A/N: Right! I'm back, and terribly sorry for the long absence, people! I solemnly swear I will update more often (the Lioness will be updated by the end of the week, too!). Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews, I´m quite overwhelmed with the response to this story and will do my best to meet your expectations! I may not be able to answer to all of you individually from now on, as my free time is rather limited, but I will answer general questions as the beginning of each chapter, so ask on!
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A Dark And Stormy Night Indeed!
It was pitch black and raining heavily when two figures appeared with a pop in the middle of nowhere. One of the figures was cursing heavily under his breath, tightening his robes around himself with a disdainful sniff.
The other figure did nothing, and only the slightly raised head could have told a bystander that he had noticed the rain. Not that there was a bystander in the middle of this particular nowhere. Nor was there a house, or a shelter of any sort.
Finally, the still figure turned towards the cursing one and applied a Water Repellance charm onto him, being thanked by a muttered tirade about how they could have used a floo or at least apparated directly to the house.
"My house isn´t connected to the floo network, Sir," Potter explained calmly for the third time, "And the wards won´t allow us to apparate any nearer than this. At least not you, and I thought you´d prefer my company than walking the hills on your own."
From the other man´s glare, it was quite easy to see that he disagreed heartily.
Snape was seething inside. Not only had he been forced away from the castle and into Potter´s company for Hell knew how long, it had all happened in less than two hours, giving him neither time to prepare himself sufficiently, nor a chance to let the shock sink in.
Albus had proposed that Potter would spend the night in the infirmary while Snape prepared his departure and assembled the necessary equipment, but again, Potter had disagreed in that cold, stony voice of his, and Albus, happy now that he had ascertained contact between himself and the brat, had agreed to everything.
So Snape had been ushered down to the dungeons with barely enough time on his hand to pack his private things, not to speak about books, potions and ingredients.
When he returned to the infirmary, his two trunks shrunk and packed away into his pockets carefully, Potter was sitting on a bed in the infirmary as if he hadn´t a care in the world, fussed about by a hoard of excited females.
"If I may divert your attention from your fan club, Potter," he barked, ignoring the reproachful looks shot at him from every side. Potter just turned towards him. "I packed my working utensils and personal belongings. I will work through the necessary potions now and gather the supplies. In about five hours…"
"That won´t be necessary, Professor. You can do that at my house and I can guarantee you that all ingredients will be provided for." The brat had cut in, his voice and demeanour calm, but there was a desperate shine in his eyes that made Snape suddenly realize how badly Potter wanted to leave.
Now normally, that would have spurred the Potions Master into only more time-consuming actions, making sure that Potter went mad with waiting, but he hadn´t forgotten Potter´s rather violent solution of the locked-door-problem not more than a few hours earlier, and thus decided to comply.
After all, Potter had just received the news of his necessary survival, which seemed to bother him a great deal more than his death.
"Right then," He muttered, trying desperately not to sound as if he gave in to a Potter. "The sooner all this is over, the better."
He received a short nod from the younger man. "I couldn´t agree more, Professor. Shall we go then?"
"But how to reach you in the case of new developments, dear boy?" Dumbledore interrupted Harry´s exit. "We must know where to find you, and of course it is necessary to meet regularly. After all, we have to discuss the developments of your therapy."
From the darkening of Potter´s eyes, it was clear that he didn´t like the idea of meetings or even contact one bit. But the Headmaster´s face was stern now, and Snape knew him well enough to realize that he wouldn´t yield in this question. Obviously, Potter knew that look as well, for he nodded after a moment´s hesitation.
"I will send you an owl that can reach me," He offered. "Everything else we can discuss via letters. Are you satisfied with this solution, Headmaster?"
And the Headmaster had agreed heartily, wishing them goodbye with twinkling eyes and the murmured advice: "Take good care of the boy, Severus!" That had caused Snape to fantasize once more about the violent deaths of everybody he knew.
And now he was here, wherever here might be, freezing and tired and in a mood that was bad even for the gloomiest Potions Master ever.
Potter´s face was unreadable as they plowed through the mud and dirt of whichever place they had landed. It seemed as if they´d walked for at least half an hour now, but the man had kept his silence so far, a fact Snape was quite thankful for. Never had he become used to the incessant chatter most people believed to be entertaining. Not that he thought Potter would feel the need to entertain him.
Finally, the young man raised his arm and pointed into the darkness, flashing his old teacher a short smile.
"We´re nearly there," He explained, and resumed walking.
Snape couldn´t see any difference between the darkness in front of them and the darkness that loomed behind their backs. Obviously, nobody had bothered with street lamps or lanterns here and he couldn´t see any lightened windows that might have helped orientate him.
"Where are we, anyway?" He asked, angry that he was forced to trust Potter of all people with the way.
"Skye," Potter replied nonchalantly. "The northern part of it. I have a cottage here."
"So this is where you have been hiding all the time?"
Something like pain crossed the face that was glowing in the moonlight.
"Only for the last four years, Professor. Before that… I´ve been travelling. Among other things."
Snape had no problems imagining this. Harry Potter, enjoying the warm southern sun while they were hunting for the Death Eaters and worrying about him. Not Snape of course. He had never worried about Potter.
He wondered if he should share some of his darker sentiments concerning full-time-tourists with Potter, when suddenly, a house seemed to leap at him from the darkness. It hadn´t been there just a second before, he was sure of that, but now it presented its front to them, a medium sized cottage with an old, wooden entrance door.
Sighing in weary relief, Potter placed the palm of his hand on the dark wood and whispered a password Snape couldn´t make out. The door swung open and Snape made towards it, but a surprisingly strong grip on his arm kept him in his tracks.
"Not a very good idea, Professor," Potter said. "The wards are keyed to me and very strong. I have to introduce you to the house before it will let you in."
Introduce me to the house, Snape seethed as he watched Potter place his hand on the door´s wooden surface again, I always knew he was sentimental, but now he´s even befriending houses.
Nothing perceptible happened, but after about five minutes, Potter stepped aside and extended an inviting arm.
"I have granted you full access," He said.
"I suppose you want me to thank you for your trust now," Snape snapped, not caring that he sounded stubborn. He was tired and irritated, and thoughts of his blazing fireplace with the comfortable armchair in front of it kept popping up.
"Not really," Potter had the audacity to smile at him again. "After all, it was me who dragged you here against your will. And thanks from you would shock me into oblivion, Professor."
Not knowing how to comment that further impertinence, Snape just scowled and swept into the house, leaving Potter outside, alone in the rain.
The cottage´s interior was the wildest mixture of muggle and wizard living styles Snape had ever seen. Without a word, Potter had switched the light on and started to remove his cloak, while Snape´s eyes travelled from the small entrance hall to something that was obviously the living room. To his surprise, the walls of the spacious chamber were lined with books.
"I work for a second-hand bookshop," Potter told him. "Or at least I used to work there until those fits made it impossible. Can´t start disintegrating in front of the island´s shocked inhabitants, can I?"
Potter waited while Snape removed his cloak silently. Snape was trying to imagine the famous Boy Who Lived as shop assistant in a shabby old book store and failing spectacularly. He considered a fitting remark for a moment, but he wasn´t in the mood for small talk, or any talk at all. Potter seemed to notice his mood, for he silently led him into a large kitchen and offered him a seat at an old cherry wood table, which Snape declined with a sneer.
"You must be hungry, Professor, at least I am. Would you like some stew? It´s from yesterday, but I believe…"
"I would like to get to work, Potter," Snape barked. "All these pleasantries are just a waste of time. Show me a room I can use and leave me alone."
For a moment, Potter seemed taken aback, but then he smiled again that infuriating smile of his, and Snape had to suppress a groan. It seemed impossible to provoke the brat, and while he had hated the irascible temper of the former boy, he preferred it to the mysterious calmth of the man by far.
"Of course, Professor," Potter agreed. "I should have known. Through here, please." He indicated a door at the opposite end of the room, and Snape ripped open the door, expecting some dusty storage room.
What he hadn´t expected was a potions laboratory, perfectly equipped and furnished.
Slowly, he moved through the room, prepared to launch into a scornful criticism of the facilities, but found that he couldn´t find any fault to justify his scorn. The room was illuminated only by candles and torches which Potter had lightened with a flick of his wand, so that no electricity would disturb the sensitive and often unstable magic handled in here. Tables and workspaces were as meticulously clean as the instruments laid out on them, and the assortment of cauldrons made of every possible material shone gently in the firelight.
Shelves of stored ingredients lined the walls, and Snape, examining critically, found that every basic potion ingredient and a lot of the more exotic ones was waiting for use.
Still, it was the stock of potions that really surprised him. Healing potions were carefully stoppered and stored besides pain blockers, Dreamless Sleep, Veritaserum and even Polyjuice. But it was an assortment of tiny crystal vials, filled with a liquid of deep scarlet, that made him hiss in shock.
With a slightly trembling hand he reached out for it, removed the cork and sniffed in its smells. There could be no doubt. It was the cloaking potion he had designed years ago for the Dark Lord, used to hide a person´s magical signature from detection.
He remembered down how many throats he had forced this potion, how many wizards and witches had foregone all hope of rescue because of this innocent, scarlet brew. His hands shook violently as he replaced the vial and turned around to Potter.
"How do you know of this Potion?" He breathed in shock.
His dark years and their dark memories had been so far away only moments ago, and now they had crashed back on him like a huge wave that threatened to drown him. His cruelty and malice, his betrayal and the unspeakable deeds he had committed to keep his cover…
"You made it, didn´t you?" Harry smiled sadly when he just nodded, speechless for once. "Voldemort used it on me after I was captured." He explained quietly. "I took some vials with me after I killed him, thinking it could be useful. It took me some time, but I finally managed to reproduce it."
Normally, even the idea of Potter being able to reproduce something Snape had developed would have made him laugh, but still the memories washed over him, and all he could do was keep his stony mask of indifference in place as he struggled with his personal demons.
Nevertheless, Potter must have felt something, for his eyes darkened and every trace of humour left his face.
"I´ll leave you to your work then, Professor," He announced. "Call me if you need anything."
It took him nearly ten minutes to calm his breathing and relax the tight muscles of his back, ten minutes of bitter reminiscences and a phantom pain on his left forearm.
Damn the Potter brat for having brought all that up again. But there was nothing to do about it. He could only work as quickly as possible to get it over with.
That was why Snape pushed the memories back into the dark dungeons of his mind and started unpacking. About an hour later, the door opened again. Snape raised his head to glare at the intruder, but Potter just put down the tray he was carrying and left the room without a word.
The stew was quite good, actually, as was the freshly baked bread and Snape wondered for a moment who cooked and cared for the Brat Who Lived, but was soon again lost in his work.
Until, around three hours past midnight, he was finished.
"Potter!" He barked, and the door to the lab opened only seconds later. Apparently, Potter had waited in the kitchen for the last few hours to be called inside.
"Yes, Professor," He asked. "What can I do for you?"
Snape snorted. Potter´s continued politeness made him itchy and nervous. The boy had always hated him, and probably only requested Snape for the healing out of sheer malice.
"These are the ingredients I need," He grumbled, handing over a sheet of parchment. "I don´t really expect you to get most of them. I will have to return to Hogwarts to…"
"It will be taken care of, Professor," Potter interrupted him calmly. "Now, may I show you your room?"
"No. You may hand over your memories."
At that, the young man paled considerably. His hands flexed and his eyes narrowed slightly, as if expecting an attack.
"How are we going to proceed?" He asked, his voice lowered nearly to a whisper. "Will you enter my mind?"
"No," Snape answered, enjoying the crack that had finally appeared in Potter´s self control Why make such a fuss over it? Remember how you felt when he entered your pensieve, a voice inside him whispered, sounding suspiciously alike to Albus, but he chose to ignore it.
"I will remove all the memories that contain a certain level of stress and pain, and we will search them chronologically for the splitting of your core with the help of my pensieve."
At the mentioning of the pensieve, Potter lowered his head and Snape could see a blush spreading over his face. Now really, he thought disbelievingly, how old was that boy to blush like a girl?
"About that, Professor," Potter murmured. "I believe I… never apologized for that incident during my fifth year. I´m still… very sorry about it, Sir, and I was so at the time."
And again, Harry Potter had rendered someone speechless.
"Just forget it," Snape finally growled, not willing to discuss that right now. Great! Potter was barely a day back and already, Snape couldn´t concentrate on his work because all that emotional mayhap got in the way. "Are you ready?"
Potter just nodded, refusing to meet his former teacher´s look. His eyes fell on the assortment of small vials lined along the edge of the work table.
"If those are for the memories," He pointed out. "They won´t be enough. You need more."
"I brought twenty vials, Potter," Snape snapped, shock and surprise once more overcome by the usual irritation. "Don´t be so melodramatic to believe you could fill all of those. I set the stress level for those memories quite high."
"Do as you wish," Potter merely shrugged, calm again, and offered his temple.
Muttering swear words under his breath, Snape lifted his wand and placed it on Potter´s pale skin. A lot of thought and planning had gone into this selective memory removal charm, but he hand´t expected Potter to appreciate his work.
He started with the oldest memories, withdrawing those that fit the stress and pain level one by one, and worked his way forward in time.
After ten minutes, the twenty vials were filled. But there seemed to be no end to the memories.
Snape stared at the row of glass vials filled with the silvery liquid of memories.
"There must be something wrong with the spell," He thought aloud and proceeded to test the retrieved memories. They all fit the pattern of stress and pain level he had set.
To his merit, nothing in Potter´s posture or face indicated the "I told you so" Snape had expected.
"There are more vials in the cupboard over there," He simply told him, pointing to the other side of the room. "I cleaned them thoroughly."
His black robes billowed behind him as Snape crossed the room and collected the box of vials, checking the cleanness of every single one and making sure that Potter could see what he did.
But Potter seemingly didn´t even notice his attempts of provocation, a fact which only angered Snape more. "Stop daydreaming," He snapped.
"It is strange," Potter answered as if he hadn´t heard the harshness of Snape´s words. "I always expected to feel… lighter after giving up my memories. Professor Dumbledore told me once that he used his pensieve when he felt overwhelmed by thoughts and wished to distance himself from them. But I don´t feel distanced, or relieved."
"That´s because I didn´t pull the whole memories from your mind," Snape explained reluctantly. "There is still a connection between you and the memory. Otherwise, our treatment simply wouldn´t work."
Potter chuckled. "And gone is the one advantage I could see in all this. Brilliant."
"How much that wonderful attitude lightens my work, Potter," Snape sneered. "Now shut up and let me continue."
Another quarter of an hour later, 42 vials of silvery liquid stood on the worktable, numbered and corked, waiting for use.
While Potter examined them with mild interest, Snape could barely contain his fury. This would take much longer than he had expected to. They couldn´t hope to tackle more than four memories a day, and as Potter´s condition would worsen, so would his ability to work and accompany Snape.
He hoped the splitting wasn´t hidden in one of the last memories. He hoped they would have enough time left to find and heal it.
"You can probably forget about the first ten or so memories," Potter now said lightly. "They must be pre-Hogwarts and nothing bad enough to have split my core happened before my eleventh birthday."
"When I last looked, I was still the expert on this illness here, Potter," Snape snarled, angry at Potter´s quiet acceptance of a situation he himself considered a catastrophe.
"But I´m the expert on my life, aren´t I?" Potter simply answered, and Snape felt the urge to punch that confident, calm face in front of him.
Instead, he settled for a death glare and the best scowl he could manage in his tired state, hoping against his better knowledge for another fit so that he could slap the boy.
"Show me my room and then leave me to my work, Potter," He ordered, and Potter complied.
Not without the audacity of wishing the Professor "A good night and sweet dreams", though. Snape was very much tempted to throw a vial of acid at the retreating man.
A/N: Review! Please?