Vocal Benefaction
December 23rd
"Harry coming for tea tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yes, Albus. As you very well know, he comes every Sunday," Severus wrote his words with a practiced flick of his wand, his agitation apparent despite the absence of vocal rancor. "Planning to spy on us again, are you?"
A hearty chuckle issued from the largest portrait behind the Headmaster's high backed chair, prompting its current occupant to slam his book down on the desk and turn around to counter the amused chortle with a venomous glower.
"Severus, my dear boy, I hardly have a choice in the matter! After all, I am essentially confined within the periphery of this rather magnificent gold frame."
Severus' glower, if possible, deepened as he once again, brandished his wand in rapid response, "Confined? Albus, you have two other portraits, one at the Ministry and one at Durmstrang – though I still don't know how you managed that – not to mention you are free to meander through the other Hogwarts' portraits to your heart's content! Please spare me your excuses for your persistent nosy behavior whenever Harry is here."
"Faulting an old man for simply being curious? Now, Severus, that isn't very charitable of you."
"You have known me long enough to know that I am not a charitable man," Severus wrote, his book lying forgotten atop his desk as his wand lashed through the air.
"Ah, yes, I do know this Severus," Albus conceded. "You are, more often than not, quite unpleasant to be around. This is true. Except when..."
Severus' wand was a blur of motion, the words drawn in mid-air with impressive speed, "Do NOT finish that statement, Albus!"
"...Except when Harry is here," the elderly wizard finished in complete disregard to Severus' vehement warning. "You are positively pleasant when the boy comes to visit. I wonder why that is."
"He is not a boy, Albus. He is a man now. You know this."
"Yes, yes. That he is. A very kind, brave and intelligent young man at that. Quite handsome too, don't you agree, Severus?"
"Albus... I'm warning you."
Another merry chuckle and then abrupt and blessed silence. Severus turned in his chair again to find the aged wizard fast asleep in his frame.
Thank Merlin, Severus thought as he once again opened his book and renewed his previous efforts to scan its ancient pages. With only two days remaining until Christmas, he found himself running out of time to find the specific potion that would enable him to give Harry the perfect Christmas gift. He had yet to locate the correct potion, but his stark determination would not allow him to concede defeat.
He knew the instructions for said potion resided within one of his potion books. He remembered reading over its labor-intensive instructions not long after being hired as Hogwarts' Potions Master. The problem was, that was decades ago and Severus could not remember how this rare potion was brewed nor which ingredients it required. Not to mention his current plight; he had quite literally acquired hundreds of potion tomes over the years, and he had not a clue which one this particular potion was mentioned in.
Having reached the final page at last, with still not a single mention of the elusive potion, Severus shut the book with unnecessary force and hurled it across the room. He'd been at this for weeks, and his escalating frustration was getting the best of him.
Of course, Severus knew this level of effort was not necessary. Harry would be pleased with anything of the same caliber of his past yuletide offerings: a pair of dragonhide Quidditch gloves, various Defense manuals, a leather-bound monogrammed journal and one year, he'd even gifted him with a new brass cauldron, just for the fleeting look of utter repulsion adorning Harry's features when he had opened his present.
This Christmas, however, Severus was determined to give Harry the one thing he would never ask for, but desperately wanted... to be relieved of the lingering evil imprinted upon him over two decades ago in Godric's Hollow. He wanted to rid Harry of his ability to speak Parseltongue once and for all.
Severus remembered the very first time the subject was brought up. It was during their third Sunday visit together, back when they were still sharing tales of mutual hardships about the war. That was before they had developed their telepathic link and before Severus truly had an appreciation for the genuine purity of spirit that Harry possessed. He would never forget the gnawing ache in his own heart upon hearing the young man describe how much he loathed harboring the rare Slytherin talent.
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"So you finally opened it by simply saying 'open' in Parseltongue?" Severus asked, his magically luminescent words of surprise suspended in the air for a moment before dissipating into sparkling mist. "Why on earth didn't you try that earlier? You had the damned horcrux for four months and in all that time it did not occur to you to speak to it in Parseltongue? Harry, it had Slytherin's mark on it. It was one of Slytherin's family heirlooms!"
"Yes, I realize that but... I don't know. I have a kind of mental block about speaking Parseltongue. I mean, my brain just doesn't readily go there, you know? It's HIS thing, not mine. And every time I've spoken the language, I've only ended up worse for the wear."
At Severus' persistent look of surprise and the slight raise of his eyebrows, Harry continued, his features holding a pinched expression, a mix of pain and disgust displayed in those vivid green eyes.
"Look. I realize that it's come in handy. It was effective when I needed that locket to open. And it was certainly helpful when I needed to get down into the Chamber of Secrets during that whole nightmare in my second year, but I just feel so... tainted... when I speak it. Like I'm evil. Like there's this vile presence inside me that no matter what I do, will always be there. Even now, a year and half after the horcrux that used to reside within me has been destroyed, I still feel as though a part of him will never leave me."
Harry exhaled in frustration. "I just... I just want it gone. It's stupid, I know, but I hate that I still have it..."
It was a long moment before Severus replied, his wand moving slowly through the air. "No, Harry. It's not stupid. Not at all."
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Severus let out a heavy sigh then with a quick flourish of his wand and a non-verbal Accio, he summoned the next potion book from his extensive library. With rekindled tenacity, he opened the book and began to scan its pages with vigor.
"Severus, may I ask what it is you are so fervently searching for?"
Another resounding thud split the room's previous tranquility as Severus slammed his second book down onto the desk. He turned to see Albus awake once again, cerulean blue eyes twinkling with mad elation and a simper of impish insight curving his lips.
"Albus, I have already told you, I am researching a potion! In addition, I distinctly recall informing you that I require peace and quiet in order to accomplish my task!" Severus wrote, his ire apparent in the abrupt and clipped motions of his arm as it slashed through the air.
"Then allow me to rid my query of all its pretext, my dear boy; get right to the point, as they say. I realize you are researching a potion. What I am really asking is why you are doing so with such panicked haste, with total disregard to anything else. It is nearly seven o'clock in the evening. You haven't eaten anything today, nor have you left this office," Albus explained. His gleaming twinkle was suddenly dull and there was a look of concerned regard on his lined countenance.
Severus let out another encumbered breath, realizing that, once again, the former Headmaster had succeeded in getting to him. He always could, after all.
"I am attempting to locate a potion that would strip Harry of his ability to speak Parseltongue," he wrote, his movements less harried now, more deliberate and calm.
"Ah, I see. And am I to assume that this will be your Christmas gift to him? Freedom from the last remaining vestiges of Tom's influence?"
"Yes, but I am unable to find the correct book! I know it is in one of these damned–"
"A Slytherin's Guide To Potions: Refurbished Edition, Volume Two, I believe. Top shelf, to the left."
Albus' quick elucidation effectively cut off Severus' frustrated inscription. The ebony wand was still held aloft, suspended in mid-air as its caster sat back in his chair, frozen in shock. As soon as Severus' muddled mind processed this new information, he shot up from his chair and bounded over to his towering bookshelf, his wand held high and another Accio articulated clearly in his mind.
Another minute passed by in silence as Severus rifled through the pages of the ancient text at a quick pace, his dark, eager eyes darting back and forth across the senescent pages. An uncommon smile curved his lips as those obsidian orbs fell upon that which he was searching for, but it lingered for a mere second, soon replaced by an expression of utter misery.
"What is it, my boy? Was I incorrect?" Albus asked. "A rare occurrence, but it has happened before."
"No, Albus. You were correct. This is the book, except…"
Severus stopped spelling his words, his wand lowering.
"You know you may speak to me telepathically, Severus. I am not certain why you insist on–"
Severus' wand was lifted again, words issuing from it like swiftly spun gold, "I have NO desire to establish a mind link with you, Albus! That is an incredibly personal… extremely intimate…"
"Yet you communicate this way with Harry, and have been doing so for years now," interjected Albus.
Silence permeated the office once again as Severus decided against a reply. He returned to his high backed chair and collapsed into it, the book still gripped in his left hand. After several minutes, he raised his wand again in further explanation of his earlier disquiet.
"The potion requires three spells to be cast during an extremely intricate phase of the brewing process. The spells are essential; without them, the potion will not yield the proper results."
"I hardly think that would pose a problem, Severus. You are quite competent with non-verbal spells now, and you're certainly well-practiced in preparing complicated–"
"The spells must be cast verbally, Albus. Verbally."
"Oh dear."
Severus released his vice-like grip on his wand and the potion book, letting both of them fall onto his desk as he brought his hands up to his face. Pressing the heels of both hands hard into his eyes, he ran his long fingers through the lank, ebony strands of hair that fell across his face, his fingernails scraping along his scalp as he grappled with this seemingly insurmountable hindrance.
How the hell am I going to accomplish this? With no voice, I cannot manage to brew this potion. But I want this for him… I want to give him this...
"Perhaps Horace could aid you?" came the tentative voice of Albus, his voice milder now, a touch of benevolent placation to his tone.
"Horace could, yes. However, he is on holiday in Switzerland until the new term begins. I suppose, I'll just have him assist me when he returns," Severus wrote.
"Or…" Albus continued, "You could simply repair the damage to your vocal chords so that you are able to brew this potion yourself, then you could give it to Harry in time for Christmas."
"I have already told you, Albus," Severus wrote, his gesticulations gruff again. "There are no viable methods to repair the damage to my vocal chords! I have thoroughly researched–"
"You have done some research, yes. I think we both know that it was not thorough, nor was there any passion fueling your search. In fact, I would go so far as to say that, in stark contrast to your zealous search for this potion for Harry, your efforts in that area were woefully lame."
Albus waited until those ebony eyes met his own, then continued.
"My dear boy, you have been hiding behind your muteness."
"I have NOT!"
"You found the correct healing potion not a month after waking from your coma, yet you rashly dismissed it as impossible to brew."
"Albus, it IS impossible to brew. For God's sake, old man, it calls for the blood of an African Chimera! They've been extinct for centuries!"
"You know very well that Horace is in possession of an impressive and vast collection of extremely elusive potion ingredients, yet you stubbornly refuse to inquire–"
"ENOUGH!" Severus brandished his wand in a fit of fury, silencing the elderly wizard.
One long, protracted moment turned into several. The circular office remained barren of any sound, save the feigned snores issuing from the surrounding portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses, apparently snoozing blissfully in their frames. Albus resisted being one them, his eyes still fixed on the man he had always considered to be as good as a son.
At length, Severus' wand once again drew words in the stagnant air with slow deliberation.
"I am not worthy of a cure, Albus. A lifetime of taciturnity is my penance; punishment for all the wrongs I have done… for the pain I have caused… for the lives I have wrecked…"
"Oh, Severus. My dear child. You mustn't think this way. You should concentrate on those lives that you've influenced positively… those individuals who've been touched by your rather guarded heart. They most certainly do not regard your muteness as retribution for your past sins."
"And who do you imagine these fictitious individuals to be, Albus? There is no one in my life who could possibly regard me as anything more than an Ex-Death Eater, a man who at one time swore his allegiance to a madman."
"I do not regard you that way. Nor does Harry. You know this, Severus. In your heart, you know this. Stop punishing yourself. For once, Severus, listen to your heart and not that obstinate, self-deprecating voice inside your own head."
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It was just after two in the morning when Severus found himself sitting on the cold stone dungeon floor of Horace's personal potion storeroom, rummaging through jar after dusty jar filled with the rarest potion ingredients he had ever seen in one place. With so many valuable substances splayed out in front of him, he was finding it difficult to keep his mind fixed on his search. It was almost enough to make him want to teach potions to the mindless droves of Hogwarts students again.
Almost, Severus emphasized, as he picked up yet another filthy, film-covered jar.
Oh my God… this is it!
Severus quickly cast a non-verbal Lumos and held the grimy jar up to the wand light, blowing the excess dust off so that he could further examine the inscription on the aged label.
African Chimera Blood (8 fl. oz.)
Species: Rooi Draak, male, approx. age: 22 years
Origin: Southern Namibia
Date Collected: May, 1672
Severus stared at the elusive ingredient in his hand, feeling an icy cold wave of dread washing over him. He was extremely apprehensive about regaining the use of his voice again. Even with Albus' insistence that he was indeed deserving of such a symbolic exoneration, he remained convinced otherwise.
Regardless, Severus found that he had been greatly affected by the former Headmaster's sentimental advice. He had spent the remainder of the evening picking at his dinner and weighing his choices, his mind fraught with doubt and hesitation. At midnight, after hours of exhausting rumination which brought him no closer to a solution to his quandary, he had finally had enough and had crawled into bed, resigned to reflect on it further in the morning.
His attempts to sleep, however, were futile. He had spent the next two hours lying awake in his bed, eyes wide open and body tense with sleep resistance while Albus' infuriating words of counsel echoed over and over again inside his burdened mind.
Listen to your heart…
After many failed attempts to ignore Albus' overly exuberant words swirling around his head, Severus gave in to them at last and, not long after, found himself in his current situation: sitting on the ice-cold dungeon floor in the middle of the night holding the key to his absolution…
…and, he reminded himself, the key to freeing Harry from Voldemort's unwelcome gift.
Severus had no idea when it had happened. He hadn't a clue when achieving this task for Harry had become the single, most important thing to him – even more important than upholding his own stubborn resolve to endure his self-proclaimed penance – but it had. It had become that important to him.
Harry had become that important to him.
His decision made, Severus stuffed the jar of chimera blood into the pocket of his robes, got up from the dusty floor and began the long walk back to his quarters. For once, he would follow Albus' advice. He would go through with it. He would brew this potion and restore his voice so that he would be able to proceed with his plan to rid Harry of this lingering Dark force.
He would listen to his heart… for Harry.
Anything for Harry.
To Be Continued...
A/N: Well, two parts down... one to go. Look for the third and final chapter to be posted early next week, just before Christmas. I hope you're all enjoying it! :)
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