Outsider
Night slunk on the castle's walls, dimming the severity of destruction it endured. The moon was grimly shadowed behind thickly clouded weather. Only showing a glimpse of itself to the mass of trees beneath.
Sharp tinkling pain had started; like pencil plucked at the side of his ribs, his position began to falter.
Can he sigh? He thought he could. He had no choice.
Only, making it sound like a possibility was letting his stress easier to compress.
Harry let out a long, monitored breath. Unknotting a nagging cramp in a side of his ribs.. at last.
It hadn't been two full minutes to Hismoine's departure until he became restless again. He knew it shan't take more than five minutes time before seeing the matter of saving the Professor through, but the wait was weighing down on him faster than the ticks can pass in this place. A place seemingly had intensified his awareness to the span of time: an eerie, dark, demolished hospital.
Floating dust grains got flustered by his shivering exhale. Highlighted dully by the line of an intermittently gray light, emerging through the high narrow window behind his recumbent figure. The dust around might have represented agile-snowflakes descending dreamily before him, visualizing an icy cold he felt was settling more announced in the place.
It soundlessly wafted through the massive hole in a wall that bore an infliction of damage, seeping through the cracks that laced the surrounding walls. Emitting cloudy, drowsy exhaustion. It suspending things in mid-drift in their place, perfectly still —unmoving with intruding breeze.
Taking them as the main example; the only two here on a shared bed, Harry and his previous potion's Professor, Snape.
From afar, long flickering shadows stretched to Harry's wandering sight, as he lay there, tensely watchful. There were flaming torches floating around burning hot, but their light or warmth reached them none— being positioned in the furthest bed in a corner for the sake of their protection.
They were hidden fairly from sight, behind a pale privacy curtain drawn tightly around them. In turn; nothing appeared to them from the rest of the wing. Only through a small gap, a bed against them was some sort of a crumbled view.
Harry stared— spaced out. His eyelids sleepily drooping over his eyes, even though he felt wide awake.
A glow pounced to his peripheral vision, coming from his professor's chest, alerting Harry to look back.
The silver moon ray occasionally shone, reflecting faintly on Snape's silky dark cloth, shimmering on its folds like tiny sea waves in a trance with his soft breathing.
But, Nothing else was moving in him...
Growing more frustrated by the second, he sighed distastefully to the lack of happenings. Isolation and not knowing: Two things experience had taught him are the least things he can tolerate.
Besides that; there was continuance risk of endangering a Snape's life if he moved or if he didn't in time. From this position— he wasn't likely to be able to defend himself properly, didn't think he had the energy, either. It can go without the need to add that his skin was prickling to the spooky curtain, at any minute it might swing open to reveal behind it an unwanted visitor ...or worst.
Heightening his sensitive paranoia even more; the cold was chilling his exposed back. It was exactly like back on their travels, being stranded in the middle of the wilderness, with no inhabitation around or a solid safe shelter.
But conflicting to the wilderness' lively sounds, the air here held a strangely looming serenity. Closing in on him, pressing against him.
If he didn't know the castle was almost cleared of who usually roamed it, he might have thought his ears weren't working properly.
Snape slow occurring intakes of breath kept him on track- when they paused the world deemed to stop in utter silence. It strongly made him feel trapped in a sealed sphere separating them from reality.
Harry suddenly felt the same chill that ran down his neck reach him from the hand supporting Snape's head. He was starting to feel like a block of ice next to him.
Worrying, he placed his the back of his hand on Snape's forehead then cheeks as a measure. It was obvious that he was gradually losing warmth. He could tell from his skin— unnaturally cold and too odd to the touch-- like touching soft rubber.
He repressed a spring of panic manually by biting his tongue, explaining away his professor's remittent temperature to himself. He was hoping he was just imagining it. He himself is cold to shivering, after all.
Focusing to breathe deeply, he pointed his wand up then whirled it right summoning a discarded blanket. It took few seconds before a shadow came wafting down on him like wings, spread and covered them both.
As he pulled on them to cover Snape's chest, only then Harry notice his hand loose on an amassed part of his cloak. He snapped his eyes back to his face with anticipation. Hoping wildly, he leaned over more and whispered
"Professor? Are you awake?"
He got no notable response.
Harry glared, again, not daring to look away in case of missing any living-like sign Snape presented.
No luck met his eyes yet as it explored his professor, lingering on the small whites of his clothing. The collar of his neck was drenched in crimson red. The blood covers almost all the upper part of his torso, even Snape's smooth silky hair was sticky and tangled between Harry's fingers at the end where his hand supported his neck.
He wondered if he should try and clean him up, but he didn't think he was well practiced on this kind of spells.
He returned to look down at Snape's face daringly, as if he was risking to be caught staring inappropriately. Running his green eyes on every inch, examining every detail. In a closer, longer focus than he ever managed do before; with Snape's glinting black eyes staring back at him, locking him in a staring contest, trying to feel its way into his 'guilty' mind.
For the time being, Snape's features were blank; his lips weren't curling, pressed tight or repressed in any manner, they seemed fuller than usual. His nose free of the wrinkles of disgust that mounted it and his eyebrows smoothed down, relaxed on his forehead— non-threatening. His face clearly shown, not anymore hidden by the sheets of his hair.
Generally looking... Boyish. No, innocent. Like how Harry saw him in the section of his childhood's memories.. devoid of the heavy dark aura he was so inclined to.
He was so peacefully unmasked; he couldn't identify him for the Snape he knew and disliked... (Or thought he knew and disliked.)
That knowledge belonged to another Harry. He wasn't himself at the time being and just as unidentified as he found his Professor.
He contemplated the past Harry. The past he would have never dreamt to see Snape this close by means of contact. Located in the same place with the man alone was torture. Spotting him around was always a thrill; of fear or hatred— that is.
He couldn't ever remember to be this protective of him as well.
He recalled his exposed injured leg that day; how unmoved by the slash on it, compared to the goosebumps that invaded his skin upon seeing the torn flesh of his neck. Dashing to pin his hand on it without a second thought...
Did he even touch him- in any manner- before this time?
Here was a man under a title of power, abused it playfully, reserving a 'special treatment' just for him and him only.
By every passing year, he seemed to exist just to torment Harry, without an obvious cause or plea, other than the usual 'like your father' monologue.
Subtley nudging on his nerves in a bizarre teaching way, that was nasty enough to make him remember, and those lessons were exactly what he needed to learn- oddly enough.. with the downside of learning how to hate him harder.
And yet, this was not the right position to compare that man's past self to his collapsed one.
He couldn't see it in him, anyway. The person who filled his heart with blinded wrath, preparing him to kill or be killed, was someone else. Almost like another version...
Yes... He can hear a small voice say in his depths. It helped him concentrate on what he wanted, and he wanted Snape to live. To get up. To talk. To prowl around with his darkened cloak.
To bring back some normalcy after today's...
Harry's lips trembled, his breath accelerated with the sudden squirm his heart did. He tried to calm his shallow breath back to normal, apprehensive about his chest's harsh expandment, but he found it maddeningly hard. He gripped an edge of Snape's cloak, smoothing it down slowly, as a way to release the tension.
Under it appeared these robes that fluttered once on him, now crusty and heavily stained with blood.
In a forgotten time, they were running away from him, fleeing purposely among a murderously fast symphony of chaos. Things and people alike clambering out of harm's way- as all duelled to kill.
He ran after them with the same calamity that marked the place demolished; heart charging to beat its fastest.
Forwarding him; those black tailored wings flapped. Sliding behind obstacles, manoeuvring slyly out of Harry's reach. It aggravated Harry to beyond the point of any aggression he reached before. He growled angrily at the back of those billowing robes, easily escaping his grasp like a taunting tail.
It took one day, only one, to flip his world on its hinges, turning all he knows upside down.
The same wrenching headache of after the chase wasn't caused by rage, now. This time, It was strangling fear...
The fear of not being able to reach and snatch those flowing robes on the falling man who wears them, not able to get a firm hold before he tumbles to death's frozen embrace..
Not another death...
Not anymore if he could stop it...
That's all that he can think of.
He has the miraculous chance to save someone from the many others he couldn't. Whom paid him a heavy sacrifice he did not ask for or (from this specific man) had it ever crossed the wildest of his dreams for it to come...
He will not DARE to waste it... He had to save him, he been so wronged...
His conscious.. screaming at him to do it..
..it's painfully overpowering how unfair... All this...
Death is a drastic measure of change...
He didn't know he was clutching Snape's robes with a death grip.
Or that he crumbled to sleep from emotional and physical fatigue.
Or that Snape's hand was dug in his clothing almost ripping through the fabric.
Or did he hear clamber of feat getting nearer and nearer...
He couldn't retrieve that absence. The absent that cost him a chance.
※※※
As heavy as slow as a feather, Harry was filled with the sensation of hovering over his bed. He could be blown upwards by the easiest nudge, or drawn lower by the smallest tug. Harry felt free, unbound and weightless. Soaring or diving down? He didn't detect that, yet.
The air around his body was calmingly cool, but for a spot of warmth that was poured on his cheeks. It spread far enough to reach his belly; setting a swarm of butterflies free. He was so tingly comfortable, feeling as if melted out of shape.
A present made itself known to his senses. Few random clung happened, bringing him back to consciousness. They were sounding distant, and quickly they were followed by slapping footsteps, approaching his way.
They halted next to him, which made Harry open his eyes to see who they were. Instead, seen a white sun, blazing over his face, joyous and merry. Harry blinked away from it few times, but his vision stayed terribly blurry.
A shock of redness went through the sunshine, ducked sideways then returned, blocking the sun as it did. It was a figure standing in front of him. Handing him something. A smell of cleanliness drifted forward with their outstretched hand. Harry reacted slowly matching their gesture like he was in a dream-like state. He found he was holding his glasses. He put them on feebly, his right arm heavier than the other.
Ron's tall dangling body came into view over him.
Harry snapped awake at once, his heart skipped a beat. He froze there, taking in the sight of his friend, which was squeezing him with both glee and sorrow.
Ron looked out of it, his clothing was loosely fastened on him and more than usually miss-matched; like he was hardly noticing what he was wearing. (seeing on him that maroon jumper he hated). His face drooping a bit but gave Harry a sort of a smiling look, he felt it rather than seen it, because his facial muscles were painfully stiff.
Before he knew it, Harry was on his feet facing him, wavering a bit. Ron movements look as if they were pulled out of him, shifting forcefully from one foot to the other, his hands dangling against his sides, throwing grief-filled looks at Harry while his head was bowed, and gulping quite more than normal.
Harry stared at him, doing his mightiest to unlock his jaws to speak, his heart was ramming madly under them in his throat, sealing them tighter. He swallowed hard, hesitated for fraction of a second, then lunged his arms over him, hugging him bitterly. Finally managing to mumble a muffled apology.
Ron didn't budge for few seconds, but almost too violently, he wrapped his long arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder. Harry gripped him more firmly as he felt the chest against his started to pulse, fast, into the like of short strong coughs, muffled into him and rebounding on his own chest. Ron broke into long squeals of shivery breath, weeping his heart out...
It wasn't long until Ron rose to his fullest height, rubbing his nose and sniffing rather loudly, eyes and face as red as his hair.
".. blimey, " he spoke at last in a thick voice. " ... I didn't think... I have it in me to talk..."
He kept wiping on his eyes he sat on the chair by the side of Harry's bed " ... everyone was .. doing it back there for me, I suppose..."
Harry sat back on his bed, feeling faint and exhausted. Wiping carefully under his glasses by the tip of his shirt.
To their relief, their talk started easily enough; one tired whisper replying to the other, echoing higher to the midst of the ceiling.
" .. you should have seen his face. I don't know if he lost it or losing in it yet. Mum didn't know if to cry over him or..."
"... I'm sorry.."
"... enough with that already .. you're bumming me out, mate. Stop acting if it was your fault for Merlin.."
"... when the funeral will be?..."
" ... we got her out of here just yesterday, not sure yet.."
"... how are you feeling?.."
"... O, I'm fine. Just exhausted... like everyone else"
They relaxed in a long comfortable silence. Harry closed his eyes in meditation, allowing his pounding headache to subside.
But as it did, another feeling clawed it way up to his notice. His stomach clenched and convulsed as if being punched; alarming him!
Something wasn't right! Something was harrowingly missing! It was starting to make him unreasonably frightened.
He tried to calm himself, speculate it, but every time he did his mind stopped working, setting him to stare at the black inside of his eyelids, with the struggle of masking his heaves.
Ron was slumped back in his chair, picking on the loose threads in his jumper absentmindedly. His eyes centred on Harry, mildly noticing him.
Eventually, he recognized the repetitive shudder that runs through him by the flutter of his shaggy hair.
"... Harry, are you sure you alright? "
Harry didn't respond. Ron straightened forward in his chair and was frowning to focus on the answer he'll receive, he added:
"... Are you cold? Feeling sick? "
Harry slowly shook his head. Unable to stop the shivers from showing on his fingers. Ron got up and looked around the bed. He stopped at the sight of seeing what he was looking for and plucked it out, right from under the bed's blankets. He flung up and around- a black cloak, it descended on Harry's shoulders, thick and stiff, to warm him up.
Harry opened his eyes to the feel of the firm weight on him. He looked at one of Ron's pale hand patting the cloak on his shoulders; at a very darkened spot.
" Are you feeling any better? Should I call Madam Pomfrey?"
He asked, concern wrinkling his knelt-down face. The look that was forming gradually on Harry's face made Ron's flip a greenish hue.
Staring, wide-eyed, horror-stricken at the cloak his hands tuck him in.
Ron clumsily rushed to take it off Harry "Uh, not yours?! Sorry, lemme just"
"NO!"
Harry spoke louder then he intended. Making Ron's hands recoil from pulling the cloak off, severely confused.
Harry recollected himself realizing his reaction. He stood up, nervously he tore off the cloak then rolling it in a messy fashion, shoved it under the covers again.
"Sorry Ron, It- uh.. it's mine, yes.
And.. it has blood and might have soil you and stuff.. I-"
Harry explained, stuttering a bit. Before Ron can express the confused look on his face, Harry's knees buckled and down he went facing the unforgiving hard floor.
But Ron was faster, he caught him. And as gently as he could, half lifted Harry back to bed. He was looking more feverish and disoriented now, still having spasms of shiver.
"I.. sorry " weakly, he forced out few words between pursed lips, fighting inches away not to be sick all over Ron-- Who was looming over him, his hands tightly holding his shoulders, supporting him to sit.
"I'm definitely calling her, Harry. You're really messed up! You think you can be okay laying down 'till I get back?"
Harry made a consent sound, letting Ron steer him back to his pillows, his eyes were closed, now squinted from a sunny spot.
Ron slapping footsteps started and were gone in an instant.
He got up. Still his head spun, still his stomach lurched, but he almost felt none of that as he speedily looked under his covers.
There it was, alright. The black cloak stained with stiff blood...
.. The worst conclusions screamed at him before his logic can proceed.
Mercifully, he was distracted by the doors flinging open. He stuffed it and jumped back to bed, worsening his nausea.
Echoing strides came in, a bushy mane bounced upper the line of curtains and finally, have revealed a running Hismone toward him.
"Harry!"
Hismoine breathed, harshly panting and clutching on his chest. Harry would have launched at him, but his vision swirled flipping the ground up threateningly. Hismone seemed to notice his intention and his sudden dazed glance.
"Harry don't push yourself so-"
"Where is he?!"
Harry demanded dangerously- pressing his palm over a pulsing vine in his temple.
"Is Ron here?"
In hesitancy; Hismoine asked, looking around them aimlessly while his hands were reaching to coo Harry.
"No, he isn't!"
He groaned in desperation, cutting off Hismoine direction and pulling on his hands a bit too eagerly to face him properly.
Hismoine was clearly avoiding Harry's eyes, just like the Mediwitch did, he looked apologetically into Harry's pale sweaty face. It was clear he didn't want to be the one to tell him. Harry stared at him with wide pleading eyes, fear was consuming whatever little color remained in his face. It was stunning for Hismoine to see how affected he was, to a point it made Hismoine freeze into a sort of awed dis-function. But that was momentary, he quickly recovered and as calmly as he could he spoke in a confident voice- yet shook a little.
"Harry, Harry- he's alright! His condition was stabilized, he's okay! "
Harry relaxed his grip enough to let a hand of Hismone's free from his obscenely intense hold.
He directed it to presume his intention to rub on Harry's back as if to awaken him from whatever condition he was in.
His face was still deploying that odd half-imploring half- demanding-to- know state. Looking hard into Hismoine empathized expression.
".. you're not hiding anything-"
"No Harry, he IS still alive!"
" I need to see him."
He started on his sheets, tossing them away but Hismoine withhold him quickly,
"Harry- please! Please stop! You need to rest, you'll hurt yourself! You're at your limits! Please!--"
Hismoine struggled to push Harry to recline while he, too, fought back. Hardly, though. He felt his energy draining quickly, making his hands feel like soggy bread-sticks.
Hismone grumbled flushing,
"Harry! don't make me use--"
But before either of them get the upper hand on the other; the door's metal clanged as it opened, followed by fast strides of Ron's and behind him Madam Pomfrey in hot pursuit.
"Mister Potter? Is everything alright?"
She asked hurriedly even before reaching his bedside. His struggle immediately ceased at the sight of Ron. Hismone jumped suspiciously off him-- tucking his wand out of sight, resulting in Ron taking notice. He couldn't question the matter further as the maiden stirred him out of the way to tend to Harry.
Harry returned to his position, laying on his back, sulky and exhausted more than he realized.
Hismoine quickly fled the corner not wanting to be trapped in Harry's range of sight.
Madam Pomfrey approached him after drawing the curtains around, eyeing him disapprovingly. She sighed on Harry's unwavering sulk and placed a cool hand on his forehead.
"I should have examined you earlier..!
..dear dear, you are boiling."
She clicked her tongue apologetically, getting out her wand.
As the maiden continued summoning out her brightly colored vials out of thin air, Harry found the sight strangely soothing and started to get difficult to keep his eyes open. But, he stubbornly flashes them wide open every time they closed.
She sighed at his unrelenting attitude, weighing some powdered potion to a small cup.
" You'll be rid of that fever as soon as I finish restocking those potions. Bear with me, I had to bring my set here... everything I carried was emptied before I could get any more supplies."
Harry mumbled "it's alright.. There are who need it more than I do".
She straightens up, her lips tightly pressed in a thin line and looked over him for few seconds. She then whisked out her wand and waved it back and forth swiftly between her fingers.
Harry felt a stream of liquids start spreading through his skull and down on his face, he spluttered a bit when water poured into his mouth. It continued across his whole body, but as he was looking at his outstretched figure, he could see no trace of water. He rather felt it only on his skin. It spread until it reached his toes then evaporated through his clothing, smelling clean and warm- as if he was freshly out of a steaming shower.
Madam Pumfrey then gave him a pair of the hospital's pyjamas. He turned down Ron's insisting offer to help him dress.
A while later she came through the curtains. Behind her were glimpsed the peering faces of Ron and Hismoine. Carrying a mix of potions he's ordered to consume.
"I suggest you take this opportunity to relax and allow your body to recover its strength. It's almost drained of everything I would say- that include your magic as well, Mister Potter. You have put a lot of strain on them.."
But Harry showed more of his sulk and demanding posture.
Unphased, she handed over a goblet of cloudy swig to his hand. Lowering her voice as she leaned to ruffle his blankets off and on him in a neat manner
"The castle is being picked clean by the Arouras. The Headmistress insists that you be asleep the whole time they are here, to spare you any questioning. "
"But-" "-You'll know everything when you wake up, Harry. Now please retire to your pillows after this"
She retorted, and held a goblet under his nose. He took it reluctantly, and in one go, gulped it down. Instantly, the world lost its focus, before he could hand it back- his body became drowsy, heavy, numb, his eyelids dropped suddenly shut on his unconscious eyes, already on his way, sailing into the deepest sleep he yet to know.
A smoky scent tinkled his nose, thick and heavy it almost choked him for a moment, but then, it became pleasant and welcoming, rich in perfumed aroma.
Harry breathed deeply, unknowing of his senses taking in the smell in deep, calm and relaxing sniffs.
But at his third inhale, the scent was gone. And Harry's slumber returned like before, peacefully uninterrupted.
He didn't register the arguing voices around him, some getting fiercer in tone and one be irritatingly repetitive. Nor did he noted the light on his eyes dimmed by peering shadows. He slept on and on, in a dreamless calm.
※※※
Harry awoke suddenly as if there was a timer for his sleep in his head and it dinged, ending his controlled sleep. Strangely so, he didn't feel the side effects of the usual napping, being groggy and all that. He sat up blinking uncertainly, letting his hand automatically grope for his glasses on the bedside table. His hand dipped into a warm slushy substance. Harry saw it was a breakfast tray filled with goodies and soup. Striking him savagely, the hunger announced itself by its growls, painful and grumpy, forced him to begin gulping down the warm rich verity of food.
All along, his head was clearing up to one thought, now buzzing loudly: Snape.
No one was around, and it was fairly dark. He dressed quietly, navigating around his bed carefully.
He stood up, legs feeling like mush, tipped toed into the curtains and looked between the gap.
No one was there, he was beginning to take off running toward the wooden doors at the end of the walkway.
The second he stepped out of the curtains, however, he was startled by the mirage of voices that came seemingly out of nowhere.
It was Hismoine, calling him joyously.
"Harry! You're awake at last!"
Before he can turn to him, Hismoine hugged him from behind, squeezing him delightedly.
Something else was awry; the sun casts its spearing light, stunning his sight. He blinked perplexed, looked down at Hismoine and asked
"its... morning?"
Hismoine nodded, curiously following his gaze to his bed then gasped catching on,
"Ah! Your corner was darkened for your comfort, of course.
I asked Madam Pumfrey if she can do something about it, actually.. You were squinting awfully a lot in your sleep. You weren't having nightmares, were you, Harry?"
Hismoine asked fiddling anxiously with his fingers. Harry was looking a bit dazed, staring still at the black airy sheet of darkness that was pouring over the corner he slept in.
".. You..watched me sleep?"
He trailed off, his sight landing on dozens of golden-ribboned gifts and brightly colored letters, all stacked neatly on each other by the side of his bed.
"From your fans" Hismoine whispered smiling cheerfully, taking note of his awed expression.
"A-already..?"
Harry said thoughtfully, examining one of the letters in an unsure manner.
He shook his head, waking himself from being overwhelmed by everything.
He turned to Hismoine and held his forearm, pulling him away from curiosity's temptation and spoke earnestly in a rush.
"That all can wait, for now.
Listen, I have to go and see him. "
Hismoine's genuine smile dropped at once, with a stony glare he looked past Harry's eyes, behind him, ever so subtle he repeatedly bit on his lower lip.
Harry didn't get to react when a long-fingered hand rested on his shoulder, and Ron's voice sounded near his ear.
"Wanting to see me, Harry? Well, You're in luck."
Harry turned to see Ron's tired smile, only his hair was in color, the rest of him was battered shades of grey dressing, matching them his face, that looked paler than ever.
He shook his head on the sad pained expression that slumped on Harry's face, upon realizing what he must have missed.
"Don't beat yourself over it, mate. Attending a funeral wasn't going to be a healthy option for you in your state.
Really happy to see you're back with us again.. "
"... I'm so sorry, Ron.
How long was I out?-"
"-Two days."
Hismoine chimed quickly, seemingly having a hard time hiding his nervousness.
He was dispensing quick looks to the both of them. Obviously anxious for the moment, either of them starts asking questions.
Harry could tell that Hismoine didn't want to be the bearer of news, and he wasn't going to place him in that position again, anyway. Hismoine has done more than he should..
But he couldn't help but noticed that Hismoine's face was started deepening in the shade of red by the passing second, each time he looked at Ron in fact.
Ron had a glazed stare. His eyes wandering aimlessly on the floor, hands berried in his pockets, completely spaced out.
" ...Hismoine didn't make it, did he, Ron?"
Harry asked slowly, perturbed by his guilty expression.
Ron blinked at him regaining focus. He simply shook his head.
" Someone had to be with you, Harry.
You were waking up in odd moments and dropping back like you were fighting sleep or something.
Didn't want to hurt yourself.
...
Madam Pomfrey couldn't stay much with all who needed her in the village."
He added thoughtfully.
Harry looked at Hismoine, and he confirmed it by nodding sympathetically.
"We also had to make sure you were out of sight from whoever came to interrogate you.
On Professor McGonagall's orders, you see. She couldn't keep the ward of disillusionment on your bed much after—" and he trailed off seemingly forgetting what he was saying, seconds before looking back at Ron in alarm, but Ron noticed little at the moment.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, his sigh was shallow, deeply troubled. His legs shuffling under him left and right, wanting to get going but he didn't leave the circle he looped on.
"...I'm sorry to put you through all this, you both must be tired out of your minds.."
Both Ron and Hismoine waved it off, telling him it was hardly anything, then started to drag him over to sit and enjoy opening his gifts.
Harry wasn't pleased to be having been delayed even more than it should have, and even worst not being able to share those few cheerful moments fully with Ron, after having the audacity to miss the funeral of his sister.
But he had to know, it was eating him. He NEEDED it in a way he couldn't contain, especially after how everyone is keen to keep the matter out of his knowledge.
"This one From someone Called Mani H. With a nice seal on it!"
"Wicked! Is that a hat or what?"
"Guys... listen,"
The abrupt pause on their faces gave him a sharp jab, but he had to press on;
"...I have to go and see Professor Mcgonagall, I need to clear things with her, you know.
Help yourselves with the rest 'till I get back, okay?"
Harry talked barely above a whisper, and not giving them time he was on his feet in a flash, running away from the exasperated protests of his friends.
He ran straight to her office. Ignoring how his body felt so heavy.
His steps echoed louder than usual in the midst of the huge, empty, hallways.
The only matching voice he heard was his own extensive heartbeats, no one else seemed to be around, thankfully.
As he reached, the gargoyle guarding the stairs was not yet prepared but groomed to the side, and the way behind it was wide open. He climbed the spiral steps, praying to see her present.
And she was.
Harry let out a huge sigh of relief, allowing his breath to get even after withholding it too long with anticipation.
"Professor!" He pants.
Turning to face him, she gave him a gentle smile upon seeing his alert- glowing face. But returned stern and weary, knowing why Harry had come.
"Good morning Harry. Glad to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright, thanks-"
"-Have a seat."
Harry sat down. Watching Mcgonagall taking her time adjusting the frame of one of the portraits. She circles his chair, fixing him with her sharp stare.
"I suppose you want to know what had happened during the time you were absent in."
Harry nodded, his attention focused on her with the utmost, hanging from the edge of his seat readying to go off.
"The thing is, a lot of people, of all kinds, came to question you, Harry. To question me even.
But I could not give away anything until I make sure you are ready to announce it, yourself. We all expecting your legendary speech."
She smiled fondly at him. Harry flushed nodding to his knees, her indirect praise was unexpected just as this news about visitors and making grand speeches. He really didn't know with what or how to reply.
But she continued "So it must come from you, it is only right."
Her smile dropped at sudden, and her voice returned strained if not more. She leaned forward to meet his eyes more clearly, she spoke softly.
"However, for the matter 'at hand'; I don't want anyone to go around spreading rumors, tales or any kind of false accusations about it.
That is why I'd like it kept quiet until everything is sorted out."
Harry nodded slowly in thought to her expectant pause.
She sniffed deeply, clearly against what she was doing, as she took out a scrap of paper and wrote in it.
"Read this silently, please."
She stretched out and opened her palm to him, in it, the tiny paper read "Nursery Room –94".
She then crumbled the paper, turning it into a fine string of fiery ash on a disposing tray.
"Now, go near where the Professor office is, and you'll find what you seek."
Harry got up thanking her breathlessly, fumbled with the doorknob then shot off. Racing alongside his excited thoughts— even faster than he did coming up here.
※※※
The dungeons were still deserted, like most of the place, but freezingly dimmer and ominous. Torches flared one by one as Harry came, tearing down the long stoned hall. With every intake he was swallowing the slightly moist air, specifically roaming down here.
Spotting the Professor's dark office door, he grabbed its ringed handle, skidding into a halt, almost ramming to the wall beside it. Thinking hard about the note, he frantically looked around for the hidden room, his lungs burning in his chest.
At the corner of his eye, a door far to the left had materialized, pulling itself out from between a long gap in the wall.
Harry gulped forcefully, easing his breath and headed straight to it. As the frame of the door became clearer with each stride he took; a sudden awareness came to Harry.
He wasn't sure what to expect to find there. Only when he was few feet closer that the ideas was occurring clearly:
What was he to say?
In what manner should he speak?
In what right he is given to explain coming to see him?
Will Snape's reaction deter him from further communications?
Can he voice anything conversational near him, to begin with?
The answers flew frantically around in Harry's mind, each sounded more ridiculous and unconvincing than the other. With each failed try, it managed to yarn a knot of aggravation, growing bigger the longer he thought about it.
Rigged on the spot in front of the thin door, he stood. By now, imaginative scenarios were playing in his mind with quite the accuracy to the past dealings with his professor. Yet, beside the confusion there was a crucial, pressing part of him that hoped- ruthlessly that is- to see Snape. Even if it was only glimpses of him.. Laying there moodily, awake and expecting company...
...maybe not his, Harry's, company.
He compromised, if that's the case, seeing him without comment will be very much enough.
Harry's fingers shivered to that thought but were instantly wrapped firmly on the door nob. The door noiselessly opened.
Peering in, he saw nothing waiting to be viewed. In fact, the room was doused in darkness. He slid in, and as soon as he did he heard the door lock click behind him, closed.
A tired light shone at once, right in the middle of the room. Enabling Harry to see in front of him; which were dozens of potions shelves lined almost against of the door, obscuring the full sight. Harry made his way around them to the center, and before he completely emerges from between them; a scene met his eyes, startled him violently he almost knocked the shelve to his side down.
His gasp echoed faintly, he didn't hear it leaving his mouth...
Snape, was floating in mid-air, diving down on him..!
Jaw hanging open, Harry looked up at him, unblinking. Quickly realizing after few seconds nothing had happened; Snape was definitely not swooping down on him (to attack, he feared for a moment). Seeing him more clearly; he looked to be frozen in a moment. His hair was the only thing moving, scattering upward in a slow fluttering movement.
Harry took one step forward to further see; Snape was preserved in a long, floor-to-ceiling tube or a tank.. The base of it was woody, cradling the glass that was filled to its brim with an unknown to Harry liquid. Skin pale as the dead; it almost glowed to the contrary of the dim color surrounding him. His arms crossed and pressed on the glass near his face, eyes staring at the floor, empty but every often blinking in an obscene slow motion.
Harry stood there aghast, unsure if he's understanding the full length of what lay before him..
After the shock wore off, Harry took few more tentative steps toward the tank to provoke any reaction from him, there was none.
Snape seemed awake but unaware of his presence. In hesitation, he tried placing his hand where Snape's arms are. Nothing defensive or magical of any sort he could see had happened. The surface was cool to his touch, waves of heat occasionally emanated. As he sensed a faint vibration in them, too. It was Snape's heart beats drumming through the glass veil.. but eyes were looking past him into nothingness..
Throat swelling; Harry was tempted to bound savagely on the glass, to wake his Professor from his trance. But before he finished his thought; a sweet burnt scent of perfume engulfed the place. So strong, Harry could tell it was coming from behind him. And indeed it was.
There, stood a person at the edge of the spotlight. Utterly silenced, what he could tell of their shadowed face was an expectant look.
Harry would have jumped out of his skin if he wasn't in such a state of intense disbelief. Even weirder, he found their perfumed scent to be.. familiar..
"Saeed* Harry Potter, what an honorable moment this is of a meeting."
(*Mister)
The figure spoke, softly but his voice rung. He almost gave a musical tune to the end of his words, as if he was chanting.
He stepped into the circle of light, and meeting him was a man with wide dark eyes, their pupils glittered yet showed no sign of emotion, around them, the eyelids were framed heavily by curvey decorative lines.
Distracting from their solid gaze, hardly stretched into one; an ancient smile was formed, as a gentle parting of lips, brightening his grim features.
His cheeks had dotted basic shapes of symbols, one is a young moon under his right eye. All these were gathered in a thin face, partially shaded by his long hair. Dark blue as a starry night, it glinted, down it was rolled in two braids, poured silky fine on his shoulders. Their ends floating above his waist magically.
Behind them of a background was a knee lengthened shirt, thickly laced and a cloak resting on his arms, its sleeves also laced in a unique pattern. He seemed to radiate confidence and enthusiasm but in an odd, suave, preserved way.
Harry was not alarmed by the man's presence, even though he felt he should. But reasoned; he must be one of the few who helped, how else can he be in here..?
The man moved swiftly, taking Harry's hand between his palms, a faint clutter of the beads around his wrist sounded while he shook them eagerly, his hands were pleasantly warm around Harry's frozen fingertips.
"I am at the point of shuddering to the actuality of this chance that brought me with the legend of today. Even if it was grave and sorrowful."
Harry watched the man's gaze meaningfully settle on Snape's current resting place. The urgency returned to Harry's Features. Something that caught the stranger's attention. Slightly tilting his head in acknowledgement, he presented what he presumed missing:
"Allow me to erase the confusion: I am Qarqa'ah Al-hiyadi. I was called upon by Madam Pumfrey. Asking me to provide my expertise, which is relating to my great interest in non-bodily illnesses. The sort that centres the mind, the heart and the spiritual existence— inhabiting a body or was expelled from it. In length, I am not qualified to be a healer but I have gone deep into researching the tougher cases regarding this course. Which is why I was included in professor Severus Snape's treatment."
He inclined his head in Harry's direction in a sort of salute.
Harry nodded uncertainly. ".. Pleasant to meet you, sir."
Then in the next second, he realized what the man just has said. His heart started racing.
Finally, someone who can tell him in details what had been happening here. The man had yet the chance to smile warmly at Harry before he plummeted out everything on his mind. Any trace of restraint left in him— forgotten.
Harry simply had no more tolerance.
"So.. So you treated him? Have you seen it all?
How long it took?
You know what's up with him? Other than the bite?
Why wasn't I part of it?
Why no one has risen me?!
And why is he....Is he like this?!"
Almost breathless, his temper building up restricting his airway. The last word came out shivering as Harry struggled to remain on a plain description rather than 'having him stored away like some potion ingredient' or 'another jarred specimen to join the shelves, is he'.
Clutching his fists tighter, oh it angered him beyond control.
The stranger seemed to fully see how Harry was irked and wasn't terribly surprised at his near shouting tone. He nodded his head to him with a content hum, acted in a complete understanding manner. He adjusted himself abstractedly to reply with a calmer voice;
"I was not shared with the full extent to what caused the Professor's dilemma. Nor told about any position you be needing to fill in- helping. Only the exact time it happened and the cause I was informed of.
As for his present state: he is having his blood and internal organs slowly restored by a carefully combined variety of healing potions. Since his blood circulation is at fault, this mechanism does a similar principal to it."
Harry felt the air rushing out of him deeply; a sigh. As if hearing the news he has been obsessing to know had heaved a the bigger part of a bolder off his chest.
"So, you've helped him! He'll be alright, won't he?"
He asked breathlessly, careful not to smile.
"Each healer has done their best. So, it only left for me to hope that I did as well. And, hope Saeed Snape will do his bid in recovery."
Qarqa'ah said, plugging his fingers together tightly, his expression stayed stubbornly neutral and observing.
His attitude made doubt surge hottily back into Harry. He looked up again into Snape's vacant eyes and back at the stranger.. who kept eeriely watching him, providing no more explanations to unasked questions.
A pause stretched between them uncomfortably.
As Snape stared at them, Harry debated if he needed to know, and felt he had to. This man is not giving him any form of confirmation or dropping down his expectant gaze. He strangely thought that the man was expecting him to conclude aloud what is it with Snape.
"...Is he awake, then?"
Harry finally asked, feeling painfully dim before him for no apparent reason.
"Yes."
Qarqa'ah nodded slowly.
"Except; we can not tell if his mind is among us or not."
He added, almost in a curious whisper, watching Harry carefully as he twisted his pointed beard.
Hearing it stung. Like something had pinched Harry's heart. It rapidly felt like the bolder was rolling, descending on his chest, pressuring his lungs, suffocating him.
He stared bewildered at those wide, beguiling eyes of the stranger. Unable to decipher if any of this is good news..
He turned away, back to scrutinize the glass pointlessly, he can hear his own voice bawling out of frustration in him. Swelling with it, he felt it might burst out of him any second now.
This was not the promised refine he needed to reward Snape with. Not the peace he desperately wanted to gift to someone who almost had never had any. This was not the decent way to praise this unsung hero..
.. Harry was called a hero now... But he couldn't truly choose who to save.. The recent catastrophe was a proof.
"Why?"
Harry managed to heave in an anguished whisper.
" Was it had to be this way?... You've.. bottled him!!"
Head bowed, shoulders trampling, he spoke through gritted teeth.
The man that he can see reflected on the glass behind him made a sudden move as if intrigued. But his tone of voice differed that, it changed as he began to speak. Deeper, older and maybe consoling.. he could feel the air vibrating with it.
"My son.. It was the soonest way to keep him in this life. Any more delay to find a better way could have cost us a lost—" "—When will he be able to get back to normal?"
Harry cut him off as if he wasn't listening, eyes shut tight as a way to block anything interfering with the reaching of Qarqa'ah's voice..
"It depends..
You must know; Your faith has been the greater deal in keeping him alive. Keeping you alive.
I can only imagine what you have gone through in this war, but I know you have a knowledge no one shared with you: Something beyond anyone's understanding— in an experience when you had nothing else but your faith to go with.
It's very right, very real. It has an effect only seen clearly in what people call 'miracles'.
You see; faith leaves a trace, in endless kinds of forms.. including in the form of a magical energy."
He breathed deeply, his eyes closed and looked as he was recounting something in front of his mind's eye. His voice dropped in a dreamy tune;
"I have encountered the most inspiring one while examining the Professor. Saeed Harry Potter, your faith is nothing less of powerful in influence.."
At the very far back of his mind, Harry was silently agreeing with the part of 'the only one knowing' that was mentioned. He could relate to some point; that it got him monetary curious to know how he can tell.
But that thought was quickly overlapped by the fury he felt. It took a tight hold of him even though he tried to shake it off, but it savagely clung demanding to be satisfied.
He found himself speaking again, still acting like Qarqa'ah was talking to himself.
"... Madam Pomfrey was right.. it would have been merciful if we had just.."
His voice quivered angrily, but suddenly recoiling; registering those bitter words that crumbled out his tight throat. He propped himself on the glass surface, unbelieving himself.
The researcher edged only close enough to place his warm hand on Harry's shoulder, rubbing his thump in certain motion that made his whole back relax, after a shudder from him by the unexpected contact— Harry hardly noticed it was there.
"I am not allowed to question you on anything, my son. But I hope to tell you this might forgive my lack of support:
It's not our right to decide, Harry. When there's a chance even the slimmest one to save someone and we did not rush to take it, only then we are to blame."
Qarqa'ah's voice was magnificently soothing to hear, with his thump still caressing his shoulder, it made Harry easier.. he even suspected that he was charming him into comfort .. and his fury didn't want to be in any form of it.
But after a long pause, Harry was nodding his head vaguely, Qarqa'ah's words were barely sinking down, but began to dissolve the knot of jumbled tension in him.
The man let go of his shoulder as gently as if it wasn't there to begin with. Enabling Harry to face him with a glazed expression.
He thanked him in a flat voice he didn't intend.
The man took to smile slowly. Again, Harry remarked how ancient his smile felt. He looked at Harry as if he was savouring every moment he stood before him.
Then, in a respectful gesture; he brought his hands on Harry's head, parting his fringe and pecked him on the top of his head.
Harry looked up into him, his eyes sparked alive from their previous dullness. The feeling rushing back to him, and it was complete embarrassment. How foolishly he must have acted, and in front of a stranger.
Flushing, he wanted to say something.. but the man shook his head, focusing those wide lined eyes on him— sincerely filled with pride;
"Saeed Harry Potter, your intention made the difference in this Man's condition. And what will always do too many things as I trust and believe of you.
For now, I beg you to forgive me. I must take my leave. I ought to be on my way to the headmistress, as she requested to see me after I ensure your present.
Would you believe when I say, it was a wish coming true seeing you.
Peace be upon you."
He inclined his head in slow grace. Then off he went, heading out. Harry glimpsed his pinky finger raised, pointing it to the door; a glamouring thick ring covered most of it, out of its middle jutted a small jagged wand. The door flung wide then closed behind him in a flash.
Harry was left in the dark again. The rich reassuring aroma vanished, taking with it the warmth of another being's company from the room.
By him now were the soft hum of the odd mechanics attached to the tank. Like a moving carpet; the tank's own dull glow swam on the floor.
He felt forebodingly inconsolable, yet relieved enough for conflicting reasons.
He slid on the floor his back to the glass. Then turned, looking up at the gentle fluid movement of Snape in there. He looked peaceful in a heart-wrenching way. He was looking at Harry. In one moment Harry's heart leapt thinking he was truly seeing him, in another, he was not so sure.
It tortured him, the uncertainty, he couldn't stand to look anymore and rested his head on his knees, beginning to brood.
Nothing made sense to him anymore.
Hismoine came in noiselessly, like before; just in time to interrupt him slashing on the sore ends of his emotions. Harry didn't look up when he edged nearer to him, calling his name in a whisper.
Hismoine finally spotted him from between the shelves, sitting on the floor, staring at his feet.
He drew closer, carefully sat beside Harry and was glad. He did acknowledged him by a side look, even with a severe stoney expression was on his face.
Smiling sadly at him, Hismoine put a hand around Harry and squeezed his shoulder. Harry nodded wordlessly.
" You okay, Harry?"
After a while of a stiff silence, he broke it. All the while trying not to appear to have been watching him intently.
"Yeah.."
Was what he said mechanically. Even though his mind was about to explode with a million thing to say, related to how he felt or not.
Hismoine didn't press him for more as he might be expected of him. He merely noded looking around at the shelves.
".. Do you remember that day when we got into the Department of Mysteries and in that Time Room? "
Surprised by the random question, Harry frowned at him, remembering.
"... I think so... What brought that up?"
Hismoine rummaged in his chest pocket and got out a small bottle, filled with golden sand. He was smiling cheekily.
"I wasn't intending to even tell anyone but, I took a sample from the timely sand when the glass broke. I didn't mean to, of course!
A lot of it I found embedded in my cloak's inner pockets.
I had totally forgotten about it. Until Mister Qarqa'ah mentioned it after they finished treating Snape."
"...Finished?
... Were you there?"
Harry asked, even more, surprised.
"What?
Where they treated him?
Well, only at the final stage. They were pumping in all sort of potions in there."
Hismoine patted the glass subtly.
"...They told me that they needed one more person to witness the process and asked me if I would like to. I said of course! I didn't see much more, really."
Hismoine's voice couldn't have helped but to show a tiny bit of a disappointment of an intrigued learner.
Turning the glittering bottles in his hand, he continued;
"When everything was done; I talked to Mister Qarqa'ah.
He was really kind.
Bursting with pride at us, especially at you, Harry!"
He smiled appreciatively at him, peering into his half-hidden face.
" Yeah, I've noticed that.."
Commented Harry, lifting his face from his knees anxiously with a small smile.
"So you met him! Good.
He was itching to see you personally before he gone to do some errands, I was worried you two won't run into each other properly..."
Hismoine mumbled in an undertone, gazing around thoughtfully.
He breathed loudly then leaned in to face Harry, his voice slightly louder than before;
"You know, he mentioned this as a possible help to Snape."
Shaking the bottle, indicating it to Harry.
"I heard him talking with professor Mcgonagall about the things he was studying. Things relating to cure by the Time Sand."
Hismoine spoke breathlessly, his face shining, obviously, he was dying to tell Harry.
Harry felt a flicker of hope erupt, dancing between Hismoine's fingers, now. His vague expression melted into awed expectation, and he found himself saying, rather raspy;
"You mean to cure Snape by using these.. things— like the Time Turner?"
"Yes!"
Hismoine was on his knees, positively beaming at him, but spoke in a hushed tone; containing his excitement
"Well, not per-se.
You see he told me, that he can warp the sand into the injured organ in a very precised controlled range. Running it back to a time it was completely healthy in.
Of course, he didn't test it on living human parts yet. And I can imagine many things to go wrong!
But you know, its a chance.."
Hismoine finally breathed, settling on an anxious small smile.
He looked back at Harry and blinked acutely. Harry was looking intently at the bottle in his hand. He suspiciously had that fleeting expression when he, Hismoine, revealed the Time Turner to Harry for the very first time. It was displaying quite clearly that longing to change those critical past details.
Hismoine can obviously see he was doing some serious thinking.
"...This is the Time Sand, only. It won't work like a Time-Turner without a tool that measures the needed sand to go back certain time period.."
Hismoine talked in what he wished to be a casual tone of voice— not a warning or a deterring one.
After a considerably long pause, Harry finally asked
"When is he, uh.. the researcher, going to try it on, Snape?"
"Oh, well."
Hismoine shrugged " He didn't tell me. But I think he'll be back to his lab to do a bit more experimenting, I suppose."
Harry nodded in contentment. Hismoine cast around his gaze mindlessly once more, then looked at his watch.
"Harry" he spoke approachful, putting a hand on his shoulder "we need to get going."
Harry turned slightly frowning "why?"
"You can't stay here all day, you know.
Also, Ron needs us.. and everyone else is waiting for you.."
Harry's face fell blank. He didn't feel remotely prepared nor anywhere near enough enthusiasm to be facing the 'wizarding world'. Reporting, consoling or otherwise. He blissfully has forgotten that until now.
Undoubtedly, he had to be near Ron. But at the same time, he needed to see Snape's treatment all the way. Which was much more of a urgent case. He felt strictly obliged to ensure his welfare, more strangely, he felt by repaying Snape, he will be repaying everyone who gave their entire lives to him and to this cause.. that and, he was the only remaining soul to have known his parents.. even with so much enmity.
Hismoine was on his feet, walked to the table sitting near the machine's different tubed holes that transform the potion poured into it to the cylinder-like-tank.
He placed his bottle of Time Sand down, with a note attached to it. Then returned, stretching a hand to help Harry up.
Harry smiled wearily and took it, standing up.
"You go ahead Hismoine, I'll be with you in a minute.." He said, his eyes fixed on Snape again.
Hismoine looked at him then at Snape and nodded. Hurriedly he headed to the exit.
Harry stood there, mesmerized, staring not at Snape, but the bottle of Time Sand. His heart was plummeting in his chest, from the wild insane ideas which crossed him.
How about a drop, maybe, a pinch rather.
It won't count for much if he put it through the potion's slot. If nothing happened, he could try a couple more.. just to see..
His mind was flourishing with victorious images, not at all concerned with the consequences the bottle might bring. Even though he knew it was foolish, the bright sparkly good side of it glittered in his mind just as much as the dots of Time Sand did before him.
He edged closer steadily, as if he was beckoned by the bottle to pick it up.
It was tiny, a piece of parchment laid underneath it. Harry could see Hismoine's handwriting; rewriting backwards and forward a certain word the bottle was standing on.
"Dear Mister Qarqa'ah:
This is the sample of Time Sand I told you I've acquired. I hope it will be of help in your research.
Sincerely,
H. G."
Harry stood there, still humoring his fancies, calculating... if every grain of sand there was a second to go back to, he concluded a fair sprinkle will count as an hour or so.
His hand mildly groped the surface of the table to Hismoine's parchment. There was a P.S. he couldn't read. His fingers merely touched the parchment to slide it away from under the bottle— to see it fly, weightless, topple over, passing the edge of the table and break with a tinkle on the tube's opening— passing its inners to the mechanical pipes.
He did not need to see the effect before he hears it...
He turned his stiff head, everything seemed to slow down except his painfully fast beating heart, it might not have been beating at all and that's why he couldn't breathe..
The change in the tank was fast and exuberant. Rapidly it was bubbling, foaming, gurgling!
He could see only parts of Snape as he writhed and thrashed in there!
Without even knowing what he was doing, his wand was in his hand, above his head, swoosh! And the next he knew: A humongous explosion, shattering glass flying in every direction! Merged with the potion that came down on him, gushing vigorously, swiping him off his feet!
Coughing unearthly tastes that he swallowed, Harry felt the cinch of pulsing pain immediately sew up on his face and arms that he used to shield himself.
On his face he lay, washed out, dripping, numb, stricken, shivering to the tips of his hair.
Blindly, he sought Snape.
... only to see his figure sprawled in a misshapen mass, in the middle of the tank.