Chapter Twelve -
Igniting this fervent blaze
Cold.
Raw, biting, bone-chilling cold.
Invasive and sharp.
Piercing.
Hostile.
Long arctic tendrils took possession of Harry, winding tight coils around his body and spirit. They twisted and squeezed, wrenching his semiconscious mind from the hollows of nothingness and plunging him into a harrowing lucidity. It was as though his entire body were submerged in an icy abyss. His flesh burned and prickled with intense, gnawing pain, inside and out, the vengeful cold like a thousand needles penetrating his skin.
Panic seized him. Something was very, very wrong. It wasn't supposed to be this cold…
Stinging, stabbing, stifling cold.
He was drowning in cold.
A violent shiver ran through him just as a frigid breath pushed past his clenching throat to escape its bitter hell. His lungs opened up painfully, drawing in a desperate, ragged breath in return. The warm, life-sustaining air froze the moment it filled him, turning into icy vapor that was glacial enough to numb flesh in an instant.
"...has a pulse now and he's breathing on his own, Albus. Your counter-curse... I think it's working!"
All at once, the cold changed, morphing into a searing, burning heat. It consumed him like insatiable flames, like white-hot metal pressed against raw flesh. The fiendish fire within attacked every nerve in his body, surging through him like the very blood coursing through his veins. With every frantic, erratic pump of his heart, the incendiary demon thrashed in perfect time with his pulse, a driving, twisted cadence of agony.
Harry tried to cry out, putting every ounce of energy into willing his voice to deliver his desperate plea, but no sound came out. His lips remained sealed, eyes shut tight.
"Wait... something's wrong. His heart is racing. If this keeps up, Albus, he'll go into cardiac arrest!"
Voices.
Muffled and distorted voices, as if traveling through a torrential storm or a vast immersion of water. They sounded panicked and fearful. Desperate.
Harry tried to turn his head toward the urgent sounds, but his body disobeyed his every command. And still the relentless heat surged through him, scalding his skin and searing his insides, devouring him with excruciating potency.
"Poppy, where is Professor Gazzoni?"
"I've already sent Horace to retrieve him, Albus. They should be here any–"
"I'm here! I'm here... what was the curse? What was he hit with?"
Again, Harry attempted to reach out to the voices. They were closer now, louder, more distinct. But his every effort to move... to cry... to scream... only seemed to add to his physical torment. The burning ache inside him continued to intensify, crippling him with sharp, stabbing jabs of pain, wracking his limbs, his chest, his head, everywhere, with its endless rhythmic torture.
Pulsing.
Thrumming.
Throbbing.
Ripping.
Every nerve ablaze with fierce spikes of unbearable, meticulous, blinding pain.
"It was a paralytic curse, Daniel. It essentially shut down his entire nervous system. Albus was successful in restoring most of his brain function, but he's not reacting well. He may actually be experiencing a great deal of pain… and his heart..."
"Oh God..."
"What does that mean?! Can you help him? Please... please help him!"
"Horace, take Mr. Snape to the dungeons. He should not be here for this."
"NO! I'M NOT LEAVING HIM!"
Severus' anguished voice tore through Harry like a razor-sharp blade, filling him with more pain and terror than anything he had experienced so far. He could feel his panic consuming him now, taking over, his debilitated body losing the fight, relinquishing all resistance.
NO! Oh please... dear God... please let me survive this! I can't leave him... not like this... not yet...
"Albus, we're losing him! He won't last five more minutes like this. I have no choice… I'm going to have to induce stasis."
"Do what you must, Poppy."
"Temporaria Dormitabis!"
At once, pain's tight hold slackened and the volatile burning vanished. Darkness laid claim to Harry once more as he slipped through the abstruse cracks of consciousness. Unknowing and insentient, he surrendered to its promise of oblivion, willingly falling into its deep, boundless cavern of nihility as the spell swept him back into nothingness.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
Harry was swimming.
The dark waters of the Black Lake rushed past him in a series of cool ripples as he propelled himself further into the reservoir's deep, intimidating recesses. He shivered the more he descended, his skin quickening with brisk jolts of sensation, like sparks of electricity or prickles of static heat that would dance and surge through him in a flash.
In truth, there was a small part of Harry that considered this scenario quite improbable – that part of his brain which was steadily gaining a modicum of coherence. But there was another part of him, some foggy, indistinct part that was certain he was indeed in the lake, driving further into its inhospitable depths.
The sensation of being entombed beneath the lake's considerable volume of murky water seemed so tangible. He could feel the oppressive weight pushing down on him, compressing his chest and squeezing his eardrums, while his lungs and throat constricted under the waters' tight stranglehold. The pressure encasing him was like a forcible embrace from an unwelcome friend.
But... no... no, he couldn't be in the lake. That just wasn't possible.
Harry grappled with his own dim cognizance, striving to understand the odd sensations that were plaguing him. His entire body did in fact feel like it was underwater, his head throbbing as if an unremitting weight were pressing on it, squeezing it, giving rise to the feeling of falling deeper and deeper into some dark abyss.
All the while, his skin tingled with undulating waves of stimulation. He shivered once again – not from cold – but from this strange acute hyperawareness. Although he felt very little pain, his body was brimming with sensation, as if the stagnant air that encased him was potent enough to send his nerves into overdrive by simply brushing past his skin.
Harry squeezed his eyelids more tightly together and shifted. The soft surface that had been cushioning the back of his aching head now lay beneath his ear, muffling the faint thrumming that was flitting in and out of his auditory perception. Stretching his legs, he flexed and straightened the taut muscles, causing another wave of tingling sensations to rush through him and his fingers to clench and constrict involuntarily.
There was something warm covering his hand. Curious, he pulled his fingers inward again, closing them around the source of the warmth. His fingertips were met with the soft, smooth skin of the back of a hand whose calloused palm lay atop his own. Turning his hand slightly, Harry was able to trace the contour of one knuckle with his index finger, following the long line of just one of the slender fingers that were resting on the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. They were delicately curled around the joint, encircling it, cradling it almost possessively. The familiar shape and hold sent Harry's heart and soul soaring with a welcome feeling of safety and contentment.
For he recognized that touch, knew with absolute certainty whose hand lay upon his own.
Severus...
Harry tried to open his eyes but was met with an unpleasant resistance. His lids felt as if they were glued shut. Frustrated, he compressed the closed lids together more firmly then wrenched them apart with all the force he could muster. He regretted his actions a second later when a brilliant light assaulted his retinas, compelling him to clamp them shut once more. The glaring illumination was almost blinding, triggering hot, stinging tears to pool at the corners or his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Harry let them fall, not certain he had the strength or the dexterity to wipe them away. With his eyes still closed, he took a moment to breathe and sift through the ambivalent jumble of thoughts whirling around in his brain.
He wasn't in the Black Lake, but lying in one of the many beds that flanked the Hospital Wing. He might be twenty years into the past, but he had spent so many hours here in his own time that divining his bearings was relatively simple. The pungent aroma of healing potions and antiseptic alone was enough to prompt recognition. Add to that the slightly scratchy feel of the sterile school-issued linens that were currently wrapped around his bare legs, and ascertaining his location became very easy indeed.
It took Harry a few seconds longer to recall the reasons behind his current stay in the school infirmary. Soon however, the memories came streaming back in a flood of distressing flashes, exploding inside his head.
The apothecary.
Terror filled screams.
Lily's body cradled by James.
Sirius being tortured.
Harry's breathing quickened, bringing more uncomfortable sensations to him – the dryness of his mouth and the sandpapery feel of his throat. New images raced across his mind, each worse than the one before.
Avery's curse.
The excruciating pain.
And just before he lost consciousness... Severus' anguished, grief-stricken pleas... Severus, who was here with him now, holding his hand.
Harry opened his eyes once more, this time with caution, cracking them to mere slits in an attempt to block out the unwelcome light. Grey orbs barely shone through the narrow apertures as he strained his stiff, aching neck and propped himself with difficulty onto one weak elbow to catch a glimpse of the boy keeping vigil by his bed.
The sight before Harry filled him with a conflicting mix of relief and worry, both easing his panicked heart and suffusing his soul with concern.
Ebony hair lay splayed out on one pale, lean arm, the very same arm whose slender hand was mantling Harry's. The black strands were clumped together in a dark tangled mass, looking much greasier and more unkempt than Harry had ever seen it. Severus' head was resting upon that outstretched arm, his thin face hidden from view, covered by his own knotted hair. Despite not being able to see the boy's face, Harry could tell he was sleeping. Deep breaths issued from under the shock of matted hair in a slow, easy rhythm, the slender shoulders rising and falling in time with each steady breath.
"Severus..." Harry choked out, his voice weak and gravelly. The single word vibrated in his throat where it burned like acid, sending tremors of prickling heat to surge in waves through his entire body. He trembled reflexively and fell back onto his pillow as his vision began to spin, the Hospital Wing suddenly appearing askew and blurred.
"Shhh... don't try to talk just yet, Mr. Skye," came a hushed, soothing voice as a warm hand covered his forehead. Both voice and hand were so familiar that recognition came to him at once.
Harry closed his eyes at Madam Pomfrey's gentle touch, hoping the dizziness he was experiencing would soon ease now that he was denying the vertigo its visual catalyst.
"Here... drink this," she commanded. "It will alleviate the worst of what you're feeling."
A slender arm slipped under his shoulders and hoisted him up a few inches. Then the cool surface of a glass vial was pressed to his dry lips. Harry swallowed the tepid contents greedily, relishing the feel of the elixir sliding down his burning throat and coating it with tempering warmth. In an instant, that soothing warmth spread throughout his entire body causing those sharp jabs of stinging pain to diminish and his tight, clenching muscles to loosen and relax.
"Can you open your eyes for me, Mr. Skye?" the matron asked as she lowered Harry back onto his pillow.
For the third time in the span of only a few short minutes, Harry opened his eyes. The room was much dimmer now, no doubt magically darkened by Madam Pomfrey to lessen his discomfort.
"W-wh... what happened?" he whispered. His throat still felt very tight and scratchy, but there was a strange numbness affecting him now. Although the pulsing aches in his muscles and those strange, crawling sensations on his skin had not ceased, their severity was greatly diminished with the effects of the potion.
"You were hit with a very Dark curse, Mr. Skye. One I did not recognize. It nearly killed you. Now stay still while I examine you."
Madam Pomfrey spent the next few minutes waving her wand over him and muttering what he supposed were diagnostic spells. She examined his eyes, ears and throat and then listened to his heart.
All the while, Harry's gaze kept drifting down to Severus who remained in a deep slumberous state beside him. He noticed the small wooden chair that Severus was perched on, his back hunched over while the rest of him lay slumped across the side of Harry's hospital bed at an odd angle.
"Are you experiencing any dizziness or pain?"
Harry blinked and looked back up to the matron's kindly face.
"Yes... some," he croaked out, "but it's not as bad as it was before you gave me that potion. Thank you. That really helped."
"You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me, I must inform the Headmaster that you've woken. He'll be pleased to know that you've returned to us. In the meantime, sleep some more. You are far from recovered, young man, and your body is in desperate need of rest. You are not to leave this bed. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, but..."
"The Headmaster will be able to give you more details, Mr. Skye. For now, you must rest." Her grave expression spoke of her adamance more than the words themselves, a glint of unremitting finality in her dark brown eyes. She turned to leave, but Harry called her back, his voice straining as he tried to speak with more volume.
"Wait, Madam Pomfrey. I... I only want to know... is... is Severus OK?"
As she turned back around to face him, her fierce, no-nonsense expression softened, dissolving into one of sympathy and understanding. Her gaze left his, sweeping over to take in the sight of the sleeping boy bent over and curled up alongside Harry.
"He hasn't left your side," she whispered, her tone gentle and reverent, very unlike her typical stern timbre. "I gave him a dose of Dreamless Sleep several hours ago and insisted that he lay down on one of the other beds. But alas, I see he's managed to fight the potion long enough to return to his usual spot."
She continued to stare at Severus for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. At length, she seemed to come back to herself and turned back to Harry. When she spoke again, her usual pragmatic demeanor had returned.
"Now don't you worry about our young Mr. Snape here. Nothing's seriously wrong with him. He's only in need of a good night's sleep... and perhaps a shower. My repeated attempts to sway him toward either end were met with deaf ears. I swear that boy has more stubbornness and defiance in him than most of the Gryffindors at this school," she chided, shaking her head. "Worse than even Mr. Potter when he was waiting for Miss Evans to awake from her curse."
"Lily? Oh God... is... is she OK? And Sirius? Is he–?" Harry stammered, suddenly panicked as he recalled the first sketchy details of Avery's attack. Lily had been cursed! His chest tightened and his heart sped up at the memory of both his future mother and godfather lying in the alley, unconscious and in pain.
"They are both fully recovered, Mr. Skye. Mr. Black was released from my care just a few hours after the attack, only needing a potion to counter the lingering effects of the Cruciatus, and Miss Evans was well enough to leave the following morning. The curse she was hit with was a bit graver, but she has since made a full recovery."
Harry released a huge breath as relief washed over him, the tight knot in his chest loosening, limbs trembling against the sheets.
"You should wake him," Madam Pomfrey said, startling Harry. He looked up to see that she was once again eyeing Severus. "He will want to know you've finally regained consciousness."
With that, she turned from him and swept from the room, her stiff cotton robes rustling as she retreated at a brisk pace.
Harry lowered his gaze to look at Severus once again, taking in his bedraggled appearance. Madam Pomfrey had said that Severus had stayed by his side while he had been unconscious, but she hadn't mentioned how long that had been. Judging from Severus' dirty hair and obvious sleep-deprived state, it must have been longer than a single day.
Still weak and plagued by alternating bouts of numbness and oversensitivity, Harry did not even attempt to prop himself up again. Instead, he shifted so that he was now lying on his side, facing Severus. The movement was slight but was just enough to prompt another wave of prickling heat to race through him. Harry inhaled a sharp breath and held it until the unpleasant sensation passed, then continued with his objective. He reached out and grasped the stray ebony locks shrouding Severus' face with shaky fingers, gently tucking them behind his ear, noticing as he did the stubble on the boy's chin and jaw and his gaunt, sallow complexion. Harry's heart clenched at the sight, distressed at just how ill he looked.
"Severus," he whispered, his fingertips running along the rough, patchy bristles that stippled the wan skin and coming to rest on the back of the sleeping boy's slender neck. He applied gentle pressure there, his fingertips tracing small circles on the warm skin while his thumb followed the contour of the newly exposed ear.
"Mmmm..." Severus murmured. Sleepy, dark eyes blinked open, then snapped up to lock with Harry's.
"Gray! Oh God... you're... you're awake!" he cried out. He stood up in one swift, abrupt motion, his chair clattering to the floor as he abandoned it in favor of perching himself on the edge of the bed.
Harry had no time to respond. Severus collapsed on him an instant later, long arms going around him, face buried in the hollow of Harry's neck. He started weeping, spilling warm tears on Harry's skin that felt like drops of liquid heat, burning their way down his neck. Severus' rapid, shallow breaths also added to his torment, brushing against his neck and causing the skin there to prickle and sting. Harry disregarded the onslaught of uncomfortable sensations, wrapping his arms around the distressed boy and pulling him closer, reveling in his familiar scent.
"You almost died," Severus murmured, the words barely discernible, choked out in a rush of quavering tones amid shallow, irregular breaths. "That curse... it was meant to kill you. I can't believe you survived... I... I just can't believe it. And you were in so much pain. You couldn't move... or speak... but I knew that you were in pain... and there was nothing I could do... I was so afraid I was going to lose you..."
"Shhh... Severus, please listen to me," Harry whispered, pulling him closer and pressing his lips to the warm, sensitive skin of Severus' ear. "You will never lose me. I may leave... for a while... but I will always come back to you. Always."
His words seemed to shatter some final barrier inside Severus, prompting him to release a strangled, gut-wrenching sob. Those long fingers clutched the thin fabric of the back of Harry's hospital gown as their owner completely broke down, shoulders shaking as more tears spilled from tortured, dark eyes.
Harry ignored the sharp pulses of pain battering his own body under Severus' weight. He tightened his hold on the boy, whispering words of comfort against the shell of his ear and caressing his neck and back with trembling hands.
As the minutes wore on, Harry could feel his shoulder and pillow getting soaked with Severus' tears. It seemed an age before those anguished cries quieted and the broken, erratic breaths began to slow and steady. Harry's arms were shaking with the effort of keeping them wound tightly around Severus, when the boy suddenly tensed and shot straight up, long arms pulling away abruptly.
"Oh... Oh shit! I'm not supposed to jostle you... I'm sorry!" Severus said as he withdrew, a look of sheer panic twisting his features. "You're... you're not still in pain, are you?"
"A little. But it's not too bad," Harry replied. Ignoring his own discomfort once again, he grabbed Severus' trembling hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing a little in an effort to convince him of the truth behind his words.
When Severus still looked uncertain and anxious, Harry intensified his efforts.
"Severus, I'm OK now," he affirmed. "There's still some pain, but I'm alright. Really."
At Harry's reassuring words, Severus released a shaky breath and closed his eyes, concealing those shimmering pools of ebony from view. The paltry action was just enough to inspire more drops to escape the swollen lids and slide down the reddened cheeks of that thin, haggard face.
Harry watched him, his heart aching at the sight. He hated seeing Severus looking so lost and in pain, knowing that the suffering he endured was for him.
With no regard to the persistent tremors tormenting him, wanting nothing but to ease Severus' suffering, Harry tightened his grip on the slender hand still entwined with his own and guided their clasped hands to lay upon his own chest, directly over his heart. The rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat pulsed like a mnemonic cadence of his own vitality and Harry hoped the sentient beat could somehow convey the depth of love that resided within – prayed that its steady meter could convince Severus of his own desire to live and love and thrive.
Bringing his other hand over, Harry brushed his fingertips along Severus' wrist and forearm, caressing the warm skin with slow, gentle touches. He stayed silent through his ministrations, listening to the sounds of those fitful breaths deepen and slow and watching until anguished tears no longer fell from wounded eyes.
After several long minutes, those eyes emerged once again, fixing their gaze on Harry. The fearful, panicked look within their depths was mostly gone now, replaced by one of newfound calmness.
Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief, his own tension easing now that Severus' demeanor was more relaxed. In the ensuing silence, while Severus wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand and ran his fingers through strands of disheveled, ebony hair, Harry voiced the question he had yet to ask.
Though in truth, he was starting to dread the answer.
"How long was I unconscious?"
Dark eyes lifted to lock with Harry's, but Severus remained silent. Then he looked down, focusing on the thick wool comforter covering Harry's legs. The Adam's apple in that long, pale throat moved as its owner swallowed, the muscles growing tense in a blatant show of unease.
"Severus... how long?"
"...Five days."
"Oh fuck!" Harry exclaimed, almost jerking upright in shock.
Five days? He was unconscious for five whole days!?
Shocked speechless, Harry's mind moved at a dizzying pace as he attempted to digest this disturbing news.
Oh God. What... what day was it now? Had he really been out all this time? Without eating? Or going to the bathroom or – or brushing his teeth? Or had Madam Pomfrey taken care of all his basic needs?
Harry swallowed hard, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. He tried to temper his feeling of mortification, telling himself it had happened before.
He had been out of commission for three days following that altercation with Quirrell at the end of his first year. When he awoke from that bout of recuperative sleep, he hadn't even spared a moment's thought to his personal hygiene or how his bladder had been relieved during his stasis.
Well, he had also been eleven then, and far more enthralled with the towering stack of Wizarding treats left for him by his friends than who had taken care of him.
Harry took a deep breath to calm himself, but an even more distressing thought occurred to him, one that sent his stomach plummeting and his heart hammering.
Five more days... gone!
Oh God, how many days did that leave him? His brain raced even faster. He had arrived in this time two weeks ago. Avery cursed him on Saturday morning. Add five days of unconsciousness and that meant that today was Wednesday... which only left nine days remaining until the time regression spell completed its magic and sent him home!
"Both the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey thought you'd be out longer, Gray," Severus continued, oblivious to Harry's anxious thoughts and internal computations. "They said it was a miracle you even survived the curse."
That last word snapped Harry out of his internal panic.
"So, what was that curse Avery hit me with?" he asked, realizing that this rather pertinent piece of information had still not been explained. "And why the hell do I feel like my entire body is a live wire?"
"It was a paralytic curse, Mr. Skye, one that essentially shut down your entire central nervous system," came the commanding voice of Albus Dumbledore.
Harry turned his head to see the Headmaster stride in through the double doors and approach his bed with slow, measured steps, Madam Pomfrey following closely behind.
"In order to restore your brain function, I had to cast an exceedingly strong counter-curse," Dumbledore continued. "The results, I'm afraid, were rather traumatic to your system and almost proved too much for you. Given your extreme reaction, Madam Pomfrey had no choice but to place you in a magically-induced coma. The coma put your body and mind into a kind of stasis, causing the effects of the counter-curse to slow down so that your body had time to adjust to the return of neuro-cognition. This is why you've been unconscious since the attack."
Harry gave an uncertain nod, trying to process the lengthy explanation.
Dumbledore smiled at him before concluding.
"The sensations you're experiencing now are not unlike aftershocks following a massive earthquake. In time, your nerves will become accustomed to relaying the brain's signals once again, and when that occurs, your pain and tremors will diminish. Madam Pomfrey informs me that as long as you follow her instructions and rest, you should be well enough to leave the Hospital Wing in a couple of days."
The Headmaster now stood directly beside Severus and as his long-winded explanation drew to a close, he placed an aged hand on the boy's shoulder.
Severus stiffened at the minimal touch, his whole body becoming rigid with overt tension. When the hand tightened its grip in an obvious attempt to bestow comfort, Severus released a harsh breath and looked away from the man, his brow furrowing and the corners of his mouth curving downward into a grimace of bitter disdain.
An overwhelming sense of alarm took hold of Harry as he watched the uncomfortable exchange. He couldn't help but think that Severus' recently acquired knowledge about Dumbledore's duplicitous actions was the cause of his sudden contempt. The non-consensual mind invasion alone would be reason enough, but the man's complete passivity after garnering the truth must have wounded Severus deeply. As Harry looked upon the two of them now, it was clear that whatever trust had once existed between them, had been damaged by the disclosure – a disclosure Harry, himself, was responsible for revealing.
Harry's worried thoughts were interrupted when the Headmaster turned his attention more fully to the distressed boy under his grip and addressed him.
"Mr. Snape, I believe it's time you returned to your common room. Mr. Skye and I have much to discuss, and I believe you would do well to spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up on some much needed sleep. Madam Pomfrey informs me that you've not slept more than two hours at a time since Saturday. You are welcome to visit Mr. Skye after you've rested... perhaps after dinner? It's just past noon now. That should give you plenty of time to regroup, as well as allow Mr. Skye the time he needs to recuperate."
Dark eyes darted over to Harry's in silent supplication, as if pleading for him to refuse the dismissal. One look into those haunted, weary depths, however, was all it took for Harry to reject the unspoken plea.
"Severus… you need sleep. Please. You can come back later tonight, OK?" Harry squeezed the slender hand still entwined with his own, hoping Severus understood the intent behind his request. He couldn't stand to see the other boy looking so exhausted and unwell.
With a heavy sigh, Severus got up from Harry's bed, grabbed his school bag from beside the fallen wooden chair and then exited the Hospital Wing.
Once he was gone, Harry turned his attention back to the Headmaster, lifting his gaze to meet those penetrating cerulean eyes. They were bereft of their usual twinkle, emanating a portentous disquiet instead.
The look sent chills down Harry's spine and caused his stomach to twist with apprehension. He stared into the piercing depths, unwilling to look away despite his growing unease.
"Avery intended to kill me," he announced, fracturing the strained quietude. It wasn't a question, but he waited for a reply from the elderly wizard anyway, eager to discern the man's reaction.
"Yes, he did," Dumbledore admitted. "Thankfully, he did not succeed."
"And I assume Avery was not entirely acting on his own volition," Harry pushed.
Instead of responding to the blunt statement, the Headmaster turned his head to the side and spoke over his shoulder, his voice carrying to the mediwitch who was still standing at the foot of Harry's bed, now wearing an expression of growing dismay.
"Poppy, would you be so kind as to give us some privacy?"
"Albus!" she snapped, her mild distress escalating to irritation in an instant, "I've already told you... Mr. Skye needs to rest! He is still fragile and you should not be discussing anything that would cause him to relapse!"
"I assure you, Poppy, I will do my very best to ensure that Mr. Skye remains calm."
Madam Pomfrey said nothing more, though her ire was blatant. She fixed the Headmaster with a furious glower that, had it been directed toward anyone other than the formidable wizard, would surely have caused that soul to cower and flee under the heated gaze. Turning around, she traversed the room with impressive speed, muttering vexations a little too loudly under her breath as she pushed open the door to her office and vanished behind it.
Dumbledore righted the chair that had fallen over and sank onto it with a heavy, leaden sigh. One long-fingered hand came up to stroke the silvery beard, brow furrowed in consternation as he seemed to contemplate his next words. After another encumbered exhalation, he finally spoke.
"It seems Caedis Avery was carrying out orders given to him by his father who happens to be one of Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers. You are currently considered a threat to Voldemort's goal of recruiting Severus into his ranks. According to young Mr. Avery, he was instructed to poison you. However, he took matters into his own hands and cursed you with what I can only guess is a spell of his father's invention. Dexter Avery always did have a flare for spell invention, to our detriment, of course."
"And you know all this... how?" Harry asked, trying with every ounce of self-control he possessed to sound calm. Inside, his anger was mounting. The Headmaster's interrogation techniques were about to come to light, and Harry wasn't certain he would be able to hold in his fury when they did.
"We apprehended Mr. Avery immediately following the attack, along with Mr. Mulciber and Mr. Rosier. After a lengthy conversation with all three boys, I was able to ascertain the facts," Dumbledore explained, though the details regarding how these facts were attained remained unsaid.
"I see," Harry replied through gritted teeth, his hands balled into tight fists. He knew he shouldn't be this upset with the Headmaster. After all, the man did save his life, but Harry could not seem to stop his temper from rising.
"So, where are they now? In class? Or perhaps they're in the Great Hall eating lunch?"
The Headmaster looked genuinely surprised at Harry's words, or maybe it was Harry's insolent tone that prompted the expression of shock to appear on the lined face.
"No. They are no longer students at this school, Gray. All three boys have been expelled. In addition, Mr. Avery has been arrested for attempted murder by use of an illegal, Dark curse. Being of age, his trial is set for late June, though I doubt with his father's influence at the Ministry he'll see any prison time."
Harry felt something inside him snap, his precarious control unraveling quickly now that the sheer injustice of the man's disciplinary practices were laid bare.
"Is that typical, Headmaster?" he questioned in a fierce tone. "Do students normally get expelled and sent to Azkaban when they attempt to murder another student? Or is that punishment only reserved for Slytherin students who commit such violent acts? I wonder if a Gryffindor perpetrating that same level of deadly intention – not once but twice – would be subject to the same severe retribution."
At once, the older man drew in a sharp breath of shock and his complexion paled, giving the wrinkled face a ghostly, wan appearance. Heavily lined eyelids lowered, obscuring those haunted pools of blue from view. Leaning forward, Dumbledore placed two trembling hands to his face in a gesture of obvious shame.
Harry did not regret his words, but nonetheless, his heart clenched at the sight of his mentor in such a pitiful state. It was easy to see that the implied accusation behind his statement had caused the man pain. Harry hadn't seen him display this level of guilt and regret since their discussion about young Ariana's death during those ethereal, dream-like moments at King's Cross station – though he still wasn't entirely sure he hadn't imagined that entire conversation.
After a moment of tense silence, Dumbledore lifted his head at last. Hands falling to his lap, he spoke in a tremulous tone that was very unlike his normal authoritative one.
"There is not a day that goes by that I do not agonize over my actions following Sirius' brutal assault on Severus. More than once I have yearned to go back and handle it differently, though I remain convinced that my efforts to enact punishment would have been in vain."
"In vain? What the hell do you mean in vain?! You could have at least expelled Sirius! He shouldn't have been allowed to–"
"Orion Black is a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Gray – a senior Board member, at that. He would not have allowed his heir to be expelled, however much he loathes the boy. The shame it would have brought upon the House of Black would have been unacceptable in his eyes. He would have dismissed me from my position as Headmaster had I even attempted to suspend him, which of course would have rendered me powerless to oversee Severus' safety. I was not willing to let that happen… not with Voldemort so aggressively pursuing him."
"But... but you haven't done anything to keep Severus safe! Sirius was never punished!" Harry raged, jerking up from his reclined position and then falling back to prop himself on his elbows, his arms shaking with the effort to stay upright. "He could've attacked Severus again!"
"No, Gray. He couldn't have. If he had so much as raised his wand to Severus with the intent to injure, maim or kill, I would have stopped him the moment he attempted to act on his malice. I placed a highly complex and powerful tracking charm on Sirius after his attack on Severus. It reads intent, as well as tracks the usage of harmful spells. If Severus had been threatened in such a way, I would have been alerted instantly and had I been indisposed at the time, Professor McGonagall would have been notified in my stead. In fact, this is how I was able to come to your aid so quickly when Mr. Avery attacked you. The tracking charm was triggered the moment Sirius pointed his wand at Mr. Avery. I dare say his intention was to severely injure the boy when he cast that blasting curse."
Harry took a deep breath and laid his head back onto his pillow. It was throbbing again, pulsing with intense jolts of blinding pain. Placing his fingertips to his temples, he rubbed at the gnawing ache, hoping to lessen the twinges. His efforts only resulted in furthering his suffering and he winced as the pain shot through the back of his neck and down his spine.
"Enough for today, I think," Dumbledore announced, rising from his chair. "Madam Pomfrey is quite correct; you need to rest."
He turned to go, but paused as he passed Harry's bed, turning back around to offer one final earnest profession.
"Gray… Harry… I do regret the suffering Severus has had to endure as a result of my contentious decision making. Sometimes the circumstances, accompanied by the best of intentions, culminate in a choice being made that is neither fair nor kind. However, everything I did was done to ensure a peaceable end. I assure you, my goal was always–"
"The greater good?" Harry interjected, more than a touch of bitterness to his tone.
An acrid silence followed his cutting remark, resonating throughout the room and permeating his already aching heart with deep regret. He turned away from the Headmaster, knowing that the wounded look he was sure to glimpse in those aged, blue eyes would be too much for him to bear. He had meant to be cruel, had every intention of inflicting pain when he recited the notorious phrase that served as a reminder to the Headmaster of his own personal guilt and grief. Now that he had said it, however, Harry wanted nothing more than to take back those harsh, vindictive words.
Stubbornly, he lay still and listened to the steady, rhythmic sounds of retreating footfalls, the clack of heavy boots on stone becoming fainter and fainter. They were followed by the murmured swish of the infirmary doors swinging past one another.
The greater good.
Was this for the greater good?
Severus was now fully aware that Dumbledore had known all along who attacked him. He also knew that Sirius was never punished for that vicious crime.
What greater good could come from the Headmaster's betrayal of trust?
From what Harry could tell, regardless of how well-intentioned Dumbledore's motives were, he had done nothing but alienate an already guarded and mistrustful boy. Would this breach of trust stay with Severus and torment him for years to come? Would the Headmaster's misguided decision to refrain from punishing Sirius, contrasting with his quick determination to expel Avery, spell the beginning of the end for Severus' resolve to stay on the side of the Light?
Harry knew one thing for certain; mistrust and suspicion born from this betrayal had already engendered a fracture to form on the surface of that fragile resolve. Although tiny, it was undoubtedly entropic. It would grow and augment until that insignificant fissure grew into a great divide. Harry found himself wondering what would prompt the final push, that last impelling force that would blow this negligible fracture wide open and drive this beautiful soul into the awaiting arms of Darkness.
For Harry knew where all this culminated. Severus Snape would become a Death Eater. It was an invariable event, one fated to occur. Severus would be marked as a servant to Voldemort no matter what steps Harry tried to take to prevent it.
But maybe Harry wasn't completely powerless. Perhaps there was some way to protect Severus' spirit, some means to make certain that his heart and soul would remain untouched by the sadistic evil that awaited him.
The rash, desperate notion sounded more than a little vague and quite foolish, even in his own mind, but it was all Harry had. He didn't think he could just stand aside and let this tragedy unfold – a tragedy he was just now beginning to realize was partly his fault.
Exhausted and in pain, Harry squeezed his eyelids together and buried his face in his pillow, desperate to forestall the tears that threatened to fall, his heart aching with regret and sorrow.
Nine days left.
Nine days to save the man he loved from a gruesome end.
Yet so far, all he'd managed to do was ensure him a lifetime of pain.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
"Gray... are you awake?"
Harry was sure he was dreaming. That voice, he knew that voice. It was so familiar...
Soft and feminine.
Warm and soothing.
It was a voice that at one time, only ever existed for him in the form of panicked screams in a memory buried deep in his subconscious – a memory that would only surface when Harry's soul was threatened. But there were other times when he'd heard that voice. Once, in a shadowy graveyard, the voice like a beacon of love amid of sea of evil, and then again, in the darkest and most perilous bowels of the forbidden forest with death lying in wait, eager to claim him. Both times, the voice had given him what he needed to persevere, the courage to do what needed to be done. He could still recall the delicate lilt to the gentle timbre, undulant waves of sweet, dulcet music washing over him... calming him... quieting the tempest of fear and pain that raged within him.
It was a voice belonging to a soul who perished long ago. Yet it was speaking to him here, now. Warm and tangible and animate.
Yes... he must be dreaming.
"Can you hear me? Gray?"
This was new. In all the times he had heard the voice, it had never once called him Gray.
Harry opened his eyes, blinking several times, his brain thick and his thoughts muddled. He raised his head off the pillow and pushed himself up to a sitting position, once again ignoring the waves of pain racing through his body and the uncomfortable tingling to his skin. At the vision that met his eyes, he quickly pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed, trying to clear his blurred and obviously faulty eyesight.
He could have sworn he saw his mother sitting beside him.
"I... I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have woken you..."
Harry took his hands away from his face and turned his head, locking his gaze with the two brilliant, almond-shaped eyes of emerald that were fixed upon his own fabricated grey ones. Breath held and eyes wide, he stared at his future mother, hardly daring to move lest the miraculous vision dissolve.
"Well... I see that I've disturbed you. I guess I... maybe I should just go. I really shouldn't have–"
"No!" Harry croaked, his voice hoarse from his recent sleep and the days of dormancy during his induced slumber. He cleared his throat, took a deep, tempering breath and tried for a calmer tone.
"Wait. Please don't go. Stay... please."
Lily Evans stared at him, a glimmer of uncertainty radiating from her vivid green eyes as she nodded once and took a seat in the small wooden chair beside the bed. She swept the fingers of both hands through her long crimson tresses, brushing the curls off her shoulders so that they fell down the length of her back and then lifted her head in a display of firm determination.
"I came here to thank you, Gray," she said, her voice controlled and calm. "James and Remus told me what you did. Although I've no idea why you would have put yourself in harm's way for a group of students you don't even know – Gryffindors, no less – I wanted to let you know that I appreciate it. Very much. James and I are certain you saved Sirius' life. I can't imagine what would have happened if that Crucio had stayed on him for much longer... and... and who knows what other atrocities that monster would have committed had you not have stepped in!"
Lily shuddered, her head lowering as her speech began to lose its composed aura. When she looked up, her eyes were glistening with tears.
"I... I'm just... very grateful to you. And..."
She paused to wipe away her fallen tears. When she lifted her gaze once more, her expression had changed, the still shimmering pools of emerald flashing fierce determination.
"And there's something I want to ask you," she announced. Her voice, too, had taken on a more assertive tone, one that wholeheartedly matched her gritty demeanor. She paused again, whether to garner some type or courage or to allow Harry a moment to prepare, he wasn't certain. After the brief respite, she voiced her query, intent green eyes boring into grey ones all the while.
"Why did you attack Peter?"
It sounded more like an order than a question. Harry swallowed hard, his throat impossibly tight and his mouth dry, panic consuming him. He knew he could not tell her the truth, but he had to say something. He just had no idea what he could possibly say that would appease her.
He settled for a somewhat unforthcoming response.
"I can't tell you that," he said. His voice sounded feeble, even to his own ears, though this time, he knew its weak tone had little to do with lack of usage. He swallowed again and forced himself to press on. "Lily, I'm sorry. I truly am. But there are certain things–"
"I'm not meant to know?" she finished, one delicate eyebrow ached high, partially obscured by wispy strands from her crimson fringe. She leaned forward, her hands perched on the edge of the bed, and fixed Harry with a potent look, those virescent orbs blazing.
"Gray, who are you... really?"
Heart racing and mind reeling, Harry looked away, his future mother's vehement look and emphatic request momentarily stumping him.
Did she know? Had she figured out that he wasn't who he claimed to be? Had she noticed the glamour charm – like Severus had? Or had James told her something?
"I... I don't know what you mean," he tried, his gaze still averted. Now that it came right down to it, Harry wasn't certain he could look her directly in the eyes and lie to her. He had to though. He couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't want to risk saying too much like he did with James. He just couldn't do that to her.
"Look, I know you're lying," she blurted out, her tone indignant. "And it's obvious James and Sirius are privy to whatever it is that you're hiding. God! After you attacked Peter, I thought for sure they would retaliate, but the next thing I know, they're both just pretending the whole thing never happened! And if I even mention you to James, his face turns chalk-white and he looks as though he's going to lose his lunch. Then you go and throw yourself in front of that Crucio, saving Sirius' life... and probably mine, too. On top of all that, you were here for what? Less than a day? Before suddenly becoming Severus' best friend!? Severus Snape! The boy is possibly the most mistrustful, wary human being on the planet! Yet somehow you were able to break through that prickly, guarded exterior in fewer than twenty-four hours?!"
There was a lull to her angry tirade where she lowered her head again and exhaled a sharp breath. Harry glanced at her small hands clasped together in her lap, delicate fingers tensing and tightening their grip every so often, causing the knuckles to whiten.
After a moment, her head snapped back up. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but still emphatic.
"Gray, I'm not an idiot. I know something strange is going on! And if you don't want to tell me what it is, then fine. But don't you dare insult my intelligence by feigning ignorance. Do me the courtesy of respecting my ability to see the obvious."
Her last few words, spoken with irritation, had wounded him. The admonishment felt like a punch to the chest, leaving him breathless and riddled with guilt and torment. For the first time in his life, he had an inkling as to what it might feel like to be reprimanded by a parent.
Taking another deep breath, he met her piercing gaze head-on, and launched into what he hoped would be enough information to mollify her vehemence, but not so much that it would help her guess his true identity.
"I'm sorry, Lily. You're right. I'm not who I pretend to be. I'm actually not even from this time; I'm from the future."
Harry stopped here to gauge her reaction. She was still staring at him, her eyes transfixed, but they were wide with astonishment now and the irritation emanating from them just moments before had all but vanished. She tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth a fraction as if to say something, but snapped it shut again a second later. Harry took advantage of her silence and continued his fragmented explanation.
"That's why I've been concealing my identity and why I'm unable to tell you certain things. James and Sirius only know who I am because they have this... um... magical object that revealed my real name to them. James has promised not to divulge my true identity to anyone else because it would be dangerous for too many people to know who I am. I'm sorry, Lily, but you just can't know anything else. I just– just can't tell you. I..."
He had been doing fine. His voice had started off strong, his words firm, confident, informative. But now that his explanation had become more personal, the facts edging closer to the heart of his grief and sorrow and anguish, he found himself unable to continue. His mind was spinning and his heart was pounding at a furious pace as a reckless voice inside his head begged him to disregard the laws of time travel and prevent the impending evils that were fated to occur...
Tell her! Tell her you're her son and that she and her future family will be in grave danger. Tell her not to trust Peter Pettigrew and that she and James need to run away... hide themselves in a place far from here. Tell her to use someone trustworthy as their secret keeper and not a traitor masquerading as a friend! Just tell her! Tell her... save her...
"I can't!" Harry cried, uncertain whether he'd spoken the words out loud or if they only existed as anguished echoes resonating inside his own head. Panicked, he brought both hands up to clutch fistfuls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut to ease the pulsing pain in the back of his head that had returned to add to his torment. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in his own heart – the torture of trying to suppress his desperate desire to save his future mother from a horrible fate.
There's nothing I can do! She's going to die no matter what I say... or do... but how can I not warn her!? I have to do something!
He was pulled from his suffocating misery when soft, warm hands encircled his wrists, coaxing his trembling hands away from the now matted strands of mahogany hair.
Harry's heart gave a lurch as he realized that this was the first real touch he could ever remember receiving from his mother in living form. She had touched him before, but not like this. This touch was warm and tangible – so much more real and meaningful than the barren, insentient touch from her conjured spirit or from the magicked echo of her soul.
Helpless tears welling up in his eyes, Harry fought the sudden and overpowering urge to throw himself into her arms. He held himself back and only allowed that soothing, tender touch to guide his movements, eyes remaining shut while he concentrated on slowing down his frantic breathing and racing heartbeats. The relentless throbbing in his head was still intense, but he ignored the pain. When at last he opened his eyes, he turned to see those brilliant green orbs staring at him, filled with worry and a touch of fear.
"It's alright, Gray," she whispered. "You don't have to say anything else. I won't ask any more questions. I promise."
Harry nodded, his eyes cast down again, unwilling to look upon those sparkling jade eyes any longer knowing they had only a few short years left to radiate their owner's fiery spirit and zest for life. So caught up in his debilitating inner-turmoil, Harry hadn't even realized he was crying until a wayward drop slipped past his lower eyelid and rolled down his cheek. He lifted a shaky hand and wiped it away, turning away from her, not wanting Lily to see his pain, terrified she could somehow discern that the tears he cried were for her.
There was nothing he could do.
Dumbledore's warning about meddling with time echoed in his brain – the man's cautionary words explaining how countless wizards and witches went mad once they'd been alerted to their impending suffering.
There was nothing he could do.
Except let each event run its course on the unyielding tracks of fate.
Yes...
As clear and sudden as an epiphany, Harry knew that the only thing he could do was to ensure Lily's final years were free from the inevitable pain and duress that came from knowing about one's own divined demise.
He would not disclose the horrors that lay in wait for her.
He would not mar her remaining years of life by divulging the awful truth that she and her future husband were marked for death.
He would remain reticent and by doing so, give her the freedom to experience every joyful moment between now and then, allow her to live her life and take pleasure in the elation of being young and in love... the bliss of being newly married... the joy of being a mother even for so short a time.
This would be Harry's gift to his mother. To Lily Evans Potter – the woman who would one day willingly die to protect him, who would gaze into the twisted face of evil and with boundless courage, would sacrifice her own life so that her child might live. His silence now would be the one selfless act of devotion he could bestow upon her. It would serve as a symbol of his abiding love, a tribute to her strength and kindness and beautiful spirit.
Harry knew he could not prevent her death, but he would be damned if he would deny her a life worth living.
"Gray? Are... are you OK?"
"Y-y-yes," he stammered, his voice husky again. He cleared his throat, swallowing what remained of his doubt and fear, and met her concerned gaze once more. "Yes... I'm alright now. Sorry that I kind of lost it there for a minute. I... I just have trouble dealing with all of this sometimes. It's challenging... to have to pretend to be someone that I'm not."
"I can imagine," she sympathized. She had long since released his wrists. Both of her hands were lying in her lap again, her fingers twisting around one another in nervous agitation. After a long pause of uncomfortable silence, she rose from the small wooden chair and swung her school bag over her shoulder.
"I should go now," she said. "I'm sorry if I upset you."
She turned to go, but Harry called her back.
"Wait, Lily..."
She stopped and turned back around, her eyes locking with his once again as she waited for him to continue.
"I... I just wanted to ask how you're feeling. Madam Pomfrey told me that the curse Avery cast on you was pretty bad, but she didn't go into any details."
At Harry's words, she dropped her gaze and stared at the floor, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as if the very idea of answering Harry caused her unease.
"Professor Dumbledore said it was a curse that Avery's father invented," she explained, her voice faint and trembling slightly while her gaze remained fixed on the floor. "Its effects are similar to the effects of being near a dementor, causing the victim to relive their most painful memory over and over again."
Lily fell silent, eyes still trained on the floor.
Harry watched her. He had no idea what traumatic memory she was forced to remember but knew enough not to ask, certain she would never divulge something so personal.
She gave him an inadvertent clue, however, when her eyes suddenly snapped up to meet his and she voiced a seemingly out of the blue question.
"Is he happy?"
"Who?" Harry asked, taken off guard.
"Severus. He just seems so much calmer and contented now that you're in his life. It's obvious he loves you," she said. Her voice was hushed, no more than a whisper, but her words carried with them a fierce conviction. "And I have no idea if you feel the same way or not, but..."
She paused, fixing Harry with a stern expression, the blazing intensity of which left little doubt in Harry's mind that Lily Evans had once cared very deeply for a scrawny abused boy from the wrong side of town.
"...but don't hurt him," she added. "Please. He's already been through so much pain. He shouldn't have to endure anymore."
Before Harry could even gather his thoughts to generate a response, she was gone, the double doors to the infirmary swinging past one another in her precipitous departure.
Tearing his gaze away from the doors, Harry glanced up at the large clock on the wall opposite his bed. Its ornate brass hands indicated that it was nearly dinnertime. Severus would soon be here.
With a heavy sigh, he rested his pounding head on his pillow once again, letting his weary eyes hide behind their lids as he tried his best to ignore the myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions swirling around his overburdened mind. Lily's visit had evoked a surge of happiness to well up inside his heavy heart, but the joy of speaking with his future mother had been tainted, tinged with pain and sorrow and regret. Harry may be resigned to his passive role in this time, but the pain of knowing the end to the tragic tale was pure agony.
Closing his eyes, he tried to block out his distress, to let go of all the panic and fear and guilt. But as the persistent lure of sleep began to claim him, his mind drifted back to Lily's warning about Severus. Her final words refused to be dismissed, flitting across the indistinct edges of his hazy, slumberous consciousness and filling him with consuming, heart-rending dread.
No, Severus shouldn't have to endure any more pain... but he will.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
Not surprisingly, Harry's brief nap was fraught with nightmares and frequent moments of wakeful panic. He hadn't suffered a worse bout of restless sleep since those horrible nights in that freezing cold tent with Ron and Hermione, all three of them terrified that their hideaway would be swarmed by Death Eaters at any moment. At least now when he woke, he was fairly certain he was not in any imminent danger.
Harry's reprieve from his uneasy slumber came around seven o'clock that evening when he was woken by the gentle brush of soft lips against his own. The kiss was tender and sweet and Harry immediately opened his eyes, eager to drink in the sight of his love. The image of a clean, shaven and well-rested Severus leaning over him warmed his heart even more than the feather light kiss had.
The next couple of hours were spent enjoying each other's company. Harry devoted most of that time to taking small sips of the lukewarm chicken broth Madam Pomfrey had served him for dinner. She had assured him that his body was now ready to handle small amounts of mild food, in addition to the nutritive potions she had been spelling directly into his stomach during his coma.
Harry, however, had his doubts. Not three minutes after taking his first bite of the buttered toast that had accompanied the broth, his stomach had clenched and churned, sending several unpleasant waves of pain through his weakened body. Needless to say, Harry abandoned the toast after that, in favor of an all liquid dinner.
Severus occupied their entire first hour together perched on the side of his bed while obsessively keeping vigil over him. He watched Harry like a hawk, gazing at him with nervous agitation every time he brought a spoonful of broth to his lips as if terrified Harry would suddenly forget how to swallow and choke on his meal. It took Harry a full thirty minutes to assure Severus that this was not the case, that he truly was healthy and able enough to eat and that Severus needn't stand sentinel by his bedside to ensure his continued survival.
Once convinced of Harry's well-being, Severus plunged himself into a rather heavy dose of feverish studying. Harry guessed that he had probably paid little to no attention to his accumulating schoolwork while Harry had been in his coma and now that he was sure that Harry was okay, academic panic had begun to set in.
In contrast, Harry couldn't seem to muster the same enthusiasm about his studies. The prospect of getting all Os on his NEWTs didn't hold the same appeal it might have in light of his other concerns.
While Severus immersed himself in his schoolwork, Harry's mind kept wandering back to the attack. He couldn't help but feel anxious about the fact that he and Severus had yet to discuss it. After all, Harry had almost gotten himself killed by jumping in front of a Crucio in order to save Sirius Black – the very person who had once tried to murder Severus. This must weigh heavily on Severus' mind, yet he hadn't so much as mentioned Harry's self-sacrificing act, let alone question his reasons behind it.
Around nine-thirty, just before curfew, Harry finally garnered the courage to inquire about Severus' thoughts on the matter. Unfortunately, it didn't go well. As soon as Harry started talking about the Cruciatus curse that Avery hit Sirius with, Severus stiffened and turned away from him, telling him that he didn't have time to discuss such things with NEWTs only days away.
Harry knew it was a frivolous excuse, one that was voiced as a means to hide the hurt and confusion Severus must be feeling, but Harry did not press the issue. He knew they would have to talk about it at some point though. For the time being, however, it seemed Severus was content in the fact that Harry was alive and well. He supposed that was enough for now.
By ten o'clock, Madam Pomfrey arrived to usher a very vexed Severus out of the Hospital Wing, insisting that her patient needed to sleep. A furious Severus then spent the next ten minutes arguing with her. He finally acquiesced, but only after succeeding in getting the mediwitch to promise he could visit before breakfast the next morning. He was still fuming as he slung his overloaded school bag over his shoulder and strode towards the double doors, a disgruntled scowl marring his thin face as he stormed out.
Despite the somewhat juvenile nature of Severus' tantrum, Harry couldn't help but be warmed by the boy's display of stubborn insistence that he be allowed to remain by his side. Smiling to himself, he laid his still throbbing head on his pillow, pulled the heavy wool comforter over his shoulders and closed his eyes. This time, a deep, peaceful sleep found him almost instantly. The lingering memory of Severus' soft, loving kisses and the warmth of their fingers woven together was Harry's last sentient perception before letting go and drifting into blissful, mindless oblivion once more.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
Harry woke up under a veil of complete and utter darkness.
He had forgotten just how pitch-black this part of the castle became in the meager hours of the morning, the feeble light from the crescent moon providing only the scarcest of illumination through the infirmary's lofty windows.
With the darkness pressing hard against Harry's eyes, he narrowed them to mere slits to gain some semblance of visual clarity. The action did nothing to improve his diminished sight, but as he turned his head in further attempt to discern his surroundings, he became aware that his head no longer pounded and ached. His throat, however, was another matter; the searing pain there felt as though he had recently swallowed broken glass.
Grateful for at least a partial reprieve from his near constant pain, Harry propped himself up and reached over to his bedside table, his fingers fumbling in the dark for the glass of water Madam Pomfrey had set out for him. As soon as his hand closed around the cool glass, he slid it across the wooden surface and brought it to his parched lips, taking several large gulps of the soothing liquid to ease the soreness.
Once his discomfort had lessened, Harry reached over once more to return the glass, but flinched and swiftly withdrew when his hand brushed against something unseen, almost dropping the glass in shock. A slow creep of panic began to build within him at the unexpected contact, his heart speeding up and his breath catching in his throat. Whatever had just grazed his hand was definitely not the bedside table, nor was it the small wooden chair beside his bed. It had not felt nearly as rigid nor as unyielding, but instead firm, pliant and warm.
Harry couldn't help but shudder when he came to the unnerving realization that the thing that had just brushed against him was probably a living thing.
With his heart now thundering in his chest, he scanned the room for a second time, desperate to find the source of the phantom touch amid a sea of heavy blackness. Seeing nothing only heightened his anxiety. He quickly thrust his hand under his pillow and snatched up his wand. With the thin stick of Hawthorn gripped tightly in his raised hand, he cast a Lumos and then inspected the room once more.
Even under the luminescent glow of the magicked light, the room revealed nothing.
"Who's there?" he called out.
There was no answer. Harry swallowed, still holding his wand up. He might be imagining things, but he had learned to trust his instincts – instincts honed by seventeen years' worth of perilous misfortune. Right now, these instincts were telling him that he was not alone.
They were proven right a second later when a hand emerged out of nowhere at the side of his bed. It grasped at the air around it as if reaching for something solid, then extracted a shimmering mass of silvery fabric out of nonbeing. The material fell to the floor as the hand released it, revealing a head that was lowered, its face concealed by locks of dark, wavy hair. A body emerged a fraction of a second later, seated comfortably on the chair beside Harry's bed.
James, Harry thought.
But when the figure lifted his head, the deep blue eyes that pierced him were not those of his future father.
"Hello, Harry," came the cool, wily greeting of Sirius Black.
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: Whew! This is my longest chapter yet. It also happens to be the most challenging chapter I have ever written – thanks to the intense array of emotional and physical pain I put poor Gray and Severus through. Ah well... I did list this tale as Romance/Angst. I think I am certainly living up to that second genre. ;)
Just like always, I have to give credit to my very talented Beta, YenGirl, for the huge amount of help she gave me on this chapter. It simply would not be the same without her knowledgeable guidance and assistance. Thanks so much... I know this one was rough.
ETA for Chapter 13? Hmmm... let's shoot for March 10th. If that changes, I will update my Bio with a new ETA.
And for those of you who are eager for another intimate Snarry moment between these two characters, the next chapter will definitely deliver... hint, hint. :D
Please Review.