Lessons in Pain

Instead of leaning casually against the tree in that irritating fashion of his, Potter was sprawled on the ground, twitching and convulsing in pain.

Snape cursed and rushed over to him, ignoring the slowly dimming memory landscape around him. The background would fade to twilight and mist while waiting for them to exit the pensieve, but at least it offered a stable environment until Snape had snapped Potter out of this new seizure.

"Idiot!" Snape shouted, and slapped Potter's face hard. He derived more pleasure from it than he had expected. "You could have told me that you felt unwell, but, no, you had to play the hero and risk everything…"

Abruptly, Snape fell silent. It hadn't worked. The tendrils of magic were building quickly around Potter, and Snape could see a blue veil of power clouding his body and slithering across his skin.

But it should have stopped by now, the pain offering a distraction strong enough to end the seizure. Too worried to even insult Potter, Snape bent down and slapped him again, putting all his considerable strength into the movement.

Nothing. Only the convulsions building up until Potter's body twitched and jerked like an unconscious rider on the back of a mad horse.

All of a sudden, panic and worry vanished from Snape's mind, leaving only the clarity of analysis and thoughts. It had been this ability to think coolly amidst the greatest of crises that had turned him into the excellent potions master he was, and that had allowed him to survive during his many years as spy for the Order.

Hopefully, it would rescue Potter's life now.

Snape already had his wand out and trained on Potter when he realized that the spell wouldn't last through the transition. Unless he wanted Potter to crash to the floor once they were back in their reality – and with his usual luck the brat would crack his head on something then – he would have to carry him.

Cursing under his breath, Snape bent down to gather Potter in his arms, nearly letting him go in his surprise at how light the young man was. Judging from the effort needed to carry Potter, he had to weigh virtually nothing.

The body was limp in his arms, his head bouncing up and down when Snape stood, but the eye he kept on Potter was only a clinical one, searching for changes in his state, while in his mind he sorted through possible treatments and solutions.

If pain wasn't strong enough a stimulant any longer, what could he do to snap Potter out of the seizure before his core broke free and they were all at the mercy of Voldemort once more?

He stepped out of the pensieve, his hands tightening protectively around Potter, and before his body could notice that the environment had changed and stumble in its balance, he was already through the door of the Potions lab, up the stairs and in Potter's bathroom.

A swish of his wand activated the water supply to the tub, and icy coldness was streaming out of the tap.

He was irritated enough to simply drop Potter into the tub, but reminded himself that he wasn't interested in adding a fractured skull to Potter's medical problems. Thus, he carefully lowered Potter into his icy bath, growling angrily when his sleeves were immediately soaked with water. Another flick of his wand took care of that, though.

He only hoped that the shock of coldness would be enough. Surprising as it would be to some of his colleagues, he didn't look forward to torturing Potter into awareness. To be on the safe side, he leaned forward and slapped Potter's cheek, once again.

The combined stimulants seemed to have done the trick. Potter gave a soft, protesting groan and the tendrils of magic returned into his skin, although Snape couldn't help noticing that they did so far slower than they had the last time. Obviously, Potter's illness was progressing faster than he had feared.

"And whose fault is that?" Snape muttered while pacing the bathroom up and down, up and down. "Who was too damn stubborn to inform me that he needed help? It is time that Mr High and Mighty accepted that he needs help, even though he is the Eques of the centaurs and an adopted vampire. Even mighty druids need help from us wizards sometimes!"

Casting a diagnosis spell on the unconscious man in the bath tub, Snape gave the results a few paces up and down to build, then cursed once more when he saw the details of Potter's declining health. His energy levels were low, much too low. Even with the illness taken into consideration, this meant that Potter probably hadn't slept or eaten much over the last days. His magic was all but drained, despite the fact that Potter hadn't used it for more than the simple Lumos this afternoon and an apparition to and from Hogwarts.

This didn't look good at all. But at least Snape knew what to do against magical and physical draining.

"You don't move a hand while I fetch your potions," He told the unconscious man in the stern voice usually reserved for teaching. "And if you dare drown while I'm away, I will send both Ayda and Shadow after you to teach you a lesson!"

He shuddered at his own threat, carefully steadied Potter's head against the side of the tub, and rushed downstairs to collect the potions he would need.

Irritation and guilt battled inside him as he chose vial after vial, once more profoundly thankful for Potter's stock of potions that rivalled even the infirmary's supplies, though not his own, private storage room, of course.

Irritation about the way Potter had handled this, keeping his symptoms to himself until it was too late. Guilt because he had neglected his patient, once again.

I didn't notice his state, or rather noticed it but preferred to ignore the signs, He thought, angry with himself. I should have kept one eye on him at all times, especially when I knew how straining the memory of that night must have been for him. But no, I was too busy thinking about my own past and problems. Once more he is neglected because people are too preoccupied with their own business. But no longer. I will make him see sense tonight, and if I have to forcefeed it to him like a potion.

The distance between the potions lab and the bathroom was not longer than a thought, but the sight in the bathroom made him curse again. Potter's seizures hadn't returned, but now his lips were turning blue from the cold and shivering had taken hold of his body.

Priorities. First get him to warm up again, then wake him and administer the potions.

Snape flicked his wand again and ice water was substituted by hot, increasing the temperature of the bath but not quick enough to further disturb his circulation. With another swish, Snape vanished Potter's shirt and trousers.

He did not stare. Snapes didn't stare. He simply lowered his wand and looked at Potter for a long moment, refusing to think any of the clichés that sprung to his mind and tongue at the sight.

Finally, he nodded and returned to his work. I knew that he had been tortured for months, He told himself sternly. This isn't surprising to me, and these aren't the first scars I see.

But in a way they were. He had seen bad injuries during the two wars, had even received a few that might have earned the attribute "life threatening". He had never seen a body that had been completely destroyed, then carefully knitted together again.

But he had known these things about Potter before. At least theoretically. And they didn't change his current illness, or the fact that Potter's life was more than his private matter.

He is a tool, Snape told himself, brutally suppressing the urge to wail about what had been done to this man barely 25. And I have to do the maintenance.

Somehow that helped, and he slowly managed to turn his back on Potter, and his mind away from that line of thoughts. Back to safe territory, then.

"You could have bloody told me that you felt unwell, Potter," He cursed again while he organized his potions on the little table. "But no, you had to behave like a bloody hero and collapse in the middle of your memory!"

He heard a splashing sound behind him and whirled around, ready for another attack of the seizures, but instead he saw Potter opening his eyes very slowly, his hands feebly searching for the edge of the tub.

"At the moment I am lying in a bath tub full of ice water," He rasped. "Very heroic indeed."

"Oh, be quiet," Snape hissed. "The water is getting warmer already."

Potter seemed to be frowning, or it might have been the reaction to a particularly bad headache.

"You are angry with me." He whispered. "Why?"

"Stop talking nonsense and drink these," Snape replied curtly and handed him the first potion.

Potters hands shook as he raised the vial to his lips and drank the content slowly. He didn't move a muscle at the particularly awful taste of it.

"Professor?" He asked again, seemingly more interested in his question than his own state of health.

"Gods, Potter, can't you once concentrate on the things at hand?" Snape asked, then sighed as he realized the futility of his question. "I am angry because you chose to remain quiet although you felt the symptoms of a seizure," He answered.

"You didn't even call out when it hit you. If I hadn't turned around, you could have lain there for minutes without help."

"I'm sorry," Potter answered hoarsely, then obediently swallowed the second and third potion Snape uncorked. "I thought it could wait until we left the pensieve. Getting through those memories fast is important, I know that."

"It's not more important than your health, Potter," Snape hissed. "If you believe that, you missed the whole point of the treatment! What if your core had torn away from you tonight and Voldemort had been resurrected? Every seizure increases that possibility, and you simply stood there inviting it in!"

Despite his already waxen face, Potter paled visibly.

"I didn't think of that," He whispered.

"I'm not surprised," Snape sneered, now safely inside his anger that kept worry, concern and guilt away from him with fiery walls. "Thinking never was your greatest strength, was it?"

Slowly, Potter lifted one hand from the bath tub and placed it on Snape's sleeve.

"I didn't want to worry you, Professor," He said, sounding genuinely sorry.

"Your hands are wet, Potter," Snape answered, but he felt something inside him soften, and he didn't remove his arm from contact.

"That's a noticeable point, Professor," Potter's voice sounded stronger already. Probably the potions kicking in, Snape thought. Or the man's unbelievable resilience. "How long will I have to stay in this tub?"

"I should let you lie here all night, after that stunt," Snape grumbled, but once again he cast a diagnosis spell. The results looked much better already.

"Wouldn't that rather counteract all those strengthening Potions?" Potter asked innocently.

Yes. He definitely was better. The humour was back. Once more, Snape felt rather tempted to snap at the other man, if only to keep him docile and apologetic for a bit longer. But then he remembered the promise to treat him better and more carefully, given to himself less than ten minutes ago, and decided on the professional approach instead.

"Can you walk?" He asked. He wouldn't have minded floating Potter to his bed, but navigating the rather narrow hallway without bumping various body parts into the walls might be tricky. And he had decided to treat Potter better.

"Might just try," Potter shrugged in that irritating way of his and slowly rolled onto his knees in the bathtub. He was doing it just the right way, carefully taking one step after the other, not rushing, and always keeping a firm grip on the edge. Snape wondered how often he had been in such a state of weakness to know his own limits so well, then remembered the scars and turned his face and mind away from the question.

Instead, he flicked his wand again and dried Potter's skin and hair the moment he had left the tub, carefully balancing on the floor's tiles, one hand steadying him against the wall.

"I think I'll manage," He finally announced in the voice of someone who had carefully tested the water of a lake before deciding that it wasn't too cold to swim in.

"Then I can hopefully assume that you will manage to change your clothes on your own, too," Snape commented dryly, silently astonished how fast the atmosphere had changed. One moment he had been rushing wildly through the house in an attempt to save Potter's and nearly everybody else's life, panic tightening his throat, the next moment they were joking around as if nothing of the sort had happened.

It was mad and slightly frightening, but it also gave Snape an inside into how Potter had managed to keep the balance between the chaos of his life and his own dearly desired normalcy intact. He simply rose from wherever he had fallen, tested the water carefully and marched on as if nothing had happened.

I would envy him if I didn't know how maddening it his for the world around him.

Impatiently, but trying not to show his impatience, he followed Potter through the corridor and into his bedroom. He turned around when the other man changed into cotton trousers and a black t-shirt, refusing to leave the room until Potter was lying safely on his back. He had been too careless once already this day.

"Bed," He commanded, and Potter obeyed, grinning tiredly.

"You sound like Shadow", He told him.

"Was that a praise or an insult?" Snape asked.

"Both, I think," Potter smiled. "Please sit, Professor. I would conjure you a chair, but as you would probably only use it to hit me, it seems wiser for you to choose the one to your left."

"You won't manage to distract me from your lack of foresight that easily, Potter."

"Would never try."

Potter looked deceivingly small and innocent as he lay in his bed, the blankets hiding the still slightly trembling legs and arms. He reminded Snape very much of the boy he had seen in the memories now, tired and world weary, and he wondered whether it wasn't better to leave him now, let him sleep and regain his strength…

"Oh no, you don't," He growled. "I know you well enough by now to recognize an act. We will talk about this now. It is too important to let it slip like all the other things you don't want to explain."

Potter shrugged, and Snape could have sworn that his face aged until he looked as old and slightly worn as ever. He changed his posture and pressed his hands against the mattress, obviously trying to rise into a sitting position. He changed his mind, however, when his arms gave way under him and he plunged back into the mattress rather gracelessly.

"Whatever you wish, Professor," He conceded as if nothing at all had happened.

"First," Snape began, his voice as thunderous and authoritative as he could manage. He was not beyond acting a little, himself. "I want you to tell me immediately when you feel unusual pain or weakness."

Potter nodded. "Agreed."

"I also want you to refrain from using your magic except in the direst of emergencies," Snape continued, ignoring that Potter had been doing that mostly, anyway. "And I want to put a monitoring charm on you while you sleep."

Snape had expected him to refuse the last demand immediately, but Potter just cocked an eyebrow, his face taking on a thoughtful expression.

"What type of monitoring spell did you think of?" He asked. "One that entails just readings on my magic?"

"At least on your magic," Snape stressed. "Physical monitoring also would be the wiser choice, but I won't go without magical one."

Snape had expected an argument. He knew by now that Potter was the secretive type, although he seemed surprisingly willing to make an exception for his old Potions Professor. But he also should have known how unpredictable Potter's opinions were.

"Alright," He answered lightly and held out his hand as an anchor for the spell.

Snape was tempted to argue the point and demand physical monitoring just because he could, but then decided that the results of the night shouldn't be thrown away like that. He tipped Potter's wrist three times and murmured the incantation, binding it to both him and Potter. If the younger man's magic flared or changed character in any way, Snape would know immediately.

"Now that we have cleared that up," Potter then continued happily. "I hope that you have changed your opinion."

Warily, Snape leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. He should have known that things wouldn't be that easy. Not with Potter.

"What opinion?" He asked, but the uneasy feeling in his stomach told him he already knew.

"About the ritual that will destroy my soul." Suddenly, even the last innocence and smallness vanished from Potter. His eyes blazed with intent, but his face still wore the serene look he so often sported. "I want you to promise that you will perform it, should the time come."

"No."

Potter sighed. "Professor," He said softly, as he would speak with a child that didn't see sense. "You saw how fast my condition can change. One moment I seemed fine, the next I was very nearly dead. We simply cannot risk it. You must perform the ritual once I have reached a certain point, or Voldemort will be loose again in this world. The whole treatment will use its sense and value if you deny me that promise."

"No."

Snape might not have the magical power Potter could wield under normal circumstances, but he certainly had stubbornness and determination enough to match that of his former pupil. He couldn't be swayed, he couldn't be threatened, and more than twenty years of teaching had shown how unlikely it was for him to change his mind about something. Hating Gryffindor, for example.

"But don't you see…"

"No."

In the face of this absolute decision, Potter's serenity shattered for the first time. His brows drew together into a concerned frown and his lips thinned until they were red threads painted onto his skin. He once more pressed his hands against the mattress, lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak…

And fell back into his pillows with a gasp, his eyelids dropping like the shutters of an empty house.

Snape was by his side in an instant, his wand flashing over Potter's head in a complicated arc, but the spell's results showed no changes. But that only meant that nothing differed from the last spell he had taken, and if Potter had been in pain then…

"Does it hurt?" He asked curtly.

Potter shifted a bit, as if to probe his ability to move. "Nothing I can't handle," He then replied, but his voice was a whisper without strength.

"That's not what I asked. I want to know whether it hurts."

Silence. Snape gazed into Potter's pale face that seemed dead with the brilliant green of his eyes hidden, but he found no trace of pain or even discomfort, only utter relaxation and serenity.

"Yes," The answer finally came. "A lot."

"Then why can't I see that on your face?" Snape asked crossly, cursing himself for this slip of tongue a moment later.

Slowly, one lid cracked open, revealing a hint of green fire, and Potter's lips curled up in amusement.

"You sure have a way with patients," He remarked. "Shouldn't you ask if you can help me in any way?"

"I know that I can't help you beyond what I have given you already," Snape answered, though admitting that galled him. "And I ask out of medical interest. Perhaps it is a by-effect of your illness that makes you look so peaceful."

Potter smiled again, but this time it was a bit sad.

"No," He answered after a moment of silence. "That has nothing to do with this illness. I simply found out that pain is easier to bear when you embrace it."

Snape groaned in irritation, but his hands were busy as they checked Potter's pulse and placed diagnoses spells on him. "Don't give me that saintly nonsense again, Potter. It's too late in the evening for that."

This time Potter actually chuckled, though the sound was cut short by a hacking cough. Automatically, Snape's wand hand moved upwards to magically check the young man's lungs.

"Have you ever noticed that physical pain is less intense if you relax your muscles?" Potter asked quietly.

"Yes," Snape nodded. He had had enough beatings in his life to learn that the hard way.

"It's the same with magical attacks," Potter continued, and from the tone of his voice Snape wasn't sure if he had even heard his answer. "If you relax your mind and try to embrace the pain, it is easier to bear than when you let your magic and your mind fight against it."

His lips moved into the ghost of a smile. "I can't remember how often I twitched on the floor while Voldemort stood above me, inwardly chanting: "Cruciatus is your friend, Cruciatus is your friend"." The grin widened.

"Your concept of humour is rotten, Potter," Snape snapped back. "Now keep your mouth shut and try to sleep. You need it."

"Yes Professor," Potter nodded meekly and closed his eyes.

"And tomorrow you will eat a full breakfast, even if it takes us an hour, do you hear?"

Another hint of a smile. "Yes, Professor. And about your promise…"

"We will talk about it tomorrow, Potter. Now sleep."

And Potter slept.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

A/N: Hoped you liked this chapter! The next one will feature a breakfasting Ayda and some reflection time for our Potions Master.

And take a look at my new lifejournal! You can either click the button 'homepage' on my profile page, or simply search for lioness-kayly on lifejournal dot com. There you will find answers to your questions, update information and all the stuff that usually clutters up lifejournal accounts…

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