry tried not to flinch under the scrutiny.
"You may have learnt to master the technique on your own, but it is not possible for those under full maturity to be able to wield it. Young magic is too wild, and during maturity a certain control and concrete foundation is based. Wandless magic needs this core to concentrate itself and pass through. You must be channelling your wandless magic through the Dark Lords already base foundation, through his magical core."
Harry didn't know if he should feel distressed that his magic was being filtered through such a stained base, or glad that he had at least this small gift which he could develop. If the Dark Lord was a known user of wandless magic then he would have to become an exceptionally skilled user if he had any chance of going up against the man and defeating him.
"This doesn't however explain my loss of control over your magic." Harry watched as the other man mused.
"It isn't my magic, it's…" Harry floundered looking for words. "It's a raw magic, it's the very essence from which all other magicks are formed. It's what allowed the Dark Lord to survive after being hit with The Death Curse," Harry hated the sound of the curse, the words always brought forward images of death, pain, the green reflected in his mothers eyes. Nobody noticed, but he called the curse by a different name.
Harry continued. "He has channelled his whole being into research and rituals which opens him to this magic, it's like we're all batteries with our own power, but his plugged himself into a socket." Harry paused. "Sorry. You wouldn't understand that reference." The dark haired man merely gave him a scathing look.
"I understand perfectly well Mr Potter. So you are saying that through your connection to the Dark Lord, you have also been transferred into a power outlet for this raw magic?"
"Yeah!" Harry had been worried that he wouldn't be able to explain it properly when needed. His enthusiasm that the other man understood him brought a scowl to the potion master's face.
"Eloquent as ever."
"Sorry sir. I've kind of thought about it a lot. I'm worried about it, the raw magic I mean." He added when the man merely glared at him. "I know I need it to defeat the Dark Lord, because no one can stand up to that and survive, but I need to control it. That's the main reason why the Dark Lord hasn't used this power. He possesses it, but he can't control it. He knows that if he uses it to achieve his goal, it'll consume him, leaving him incapable of the results he wants, he won't be himself anymore. The Dark Lord may be fanatical about power, but he is also possessed by his need for control."
"I'm quiet acquainted with the Dark Lord and his need for control, Mr Potter. As Mr Malfoy now knows as well."
Harry felt the colour run from his face, as the implications set in and a fresh wave of guilt sliced through him. He could see the man in bed was waiting for him to say something, maybe a badly concealed jibe, a sneering comment, Harry could see the tense way he was holding himself.
Only then did it occur to him, Snape had forgotten their conversation about Draco.
"Draco doesn't hate you." Harry drove on before Severus could reply. He had trouble saying all this last night, but he'd get through this and explain if it was the last thing he did. "We don't find you disgusting, stained, tainted, repulsive, used, or anything that you or anyone has ever labelled you as. You're strong to be able to face everyday, brave and courageous in the way you hold yourself, playing a dangerous game as a spy. You've done so much good for the wizarding community. Just because you have been forced into something like that doesn't mean we aren't willing to accept it and love you all the same, and now even to a greater extent as we tknow what you've been through." Harry finished the speech, he had tried to race through it as fast as he could before Severus could say anything and interrupt.
"Do you realise what you have just said?" Harry couldn't understand the incredulous look on the man's face, he had thought it rather simple.
"Draco still loves you. Isn't that what family is for? No matter what happens, they still love you."
"You obviously have never encountered a real family."
SS
Severus wondered why the boy winced at his comment, but passed it by, concentrating more on the boys' slip of tongue. Had the boy really placed himself plural with Draco? He had done it more than once, and it didn't seem he had realised, but he had been speaking rather fast.
If it had been a slip of a wrong word surely he wouldn't have slipped twice, or maybe he had accidentally revealed he had some sort of schoolyard crush on his potions master, or some perverted fascination brought about by all he had seen through the Dark Lord's eyes, a possibility Severus wasn't willing to look too closely at. The small voice in the back of his mind scowled, telling him, no one who had a perverted fascination spoke like that convincingly about love.
That was a option that Severus was definitely not going to even grant second glance. Shaking his head he tried to get those thoughts out of his mind.
However, Potter did seem convinced that Draco still cared about him. But how did he know?
"They must be in here." A whisper broke the silence that they had fallen into, Severus trying to figure out the meaning behind the slip and the boy sitting beside him obviously nursing his wounds brought about by the harsh words and unsuspectingly waiting for Severus to react to his speech, after his scathing comment.
"It's the last room." A deeper voice whispered back as the door creaked open.
Severus could feel the grain of his wand handle pressing into his fingertips.