My Own: Chapter 9
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling therefore do not own any of the characters etc. etc...
Third Person POV:
He spent most of the early morning hours pacing about the old house which creaked and moaned at his every movement. In fact, it was like he established his own route: lounge, bedroom, potion's lab, kitchen, and then back to the lounge. It wasn't until on one of his several loops that he'd heard an odd, strangled squawking. With his wand drawn, he neared the source of noise to recognize Hedwig, rather sullen and skeleton-like in his soiled cage. He simply accio'd some stale bread he stored as a treat for owls and bent down to feed it to the bird. Hedwig stared silently at Severus for a while before caving into the instinct and devouring the few cubes of bread. Severus stood back up and returned his wand to his pocket only to feel something obstructing in the way. Gently, he fished his pocket for the forgotten object as he walked back to his beloved seat at the fire place, only to discover Harry's broken wand.
He pulled his seat closer to the fire to get a better look at the wand. With a sigh of relief, he noticed that the Phoenix feather core was still intact, acting as the only force still keeping the broken pieces of the wand together. Delicately, he got off the chair and placed the wand by the fire, kneeling down beside it as he withdrew his own wand. He muttered a series of complex spells, gently guiding the pieces with his hands as the wand regenerated its magic, the core once again calling in the other pieces for unity. It was a slow process, particularly for Severus, who made sure that each step was completed in perfection in order to ensure the best result. The pieces painstakingly inched closer every hour until finally, at six-seventeen in the morning, the wand looked complete.
Taking no chances, Severus once again cast a protective spell over the wand and was determined to take it to Ollivander's to be sure. By the time he stiffly got off the floor and put the wand away, he was shocked to see the time was six twenty-eight. There was something niggling in the back of his mind about six thirty. Something important. As he searched his short-term memory - which he had temporarily managed to shut off in concentration on the wand - he remembered the Blood-Replenishing potion and Harry Potter. Hurriedly, he ran to his potion cabinet to extract the correct vial and then ran to Harry's room.
"Potter, wake up." Snape ordered, attempting to snap the unconscious and heavily drugged boy into consciousness with the sternness of his voice. He even considered hexing Harry but figured it'd only hurt him more. Not that he'd care, but were it not to mean the boy would have to stay longer. And extending Harry's stay was not what he wanted.
He swiftly walked over to the bed and bent over Harry, his hands wrapping around the boy's shoulders as he shook Harry. Despite not having his glasses on, when his eyes finally fluttered open, he immediately recognized Snape. The black hair, pale face and black, strict robes were enough to alert him although he could not see the greasiness of his hair or long, crooked nose.
"Open up." Snape said once Harry had fully awakened. Harry sat up slightly and winced. The pain, while somewhat dulled, was still there. With Harry half propped against the wall, Severus gently poured the potion down Harry's throat. Harry reached over to put his glasses on after wiping his mouth of the potion. He eyed Severus quizzically as he returned the phial to the desk.
"What potion was that, sir?" Harry asked, his voice unintentionally hoarse with thirst and sleep. Severus smirked as he summoned a glass of water, knowing too well the deadly thirst as a result of a night of consuming either alcohol or potions; it has the same effect in the end.
"Don't worry Potter, I haven't poisoned you. It was a Blood-Replenishing potion. You will undoubtedly begin to feel a little dizzy as your blood reforms. You will also undoubtedly sink into unconsciousness again." Snape answered. Suddenly, Harry's half formed questions regarding why he was in Snape's house and what on earth happened to land him there began to fade rapidly as the said unconsciousness crept up on him. He barely had time to mutter "greasy git" before he was out like a light again, his head falling clumsily against the headboard, his body slumped against the wall. Severus simply levitated Harry back into a horizontal position; Harry's head fell firmly into the pillow, the glasses once again making a nuisance of themselves as they were uncomfortably pressed against Potter's face. Applying the same excuse as the night before, Severus carefully took off Harry's glasses, placing them on the bedside table with a full glass of water.
When Harry woke up, the only sounds that could be heard were his own breathing. He looked around the room, trying to take in the blurry atmosphere before realizing his glasses were off – he was so sure that he had fallen unconscious with them on. He leant over to the bedside table and was pleasantly shocked by the lack of pain of the small movement. With his glasses on, he gleefully recognized a full glass of water. He swiftly picked the cup up and poured it down his throat, gratefully noting the cool temperature; it was obviously charmed.
Once he sat the glass back down on the bedside table, he once again turned his focus to the inhabitants of the house. He strained to hear something – anything – but failed, even when he held his breath in order to hear his surroundings better. His throat was dry and raw; Harry desired nothing more then to summon another jug full of the cool, soothing water, but when he turned to his bed side table, his wand wasn't there. He always kept it by his bedside table – where else could it be?
But those questions were quickly forgotten as he took a deep breath. Suddenly, as his lungs filled with air, his throat became exposed and the dry walls of his lungs were brushed by the air particles, only making Harry evermore desperate for water. Obviously unable to summon himself water or somebody else to summon water, Harry gently sat up. He wiggled his toes to confirm workable limbs before swinging his bottom half over the edge of the bed and placing his bare feet on the stone floor. Slowly, he lifted himself off the bed. Feeling confident, Harry took small, measured steps towards the door. His skin prickled at the soft touch of fabric as he moved, each limb seeming to beg for more rest as he became hyperaware of the state of his body.
It was a wonder, really, that he made it halfway to the door before his knees gave way similarly to a jelly-leg jinx, creating an echoing 'thump' through-out the residence. For a moment, the loud disturbance of silence was followed once again by the solitary silence and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. But then rushed footsteps could be heard and were getting closer to Harry's room with an increasing speed. Harry cursed himself for his naivety; whether he was held by Dumbledore or Voldemort, neither would leave him alone in a house.
In a bid to get back to the bed, Harry tried to stand up again but could not get any strength back into his legs. Hearing the footsteps get closer, Harry resorted to digging his arms into the crevices of the stone and heaving his body towards the bed, but by then he was too late. The door silently swung open, the silhouette of Severus Snape blocking the door.
"I thought you had more sense then to allow your Gryffindor bravery to control you." Severus remarked as he stepped into the room. "You should have called out."
"I couldn't hear anyone in the house." Harry replied simply, trying to sit up from his awkward, splattered position on the floor. Severus rolled his eyes at the naivety. He watched and almost winced as Harry fell again, flinching in pain.
"Potter, I'll help." Severus put simply in few words. He loathed himself for such an idea, but he couldn't leave him here. He couldn't do something so cruel.
Blasted Lily is rubbing off, he thought as he bent down beside Harry and quickly wrapped his arms around the surprisingly small form. He lifted Harry with as much gentleness as he could muster before dumping him gently on the bed. Harry was simply too shocked for words.
"Close your mouth, Potter. Your impersonation of the fish species is rather an offence to the whole aquatic life." Snape commented quietly. Harry slowly shut his mouth as though it was by his own decision rather then as a result of Snape's words. He wouldn't want to give the man such satisfaction. "How are you…feeling Mister Potter?" Snape asked hesitantly. Harry frowned in concentration. He supposed he felt fine as he hadn't had any immediate pains.
"I'm a bit sore, but fine." He answered truthfully. Snape nodded.
"If you need anything, don't make an idiot of yourself again and call for Dobby. The elf has refused to leave, so he may as well be of some use." Snape informed Harry. "If you need me specifically, Dobby will find me. Do not leave that bed, Potter." Severus warned as he walked out of the room, not giving Harry the chance to respond.
Now that he was finally awake, he wondered what to do. He didn't want to do nothing, for that would lead to thinking which would then lead to remembering Petun- the other day. It was all a bit much for him to take in at one moment; residing with Snape being the icing on the cake.
He decided to write to Ron and Hermione – he could barely remember the last time they'd Owled – and he called for Dobby.
"Dobby!" Harry summoned in a hushed tone, not wanting to attract any attention from Professor Snape. A little elf appeared right next to his bed.
"Harry Potter is finally awake!" The house elf rejoiced. "What is Master Potter needing?"
"Please bring my parchment and quill, Dobby." Harry asked politely. Dobby's eyes widened a little.
"But sir, Master Snape has forbid you to do anything! Dobby is only here to make sure Harry Potter is safe!" He exclaimed. Harry rolled his eyes. Why is it that house elves are so overly-dramatic?
"I'm hardly going to injure myself writing. Please fetch my parchment and quill." He asked again. Dobby shook his head furiously.
"Harry Potter must sleep!" He retorted. Harry groaned – trust the greasy git to manipulate the house elf! He could just imagine Snape smirking as he gave Dobby the orders on how to care for Harry, convincing the elf that his health depended on sleep. Blasted Slytherin.
Harry considered dismissing Dobby with the insistence he needed nothing and wanted to go to sleep, but he felt the cloud of doom that was endless boredom hover once again. Even so, was he brave enough to confront the man? He figured he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.
"Please call Professor Snape in, Dobby."
Dobby's face lit up at the prospect of being able to obey Harry. Bowing, he left the room, only to return a moment later at the door with the man himself.
"What is it Potter? So that you're aware, I am not to be summoned for your petty whims." Snape demanded.
"Why can I not write to my friends? They'll be worried that I haven't contacted them." Harry blurted. So much for his planned speech!
"Do no flatter yourself by thinking that they will want to cry over your wounds."
"I wouldn't want them to, sir, but I reckon I'll go bloody mad if you're the only one I can talk to for who knows how long! Bound to make Merlin himself mad!" Harry retorted hotly, furious at being so controlled. Severus' eyes flashed dangerously.
"Watch your mouth Potter and remember that you are currently under my care."
"Fine. Can I please have my wand?" Harry relented. Snape winced a little – nothing is worse then being wandless.
"I'm afraid your wand is currently…impaired."
"What happened to it!" He exclaimed, raising himself in his bed in haste. Without his wand, he's as good as dead!
"That infernal man that is your uncle snapped it, I believe, but all hope is not yet lost. I have managed to salvage majority of the wand's power, but it will need to be taken to Ollivander's soon to fully recover."
"How is that possible?" Harry asked, thinking back to Ron's wand in second year.
"The Phoenix feather was still mostly intact." Snape replied by way of explanation. Harry simply wanted to cry.
"When will I be able to take it to Ollivander's?" Harry asked in a small voice. He could only hope that the wand – which, due to its uniqueness, had saved Harry's life multiple times – would be able to hold up and function as before, otherwise, Harry thought with fear, Voldemort would have one less barrier to kill Harry. Severus' thoughts were not too far from Harry's.
"Considering the severe importance of your wand, when you are stable enough I will leave you and take the wand to Ollivander myself." Snape announced. Harry just stared at Snape silently while Snape scowled back. No doubt the ungrateful boy believed he would take it to the Dark Lord himself.
"Now, if you have nothing of importance to say, I do have other business to attend to." Snape said, annoyance lacing his words. Harry just shook his head in numb obedience and as Snape swirled on his heel and began to walk away, he felt angry at himself for not forcing something out of Snape. But much to both the shock of Harry and Severus, Snape stopped walking before exiting the room to give Harry at least a small comfort in his impending doom.
"You are permitted to Owl your friends for your duration here, provided they, in all their Gryffindor idiocy, don't attempt to break in to see you and that you use Dobby to deliver your mail instead." Snape said, half turned towards Harry, half turned towards the door. All Harry could do was mutter a small "thanks" to his quickly retreating figure.
Truth was, Severus was angry, and for once, it wasn't about Harry, or Lily, or even himself – well, at least not directly – but at certain members of human kind. He remembered all too well the violence of his childhood, the suppressed screams for mercy, the hidden tears of hurt; the sheer pain. The feeling of worthless and being utterly alone to a degree that is indescribable. Severus can't remember much about himself as a child, except that red haze of pain, magic, and Lily.
So looking at a beaten, bullied Harry did nothing to change Severus' perception of the boy – the bane of his existence – but Severus did sympathize for the Boy-Who-Lived utterly alone, abandoned and friendless, even if it be only temporarily. Why be extra cruel and deprive the boy of the sanity – dare he call it that! – provided by his friends? Merlin knows how much Severus needed Lily when she wasn't there. He couldn't help it if the boy was naturally weak – he would never survive on his own for long, for he's always had someone there for him. The last thing Severus needed was Harry Potter going mad because he was alone.
Some depths of Severus' mind barked at him that such an action didn't need to be so vigorously justified, but with the growing intensity of thoughts, Severus knew that the justification could save him his own sanity by allowing him to ignore the part of himself he hated the most – the emotions.
Harry wasted no time in contacting Ron and Hermione, immediately calling for Dobby to bring his supplies, but once he had dipped the quill in the ink and poised his hand over the parchment, he stumbled over what to write. The pleasantries were easy:
"How's life at the Burrow?"
"Read any good books lately?"
"Who is the latest victim of Fred and George's experimentation?"
But any form of true conversation came up dead as Harry fought to explain his lack of presence at the Burrow and his current predicament – living with Snape.
While Harry combated the correct words to write to Ron and Hermione, Severus was in his private lab. It wasn't anything spectacular – nothing that he owned was – but it held a quiet confidence, each cauldron, flask, knife and book having its own space. The room was unnaturally cold, supposedly to help preserve the ingredients, but it also was an extra comfort for Severus, who was never fond of heat.
As he gathered the ingredients for a Blood-Replenishing potion, he thought about Harry's wounds. What on earth could a kid possibly do to deserve such an infliction of hatred? Potter's injuries were unbearable to see, and it still stunned Severus that Dursley – Vernon Dursley, the fat muggle that married into the Evans family when he and Lily were…on better terms, managed to exude so much anger. The sheer brutality for no apparent reason was unfathomable. He has physically suffered worse then Potter countless times, but never had his wand actually been snapped. Had it been, he would have pursued vengeance till death, and yet, Harry was placid. Upset, but not livid. No thirst for revenge. Obviously, he didn't pick up that trait from his father. Severus had been about to think that perhaps it was an attribute of Lily's, but with a pang in his heart he darkly remembered that she, too, had a fiery temper and managed to hold grudges; forgiveness didn't seem to be her strong point, either.
With his mood quickly deteriorating, he stirred the potion four times left, thrice to the right and was about to add a Blood base when a knock echoed from the door. Breaking him from his spiraling thoughts, he looked up at the door and flicked his wand at it, making it suddenly open to reveal a beaming Dobby.
"What is it?" Severus asked as he added the base. A plume of smoke rose out of the cauldron and was absorbed into his hair and clothes.
"Headmaster Dumbledore is here to see Harry Potter and Professor Severus Snape!" Dobby exclaimed, his voice steadily rising with the pleasurable absurdity of it all. Severus scowled. He would hardly call it pleasurable.
"Invite him to sit in the lounge and offer him a drink before asking him to excuse my absence for the next ten minutes." Severus replied before hastily closing the door with another flick of the wand as he turned back to the potion, not wanting to see the house elf's gleaming face a moment longer.
With the ease of an accomplished Potions Master, Severus managed to bring the potion to a stable stage in seven minutes. Despite finishing early, he decided to spend the extra three minutes in the lab before being forced to be in the company of Dumbledore and the Chosen One. He put one hand through his hair, only to notice an increase in greasiness and that he smelled of smoke. Shrugging, he made for the door. Hygiene was one of the many sacrifices he had to make, just as he was again about to sacrifice his time for the whims of the crazed old man who happened to be his employer and closest friend. Severus didn't even bother to think about how unfair life was, for he was too well acquainted with the motto to even be thinking about it anymore; it was just accepted.
"Good evening, Severus. How are you today?" Albus asked from his chair by the fireplace as Severus stepped into his lounge-room, a scowl hovering on his face.
"Whether the evening is good or not is debatable and depends on whether what the nature of the news you bare is." Severus retorted smartly, settling into his favourite chair opposite Albus, summoning a tea for himself.
"What makes you think I'm here to bring news? Can I not make a social visit?" Albus inquired in an attempt at innocence. Severus just snorted in response.
"Perhaps you are correct about your theory that students are Sorted too young – you'd make a finer Slytherin in comparison to a Gryffindor any day. Now, Headmaster, what is it that you want?" Severus asked, lowering his voice as he leant forward.
Albus' eyes widened a little at the insult but quickly recovered. He just looked at Severus over his half-moon glasses, his eyes seeming to communicating thousands of apologies as he thought about what he was going to ask of Severus. Severus knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good.
Hello everyone :)
First up: Many apologies! I didn't realise how long it had been since my last update, otherwise I would have hurried up to post the chapter. Sorry!
With this chapter, Harry is obviously begining to heal, but on on a deeper level, Harry and Severus are beginning the journey of learning how to tolerate each other. As ususal, I hope you enjoyed the chapter - please, feel free to send me a private message with questions, and PLEASE REVIEW! There is nothing more thrilling or motivating.
With love,
Angela
(Missteque)