Chapter 45

Conscience

Translated by Persephone Lupin

Harry had retreated to a sofa in the backmost corner of the Gryffindor common room, legs drawn tightly to his body. He was holding onto them with both arms as if he could thus escape the horrors of today. Thank God, Mayweather hadn't been here when he had arrived in the tower. Most probably, the man was sitting in his rooms nearby drinking.

Harry did not know how long he had been sitting like this. He did not look at his watch; time was lost in thoughts circling around the bestiality he had witnessed, and the role he had played in it, as well as around Snape and the condition he had seen him in today. Never in his life would he have thought to see his hated teacher in such a vulnerable position, and this irritated him almost more than the bodily wounds he had observed. Ever since the first Potions lesson, he had despised Severus Snape for his malice and his unfair actions. What he believed to be pure loathing had grown immensely when he thought Snape guilty of murdering Sirius, and only the vision of Voldemort cutting the man's throat had shown him what hatred truly was. He wasn't capable of this feeling. True hatred meant to wish death upon somebody, to feel joy when this person was suffering. Harry had believed he would experience these emotions, but he had been wrong. He had never liked Snape, but he didn't hate him. Only people without conscience could truly hate. He had been too naive to see this; that was all. There was no white and black. Good and evil were always relative, and behind every angry word was a human being with feelings.

The portrait of the Fat Lady moved aside at some point of time and Ron and Hermione came rushing in, hastening to his side when they saw him.

"Harry, thanks goodness! The headmaster told us we would find you here," Hermione said, slightly breathless. "Are you ok?"

Harry nodded silently.

Ron sat beside him on the sofa. "You did frighten us quite a bit when you suddenly disappeared together with Sirius. In Merlin's name! What were you thinking of?"

"I had to go," he mumbled in his knees. "Snape was found out and imprisoned because of me."

A minute of silence followed this statement before Hermione asked shyly, "And? Did the two of you find him?"

Harry nodded again while trying desperately to drive away the images of Snape's maltreated, stinking body, the burn marks and festering wounds, the protruding ribs and the dirt. The white substance Sirius had removed from the sores on his back...

He closed his eyes to get rid of the memory. "He looks pretty bad, but he's still alive, and Madame Pomfrey says he stands a good chance of pulling through."

"Then everything's all right, isn't it," Ron said merrily. "Nothing bad happened, and Snape will deduct points from Gryffindor and scream at us again soon enough." At the last words, his voice had almost re-acquired the characteristic note of frustration and antipathy that always was there when discussing Snape and his unfair behavior in class. But Harry felt nothing of the usual dislike, just a sting of melancholy deep inside his heart.

"He might never be able to teach again. Voldemort has magically overloaded Snape. He must not even come close to any magic; he could die of it. He was tortured badly and has wounds so terrible ... " Again, he was overcome by helpless self-accusations and grief. "They just threw him onto a pile of corpses, half dead of torture, starvation and thirst. During the time I was there, he never regained consciousness, but even unconscious he was whimpering from the pain…"

Silence followed this statement. Ron and Hermione would surely have difficulty in picturing the malicious Potions master whimpering. Had he not seen it with his own eyes .… He buried his face between his knees again.

After a long minute of depressed silence, a hand gently touched his thigh.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Hermione.

Harry lifted his head again and looked at her sadly. "About last year and everything that happened this month. Do you still remember the day in Court?"

Both nodded.

"Madame Pomfrey said that Snape's fingernails had been ripped out. And that was exactly what I wanted to do with him to punish him."

"But you didn't know anything then, Harry," Hermione tried to console her friend.

"That's no excuse. When Ron said that we'd love to watch Snape's soul being sucked out by the Dementors, I was happy that he had heard it. That he knew how little he meant to everybody. Imagine how he must have felt then, and, despite all this, he was still willing to risk everything. I have no idea why he did it. Not out of brotherly love, that's for sure. Snape is too mean and bitter to feel anything like this. Still, he took on the risk for people who meant as little to him as he meant to them, while I wrote the letter that almost brought death upon him out of love for my godfather. What sort of person does that make him? And me?"

"It wasn't you letter alone, Harry, we all were part of it," Ron tried to comfort Harry halfheartedly. He looked insecure and ashamed as if he was only now realizing the true extent of the entire bloody mess, and their role in it.

"I can't believe it," Sirius choked out between clenched teeth as he supported Snape in his sideways position, one hand on his shoulder, and removed the supportive pillow from behind his back. Morosely, he let it drop onto the mattress beside the man's legs. "I, Sirius Black, am acting as a nurse for Snape of all people."

Slightly frustrated, he let the Potions master roll onto his back, causing him to moan softly when sudden pressure was exerted to the wounds there. Sirius felt a mixture of embarrassment at not having thought of this and frustration about the fact that he was here at all. "Now, don't make a fuss, Snape. Believe me, I don't enjoy this, either."

He removed the pillows from underneath the man's legs, and began controlling the bandages, gauzes and pads exactly as Madame Pomfrey had shown him.

"No, not fun at all," he murmured as he lifted one of Snape's legs and started to move it gently while massaging the muscles above the burned sections to improve blood circulation. Pomfrey and Dumbledore would never forgive him if blood clots were forming because he hadn't paid attention.

"James would turn in his grave if he saw me like this," he commenced telling off the unconscious man in his quiet monologue. "I bet you'd love this, wouldn't you, Snivellus?"

He lowered the leg onto the mattress again, but this time made sure to not move it abruptly. Then he repeated the procedure with the other limb. "But I swear that, if you ever mention a single word about all this, I'll tell all your students that the dreaded Potions master couldn't even go to the loo without help."

Of course, Sirius didn't expect Snape to actually hear him, but his one-sided tirade did help a lot to reduce his frustration.

He put the leg down on the bed and turned the limp body onto the other side, placing the pillow behind the man's back again. The legs were also supported by a pillow, thus leaving the burnt feet and calves lying as freely as possible, before Sirius covered Snape up to his chest with the sheet again.

He then sat on the edge of the bed, produced a cloth from inside a small bowl filled with water, wrung it out a little and lifted it to Snape's face. From his time in Azkaban, he knew that it was more than unpleasant to be thirsty, and even though Snape wasn't able to drink while he was unconscious, a little fluid would surely help reduce the thirst and prevent inflammations of the mouth's mucous membrane. However unwillingly he had taken over the job, it was still better than letting Harry put his career on the line. He intended to do the job as good as he could, so that Snape would recover as soon as possible. For Harry's sake and Dumbledore's, plus he would be able to get away from here more quickly. As soon as Snape could manage on his own not even ten giants would keep him in close vicinity of the man. He would do what had to be done, but that was it. Nothing more. Obviously, Voldemort's magical overloading had also lifted the spell that kept Snape shaven, so this would have to be done the Muggle way in future. Too bad for Snape, he would have to get used to a beard, thought Sirius, since there was no way he would shave him. Never in his life.

Sirius wiped the thin layer of sweat away from Snape's face first, and at the touch of cold water, the Potions master moaned softly and leaned into the cloth almost unnoticeably.

"You don't mean to grace us with your presence again, Snape, do you?" asked Sirius mockingly. He snorted, and then dipped the cloth into the bowl again. He wrung out the surplus liquid and lifted the rag to Snape's parched lips. "Try to suck on this if you are awake, Snape. It'll help ease the dryness in your mouth."

Sirius suppressed an acidic comment, but couldn't completely ban the harshness from his voice. When he touched Snape's lips with the wet piece of cloth and let some drops of water drip into the half-opened mouth, ordering: "Drink!", the man's reaction, however, wasn't the one he had expected. As soon as the liquid wetted his tongue, the man winced violently. His eyes clenched shut, and his entire body began to tremble, while he tried to move his head away, moaning panicky. But he didn't seem to have the energy for even a tiny movement like this. Startled, Sirius withdrew the hand holding the rag. He wasn't prepared for such a violent reaction at all. Plus he was convinced that Snape wasn't even fully awake.

"Snape?"

The tremors only increased in intensity, and Sirius could see Snape's eyeballs move frantically underneath their lids. His breathing was quick and irregular.

Sirius grew increasingly restless. Snape wouldn't die on him now, would he? He wouldn't be able to look neither Harry nor Dumbledore straight in the eye ever again. "Snape! Damn you, stop it. Wake up, instantly!"

Everything hurt. His entire body was an aching wound. Scraps and pieces of memories whirled about in his head without making any sense at all. There were voices making fun of him, a human form with near to white hair, and another one with red eyes who laughed loudly and revoltingly. He experienced a strong feeling of shame and humiliation but couldn't remember why. White-hot coals were there too, and empty eyesockets in a skull half eaten by decay. Chains and knives. The pictures whirled and whirled before his inner eye, faster and faster, until his skull felt like bursting into a thousand pieces.

But then, something cool and soft gently touched his face, providing him with a new hold onto which he could concentrate through the thick haze that enveloped his mind. The touch was so gentle; it gave him a sense of security and protectiveness he had never felt before. He moaned and leaned into the touch. But, all of a sudden, it vanished again, and the pleasant coolness it had provided and that had so marvelously cleared his thoughts changed into an icy cold as only air met his skin. He heard a voice from somewhere, but the words seemed to be too far away for him to understand.

And then, something wet was pressed against his mouth, and through the haze he heard the order "Drink" echoing in his mind. Before he knew why, he was seized by an enormous wave of panic that ate into his very bones. Blood ... the blood of the child ... dead eyes ... If he didn't drink, something horrible would happen ... He had to obey ... He had to but couldn't. The panic had him completely in its grip now and threatened to choke him, pressed him down. He had to drink ... had to ... was terribly thirsty, but couldn't. His stomach turned and every fiber in his body screamed to run. But he had to obey ... Something horrible would happen ... The thoughts were racing faster and faster, colliding with his emotions again and again until everything vanished and nothing was discernable anymore. Nothing but a dead weight on his chest that became ever heavier.

"Snape! Damn you, stop it. Wake up, instantly!"

The voice got through to him, eventually, and ripped his mind out of the nightmare. His eyes shot open, and, for a moment, he saw only a veil of gray.

"At last. In time, too. I already thought you'd snuff it right here an now."

He recognized the voice. It awoke some pressing unholy feeling inside him and Severus clenched his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, the gray veil was lifting slowly and the shape of a head began to form. After blinking twice, the features of the face became visible too, and Severus looked into the face of a black-haired man with furrowed brows. It took his brain a few seconds to put a name to the face. Sirius Black. And another second to come to the realization that he hated the man. He couldn't remember exactly why, but his panic of just now transformed into unbearable wrath. His heart that had been about to calm down from the horrible memories began to race again as his mind tried to process the flood of overwhelming insights and emotions. He didn't know where he was but his whole body ached. He had barely enough energy to keep his eyes open, and, for some reason his hazy brain couldn't recall, he had the feeling of having failed in something very important. And Sirius Black was here to make fun of his failure. As so often before.

"You ..." he began to swear at Sirius, but only a croaking noise left his throat.

Black grinned at him spitefully, which made him ever more angry. How dare the damned mutt make fun of him? And why on earth was he in this pitiful condition? What had happened? How dare Black feast on his weakness? His eyelids became heavier, but he forced them open by sheer will and stared at the Animagus with unconcealed hatred. He curled his lips in a gesture of contempt, ignoring the tugging pain caused by the tiny movement. He wouldn't let Black witness his weakness ... if only his eyelids weren't so heavy ...

Before he sank into unconsciousness again, he could hear Black's disparaging remark, "You'll never change, ungrateful greasy git that you are."

T.B.C.

Betaed by Slytherin's silver snake and Sadistra.

So people. Since it's Persephone doing the translation for now, you're presented with a much better writing starting this chapter. I'd like to shovel all credit down to her and to our wonderful Betareaders (Who suddenly don't have to spend hours to correct my awful spelling anymore:-P) Thanks you three. You're awesome.

And also thanks to those amazing reviewers.