Chap 14 Returning to Normal
Remus returned with their evening meal and the two men ate dinner with Harry, chatting quietly about school and Quidditch. Harry watched in amusement as his godfather flirted more openly with Remus, apparently more at ease now that he knew Harry didn't mind. Remus endured it all with good humor, seeming at once both annoyed and amused but generally unoffended. He did not however flirt back.
Eventually Madam Pomfrey kicked them out, insisting that Harry get more rest. The Mediwitch checked his wounds one last time, assuring him that they were healing up quite nicely, and that he could go back to his own room in the morning. Then she too bid him good night.
A moment later Snape slipped into the room, moving silently across the ward, black robes billowing about him. "Is she gone?" he asked, his resonate voice making Harry shiver for some reason.
Harry glanced toward the door Madam Pomfrey had just disappeared through. "Went to bed, I think," he informed the Potions Master.
"Good," Snape sat down in the chair beside Harry. "Last thing I need is another scolding from her. Kicking Black out is one thing, but calling me an idiot. . .the nerve of her!"
It almost sounded like Snape was making a joke, and Harry gave him a hesitant smile, unsure of how he should respond. "I'm sure, sir," he agreed neutrally.
Snape raised one dark eyebrow, a mocking gleam in his eyes, but he let the comment pass. "I trust you're feeling better?"
"Yes, sir," Harry told him. "Madam Pomfrey said I can leave tomorrow morning."
"Excellent," Snape said dryly, though Harry guessed he probably would have preferred to have his place to himself for a few more days. Couldn't imagine that the man would be happy to have him back. "Wouldn't want you missing classes, now would we?"
"No, sir," Harry agreed, then remembered something. "Though. . .I didn't exactly get my potions homework finished. I was going to work on it after I got back from Hogsmeade." He supposed that was going to cost Gryffindor a few dozen points. Snape had never been forgiving of late homework, no matter what the excuse.
"Perhaps you should have finished your homework before you went to Hogsmeade," Snape suggested, and Harry recognized that gleam in his eyes. He was already calculating how many points he could take away, triple if Ron and Hermione had failed to finish as well.
"Yes, sir," Harry glared at him, trying to focus all his attention on those soon to be lost points, but feeling something in his mind slipping instead. Because Snape's words had sparked another thought in his mind, an unintended thought, one he was desperately trying not to think about.
He tried with all his might to hold onto those missing points, tried to picture the tally in McGonagall office, but it was all slipping away - because it was dark in here, and the candlelight was casting shadows on the old stone walls, and some how Snape's words always struck deeper and truer than anyone else's. And the other thought, the terrible thought, was roaring to life inside him, consuming him. A direct question from Ron had not done this to him, nor the worried gaze of Sirius. But one mocking insult from Snape broke down a wall he hadn't even been aware he'd erected.
He squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to see Snape's amusement, then turned away from him, rolling onto his side, unwilling to let Snape see his pain. His breath caught in his throat, a single sob escaping him before he strangled it back, hands fisted in his bed sheets.
Because of course Snape was right, damn him. He should have done something as simple as finish his homework - then it wouldn't have happened. The Death Eaters would have been gone from the weapons shop by the time Harry had gotten there; they wouldn't have seen him, wouldn't have attacked. Just a short delay was all it would have taken. Then those villagers wouldn't have died, and Harry wouldn't have killed those three men whose faces he could now see joining the ranks of the other dead in his mind. And the thought was a cold, hard emptiness inside him, hurting and aching and bitter.
And he wouldn't cry. Wouldn't cry! Instead he sucked in great gulps of air to hold back those tears, pulling it all back inside him, pushing it all back down into the empty place. And his body was cold and shaking, and he felt on the verge of hyperventilating.
Then amazingly there were warm hands on his shoulders, strong fingers wrapping around him, and he was pulled back and up until he was braced with his back against Snape's chest, and the man was talking to him in a low, soothing tone, words Harry couldn't really understand from so far down in his blackness.
He felt something cool at his lips, glass he realized, as Snape placed a potion vial at his mouth. And then Snape's fingers were tangled in his hair as the man gently tilted his head back, pressing the vial more insistently, forcing him to swallow the contents. He didn't care, didn't mind. Had oddly grown use to this over the last few weeks - trusted that the contents would not harm him.
He recognized the taste even - Dreamless Sleep Draught. The potion seeped deep into his veins, and he felt the familiar lethargy catching hold of him, and he sank back into it, not caring that it was really Snape's arms he was sinking into, that he was lying there in Snape's embrace. And he listened to Snape's soothing voice, still unable to recognize the words or process what they might mean. He even turned so that he could hear a calming heart beating beneath his ear, and that was so much better than the screams that were pressing at him. So much better than the darkness.
It was funny how quickly Sirius Black's words came back to haunt him. 'Sometimes those memories set you off and you don't even know why.' Severus could only guess that this was the case now, this was why he found himself with his arms around Harry Potter holding him while he hyperventilated, waiting for his potion to take affect.
He hadn't meant to upset the boy. He'd come down to bring him the Dreamless Sleep Draught, worried he might have nightmares again. But one careless comment about homework, meant in jest, had set the boy off. He'd seen it the moment it happened, seen the shuttered look of pain that had crossed his face. One part of him had been expecting it. The boy hadn't reacted yet - to the fact that he'd nearly been killed again, that people had died, that he'd been forced once more to defend his own life. He should have broken down in the arms of his godfather, or baring that his friends.
He couldn't help remembering the Triwizard Tournament. He hadn't truly broken down then either, fighting the tears with all his might. No tears. Not even in the arms of Molly Weasley. Never any tears.
But then this was the boy who put up silencing charms rather than wake his dorm mates with his nightmares.
What surprised Severus was that the boy had broken down in front of him. Oh he'd tried to hide it immediately, had turned away, had swallowed back his tears - Severus wondered if he'd ever let them fall. But he hadn't fought him when he'd pulled him into his arms, hadn't resisted drinking the potion he set to his lips.
His own actions had actually startled him. He wasn't a kind man, wasn't prone to giving comfort. But he hadn't been able to do anything else, unable to bear watching Harry's pain without at least trying. He'd really expected to be rebuffed, rejected. But he hadn't been.
And his words - utter nonsense about how it was going to be okay, and that Harry was safe, that it was all right to let go. Complete claptrap of course. But he suspected the boy was too far gone to really care or understand anyway; he could probably promise him the moon and never have to worry about being held to it.
He felt the boy calming at last, expecting him to pull away in discomfort. Potion or no, he was still the much hated Potions Master. But Harry surprised him by turning slightly in his arms, head resting on his chest, breathing slowing. A moment later he realized that the young man had fallen asleep - in his arms.
Harry Potter had fallen asleep in his arms.
Well, hell, he thought. Now what was he supposed to do?
He vaguely recalled someone moving and shifting him in the night. He murmured in protest, but quickly settled back down in sleep, dismissing it.
Madam Pomfrey woke him about an hour before breakfast, and he sat up sleepily, feeling well-rested. She checked his shoulder one last time, pronouncing him satisfactorily healed, and then handed him a pile of clothes and pointed him toward the showers. He recognized the clothing as some of the new ones Snape had bought for him. The man must have retrieved them for him sometime yesterday.
His face flushed as he remembered last night's events. Snape's late night visit, Harry's subsequent break down. And then the taste of Dreamless Sleep Draught. He wouldn't think about the rest of it, he decided. He doubted Snape would ever mention it. The man had probably been mortified by Harry's behavior.
But he had been decent to him. Harry wouldn't forget that. Though he suspected he'd pay for it eventually - probably during potions class that day in fact.
Breakfast was more of an ordeal than he'd expected. Every eye in the Great Hall was turned toward him when he entered and made his way toward his seat at the Gryffindor table. It reminded him of the day after his marriage to Snape. Only this time they were discussing blood and death and battles. It occurred to him suddenly that this was the first time that some of them had seen a battle up close. Even during the great battle last year they had all been locked away in their common rooms. By the time they had been allowed out, the Ministry had already removed the bodies from the field.
Ron and Hermione were waiting for him, holding his seat. And Neville, Dean and Seamus were quick to welcome him back with heartfelt questions about his health. He was also ready for the barrage of questions from the rest of the Gryffindors, and fielded them with his usually vagueness.
Eventually Hermione and Ron managed to exchange a few private words with him, telling him that Sirius and Remus had asked them to tell Harry that they would be back this evening and were planning on sticking around for a while yet. Harry was warmed by that thought. He really hadn't been given much of an opportunity to spend long periods of time with his godfather. Besides he wanted to know what was happening between him and Remus. There was a full moon in a couple of nights, so he knew Remus would be more on edge than he usually was, but it had been interesting to watch the flirting last night. It was the first time he'd ever seen two men interacting like that. Didn't seem much different from what Ron and Hermione did.
"You should have seen Dumbledore earlier, Harry," Ron said then, and Hermione echoed his sentiments.
"What happened?" Harry paused in eating, glancing worriedly at the high table. But Dumbledore seemed his usually happy self; he winked brightly at Harry before turning his attention back to his blueberry muffin. Harry risked a glance at Snape, but the Potions Master was glowering into his coffee cup and did not look up. Harry inexplicably found himself blushing.
"A group of reporters tried to get into Hogwarts this morning," Hermione explained. "And at least three of the Ministry candidates were with them, demanding to see you." She reached over toward Dean's plate, liberating the copy of the Daily Prophet he had been reading. Hermione showed Harry the front page.
'Attack in Hogsmeade! Boy Who Lived Battles Death Eaters'. The words were written in bright red lettering just above a picture of the damaged street of Hogsmeade.
"What did Dumbledore do?" Harry asked, as he skimmed the article quickly.
"Threw them all out," Ron told him with a gleeful grin. "It was brilliant. Threw more insults than Snape on a bad day. I don't think I've ever seen Rita Skeeter run so fast."
Harry's head shot up in alarm. "Rita Skeeter?"
Hermione, quickly surmising the problem, shook her head. "Don't worry, Harry. Dumbledore has put an alarm on Hogwarts. The moment Rita enters the premises, all the paintings start screaming - no matter what form she's in. And we've already warned Padfoot that she's lurking about."
Harry relaxed marginally, but he didn't like the idea of that woman any where nearby when his godfather was visiting. He turned his attention back to the article, noting again that there were quotes from several people he'd never heard of who had apparently had long, involved conversations with him. He did note somewhat pleased that Severus Snape had received some rather high praise from the paper, considering that only a few months ago he was always listed as a 'suspected Death Eater' every time his name was so much as mentioned. Now he was lauded as a hero. He rather suspected that explained the glare Snape was still giving his coffee cup.
Something occurred to Harry then and he glanced up, noting his fellow classmates. "Hey Ron, Neville, how much do you guys know about sword fighting?"
"Sword fighting?" Ron snorted at that. "That's a Slytherin thing Harry. My dad doesn't hold with any of that. Bill wanted to take lessons when he was in school, and he and dad got into a bit of row over it. Nothing ever came of it."
"But your dad's not opposed to fighting," Harry questioned. "He got into a fist fight with Lucius Malfoy in the middle of Flourish and Blotts."
Ron just shrugged that. "Oh, he'd say there's nothing wrong with the occasional scuffle - though my mom laid into him over that fight. But sword dueling, that's something different all together. That's blood sports, and they're often linked with Blood Magic, Dark Magic."
"What about you?" Harry glanced at Neville.
"My grandma made me take lessons," Neville admitted. "I'm not any good at it. Even worse at archery. But she still thought I ought to at least learn the basics. Lots of kids take lessons, but its only Dark Wizards who are into blood sports."
Dark Wizards, and apparently Severus Snape. He wasn't certain what to think about that. He glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin table. "Do you suppose any of that lot knows how?" he asked.
"Count on it," Ron told him.
"Draco and Blaise definitely," Neville agreed. "Lucius Malfoy is a well known swordsman. One of the best. So is. . ." he broke off suddenly, his face reddening.
Harry took a guess at what he was about to say. "So is Severus Snape."
Neville nodded apologetically. "One of the reasons I've always been so afraid of him, Harry," the boy confessed. "I know he's your bond-mate now and all. And I guess that means he's not a Death Eater. But the stories I heard said he used to duel a lot when he was younger."
Harry felt suddenly defensive, almost protective toward Snape, especially since he saw the old mistrust flaring in Ron's eyes. "Good thing he's on our side then, isn't it?" he said quickly. "The three of us would be dead if it hadn't been for him and Dumbledore."
And that was enough. Ron just sighed, and nodded in agreement, and they moved on to a different subject.
To Harry's surprise, Snape did not take away points for his missing homework. As the other students handed in their homework, Snape simply went from desk to desk collecting the scrolls while he lectured them on their new assignment. He picked up Hermione's and Ron's, which was only partially completed, glanced briefly at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face, and then moved on to the next table, never once breaking his narrative. It was done so smoothly that the Slytherin students didn't even notice.
Hermione and Ron did however and they both looked at Harry in surprise. Harry just shrugged at them, grateful for the reprieve. He sat down with Hermione during lunch and finished it then, guessing he owed it to Snape to turn it in as soon as possible.
The three of them snuck up to one of the unused towers near the Headmaster's office to visit Sirius and Remus that evening after dinner. Harry was still worried about Rita Skeeter, and asked about the wards Dumbledore had set up to insure that she couldn't get into Hogwarts.
"Even if she can't get in," Harry said after they had convinced them it was safe enough. "You still have to stay out of sight, Sirius. The chances are good that a number of Slytherin students know you're an Animagus. I doubt Pettigrew has kept that secret. I'm sure Malfoy probably knows."
"Got that all worked out," Sirius said with a grin. "Remus has a spell." He transformed into Padfoot for them so that Remus could demonstrate. A quick wave of the werewolf's wand and the huge dog looked like a small, furry crup. Padfoot the crup seemed quite pleased by his forked tail, which he wagged prodigiously, earning a round of laughter from the rest of them.
"It's just an illusion of course," Remus told them all. "But it's a hard one to see through."
"Even still," Harry cautioned. "A dog in the company of Remus Lupin is going to be suspect."
Sirius transformed back into himself. "Don't worry about me, Harry," he smiled. "I'm good at escaping. And we've got a backup form as well - Remus can make me look just like Crookshanks. "
Harry just sighed. "Just bugs me that a killer like Lucius Malfoy walks around free and you have half the Ministry after you." But he allowed his godfather to lure him from his pensive mood with stories that soon had them all laughing.
It was nearly a half hour after curfew before Harry made it back down to the dungeons. They had lost track of time, and Remus had finally remembered that Harry didn't have the luxury of sneaking into Gryffindor Tower. Remus had offered to walk Harry back down in effort to stave off punishment, but Harry had decided against it. It was still early in the year, but sooner or later he was going to be out after curfew - something always came up - and he supposed now was as good a time as any to find out what Snape was going to do about it.
Snape was sitting in the main parlor when he entered, reading by the fire. He didn't glance up as Harry walked into the room.
Uncertain if he should acknowledge the lateness, Harry hesitated a moment by the door. Finally he crossed the room to his desk and retrieved the finished homework scroll he had done at lunchtime. He approached Snape somewhat cautiously, sitting down across from him on the couch.
"I finished my homework," he said tentatively.
Snape glanced up at that, his expression unreadable. He stared at the scroll a moment, before finally reaching over and taking it from Harry, setting it down on the coffee table. "Thank you," he said simply. He went back to reading his book.
Harry stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he was drawing this out on purpose. Probably. He sighed. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said quietly.
"You're lucky Filch didn't catch you," Snape remarked, not looking up from his book. "He's been patrolling these halls a lot lately, trying to catch a couple of Slytherin students."
Harry waited. But nothing more was forth coming. Harry frowned. Was the man going to make him guess? He waited several more minutes, before finally giving up. He shook his head and headed toward the bedroom.
"Are you still willing to go to my family's dinner with me?" Snape asked before he could leave.
Harry paused in the doorway. Was that why he didn't take the points away? He wanted a favor? "I promised I would," Harry reminded him. He wasn't going to break his promise, even if Snape acted like a jerk. Besides, he was curious about the man's family.
"It's this Saturday," Snape told him. "I trust that's convenient."
"I have Quidditch practice in the morning, but that's all."
"We'll be taking a port key," Snape explained. "I've already made all the arrangements for one."
"Will you tell me what to wear?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly nervous as he thought about the fancier clothes Snape had bought him. He'd been sticking with the more casual wear so far, but he supposed for the dinner he'd have to dress up a bit more.
Snape nodded, a faint mocking smile touching his lips. "I'll pick out something suitable for you." He glanced at the bedroom door, nodding toward the room. "I left some more Dreamless Sleep Draught for you on your nightstand."
"Thank you." Harry felt suddenly self-conscious, the mention of the potion reminding him of last night's events. "Good night," he added softly before hurrying into the room.
He showered and changed into his nightclothes, grabbing the promised potion from the nightstand as he climbed into bed. Setting his wand and his glasses on the table, he pried off the lid and drank the Draught. Then he climbed under the covers and settled down for the night, feeling at once relaxed, safe, and more comfortable in his own bed than he had been in the hospital wing.
His own bed. The thought nagged at him for a long time. It wasn't his own bed. It was Snape's bed. He was just sleeping in it. But it still felt more comfortable than the hospital bed.
He was already drifting away on the calming waves of the Dreamless Sleep Draught when Snape joined him. But even still he was vaguely aware of the man climbing into bed beside him, vaguely aware of the hand that reached out and lightly brushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he was lost in a peaceful contentment that carried him all the way to morning.