Before the Taking of a Toast and Tea
Snape reached the house in a near run, grabbed the bag with pensieve and memories in it and slid Potter's backpack on his shoulder.
He still wasn't quite able to believe how fast this afternoon had descended into catastrophe.
And now Potter was back at Hogwarts, alone, unconscious, in the presence of the man whom he disliked more than any other these days, a man whom Snape had openly antagonized only this noon.
Fuck.
Snape left the house in a hurry, but a strange nagging caused him to turn back to it once before apparating.
"Thank you for letting me help him," He announced, feeling incredibly foolish. "It was the right thing to do."
Certainly houses couldn't wink. Snape was quite sure about that. But somehow this house managed to create the impression nevertheless, one shutter on the second floor twitching for a moment and the back door flapping open once in the imitation of a smile.
Then, the house vanished.
Snape gaped, and, although he knew he didn't have time for it, did a quick location charm on the area.
There was nothing here. Not even a trace of magic. The wards had disappeared, and so had the house and the shed. He was standing on a random hill in the midst of Skye that was as unmagical a place as he had ever seen.
After a moment of silent amazement, Snape decided that the impossible vanishing of a house was very low on his priority list at the moment. He straightened, steeling himself for the confrontation that was sure to come, and apparated away.
The winged boars atop Hogwarts' entry gate greeted him with their usual offensive stare, but for once Snape refrained from any comment about the lacking taste in Hogwarts' architecture as he made the trip up to the castle in record time. Every minute would increase the catastrophe he was walking into, and it would be his job to clear it up.
The thought of him and the staff of Hogwarts fighting over the unconscious body of one Harry Potter made him smile in cold amusement, but that amusement faded quickly when the personal consequences of this day sank into his mind.
He had confronted Dumbledore less than three hours ago, in the safe knowledge that he was needed and that the man who had caused their rift was tucked away in an unplottable house. Now however said man was at Hogwarts, his considerable power useless and even his opinion unavailable since it was locked in his unconscious mind.
He would have to step up to Dumbledore – and to Pomfrey and Minerva and all the others – openly and defend his role and rights towards his patient (and even the thought that he was defending his right to spend endless hours in Potter's memories was tasting of approaching madness).
He wasn't used to doing such a thing. Not many people had dared confront him over the years, at least not over matters less trivial than house rivalry, and, he had to admit in the shameful privacy of his mind, those who had usually had gotten what they wanted.
He was a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. Slytherins were not made for open quarrel. Confronting a Slytherin would mean that he nodded and agreed and then slipped away to destroy your power base from behind your back. Or, in Snape's case, lace the morning tea with exotic poisons.
But now he had no time for political manoeuvering or a little elegant blackmailing. He was stumbling into the situation head first, and he wasn't liking it, not one bit.
Perhaps, he wondered as he rushed up the stairs to the infirmary, perhaps it wasn't so bad to leave the situation in Dumbledore's hands. They had, after all, the same goal, and whatever could be said about the Headmaster, he was an efficient and powerful leader of war.
Surely Potter himself would agree that this was necessary – they could waste no time over authority struggles when the fate of the wizarding world was at risk…
All thoughts of that kind evaporated, however, when he entered the Hospital Wing and found Madame Pomfrey busy disrobing the unconscious Potter, with the rest of the staff milling around the bed like a horde of vultures.
They wouldn't even grant him privacy, he thought, furious. And what would they do when they saw the scars they had no right to see, because he hadn't trusted them with it? Wail and blubber and force him to talk about it, when there was no use talking about a thing like that, when it was his right to keep them private?
If they couldn't even respect his dignity with his body, how would they treat his memories?
"Take your hands off him," Snape snarled, realizing to his dismay that he sounded like a jealous lover. "He's my patient, and if anyone has to examine him, that will be me."
Pomfrey looked ready to argue, but Snape sent her a glare, his own fiercest look combined with a good impersonation of Shadow, and the unbelievable happened: Madame Pomfrey blanched and backed off.
"I'll be in my office then," She announced, and hurried away with barely a shred of dignity left.
"You," Snape now addressed the teachers crowding the room. "Out."
"Now, Severus," Dumbledore's admonishing voice cut through the shocked silence. "I'm sure…"
"He may be badly injured, Headmaster," Snape pointed out coldly. "Do you really want to risk his life and the future of this world to satisfy your curiosity?"
He could see Sprout to his left shudder, and before he could add another acerbic little tidbit, Minerva grabbed Dumbledore's arm and dragged him from the room.
Dumbledore only managed a short command to come and tell him how 'poor Harry' was when he was finished before the infirmary door closed behind him.
Examining the room closely for any hidden presence, Snape took a deep breath. The unexpected had happened – he had actually managed to throw a bunch of the most meddlesome and irritating wizards and witches out of Hogwarts' infirmary, the traditional place of meddling with Harry Potter's life.
For a moment he was proud of his own authority, only to remember that he had shamelessly copied Shadow. Which led him back to the unconscious figure on the bed.
He ran a swift set of diagnosis spells, which only confirmed what he had assumed before. Potter had fallen into his usual exhausted post-seizure sleep, but otherwise he was fine. No injuries from the battle, no curses or poisons.
Which was amazing, really, considering that there had been twelve well trained wizards and witches against one very ill man with a wooden stick.
After a moment of replaying the rather surprising fight in his mind, Snape decided not to worry about that at the moment. There were more urgent things to contemplate than Potter's past performance. His future, for example.
He hesitated to wake Potter, since unconsciousness was as good a protection for him as he could get at the moment. Even awake his powers would be nonexistent, and sleep at least saved him from being forced to dodge questions and suffer his former teachers' bursts of curiosity.
But it wouldn't do for Potter to wake up in the presence of Dumbledore, Pomfrey or McGonagall either, disoriented and without the knowledge of what had happened. And from what Snape had seen of Potter after his seizures, going to sleep again wouldn't be a problem.
Carefully, Snape placed several strong silencing charms around them and closed the curtains around Potter's bed. Pomfrey didn't need to know that Potter had woken up.
"Envervate," He then whispered and Potter's eyelids fluttered as if answering a silent call.
One look up at the white ceiling and at the dark figure of Snape seemed enough for Potter to evaluate the situation and draw the right conclusions.
"Damn," He whispered, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
"Indeed," Snape agreed dryly. "I don't know what the Headmaster has planned for you yet, but at least I could make sure that Pomfrey will keep her hands off you. I am going to meet with Dumbledore soon, but I'm not sure what is going to happen. You had better prepare yourself, Potter."
For a moment, the ghost of Potter's softly mocking smile darted across his face. "Prepare for what?" He whispered, although the bitterness shadowing his words told Snape that he knew the answer to that question all too well.
"For whatever I won't manage to prevent. I doubt that Dumbledore still trusts me, and my influence on him has never been great. But I will do what I can."
Green eyes darkened with worry.
"Don't," Potter whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't risk your life and position here for a fight that isn't yours, Professor," He answered. "You did more than I ever expected already. It helps no one if you anger Dumbledore. This isn't your fault. Just accept that this is how things developed."
"And leave you to whatever schemes the old man may come up with?" Snape demanded, his voice rising. "Tell me Potter, are you so eager to have Dumbledore inside your mind?"
Potter flinched. It was the first sign of fear the other men had shown since they had begun this strange journey together, and it told Snape more clearly that Potter didn't want to be here, didn't want to be left in the power of his former Headmaster than any verbal declaration could.
Potter was afraid. And still he didn't want Snape to risk his position with helping him.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Potter's voice was rasping, clouded with tiredness and pain. "Had I known how all this would develop, I wouldn't have forced you to treat me. I just wanted someone I could feel comfortable with. It was selfish of me. I appreciate what you did for me, but this is where it should end."
The thought of Potter requesting time with him and even considering it a privilege made Snape itchy all over again, but his answer was as curt and down to the point as always.
"And had I known that you would turn soppy on me, I would have sealed my ears with wax before waking you, Potter. No one but I will decide what I am going to do, neither you nor Dumbledore. Now go to sleep."
"But, Professor…"
"Sleep, Potter," He thundered, and with a strange mixture of relief and worry on his face, Potter closed his eyes obediently.
Without a word, Snape wove the strongest and most sensitive wards around Potter's bed, wards that would tell him of any being approaching the unconscious man immediately and stop said being in the nastiest way Snape could come up with except from frying it, as well as of any change in his medical status.
"I am leaving now," He announced curtly and received a nod in answer.
"Be careful," Potter whispered, as if it wasn't he who was balancing precariously between life and death.
"Don't give advice you yourself won't pay heed to, Potter."
Stalking over to Pomfrey's office, Snape threw open the door, a forbidding expression ready on his face, and had the immense satisfaction of the nurse flinching violently behind her desk. He'd have to thank Shadow, sometime in the future.
Curtly, he informed her that Potter was well and needed nothing but his rest and an absence of meddling mediwitches, a comment that caused Pomfrey to bristle and regain some of her obnoxious attitude. Another glare shrunk her again, and Snape found that he started enjoying his new role as defender of Potter.
What a shame that his glare wouldn't work with Dumbledore, and that the Headmaster was probably powerful enough to break through Snape's wards with a bit of effort.
He was nearly hopeful – if, indeed, such a word could be used in connection with his character – as he walked to the Headmaster's office, hopeful that the situation wouldn't prove as difficult and potentially catastrophic as he had imagined it on his way to Hogwarts.
Perhaps a stern and determined approach to the matter could startle Dumbledore and his merry band of teachers into keeping Potter's presence under lock and key. Perhaps if he argued carefully and convincingly, and pointed out the risks of security and the necessity to fully concentrate on the therapy, perhaps if he brought up the necessity to keep his patient as free of mental and emotional stress as possible…
The blinding smile and carefree twinkle that turned the Headmaster's face into something not entirely healthy for a Slytherin mind made all such hopes wither and die. Obviously, Dumbledore had already done something to further his preferred path of action, and judging from the happiness that radiated from the old man, it was something of unprecedented stupidity.
Gryffindors.
"Why, Severus, my dear," Dumbledore greeted him as if their confrontation this afternoon hadn't happened. "I trust that Mr Potter is well?"
"As well as he could be, suffering from the Fading and severe magical exhaustion caused by the imbecile would-be Professor you sent after me, Albus," Snape answered, carefully to keep his voice clear of any but the usual bad mood. It wouldn't do to increase the impression that he stood with Potter, against the Headmaster.
Tired resignation towards the idiocies of this world worked well, however, since that was Snape's general state of mind whenever he was present at Hogwarts.
"Now, now, I'm sure Nymphadora meant no harm," Dumbledore scolded him lightly, and Snape had to concentrate hard to keep his face set in the forbidding expression he usually wore.
No, she probably didn't, He thought angrily, careful to strengthen his Occlumency shields and avoid the Headmaster's gaze. But that can't be said of a certain old madman who put a spell on magical potions ingredients, which might have killed the one man we are all fighting to keep alive.
"It is irrelevant what she intended," He said instead, his voice as harsh and vindictive as it usually was when he complained about his colleagues. "The damage is done."
"Damage is a bit strong, dear boy," The Headmaster corrected him mildly. "After all, you yourself told me that Harry is well. I am sorry about his house, of course," He smiled a bit sadly and Snape felt the acute wish to gag. "But you said yourself that it wasn't much of anything. And after all, Hogwarts has always been and will always be his real home. Here, we can treat him much better and safer than anywhere else. I am sure he will see that himself, now that he has realized he can't protect himself properly."
Can't protect himself? For a moment Snape wondered whether Tonks had given a particularly unclear report or whether Dumbledore had started to believe in his own euphemisms somewhere along the way.
Then he decided that it didn't matter.
"What are you planning to do with the boy?" He asked instead, taking care to lace the last word with a healthy dose of disgust.
"Naturally our first concern must be Harry's health," Dumbledore answered, and if Snape had known him less well, he would have breathed a sigh of relief. But he knew intimately that the Headmaster seldom stated a fact without a huge 'but' attached to it.
"But…" Dumbledore continued and Snape felt a growl build deep in his throat. "But we must not only see to his physical state. The way the boy has lived isn't good for him, Severus. Isolated, secluded, sequestered from all his friends he must naturally have forgotten what it is he should be living for. Therefore we must remind him of all that is bright and good in this world!"
As if that was the single most intelligent thing a human being had ever uttered, Dumbledore sat up straighter in his chair and beamed blindingly at his Potions Master.
After trying for several seconds to come to terms with all that was wrong in Dumbledore's statement, Snape gave up. If this was what the Headmaster wanted to believe, there was nothing he could do against it. And it certainly wouldn't be in Potter's interest to tell anyone at Hogwarts that he had friends, more than any sane being could ever need, in fact. If they wanted to see him as a poor, scarred, isolated victim, that was probably better than the alternative. At least it made someone in this blasted castle happy.
"And how are you planning to do that, Headmaster?" He asked instead, letting a good deal of his scepticism show. Everyone would expect him to be sceptical when the words 'bright' and 'good' were involved, after all.
"Why, by reuniting him with the wizarding world in general and the Weasleys especially, of course," Dumbledore answered as if this was the most obvious answer. To him it probably was.
"I have already announced a press conference for tomorrow, and was just about to firecall Molly and Arthur when you stepped in."
The Weasleys.
Snape tried to imagine Molly Weasley and her merry band of noisy red heads invading the infirmary and milling around Potter, adding emotional chaos, reproaches and teary speeches to Potter's already high stress level.
And then the newspapers would be printed, and everyone who had ever exchanged a word with Potter would storm Hogwarts, every single journalist in the wizarding world would stand in line to interview the Boy Who Lived about his life.
And then the questions would start in earnest. Where he had been, what he had done with his life. s
How he had killed Voldemort. Why his friends had died, back then, and if he had really done everything to prevent it.
Snape had to fight the urge to close his eyes in silent resignation.
"You know that this course of action wouldn't be Potter's wish," He said, his face expressionless.
"Nonsense, my dear boy," The Headmaster disagreed happily. "He may think that he doesn't want the recognition and gratefulness of all wizards or the reunion with his foster family. But I'm sure that once he has realized how much people love and cherish him, he will be glad to have come back to us. The Boy Who Lived belongs with us, Severus."
The sweet revenge of Albus Dumbledore. After years of manipulation and mistreatment hadn't managed it, why not destroy Potter with an overdose of kindness?
"As his healer I would strongly advice against it, Albus," He tried again, knowing at the same time that it was futile. He met Dumbledore's eyes and saw the old man's triumph twinkling brightly in his eyes. He would never give up this trophy that he had so long done without.
"At least wait until tomorrow before you inform the Weasleys," Snape settled for a compromise. "The… joy could be too much for Potter at the moment, and I doubt that he would survive another seizure so shortly after the last."
Dumbledore seemed to hesitate but then nodded, granting this request gracefully.
"About that, Severus," He then said, the twinkle in his eyes somewhat diminishing and his forehead creasing with a frown. "It is a shame that you couldn't prevent Harry from overexerting himself. Perhaps the tension between you has unconsciously added to the poor boy's stress? Not that I'd ever think you did it willingly, dear child," Dumbledore added hastily and fury surged through Snape when he realized what the Headmaster would do. "But perhaps it is time for a… more gentle approach? I am sure you have done your best, but now that the boy is at Hogwarts, it might be wise for me to take over his treatment, don't you think?"
"It would be more sensible for the same healer to continue the procedure, Albus," He said, although he knew that there was no use. "I know what to look for by now, and, loath as I am to spend more time with Potter, I wouldn't want to burden you with such a time consuming treatment."
"Nonsense, Severus, nonsense," Dumbledore disagreed cheerfully. "It will be a chance for Harry and me to renew our bond!"
Only years of spying and controlling his impulses stopped Snape from showing how sick he felt.
"If you say so, Headmaster," He said without expression.
I am sorry, Potter, He thought. I tried, but there is nothing more I can do.
It was over. All he could achieve now was open quarrel with the Headmaster and an abrupt dismissal, and that would do nothing but worsen Potter's position.
As much as he wanted to grab Dumbledore by his long beard and shake him until he saw reason, he didn't have the sort of power that would make Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix, wartime hero and Headmaster of Hogwarts, back down.
No. He didn't, he thought in a moment of surprising clarity, and suddenly a path opened up in front of him, a path he wouldn't have contemplated a day, not even an hour before. Snape didn't have that power.
But perhaps he knew people who did.
"I would advice you not to resume the treatment before tomorrow, Albus," He said, surprised that his voice sounded so normal, so natural, when inside his mind his world had turned upside down and become something else. "Potter needs nothing but sleep and rest by now. Inform him of the new development in the morning."
Dumbledore agreed and saw him off with a twinkle and another smile, obviously surprised and relieved that Snape had had nothing else to criticise.
And again Snape rushed through the corridors of Hogwarts, this time aiming for his own, silent quarters, not allowing himself to question the decision he had made, not daring to doubt whether he did the right thing.
He didn't have time for that sort of thing right now.
After all, he had a letter to write.
0o0o0
A/N: The title of this chapter is from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", standing in the following context:
"There will be time, there will be time / To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; / There will be time to murder and create / And time for all the works and days of hands / That lift and drop a question on your plate; / Time for you and time for me/ And time yet for a hundred indecisions/ And for a hundred visions and revisions/ Before the taking of a toast and tea."
Thank you all for your patience, and review!!!