Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12115617.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger, Remus_Lupin,
      Albus_Dumbledore, Minerva_McGonagall, Rubeus_Hagrid
  Series:
      Part 2 of Harry_Potter_Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-17 Updated: 2017-10-29 Chapters: 19/? Words: 47265
****** The Hounds of Winter ******
by spinner33
Summary
     Summary: Takes place around Part 34 of Blind as a Bat, during the
     month of November. Told from Snape’s point of view as he is caring
     for Harry, trying to cure him after the attack on Halloween Night. We
     see a much softer side of Severus, which could be because the story
     is from his point of view and no one sees themselves as a villain. Or
     perhaps it’s because Harry keeps zapping him with a very strong
     charisma spell, and Snape is starting to exhibit feelings. Worse than
     that, he is quite appalled to find he’s starting to care about The
     Boy.
     Most of this is fairly PG-13 except where warnings are embedded. An
     adult is having inappropriate thoughts about an underage student, and
     also beratting himself for having these inappropriate thoughts.
Notes
     Warning: Hounds of Winter contains slash/slashy scenes, vampirism,
     foreign words and phrases, truly awful Latin, weird furniture spells,
     brief discussion of sexual attack, a confession of murder, and
     various random acts of violence and humor. If this makes you at all
     squeamish, this is probably not the story for you.
      
***** Canis Capellum *****
Clean the wound.
I had done so with great care, having examined each of the eight separate
indentations to make sure there were no teeth points buried in the holes.
Rub in the anti-venom and blood coagulant.
Mr. Potter shivered uncontrollably whenever my fingers moved over the wounded
area, the junction between his neck and left shoulder. The salve stopped the
bleeding entirely. As the blood coagulant dried, the skin around each wound
puckered with fury. The risk of infection was ever-present. There's nothing
more poisonous than saliva, whether it belongs to a human or a vampire.
Administer the cleansing potion.
It was difficult, but not impossible, to get enough of the Canis Capellum down
Potter's throat to constitute an entire dose. I managed to get six ounces into
him by holding him in a seated position, and rubbing his throat to induce him
to swallow. I had demanded a full pint of blood from Le Clair before allowing
Illumina to take him away to distant safety. He was reluctant until I explained
that Mr. Potter's guardian would demand far more than a pint of it when he
found out what had happened. A pint would give me enough to make a week's worth
of the potion. I made Illumina promise to send me a pint every week until
further notice.
Keep the patient level and calm to reduce heart rate.
After giving Potter the Canis Capellum, I stretched him out on my bed. He
looked impossibly thin and small on the massive, black covers. His shivering
died away. He lay immobile, too still for me to feel easy. His expression was a
troubling one– he was caught somewhere between agony and bliss.
Keep the lights dim and the distractions few.
I had banished both Hagrid and Dumbledore in order to work as quickly as
possible. In the distance, I had heard the Headmaster arguing with Madam
Pomfrey at the end of the corridor that led to my private quarters. There was
barely enough light for me to work by, but it had been enough. The fire behind
the black screen cast shadows and flickers upon the quiet bedroom. There wasn't
a sound but the crackling of the logs on the hearth, and Potter's strange,
intermittent gasps for air.
Wait for signs of returning consciousness, and then administer the restorative
draught.
Ah, the hard part. Nothing to do but repeat the procedure twice a day until the
little brute opened his eyes and recognized his surroundings. It wasn't that
this list of instructions had done me any good last time I had used them. I had
spent eight long weeks beside Illumina's bed, hoping, praying, promising
whatever gods would listen that I would give my all for her to survive this
ordeal. She had survived, surely, though the gods had exacted their own devious
price at my lack of specificity on the conditions of her survival.
Clean the wound.
Rub in the anti-venom and blood coagulant.
Administer the cleansing potion.
Keep the patient level and calm to reduce heart rate.
Keep the lights dim and the distractions few.
Wait for signs of returning consciousness, and then administer the restorative
draught.
It was easy enough to tide myself over with the promise that when The Boy
regained consciousness, I would be free to throttle him back into
unconsciousness. But after hours, and days, and finally a week wore on with
hardly a sign of life from him, I believe I finally began to worry. It's very
hard to keep an angry grudge continually fed when the object of your baleful
emotion is lying against your chest, breathing unsteadily, heart barely
beating. An occasional delirious whimper was all I had to go on.
Dumbledore taught my classes in my absence, because I was afraid to leave
Potter alone, even when necessary. I ate beside Harry, slept beside him, and
waited. And waited. It occurred to me that perhaps I should have been keeping a
proper medical journal that would relate my findings to other healers who
wanted to know how to treat patients with similar bites. I kept track mentally
of what was going on, but never put quill to paper.
1 November: Patient who can best be described as a barely-adequate, sixteen-
year-old specimen, is suffering from a vampire bite that he received while
sticking his scrubby nose into his Potions Master's personal business. The
offending vampire donated his blood to the cleansing potion only when
threatened with the incandescent wrath of patient's werewolf guardian, leaving
attendant entirely unsure who he should cheer for if a confrontation between
the two parties should play itself out at a later date.
2 November: Patient's condition remained stable and unchanged. There were the
expected primary indications of vampirisis. His irises turned red. His canine
teeth lengthened, and he salivated when suitable prey (attendant and others)
approached him. All senses were extremely sensitive. As yet he has not
exhibited the secondary indications: he can digest human food (broth being the
only thing I could get down his throat) and his skin remains warm to the touch.
3 November: Patient's condition worsened. His skin grew cold to the touch,
though his heart continued to beat. Thankfully, his body continued to process
the food and medication that I have managed to get down his throat.
4 November: Patient's condition improved guardedly. His skin was clammy yet,
but not ice-cold. He smelled horrendous. I remembered how horrible Illumina had
smelled, and how distressed she was about it. What a trivial thing to worry
about, all things considered.
5 November: Patient began performing wandless magic in his sleep; a very
respectable Patronus appeared several times. There was the sudden apparition of
300 plus roving fancies. But the real show-stopper was the Norwegian Ridgeback
dragon drawn out of thin air. I had to employ the services of the gamekeeper in
order to rid my quarters of the beasts The Boy had conjured. Once the
bedchambers and living quarters were cleared, my knees were knocking so badly
that I had to sit down and listen to my heart for a full quarter-hour. Hagrid
found it necessary to remain in my quarters for another two hours, watching the
patient as he slept. I drank three whisky-straights and I’m not quite sure when
I fell asleep, except that I awoke in bed with Harry curled around me.
6 November: Harry spoke in his sleep, asking for Mr. Weasley. My attempts at a
Legilimens spell met with mixed results. I couldn't concentrate on the images
because they were too random and fleeting. I would prefer not to allow Mr.
Weasley into my inner-most private quarters, but upon hearing that Potter was
asking for him, the Headmaster insisted that I allow Mr. Weasley to see my
patient.
7 November: That would be today, technically, though it's very early morning.
Is it Saturday again?
I saw no point in writing any of this down. A week had already gone by; a week
of waiting; a week of spending every waking moment by the side of Harry's bed,
formerly my bed; now our bed; a week of sleeping with Harry lying on my chest,
feeling his skinny body shudder with interior cold.
One thing was certain– today would begin with a bath. Yes. It was high time
this child smelled better.
I wondered if I had done the right thing as I lowered Potter into the tub. Not
just in caring for him. There was no doubt in my mind that I would live long
enough to regret saving his life. But I was more presently concerned with the
morality of stripping him naked and bathing him.
I was trying to keep my eyes on his face even though I knew the simple
fundamentals of this task required me to stare at his entire body. Even
bedraggled, frowzy, and downright unpleasant, the boy was beautiful to behold.
Mother Nature could be a vindictive bitch when the mood took her, but in Mr.
Potter's case, she had been extraordinarily kind. My heart caught in my throat
as I stared at him. I was jealous and covetous in equal parts. I hated myself
for the thoughts that possessed me, thoughts of how I might play this doctor/
patient situation to my advantage, how I could parlay my care of him into
having my way with him. Maybe I could even convince him that it was part of the
cure for what had happened??
What kind of depraved individual had I become, to be capable of thinking of sex
with a vulnerable sixteen-year-old in my care? How many times had I seen the
looks that passed between my father and the patients I knew that he had been
intimate with? How many times had I despised him so thoroughly for taking
advantage of their trust, for abusing his position of power and dominating them
in their ignorance?
I usually tried to avoid thinking of Mr. Potter beyond the realm of master and
pupil. In that realm there was safety for both of us. With him lying naked in
my grasp, it was hard not to think of him as human, entirely human. Harry was
so beautiful in ways I never expected him to be– not in a feminine way, but in
a stubborn and unbreakable masculine way that so amused me and made my heart
light. The more he fussed and contorted when I tried to wash him, the more
determined I was that he would bend to my will. Was this what Lily had seen in
James? Had I had misjudged the dynamics of their relationship? I had always
presumed that James had been dominant over Lily, that he kept her isolated like
a precious bauble or a Ming vase that he wanted for himself. Had it been the
other way around? Had Lily captured James, the wild animal, and possessed him
in order to subdue and thereby control his fearsome nature to her own
advantage?
Harry writhed again, bringing my mind back to my task. I was reaching him on a
certain level– that gave me more delight that I thought possible. After a week
of fearing for his life (well, three or four days at least in the fearing for
it) I was thrilled to be getting a reaction from him. I washed him thoroughly
at least twice, and decided I should repeat this process again tonight. I
should repeat these baths twice a day, though perhaps those of the basin
variety might be safer.
Having finished my task, and deciding to linger longer would endanger both of
us, I pulled Harry out of the water, letting him hang dripping on a levitation
spell while I stared around the bathroom aimlessly. Not having planned further
ahead of improving his scent, I had forgotten to bring an extra robe for him. I
pulled my own off the door and bundled him inside for the trip back to the bed.
I emerged into the bedroom to find Dumbledore standing there smiling at me. He
was instructing the small army of house elves about how to change the sheets on
the bed, what spells to cast to make them soft to sensitive skin, what folds to
use that would keep the material from creasing and bruising the patient's
tender skin. He had also brought a tray of food for me.
"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said benignly. "I wondered how long it would take
you to decide Harry might use some soap and water."
I nodded in greeting and lay my bundle down on the clean bed. Albus nudged me
with a flat package. I glanced up at him as he lifted the top of the box.
Inside was a pair of pajamas. I didn't have to wonder who they were meant for.
"I took the liberty of sending for them. Has he spoken today? Called for Mr.
Weasley again?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, sir. Not yet," I replied. I spent an inordinate amount of time drying the
wild locks on my pillow, not wanting to venture into dressing Harry in front of
the Headmaster lest my desire for my patient become wholly evident.
"Would it be imprudent of us to allow Mr. Weasley to visit nonetheless? His
presence might spark Harry back to us," Albus suggested. I sensed from his tone
that no would not do for an answer.
"As you wish, sir," I replied.
"Capital. He is waiting outside." Dumbledore headed in the direction of the
door.
"Can I dress the patient before you return?" I called. Mr. Weasley was already
poking his head through the opening door.
***** Shhh *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning for imagined sexual situation
8 November: Is it cruel of me to be delighted at how badly Mr. Weasley's visit
went yesterday morning? My patient managed to charisma Mr. Weasley and myself
both, and would have had one or the other of us for his first meal as a vampire
if the Headmaster had not been there to save us. On one hand, the incident made
me nervous about being alone with a juvenile sorcerer capable of mesmerizing
victims from a deep state of unconsciousness. Perhaps the bath peeved him more
than I knew. On the other hand, Mr. Weasley will surely not be begging to come
back and visit Mr. Potter, having been witness to the most frightening of
vampyric displays: the presentation of fangs, mephitic drooling, and a charisma
spell many would envy.
Madam Pomfrey was due to visit within the hour, and I was still lying in bed
with Fang Boy sleeping on my chest. I had removed his blindfold, a safety
precaution I was employing for my own protection. He was sound asleep. There
shouldn’t be any harm in removing the blindfold for the moment. His eyes were
moving back and forth under his lids. He was dreaming again. Could he sense me
in his mind, watching these silly sexual fantasies of his?
Our seven a.m. bath had gone very well. He reacted to the feeling of my hands,
to the warm water, to the scratch of the wash-cloth, to the sound of my voice.
He tried to lift his right hand several times. I couldn't wait until nightfall,
when I could again justify undressing him and caressing him from head to toe.
I should have risen from the bed and left him to rest until Pomfrey's visit,
but I couldn't seem to rise above my animal interest in his dreams. He had
sensed my presence, but was unsure if I was real or part of the dream. I took
on a corporeal form and stood watching him as he was chained to a large, cold
slab of stone by barely-defined robed individuals. They removed his clothes
with long, sharp knives, and even while he screamed for them to stop, he
reacted to their sexual touches. I moved towards him in the dream, and the
robed figures melted away. In the real world, he relaxed against my chest–
having interpreted my presence in his dreams as an answered cry for a rescuer.
However I had other ideas. I caressed the underside of his bound arm and
straddled him on the stone.
I smirked outwardly at the strange cry he made when I imagined kissing his
throat, nibbling his shoulders, moving down his chest. What would Potter look
like in ten years? In five years? In two years, when he would no longer be my
student? Ah, no longer my student, but still very much my responsibility.
Dumbledore had already made that clear. Whatever Mr. Potter decided to do with
his future, I was going to follow him. Whether it was to a wizard university, a
Quidditch team, or to a muggle convenience store, I was going to be going
wherever Mr. Potter's whim and Voldemort's military advances took him.
I imagined Potter a safer five years older, and his limbs grew in proportion to
my demands as our dreams intertwined. At twenty one, he was uncomfortably
boyish yet. I should have imagined him at twenty five. But this was enough. In
our shared dream, I nosed down his chest, nuzzled each nipple in turn, stroked
him sides, and licked his throat hungrily.
Dreams or not, Potter was responding to the imaginings I was inflicting on him.
I could feel him growing hard against my leg. He moaned and shifted when I
nudged my knee up between his legs. I watched his pristine, pale face bead up
with dots of sweat, and watched his mouth part around a gasp. A flush of ever-
so-human redness worked into his cheeks. I moved my hands down from his sides
and cupped under his rear, squeezing as I worked his legs a little further
apart. I brought to mind the perfect memory of him on my office divan, writhing
with pleasure, and the look of utter perplexity when he had orgasmed. Truth be
known, I had had a hard time banishing the mental image from my head for some
days after that night in my office with him.
Perhaps I had been without a suitable companion for far too long when this type
of action no longer seemed inappropriate or even wrong. Potter moaned and
arched backwards into my hands. I concentrated on the Legilimens spell, wanting
him to focus there and not on the real world around him. Inside his fantasy, I
was rubbing against him, pushing him against the rock slab, and he wanted more.
I allowed him to take control of the dream, letting him show me what he wanted
me to do. I was inside of him in seconds, though he wasn't sure exactly where
or how or what the dynamics should be, and we were rutting like animals in the
wild. If it hadn't been so heart-breaking and naive, it would have been too
absurd.
An insistent knocking brought me back to reality. I edged my way out from under
Potter, left him lying carefully on his stomach. I hoped I didn't return with
Madam Pomfrey to find Harry humping the pillows. Poppy was in a foul mood. She
had not approved of the Headmaster allowing me to fend for Mr. Potter. Within
five minutes of being inside my rooms, she was letting her opinion be known
once more. She was plotting how she might whisk Mr. Potter away from me and
bundle him off to the professionals at St. Mungo's. After all, whatever medical
training I had had was second-hand, no matter how many of my father's texts and
papers I had studied. I was a mere amateur by comparison to the fine
mediwizards who had years and years of specialized training for this very sort
of thing.
"How often are you bathing him? He's all sweaty," she complained as she sat
gingerly on the bed. Could she tell that I had been lying there up until she
knocked?
"Twice a day," I answered. She wrinkled her nose in reply. "The smell is a
side-effect. It will vanish as his condition improves."
"Is he eating?"
"I am pouring nutrient-enhanced broth down him with the medications."
"He's sleeping fitfully," she commented. I concentrated the Legilimens spell,
and discovered he and I were no longer on the rocky slab, but that we were in
his bed in Gryffindor Tower. McGonagall was standing over us. She didn't look
happy. She was carrying a wide belt, and was sporting a bushy mustache. I
stifled a smile and pulled away from his dreams.
"Unusual dreams are another side-effect of the bite. I recommend reading Van
Essen's tome on—"
"Could you write down all the expected reactions and side-effects one should
look out for? I want the doctors at St. Mungo's to be well-informed, at such
time as Harry is transferred there for proper treatment."
"Surely you haven't been owling anyone about what has happened here?" I asked
sternly.
"I am close friends with the wizard in question. He will not reveal what I have
told him in confidence."
"What exactly have you told him?"
"That one of my students has been bitten by a vampire, and that I seek his
expertise with the treatment."
"You of course did not mention which student?" I pressed her. Her evasive eyes
revealed far more than her tight mouth. "Have you no common sense!?" I howled.
Harry's limbs stiffened on the bed at the sound of my shout. His fingers curled
into small, tight claws.
"There's more at stake here than your reputation, Professor Snape."
"My reputation is not the point!" I shouted again. Potter began to breathe
quickly and lightly. He was perking his ears to our conversation.
"Mr. Potter's continued good health is my first and foremost concern. I don't
care if it was your wife who bit him," Poppy said.
"It wasn't my wife," I snapped.
"No. Sorry. Ex-wife."
"Illumina is not the one who bit him," I said.
"I saw her with my own two eyes in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks not two
weeks ago. She was cozy in a corner talking to Remus Lupin. You can stop
protecting her."
"It wasn't Illumina, and I'm not protecting anyone!"
“It’s perfectly normal for you to feel hurt and angry at her because of the
divorce.”
“I’m not angry at her!”
"I wanted the opinion of a medical professional who has had more experience
than you have with these bites. Doctor Toadvine has treated six others like
this in the last year."
"Toadvine?" I howled. "Who the bloody hell do you think gave him his
recommended course of treatment? Please complete your examination of my patient
and return to your—"
"Professor?"
When Harry started mumbling, Pomfrey leapt off the bed backwards several feet.
I sat down in her place, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" I said, taking one of his hands into mine. He reacted to my
hand, taking a tight grip. I willed his eyes to open, but they remained closed.
"Shhh," he whispered, and promptly fell back to sleep. I smothered a cackle of
relief, and continued to hold his hand. Pomfrey rushed back to the bedside,
putting her palm on his forehead.
"He'll be coming around soon then?" she asked.
"The progression is beginning to reverse," I nodded.
"I'll be back tomorrow, and I'll bring any suggestions that Doctor Toadvine
might have."
"You do that," I muttered.
***** HARRY POTTER PRESUMED DEAD *****
9 November: Patient continued to improve. He growled at me while I was bathing
him this morning, and he continues to clutch at my hands whenever he feels
them. I can only take this as a good sign. Perhaps I should be using more
tactile ways to get him to respond. Holding his hand? Brushing his hair?
10 November: More tactile ways. What an idiot I am! Well, it's pretty clear
Potter knows I'm here. The little fucker keeps trying to bite me! If Dumbledore
hadn't protested, I'd've fit Potter for a muzzle. What's worse, he's levitating
in his sleep.
11 November: Potter's dreams are becoming easier to read all the time. They
involve the expected topics of a victim of such a bite– sexual bonding with a
variety of partners, blood play, gratification through sadism, masochism, and
voyeurism. I may have to wash my mind out with soap and water.
Curiously enough, Potter is also having dreams about being the Emperor of the
Universe. He apparently has a keen desire to realign the moons of Jupiter, and
he would like another satellite around Saturn. He conversed at length with the
centaurs, and left Mars where it belonged at their behest. He keeps insisting
there's a tenth planet to our solar system, to which the centaurs can only
smile.
Patient called again for Mr. Weasley, and so I must allow another visit. Damn.
I told the Headmaster I would allow a second visit only under the strict
proviso that Weasley may not tell anyone the true nature of Harry's condition.
I fear he's already been talking though. Dumbledore said the school is alive
with rumors that Potter has been killed, and that the students believe that the
faculty is diverting all enquiries until the proper arrangements can be made.
Gryffindors are lurking in rotation at the access entrances to the dungeons. I
have also seen Volkova's shadow on the ceiling, and heard her footfalls in the
corridors outside the dungeon.
12 November: Mr. Weasley visited after a Quidditch game, late in the evening.
He smelled so strongly of healthy exertion and masculine sweat that Harry was
levitating off the bed with vampyric arousal. Patient's response truly
frightened Weasley this time. I began to hope that Weasley would not be back. I
sent him scuttling to Gryffindor Tower, sobbing like a two-year-old. I gave
Potter another dose of the cleansing potion and added a drop of Sweet Sleep for
good measure.
McGonagall came to see me not half an hour later, and it was clear that Weasley
had spilled the entirety of my patient's condition to her. Minerva, being who
she is, took it very much in stride. Dumbledore had already told her what
happened, but had waffled somewhat on the exact nature of his condition. Harry
slept like an angel during her visit. I saw her give him a small pinch on the
arm to try and provoke him, but he never felt a thing. Once Minerva left, I
bundled down under the covers with Fang Boy and went to sleep though it was
barely ten. Caring for someone night and day can be more exhausting than one
might imagine.
13 November: I had a very rude awakening this morning. The sun wasn't even out
when an urgent knocking on the outer door roused me. I threw on a heavy robe
and trudged down the corridor. If I had known where the day was going to lead,
I'd've stayed in bed.
"What do you want?" I asked. Miss Granger thrust the morning edition of the
Daily Prophet at me, and sobbed loudly. Feeling rather decrepit and cranky, I
wanted to send her on her way without her vocal chords, but I had left my wand
on the bedside table. I lifted the paper. On the front page, there was a
picture of The Boy's glasses snapped in two, speckled with blood, tangled with
leaves and long black hairs. The headline jumped off at me in a vibrant, gaudy
red.
HARRY POTTER PRESUMED DEAD!
"Tell me it's not true," Granger pleaded.
"Of course it's not true, you stupid annoying brat," I snarled, giving her back
the paper after gulping down the first few lines of the story.
Unnamed sources at St. Mungo's Hospital revealed that The Boy Who Lived may no
longer be alive. Hogwarts faculty questioned about Mr. Potter's continued
absence have given no satisfactory explanation. None of the students can
remember having seen Mr. Potter since Halloween, and so a search was conducted
of the forest next to the school, and said search culminated with the following
evidence of a bloody attack....
"Where is Harry?" Miss Granger cried, dropping the paper at my feet and taking
out her wand. "What have you done with him!?"
Before I could stop her, she darted past me, having spotted the open door
behind me. I could have rushed after her or cast a wandless jelly-legs spell to
prevent her from entering, but what was the point? Surely if Miss Granger were
confronted with a full-throttle vampyric reaction from Mr. Potter, she'd come
running right back out of the room in a second or two. I closed the corridor
door and plodded back to my suite. The least Granger could have done was bring
me a cup of hot tea. Annoying me at this hour of the day. I should deduct
points from Gryffindor for bad manners, bad judgement, and littering the
hallway with newspaper refuse.
Much to my disappointment, she didn't come shrieking back out of the bedroom. I
found her sitting on the bed beside Harry. Potter was wide awake, trying to sit
up against the headboard. I nearly fainted in shock.
"Hi, Hermione. Hello, Professor," Harry murmured, rubbing his red eyes. To her
credit, Miss Granger didn't start back from him at the sight of his eyes, or
the long teeth that pointed out of his mouth when he yawned widely. Instead,
she lunged at him and hugged him tight to herself. Harry’s eyes were crossing,
she was squeezing so hard.
"I saw the paper...and Ron said...and...oh, Harry," she cried. "Can I get you
anything?"
"Glass of water?" he whispered. His eyes were already drooping closed. Before I
could stop her, she jumped off the bed and grabbed the pitcher on the side
table. She brought a glass back to Harry, but he was already asleep, leaning
back against the headboard and pillow, snoring intermittently. Hermione sat
down with a 'mphff' of despair, and drank the glass herself. She quickly
discovered it was not a pitcher of water, as she had assumed. As she wheezed
and coughed, I scolded her.
"As you can see, he is clearly not yet demised. Now if you would be so kind as
to quietly exit these premises, I will consider letting you live," I said
coldly. Granger was still coughing.
"What was that?" she gasped, eyes watering. I took the glass from her, hauled
her to her feet, and pushed her towards the corridor exit.
"Iska," I snapped. "Good day, Miss Granger."
I ushered her out, and secured the door. My feet had not carried me the twenty
meters to my rooms before another knock sounded. I shuffled back to the
entrance.
"Who is it?" I demanded.
"Open the door, Snape!"
I rolled my eyes, and reached for the handle. Remus Lupin stalked in,
absolutely bristling with anger. He too carried a copy of the Daily Prophet. I
pointed towards my door, and he ran at full speed.
"He's not dead," I called after him. Lupin was pacing beside the bed, running
his hands through his wild hair. Harry was snoring loudly, half sitting up and
half lying down, his mouth hanging partially open. I'd never seen him look
quite so undignified. It was actually rather amusing. I wished I had had a
camera.
"He's not dead," Lupin smiled, tears brimming in his eyes. He stifled a heaving
sob with a quick laugh.
"I was about to test his indications, if you would care to help," I offered.
Lupin gingerly picked Harry up. Potter stopped snoring and stirred in his grip.
Remus laid Harry out straight on the bed and petted his cheek as I measured his
fangs, the diameter of red versus green in his irises, and so on.
"What's your verdict?" Lupin murmured when I put away my wand and basic notes.
"Definite improvement. Canine teeth are smaller by another eighth of a
centimeter. His irises are becoming green again. You can see the rings around
the inside edges. His skin temperature is practically normal. He is reaching
consciousness on a nearly regular interval. Now, we only have to wait for him
to maintain consciousness."
"He's going to be okay," Lupin nodded.
"Of course he is," I snapped.
"I saw the papers, and I lost my mind. I came right over from Hogsmeade. I'm
sorry. I thought you might be lying to me about his condition. How can I help
you? Let me do something constructive."
"I was about to give him his morning bath."
"You want me to undress him?" Lupin paled. Seconds later, he flamed with fury.
"You've been undressing him?"
"Twice a day in order to bathe him. More often than that when he.....when
necessary," I replied as coolly as I could. "I'm his doctor. He's my patient.
I'm perfectly immune to the sight of him, Lupin."
"You damned well better be," Lupin growled at me, huddling protectively over
Harry.
"Undress him and take him to the tub."
"Um....” Remus said, nervously licking his lips. “I don't think I can do that."
"Go fill the tub with water, and I'll undress him," I said impatiently.
"You go fill the tub," Lupin replied, his eyes narrowing angrily at me.
I went into the restroom and turned on the tap. It was not loud enough to cover
the sounds from the other room– Potter was giggling. I went to investigate, and
found Lupin was holding him in a seated position, and was licking his ears.
Harry tittered and twitched, his face curling up in puzzlement and humor. Lupin
unbuttoned Harry's shirt, lapping at his ears quite carefully.
"Do you mind not doing that to my patient?" I asked. Lupin gulped, retracting
his pink tongue from the boy's ear. "Get him into the tub before the water
cools," I ordered.
"He loved when anyone did that when he was a baby," Lupin began to explain. I
glared at him, and he stopped. I pointed to the bathroom. Lupin's shoulders
drooped. He peeled off Harry's shirt and moved to carry him to the tub. I
briskly peeled off the boy's bottoms and tossed the night clothes into a
growing pile in the corner. Seconds later, the pile vanished. A house elf
materialized, lay several layers of fresh clothes on the chair, and bowed to me
before he vanished once more.
I picked up the clean pajamas on top and went into the bathroom. Lupin was
kneeling beside the tub, and Harry was lying inside. The water had shrunk to a
mere two inches and remained there even as it continued to pour from the tap.
Lupin wasn't supporting Harry as I imagined anyone who had ever bathed someone
would be doing. In fact, he was clearly nervous at the prospect of being in the
same room with the boy. What was the matter with him?
"Why does the water do that?" Remus asked.
"It has a drowning fail-safe," I explained, putting down Harry's clothes.
"Ingenious," he replied.
"There's soap and a cloth," I pointed.
"Thank you. I have bathed him before, you know," Lupin huffed. "Though he
was...he was much smaller that time," he added, his eyes traveling all the way
down Harry's body and back again to his face. "He looks just like James," Remus
sighed with bittersweet nostalgia. Not wanting to delve into the truth or
fiction of that remark, nor the exact reasons why Remus Lupin should have been
intimately familiar with James Potter's anatomical dimensions, I left the room,
hoping Lupin would stop admiring Harry long enough to give him a proper bath.
"Where's the patient?" Dumbledore asked. I jolted, and caught my wand as it
leapt to me at my instantaneous command.
"Sorry to barge in," McGonagall added. "The door was ajar."
They were standing in the bedroom doorway, peering inside. Dumbledore was
smiling, and McGonagall was tisking her disapproval at the first mess she
found. I lowered my wand and put it away.
"When was the last time you straightened that bookshelf?" she asked.
"My patient is having his morning bath."
" 'My patient'? How extremely proprietary," Dumbledore commented mirthfully.
"Irregular visiting hours are strongly discouraged," I complained.
"We saw the Daily Prophet," Dumbledore explained.
"Yes?" I said simply.
"The Minister of Magic has owled. I dare say we can guess the topic he wishes
to discuss. I want to know what I should feel at liberty to tell him,” Albus
continued.
"That my patient is on the mend."
"Excellent news," Dumbledore beamed. "He is on the mend," he repeated to
Minerva, as if she hadn't heard. She gripped Albus's hand tightly, and they
shared a relieved sigh between them.
"Is there any way I can be of service?" McGonagall asked me.
"Aside from keeping Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger off my doorstep?" I asked
archly. “Your Gryffindors are making a nuisance of themselves.”
"Consider it handled. Anything else?"
“I'm expecting another delivery from Illumina. It should be brought to me at
once."
"Understood."
"Severus? Is he supposed to be levitating?" Lupin called from the bathroom.
Dumbledore scurried in that direction, going past me despite my protests.
"There is something I need to discuss with you," McGonagall continued. "It's
about Professor Volkova."
"What about her?"
"She asked me the strangest question last night at dinner."
“What was that?"
"It seems she's lost her bindy."
"Her what?" I screwed up my features.
"It's a potion with—"
"I know what a bindy is. Most people outgrow them with training brooms and
soothing blankets."
"Hers is not a child's bindy. It was a gift from her grandfather. Apparently
it's been in her family for centuries."
"How does this affect me?"
"She thinks you have it. She was positive, in fact."
"I don't have her bindy," I said. But then I remembered the green potion in the
vial that Harry had given me, that day when he helped me get the charm repeller
off the ceiling of the Black Queen's Tower. I had yet to test the potion inside
the vial. I hadn't had a chance. I had assumed it was the Gallahad Elixir, as
had Mr. Potter, I was sure. "What does her bindy look like?" I ventured.
"It's greenish silver, with the consistency of liquid mercury. If you happen to
come across it, or if one of your students happens to bring it to you,"
McGonagall walked delicately through the words, so delicately that I felt she
must already know I had what she was looking for.
"Of course," I nodded.
"It may very well be a potion she used in the commission of her previous job,
but at this point, it holds sentimental value for her. It's her only link to
her grandfather, and she misses him very dearly. You understand what it's
like."
"I never liked my grandfather on either side," I told her.
"I wasn't talking about your grandfathers," she replied. I needled her with a
dark stare, and she shrugged it off. "If you find Volkova's bindy, please
return it to me."
"Not to her?" I questioned.
"I'm most anxious to see it for myself," Minerva murmured. "How often does one
get to study a centuries-old Benedictus In Tenebris potion??"
"I will contact you first," I promised. She nodded approvingly. A brilliant pop
of magic behind her made us both stare. Four house elves appeared around the
bed, stripped it, redressed it, and vanished again.
"Wish I could get that kind of service in my quarters," McGonagall chuckled.
***** Media Vita in Morte Sumus *****
Another day, another two rounds of medication to brew for my patient. After our
very eventful morning, the afternoon was downright peaceful. Illumina's package
had arrived on schedule precisely at noon, and I got to work straight-away. I
had the hidden door between my bedroom and my private workshop open. From where
I stood on the far side of the table, I could see across the bottom third of
the bed. I watched as Potter rolled over in his sleep, kicking at the covers.
He must have been dreaming again. He appeared to be running. At least he had
stopped levitating for the moment.
The Canis Capellum cleansing potion was starting to collect in the waiting
goblet. It fell with a slow, steady drip of red-black drops. When Mr. Potter
reached full consciousness and kept awake and aware, I would reduce his
medication to one round of cleansing potion a day, and eventually to one a
week, perhaps even to one a month. Hopefully Le Clair could continue to pony-up
blood to me until such time as I could declare Mr. Potter fully cured.
On the opposite end of the table, the restorative draught was brewing, exactly
ten minutes behind the first potion. It hadn't reached the condensation
apparatus yet. But soon it too would be dripping into the second, waiting
goblet. This potion's light golden color always reminded me of a pale ale. The
smell of lemons filled my workshop and drifted into the bedroom. I had plenty
of the anti-venom salve left. Harry's wounds were healing very nicely. Someday
he would have no more than small puncture points as a reminder of the
encounter.
I glanced over at the shelf where I had placed the vial of potion Mr. Potter
had given me, the one he had procured from Professor Volkova by rather dubious
means that were still not as yet clear to me. It was nestled among other
medicinal curiosities that I had collected over the years, right between the
blue 'Tears of an Angel', used by professional mourners in need of a good weep,
and the sickly grey 'Ghost of a Chance', used to release spirits chained to
particular locations. I picked up the greenish vial from Harry and swirled it
around, holding it up to the light of the candle that burned in the far corner.
A bindy. Who would have guessed it? Not just a bindy, but a Benedictus in
Tenebris created by one of Volkova's vampire-hunting ancestors, and passed down
generation to generation, carrying with it the binding protection of love and
blood and generations of family ties. It might even contain drops of blood from
each person who had carried it. I shivered at the thought of what power I must
be holding. This wasn't just of sentimental value to Volkova. No doubt it was
the most priceless thing she owned. Why did she also need a Gallahad Elixir
when she had this? A regular bindy would protect children from nightmares,
surround them in a sense of comfort and warmth. Her bindy could set up
continuous circles of protection around her in battle, as deep as the number of
family members who had carried it before her. I could destroy this, of course,
and thereby reduce her powers even further. But I had something else in mind
entirely.
I moved to the bookshelf and leafed along the backs of books. My finger stopped
on a black leather volume with a golden Latin inscription: Media Vita in Morte
Sumus. Why would someone need to carry both a bindy and a Gallahad Elixir? I
flipped through the pages, still holding the vial in my hands. Gallahad.
Gallahad. Of course not. It wasn't listed. The Benedictus was though. I turned
to the correct page and laid the book open next to the goblet that would soon
be holding the restorative draught.
The Benedictus in Tenebris Potion: first attempted in the fifteenth year of Our
Lord, using the sacred blood of the Eternal Savior, blessed son of Our Heavenly
Father...
One of many reasons I detested reading magic manuscripts copied by wizard monks
was their unnecessary cluttering of the basic facts with Muggle religious
nonsense.
....our Lamb, our Love, our only Salvation....
Several paragraphs down, I found what I was looking for.
In cases of inheritance that involve passing the Benedictus to a child not of
the blood line....
I paused, and read it again.
In cases of inheritance that involve passing the Benedictus to a child not of
the blood line, it is necessary to add the blessing or the blood or the skin of
the natural parent of the intended inheritor.
Would I be able to create a bindy for Potter? I didn't have blood or skin from
James or Lily. I did have those two hairs that Harry had found in his fencing
suit, but would they be enough of a tie between Harry and Lily to protect the
boy? I sighed deeply and stared at the vial. I could ask Volkova what she knew
on the topic, I supposed. As loathe as I was to admit it, Anna was familiar
with potions, and she had to know more about this one than I did.
A movement in the other room caught my eye. I glanced up, putting the vial down
and closing the book. Harry was standing against the doorway, concealed in the
shadows, watching me with his dimly glowing eyes. He leaned his arm on the
doorway, and his cheek against his hand, lowering his eyes before raising them
again. My heart jumped into my throat, and all the hair on my neck stood up.
"Mr. Potter," I whispered, nodding casually to him. He scratched dimly at his
scarred forehead, his brow furrowing. He blinked sleepily, lowering his eyes
again.
"I lost my glasses," he mumbled.
"Yes, you did," I offered a half-smile. "Lupin said he would retrieve them for
you."
How long would he be conscious this time? He processed my words slowly, but he
did understand me. This was progress!
"Was someone licking my ears?" he asked. I groaned, and shook my head.
"No. You imagined that."
"Did someone bite me?" he asked.
"Yes. How much do you remember?"
"My neck hurts," he complained mournfully.
"I imagine it does."
"Do you have a mirror?"
"If you sit on the bed, I will bring you one."
He agreed with a nod, wandering vaguely back into the bedroom. I raced around
the table to follow him. He pushed his way on top of the covers, lying on his
stomach, resting his head on his arms. I closed the door to the workshop, and
rushed to the bathroom. I searched high and low for a hand mirror, and found
one buried in the linen cabinet. I sat gingerly on the bed when I returned,
unable to help myself staring at his backside. How was it that someone who
looked like a standing frog in uniform trousers could be hiding such a
tempting, rounded backdrop under his clothes? I carefully put a hand on the
small of Harry’s back. He shivered at the touch.
"Where am I?" Harry asked.
"In my rooms," I answered.
"Why?"
I gave him the mirror, and he rolled onto his side. When he raised it to look
inside, his eyes shot open wide. He jerked upright with a gasp of horror, his
mouth remaining open.
"Mr. Potter?"
He moved the mirror up and down, left and right. Suddenly he glared accusingly
at me, certain I was to blame.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm NOT reflecting!" he bawled loudly.
"Well, of course you're not, stupid boy. You were bitten by a vampire," I told
him plainly. Harry gasped again, and responded with a rather terrible scream.
"A VAMPIRE!?"
"Oh, calm down," I scolded him. "It's not as bad as all that. You're much
better today."
“I’m a vampire?!” Harry screamed again, full blown with panic this time.
"Shut up and give me that mirror," I frowned. He threw it at me, and I narrowly
caught it. That's all I needed– seven more years of bad luck. The way my life
was going, one would have thought I'd broken a mirror every day of my life.
Potter started pummeling at me with both hands balled up. Blows rained down on
my head and shoulders.
A blast of gold and purple energy heralded Dumbledore's arrival in the bedroom.
As the billows of smoke and light vanished, and I blinked away swarming dots,
Dumbledore rushed towards the bed.
"Harry? Harry? What's wrong? What's the matter?" the Headmaster asked, putting
a calming hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I've been bitten by a vampire!" Harry sobbed, putting his hands over his face.
"Yes, dear. I know. But you're much better today. You'll be yourself in no time
at all," Dumbledore consoled. Harry gave another sob, this one quick and short.
“It’s not as bad as all that. Quit over-reacting,” I scolded as I put a hand on
his other shoulder. He collapsed against me, heaving with tears.
“It’s all your fault!” he accused.
“I didn’t bite you!” I defended.
“Severus,” Dumbledore snapped at me. Harry’s crying quieted down. His head
slumped in my lap. He was asleep once more.
"I should have broken it to him more gently, I suppose," I murmured. Dumbledore
flared at me like a spitting cobra, his fury making his glasses turn crimson in
the dim light.
***** 34 *****
I'm so proud of myself. I waited an entire twelve hours before undressing
Potter for another bath. I think I should be commended. Alas, I knew this
perverted pleasure of mine was going to come to an end sooner or later, but in
the meantime, I was free to caress and touch every last inch of him, head to
toe and any place in between I might want. I got all the way through this bath,
lingering here and there, mostly there, and realized after I had taken away the
water, after I had redressed him, that I had forgotten to remove his blindfold
and wash his face. Splendid! This might require an entire second bath! I could
hardly wait!
I peeled away the charmed velvet blindfold, and touched the bridge of Harry's
nose. To my surprise, Potter's eyes opened at me. I quickly covered them with
my hand.
"Potter," I said, clearing my throat. "Close your eyes."
Harry mouthed the word 'why', and it was then I remembered I had failed to
remove the Laryngitis spell I had cast on him last night, after having endured
another round of wandless magic and several hundred roving fancies again. I
think Hagrid and I found them all, but I was constantly running a free hand
over my backside, searching for bite marks.
"Are they closed?" I asked. Harry nodded. I slowly lowered my hand, and
encountered long dark lashes, soft crescents of shadow on his pale skin. "A
necessary precaution, I'm afraid."
He mouthed 'why' again.
"Think you can stay awake more than five minutes this time?" I asked.
'What? What happened?'
I could make out the words, but only just.
"Again? I've told you three times already. You don't remember?" I blurted.
Harry shook his head, ducking away from my loud voice.
"All right. But this time, take notes," I quipped. "Let me get you
comfortable."
I guess this meant I wouldn't get to bathe him again tonight. Pity.
"Do not open your eyes," I warned him, raising the cloth. I moved slowly and
carefully over his face, washing his cheeks and the hollows of his eyes. "Do
you remember Halloween night?" I questioned. He furrowed up his brow. I could
almost hear him trying to think, clogs turning together on the wheels in his
mind. After several seconds, he nodded. "Do you remember being bitten?" I
questioned cautiously, worried that Dumbledore might poof into the room at any
second. To stall, I began to unbutton his shirt. I knew it was perfectly clean,
but I wanted to undress him again, my toy, my lovely, perfect patient. He
shivered when I touched him. "Don't worry. I need to put on the anti-venom.
Hold still. Try not to squirm."
I touched the salve to his bite, and he protested with an open-mouthed, silent
cry. I felt my cock rising at the sight of him. Oh no. Oh no. Think unsexy
thoughts. Think about frog guts. Think about roadkill. Now was not the time to
ponder that reddish-pink mouth and all it promised.
"I'm sorry. I had to take your voice away. You were casting spells in your
sleep, conjuring things, doing the kind of wandless magic that would make a
lesser wizard drop from exhaustion. Wandless magic! At your age and in your
condition! I can't count the number of times I've had to vanquish your
Patronus. This room was literally filled with roving fancies. I had to get
Hagrid's help with the Norwegian Ridgeback. The laryngitis is only temporary, I
assure you, as is the blindfold."
Which was really a pity, because I rather liked him quiet and blind. It left me
free to imagine all manner of perversities I could exact and he'd never even
know it was me. Yet as I stared at him, those perversities were disappearing
into smoke. He gave a small yawn and hunched down tiredly.
"If you want to talk for a little while, I can remove the spell. But only if
you promise to be on your best behavior."
He nodded, and I left his bite alone long enough to pick up my wand and undo
the spell. He cleared his throat and I went back to work. But he began to
protest.
"Limit yourself to one or two words at a time," I said.
Words like 'yes please', and 'fuck me' would be nice, but I didn't think that
was likely to happen.
"Stop," he said. Yes, that was the word I had expected. "Hurts," he added. Oh
great. Now I felt perfectly miserable.
"I know. I do apologize," I tried to sound soothing. "You're very sensitive.
I'll be more gentle," I said. "It has to be done though. The reversal is nearly
complete. You don't want me to stop, do you?"
"Reversal?"
So I spent another five minutes of my life telling him yet again how he had
been bitten by Henri Philippe Le Clair, and how I was pulling him back from the
brink of undeath by the skill these hands alone. Again, he did not thank me.
What did I have to do to prove myself to this boy??
"'Lumina?" he questioned. I caught my breath and hoped he didn't notice the
change in my voice.
"She has gone back into hiding; I insisted on it for her own protection."
"Volkova!" Harry sat up as if he intended to get out of bed. I captured him in
my arms and breathed in the beautiful scent of him. He was smelling much better
these days, what with his steady improvement and daily baths. Twice daily.
Sometimes three times daily. The point was, he smelled better.
"It is coming back to you. Good. Volkova followed you into the forest, after
you followed me into the forest. If I have my way, you will be in detention
until you graduate," I threatened. He didn't respond.
I took a moment to ponder all the wonderful ways I could annoy him while he was
in these detentions. I slid around delicious thoughts of how many hard wooden
desks and benches I wanted to bend him over. Of course there was that pesky
promise I made to Dumbledore about keeping the boy a virgin as long as
possible. But there were plenty of things I could do to Potter without stealing
his virginity. He was a virgin until I penetrated him, or he penetrated me.
That left plenty of room to work.
And yet, those detentions could be put to much better use than meaningless
fooling-around. There were so more things I could teach the boy– I could expand
his knowledge of Dark Arts ten-fold inside a month. Oh hell. What was happening
to me? At what point did I even consider that teaching magic to Harry Potter
was more important than having sex with Harry Potter? When exactly had I
started even contemplating sex with Harry Potter?
"But truly," I continued, "I should have never been there in the first place.
Dumbledore took off a layer of my skin, he was so angry with me."
That wasn't half what Albus would do if he caught a whiff of my depraved
thoughts. I scooted over to the side of the bed and left Harry sitting in the
middle. Shame poured off of me. Could Harry sense it?
"Volkova followed you, tried to attack Illumina, and drew Le Clair out of his
hiding place in the forest. You got in the way between Le Clair and Volkova.
Chalk up another deed to Gryffindor courage," I chuckled hollowly, putting a
hand to my healed shoulder. How well had Volkova's ripped cheek healed? Would
she carry her scar as long as I would carry mine? "Well, no matter. Illumina
took Le Clair and disappeared before Volkova could regain her senses. Volkova,
more's the pity, is still here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insists on keeping her
around, but he took away her hammer and stakes. He even took away her shifting
sand. She was crushed by that."
Was the boy paying attention to me at all? He gave a small cough, and I nodded,
going on to explain that she had been sniffing around the area in search of
him.
"Dungeon?" he questioned. I couldn't help but laugh at the timid sound.
"Yes, you're in the dungeon," I said, sitting closer again. "If you close your
eyes and listen very closely, I'll bet you can hear the students in the
Slytherin Common Room."
Not that they would help him if I decided to have my way with him. I wanted him
on the floor in front of the fireplace first, so I could see the flames glowing
across his skin as I fucked the living daylights out of him. No. No, on second
thought, that would never do. I’d slept there with Illumina once, obviously not
with the fireplace on, but granted, that would have only stirred up painful
memories.
"No peeking. Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to put a goblet to your face. You
are going to drink the contents of the goblet."
I was curious how my patient would enjoy the taste of his Canis Capellum while
awake. Once I had the goblet to his mouth, he did try, bless him. It took at
least two minutes to finish it though. He swallowed again and again. I feared
he might be gearing up to vomit on me, but he was only testing the taste on his
tongue. He made such a face that I couldn't help my grin.
"Here. Mostly water this time, with a bit of lemon and what-have-you. It'll
taste much better."
The what-have-you could be explained later. No one liked to hear they were
drinking a restorative draught, let alone one that contained mother's milk.
"Better?" I asked. He reached for the goblet again. I gave him more, gave it to
him until he had had enough, rambling on a bit as I wiped his wet mouth and
then pulled off his shirt. I replaced it with another as quickly as I could. He
reacted to the feel of the material against his skin. I watched him purr with
pleasure at the silky feeling. I didn't know where Dumbledore was buying these,
but they must have cost an arm and a leg. I wondered if they were laced with a
spell to make them pleasant-feeling.
We had reached the moment of truth.
"Could you lie down a bit? It's easier to get your bottoms off if you're
horizontal."
I couldn't have planned a better response. He gasped and clutched his clothes
tightly.
"What? You're not going to get shy on me at this point, are you?" I pushed him
down on the bed and loomed over him. "Who do you think has been doing this for
two weeks?" I scolded.
He shivered, and I immediately felt guilt rising in me instead of lust. I
carefully removed his bottoms, being sure not to caress his thighs or stroke
his calves. I quickly replaced the pants, tugging the new ones up around his
waist. He reached for a hand, and I held onto both of his. Again, my guilt
outweighed my lust. His timidity was evident. He was all but shrinking away
from me, following every move of my hands with his own.
"Don't be afraid," I heard myself say. Who was this man with so much pity all
of a sudden? "I'm sorry if it's a terrible shock to wake up and find you're
with me."
And a damned terrible shock it must have been. I rambled out the rest of my
explanation, about my deal with Dumbledore to cure Potter or go to Azkaban. I
was certain of my ability to cure Potter, but I had not been sure he could
respond to my abilities. Often the cure is not in the hands of the healer, but
in the hands of the patient himself. Again the little bugger didn't mutter one
word of thanks. Maybe he was still too dazed. I pulled Harry upright, not
realizing that he was staring at me while I buttoned his shirt. I continued to
ramble until I reached the top button and stared at his face. Reddish orbs
gazed back.
"Now's the point where I tell you about the after-effects you have to watch out
for, starting with the charisma spell I can't seem to rid you of."
Should I tell him about the smell? The drooling? The fangs? He hadn't levitated
in several hours. Perhaps that was gone. I put my hand over his eyes.
"Close them," I ordered.
"No," he replied firmly.
"Don't be peevish," I snapped.
"Mirror," he demanded. I refused, laughing out loudly.
"Not after last time."
"Last time?" he puzzled.
"I gave you the mirror. You screamed and passed out. Dumbledore heard you all
the way up in his office. He came down here and spent three hours ripping me
apart."
He had actually spent three long hours screaming at me until my hair frizzed.
"Mirror," Potter insisted. I had an urge to smack him. He put out his hands. He
was going for the edge of the bed. I threatened him with a spanking. He did not
heed the warning. I grabbed him before he got further away, and he began to
struggle with me. Weakened as he was, to be honest, it wasn't much of a
struggle. I rolled him onto his stomach and gave him one stroke against the
backside with the flat of my palm. He was so shocked and angry. When he spun
back over, hissing and baring his fangs, I held him firmly down to the bed,
calming my racing heart, willing myself not to get any more angry with him, or
any more excited at the prospect of pinning him to the mattress. Harry stopped
struggling, and gave a soft whimper as he turned his face away. The sound of it
went straight to my heart. I had hurt him? What had I done?
"I haven't hurt you, have I?"
I remember saying the words, and leaning close to him. The next thing I knew, I
was waking up the next morning to the sound of Dumbledore's mirthful voice.
"Rise and shine, Mr. Snape. How's our patient today?"
***** When Was Your Last Decent Cuddle? *****
“That obnoxious prat mesmerized me again, didn’t he?”
“Yes, it would appear so,” Dumbledore answered me as I pulled myself slowly
upright. Said obnoxious prat, Harry James Potter, was balled up under my
covers, curled into a shape that would have perfectly fit the right side of my
aching body. How long had I lain here in one position? Exactly how long had
Dumbledore been standing over me smiling like that?
“How did you— ?”
“A very loud startle spell does the trick every time. You were awake in a
flash.”
“How long have I— ?”
“Don’t fret. It’s only been twelve hours. You must have needed the rest."
“He did it to me again, after all my precautions. How did he do it?”
“At the risk of offending your sensibilities, Severus, it could have been far
more horrible.”
“Could it?”
“If the worst thing you’re compelled to do under a charisma spell is give
someone a cuddle, I’d have to say you got off lucky. Although, truth be told,
that might not be the most prudent choice of words.”
Chuckling to himself at his cleverness, Albus sat down in the chair to the
right of the bed. Tilting his head to one side, the Headmaster slid his long
fingers around one of Harry’s hands, tenderly smiling at the sleeping child.
Sure, Fang Boy looked rather innocent at the moment, didn't he?
“He’s grown, don’t you think?” Dumbledore asked. “His cheeks, more angular? His
jaw, more defined?”
“It’s hard to say,” I answered dully.
“He’s taller, to be sure.”
“I don’t notice,” I replied, wondering how the Headmaster could tell how tall
Potter was when his present posture resembled that of a curled-up pill bug.
Harry was sleeping with a contented expression though. That was unusual.
“I haven’t seen him for several hours. I notice,” Dumbledore whispered. “He’s
continuing to respond to your treatment?”
“Yes, quite well, in fact,” I nodded. “I wasn’t at all sure he would respond to
me. But we’re making excellent progress.”
“Except for suppressing the charisma spell?” Dumbledore pressed.
“I’m trying everything I can think of," I defended.
“I’m afraid we may have to wait for Mr. Potter to learn to control it himself.
You’ve done very well, Severus.”
“Thank you, Headmaster,” I whispered, bowing my head. I didn’t feel as if I’d
done well at all. I felt as if I’d narrowly escaped a one-way ticket to Azkaban
Prison and the life-long enmity of a man I much admired. It wasn’t time to
celebrate yet, or pat myself on the back. I had a lot of work to do before Mr.
Potter was going to be himself again.
“The Gryffindors are begging to be allowed to see him, but in light of your
small difficulty today, I’ll have to tell them no for the time being,”
Dumbledore continued. “They’ll be disappointed, but they will understand.”
“What are we to do about Volkova?”
“She will be staying, Severus. In spite of your reservations about her previous
occupation, I must say she's been a valuable addition to our staff. You're the
only one who hasn't been able to see that, and I understand why, of course, but
it's time for you both to set aside your differences and try to get along.”
“She's been pacing around outside the perimeter of my quarters, Headmaster.”
“She’s expressed great concern for Harry.”
“With all due respect, sir, she probably wants to put a stake in Harry.”
“You are always ready to assume the worst, Severus. What can I ever do to cure
you of this needless pessimism?”
The question, I assumed, was a rhetorical one, because he did not linger for an
answer. Dumbledore patted Harry on the head, and stood away from the bed. He
patted my arm in a similar, condescending fashion, and headed towards the door.
I followed him out of the bedroom to find Minerva was sitting in the outer
chamber on the very edge of my favorite leather couch. She had straightened the
green throw and was even now considering tidying the landslide of books on the
coffee table.
“Is he alive?” she asked Dumbledore. “Oh!” she exclaimed when I appeared into
the light. “We were terribly worried, or we’d’ve never rushed in. I waited here
until Albus made sure you were both decent. What happened?”
“Harry mesmerized Severus," Albus answered before I could. McGonagall tried out
a smile, a dangerous risk I must say.
“That’s three times, Severus. What did he make you do?"
“Cuddle,” Dumbledore whispered. McGonagall shook her head.
“I can see why you have such an expression, in that case.”
“Thank you for your concern,” I said dully.
"You probably needed it. When was your last decent cuddle, Severus?"
"When was yours?"
"Professors, let us mind our manners," Dumbledore intervened.
“Can I....I’d like....” McGonagall began, clearing her throat nervously.
“Have a peek, but don’t disturb him. He’s asleep,” Dumbledore said. Minerva
hurried to the doorway and peered inside.
“A bit of light would be nice,” she insisted.
I snapped my fingers, and the lamp standing beside the bed came on, emitting
dim rays across the bedroom. Not satisfied with the view from the doorway,
McGonagall crept inside. I growled at her, but she ignored me. She sat on the
side of the bed, and I clenched my fists. When she leaned down, whispered into
Harry’s ear, and planted a kiss on his hair, I nearly came unglued. Dumbledore
kept me prisoner in the doorway as McGonagall got up from the bed. She dried
her eyes as she came back to Albus and me.
“It’s all my fault,” she whispered. I closed the door after dimming the light
once more. I thought I had seen the movement of a leg under the covers, but I
would check once Dumbledore and McGonagall were out of my hair.
“How exactly is this your fault?” I wondered. This was the seldom-mentioned
flipside of Gryffindor courage– Gryffindor guilt.
“I told him I’d give him those teeth for a month, and look what happened to the
mite,” Minerva fretted. “I should have never said those words.”
“Minerva, there’s no use blaming yourself,” Dumbledore consoled.
“No, you’re right,” she sniffed.
“It’s much easier if we blame Severus,” Dumbledore said, giving me a hard look
that went straight through me so quickly it took my breath away. He smiled
again almost as quickly. “Hagrid will be here to relieve you in an hour,”
Dumbledore told me. "You need a walk around the grounds. A bit of daylight and
sunshine will set you right."
"My patient needs me."
"You will remain out of this room for two hours. Is that clear?" Dumbledore’s
voice went down a full octave, and a menacing blackness burned in the depths of
his eyes.
"Yes, Headmaster," I intoned meekly.
“Oh, and I have good news besides,” the Headmaster murmured on his way out my
front door.
“What’s that?”
“The opposite of bad,” Minerva quipped. I would have choked her, but she was
too quickly out into the hallway.
“Lucius Malfoy has made the Daily Prophet this morning."
“I thought you said it was good news,” McGonagall huffed.
“It is good news,” Dumbledore said. “I like the new Lucius very much.”
“It won’t last forever, you know,” I reminded him.
“Too true. I’m sure he’ll celebrate his return to nastiness by caning the
nearest house elf,” Albus agreed grimly.
“What did Lucius do to make the Prophet?" I asked, cringing.
"He's made the largest donation in St. Mungo's history, allowing them enough
money to build a teaching hospital on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It's to be
called the Wilhelmina Sapientia Malfoy School for Medical Training."
"After his mother?" I choked back a laugh.
"He's owled me asking for help in staffing, once the facility is completed,"
Dumbledore went on.
"He named it after his mother?" I puzzled. "But Lucius hated his mother."
"Any luck finding Volkova's bindy?" McGonagall asked.
"I'm sure I will stumble across it soon," I replied. Minerva raised a brow, but
Albus ushered her out the door. I walked them to the head of the corridor, and
was about to close the outer door. McGonagall and the Headmaster were
whispering between themselves.
"Did you?" Albus asked.
"Mm hmm," Minerva hummed.
"Did it take?"
"Mm hmm."
"Are you sure?"
"One true way to find out," she challenged.
"You'd better be right," the Headmaster replied.
A shadow on the ceiling barely outside the portal caught my eyes. Anna Volkova
was withdrawing into the darkness, unaware I had already detected her. I glared
in her general direction.
Back in the bedroom, I found Harry lying awake, staring up at the ceiling. I
sat on the bed, gathering up his wrist and testing his pulse. He blinked
sleepily at me, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
“Are we in your rooms, Professor?” he questioned.
“Well spotted,” I replied. Somewhere in the near darkness through which Mr.
Potter could see but I could not, I could hear my shrunken head collection
talking among themselves.
“Professor?” Harry whispered in genuine dismay. “My neck hurts. Someone bit
me.”
I smiled at him in a reassuring manner, worried for his sanity, and for my own.
Were we going to have to have this 'I've been bitten, what happened to me'
conversation every day for the rest of eternity? I was willing to be forgiving–
after all, one doesn’t recover quickly or easily from a vampire’s bite. But
honestly, I was alarmed at what I might be up against.
***** Exile *****
I had not been outside my quarters for more than ten minutes of the exile that
the Headmaster had inflicted on me before I began to feel the glances in the
hallways. I paced around, unsure of which direction to take, not wanting to get
too far away in case I was needed. I could not quell the misgivings in my
heart, and my every step away from my rooms filled me with such panic for Harry
that I almost ran back several times before my deadline. Was the hold of his
charisma spell so powerful that I could not bear to be away from him? No,
surely it was the call of the healer in me, concerned for my patient, and I
would have been concerned no matter who my patient was.
None of the students were sure how to act around me. Even my own Slytherins
were somewhat nervous. They gave me muted greetings at least, whereas students
from the other houses fled to the other side of the hallway to avoid me. The
whole school had read the Daily Prophet's article or had heard rumors to the
effect that Mr. Potter had been gravely injured and that I was caring for him.
This was enough to explain our absences from the usual, expected places. They
burned to know what the manner of his injury was, no doubt. I hoped against
reason that Weasley and Granger had kept their mouths shut. It would not do for
the world at large to know what had happened to Potter. It simply would not do.
There lingered an ignorant prejudice against those who had been bitten by
vampires, against the vampires themselves even, and I wanted to spare Harry
from that discomfort if at all possible.
The Gryffindors were undecided about me. They had of course concluded that
Harry's condition, whatever it might be, was all my fault either by direct or
indirect action. Yet if this were true, why was I taking caring of him? It
amused me to have them want to glare in anger while at the same time feeling
obligated to thank me for caring for their golden boy.
It was common knowledge that Professor Volkova was also involved in the
Halloween Incident. Indeed she would have had a hard time hiding the huge gash
Le Clair had made across her face if nothing else. Madam Pomfrey had done her
best to heal us both that night amid the chaos and cover-up that followed.
However, I suspected Volkova was no less tempestuous a patient than I could be.
I had raised holy hell with Pomfrey to leave me alone and let me get to my
patient as quickly as possible. As a result, my shoulder wound had been this
close to infection before I finally allowed her to finish healing it three days
later.
Because Volkova's former employment as a vampire hunter had been made public,
and the students knew that the school had recently been breached by one of her
vampire enemies, it didn't take a great leap of genius to speculate that
perhaps a vampire was involved in Potter's attack. I imagined the whispers with
both mirth and annoyance. Maybe I was looking at this the wrong way. Rumors of
Potter having survived a vampire attack might only add to The Boy's formidable
reputation. Many at Hogwarts believed that Potter could walk on water. Indeed,
Harry was taking on an almost resurrection quality with the number of times he
had escaped certain death. The real danger lay not in what other students
believed was capable. No, the true danger was when Harry started to believe his
own reputation, when he started to take it for granted.
Talk of vampire attacks would have to be denied of course– it probably already
had been. But the Daily Prophet had talked with a source at St. Mungo's and a
source closer to home here at Hogwarts as well. Dr. Toadvine had been the St.
Mungo's source, to be sure, but who around here would have been so foolish? Who
would have risked my wrath, and the much-more considerable wrath of the
Headmaster, by revealing Potter's condition?
There's no denying that without my quick response, we would have been deprived
of Mr. Potter's corporeal company. There had been days over the last six years
when I would have considered that a profound blessing, nay, a well-earned
reward, but as strange as it seemed, I was bordering on a change of heart about
him. No one was more surprised than me. Was his charisma spell effecting me?
Had I become entirely seeped in it, with no way to be free of him imposing his
will on me? Was there no way to be safe from him? My stomach growled again,
reminding me of the lasting effects of Potter's spell. I’d have ordered a tray
of food from the kitchens on the spot, but I decided I should wait and see if
Harry was hungry when I returned.
Strolling through the towers gave me no comfort, nor the classroom corridors
either. I tried the Great Hall, and disliked the echo of my boots on the
stones. I traced through the infirmary wing, and Pomfrey frowned at me until I
left. I tried pacing in the wintery courtyard. The cold air made me feel
nostalgic for my warm fire in the dungeons. I needed to get back to Harry. All
I wanted was Harry. I was nearing Professor McGonagall's door, hearing her
voice drone on about Transfigurations, a class that Harry would be sharing if
he were well. My throat tightened with tears, and I hurried past. Footsteps
came out into the hall and followed me until I stopped.
"Professor Snape?"
I turned and found Miss Granger behind me.
"Yes?"
"I wonder if it's possible to have—"
"To have what?" I asked impatiently as she left her sentence unfinished. She
touched her neck, staring up at me with her mouth open. Her innocent eyes
rounded in surprise, but she quickly hid behind a mask of normalcy.
"To have a private word with you in your office, if that's where you're
headed," she finished. I glanced up and down the corridor, and across the
courtyard. We were entirely alone, it appeared.
"What do you want?" I asked bluntly. I wanted to get back to Harry. I needed
Harry.
"I know who went to the Daily Prophet. You must have been wondering."
"Who?" I asked impatiently.
"Pomfrey," Granger whispered, keeping her voice down as two first years raced
by us. I glowered at them, and they slowed to a reasonable pace.
"Why would she do a stupid thing like that?" I asked Granger.
"I don't know, sir. Perhaps she's afraid you mean to harm Harry, or mean to
take glory from saving him," Granger suggested, struggling to keep her face
neutral.
"A simple conclusion,” I said. Somewhere in the distance, pounding could be
heard, followed by unintelligible shouting.
"Sometimes the most truthful things are the most simple."
"Hmm," I muttered. "She's wrong."
"Of course, sir."
"Didn't she think she was doing Mr. Potter harm by revealing what had happened?
Even by opening up discussion about what might have happened? You know how
people love to gossip."
"She didn't reveal what happened."
"To those with an ounce of sense, the article reveals everything."
"I'm sure she didn't mean to harm Harry," Miss Granger said, shifting
uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"Something else on your mind?"
"The potion Harry gave you?" she whispered.
"Yes?" I whispered back.
"Was it what we thought?" she questioned as she avoided my eyes.
"No."
Granger sank with disappointment. "Oh."
"Is that all?"
"No. I wondered. That is to say. Professor McGonagall insisted no visits until
Harry improves, but I would like...may I bring him anything? At least his
school work. He's going to fall behind."
"When he is ready, you may bring him his work. But he is not ready."
"I could bring other things. Professor McGonagall said familiar objects might
help him focus. Familiar things might make him want to come back and stay."
I leaned back against the wall and stared at her while crossing my arms over my
chest. Her voice was tight with emotion, and she was trying her best to hold
everything back, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of me. A memory went
through my head of having stopped Potter, Granger, and Weasley in this very
corridor during their first year. I had heard my name among their clandestine
chatter and had come over to torment them. I felt old, suddenly, so much older
than I should. Hard to believe how quickly they were growing, all my children.
The young woman before me watched silently, waiting for my reply. It took me a
minute to pull myself out of the doldrums and answer.
"He's barely staying awake ten minutes at a time. You saw for yourself what
he's like. You want to bring him knick-knacks?"
"No. I want to bring books and things."
"He lost his glasses in the forest. Lupin went to retrieve them from the Daily
Prophet, but they were smashed beyond repair. How do you expect Potter is going
to read these books you want to bring?"
"I could spell them to make the print larger. I could bring things besides
books," she persisted.
"Miss Granger, what things do you believe he might require? Be specific,” I
insisted, annoyed by her eagerness. She was so willing to help Harry that she
would risk annoying me? That if nothing else was a sure sign of love.
"Sleeping clothes."
"That would be helpful," I agreed.
"He's received several letters too."
"All right. If nothing else, I will read them to him. Anything else?"
"My mother."
"You want to bring Potter your mother?"
"I have something for him that she gave me."
"What? Did you tell her what happened to him?"
"No." Was she capable of such a bald-face lie?
"What did she give you for him, not knowing his condition but being attuned to
what he requires?"
"It's something that she gave me that I would like to give to him."
"If it's that cross with a man tacked to it, you can forget it," I growled.
"What?"
"The Muggle symbol for their One God."
"No. It's not a crucifix," Granger replied tartly.
"I simply won't stand for that kind of mumbo-jumbo, hoodoo-voodoo nonsense."
"No, sir. Not at all." She waited a beat, and quickly added, "I quite agree
with you. It's far too late for a crucifix. Superstition isn't going to help.
That's not what I meant."
"What is it?"
"A joke book," she said. "My mother's very funny, you know? At least she thinks
she is. She's a pediatric dentist, and she finds that the humor makes children
less afraid when they are in pain. It helps put them at ease."
"She sent you a joke book about teeth?"
"Not exactly," Granger hedged.
"You may not enter my quarters, but if you were to gather such items together,
and put them in a box outside my corridor; a small box, mind you; I will give
the box to my patient."
"Yes, sir," Miss Granger nodded, trying to keep her smile in check.
"I will find it very necessary, only prudent really, to examine the contents of
this box, so I wouldn't put anything too private in there, if I were you."
"Understood, sir."
"Return to your class," I motioned.
"Thank you, Professor."
She bounced me a quick curtsey and darted away. I followed her path with my
eyes long enough to intersect with McGonagall standing at her desk. Minerva
wore a sad, winsome smile. She fussed momentarily with her glasses, and went
back to the lesson.
I had another hour to kill. Merlin help me. I pulled myself up, and started to
walk across the courtyard towards the greenhouses. But my feet carried me right
towards the dungeon.
 
***** Return *****
I was back at the corridor leading to my private quarters with still better
than forty-five minutes to kill. No matter how much I had wanted to obey
Dumbledore's order to remain away from two hours to clear my head, I found I
was completely filled with panic. I had had no choice but to return. Remus
Lupin was standing at the head of the corridor like a sentry. My every worst
feeling seemed confirmed.
"You're early," he said, looking distinctly nervous.
"I see no point in wandering the school when my patient needs me," I responded
coldly.
"Dumbledore said you might have that reaction. Volkova all but predicted it."
"You let her in there?" I gasped, trying to push my way past Lupin. He
shouldered me carefully back.
"She was here, but she's gone. I can't let you in yet, " he insisted.
"Why not? This was his plan from the start, wasn't it?" I hissed. Lupin
shouldered me back again.
"Severus, Harry has hit you three times with a very powerful charisma spell.
You may not understand this, but the Headmaster feels you need to be separated
from Harry for a few hours to clear your head. It's for your own protection."
"Don't make me get my wand out, Lupin," I warned.
"How closely did you look in the mirror this morning?" he asked.
"What does that have to do with anything?" I spat back.
"You've got a love bite on your neck," he said lowly. I put my hand on my neck
and felt my color rising. "Harry bit you.”
"He couldn't possibly convert me," I said hesitantly. "You're mistaken. His
reversal is nearly complete. I'm in no danger from the boy."
"Maybe he's not trying to convert you," Lupin said. "He's clearly too attached
to you though."
"Define 'too attached'."
“The point at which my godson is sucking on your neck,” Lupin glowered.
“Dumbledore thought, and Volkova agreed, that for your own protection, you
should have time away from Harry. Unfortunately, you're back too soon."
"Remus, step away from the door," I ordered.
"Don't do anything stupid, Severus," he cautioned, steeling himself for fear
that I was going to rush at him. I pulled my wand out slowly, taking a step
back from him. "Severus....."
"Step away from the door," I ordered again, taking another step back and
putting my hand against the wall to my left. A second too late, he realized
what I was up to.
"SNAPE!!" Lupin howled, pounding on the concealed door I had opened as it
slammed shut in his face. I stepped through my hidden workshop and touched the
door that would allow me to enter my bedroom.
A wild whirl of stray books and loose leaves of paper nearly clobbered me as I
entered. The lamp and sconces were brightly lit, and where the bed should be
there was nothing but a smashed frame and a hopelessly-tangled pile of
bedcovers. The contents of the mattress were strewn about, and a splatter of
blood was under the pillows. The rest of the furniture was crammed haphazardly
against the bedroom door. The bookshelves had been tipped, and the books not
sailing around the room were stacked with the furniture, multi-colored bricks
in a wall that shivered with each pounding it received from the other side.
"Harry!" I screamed, lifting my wand to drop the flying books to the ground.
They landed with the muffled crinkling of paper pages. The shrunken heads that
had been on the bookshelves were cowering in one of the dresser drawers. It
shot open, and they bounced across the floor, headed for the bathroom. I was
not quick enough to catch any of them before the door slammed. "Harry!!" I
called again.
"The lights," Harry responded. "I can't overpower Dumbledore's magic. Please!
He won't turn them off. Please help me!”
I gaped above my head, lowering my wand as I stared. Harry was clinging to the
ceiling by no apparent means. His hands were shielding his face. He was shaking
and wildly-disheveled. His wrists were both bruised, as was one ankle, and he
was speckled with droplets of blood.
"Severus, do not interfer," Dumbledore called from outside the door that led to
the outer room.
"You're going to blind him," I yelled at the door. I raised my wand and
concentrated on lowering the lights, but didn't have any better luck
overpowering the Headmaster than Harry had been having.
"Severus," Dumbledore warned. Harry closed his eyes, and I could feel the rush
of his magic as he concentrated on the lights. The bulbs in the lamp and the
sconces shattered, and the fireplace extinguished itself with a ghostly gasp of
sound. Harry was panting from exertion, but he had accomplished his goal. The
room was utterly dark once more.
"I can't see," Harry whispered to me, his voice trembling. I reached a hand up
to him. He touched my hand, sensing it somehow.
"Come down," I pleaded, giving the tip of my wand a dim glow.
"Let us in, Severus," Dumbledore ordered from outside.
"I don't want them in here. I don't want them near me. Make them all leave,”
Harry pleaded. “Just you. I want just you. Only you.”
"Harry, you don't mean that," Hagrid called. The giant made a push against the
door, and Harry dropped gracefully to the floor, countering the move. He raised
both arms and pushed with unseen force that shoved the wall of the castle
itself another three feet away.
"Harry, calm down. We're not going to hurt you," Dumbledore soothed.
"Are you all right?" I asked, tentatively putting a hand on Potter’s arm. "What
did they do to you?"
He turned and put his head against my chest, giving me his left hand.
"She poured something on my hand," he whimpered. There was a small, circular
burn on his left palm. I kissed it tenderly.
"Come with me," I murmured.
“And she was trying to perform incantations on me,” he went on. I hushed him as
I guided him around the chaos that had been my bedroom towards the concealed
door to my hidden lab. At the lab door, I gave him my wand.
"Neither of these doors will move except to my touch. You're safe in here. Put
a dab of this on your palm," I instructed, grabbing a vial from the nearby
shelf and taking off the cap. He nodded, climbing unsteadily into the tall
chair next to the table. I paused long enough to nuzzle his cheek, and he
buried his face against my chest.
“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” he mumbled.
"I won't leave again without waking you. I swear."
I closed the hidden door and made sure the wall was seamless. Dumbledore had
reignited the fire in the bedroom hearth. Its cheery glow warmed the cold,
windy room. Hagrid was pushing against the bedroom door once more, and it felt
like the very foundations of the castle might come apart. Harry's barrier was
beginning to collapse. Books cascaded down. The dresser heaved and fell over. I
waited until the giant had the door open a crack before I started shouting.
"WHICH ONE OF YOU IDIOTS LET THAT WOMAN POUR HOLY WATER ON MY PATIENT?!"
Lupin, Dumbledore, and Hagrid froze where they were. Hagrid had opened the door
far enough that I could read their faces. They were case studies in
embarrassment and shock.
"Severus, calm down," Dumbledore urged.
"Barbarians! Ignorant savages!" I accused. "Were you trying to permanently
blind him with all those lights on? What is the meaning of this?"
"You're under the influence of a powerful charisma spell," Dumbledore cautioned
me. "Don't do anything rash."
I grabbed a vial from inside my cloak, and flung it into their midst. A
blinding flash of light lit their space, and it was followed by the very
satisfying sound of painful screaming.
"What the hell was that?" Hagrid bellowed.
"Perhaps that will give you some idea of how Mr. Potter felt after your
violations," I fumed at them. Dumbledore retracted the vial shards and the
potion itself, reconstituting it into the palm of his hand. He gave it
hesitantly back to me as he opened the door between us.
"You make it sound as if we were trying to hurt Harry," he retorted, his voice
saddened to the core.
"You don't feel burning and blinding him was hurtful?" I accused.
"Professor Volkova said seeing him without you here was the only way to make
sure you weren't lying about his condition," Dumbledore began. "We needed to
give him a thorough examination without your interference."
"Medieval nonsense," I scoffed. My heart went cold at those words– thorough
examination. The poor child! What had they done to him?!
"Why did the holy water burn his skin?" Lupin wanted to know.
"Because the cure involves the use of Le Clair's blood, and if you idiots had
bothered to ask me, I'd've told you that holy water will produce a false
positive reading until Harry's body processes all the Canis Capellum that he
has taken. If Volkova weren't so intent on killing those who have been bitten,
she'd study the very-well documented attempts to cure them before she goes
around trying to stake people."
They silently gaped at me. Hagrid and Lupin looked at Dumbledore, and then
stared at the mess on the floor in complete embarrassment. Dumbledore was
smiling faintly at me. The son of a bitch had known all along. This wasn't
about holy water or thorough examinations. This was about whether or not I
would come to Harry's defense against them. Dumbledore was testing me. I wanted
to claw his eyes out in rage. I could hear his sage words to Neville
Longbottom: "It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but
even more to stand up to your friends."
"Where's Volkova?" I asked darkly.
"She's getting her arm mended," Albus replied.
“Harry dropped the bed on her elbow and shattered it,” Lupin explained.
“Bloody good for Harry,” I snarled.
"Where is he? Is he terribly upset?" Hagrid asked. “We weren’t trying to hurt
him.”
"He's blind and bruised, and he's terrified. How upset do you think he is?"
"We didn't mean to harm him," Remus insisted.
"We'll leave. See to our patient. Call if you need anything," Dumbledore said.
"What, like new bedroom furniture?" I snapped, motioning around me.
"Think of it as a complex puzzle to entertain you until evening," Dumbledore
retorted, giving half a smirk to me before walking away.
"Harry? We're very sorry," Hagrid called loudly. The books and furniture began
to levitate, sorting out by the sharpest points. Growling could be heard behind
the wall where Harry was hidden. Hagrid watched nervously as the points all
turned around and aimed at Lupin and him.
"We'll wait till he calms down to come back," Remus said sadly. He dug around
in his cloak, and located a small, black oval case about eight inches long. He
cautiously gave me the case. "New glasses. They're spelled to size to the
wearer, and to conform to their specific visual handicap as well. The lenses
darken in bright light situations. The frames are absolutely guaranteed not to
bend or break."
"Splendid. If he isn't permanently blind, he's sure to find them useful," I
replied haughtily.
"We didn't mean to harm him in any way," Lupin said sorrowfully.
"You'll have a hard time convincing him," I scoffed. The points of wood urged
Hagrid and Lupin out the door. They mumbled among themselves as they closed the
outer door and left. I waited until I heard their footsteps in the corridor
before I tried to find the door in the wall to release Harry.
 
***** One Lump or Two *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"I promise you, Severus, I'm as shocked as you are," Minerva said. "If I had
had any idea what they were up to, I'd've never given them my permission to
enter your quarters.”
McGonagall gave Professor Volkova a stern glance, where the Dark Arts
Instructor sat almost meekly on her corner of my divan.
"No matter. I've changed the wards. You will receive the appropriate spell-
breaker for security purposes, of course. But no one else will be allowed in
unless I am here," I insisted.
"As you wish," McGonagall agreed.
"It was never my intention to harm Mr. Potter," Volkova whispered.
"Whether it was your intention or not, you have," I informed her. She cradled
her left elbow in her right hand, looking away sadly.
"Where is he?" McGonagall asked.
"Underneath the bed I pulled out of the closet to replace the one you broke
with your elbow," I directed my venom at Volkova.
“That floor is ice cold,” Minerva protested.
"I couldn't coax him out. Perhaps after he's had some sleep he'll be more open
to discussion."
"Poor mite," McGonagall whispered, shaking her head.
"I pushed pillows and blankets under to him. He seems to find the small, dark
space comforting," I continued. McGonagall winced, and Volkova's eyes brimmed
with tears.
"Reminiscent of his cupboard, no doubt," Volkova whispered. I glared at her,
and she dried her eyes on her palm. I wanted to slap her. What could she
possibly know, what could she possibly understand about what my Harry had been
through?
"I promise I won’t allow them to side-step you again," Minerva said. “Thank you
for the tea. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?”
"I wanted you both to know that I discovered among my student vials one of
particular interest."
Volkova's grip on her cup slipped. She narrowly recovered it before it tipped
hot tea in her lap.
"You've found it?" She caught her breath as I pulled said vial out of my cloak
and showed her.
"I have it by mistake, I'm sure," I said smoothly, watching her eyes fill with
dread and relief. McGonagall sipped at her tea, concealing her knowing smile.
"I should be very much in your debt for its return," Anna offered.
"I should be very happy to return it to you, in due time."
"Severus," McGonagall interjected. The look of utter anguish on Volkova's face
made up for any of McGonagall's wrath I might have to endure later.
"I must protest. This is perfectly savage, even for you," Anna muttered. I
twirled the vial between my fingers and held it up to the light from the wall
sconce. Volkova stared away from me, putting down her tea. I put away the vial,
and her eyes bored a hole in my pocket.
“How very lucky it is you’ve found it,” McGonagall said.
"What sort of hoops will I have to jump through to get my property back from
you?" Anna asked.
"No hoops. All I want is to know the story behind your precious potion. I am
interested in one developed to my own specifications. I understand I have to
have at least a fourth of someone else’s bindy to make one of my own."
Volkova turned ghastly pale with anger. She clenched both fists and ground her
teeth.
"I didn't make it."
"I know very well you didn't," I smiled at her.
"Why do you want to know about it?"
"To determine if it's the kind of bindy that would be useful to me. I'm being
prudent," I said.
"I'm not here to amuse you with tales about my family," she responded,
narrowing her eyes at me.
"Le Clair called it 'Ivan's Charm'. So it must have belonged to someone named
Ivan Volkov."
"Ee-vahn. Not I-Vin," she corrected me.
"Very well. Tell me about him."
"He didn't create the potion either. It was a gift from a witch he rescued
during the time of one of the Swedish invasions of Poland and Lithuania."
"Quite special, your bindy," I mused.
"Quite ancient and special," McGonagall agreed.
"In my research, I discovered there are several different types of bindies.
There are ones for children, with blood from their parents, used to ward away
bad dreams and surround them with a sense of comfort and protection. A magical
nightlight of sorts. The second type I found is one given between lovers, made
with a lock of hair or a few drops of blood from each and split between the two
of them. It protects the union against dissolution from outside forces. The
third is for priests, to protect them from more worldly temptations. It closely
resembles the fabled Gallahad Elixir," I reported.
I paused and waited for Volkova to pick up the tangent. Would she admit in
front of McGonagall that she had successfully created a Gallahad Elixir? I
burned to know why Volkova would need both the bindy and the Gallahad, if my
theory was correct, and she was carrying both of them.
"This is an off-shoot of the priestly kind. Ivan's Charm is meant to protect
warriors in battle," Volkova side-stepped the challenge. I was surprised at
her.
"All warriors in all battles?" I pressed.
"No," she admitted.
"Specific warriors in specific battles?"
"It's meant to protect pious, consecrated soldiers against attack from the
unholy minions of the dark."
McGonagall's eyes went wide at the feral expression Volkova levelled at me. I
couldn't help but smile back at her. It was becoming pretty clear that Anna had
spent her time before coming to Hogwarts reading up on me, not in an effort to
befriend me on her arrival, but in an effort to find my weaknesses. Had the
Deusredeti sent her here to destroy me? Or was my paranoia getting the better
of me. Surely I did not rate a second glance from the leaders of her cult?
"Why would this witch want to protect Ivan Volkov?" I asked.
"He saved her from undeath."
"He rescued her from a Swedish vampire?" I tried to sound as skeptical as
possible. McGonagall cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes at me. I had
apparently teased Volkova all McGonagall was going to allow of me.
"Ivan rescued Felka from Le Clair,” Anna said.
"This bindy is meant to protect all Volkovs from Henri Le Clair?"
"It will protect the Volkovi against vampires, evil wizards, or evil vampire
wizards."
"How did Le Clair know you didn't have it?"
"He can smell it."
"Why?"
"Part of him is in it. He can’t come within ten feet of it, or he feels
physical pain.”
Lights went off inside my mind. Had Le Clair's partner Radu been in Algiers to
take the charm away from Volkova? How close had he come to succeeding before
she killed him? Had Le Clair convinced Radu to take on Volkova, only to lose
him in battle to her? Was part of Le Clair’s anger with Volkova born of his own
guilt at having sent his lover to take the charm away?
"I would like to know if your ancestor came by this charm. Please tell me it
was not by less than respectable means,” I requested.
"Fruit of the poisoned tree?" McGonagall questioned. I nodded quickly. Volkova
puzzled over the expression.
"Do you mean to ask if he used violence or force to get the witch to brew the
potion?"
"Yes."
"No. She made it for him of her own volition."
"Do you know this for a fact?"
"If you were to examine the wand it's supposed to be in, you would see her
inscription. Protective runes encircle the inside of the silver cap that covers
the potion."
"The witch made it for Ivan out of an urgent desire to protect him because he
had saved her life?"
"Felka made it for Ivan out of gratitude and out of love," Volkova defended.
“Why is this of such curiosity to you? Ivan was the first Volkovi to be a
vampire hunter. The trade was very much thrust upon him by an unscrupulous
priest whose hope it was to see Ivan dead. We were the terror of the region, so
I am told. Felka used her magic to create the bindy for Ivan, and the priest
had her burned at the stake for her troubles when Ivan returned again and again
from battles, having accumulated little more than scratches."
"Auto de fés were never an effective method for killing witches," McGonagall
said. "Simple freezing spells can be employed to counteract—"
"Fire is more than effective when victims are unconscious and unable to protect
themselves. Felka was extremely, sincerely dead when the unscrupulous priest
was finished with her. He even had her ashes spread at the crossroads. He went
so far as to pour holy water on them. Thought it would make her stay where he
had left her."
"She didn't?"
"Felka is with me in spirit. She will remain with me until I pass on the wand
to my child, at which time she will follow and protect him."
"You have a child?" Minerva gasped.
"A son. He'll be eleven come spring."
"That's why Malchik keeps coming and going," I nodded, finally understanding.
"You have him hidden nearby, and she’s looking after him.”
"Would I be so stupid as to bring him near as this?" Volkova growled.
"No. He's must be in Venice," I said.
"At school?" McGonagall questioned.
"In a matter of speaking," Volkova answered cryptically.
"He's with the Deusredeti," I decided. “Their main headquarters is in Venice.”
"How clever you are," Volkova taunted me. "What? Did you think I'd left a small
child alone to fend for himself? He is being protected by those I trust."
"It must have been hard to leave him at all," McGonagall offered. Volkova
faltered briefly, steeling herself against what she was feeling. She had not
been prepared for Minerva’s tenderness, and was unexpectedly touched by it. How
many years had she been asked to go on missions and leave the child behind, no
knowing when or if she would see him again?
"He's grown accustomed to my absence," Anna replied, struggling to keep her
face neutral.
"We should all be so lucky," I muttered.
"Severus," McGonagall chided me softly.
"Back to the matter at hand. Your bindy. You Volkovi pass it on from one
vampire hunter to the next."
"Yes."
"What if one of you died without a blood heir?"
"I don't follow you."
"It must have happened at least once in two and a half centuries. What do you
do when the current hunter who has the bindy dies without a blood heir?"
"I'd have to check the List of Bearers and see if this has occurred. Why ask
such a curious question?"
"You're going to be passing part of the bindy on to someone who is not related
to you by blood. I need to know if the strength of the potion will remain
intact. I want to be prepared for all possibilities. And what if no blood is
available? Can you use other body parts? Hair? Teeth? Skin?"
"Blood creates the strongest bond, but other things have been used in
circumstances of hasty transference when no blood was available from the one
bound to the potion."
"One of the texts I found said that if the child receiving the bindy is not
related by blood to the person who is giving the potion, that there must be a
sanctified blessing from the child's natural parents. This can be done in the
form of an incantation, or by blood donation. What about hair, teeth, or skin
in this circumstance?"
"Who exactly do you mean to give the new bindy to?" Volkova dove for the point.
"Would that have a bearing on your willingness to donate?"
"You bet your ass it would. Do you mean to keep it for yourself?"
"No. I wouldn't presume."
"You're going to give it to Harry?" Minerva asked, her eyes brimming.
"Yes," I admitted, annoyed I was so transparent to her. McGonagall reached for
her hanky, dabbing her misty eyes.
"I don't know what to say, Severus. I'm so very proud of you."
"You must desist at once," Volkova said anxiously.
"Why must I?"
"In his present condition, if you bind him to the potion, you could kill him."
"I don't understand. Why do you mean by his present condition?"
"Ivan's Charm repels Henri Le Clair. If you give one of Henri Le Clair's
victims part of Ivan's Charm, if you bind them to even the smallest portion of
the bindy within, it will kill them. If you care at all about Harry, you will
stop at once with this insane plan, however seemingly altruistic it may be."
"A little knowledge of potions indeed, Professor Volkova," I smiled at her. "It
appears you've studied them a great deal."
"Don't toy with me, warlock," she hissed. Her pronunciation made it sound like
a dire insult. I considered in the space of one second her choice of ' warlock'
over either 'sorcerer' or 'wizard', equally applicable but each different in
their own right. Of course she'd've gone with 'warlock' for me. Warlock– one
who breaks oaths. She clearly meant it as an insult.
"Once he is fully cured, I could proceed," I insisted.
"He may never be fully cured."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" I responded. "I must presume the
potion is guarded against division without your permission."
"You undoubtedly discovered this while trying to separate it." Volkova arched a
brow at me. She was on the verge of a wicked smile. It appeared damned lucky
for me I hadn't done more than look at the bindy.
"What part of you do I need to unlock the ward that protects the potion?" I
minced no words.
"You need my blood and my permission, which you will not get until I am
satisfied that Mr. Potter is fully recovered from Le Clair's bite."
"What would it take to satisfy you?" I asked.
At that moment, the fire dimmed, and the floo opened. Potter's owl dropped out
and arched her wings to pull herself to a higher vantage point. She circled the
room once before she settled next to McGonagall. The Deputy Headmistress
unfurled the short scroll attached to Hedwig's leg and read it, pursing her
lips.
"I have to return to Gryffindor Tower. It seems there's a brawl in progress.
More of a riot, if I understand this correctly. Can I trust you two alone long
enough to settle this matter quietly?"
"Of course you may," I replied smoothly. My devious mind was already hard at
work. If I could get Volkova close enough to Harry, he could charisma her, and
I could get her blood that way, break her neck and drain her of her blood. I
might even be able to manufacture a convincing tumble down the dungeon stairs
to make her demise look somewhat natural.
"I will be perfectly all right. Good evening, Professor," Volkova said,
standing up respectfully. I followed suit, annoyed that I had been beaten to
the punch. McGonagall gave me a penetrating look, and I had no question what
she was intimating to me. Volkova had better emerge alive and well from my
quarters, or there would be hell to pay.
"Working together would be the best thing in the world for you two. It would
help you get over your differences. I have no doubt that you two could even be
friends if you tried hard enough," Minerva said before hurrying carefully out
of my reach and beyond the threshold of my quarters. Volkova crossed her arms
over her chest and watched the door close behind McGonagall before facing me
once more.
"May I see Mr. Potter before I leave?"
"Absolutely not," I bluffed.
"I will cause him no harm, I swear to you."
"Trying to get the chance to pour more holy water on him?"
"No. I want to reassure him of my good intentions."
"Aren't you worried he'll break your other arm?"
"No. That was my fault. I startled him. I never make the same mistake twice."
"I don't want to disturb him. I'm sure he's blocked the door. Besides, he's
likely still under the bed."
"If he won't come out from under, I'm perfectly willing to lie on the floor to
talk with him."
I taunted her with the vial of potion once again, taking it out of my pocket
and studying it closely.
“No text I’ve found has a complete list of ingredients for the Benedictus in
Tenebris. Every one has three or four, and says to consult another text for the
rest.”
“Yes, well, you don’t have access to the same texts that I do. How are you even
sure you have the correct ingredients?”
“Oh, I’m betting that you would have a complete list, which you would be all to
willing to give me to, if you want this little jewel back.”
"I'd have to consult the books that my grandfather gave me.”
"You could let me study the books. You have classes to teach. I have all the
time in the world presently. There are other questions I need answered."
"Such as?"
"How fresh does the sample of blood or hair have to be?"
"Fruit of a poisoned tree, remember? Kill me getting blood or hair, and you
nullify any power the bindy might have. Besides, you would still be lacking the
most important thing– my verbal permission. My voice unlocks the potion, not
just my voice, but a secret series of words in my voice unlocks it.”
"Naturally. There's always a downside."
"And you have other obstacles. I am led to believe Mr. Potter's blood relatives
are no longer living, with the exception of his aunt. How hard do you think it
will be to persuade her to give you what you need?"
"It will be a Herculean task, one I will probably leave to the Headmaster."
"If you had bone or hair from either of his parents, it might be enough. Where
they are buried?"
"I don't believe they were buried. They preferred cremation. It's a tradition
among those who have served the Headmaster. I do have two strands of hair from
Lily.”
“That’s not enough. You've no choice but the dreadful Aunt Petunia, I suppose.
Does she frighten you?"
"Considering the emotional and psychological condition of the child in my care,
on certain levels, she frightens me extremely."
"Perhaps I could be persuaded to feel it falls within my jurisdiction to have a
mother-to-mother talk with her," Volkova offered. She batted her eyes at me,
giving up a smile meant to persuade and charm.
"At what price?"
"Give me my bindy back, until such time as we divide it between Mr. Potter and
my Sergei."
"I think not."
"If you don't, I won't be able to chat with Mrs. Dursley."
"Why not?"
"Le Clair has told others I am here. I haven't been able to leave Hogwarts
since Mr. Potter was attacked. Either Le Clair told them, or your wife did.
Whoever told the vampires, they've been massing in the Dark Forest since
Halloween."
"Your chickens have come home to roost?" I beamed at her. She exhaled her
impatience, lifting her nose in disdain at my amusement.
"I have a considerable price on my head among their kind, if you must know.
Every damned one of them is salivating at the idea of bringing me back alive.
I've decided to take their adamant intentions against my person as a great
compliment to my effectiveness, and to my glorious reputation."
"I must say it would give me great pleasure to see you made undead. But I'm not
hard to please. I would even settle for just plain dead."
"To think, I was beginning to warm up to you," she huffed. "The Headmaster has
been very kind in allowing me to remain at the school in spite of what has
happened. It appears he has a history of taking in people of dubious moral
quality."
"His magnanimity would change if he knew about your Gallahad Elixir."
"He's perfectly aware of it. So is Professor McGonagall, so there's no point in
surreptitiously trying to rat me out to her."
"Why would you need both of them? Both the Gallahad and the bindy?"
"Don’t be simple. Haven’t you figured that out yet? I didn't carry Ivan's Charm
until after my grandfather was killed. I needed the Gallahad Elixir to protect
me until I had Ivan's Charm."
"The only problem is now you're completely addicted to the Gallahad and you
can't stop taking it."
"Every form of refuge has its price. I heard that in a song once."***
"Why didn't the bindy protect your grandfather?"
"Feeling that his time was near, he performed the incantation to bind it to me.
Le Clair must have felt the transfer of power, and he attacked Papa when he
became vulnerable. You could never understand how that makes me feel. He
sacrificed himself for me.”
“McGonagall said you were close to him. He must have taught you everything you
know. Did you cut your teeth on his wooden stakes?”
“Isn’t there anyone in your life you ever loved in spite of their flaws,
Severus? Or maybe even because of them? I know my grandfather wasn’t perfect,
but he was all I had besides my son.”
Volkova flinched and steeled herself again. She had revealed more than she had
intended, bared herself to the scrutiny of the enemy. Merlin! She had read my
treatise on battle techniques cover to cover, hadn't she? If you convince the
enemy you have soft spots, they would often lower their guard to you as well
before they realize what they've done. Did she really think she'd defeat me
with my own techniques? I literally wrote the book on this!
“And you don’t have him, do you?” I dove for her revealed weakness with tooth,
nail, and claw.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Illumina told me the rules. You aren’t allowed to keep your children if you’re
with the Deusredeti. It’s the reason we never had children of our own.”
“Of course I kept my son. Don’t be foolish.”
“He’s not yours. He belongs to them. He belongs to her. Is it still Rubrica who
watches them?”
“What?” Volkova coughed, her eyes widening.
“I saw her once from a distance. Illumina told me she eats them, some of the
children that are brought to her to raise.”
“She does not. That’s enough!”
“Are you sure he’s alive at all?”
“I’m quite sure. I talk to him on a regular basis.”
“Are you sure?”
“Enough!” Volkova snapped at me.
"If I may have your word of honor that the bindy will be pristine when I see it
again, you may have it back," I said, slowly handing her the vial. Her fingers
snatched it tightly, and she had it hidden in her robes in seconds.
"You have my word of honor," she promised. "We could shake on it."
"We could."
"But that means I'd have to touch you, something I'd rather avoid."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," I answered snidely.
"I will see the books you need are delivered. They are not to be copied or
damaged in any way.”
"Good evening to you, Professor Volkova," I muttered, ushering her towards the
door.
"You're sure I couldn't peek at him even?"
"No, you may not," I said sourly. Clearly the Gallahad Elixir wasn't the only
thing Volkova was fighting an addiction for. She was disturbingly, overtly, and
completely addicted to Mr. Potter's company as well.
"One more point of interest, Professor Snape," she said, grabbing the door
frame and stopping our progress. "Two more, actually."
"Yes?"
"You're to forget about what you think you know concerning my son. Any problem
you have with me, you settle with me. Any ill will you have for me dies with
me."
"Why should I care one iota about your stunted, creepy, vampire-hating
offspring? Rubrica probably only kept him because she knew she could turn him
into another one of you. It’s so very useful to have someone around who will
kill things for you.”
"Sergei doesn't know what I do for a living, what I've done for a living."
"He's led an exceptionally sheltered life, I'm guessing."
"He doesn't even know he's a Volkovi.”
“How is that possible?”
“None of the children are told their surnames until they reach their majority.”
“He’s a blond Russian in a ward full of dark-haired Italians. If he’s met you
even once, even the thickest child might jump to the conclusion you are his
parent.”
“One, you assume they are all Italians. Not true. Many Deusredeti who were
banished from other countries have gone to Venice. Two, you assume he is
blond.”
“Wouldn’t he be?”
“For someone who follows a sorcerer who espouses pure-blood genetic theory like
a religion, I’m shocked you would make such a rudimentary assumption.”
"Making a few rudimentary assumptions yourself, aren't you, Anna?” I mocked,
narrowing my eyes at her.
“Besides, it's my greatest desire that Sergei never knows, that he follows his
heart instead of tradition. He's a promising artist, a painter. I've one of his
works in my office if you'd care to see it. If an artist's work is a reflection
of their being, he has a very beautiful soul."
"Why tell me?"
"I'll do whatever it takes to protect my son, you understand? You and
McGonagall are the only two people here who know I have a child. I'm quite
certain whatever Professor McGonagall thinks of me, she would never in her life
see harm come to a child. You, I am not so sure," she said, wagging a finger at
me.
"Your confidence in my moral foundation is gratifying," I muttered. "Your
second point of interest?"
"I find it heart-warming you like to think of Mr. Potter as your patient."
"You have a heart?"
"But I can recall to mind a late night in your office not very long ago, Harry
in his quidditch uniform, drugged and quite possibly helpless in less than half
an hour. How much Munia did you force into him? He could barely walk. He'd've
been prostrate on the floor, or across your desk, if I hadn't intervened. You
should be ashamed of yourself."
"Having you lecture me about taking liberties with the students is damned
galling, Volkova, not to mention hypocritical."
"You're referring to Mr. Malfoy, of course."
"I am most certainly referring to Mr. Malfoy."
"I never laid a hand on the boy in a sexual fashion."
"No. Technically not. It would have rendered his offering useless. I would like
to know how you obtained what you needed though."
"Would you? It was quite simple, really."
"Was it a corpus reflecto?"
"I don't have the proper equipment for using that particular spell with him."
"An imperio then?"
"Certainly not," she whispered. "I flattered him."
"What?"
"I played to Mr. Malfoy's need for affection and attention."
"Are you that good?"
"I am that good," she promised, chuckling a bit.
"When his father finds out what you've done with pure-blood wizard material,
he's likely to be furious."
"Lucius Malfoy doesn't scare me. He's busy building medical schools."
"What will you do when Draco realizes you used him without feeling the
affection that you pretended?"
"You assume I was pretending?"
"You mean to say you have actually feelings for the boy?"
"Of course I do. It might surprise you to learn I'm a person of very deep
feelings, Mr. Snape, and not all of them revolve around murder, bloodshed, and
mayhem. With proper influence, Draco could become a great wizard, and more
importantly, a great man. If you and his father weren't so busy worrying about
your own places in history, you'd take notice of the boy and all his
potential.”
“And exactly how would you feel if you learned someone was preying on your son
to make a potion they needed? He’s not too far in age from Mr. Potter or Mr.
Malfoy. What would you do to that someone?”
“I’d cut them into tiny pieces and feed them to wolves. Good evening, sir," she
said, giving me a quick bow before departing. I stood in the doorway and gaped
at her for several seconds before she disappeared out the corridor and closed
the outer door.
Chapter End Notes
     Volkova is an Eagles fan! "Every form of refuge has its price" is
     from their song 'Lying Eyes'.
***** Today Is The Last Day That I Am Using Words *****
“Here you are,” I murmured, setting Harry carefully down on the divan. He was
bundled in my bathrobe, his hair damp and straight against his head. He studied
me with the same sleepy yet mildly-surprised expression he had worn throughout
his bath– the first one I had given him while he was awake and aware. At first
he had avoided my gaze. Eventually he had started staring at me, and it seemed
that he couldn’t stop. I had tried to be as casual as possible, to pretend it
was something he might have expected me to do for him all the time. One would
have thought he’d never been bathed before. What had happened at home when he
was young or ill or unable to care for himself? Had his aunt merely doused him
with a bucket of water, or turned the outside hose on him?
“Sleep now?” he asked.
“I’m going to go clean up,” I said, motioning to my intermittently-wet and
bedraggled state. “I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. Why don’t you try
to wriggle into these?” I suggested, handing him his pajamas. He unfolded them
and held one half in one hand and one half in the other.
“You sure these are mine?” he asked, brow wrinkled with puzzlement. I held the
bottoms sideways against my left leg, and came up six inches short in material.
“Yes,” I replied, giving them back to him.
“Hm.”
“The Headmaster took the liberty of sending for them. I suspect they are
spelled to be intentionally soft against your skin.”
“Because of the...” Harry motioned with one hand up and down quickly,
encouraging me to finish the sentence for him.
“Hyperactive state of your senses, yes.”
“That’s why I can hear so clearly, and why lights are so bright?”
“Yes.”
He nodded again. “Will it stop soon? It gives me a headache.”
“It should diminish as you get better. I’ll be right back,” I said, patting him
on the top of the head before leaving the room. I made quick work of a shower
and change of clothes, trying to decide what to order from the kitchens for the
child to eat. He might be ready for more than broth or soup. Should I tempt him
with sweets at this point? I was having a sudden craving for Greek food.
Tzatziki and nice, tender lamb. Maybe some kalamata olives? Warm pita bread.
Cucumbers. Have to ask the kitchen elves to leave out the garlic though.
As I dressed in the bedroom, I gazed unhappily at my precious books. They were
stacked haphazardly in front of the bookcases. Once Harry was asleep tonight,
I’d try my best to get them back in order and on the shelves. How many
centuries of knowledge had been narrowly in danger of being utterly destroyed?
I caressed one wrinkled spine before heading back out into the front area.
“Let me see your hand. Other hand, Harry.”
A soft, feminine laugh stopped me dead in my tracks. Hermione Granger was
standing in front of Harry at the divan, helping him into the top half of his
sleeping clothes. The door was wide open. There was a bright, gaudy scarlet
package on the coffee table. On top of the package was Harry’s wand. Next to
the box were several large tomes marked with the Hogwarts emblem, which denoted
they were from the library.
“She had it all this time?” Harry asked Hermione, yawning at the end of the
sentence.
“Oh, your teeth are shorter,” Granger noticed, sitting down beside him and
taking his chin in her fingers. Harry frowned at her, and she let go. “Yes.
Professor McGonagall made her cough it up. Claimed she had been waiting for the
right opportunity to give it back to you. If McGonagall hadn’t pressed, Volkova
would still have your wand.”
“Like when she was burning my hand with holy water wasn’t a convenient time?”
Harry muttered.
“Yes, I quite agree,” Hermione said. She tucked Harry’s pajama tails around his
back and sat down again. I cleared my throat, and Granger leapt to her feet.
“Professor?!” she exclaimed. “I was just, that is, I knocked, and Harry let me
in.”
“You were to leave the package outside the door. I don’t remember asking you to
knock,” I told her solemnly. Harry gave a tiny, amused smile, and pulled
Hermione down with a tug on the hand.
“You’re going to need your glasses,” I said, heading back into the bedroom in
search of the spectacles that Lupin had given me. I could hear their voices as
I lingered. Perhaps a few minutes of contact with one of the Gryffindors would
convince them to stop standing watch outside the dungeon exits. I lingered
longer.
“That’s an awfully big box,” Harry commented.
“Professor McGonagall took a few things out already. She added warm sweaters,
two of them. The boys couldn’t come to a consensus about what you needed. I
tried to tell Neville and Seamus that you didn’t need your Quidditch goggles,
and they were all upset at me. Ron put in all your wizard cards, and your map.”
“The goggles might have been useful. Everything’s very bright and very loud.
And if I may say so, you smell odd.”
“Odd?” Hermione replied.
“Different. Strange. Ultra-feminine.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Do you have bat sonar or....oh, I get
it.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hermione sighed.
“What?” Harry asked impatiently.
“I remember. It’s in the books. Hypersensitivity. Read the books. Oh, and I
included parchment and quill and ink, in case you want to reply to any of the
letters.”
“It’s a nice odd,” Harry said as Hermione stood up. She gave me a nervous look
as I returned, carrying the glasses. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry
added.
“I know,” Hermione murmured. She darted a scared look at me, and took Harry
into a quick hug.
“It’s kinda musky and warm and female,” he continued. Hermione kissed the top
of his head and stood away from him.
“Good evening, Harry. Good evening, Professor,” Miss Granger said. She made the
fastest departure known to human kind. Her feet were out of the hallway even
before I reached the door to close it. I heard the corridor door close, and the
hum of the wards as they sealed. Halfway up the hallway, I spotted Harry’s
towel and my robe lying on the floor. Suddenly, Potter was at my elbow, gazing
down the hallway.
“I’ll get them,” he said.
“You go sit on the divan and decide what you want to eat. I’ll get them.”
“Okay,” he yawned. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to get them.”
“All right. So noted. Sit,” I ordered.
“Did I say something insulting to her? She was gone really fast,” Harry said
when I was back in the room. I folded my robe and shook out the towel, hoping
he had had the sense to pull on his pajama bottoms before answering the door.
“Most women might find it objectionable if you tell them they smell odd.”
“Different. Not a bad odd.”
“She’s menstruating. That’s what you sensed.”
“Ugh.” Harry made a face. I shook my head at him.
“It’s natural human biology. Nothing to be scared of.”
“Ugh,” he repeated.
“Did you have any clothes on when you answered the door?”
“YES! You think I was raised by wolves?” he exclaimed, pausing for another
yawn. “Not that wolves wouldn't have been a welcome change," he smiled faintly.
“Dinner?”
“Sleep?”
“You need to eat. You need your medication. You may sleep in one half hour. Can
you stay awake that long?”
“Sleep,” Harry repeated. I cracked open the case and thrust the glasses onto
his nose. He blinked at me, and opened his eyes very wide.
“Glasses. Good idea. I can see you much better.”
“Is that such a good thing?” I asked.
“Yes,” he smiled.
“I will take the liberty of popping over to the kitchens. Don’t blow yourself
up while I’m gone. It won’t take ten minutes. Do not go to sleep,” I said,
handing him his wand. He nodded, and I went to the fireplace.
Half an hour later, the food tray had been picked entirely clean of anything
resembling edible matter. I sat in the corner of the divan. Harry was lying on
his side with his head balanced on my leg, breathing in a very contented
manner. He smelled of warm pita bread and cucumbers and roasted lamb. He was
holding his wand in one hand, lazily turning it around his fingers. I couldn’t
believe he was lying there with his head on me. It was very difficult to resist
petting his hair. Of course, maybe it was my imagination, but that might have
been the reason he was sprawled against me. Maybe he wanted me to pet his hair?
I put a tentative hand into his locks, and his smile curled happily.
“Am I free to bring you Greek food again?” I asked.
“Mm hmm,” Harry purred.
“It’s beautiful. You’ll have to see it some day.”
“What’s that?”
“Greece. All blue and white, and the Mediterranean,” I sighed. “Simply
wonderful. There are olives everywhere."
“Some day,” he agreed. “She was going to keep my wand until you gave her back
her....what the heck is a bindy?”
“I will explain it all tomorrow. For now, you need your medication before you
are dead asleep. Up,” I urged, lifting him by the shoulders to a seated
position. I put his wand on the table beside the contents of the box. Several
letters fell off, along with a pair of undershorts and a few mismatched socks.
He got to his feet slowly, hanging onto my arm.
“I liked the joke book,” he said.
I made a face at him and tugged him along. He picked up the book in question–
it had a cheap, shiny black cover, and a drawing of a small vampire child who
was grinning to show off an impressive set of fangs. There was a small square
on the back that proclaimed it was from the ‘Granger and Granger Family Dental
Service’. If it were at all possible to remove points from Gryffindor House for
Hermione Granger’s mother’s sick sense of humor, I would have done so, except
for the fact that Harry was decidedly more cheerful than he had been mere hours
before. Dark and wicked chuckles followed me into the bedroom.
“What is a vampire’s favorite fruit?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Nectarines,” he giggled. “What’s a vampire’s favorite ice cream?”
“How many of those tasteless things are in there?”
“One hundred and one,” he told me. “What’s a vampire’s favorite ice cream?”
“You told me already. Vein-illa.”
“Oh. Yes. I did. Vein-illa,” he giggled, sitting down on the bed and flipping
more pages. “I didn’t ask you this one.”
“Merlin, help me,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“One more?”
“One more. That’s it. Make it a good one.”
“What’s a vampire’s favorite soup?”
“Here,” I said, bringing back a goblet of Canis Capellum. He closed the book
and set it aside, taking the goblet from me. It took three tries, but he
finally finished it all, and gave me back the goblet. I switched it for a
brimming portion of restorative draught. He quickly swallowed that as well.
“You aren’t too full, are you? Does it taste differently on top of solid food?”
I worried.
“No. Still bloody awful. Thanks for asking.”
“Under the covers,” I said, motioning him inside. He folded up, scooting over.
I returned the goblets to the lab and closed the door, bringing back the jar of
salve.
“What is a vampire’s favorite soup?” he asked. I unbuttoned his top three
buttons, and put my salve-dipped fingers against his bite.
“Is it in good taste, making jokes in your condition?” I wondered. “I don’t
know. What is a vampire’s favorite soup?”
“Scream of tomato,” he grinned. I rolled my eyes, rubbing his neck. He twisted
his head, and tilted his chin down. “You’re right. It’s in very poor taste. But
it’s kinda funny too,” he murmured.
“It is my turn to ask you a riddle. What is red and sticky and sweet and bites
people?” I asked.
“It’s not Le Clair, I’ll tell you that much,” Harry frowned, very peeved. “What
is it?”
“A jampire,” I whispered. Harry’s smile returned. I rebuttoned his shirt, and
he burrowed down against the pillows. “On the topic of biting people, I need to
ask you a serious question, Mr. Potter.”
“Mm hm?” he nodded sleepily. I took off his glasses, and pulled the covers
close around him.
“This bruise,” I said, touching the mark on my neck. “Can you remember the
circumstances under which I received it?”
“Mm hm,” he nodded, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You spanked me. I bit you.
We’re even.”
“If you charisma me again, you’re going to have to wear the blindfold until you
return to Gryffindor Tower, or until your ability to cast the charisma spell by
glance alone goes away. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Furthermore, Mr. Potter, there will be no more biting on your part of any of
my parts. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Jampire,” he smiled.
“I must insist that until your ability to cast the charisma spell without
thinking diminishes, or until you learn to control it, you must avoid singing
out loud, making speeches, or running for political office.”
“I can’t sing. Why would I want to make speeches? And I am not a politician.
I’m a Gryffindor. Politician is such a Slytherin career choice.”
“I’m glad you understand me.”
“Do I have any?” he asked, lifting his chin and moving his neck side to side.
“Should you?” I wondered. His eyes were gleaming. “What exactly did you command
me to do?”
“I asked,” Harry flushed pink but ventured on. “I asked you to make me feel
better. I think you sorta misunderstood me. I had no idea. Are you trying to
read my thoughts?” he asked, pulling slightly away.
“What did I do to you?” I asked, feeling horror and concern bite through my
blood like ice-cold poison.
“Nothing dangerous. I mean, you started kissing me, and I was scared at first,
but you weren’t hurting me, and I thought ‘wow, this is nice’, and you hate me,
don’t you?” he shivered, covering his eyes with both hands. “By nice, I mean it
felt, wow, you know?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wear the blindfold,” I said.
“But I didn’t do it on purpose,” he protested. I dug through the drawer and
retrieved the charmed velvet cloth. “I can’t help it.”
“I know. But I must insist. Hands, please,” I said. He lifted his hands, and I
folded the material over the bridge of his nose and around behind his head.
“What else did we do besides kiss?”
“That’s all I remember. I fell asleep,” he replied.
“The truth, Mr. Potter.”
“Kissing. That’s all.”
“I have a vial of Veritaserum right in my lab.”
“Kissing. That’s all,” he repeated.
“There will be no more kissing,” I scolded tenderly. “I am not your sheep to
command at will. Is that perfectly clear to you, Harry Potter?”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. I smoothed his damp hair, and he yawned.
“Sleep,” I ordered.
“Mm hmm,” he nodded. His fingers traced the edges of the velvety cloth.
“I don’t recommend you use your clairvoyance on that blindfold,” I said,
turning the lights up slightly.
“Why not?”
Suddenly he sat up right in bed, his mouth wide open.
“I told you not to,” I chuckled.
“That may be the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen,” he gulped, lying back
down.
“You need to get out more,” I replied, picking up the first book and starting
to sort.
“Ugh,” he commented, rolling onto his side away from me. “Ewwwww.”
“Stop focusing on it.”
“Ugh...” he repeated. I sat on the bed and gave him a small shove.
“What do you mean, ugh?”
“I’ll never be able to look Madam Hooch in the face again,” he told me.
“You go and drink half the punch bowl at the Faculty Yuletide Party and see how
stiff your resolve is,” I retorted.
“Not just your resolve,” he mused sleepily. “How could you? You were married.”
“Good night, Mr. Potter,” I growled.
“It might be useful,” he whispered.
“What’s that? For blackmail purposes, you mean? Not bloody likely. Neither
Hooch nor I have much money.”
“No. Tracking people.”
“Tracking what people?” I asked, starting with the book sorting again.
“People,” he whispered. I stared at the shape of his body under the covers,
wondering about pouncing on him and covering him with a pillow until he piped
down and fell to sleep. He was lost but for one shoulder and the hint of a hip.
Kissing. He had been so casual when he told me about it. Kissing? I was kissing
Harry Potter? Somewhere, James Potter was cursing my very existence. Maybe that
explained his surprise about the bath. Didn’t he remember any of the other
baths I had given him? If not, perhaps that was a good thing.
“What is it this time?” I asked as Harry sat up again and fumbled for the side
of the bed. I grabbed his knees and stood up slowly.
“We would find Voldemort!” he said excitedly, trying to take off the blindfold.
“Why can’t I get this stupid thing off?”
“It’s spelled, dear boy, to prevent you being able to remove it,” I said,
pushing him back against the bed. “It is time you were asleep.”
“But with this tracking, this clairvoyance! I have to talk to Dumbledore! Don’t
you see? We could find Voldemort! We could find Voldemort!”
“Harry, how can you be so naive? Don’t you think Albus Dumbledore already knows
he’ll be able to find Voldemort with your clairvoyant ability? Hmm? Don’t you
think a wizard as cunning and deep-of-thought as Albus Dumbledore already
struck upon that idea?”
“Oh.” Harry deflated slightly. “Doesn’t he want to start right away?”
“You have to be well enough to use the clairvoyance to its full ability. You
have to learn to control it.”
“He doesn’t trust me fully. He thinks I’m dangerous?”
“Mr. Potter, it is the Headmaster’s most fervent wish that you are very
dangerous,” I mused, pushing his shoulders back against the bed. He squirmed
around to sit up, and I put my hand on his forehead. “Dormi. Dormi sine
somnium. Dormi sine dolor. Somnus ingens aequor est. Bibe guttatim. Dormi.
Shhhh. Dormi sine somnium. Dormi.”
“What was ‘at?” Harry mumbled. He started to recognize the feeling as he sank
back against the covers. “You spelled me to sleep, didn’t you?”
“You would have preferred a mallet to the cranium instead?” I asked, caressing
through Harry’s wild locks where they were sticking up in half-dried tufts.
“But eye contact. Eye contact. Hermione said,” he complained. I covered his
mouth with my hand.
“Shut up and go to sleep, or I will smother you.”
I felt his lips open. Warm wetness greeted my palm. I yanked my hand away.
Harry gave a devious smile, chortling deeply as he flashed his ever-shrinking
canines at me.
“Shut up, go to sleep, and don’t you ever try to bite me again,” I warned in a
quiet whisper. Harry’s smile faded, and he began to breathe evenly. I pushed
him under the covers, propped up his head on his pillow, and returned to my
book sorting.
 
***** Cruel to be Kind *****
I awoke to an empty bed, and was momentarily disoriented as part of my brain
found this perfectly normal while the other half of my brain flew into wild
terror. I was upright and out of the covers in a flash, before I was even
awake.
"Harry!" I shouted.
The sound of splashing water in the bathroom calmed my heart. I hurried to the
door and tried the knob. It was locked. I found this befuddling because I had
never to my knowledge ever used the lock on this door, and hadn't been sure it
had been equipped with one until now.
"Professor? Is that you?" Potter called from inside.
"Who else were you expecting?" I asked grimly, leaning on the wooden barrier
and catching my breath.
"Oh, thank goodness," Harry continued. "I'm having a problem here."
"Mr. Potter, what are you doing out of bed?" I asked. From the echo in his
voice, I could tell he was either near the tub or actually sitting in it.
"I fancied a bath, and, well, you were sleeping, and I was sure I could do it
for myself. I feel like I smell terrible. Is that normal?"
"What seems to be the difficulty?" I asked.
"Aside from the fact I'm still wearing this stupid blindfold? I was fine for a
few minutes. I got dizzy though, and I feel so tired all of a sudden."
"Are you lying in the tub?"
"Yes, sir."
I retrieved my wand with a quick tug towards the side table, and tapped the
brass handle.
"Alohamora. What?" I added, stopped on the threshold by Harry's shrill cry of
protest.
"I'm naked!" he exclaimed.
"All the more reason I need to get you out of there, before you catch your
death in a cold. You should be in bed," I chided.
"You can't come in," he said. I opened the door and approached the tub, making
sure he saw I had my hand over my eyes. Of course, he couldn't tell because he
had the blindfold on yet. But I made the gesture nonetheless. "I can't believe
you barged in like that," he grumbled.
"Here," I muttered, handing him a towel. He snatched it from my grip, and slid
back down in the tub. I carefully peeled the soaking wet blindfold off his
face. “I don’t understand why you’re so completely embarrassed by your body.
It’s not as if you have extra parts or some horrible deformity. Besides, I have
seen you naked so often in the last couple of three weeks that frankly your
bare skin is rather everyday by now.”
“Sorry. I’m not so easy about being naked as all that. The water is moving up
and down. Why does it do that?”
"The tub has an anti-drowning spell on it."
"That's clever," Harry said softly.
"Are you decent?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
I opened my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring down at him. For
his part, Harry offered a meek smile and lowered his head, trembling under the
huge, green thing he held over his lap. He pulled the stopper in the bottom,
and the inch or two of water below the spell-line drained away with a gurgle
that echoed my growl of annoyance. I had to wonder, recalling myself at his
age, if he had come in here not for a bath but for masturbation privacy. I
lifted a second towel from the racks and knelt by the tub, putting it around
his shoulders.
"What's the matter with me?" he asked as I lifted him carefully under the knees
and back. I carried him to the bed and set him on the mangled covers that were
trailing on the floor. A quick glance at the timepiece told me it was around
five in the morning. Would the house elves be around in the kitchen yet? The
child must be hungry. I should get them to bring him something suitable,
something that would put some weight on him.
"You were bitten by—"
"Yes, I got that part," he nodded limply. "I'm so weak. One minute I'm fine,
but the next I can hardly draw in a breath."
"You're going to be like that for a few weeks. It will take you time to rebuild
your strength. Be patient. You’ve been mostly dead all month. My suggestion is
that you tell no one else about your condition besides those who already know."
"It's not what I expected," he said, putting one hand on his neck where the
eight marks left in him by Le Clair were continuing to heal.
"What were you expecting?" I asked, taking one of the towels away from him and
drying his hair in a slowly, meticulous manner that I hoped he didn't find
alarming or amusing, or arousing at all.
"In the movies...." he began, but stopped when I snorted.
"Fiction, Mr. Potter."
"Two holes, that's it. That's what I was expecting," he finished. I took one of
his hands into mine and dried it, then turned it over to expose the wrist.
"If Monsieur Le Clair were a cobra, perhaps," I demonstrated, poking with two
fingers at the main vein of his arm. "Certain proteins in a vampire's saliva do
mimic the anti-coagulant properties of several species of snakes and bats
alike, not to mention the lowly mosquito. However, a two-hole bite would do
very little towards Monsieur Le Clair's ultimate goal, that of drawing as much
blood out of you in as small an amount of time as possible."
"The more holes he can poke, the faster he can drink?"
"Precisely."
"There's got to be twenty of them," Harry muttered.
"Eight, actually," I corrected, letting go of one hand and taking up the
second. “He’s apparently grown two extra canine teeth on top and two on the
bottom. Or he’s filed down others.”
"Well it was rude, damned rude of him."
I nodded, making a consoling face.
"He scratched you," Harry remembered.
"Yes."
"You and Professor Volkova."
"Yes."
"Did it hurt?" he asked.
"Yes, immensely. You?"
"Thought I was gonna die, it hurt so bad," he replied in Hagrid's manner. "But
after a few seconds, it didn't hurt at all. It felt....it felt good."
"Were you afraid?" I asked.
"Only at first," he said. I moved the towel and my hands down his shoulders,
around his chest.
"Where did you leave your pajamas?" I asked, kneeling in front of him and
wrapping my towel around his waist, moving it side to side and up and down to
dry his back. He studied me, leaning slightly forward and opening his eyes
wider. I immediately let go of the towel and covered his face with my hands.
"Mr. Potter, one more charisma spell hits me, and I'm going to use an oculus
obscuro on you. Do I need to explain to you what that means?"
"I'm guessing it's not pretty."
"Oculus. Eyes. Obscuro. Venture a supposition, Mr. Potter."
"You'll blind me."
"Why don't you try asking for what you want instead of turning me into a sheep
at your command, hmm? Open your mouth and use the words, 'Professor, I would
like'," I murmured.
"Professor, I would like to know why you're helping me."
"I made a bargain with the Headmaster. If I saved your life, he wouldn't pursue
Henri Le Clair, or allow the resident vampire killer to do so."
"And if you don't save my life?"
"I agreed to go to Azkaban Prison, and happily."
"Who decides if you've saved me or not?"
"Facts speak for themselves, or at least they should. You aren't craving blood,
are you?"
"Um, no. But steak. Red meat. A big juicy steak sounds tempting. Is that bad?"
"No."
"Or sausages, perhaps?" His face lit with excitement at the thought.
"You can digest normal food. You have green eyes again. Your teeth are
relatively normal. Your skin is warm to the touch," I said, tugging my towel
out from behind him and parting his legs in order to dry them one at a time.
"You haven't levitated in nearly forty-eight hours. No. I stand corrected. I
believe being able to stick to the ceiling yesterday counts as levitating. As
for the charisma spell, I shall have to consult the texts Hermione brought you
to read, and see what I can do to remedy the matter. What she was doing with
these texts I have no idea.”
"The dreams. Will the dreams stop?"
"Which dreams? The precognitive ones?"
"No," Harry whispered, avoiding my eyes.
"You mean the sexual ones? Those particular dreams are a good sign."
"Are they?"
"It's your body's way of telling you to fight for your life, to extend your
life by procreation, to continue your blood line if at all possible."
"I'll really never be able to look Madam Hooch in the face again," Harry
confided. "That's your fault, you know? Dumb blindfold."
"Are all your fantasies linked to Quidditch?"
"No," he frowned. "Professor, I would like," Harry began, stopping mid-sentence
when my hands travelled a bit farther up his thigh than either of us planned
on.
"Sorry," I whispered, watching his face flush crimson on cream. "Go on. What
were you saying?"
"I would like to know why Dumbledore allowed Volkova to burn me."
"He was testing me, to see if I would run back to your rescue."
"Does he often hurt one person to test another?"
"Not often. Only when he deems it necessary, I hope."
"He wouldn't listen to me when I told him that Volkova was holding sway over
him. Told me I should relax and not fight them," Harry trembled. "I don't know
if I can trust him after what they did yesterday. I mean, every time I turn
around, I learn something else about him that makes me wonder. Really makes me
wonder."
"It's all right to wonder, but you must continue to trust the Headmaster. In
spite of his often-unpredictable methods, I truly believe that he has your best
interests at heart, Harry. He's not trying to hurt you. He cares about you very
much."
"How can you be sure?"
"I have my reasons. I've seen him with you. I've sensed the way he feels about
you. He loves you, and he wants to protect you."
"He needs me to defeat Voldemort."
"True."
"Is his affection for me based solely on the requirement, on the hope, that I
will defeat Voldemort?"
"No," I assured him. "Yesterday, well, yesterday was an example of him being
cruel to be kind."
Harry stared at me, and thoughts went through him that filled his eyes with
pity.
"He's done that to you? Been cruel to be kind."
"Yes, he has."
"Did he burn you?" Potter asked, rubbing his left palm with his right thumb.
"No," I smiled. "He took me to see Artemis McGonagall."
"She was very kind to me. What did she do to you?"
"She confined me under a suicide watch until I persuaded her I wouldn't kill
myself."
“That’s horrible.” Harry's eyes went wide. "How did you get away from her?"
"Secret mind-control technique. She has no idea to this day that I spelled
her," I whispered, touching my finger perpendicular to my mouth. "Shhh."
Harry nodded, another timid smile bending his mouth thin for a second.
"It's like Illumina, the way she divorced you. Was that being cruel to be
kind?"
"Yes, in her own way. Let's not talk about that, hm?" I pleaded, stroking down
with one calf with the towel before moving to the other. "I'm not good with
uncomfortable topics. If we're to get along until you are well enough to return
to the dorms, there are two topics I would like for you to avoid."
"Illumina?"
"That's one of them."
"As you wish. What's the second? My father?"
"No. We can talk about him all you like."
"What's the second topic?"
"Lie back and let me dry you off," I said, standing up in front of him. He
gazed up at me, vaguely alarmed at my request, but he lay back against the bed
as I had asked. "Where did you leave your pajamas?" I asked, moving my hands
gently between his legs. His beautiful skin went crimson clear to the neck, and
he closed his eyes. I had to touch him to dry him, it had to be done, but I
tried not to linger, nor to stroke him too roughly. I kept my eyes on his face,
but perhaps that wasn’t a good idea either. I found myself staring longingly at
his mouth.
"Dumbledore got attacked by roving fancies twice, eh?" the boy murmured,
fighting for a smile that made a meager appearance. He was trembling all over.
"They're in the bathroom."
"Roving fancies?" I tensed. So did my hand, thus tightening my grip on him.
"Pajamas," Harry gasped. I felt as if a jolt ran through my arm when he gasped.
"Sorry," I intoned, letting go of him.
Harry nodded. I took away both towels and walked quickly to the bathroom. When
I returned, he was under the covers, holding them up to his shoulders and
gazing at me with a suspicious expression.
"How long until I can go out in daylight?"
"I'm not sure."
"Uh oh."
"You see, to be very honest, although my recommended method of treatment for
victims of vampire bites has in fact worked before," I began.
"Hagrid told me so," Harry nodded.
"Yes, well, even though it's worked before, it seems that every patient has had
varying degrees of normalcy once the initial indicators were reversed."
"I may not be able to go back out in sunlight?"
"You'll be able to. It's a question of when, how much, how often, and what
precautions we must take to ensure that your condition does not become a matter
of gossip either around the school or in the wizarding world at large. I regret
to inform you you've already made the front page of the Daily Prophet at least
once while you've been ill. If you step outside and begin to sizzle, the cat
will be out of the bag."
"You have any sun-screening potions?" Harry asked.
"As a matter of fact, I have many. Arms," I ordered, holding up the pajama
tops. "Harry?"
A wide yawn greeted me. Potter raised his arms, and I slid the silken material
onto him while being careful not to touch his sides or his back.
"I might sleep a while more," Harry said.
"A capital idea. I very much approve. But I thought you were set on sausages?"
"Later. Professor, I would like—"
Another yawn stopped him. I waited patiently, trying to figure out how I was
going to get pajama bottoms on a seated person buried under layers of blankets.
"What would you like?" I asked blandly.
"My glasses. Everything's so blurry."
“After you sleep a while more.”
Harry agreed, snuggling down under the covers and stretching his long legs.
"Mr. Potter," I intoned, holding up the bottoms.
"Couldn't I just–"
"No, you may not lie around half naked," I said crossly, thrusting them under
the covers from the side. "Put them on. Don't make me get my wand."
Harry disappeared under the covers and fumbled with the pajama bottoms. One set
of toes jumped out of the side of the covers, and the naked inside of his knee
emerged teasingly. When he settled on his back once more, having drawn on the
clothing, I sat carefully next to him. I was so very grateful that he did not
flinch or scoot away. It took me several seconds to push away the mental image
of his naked thighs.
"Which side of the bed do you prefer?" I asked. He waited a beat, and a quirky
grin sprang up.
"The outside, of course."
"Move over, discipulus horrendus."
"You're calling me dirty names in Latin, aren't you?" Harry asked.
"Discipulus. Pupil. Student. Disciple, if you must. I gather you can figure out
the second by yourself?"
"Horrendus. Yeah. I know what that means," Harry whispered, scooting over to
the right. I moved under the blankets, breathing in the wonderful clean scent
of him, and decided I'd better keep a respectful distance between us if I had
any sense. He was the one to burrow against me. "How would I say 'pointy-nosed
git' in Latin?" he asked.
"Nasus idem rostrum?"
"What does that mean?"
"Nose like the front of a ship."
"Nas-oos ee-dehm rohs-trum."
"Nasus idem rostrum," I repeated. He closed his eyes.
"Na-zeus eat'em row-strum."
"Nasus magnus," I whispered. Harry put his head on my shoulder and wrapped up
in my arms.
"Tell me the sleep spell," he said. I watched him with wary eyes.
"So you can knock me out?" I smirked.
"No. I just want to learn it."
"Wait. Did you say 'learn' and 'want' in the same sentence? Let me try very
hard not to die of shock."
"What's the spell?" he persisted sleepily.
"Dormi."
"Dor-mee."
"Dormi sine somnium."
"What does it mean?" Harry asked.
"I will teach you another time," I promised. "Rest now."
"Dormi. Dormi sine somnium," Harry repeated, dropping back into slumber.
Seconds later, his eyes opened to greenish slits. One arm went around my
shoulders, the other around my waist. He brushed his nose to mine, one side and
slowly the other. "Professor?"
"What would you like?" I inquired, mastering the shiver in my limbs, and
desperately attempting to banish the mental thought of his bare thighs again.
The thought was utterly shattered by the feeling of his mouth against my cheek.
"Thank you." Harry dribbled the words delicately against my rough skin. I could
feel his breath. I could feel his lips. My heart stilled in my chest. His mouth
brushed mine, wet upon dry, before his head ducked under my chin shyly.
"My pleasure," I rasped. He moved as if to kiss me again, and a jolt ran
through us both. He pulled back from me and puzzled briefly.
“Why do you keep shocking me?” he asked.
“I’m not shocking you,” I insisted. “But you felt it too?”
“Could we be imagining it?” he asked.
“It’s probably the cold air. There’s lots of electricity in the air in winter,”
I replied.
 
***** Room Service *****
"This is not the food that I sent for," I said, holding the tray of food that
had arrived from the kitchens. "Nor are you my usual house elf," I added,
giving Malchik a cold, icy stare.
"The Mistress bid me bring this to him," Volkova's house elf said, bouncing a
quick bow.
“I’ve been waiting for the books about her family history for three days. Will
she send them soon?”
“Yes, soon. She would like to see Mr. Potter first.”
"Tell me what's on the tray," I said, delaying her as Harry emerged from the
bedroom, walking slowly and carefully towards the nearest horizontal surface,
which happened to be a chair.
"Hi, Malchik," he said happily. "Oh, sausages!" The elf darted past me and ran
for him. I threw the tray into the air and caught the edge of her cloak. She
seized one of Harry's hands, putting her small face in his palm. I let go of
her cloak and stared at the tray. It was floating a foot from the floor. All
the plates were a kilter, but nothing had spilled.
"Oh, master!" the elf cried, trembling on just this side of ecstasy.
"Nice to see you too," Harry said, completely embarrassed. Malchik pecked
several kisses to his hand before standing next to him, holding onto both his
hands. I believe she’d’ve clasped him about the knees if it were at all
feasible. She sniffed at him, touching his chin.
"Canis Capellum?" she questioned. Harry looked to me, and I nodded. I lifted
the tray, and the plates aligned themselves accordingly. Malchik crept a hand
over Harry's bite, and watched his face as she focused her magic into it.
Potter went all shivery. "Cleansing potions. Anti-venom salve. What about the
restorative draught? The necessary ingredients have to extraordinarily pure."
"I didn't realize you were familiar with the healing arts," I said dryly,
putting the tray in the air right next to Harry. I meant to peel Malchik off of
him if necessary.
"Out of necessity, yes," she replied. She touched Harry's burnt palm, rubbing
soothingly. "Poor child. Poor child. The Mistress was very distressed that she
hurt you, even more that she frightened you."
"You and she work well as a team," Harry said. He withdrew one hand from
Malchik's grasp, his smile widening to a wicked curve on one side. "Perhaps
you'd like to stay and talk a while?"
"No. I don't mean to intrude," Malchik refused. "You should eat, and you need
to rest. How long can you stay awake at one go?"
"He's up to three hours today," I commented. Harry continued to hold Malchik's
hand, though she was trying to pull it from his grasp. She was growing afraid
on him. What had she sensed?
"I think you should stay," he said, lowering his voice and gazing at her
intently. "Tell me what's on the tray? Any more holy water?"
"No," Malchik promised, finally managing to pry her hand away. She put both
hands on the tie he had given her, which hung loosely around her narrow neck.
She bobbed to Harry and took several careful steps back from him. Harry picked
up one bowl, holding it in his grasp. Malchik was going pale. "Mr. Potter is
concentrating his clairvoyance," she said nervously.
"Dobby made the soup under Professor Volkova's direction," Harry told me.
"Nothing harmful."
"I'll be going. But if you need anything, call for me. I will hear you,"
Malchik stammered.
"The biscuits are from Volkova's own stock. Her favorites. Clear from Venice."
"Not too sweet. Easy on the stomach," Malchik promised, taking another step
nearer to the fireplace floo, and sure escape. Potter picked up one of three
goblets on the tray and removed the cover.
"A blessing cup from the altar at the Shrine of Our Lady of Sorrows," Harry
smiled wickedly. "It's the church where Anna was baptised. She's friends with
the Father. He gave her the cup as a gift for exorcisizing one of his church
members."
"She slipped you altar wine?" I gasped. “Don’t touch it! It will burn your
insides like fire," I warned.
"It's going to be hard to keep secrets from you, isn't it, Mr. Potter?" Malchik
asked. Harry sniffed at the wine, swirling the reddish liquid around in its
confines.
“No. It’s not altar wine. Only the cup is sacred,” Harry said. Malchik
trembled, stepping forward again nervously.
“But you can hold a blessed object and the metal does not burn. That is a good
sign. It’s a very good sign,” she whispered, her eyes wide and round. I moved
to scoop up the goblet, but Harry pulled it away from me, turning the cup to
the light.
"Volkova will continue to test me until she believes I am cured, won't she?"
Harry asked. Malchik was shame-faced and scared.
“Yes, Mr. Potter. It is her duty. She must do what is commanded of her.”
“Commanded by whom?” Harry wanted to know. Malchik quickly snatched the goblet
away from Harry, vanishing it into nothingness. Harry stood up, looming over
her.
"I most humbly apologize," Malchik said, bowing to Harry. At that moment, an
intense pain went through my Dark Mark. I had to sit down, holding my other
hand over the throbbing, stabbing, molten anger in my arm.
"How's your scar?" I faced Potter. He swayed visibly and dropped back to his
chair. He went through the motion of putting hand over his right eye, blinking
dizzily. It was as if he wasn't sure where to find his head, let alone his
scar. "That's what I thought," I added.
"Master?" Malchik murmured, taking Harry's left hand and holding onto it. "What
is it?"
Harry lifted his head.
"He wants to talk to you," Potter told me. I nodded, and the boy's face lit up
with fear. "You can't go," he whispered.
"I have no choice," I replied. "You," I commanded Malchik, who shrank
momentarily from the sound of my harsh voice. "You are bound by magic to
protect your master, are you not?"
"Yes, I am," she replied, bowing quickly.
"You must stay right where you are until I return. You must remain and protect
your Master," I said, indicating Harry. Potter looked ready to protest, not
understanding what I was doing. "You must let no one cross this threshold until
I return."
"Please, Professor. You can't go," Harry pleaded.
"No one can cross the threshold until I return," I repeated to Malchik. The
little elf stroked Harry's hand, bobbing to me.
"I will protect my master," she promised.
***** The Dark Lord's Ultimatum *****
I crossed the threshold back into my quarters later that night, after having
been gone a considerable part of the day. The bedroom door was closed, and
seated outside on the floor was Professor Volkova. She jumped upright at my
graceless entrance. When she saw it was me, she put away the ornamental dagger
she had been holding as a weapon.
"You look as if you've walked through Hell with bare feet," she greeted me.
I smirked at her tiredly– it was all I had left in me.
"Is there any point to asking who let you in here?" I wondered.
"Malchik and I traded places," she replied simply.
"I told her that no one could enter through the door. She was bound by magic,"
I protested.
"I didn't enter through the door," Anna murmured, fighting a weak smile.
"Next time I will be more specific," I muttered. "Why exactly does your house
elf call Mr. Potter 'Master'?" I wanted to know.
"You must forgive her. The poor dear is very much infatuated with him."
I barely bit back the words on my tongue: "And he ain't the only one."
"Can I ask where you've been, or should I not?" she said.
"You should not," I answered. "Where is Mr. Potter?"
"He locked himself in the bedroom when I appeared," she frowned.
"Did he eat?" I asked.
"No. He was quite disturbed by your absence."
"Is he asleep?"
"I don't know. He isn't responding to me, if that's any indication. Perhaps
he's ignoring me. I thought I might have heard voices, but to my knowledge,
he's in there alone. No one has crossed the threshold but for you, just as you
ordered. Am I free to leave?"
"Tell your house elf thanks for nothing. Fine guard she makes," I snarled.
"Malchik did the best she could," Volkova replied.
"In the future, Professor, don't interfere with the trays of food I order for
my patient."
"I'm sorry about the sacramental cup. His clairvoyance is growing stronger. I
never dreamed he’d be able to read from it, but I couldn’t take the chance he
would see.”
“See what?”
“I brought you the books you wanted,” she said, motioning to the divan. “I must
ask you not to damage or copy them.”
"Thank you. I’ll try to remember that. You clearly know the way in. Do you want
me to show you the way out?"
"I need to know if you have decided when you wish to proceed with the splitting
of Ivan's Charm."
"Did you meet with Mrs. Dursley about her donation?"
"I did. She refused."
"Did you explain it could be hair, blood, skin, or nails?"
"She refused them all."
"How hard did you try to convince her?"
At this, Volkova gave a ghastly glimmer of a smile.
"The donation must be made willingly, and I employed my more persuasive charms,
but she is clearly not concerned one way or the other about Mr. Potter's well-
being."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"I had of course thought to employ other methods of procurement. Following her
to the cleaners would perhaps reward us with hair, for example."
"Cleaners?" I questioned.
"Muggle house elves, of a sort. You take your laundry to them. You pay them a
small sum of money. You return later that day or that week, and your laundry is
returned to you. It is cleaned and pressed, hung on hangers, wrapped neatly in
plastic wrap. They even repair small rips or tears if you request such
services."
"Really?" I murmured. "You have had some experience in the Muggle world?"
"When it's been necessary, but not often. I know enough to survive. Clearly I
was there too often if your ‘friend’ was able to uncover my past in September."
"Are you sure Mrs. Dursley will not yield to our simple request?"
"Yes. Shall I determine which cleaners she prefers and attempt to gain access
to her laundry?"
"No. To begin with, she has seen you, and she will remember your accent if not
your face. Secondly, we would no doubt get any number of hairs off the clothes.
There's no way to determine which would be hers, and which would belong to
other members of the family."
"The sheer size of the rest of her family, not to mention the gender, would
make it quite easy to determine to whom the clothing and the hairs belonged.
Wouldn't hair from the cousin work? It has the same bloodline as the mother."
"But if the clothes are all jumbled in one bag, the samples will be tainted.
What I want is a pristine donation from her, one directly from her, which no
middle man or woman. No. I prefer not to use the cousin's hair or blood. Odious
child."
"I'm only trying to help," Anna protested quietly. She stifled a yawn, and
shook her head. "I must turn in. If I come up with any other ideas, I will let
you know."
"Surely," I said, pointing to the door. She stepped towards the fireplace
instead. I saw Dumbledore's head lurking about, giving off a peeved aura.
"Severus? About time you returned. Will you ascend, or shall I descend?"
"If you would be so kind," I said tiredly. Dumbledore popped out of the
fireplace, dusting himself off. Only he could emerge from the floo so
gracefully.
"You got him to come out?" Dumbledore smiled at Volkova, straightening his
cloak end.
"Nyet. Not a peep in at least an hour. Good night, Professors."
She stepped into the fireplace and vanished, but to where? As far as I knew, my
dungeon was not connected to the Dark Arts instructor's quarters. Perhaps
Malchik had attached my fireplace to the internal floo network at Hogwarts?
Meddlesome pest.
"The heads would like to petition for a change of scenery," Dumbledore told me.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The shrunken heads on your bookshelf. They asked me for a change of scenery."
"Did they?"
"They'd look splendid in the Dark Arts classroom, and they'd be helpful as
well," Dumbledore agreed.
"They spoke to you?" I asked him.
"Weren't they supposed to?" he replied.
"We had a fight, and they haven't talked to me since."
"How long ago?"
"A decade at least."
"I didn't realize you still had them," Dumbledore smiled.
"Of course I do."
"May they go to the Dark Arts classroom?" he asked. "Or perhaps to my office.
Plenty of portraits for them to talk to there."
"If they so desire. But tell them to mind their manners, and to remember what
happened to Zomba."
"I don't understand."
"They will," I smirked evilly. I heard a click behind me. The bedroom door
opened a sliver. One bleary green eye, rimmed in spectacles, peered out at me.
A flash of movement raced across the room. Harry wrapped himself into my arms,
burying his face in my chest.
"You're back," Harry shivered. "I was so afraid he'd never let you leave. You
can't go back. I won't let you go back. It's too risky."
Storm clouds gathered in Dumbledore's brow.
"Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said ominously. "Kindly quit mauling Professor
Snape, and give us some privacy in which to talk."
"I dreamed about their meeting," Harry said, gazing with extreme mistrust at
the Headmaster. "I know exactly what Voldemort said to him. So if you're trying
to protect me from the truth, it's too late."
I bowed my head in an effort not to smile. Dumbledore cleared his throat and
frowned at Potter.
"Harry, I hold you in very great affection, but if you continue to take that
tone with me, I'll have no choice but to punish you."
"Perhaps you could have a giant hold me still while your vampire killer burns
my hand," Harry challenged coldly, circling to my side away from Dumbledore.
"Or maybe you could lock me in a dark cupboard for another eleven years."
"Harry," Dumbledore cautioned.
"Harry," I scolded. He lowered his head, leaning against my arm. I could feel
the warmth of his skin through my cloak. "Go in the bedroom. Start a bath."
"I don't want a bath," he sulked.
"I do," I replied. He let go of my hand and headed for the bedroom, closing the
door behind himself.
"What has gotten into that boy?" Albus asked, frustrated.
"He's upset with you because you let Volkova burn him, and you can hardly blame
him."
"Tell me what happened when you met with Voldemort. What was Harry referring
to?"
"At present, the Dark Lord is too physically ill to do much more than plan."
"What is he planning? What did he say that has disturbed Harry so?"
"He knew the manner of Mr. Potter's injury, because Le Clair's bite also made
Voldemort sick. But as Harry recovers, so will the Dark Lord."
"I understand that."
"Voldemort also knows you mean to keep the boy a virgin in order to heighten
his powers."
"There's no danger in him knowing that is my plan. It's long been the custom of
mentors to recommend the practice to their more serious, more talented pupils.
I doubt learning this took Tom by complete surprise."
"I was given an ultimatum."
"What ultimatum?"
"I can...." I searched for the correct word, and chose the least distasteful
one I could think of on short notice. "I can either deflower Mr. Potter, or I
can die. I have one week."
"I guess you'll have to die then, won't you?" Dumbledore said. I caught my
breath in a choking sound. Albus put his hand on my shoulder and began to
chuckle. "Relax, my boy. That was a joke."
"I'm glad to see your sense of humor hasn't suffered under pressure," I replied
icily. "The Dark Lord hasn't figured out that Harry is developing clairvoyant
abilities. How can he know all else but not feel these growing powers?"
"Perhaps because the clairvoyance is tied to what parts of Harry are truly
Harry, and Tom has access only to those parts of Harry that he has, how to say
this, influenced."
"This may prevent him from learning about Potter's clairvoyance?"
"Not for long, I'm afraid," Dumbledore mused. "You can be sure when Voldemort
figures out what we have in our favor, he's likely to redouble his efforts
against Mr. Potter. Has Harry told you what he can do?"
"He can sense things about people by touching their personal items."
"Yes."
"He can sense things about people by touching them," I admitted.
"Mm hmm," Dumbledore hummed, raising a brow and waiting.
“He’s very eager to be your bloodhound,” I reported, angry to my core. “He
wants to find Voldemort for you.”
"I dare say Harry's already able to track Voldemort most of the time because of
his scar, and because of his precognitive dreams. I'm more concerned that Harry
learns to track where other people are, and what other people are doing," Albus
said.
"You mean to train him as a bloodhound to root out Voldemort's followers?"
"Wonderful plan, isn't it?"
"Have you lost your mind?!" I shouted. Dumbledore frowned at me, and I
immediately lowered my voice. "The boy already has enough to deal with," I
began.
"Severus, I know exactly where my mind is," Albus replied, narrowing his eyes
at me. "I know you're under a lot of pressure, not only with trying to help Mr.
Potter recover, but in dealing with what Voldemort demanded of you tonight, but
I simply must insist you not give up all hope. There will be a way through this
without resorting to violence or fornication."
"If I don't do as the Dark Lord has asked, he will kill me and assign someone
else to the task. I dare say there are those among his followers who are fairly
clamoring for the honor. Harry must be guarded at all times. I mean it this
time, Albus. He must not be allowed to wander anywhere alone. Not at Hogwarts.
Not at Hogsmeade. It is absolutely imperative that he not be sent to the
Muggles this summer."
"How is Harry recovering? Let that be our first concern. We will worry about
summer when it arrives. Besides, his aunt isn’t budging from her edict of last
summer. She doesn’t want him back in her house. You may not tell him that. It
would wound him terribly. Tell me how he is progressing."
"The reversal is almost complete, except for the charisma spell. He's
physically depleted of strength, but if you give him time to regain it, he will
no doubt do so."
"Splendid."
"You must not push the boy."
"I'm not pushing The Boy," Dumbledore defended peevishly.
"He has enough to adapt to. You cannot push him into concentrating on this
clairvoyance at the risk of impeding his life or his health."
"Perhaps you've forgotten that we don't have the luxury of awaiting a time and
a place that is convenient and comfortable for us all."
"No, I have not forgotten."
"A talent like this could be invaluable in defeating Voldemort, and if Harry
has to be asked to push himself a bit harder than usual, I'm sure he will
understand that I would never ask him to do so if it weren't mortally
necessary. I don't know if Harry will keep this clairvoyant inclination for
long. We have to act while we know we have the advantage. It may be necessary
to push Harry more than we would like to have to."
"Just like you found it necessary to endanger the Longbottoms and the Potters?"
I asked, keeping my voice low.
"You tread too deep, Severus, and I will not stand for it," Dumbledore
murmured. "I want you to train Harry while he recovers."
"When he is well enough that it will not endanger his health, I'll be more than
happy to find a proper tutor for this talent."
"I want you to train him, as soon as possible."
"But I have no experience as a clairvoyant tracker."
"Illumina does."
"WHAT?!" I bellowed.
"She could tell you how best to proceed with Mr. Potter. She might even be
willing to help you. I like the way Harry is responding to you, to your
attentions. Not Those Intentions," he added, giving me a dark look. "I want you
to understand that I am trusting you with Mr. Potter because you have never
given me reason to doubt you. See that doesn't change."
"Headmaster, I am not the proper tutor for this talent. Even Sibyll Trelawney
would be a better mentor in this than I would be."
My protests fell on deaf ears. The bedroom door clicked, and Harry peeked back
out.
"Your bath is ready," he said to me.
"Goodnight, Harry. I will see you tomorrow. I think you're well enough for
visitors, aren't you?" the Headmaster said, pulling down the curtain of
benevolence once more.
"I guess so," Harry replied. Dumbledore reached into his pocket and produced a
handful of lemon drops. He lifted his hand to Harry, and very slowly, Potter
reached over and drew one out. He put it into his mouth, sucking quietly. "I'm
sorry I snapped at you," he murmured, staring at the floor.
"I'm sorry you did too," Albus chuckled, popping one of the lemon drops into
his mouth and sticking the rest back into his pocket. He patted Harry on top of
the head, and headed back into the fireplace. Harry stood next to me, sucking
away. The scent of lemons drifted into the quiet room. It was accompanied by
the merest trace of another scent, one that was almost, but not quite,
intangible. I furrowed my brow. Was I smelling a calming potion?
"He’s a perfect nutter, isn't he?" Potter asked.
"He’s a brilliant sorcerer," I replied. "Do you mind? Would you let me have
that?" I asked, putting my hand in front of his mouth. Harry gave the candy
another small suck, and carefully pursed his lips, letting it slip into my
palm.
"He could be a brilliant sorcerer and a perfect nutter," Harry hummed grimly.
"Can I ask what you're going to do with that?" he added.
"No," I said bluntly, walking through the bedroom and opening the secret lab. I
grasped a vial off the table and put the lemon drop inside, closing the lid.
"Um, Professor?"
"Yes? What?"
"How many roving fancies was Professor Dumbledore bitten by?"
"I don't know. But McGonagall swears they pulled at least two hundred off him
the second time. She and your father."
"Really? So, Dumbledore used to go on missions for the Order as well?"
"Yes," I nodded. "Until McGonagall put her foot down and insisted that he
stop."
"Are you hungry? You haven't eaten. The stuff on the tray is still warm.
Malchik spelled it to stay hot until I ate it. There are several species of
sausages," he added happily.
"Bath first. Food second. Talk intermittently," I ordered, pushing him outside
of the lab and closing the door once more. "While I'm thinking of it," I
paused, taking his right hand.
"What?" Harry stopped with me, puzzled. I put his hand against the stone that
opened the lab.
"Look away please," I insisted. Potter focused on the far wall as I held my
hand over his, and tapped the stone with my wand. Curiosity got the better of
him. When I faced him again, green eyes studied me. I put away my wand, taking
his hand off the wall.
"It felt all tingly," he whispered, examining his hand.
"In case of emergencies, you have access to this lab, but only under the strict
proviso that you not abuse the privilege. By emergency, I mean that you are
bleeding profusely, that you have had a limb hacked off, that you have a gaping
head wound, that you have a hoard of screeching weevils attached to your bodily
organs, that you are being chased by a pack of hungry wolves. Do you understand
me?"
"Mm hm," Harry replied. "Screeching weevils?"
"Never you mind. Where are you going?"
"Bath," Harry said.
"You go sit in the front room and eat half of the contents of that tray. I will
join you in fifteen minutes."
"You don't want help?"
I pointed into the front area, and he sighed heavily, but he did head in the
appropriate direction. I closed the door, and locked it. It wasn't five minutes
before I heard his voice outside.
"Professor?"
"What?"
"You've an urgent owl."
"From whom?"
"Doctor Tiamat Mesarik."
"Cousin Timma? Slip it under the door."
"Too thick."
I unlocked the lock, and put a hand outside the door. He put the note into my
hand.
"There's a jar on the mantle. Give her owl one of the pearls inside."
I sat in the tub of hot water, pushing aside the bubbles the boy had seen fit
to put into the water, and opened the letter from my cousin.
 
***** My Walk *****
Chapter Notes
     warning for kissing
"Master, I don't understand what you're asking me to do."
"No, Severus, I believe you have every idea what I'm asking," Voldemort gave a
cold sneer. He worked his way up into a seated position, looking grim and weak.
I lowered my head, and pretended not to notice how drawn and exhausted he
obviously was.
"I am under constant watch by the Headmaster. What you ask cannot be done
without him finding out. Surely you know this."
"I expect Dumbledore to find out, Severus," the Dark Lord sneered again. "If
you can at all manage it, I'd like for him to watch."
Wormtail smirked as he shuffled over to us, bearing a goblet in his silver
hand.
"It's time for your draught, Master," Peter intoned, part nurse-maid and part
simpering servant. But who was I to cast about stones? Wasn't that my role as
well?
I shook away the words and thoughts, rolling onto my other side. I needed to
sleep. I needed to rest. Even here in my quarters, Voldemort intruded on my
life. He fought his way back into my dreams and thoughts.
The darkened bedroom at Riddle Estates had smelled like dust and the sweaty-
metal of human blood. The decanter on Voldemort's bedside had been filled with
a thick liquid that made me uneasy. Should I warn him about the exact amounts
of blood and restorative draught that could be safely consumed together? No
matter. I was certain he knew better than me, or at least felt he did.
Voldemort emptied the goblet Pettigrew had brought. In the interim between
gulps, Peter eyed me with utter distaste. I found it amusing that of all
people, this traitor, this vile creature, should think himself above me. How
utterly fascinating the deranged mind was, with its clever, self-preserving
intricacies, that this man could feel himself above me.
"Seven days, Severus. I expect the task to be completed in seven days,"
Voldemort informed me, thrusting the goblet at Wormtail. "Bring more."
Pettigrew hurried away.
"Seven days?" I protested. "You're not giving me enough time. It's unseemly.
It's indecent."
"Did I tell you to propose marriage? To wine and dine? To seduce?"
"No," I mumbled.
"NO!" Voldemort shouted as loudly as his strength allowed. "No! I told you to
make certain Mr. Potter is no longer a virgin, and that Dumbledore cannot
profit from his magic. I want you to either do it yourself, or see that someone
else does it. Or you can bring him to me, and I will have it done by someone
whose tastes turn to that. I don't care who does it, as long as in one week's
time, you are standing before me with Potter in hand, ready for the taking, or
you are recounting to me every last detail of what occurred. I want to know
that his magic will begin to diminish."
"It's not a proven fact that once I do this his magic will diminish."
"It will put my mind at ease," Voldemort growled. "He’s growing, Severus. I
have felt his strength increasing daily, nay hourly, and what I have felt makes
me ill with dread."
"Master, this is most injudicious. A week? If I had more time, I could do this
properly," I cautioned.
"How long could it possibly take? He remains a virgin until you penetrate him,
or he penetrates you."
"But, Master, what you ask of me," I shook my head.
"When are you ever going to have a better opportunity? He is in your care, in
your rooms, in your very bed. Roll him over, stick the appendage of your choice
inside him, and be done with it!"
I hung my head, unable to speak. Voldemort drank the second goblet that
Wormtail brought him.
"Would you care for anything to eat, Master?" Peter asked.
"Something light," Voldemort growled at him. Once Pettigrew disappeared again,
the Dark Lord surveyed me, and he could not have helped but sense my distress.
"If you find the idea of this task too distasteful, bring the boy to me. Or
take him to one of our friends. Bellatrix expressed a desire to help you in any
way you needed her. But I thought that you would be eager, Severus, given the
past between yourself and Master Malfoy. I felt you might even have gained some
pleasure from the task, knowing how the boy has been a nuisance to you. Rape
isn’t about sex, Severus, it’s about power. Perhaps I have misjudged you.
Having power over Harry Potter doesn’t appeal to you?"
He leveled a deadly eye at me, and a smile wove his face that made my blood run
cold.
"Could it be caring for the boy has engendered in you a certain affection for
him?"
I looked away, crossing my arms over my chest. Voldemort chuckled.
"No. Of course not. I don't mean to impede your sense of honor, Severus. You
would never find yourself in the position of actually caring about the child of
James Potter, no matter how long you might have to care for the brat. I did not
mean to wound you."
"You haven't wounded me," I replied, making it clear from my tone that indeed
he had.
Voldemort chuckled again, highly amused with my display.
"He certainly has changed his mind about you. I have seen into his dreams,
Severus. I have seen what he wants you to do to him, only he's too afraid to
ask. You might be shocked."
"I doubt it."
"You might even be afraid."
"I fear nothing," I sniffed.
"We all have our fears," Voldemort mused smoothly. "I have wounded you, haven't
I? What a sensitive pride you have! Come now. Don't leave angry. Let us come to
an understanding. Can you or can you not do what I have asked? I have no
problem with you arranging for someone else to do it, one of our friends, if
you find the idea distasteful or dangerous, so long as in one week's time, I am
able to hear the tale of Mr. Potter's virginity being taken. Do you understand
me, Severus?"
"I understand, Master," I replied.
"I know you won't disappoint me," Voldemort smiled, arrogance and amusement
gilding his red eyes a golden color around the edges. He took my nearest hand
and tugged me closer to his bed. "I believe you know what's at stake if you
fail me, don't you?"
"I won't fail you," I murmured, bowing to him. He released my hand, and I kept
bowing as I backed out of the room. Once I was away, I would have more time to
consider the task at hand.
The 'task' was all I could carry in my mind at once. It weighed me down and
chased away my sleep. I sat up slowly in bed, putting a hand on the indistinct
form that was molded next to me. I had inadvertently grasped his hip. Harry
gave a startled peep, and sat up beside me.
"You can't sleep either. You've been tossing about," he said, taking my hand
and holding it in his own. I replied a nod, wondering when the fireplace had
gone out. The chill was climbing tangibly up the floor and onto the covers.
When Harry breathed, trails of cold air whispered around him. He moved to stand
up, sliding across my lap. I put a hand on his other side as he swung his legs
over the bed.
"The floor will be cold," I cautioned.
"I know," he smiled.
"You must take care of your health," I said deeply. For a long moment, I held
him in place, imagining all the things that Voldemort had suggested. How easy
it would be, I pondered with one arm around the boy, to push him back against
the bed, to muffle his cries with my hand, to pull off his clothes and be done
with this task as quickly as possible. What sounds would he make? Would he
enjoy it quick and fast? He was sixteen. I could probably be done with him
inside of five minutes. All I had to do was breathe heavy in his ear. By his
own admission, Harry had done nothing more than kiss. I let my mind consider
it, if only briefly.
"One of us has to be up to start the fire," Harry replied, slipping over my lap
with a teasing motion that made all sense of reason vanish from my mind.
Potter's bare feet pattered on the cold floor.
I stood out of bed and followed him, retrieving my wand off the side table. I
aimed the wand at the fireplace. Flames should have appeared at once. Instead,
nothing. Harry felt his way towards the aperture, knocking over the fireplace
utensils.
"Light would be helpful," he said meaningfully. I put down my wand and found
him in the darkness.
"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing and holding him still.
"Trying to build a fire," he replied. I turned him around by the shoulders
rather roughly.
"Can't you obey me, just once?"
"What?"
"Get your backside in that bed this very instant," I bellowed at him. Harry
caught his breath, stepping back slightly. Anger quickly replaced his fear
though.
"You don't have to scream at me," he replied. “I’m not deaf.”
“Get back in bed.” I pushed him towards the mattress and made him sit down.
"I was trying to make myself useful," he added. I lifted the covers, and waited
for him to crawl back under them. He did so very begrudgingly. I tucked the
covers in around him with great care, trying to keep my temper in check. I
picked up my wand once more, and headed back for the fireplace.
"Think I'm going to spend a month curing you of vampirisis only to have you die
from pneumonia?" I muttered, putting fresh logs on the hearth. One poke from my
wand caused nascent flames to lick and tickle around their edges. It would soon
be a cozy fire.
"Could we go outside?" he asked.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" I asked. He glanced at the timepiece on
the nightstand and nodded. "You're in no condition to be outside. There was a
forecast for snow," I went on.
"I'm feeling cooped up. You must be too. I want to go and stretch," he pleaded.
"It's the dead of night."
"No one will be around. There’ll be no sunlight to worry about, least ways," he
persuaded with a fetching smile. "I want to go outside," he pleaded.
"Stay in bed. I will find socks and slippers for you. You will have to borrow a
cloak."
He cheered quietly, bouncing up and down once or twice, and scooted over to the
side of the bed. He tossed the covers aside quite capriciously. I frowned at
him, and lifted his chin.
"But I want you to understand, this in no way means I'm giving into you."
"Of course not, sir."
"Because I could use a stretch myself, and it has been a long day. I'm
overtired and can't sleep. This is not your walk. I'm taking you along on my
walk. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are not going to get everything you want from me. You will not bend me
around your finger, so don't even try. I am completely immune to your ruffled
manner of charm. Utterly immune. You are getting this walk because I want it.
It's mine. My walk."
"Mm hmm. I understand," Harry smiled. I fingered his chin, stroking with my
thumb.
"Where are your glasses?" I asked. He pointed to the bedside table. "You
mustn't forget them. Can't have you bumping into walls and doors."
"Yes, sir," Harry whispered, his voice deepening. I caressed his bottom lip and
bent down to his level, covering his mouth with mine. The kiss I demanded was
quick and bruising. I meant only to suck on him for a couple seconds and pull
away. But he opened his mouth without any prompting on my part. I pushed my
tongue inside, darting it roughly against his several times, pushing his mouth
open even wider. He gave a shivery moan, followed by a quick jump. He jolted
back from me, and stared at me in surprise.
“Did you shock me?” he asked.
“Did I what?” I questioned. “Did I shock you?”
“Kiss me again,” he said. I bent down to touch my mouth to his, and I felt the
next jolt. I let go of him, and stepped slightly back.
“Did you shock me? he asked, peeved.
"No," I said brusquely. “Did you shock me?” I asked.
"What’s going on?” he pouted his disappointment. I strode over to his clean
clothes and rummaged through them, withdrawing a pair of socks.
"I told you before. It’s probably electricity in the cold air. Put these on," I
said, tossing them to him. "I'll wait for you by the door."
                                      ***
Thirty minutes later, high in the Astronomy Tower, Potter was beginning to
fade. He yawned, stood closer to me in front of the waist-high wall, and leaned
against my shoulder. The pressure was slight at best, but I could feel it
nonetheless. The navigation of the darkened corridors, prepared a junction at a
time by a Nox spell, had been difficult enough for him, but the climb up the
Tower had utterly exhausted him. We stared wordlessly up and across at
Gryffindor Tower, where a dim candle could be seen wandering back and forth in
the Common Room. Would Potter even be able to climb to his bedroom in this
state? I doubted it. I had a suspicion I would be carrying him back to the
dungeons, half asleep as he was.
"Now which delinquent miscreant Gryffindor do you suppose is wandering around
in the Common Room at this hour?" I asked him. He squinted at the windows, and
a second candle appeared.
"Can't tell at this distance," Harry replied. He gazed around the school
grounds, reaching up to rub under his glasses. I had covered him from neck to
toe, heavy cloak, thick gloves, two extra layers of socks, and a pair of
slippers, not to mention my spare muffler, twined around his thin neck. Dressed
in all that blackness, his green eyes and the glint of his glass frames was the
only part of him visible.
"Perhaps we should sit down," I suggested, leaning on the wall with my elbows.
Harry almost tipped over trying to hit the ground comfortably. I quickly
wrenched him back up. Puzzled, he blinked at me. I took out my wand, and
brought a chair out of Trelawney's classroom up onto the top of the Tower with
a quick flick of the wrist.
"Oh," Potter said dimly.
"The problem with you," I began, putting away my wand, "is that you don't think
like a wizard."
He conceded with a nod that I might have a point. I sat down on the over-
stuffed arm chair and drew him into my grasp. Gripping him firmly around the
waist, I tugged my cloak off, and pulled it around us both as a cover against
the cold.
"For example," I continued, "Le Clair's attack."
"What about it?"
"You could have done something a bit more inspired than stand there and allow
yourself to be bitten."
Harry‘s puzzlement was gone. Anger was rising in his face, but it was
outweighed by his sleepiness.
"Yes, because you've defended yourself against a hundred vampires, haven't you,
without a wand, scared stiff, quite completely mesmerized by a charisma spell,"
he replied tartly. "I'm sixteen years old. You forget sometimes, don't you, you
and Dumbledore?"
"Forget that you're a mere polliwog, untrained, practically unteachable, wise
beyond your years but too dismally thick to let anyone help you learn? No. I
don't forget for a minute."
"Hmph," he muttered, dropping his head to my shoulder. "Sorry. I'll do better
next time I'm faced with keeping my two professors from killing each other
while keeping a vampire from trying to kill me."
"Don't be cheeky," I chided him.
"Where is my wand, anyway?" he asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "When was the last time you saw it?"
"On the table. I was answering letters. That’s right. Are we going to keep up
with the fencing lessons?" he asked.
"When your strength returns, and once you've caught up on the lessons that
you've missed," I nodded.
"Don't think I have enough strength to lift even a light rapier at this point,"
he agreed.
"When you are more yourself, we will resume," I promised. "You may of course
read the books in my quarters, if you find yourself in the mood to reanimate
your mind from the haze of erotic dreams and childish fantasies."
"What?"
"I'd like to recommend that you begin with something easy, as not to overtax
yourself."
"You can't do it, can you?"
"Can't do what?"
"Can't be around anyone for any length of time without giving into the urge to
insult them. Can’t be around me at all without having to channel Darth Vader."
"Of course I can," I whispered. “Who the hell is Darth Vader?”
"No, you can't. I'm beginning to suspect the more you like someone, the more
you insult them."
"Don't be stupid."
"You were quite put off by what Voldemort said to you, and so to prove him
wrong, to prove you don't care about me one way or the other, you're going to
insult me until I hate you again. Is that what it's always been about?"
"What?" I asked.
"Pushing me away so I don't get attached to you. Or worse, so you don't get
attached to me."
"You're not only tired, you're delusional. Are you sinking those clairvoyant
fangs into me again?"
"No. I'm using my intuition."
"Preposterous."
"I totally agree."
"Insipid child."
"Hmph," he said. I squeezed him tight to my side, and touched his forehead with
my lips to see if he was warm. He might have developed a temperature from all
the exertion. To my surprise, he giggled softly. "You missed," he whispered,
tilting his face upwards, waiting.
"I was testing your temperature," I said sourly, longing to put my lips to his,
but knowing no good would come of it.
"Of course you were," Harry smirked knowingly, putting his head back down on my
shoulder. In the quiet that followed, small flakes began to fall down from the
sky, dotting our black cocoon of warmth. I held Harry until I thought he might
have fallen asleep from lack of movement and steady breathing. Finally, I
reached up a hand and moved his hair out of his eyes, my gloved fingertip
tracing across the edge of his scar. His eyes opened once more.
"Shall I take you back inside?" I asked.
"No," he replied. Underneath my cloak, I felt his arms bind around me.
Snowflakes clung to his wild hair, sinking into darkness as pips of water. They
began to dot on his glasses as well.
"Did you really see my meeting with Voldemort?" I asked.
"Yes," he answered, closing his eyes.
"You mustn't let what you saw alarm you," I worried.
"What, me worry? Tell me, which is your appendage of choice?" he chuckled.
“Ouch,” he shifted around, frowning.
"The Headmaster will protect you at all costs, even from me."
"No," Harry said sadly. "He will protect me up to the point that I am useful
against Voldemort. If he finds I am no longer of use, he will no longer protect
me."
"You mustn't think that way," I soothed.
"I'm being practical."
"You're being Slytherin," I murmured. "The snow is falling heavier. We should
go inside."
"What do you think it's like to be dead?"
"I try not to think about it, if I can."
"Maybe it wouldn't be all bad," Harry said.
"Don't talk like that," I cringed.
"Some days, I want it all to be over. I don't care who wins. I just want it all
to be over."
"Hush," I soothed, rocking him back and forth. I smoothed flakes and wetness
out of his hair, standing slowly to my feet once I had both arms under him.
"Can you stand?"
"Yes," he said tiredly, opening his eyes and unfolding his legs.
"I could carry you," I offered.
"No," he refused. I guided him back towards the door down the Tower, returning
the chair to Trelawney's classroom with another flick of my wand. Harry was
yawning every few seconds as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The light
from the open door took us both by surprise. We had left the corridor pitch-
black. I pulled Harry behind myself and pushed the door open. Minerva
McGonagall lowered her wand, shaking her head at me.
"What are you two doing pussy-footing around at this hour?" she asked, putting
away her wand. I put mine away as well, ushering Harry out from behind my back.
Minerva produced a handkerchief from her plaid robe, plucked off Harry's
glasses, and started cleaning away the water droplets as we headed into the
hallway.
"Does the light hurt your eyes very much?" I asked him. He shook his head no,
yawning again.
"I went down to the dungeon to tell you that the Headmaster received an owl.
The Minister of Magic has sent Harry an official summons," Minerva said.
"At this hour?” I questioned. She merely stared at me. “I know what the summons
said. Harry is to appear within forty-eight hours for a general physical, to be
given by the head pediatrician at St. Mungo's."
"How did you know?"
"Cousin Timma wrote me."
"I wondered what was in that," Harry nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Minerva pushed his glasses back onto his nose, straightening them for him. She
took a moment to eye his wardrobe, and gave me a half-smile.
"The Headmaster wrote back, telling him Harry wasn't well enough to travel, and
asked if the pediatrician could come to Hogwarts,” she informed me.
"Timma isn't ready for travel yet either. She had her baby only yesterday."
"Then we can safely assume when Harry is better, and when Timma is recovered,
she will come here to examine Harry."
"Unless Fudge insists that Mr. Potter go to London for the examination, as I
expect he will," I concluded. McGonagall nodded in agreement.
"Aye. That was my thought as well. Shall we take the long way around back to
the dungeons? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
I tugged Harry's arm, drawing him along. He was loitering by the window, gazing
outside at the snow.
"What is it?"
"I couldn't help but notice there's still only one bed in your quarters,"
Minerva said, pursing her lips and waiting for me to figure out what she was
aiming at. I decided to play stupid. "What I'm saying is, Remus told me Harry
has yet to furnish his room at their house in Hogsmeade. I should like to
suggest that Harry choose a bed, which can temporarily be placed in your
quarters. After he has moved back up to Gryffindor Tower, the bed can be moved
to Hogsmeade."
"No," Harry protested.
"Mr. Potter. I will send to Professor Snape's quarters all the home furnishing
catalogues I can find. You will choose a bed. It will be delivered here. We
will then move it to Hogsmeade when you are back in your dorms. And the words
you're looking for are 'yes' and 'ma'am'. Am I making myself clear, Mr.
Potter?"
"Yes, ma'am," I answered for him. Harry frowned at her, taking my arm and going
to my opposite side to get away from her.
"I will also be bringing comfortable clothes for you."
"Why?" Harry protested.
"You will be receiving visitors, myself tomorrow, possibly the Minister of
Magic after that. Do you expect to see Mr. Fudge in your pajamas?"
"I'd like to see him stuffed in a duffle bag and tossed in the lake," Harry
replied.
"You might have to stand in line for a chance of that, my dear," Minerva
laughed.
"Nonetheless, you will receive the Minister of Magic dressed in something other
than oversized pajamas and fluffy slippers."
"What if I don't want to be examined by the pediatrician from St. Mungo's?
Don't they have to have a signed permission slip from Aunt Petunia or
something?" Harry asked. "Madam Pomfrey's permission slips only cover seeing
her, not a healer outside of Hogwarts."
"I have your aunt's permission for the visit," Minerva said.
"You saw her?" Harry asked, shocked.
"Yes," Minerva said slowly.
"You didn't tell her why I've been sick, did you? She'll make me sleep in the
backyard this summer."
"She asked why you needed a physical examination. I told her you had been ill.
I did not get specific."
"Is she angry about last summer?"
"Yes, quite."
"Oh," Harry said sadly. "What did she say?"
"Nothing of much consequence." Minerva shook her head, dismissing the topic.
Petunia must have had much to say, all of it bad, I surmised. "You know, the
strangest thing happened while I was there in Privet."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I went alone, of course, except for Hagrid, who swore he'd stay down the
street and keep watch. When I came out of the house, there were these signs up
everywhere."
"What kind of signs?"
"Blood Drive. November 30. All donors to be entered in a drawing for a huge
grand prize."
"Blood drive?" I questioned. Harry stopped a few steps after we did.
"Nothing to worry about. It must be the clinic. They do blood drives all the
time,” he said.
"What's a blood drive?" Minerva asked.
"When the hospital needs extra blood to have on stand-by in case of accidents,
they go out with mobile vans, a couple of technicians, collect blood from
donors at a particular site, offer incentives for people who donate, give you
pins that say you donated," Harry explained.
“What?" Minerva and I gasped.
"People line up and give them blood?" I questioned.
"Yes. Aunt Petunia got a dinner at Sam and Fritz's one time."
“All you have to do is ask?” I sputtered.
"The clinic gave Aunt Petunia a coupon for a free dinner at Sam and Fritz's,"
Harry said sleepily. "It was one of the prizes they gave away that year. Uncle
Vernon couldn’t button his pants for week.”
"Blood drive," I puzzled. Harry started dozing, standing up, hanging on my arm.
McGonagall directed questioning eyes at me when I hefted Potter up into my
grasp. Harry tucked himself close to me, falling immediately to sleep.
"Well the odd thing is that Hagrid never saw anyone staking those signs into
the ground," McGonagall went on, following me through the corridors.
"Odd," I agreed.
***** Harry Chooses A Bed *****
"What about this one?" Ron asked Harry, turning the page in his catalogue and
pointing at the picture. Potter leaned over to one side, and shook his head.
"No," he laughed.
"What's wrong with it?" Ron wanted to know.
"Looks like it ought to be covered with buxom Teutonic warriors in metal
corsets, that's what," Harry replied. "Not me."
"What made you think of that?" Ron asked. Remus was sitting on the divan at the
opposite corner from me. He sipped at his tea and hid a smile.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Buxom Teutonic..." Weasley ventured a glance up at Remus and I, and did not go
on.
"Harry, we’re going to go in the other room and talk about you,” Lupin said.
“You and Ron stay here.”
Potter raised a brow at Lupin, shrugging slightly. Weasley struggled with a
forlorn frown.
“All right. Whatever,” Harry answered.
"I guess I’m coming with you," I murmured, rising to my feet. Remus put down
his tea and dragged me towards the bedroom and the lab. I wished, as we walked
through the bedroom, that I had been more successful in making Harry pick up
his clothes and straighten the books that he had been borrowing off the
bookcase. Something in the room made Remus smile, though I couldn't discern
what.
"He's a world better than last week," Lupin said as we approached the lab door
and I made him turn away. "Did you change something about the treatment?"
"It's the food. I've been feeding him every two hours."
"Ah."
"Red meat and seafood and such. The ingredients in the restorative draught are
remarkably fresh too.”
"I am in your debt for what you've done for him," Remus said. "Though I tremble
to put the thought into words, how can I ever repay you?"
"When I am convinced Mr. Potter is entirely himself again, he will repay me."
"Something a bit odd about how you said that," Lupin frowned.
"What?"
"There was this lilt in your voice."
"Lilt in my voice? Don’t be stupid. What did you really want to talk about?”
“I was very angry with you for not telling me where Le Clair was hiding.”
“Understandably.”
“But I realize what you did. You knew I’d rip him limb from limb, and you
needed his blood to cure Harry, and so you weren’t so much protecting Le Clair
as you were protecting Harry. I just wanted to say I understand why you did
what you did.”
“Okay,” I nodded.
“I wanted to tell you that Illumina wrote to me, apologizing for what Le Clair
did, and promising that he’s terribly sorry for it.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“I’m sorry about your divorce too.”
“Anything else you’d like to get off your chest?” I asked, amused at this
sudden confessional urge.
“Wouldn’t it all have been easier if Lily had dated you, and James had dated
me?” Lupin whispered.
“Hello, what?” I replied.
“I was just thinking, that’s all, that it would have all been so much easier.”
“Different, perhaps. Not necessarily easier,” I conceded.
“We could have been friends.”
“Except for Sirius and Illumina, who would have felt quite left out,” I said.
“Besides, Lily and I? Would that have worked out? There’s no guarantee. You and
Potter? James, that is. No guarantees either.”
“I miss her laugh.”
“I do too,” I admitted.
“I miss his mouth.”
“Um, what?”
“Nothing,” Lupin sighed.
“Does Harry know about you and Sirius?”
“No.”
“You think it might be a good idea to tell him?”
“No. It’s the past. Leave it there. Let it rest.”
“You’re forgetting that if things had worked out differently, we wouldn’t have
Harry,” I reminded him.
“He’s something special, isn’t he?” Lupin said with bittersweet sadness in his
face.
“What’s with the sudden regret and nostalgia, Wolf Boy?”
“Snivs, I want you to promise you’ll look after Harry if anything ever happens
to me,” Lupin stammered. “Would that be redundant? Am I being thick? Has
Dumbledore already sworn you to protect him?”
“I can’t talk about that, Remus.”
“Ron said you’re going away again,” Harry said, bursting into the lab.
“Mr. Potter,” I chided. “Are you incapable of following a simple request?”
“Ron said you’re going away again,” he repeated.
“Dumbledore has a mission for me, yes,” Lupin said.
“I don’t want you to go,” Harry replied, his voice rising with emotion.
“If the Headmaster asks me to do something, I am honor-bound to obey him. As
are you, Harry,” Lupin said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll be so
busy you won’t notice I’m away. I’m told you’re going to start training your
clairvoyance.”
“When he’s well enough, yes,” I nodded, ushering them both out of the lab.
Weasley was waiting on the other side of the door, staring around the bedroom
as if it were a crime scene. He gave me a very accusing glare. Like a herd dog,
I ushered the three of them into the living room. Ron thrust a catalog at
Harry, awkward and wary.
“McGonagall said you need to pick a bed.”
“I don’t care about the beds,” Harry replied, his voice tight.
“I’ve got practice. I have to go. But McGonagall said you have to pick a bed,
today.”
Harry nodded, taking the catalog, closing it. He turned it around three times,
and flipped it open at random to the bed section.
“That one,” he said, pointing to a picture. The photos on the pages were moving
around, showing the products from several angles. Some of the beds had models
lounging on them, and others were piled high with pillows. The one that Harry
was pointing to had a grey wolfhound lounging on it.
“Fine. I’ll tell McGonagall,” Ron said. “I have to go to practice. I’m really
sorry.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Lupin said, taking the catalog away from Ron and
putting it down on the table. Weasley patted Harry’s shoulder, then bounded out
of the quarters and away down the corridor.
“Quidditch,” I mumbled. Remus cocked a brow at me.
“You watch. Didn’t you ever want to play?”
“Once, but only on the outside chance it might involve sex,” I admitted. Lupin
gave a fake gasp of surprise, covering both of Harry’s ears. Potter shook his
head and rolled his eyes.
“I suppose I should follow Mr. Weasley’s example soon. You must be tired,”
Remus said to Harry, taking his shoulders and turning him around to look at
him. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll be fine.”
Harry nodded, trying not to have to talk.
“While I’m getting the bed, I’ll order you some other furniture too. Night
stand. That sort of thing. I’ll have those taken directly to Hogsmeade though.
Would you believe Tonks has been telling everyone who visits the house in
Hogsmeade that you’re sleeping on the floor when you’re there? It’s utterly
embarrassing. I’m going to get arrested for child abuse.”
“You’ll be back by Christmas, right?”
“Of course I will. It’s nothing, Harry. Pure reconnaissance. There’s nothing
that could possibly go wrong with this mission.”
“Well, now you’re utterly fucked,” Harry blurted crossly.
“When exactly did you become such a worry-wart?” Remus smiled charmingly. “Last
I heard, that was Hermione’s job.”
“It’s nothing to joke about,” Harry raised his voice.
“Okay, love, the first thing you have to learn about being a clairvoyant is
that not every dream is a vision, and not every cup of tea holds the future.
Sometimes, it’s just a nap and a cup of tea. All right?” Lupin said,
straightening Harry’s slouched frame before drawing him into a tight hug. “I
won’t leave Hogsmeade without telling you. If you need anything, owl me, and
I’ll floo over. All right?”
Harry nodded. Lupin leaned in and whispered against his cheek. Harry’s mouth
folded around itself, and he closed his eyes. Remus let go of the young man
very abruptly when Harry lurched out of the room. The bedroom door closed and
locked. Lupin took a deep breath, and let it out again slowly.
“Severus, he’s wound tighter than a harp string. Have you any idea what he
dreamed?”
“No. He won’t let me see. But he’s had the dream several times. He wakes up
screaming your name.”
“You couldn’t possibly take a look, could you?”
“Last time I tried to intrude upon his private thoughts, I woke up in the
shower, fully clothed, singing show tunes.”
“What?” Lupin stared, fighting like hell not to grin or gape. “What were you
singing?” he ventured. I glared at him sharply. “Never mind,” he retreated.
“We can safely assume that Mr. Potter has finally learned to block my
Legilimens spell. Ra, ra, ra,” I cheered dully.
“I’ll go order the bed and finish packing.”
“Where are you off to?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet. Dumbledore hasn’t told me.”
“But you told Harry–“
”I know what I told Harry,” Remus whispered. “You are not to tell him any
different. Owl me if you need anything.”
With that, Lupin was gone. I went to the bedroom door and knocked. The latch
unsealed to allow me entrance. Harry was sprawled on his stomach on the bed,
face in the pillows. When I entered, he sat up, drying his face.
“Why won’t he believe me?” the boy asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. I sat
down beside him, putting a tentative hand over one of his.
“Perhaps he can’t,” I suggested. “A self-defense mechanism.”
“What good is it to have these dreams if I can’t help people avoid what I see?”
“A question prophets have asked since Cassandra and before,” I commiserated
with his dilemma. “He’s right though.”
“About what?”
“Not every dream is a vision. Not every cup of tea is the future.”
“Let’s talk about Quidditch,” Harry said, changing the subject as he dried his
face again. “I don’t want to think about it. Let’s talk about Quidditch.”
“The game tomorrow is between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which means I must
attend.”
“But you don’t want me to go outside yet, because you’re not sure about how I
will react to sunlight. I understand. I wouldn’t want to insult Ron by falling
asleep in the middle of the game either.”
“Have you answered all your letters yet?” I asked.
“All the ones that didn’t start with ‘Harry, I love you and I want to marry
you’,” he tried vainly to laugh and sounded hollow and hurt.
“Hmmm. How curious. Those are the ones I’d’ve answered first,” I smiled. He
coughed up a short laugh, scooting closer to me. “Mr. Weasley was very
concerned about your coloring. Perhaps we should try you out with a few minutes
of sunlight this evening. At twilight, we’ll go to the Astronomy Tower.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Certainly. That gives me four hours to get through the last of Volkova’s
family history books.”
“What am I going to do?” he asked.
“You’re going to nap. After you nap, you’re going to eat. And after you nap and
eat, you’re going to pick up some of these clothes that are lying about.”
I caressed his cheek, and tried to sound stern. He took my hand and nestled
against my side.
“I could read Volkova’s books for you,” he offered.
“I can read them for myself.”
“I meant....” He let the sentence trail off, tracing my hand with his fingers,
measuring the size of our two hands together. I remembered sitting on my
mother’s lap as a small boy, seeing how our hands measured together, finding
all the similarities in color and texture. To this day, I could taste the
bitterness that had been on her fingertips when she had wiggled my first loose
tooth. Her nails were always worn down, and her index fingers had been curved
inward along the tips.
“You want to be my bloodhound?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Do you have any idea how much a good clairvoyant detective charges for his
services?” I questioned.
He shook his head no.
“You could put yourself through university working only when you had the urge
to do so,” I added. Harry laughed softly.
“Maybe I should put a notice on the Odd Jobs Board,” he mused, brightening. He
dried his eyes with the palm of his hand.
“Nap, food, or clothes?”
“Where’s Volkova’s books?” Harry asked, pushing himself to his feet with some
effort.
“In the front room,” I heard myself say. He headed that direction, and I
followed. I had purposely not allowed him to touch them yet, worried what he
might encounter. “Harry, I should warn you that there are spells that can
counter clairvoyant attempts. Some of them are quite vicious.”
“Vicious?”
“Paralyzing spells that could cripple your mind. May I show you a simple
detection spell to use? If you’re going to insist on helping me, the least we
can do is insure your safety.”
“As you wish,” he agreed. I pulled out my wand, and waited while he found his.
***** Giant Purple Sex Toy *****
It was not without hesitation that I left Harry alone with Miss Granger the
next day. They were sitting next to each other on the divan, looking
suspiciously innocent. As I dressed in heavy clothes, they sorted out school
books and homework lists. True to her word, Hermione had brought Harry a run-
down of what he had missed in his classes. I threw on a heavy cloak and
buttoned the clasp. My usual house elf carried a tray to the table before the
divan, straining under the weight. Once its burden was delivered, it bowed to
me, bowed to Harry, and disappeared in a poof.
“Eat as much as you can,” I suggested. Harry pulled a piece of roll out of one
basket and started to nibble. Miss Granger pretended to be leafing through her
book bag, but I could feel her watching our exchange even if her eyes were
elsewhere. Harry was smiling at me in a happy, silly way that reminded me of a
puppy that I had once been insanely tempted to purchase for Draco when he was a
small boy and would have liked such things. When I caught a glance of myself in
the mirror by the exit, I realized I too was wearing something of a smile. How
terrible! I frowned at my reflection, feeling much better for having done it. I
smoothed my cloak, and gave the children a quick bow.
“You’ll be back soon,” Harry told me.
“You think so, do you?”
“Gryffindor is going to cream Slytherin,” he replied, smirking.
“I look forward to seeing you proven wrong,” I replied. Harry watched me leave,
smiling still.
The game meant nothing to me. My Slytherins gave it an admirable try, but the
Gryffindors had clearly been devoting much time to practice. My Slytherins had
had the upper hand for the first hour of the game, owing much to the strange
way the Gryffindors would be distracted when close to any of the green and
silver-dressed players. I waited until I saw one of my students go by in the
stands. It happened to be Pansy Parkinson. On her left lapel, there was a
sudden flash of letters, followed by a bumpy line. I motioned her over to me,
and she approached nervously.
It was a black button that blended in with her cloak in general. But every five
seconds, red words appeared. ‘Potter Sucks’ greeted me. A second later, a row
of teeth appeared, one long, four short, one long. Once its message had been
delivered, the button went blank for five seconds before repeating again. I
looked up from the pin to Miss Parkinson’s reddening face.
“Where did you get it, Miss Parkinson?” I asked.
“Draco had them sent to us.”
“Did he? How clever.”
Pansy started to brighten up.
“Take it off, or I’ll rip out your spleen,” I said, giving her what I hoped was
a hair-raising scowl. Parkinson’s face paled with fear. I took off my scarf and
handed it to her. “You may go through the stands and the school and collect
them. How many did Mr. Malfoy send?”
“Five hundred.”
“You’d better have five hundred buttons on this scarf before the game is over,
or I’ll deduct one hundred points from Slytherin, in your name and Mr Malfoy’s
name.”
“But, sir!”
“If Gryffindor or Slytherin catches that snitch before you have rounded up five
hundred buttons, there’ll be hell to pay, Miss Parkinson.”
She shrank from me, holding the scarf at arm’s length as she rushed away. I
made a mental note to owl Draco a curse that would make his teeth fall out, and
sat back to enjoy the rest of the game.
Quidditch ended to the sound of the rejoicing Gryffindors carrying Mr. Weasley
and his younger sister around the pitch several times. Glumly, I headed back to
the school. There was a delivery truck parked near one of the entrances
accessible from Hogsmeade. Two burly men were getting inside, laughing to
themselves. It pulled away from the entrance, and the gates closed behind them.
I wondered what they might have been bringing until I remembered that Lupin had
promised to get Harry’s bed as quickly as possible. At least something was
going right today.
“Are you sure that’s the one you ordered?” Hermione was asking as I entered my
quarters. She was standing at the bedroom door, peering inside as if she wanted
to watch but also didn’t want to. The strangest whirring noise could be heard.
Harry was talking, and his voice was shaking.
“They muuuuust have mixed uuuuup the ooooordeeeeeer.”
“You should have told them it was the wrong one,” Hermione fussed. Harry
laughed giddily, a sweet sound. “Harry, stop it. That’s just weird. Oh! Hi,
Professor!” she said, stepping back when she noticed me.
The whirring noise stopped. Harry appeared at the door. He had on a lop-sided
grin, and was vaguely tousled all around. It did my heart good to see his
cheeks were a healthy pink. He took my hand and pulled me into the bedroom.
Once there, he presented the bed to me with an outward gesture of both hands,
like a magician having conjured a strange animal.
It was very clearly the wrong bed. To begin with, the covering was a flashy,
deep purple, and looked like leather. The bed itself was oval-shaped instead of
a rectangle. The headboard had a smooth, silver surface that traced the arc of
one short side of the oval. I opened my mouth to protest, but Harry set me down
on the edge. It began to shimmy in a lurid fashion. I leapt to my feet as if
I’d been planted on top of a burning fire. Harry lay down on his back, and his
entire body quivered. He closed his eyes and giggled. I caught my breath and
looked away, finding Miss Granger watching us.
“Where is the delivery invoice? They must have gotten separate orders mixed
around,” I said crossly. Miss Granger handed it over. Everything was in order,
up to and including Harry’s name, Hogwart’s address, and Lupin’s signature on
the original order. Harry had scrawled his own signature below Lupin’s,
confirming the shipment had been completed. I glanced back at Potter and to my
dismay, I saw that he had turned over on his stomach.
“We have to send it back,” I said, my mouth dry.
“Nooooo,” Harry protested, eyes closed, voice muffled. “I liiiiiiiiike it.”
“Of course you do. That’s why it has to go back.”
“But IIIII want to keeeeeep it,” Harry said.
“Harry, you can’t,” Hermione told him.
“Why nooooot?”
“Because,” she blurted, “it’s a giant purple sex toy.”
She handed me the manual that had accompanied the bed. I flipped through the
pages and felt my heart skip around in my chest. My brain actually froze for
several seconds. Granger took out her wand and touched the bed. The shimmy
stopped mid-quake. Harry gave a forlorn moan and remained lying on his stomach.
“Spoil sport,” he muttered.
“It’s indecent,” Hermione scolded. My brain began working again. I heard a
knock on the outer door. Had I left the entrance open? I couldn’t remember.
What was the matter with me?
“Professor Snape?” Pansy Parkinson called. I handed the manual to Potter, and
he sat up. An eager grin sprang up on his face. Hermione was taking the manual
away from him as I left.
“Maybe Remus meant it as a late birthday gift,” Harry suggested.
“I very much doubt it,” Hermione growled.
“Have you seen my wand?” Harry asked.
“Harry James Potter, don’t be crude,” Hermione said hotly, turning away from
him.
“I wasn’t,” Harry insisted. "Ouch! Why is there so much static electricity in
the air here?"
“I got all of them,” Pansy said, giving me back my muffler, to which she had
attached the blinking buttons in question.
“Very good,” I replied.
“I’m sure Draco meant it in good fun,” she added timidly.
“Perhaps,” I murmured diplomatically.
Pansy’s eyes went wide, and she put her hand inside her cloak. I turned to find
Harry standing at the bedroom door, looking tousled and wild. He was of course
staring at my muffler. The buttons blinked out of sequence, so at any given
point, some were readable. Pointed teeth and filthy words called out randomly.
“Potter? You are alive!?” Parkinson said, clearly astonished. Harry tested his
own pulse, one wrist curled inside his other fingers.
“So far, so good,” he reported. Chuckling softly, he approached me, examining
the buttons. “Those have Draco written all over them,” he said.
“That is so childish,” Hermione said. Pansy and Hermione exchanged an
unfriendly look as Parkinson put away her wand.
“Thank you, Miss Parkinson. Miss Granger, would you owl Hogsmeade for Lupin,
ask him to come at his earliest convenience if he is still in town?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“You may leave with Miss Parkinson,” I said bluntly.
“Yes, Professor,” Granger answered, seemingly not surprised at all. She put her
arm around Harry, hugging him tight. “Remember what I told you,” she whispered.
He nodded. Hermione picked up her book bag from beside the divan, leaving
Harry’s where it was. When books fell out of her bag, Harry retrieved them for
her. Titles leapt up at me from the ground; Deusredeti: Cult or Philosophy and
Walking the Circle: Is the Deusredeti the Path for YOU?
“Can I keep this?” Harry asked, snatching up the last one.
“Sure,” Hermione said. Pansy watched them, smirking sardonically when she
caught Granger’s eye. As soon as Hermione joined her in the hallway out, I
closed the door. But I could hear their conversation.
“Going to add Potter to your collection?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t, Gryffin-whore,” Parkinson laughed mockingly, and then
yelped in pain.
The corridor door opened and closed to the sound of running feet. Momentarily,
it opened and closed a second time. I would have followed to investigate what
had transpired between Miss Granger and Miss Parkinson, but currently all I
wanted, all I cared about, was standing right next to me. Harry plucked one of
the buttons off my muffler before I could pull it out of reach.
“Can I borrow your wand? I can’t find mine.”
“That depends on where you’re going to put it,” I replied silkily, heading back
to the bedroom. Harry gasped in dismay when my meaning finally struck him. He
followed on my heels.
“I wanted to try out of a couple commands for the bed, that’s all.”
“It says right on the manual that it’s not to be delivered to anyone under
sixteen. What were those men thinking?”
“Venturing out on a limb, I’d say they aren’t paid to think. They’re paid to
deliver beds.”
“No, you may not have my wand,” I said, slapping away the hands that were
searching my cloak.
“Pleeeeease?”
I sat him on the end of the new bed, and stuffed my muffler into the sleeve of
my heavy cloak. I turned and tossed my heavy cloak onto my bed, suddenly aware
of how empty it was going to feel tonight without him under the covers beside
me.
“We have to return the bed, Harry.”
“No, we don’t,” he protested. “I like it, and I want to keep it. Is that so
wrong?”
“It’s a giant purple sex toy.”
“I know,” he grinned lazily. A second later, he jumped to his feet.
“What?”
“It shocked me,” he reported, rubbing his backside. “Or you shocked me.”
“For the last time, I did not shock you. I have not BEEN shocking you. Will you
stop it?”
“But it keeps happening,” he retorted. “You’re around every time, too.”
His eyes went wide, and he sat down gingerly on the bed. Another thought had
occurred to him, one that was making him blush.
“Did Volkova use her wand on you when you were here alone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did she whisper incantations to you?”
“She did when Dumbledore and Hagrid and Remus were here, but they contained
words like ‘benedictus’ and ‘spiritus’. I was left with the vague impression
she was trying to perform an exorcism.”
“Which was when you decided to drop the bed on her?”
“Um, no. I dropped the bed on her when she burned me. And I didn’t drop it so
much as it fell when I paused to say ‘ouch’. I really said a lot more than
‘ouch’ if you must know.”
“Someone may have put a curse on you, one that shocks you intermittently.
Volkova would be my first choice of suspects. While we’re on the topic, how
exactly did Volkova exchange herself for Malchik when I left the house elf
alone with you?”
“One second I was having a conversation with Malchik. I left the front room to
get a pillow out of the bedroom, and when I came back, Volkova was standing
there. I dove for cover as quick as I could.”
“Really? Fascinating. Go on.”
“Nothing else. I locked the bedroom door and barred it with the dresser. She
kept talking at me, but it wasn’t incantations. Do we really have to send back
the bed?”
“Has it occurred to you that it might be jinxed?”
“I don’t care,” Harry said, carefully lying back against the covers. “I forgot
to ask about pillows,” he murmured. Under his head and shoulders, the bed began
to swell, lifting him at a slight angle. “Oooooh,” he purred happily. “Are you
doing that?”
“No, I’m not.”
“It likes me,” he mused, relaxing against the mound that was rounding
comfortably under his head. “It’s very soft,” he reported, closing his eyes. My
gaze traveled down his relaxed limbs, down his outstretched arms and slightly-
parted knees. I reached forward and almost touched his stomach, but withdrew my
hand. “Let me borrow your wand, or help me find mine,” he whispered.
“No,” I whispered back. In response, he turned over onto his stomach, burying
his face in the mound.
“I’m trying to have an intelligent conversation with you,” I said acidly.
“Would you mind not making me stare at your arse-end?”
Harry sat up. The mound sank back into the bed.
“Nobody’s making you stare,” he grinned. I pulled out my wand, and out of
reflex, he shot backwards across the bed away from me. “I was kidding,” he
frowned. “Don’t get angry.”
“Hold very still,” I commanded.
“Or what?” he gulped.
“Come back here,” I said, pointing to the edge of the bed with my wand. Slowly,
Harry scooted back near me. Touching my wand to his chin, I lifted his face. He
closed his eyes and breathed heavily as I bent close. The second our lips
brushed, we both jumped back with a shout of pain.
“You are too shocking me!!” he bawled angrily, rubbing his mouth.
“Someone put a chastity belt on you,” I informed him.
“A what?” he said, clasping at his own waist with both arms and staring down.
“It’s a spell, nitwit,” I sighed. “Negative reinforcement. It gives you a start
of pain when you act on sexual feelings.”
“They what?!” he exclaimed. “Dirty bastards.”
“But who? That’s the question. Who would have thought it was necessary? Has
Dumbledore muttered any incantations around you?”
“No.”
“How long has this been happening? Does it happen when you’re by yourself and
think about sex?”
“No,” he flamed pink.
“Does it happen when you dream about sex?”
“No.”
“No. It’s only when you are with me, and when we get too close.”
“Exactly. How do we find out who did this to me?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, dear boy. No, no, no.”
“No, what? Why no?”
“You ask everyone we suspect who might have put a chastity belt on you, and
what is their first question going to be? Hmmm?”
“How’d I find out it was there?” Harry decided. “That’s clever, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. So we are not dealing with an amateur.”
“That would seem to let a lot of our suspects off the hook,” Harry almost
smiled. “How do we find out who did it? Is it specifically designed to shock me
alone, or does it shock whoever I am with?”
“It shocks you, and if the person you’re with is having the same feelings, they
are also shocked.”
“When I mesmerized you and we were snogging, this didn’t happen.”
“All right. Let’s be logical about this. It’s been approximately a week and a
half.”
“Was it Voldemort?”
“No. If you’ll recall, he would prefer—“
”Yes, I do recall what he’d prefer, but I also recall he’s a sadistic bastard,
and so I necessarily must ask, was it Voldemort?”
“No. It was not the Dark Lord. We will—“
The floo activated in the living room. Harry and I both went to investigate,
and met Remus Lupin at the bedroom entrance.
“I received Hermione’s note. Where’s the giant purple sex toy?”
“Did you put a chastity belt on me?” Harry asked, the words out of his mouth
before he knew what he was saying. His brain engaged shortly thereafter, right
in time for him to step between Remus and myself.
“WHAT?!” Lupin snarled.
“Sir, calm down,” Harry said, putting both hands on his guardian’s chest.
“You have ten seconds before I go carnivore on you, Severus. You’d better
explain yourself!”
“I kissed him, we both got shocked, end of story. Did you put a chastity belt
on me?” Harry asked.
“I did not!” Lupin replied. “And you are leaving here at once. Severus! How
could you?! After all those things I said to you yesterday?!”
“I didn’t!” I retorted, still holding my wand out.
“I’d never do something so underhanded to you,” Remus said, hugging Harry
protectively. “Attaching a chastity belt spell to you?”
“Someone clearly thought it was necessary though,” I interjected. Lupin gave me
an ugly look.
“I’m not leaving,” Harry said. “I can’t even walk up the steps to Gryffindor
Tower. We’ve tried. I can’t get halfway up.”
“I’ll carry you,” Remus said, keeping both arms around him.
“Stop coddling him. I’m not going to pounce on him and drag him into a dark
corner,” I scowled.
“You go in the other room, Harry. Severus and I need to talk,” Remus glared at
me as he spoke.
“Wands,” Potter said, putting out a hand.
“What?” Remus protested.
“Wands,” Harry repeated. I gave him my wand, and Remus very warily dug around
in his cloak.
“I can’t find it,” Lupin said.
“I’m not leaving this room without your wand,” Harry added. Lupin produced his
wand, and gave it to the boy.
“What now?” I asked as Harry closed the bedroom door. Lupin sat down on the new
bed, and buried his face in his hands.
“He’s a child, Severus. He’s sixteen years old.”
“He kissed me. It’s not what you’re thinking,” I lied. My mind was still
ticking over how long it seemed that Harry had had this spell attached to him.
Not when he first arrived. Not certainly during the first or second weeks, when
I had been luxuriating night and day in the very idea of sex with him. It had
been sometime around when he had been starting to come to his senses.
“He’s a baby,” Remus cried.
“He’s not a baby. You can see that for yourself,” I replied. Lupin stood up,
taking my arm.
“I know you need to stay in You-Know-Who’s circle at any cost, but you must
not, you cannot, you will NOT endanger Harry or the future of his magic
abilities. He has to remain a virgin until Voldemort (aaah! I can’t believe I
said his name) is dead. If Harry is going to stay here, you’re going to take a
potion.”
“What kind of potion?”
“Some kind! Any kind! One that will prevent you from having sex with him.”
“Remus, I’m not going to have sex with Harry. Now will you please calm down?”
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one to blame. Sirius was a terrible godfather,
and I’m even worse. Harry’s never had a proper home life. He’s never had proper
affection. You’re probably the first adult in his life who has paid attention
to him on a one-on-one basis for this long a span of time. No one since Lily
has spent this much time alone with him. No one has cared for him as you have.”
Lupin convulsed, burying his head in his hands once more.
“It’s only natural he’s grown attached to you, that he’s misinterpreting your
attention for affection. Please discourage him. Do whatever you have to do. But
you cannot take advantage of him. He’s a child, and he doesn’t know what he’s
doing. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling. He’s extremely vulnerable, and
you’ll hate yourself, you know you will. And you, you’re perfect! You’re on the
rebound from being divorced, and naturally you’re feeling vulnerable, but–“
”Look, do not drag Illumina into this. She has nothing to do with Harry acting
on his inappropriate feelings for me.”
“It’s not inappropriate. The boy is starved for love and attention, and here
you are, giving him undivided time and energy, caring for him, bathing him for
Merlin’s sake! Of course he thinks you love him.”
“But I do love him,” I heard myself say. I clapped a hand over my mouth. Lupin
bounced up onto his feet and grabbed my shoulders.
“His charisma spell has absolutely fried your brain, hasn’t it? Severus! Can
you hear yourself?”
“Let go of me, and calm down. And stop your shouting,” I added.
“He doesn’t understand this is wrong, but you are certainly old enough to know
it’s WRONG!”
“Stop screaming at me.”
“He’s convinced I’m going to die. That’s not helping matters. He’s convinced
I’m going to die, and you’re the only person left who has shown him an ounce of
affection, and so he’s anxious to please you, anxious to stay in your favor.”
“You’re reading too deep into this. It was a kiss. An innocent kiss.”
“It activated a chastity belt spell!” Lupin howled. “How innocent could it have
been?!”
“Calm down.”
“He’s reeling from losing Sirius. He’s afraid he’s going to lose me. He’s
throwing himself at you, Severus, and you must do everything you can to refuse
him. You’ve got to make him wear the blindfold. You cannot take the risk that
he’ll charisma you and...and....oh, Merlin. I’m having a heart attack.”
Remus put his hand to his chest and sat down with a thump. I walked over and
poured Lupin a stiff drink, walked back, and stuffed it in his hand. He drank
it in one gulp.
“Are you having chest pains? Do you have a history of heart problems?”
“No. It’s nothing. Go away. I need to talk to Harry,” he commanded.
“I will wait in the other room. Harry will be right in,” I said dryly. Lupin
wheezed anxiously, clutching his chest with one hand.
I opened the door. Harry was sitting on the divan, head in his hands. When he
heard me, he leapt up and hurried over. He gave me back my wand, and I pointed
him into the bedroom. With a rather funereal march, he went in to face Remus.
There was an initial burst of shouting from Harry, dire threats on his part.
Lupin’s voice fell below my range when the door closed. Minutes later though,
Remus emerged, carrying the shipping invoice and the manual for the bed. His
shoulder was damp, and his face was damp, and his hair was wildly ruffled.
“Harry wishes me to convey his apologies for mauling you. He’s promised to keep
his hands to himself. Lastly, he’s going to keep the bed. I’ll see what I can
do to disable the more...er...creative spells attached to the bed.”
“What?” I gulped. "Why can't it go back? Why don't you figure out why they
delivered that abomination in the first place? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
“It's staying because he’s got his heart set on it,” Lupin shrugged.
“Remus, you have to learn to say no to him,” I insisted. Lupin nodded,
pocketing the invoice.
“Someday, perhaps I will,” he smiled. I watched his eyes, studied his face.
Unless I missed my guess, Harry had mesmerized him, charmed him into complying
with his wishes.
“Lupin, are you all right?” I asked.
“Perfectly. I’ll see what I can learn about disabling the spells on the bed. In
the meantime, both of you are to keep your distance.”
“I have every intention of doing so,” I assured him.
“By the way,” Lupin sniffed, drying his face. “Dumbledore asked me to tell you
that Dr. Mesarik will be arriving late tomorrow morning, and Harry should be in
the infirmary to meet with her at eleven sharp for his examination. The
Minister will be there as well.”
“Does he plan to watch?” I muttered.
“If you need me, I’ll be in Hogsmeade,” Lupin sniffed again. “Remember what I
said, Severus. Keep your hands to yourself.”
***** Witch Doctor *****
At eleven sharp the next day, I escorted Harry through the halls of the school
to the hospital wing. If students gaped at him in undisguised curiosity, he did
his best not to show it ruffled him. Madam Pomfrey greeted us at the entrance,
granting me a satisfied smile after she had had a moment to look at Harry. The
Headmaster and she walked around Harry in a full circle, clucking with
happiness.
“Doctor Mesarik is with the McGonagalls and Minister Fudge,” Dumbledore told
us.
“What?” Harry protested. “I am not getting naked for all those people!”
“No, you are not, dear boy,” Dumbledore laughed. “The only one who will be
examining you will be Doctor Mesarik, and I doubt you will have to be naked.”
“All right then,” Harry said, calming visibly.
“How are your eyes?” Dumbledore asked. Harry’s glass lenses were glazed with
darkness. He took them off to show the Headmaster his green eyes.
“It’s all too bright still. And sounds are too much. I’m fine though,” the boy
said with a small shrug.
“Capital,” Dumbledore sighed, pleased. “Let’s see what the doctor thinks of
you, but I believe we may entertain positive thoughts. Don’t you agree?”
He squeezed Harry’s arms, letting go when the button on his collar lit up.
Instead of saying ‘Potter Sucks’, it declared ‘Potter Bites’. The teeth
remained, but were now blinking in white instead of red. I reached forward to
take the button off, but the Headmaster beat me to it.
“How very clever! I saw several Slytherins with something similar at the
Quidditch game yesterday,” Albus laughed. “What do you think, Severus?”
“Mr. Potter is tempting fate, and showing his usual cavalier attitude at having
survived a near-death experience.”
Harry smiled at my frown and said nothing. Albus gave Harry back his button,
and the boy put it even higher up on his collar, sending a playful and
challenging look at me. Behind us, the door to the private examining room
opened, and people poured out as if shot from a cannon.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, there you are,” Professor McGonagall said. “You remember
Minister Fudge.”
“Minister,” Harry said, giving a slight bow of his head.
“Mr. Potter,” the Minister returned the civility.
“You remember my sister, Doctor Artemis McGonagall?” Minerva said, indicating
the woman to her right. Artemis was a shorter, broader version, but very
clearly a McGonagall, with her auburn hair and stern face. Artemis shook
Harry’s hand.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Potter,” she said, then stepped back to study him in
silence.
“I’m Doctor Mesarik,” my cousin said as she stepped forward and took Harry’s
hand. She was thinner than when I last saw her, understandably since she had
recently delivered her baby. She had done something ghastly with her hair, cut
it off short to be practical, no doubt.
“Nice to meet you,” Harry said.
“We’ve never met. Do you remember me?”
“No,” Harry said carefully.
“Me either,” Timma laughed, her voice like an early spring breaking through a
dark winter. “Artemis, quit it,” she said, letting go of Harry’s hand. “You can
feel it from here, can’t you? Those eyes boring through you, analyzing your
every move. Artemis, you’re making the boy nervous. Do stop. You’ll increase
his heart rate and my scan won’t be accurate.”
“Terribly sorry, Mr. Potter. Good to see you, Professor Snape,” the younger
McGonagall said.
“Perhaps you two can have a chance to talk later,” Professor McGonagall
chortled.
“I doubt it,” I replied tersely.
“Before I forget,” Timma said, digging in her cloak. She handed me a
photograph. “That is your new second cousin, Mordred Mesarik. I’d have brought
him along, but newborns and floo-travel don’t mix well. Besides that, he was
very peevish during his morning feeding.”
Harry peered over my arm at the baby, or rather at the blue-blanketed bundle
that my cousin was holding up at an angle for the camera-shot. The infant
opened blue eyes, lifted both fists, and started to wail for all he was worth.
“I made her promise to bring him to see us,” Minerva said, gazing happily at
the picture as well.
“He looks like you,” Harry told me. “Such dark hair, and the Snape nose too.”
“Poor lad,” I said grimly, returning the picture to Timma. Dumbledore and Fudge
exchanged muted greetings, and afterwards, Fudge continued to center his beady
eyes on Harry, searching him for cracks in the surface no doubt.
“You keep it. It’s for you. Read the back,” my cousin said, pushing her short,
dark locks off her forehead.
“ ‘Eleven years, six months and counting, Love, Mordred.’ Very funny.” I raised
a brow at her. Her laugh rang out, accompanied by Minerva’s.
“I’m so looking forward to another Snape being here,” McGonagall said. “In a
manner of speaking,” she corrected herself, chuckling.
“Come with me, Mr. Potter. Let’s have a look at you. You know,” Timma told
Harry as she escorted him into the private room, “one of my colleagues back at
St. Mungo’s offered me an unbelievable amount of money to come in my place
today.”
“Why?” Harry asked.
“One can only speculate,” Timma winked at me, closing the door. I turned the
picture over in my hands and stared at it again. Minerva leaned in and asked me
a quiet question.
“Have they found her husband yet?”
“No, no trace,” I answered.
“For the better, perhaps. If they’d been married less than a year and he was
already taking a hand to her, she’s better off without him. He deserved to
vanish into thin air.”
“I quite agree,” I replied, pocketing the picture. The door to the private
examining room opened, and Timma peeked her head out. Her face was crinkled
with amusement and concern.
“Cousin, could you come in, please?” she requested. Harry sprang up off the
table at my entrance. Timma closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, unable to miss how tense and afraid Potter was. Timma
motioned towards Harry, and shook her head discretely.
“You stand here,” she said, moving me around the table to stand at the side.
Harry shivered. “It’s nothing to worry about, I promise,” she said to him.
“What?” I questioned impatiently.
“She’s a witch doctor,” Harry said, lowering his voice.
“You’re just figuring that out?” I asked, showing my exasperation.
“No! I mean...she’s a witch doctor,” Harry said, laughing awkwardly. “She was
wearing a mask, standing over me, and it freaked me out.”
“You have a mask?” I asked Timma. She showed me the small, half-face ceremonial
piece of wood hidden in an interior pocket of her cloak. The ancient reds and
browns were intertwined with black stones. It wasn’t an alarming mask at all.
“I didn’t dream it would scare him. Children usually love when I put it on.”
“Yes, well they haven’t had hoards of masked Death Eaters looming over them,
now have they?” I chastised Timma. She heaved up a sigh, and hid the mask
again.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize,” she mumbled, patting Harry’s arm. “I’ll give you a
couple minutes. Be right back,” she added, leaving on silent feet.
“Please stay,” Harry said, taking hold of my hand.
“And do what? Hold your hand? Make you tea?”
“I don’t want to be tea,” Harry replied.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. She’s odd, I’ll grant you, but a
perfectly-capable pediatrician. Children simply love her.”
“Sure you’re related?” Harry asked.
“I’ll stay,” I relented.
“She’s going to use a spell that will tell her every injury I’ve ever had.”
“I’m sure it’s standard procedure for her new patients.”
“Can’t she just read my file from Madam Pomfrey?”
“Eventually she will, I’m sure. But the scanning spell will go faster, and give
her much more detail. Pull yourself up, and don’t give her any more trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered.
Timma returned as if she’d been listening by the door for an opportune moment.
She was carrying several quills and a thick-stuffed manila folder.
“If you’re going to linger, could you copy-spell this for me?” she asked,
giving me what I assumed must be Harry’s file from Madam Pomfrey. It was made
from roughly half a forest of trees. I sat down at the desk under the window
against the wall, took out my wand, and set to work laying blank parchment
pages in between each of the sheets of paper. Broken bones and scraps and scars
and headaches went past my eyes as I leafed through.
“Keep that mask to yourself,” Harry said to Timma as he tried to lie down
against the table.
“Relax. Clear your mind.”
Harry sat up with a funny look on his face, taking her hand that wasn’t holding
a wand.
“Your husband? Is he a sailor?”
“No,” she answered. “Why?”
“Water, water, everywhere,” Harry said, lying down once more.
“Clear your mind,” Timma repeated. He held onto her hand as she raised her
wand.
“He’s in the water,” Harry said, his eyes closing. Timma stopped short, taking
her hand from him.
“Are you experiencing clairvoyance with regularity, Mr. Potter?” she asked,
lowering her wand.
“He’s dead,” Harry whispered.
“Yes, dear. I know he is. I killed him,” Timma whispered back. Harry’s eyes
both snapped open. “Now, will you relax, or do I have to sedate you?”
“I’m relaxed,” Harry stammered.
“Good,” she murmured deeply. “Not to worry, dear. The scanning spell won’t hurt
you, and neither will I.”
Finally finished putting written pages against blank pages, back to back, I
touched my wand to the pile and spoke the incantation.
“Speculum en atramentum.”
The words caught Harry’s attention. He watched me as Timma’s wand moved over
his right side. Her quill jumped to life on its pile of parchment, frantically
darting words out left and right.
“You’ll have to teach me that one,” Harry said to me, his glasses reflecting
the ripples of yellow magic as it ran through my file. When the ripples
dispersed, I carefully separated the pages.
“Who are Vernon and Petunia?” Timma asked in concern.
“My aunt and uncle,” Harry said.
“His guardians,” I supplied. Timma frowned, nodding. She watched Harry, then
the parchment, Harry, then the parchment.
“Relax. Is the spell making you queasy?”
“A little,” Harry admitted, swallowing dryly. Timma added more pages to her
pile, and her quill kept dancing. She read a sentence or two, shaking her head.
“Quidditch, quidditch, quidditch,” she moaned. “If I had a knut for every
quidditch injury I’ve treated, I’d be a filthy rich witch.”
She touched his right leg, and exchanged a sad look with me. Harry’s mouth was
turning into a small, tight frown.
“What do the words mean?” he asked me, his voice trembling.
“What words?” I responded, moving closer to him.
“Speculum in.....your copying spell,” Harry swallowed, closing his eyes.
“Speculum en atramentum. Mirror in ink.”
“Speculum en atramentum,” Harry repeated under his breath. “Can I see?”
“I’ll show you later,” I agreed. Timma was reading the parchment that her quill
was writing on, her frown getting more and more pronounced.
“Can you turn on your stomach?” she asked Harry. He opened his eyes, and slowly
complied, hunching over onto his side, and finally onto his stomach on the
table. “You’re almost finished. You’re doing fine,” she soothed.
Timma touched her wand to Harry’s back, and the quill jumped, literally jumped,
and went spastic over the page. In response to the intensity of the spell,
Harry’s entire body went rigid. Timma added more pages under the quill, and as
she set the completed ones aside, I caught a few lines. ‘Twenty strikes with a
belt, Vernon Dursley. Twenty-four strikes with hand, Vernon Dursley.’
Timma’s quill snapped its tip, and fell down. It was shivering as the spell
left its form, looking like an exhausted horse after a long run. She picked up
another quill, touching her wand to it, and stood it up on the page. The new
quill got to work very urgently. Vernon Dursley. Vernon Dursley. His name was
filling these lines. Petunia’s name came up as well. But more often than not,
it was Vernon. I could feel hot bile churning in my stomach. Twenty strikes
here. Fifteen there. Years and years worth of spankings and beatings and
starvation and deprivation were appearing before our very eyes. A week without
meals, or else not enough food to keep a mouse alive– my stomach was churning,
and my heart was trembling. Timma was reading the same thing I was, and her
normally-cherubic face was growing more upset by the minute.
At last, the new quill lay down and was released from the scanning spell. Timma
collected the pages and put them in a separate pile from the ones I had copied
for her. I picked up the quill and put it with the others on the desk. The
broken quill would need a bit of trimming, but should be fine. I picked it up
as well, straightening the black feather to neatness once more. My cousin was
standing over the results of her scanning spell, caught mid-motion.
“Why would someone put a chastity spell on you?” she murmured softly to
herself, shaking her head. The pages disturbed her. Psychologically, she wanted
to put away the pages, wanted to make them disappear, first covering them with
her hands, and finally, almost compulsively, taking off her cloak and folding
it over them.
Harry sat up, avoiding our gazes. Timma stuck a hand into her spread-out cloak,
fished in the pockets, and produced a neon-bright lollipop. It blinked back and
forth between green and yellow. She gave it to Harry, putting on her best,
most-comforting smile. He of course saw right through that.
“Screaming Lemon,” she reported. Harry took off the wrapper and put the sucker
into his mouth. “I would like to see your bite, if I may. You may lie down
again if you’re queasy.”
The boy poured himself onto the table and closed his eyes, turning away as she
hesitated over him. Timma carefully unbuttoned his top buttons, and put her
fingers against the small, tough dots on his neck and shoulder junction.
“I’m very pleased with this, Severus. You’re ignoring your true calling.”
“True calling,” I smirked.
“You didn’t become a healer because you knew it would spite your father, I
realize. It’s all Artemis talked about on the way over. But honestly, you’ve
got a healing touch. You do.”
“How’s my patient?” I asked.
“This is fine work. You couldn’t be in better hands, Mr. Potter,” she told him.
Harry nodded, eyes still closed. “I’ve seen Toadvine’s course of treatment for
similar cases. I must assume you’ve discussed this case as well. He knew all
about it.”
“I didn’t discuss it with him, but I suspect Pomfrey did,” I said. Harry’s eyes
shot open, and his face scrunched up.
“Canis Capellum, made with the offending vampire’s blood, can be so dicey a
proposition. But you started treatment within a day?”
“Within hours, actually.”
“Toadvine’s got a case in London from Portugal, girl in her teens, year or so
older than Harry. He began her treatment that soon, but they got the wrong
vampire, wrong blood. He’s done all he can for her, but it doesn’t look good.”
“If he would have consulted me....”
“You know what an egomaniac Toadvine is,” Timma mused. “Did you keep notes?”
“Notes?” Harry gasped, choking.
“No,” I answered.
“Pity,” Timma tisked. “It would make a terrific article for the Medi-Wizards
Association Journal.”
“It will not,” Harry insisted.
“No notes at all? Severus, Toadvine would burst his spleen with envy.”
“No notes,” I replied.
“How goes the reintroduction to sunlight?” Timma had knocked her head against
my walls of stubborn refusal enough times to recognize them. She withdrew all
talk about articles and notes.
“We’re being cautious,” I reported. She slid off Harry’s glasses, and he let
her look in his eyes.
“No trace of red whatsoever. Sensitive though, I’m guessing from the lenses,
hm? The dilation of your pupils will diminish, I promise,” she soothed. He
nodded. “You’ve had an increase in ability to do wandless magic?”
“Yes. How did you know?” he asked.
“Toadvine’s secret. He didn’t tell Severus, but he’s noted that too in several
subjects. His supposition is that as magic is often considered a sixth sense,
as the other five senses are at a state of heightened awareness, so it is also
true with the magic. Downside though, the better Mr. Potter gets, the more he
will need his wand again.”
“He kept conjuring roving fancies out of thin air,” I told her. Timma laughed
again.
“Did you get them all?”
“He drew up a Norwegian Ridgeback,” I added.
“Was it Norbert?” Harry asked quietly.
“It did seem to know Hagrid,” I said, wondering if that was the answer he was
seeking. He put the lollipop back into his mouth, beginning to smile.
“How often are you giving him the Canis Capellum and the restorative draught?”
Timma wanted to know.
“We’re down to one dose a day of each at bedtime.”
“That’s what you needed the breast milk for. I had wondered.”
Harry yanked the lolly out of his mouth with a wet popping sound.
“Breast milk?” he fretted.
“Mr. Potter is free to go,” Timma said, taking his hand and stuffing the
lollipop between his lips. “I would like a few moments to converse with your
professor. Could you wait in the hallway with the others?”
Harry nodded, buttoning his shirt, scooting over to the side of the table. He
cautiously put his feet on the floor, stood, and took a step. If I hadn’t been
turning at the same time, he’d’ve hit the floor. I caught him around the chest,
and steadied him to the ground on his backside.
“Okay.....okay....there you go,” Timma murmured, helping Harry back up onto the
table. He lay down, blinking away dots. “Well, how about you rest on the table,
and we’ll use a silencing spell?”
“Sorry,” Harry rasped.
“Not to worry,” Timma said. I patted Harry’s shoulder, and stepped to the
window with her. She enveloped us with large, silver, globe-shaped shield, and
cast a cautious glance at Harry before she started to talk.
***** Four for Dinner *****
“What were you and your cousin talking about for so long?” Harry asked. “Why
did she want to talk to Dumbledore? What was that last little zing with the
wand about?”
I paused on my climb up the Astronomy Tower, waiting for him to catch up. He
paused as well.
“We discussed your course of treatment. Increasing your exposure to sunlight
two hours a day a week. By January, you should be able to vacation in Bermuda.
Continuing your dosage of Canis Capellum and restorative draught but lowering
the dosage until within one month, you are finished.”
“What else?” he asked.
“She wanted to talk to the Headmaster about your progress in clairvoyance.”
“What else?” he asked, raising one hand to me. I cautiously put my hand in his,
unsure if he wanted help up the stairs or was trying to concentrate his magic
on me.
“She removed the chastity belt spell,” I revealed.
“Yes!” he shouted, jumping close to me.
“However,” I began.
“Oh, here it comes,” Harry frowned, stepping away again.
“There is proper behavior between a professor and a student, and there is
improper behavior between a professor and a student,” I said, holding one hand
up, then the other.
“Technically, I haven’t been in your class for a month, and I am your patient,
not your student.”
“Mr. Potter, I am still your professor, you are still my student, and
furthermore, the proper behavior between a doctor and a patient is rather
similar in nature to that of teacher and student.”
“I know where you’re going with this,” he moped, starting up the stairs ahead
of me.
“What did you expect I was going to say to you?” I replied, dodging those
hopeful eyes.
“So if I drink aging potion and climb in your bed, what will you do?”
“Spank you, march you to the Headmaster, and promptly hang myself.”
“Drastic, don’t you think?” he teased.
“Mr. Potter, don’t be dense. Oh, that reminds me. Doctor Mesarik wants to start
you on a prescription.”
“What kind of prescription?”
“It will help you sleep. I told her you’ve been having disturbing dreams.”
“McGonagall told her sister too,” Harry said. “She wants to me to start seeing
her on a regular basis. Professionally, not romantically.”
“In short, after a month of reintroduction to daylight hours, and of weaning
you off of my potions, you will officially be cured.”
“I like the charisma spell,” Harry said, sitting down on the steps and heaving
for breath. “Can’t I keep it? I’ll learn how to control it.”
“No singing, no public speaking, and no running for political office,” I
reiterated. “Do hurry up. We’re expecting guests for dinner.”
“I thought you were shipping me back to Gryffindor Tower tonight.”
“I’m shipping you back tomorrow morning. I thought a Saturday would be more
appropriate. You can relax a couple more days before being dropped back into
your studies.”
“Relax, yeah, right. Hermione will be riding me about catching up. Are you
ready to return to classes? Admit it. You’ve liked having one student, one
problem at a time, one patient, I should say? At what point am I no longer your
patient?”
“When you stop taking my potions, I suppose.”
“Hmm, all right,” he agreed. “Who are we having for dinner?”
“Guests,” I repeated.
“What are we having for dinner?”
“That depends on what the house elves bring.”
“Can we have Greek again?”
“I asked for regular fare,” I replied, tugging him further up the Astronomy
Tower. “We’re almost to the top. Come on. Ten more steps.”
“It’s at least twenty more steps,” he complained.
“We will take them ten at a time.”
                                      ***
“Oh, they’ve redecorated,” Harry said as he stepped into my dungeon quarters
and encountered a dining table and four chairs instead of a divan, coffee
table, and mounds of books. He counted places, and looked at me in curiosity.
“We will be on our best behavior. You should dress for dinner,” I said,
indicating his pajama bottoms and sweatshirt under his cloak. I didn’t even
mention the fuzzy slippers that covered his feet. He frowned, clutching at the
shirt.
“I’m dressed.”
“Go wash your face and change into dinner clothes,” I prodded him towards the
bedroom. He went inside, closing the door. My face fell as it hit me that
tomorrow night at this time, I would be looking around, wishing he were still
with me in my quarters. I shook myself and pulled off my cloak, hanging both
his cloak and mine in the closet. Then I realized there was no point in putting
his cloak in the closet, because he needed to take it back up to Gryffindor
Tower in the morning with the rest of his things that had begun to litter my
quarters over the last month. Clothes. Socks. Toothbrush. Favorite sweatshirt.
Unkempt underwear. Balls of paper. At least a hundred letters. That nasty gaudy
scarlet box that Miss Granger had delivered.
The poof of a magic spell igniting behind me brought me around. House elves
appeared with dinner trays. Four places were set. Napkins were laid out.
Silverware was aligned. Glasses were shined and put into place. The house elves
bowed in unison, and vanished once more. The bedroom door opened, and Harry
arrived, pulling a white shirt on over his bare chest.
“It’s too big. I’ve shrunk,” he complained, showing me the length of the
sleeves and the drape of the fabric. “Is this supposed to happen?”
I peeked down behind his neck at the tag, turned him around by the shoulders,
and pushed him back towards the bedroom.
“Stupid boy, that’s my shirt. Put on your own clothes.”
“Oi, bloody hell. I didn’t know. The house elves put them all together in the
closet,” he said, going into the bedroom again. And the thought of that, the
mere idea of that, it made my heart warm.
The Floo activated, and Hedwig appeared. She seemed surprised to find me,
circled the room, and landed on the mantle. She gave a loud squawk. Harry poked
his head out of the bedroom.
“Hi, Hedwig!”
The owl dove at him. He opened the door and let her inside. Seconds later, he
came back out, still wearing my shirt over his jeans, with bare feet and wild
hair.
“Her letter is from Lupin. ‘Can’t make dinner. Have to run. Leaving within the
hour and need to pack. Love to you both. Remy. P.S. Tell Severus I inverted the
numbers on the order form. P.S.S. Illumina is sending training manuals, and
recommends Professor Trelawney with utmost sincerity.’ Is he serious?” Harry
scowled, stroking Hedwig’s feathers where she was sitting on his shoulder.
“Trelawney??” I echoed.
Harry put away Lupin’s letter, shaking his head.
“So it’s three for dinner then?” he asked, petting Hedwig. She nuzzled his ear,
grooming his hair as if it were feathers. “Who is—damn!”
The sound of knocking made Harry jump. I went to answer the door as he darted
into the bedroom to arrange his clothes. Minerva peered inside as I opened the
door. Standing next to Professor McGonagall was Anna Volkova.
“Are we late?” McGonagall asked.
“No, you look alive to me,” I answered.
“Do you mind if—“
”No,” I said, motioning them both inside. “Harry is getting dressed.”
Volkova glared at me, but McGonagall stared at the table.
“You knew we were both coming? Harry knew?” she asked, amazed.
“You sure I can’t wear my pajamas?” Harry asked as he returned to the front
area. “Everything else is scratchy and uncomfortable.”
He stopped face to face with Volkova. Anna gave a friendly smile. Harry frowned
at her. While staring at her, he put on his button. ‘Potter Bites’ flashed at
her, double speed. I wondered where he had left his owl, and hoped she wasn’t
scratching up the furniture or leaving droppings on top of the bookcases.
“I read the report that Doctor Mesarik submitted to the Headmaster concerning
your state of health,” Volkova said awkwardly.
“And?” Harry said coolly.
“If the esteemed head pediatrician of St. Mungo’s is of the opinion that you
are on the path to healthy pinkness, who am I to disagree?” Volkova offered.
“Guess that means you won’t be sprinkling me with holy water again?”
“No, I will not. It was necessary, Mr. Potter, or I would not have done it in
the first place.”
“Necessary as a professor, or as an agent for the Deusredeti?”
“I no longer work for the Deusredeti, Mr. Potter,” she replied.
“I’ve been reading all about you,” he smiled darkly. “Don’t think you’re going
to fool me. I am no one’s fool, Professor Volkova.”
“I would never try to fool you, Mr. Potter,” Anna answered, bowing to him.
“What do you say we shake and declare a truce?” he purred, extending a hand to
her. Volkova watched Harry’s hand, and broke out in a nervous sweat.
“Did Miss Granger give you the list of recommended reading, what your
assignments were for Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Volkova asked, reaching
over and rearranging Mr. Potter’s shirt collar, tucking it down and carefully
straightening it.
“Yes, Hermione has been very helpful,” Harry answered.
“Let’s eat before dinner is cold,” McGonagall interrupted. Harry lowered his
hand, and stepped away from Volkova. She watched him go to a chair at the
table, keeping a very close eye on him. “Is Mr. Potter ready to return to
Gryffindor Tower?”
“Actually, tomorrow morning would be better,” I said. Minerva cocked a brow at
me, sat at the place across from Volkova, and waited for me to continue. When I
didn’t, she burst out.
“Why is that?”
“We need to work out a schedule for receiving his medication.”
“Besides, if climbing Gryffindor Tower will be like climbing the Astronomy
Tower, I’m going to start out after breakfast and get there by lunch, at which
time I’ll have to go back down, and start again,” Harry said, picking up a
pitcher off the table. He walked around to each of our settings, pouring
pumpkin juice into our glasses.
“Until your strength returns, you should take the Floo around the school,”
Minerva recommended.
“If that’s permissible, I’d be thrilled,” Harry said, filling her glass for
her.
“Tomorrow morning, you will return to Gryffindor Tower. I will ask the
Headmaster about the Floo. Of course you’ll be under strict instructions not to
pop around into places unannounced or uninvited.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry said, much too quickly. He picked up my goblet,
filled it, and gave it back, all the while under Volkova’s gaze.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” I said, accepting the glass.
“Welcome, sir,” Harry said, his eyes bright with mischief. He reached for
Volkova’s glass, and filled it almost to the brim. Out of reflex, she lifted a
hand to help him bring it back to the table. I knew what he was about, and
tensed, anticipating disaster. The moment her hand came near, he let go of the
goblet and reached for her fingers. McGonagall had her wand out in a flash, and
captured the goblet before all the juice sloshed out, let alone before it hit
the carpet.
“Be careful, child,” Minerva said, putting the goblet on the table. Harry was
still clasping Volkova’s hand. His skin went clammy, and he stopped breathing.
For her part, Anna stiffened with surprise, and yanked her fingers away from
him, muttering under her breath. She used her napkin to dab the juice off her
arm, seemingly unconcerned about Harry’s sudden, extreme pallor. Harry set down
the pitcher and took his chair, keeping his distance from Volkova’s hands when
she went for a platter or dish on the table.
“I see you know the Occlumency spell,” Harry said a moment later. Volkova
raised her eyes at him, and nodded.
“Yes, what a coincidence. Have you studied Occlumency and Legilimens as well?”
she smiled.
“Yes,” he frowned at her. “Far too briefly, it would seem.”
"If you have any questions, I'm more than happy to help," Anna purred, giving
him a challenging smile.
 
***** Epilogue - Saturday's Mail *****
Dear Mr. Snape–
I am sending this letter to arrive with your Saturday mail, under the
impression you maybe have already observed that as of tonight, our week has
passed.
In regards to the recent request I made of you concerning a third party who
here will remain nameless, it has come to my attention that the matter as yet
remains unchanged, unresolved. I have to say that I do regret this extremely,
but I realize that perhaps I erred in coercing you to agree to perform a task
that very clearly did not inspire you whatsoever.
Therefore, I happily release you of your obligation. The matter will be
resolved another way more convenient to the both of us. In so absolving you of
this verbal agreement, I must ask you to do nothing whatsoever in regards to
the resolution of the problem. I will see the task is completed by someone more
compelled by my desires than their own.
As always, I look forward to our next meeting. I don’t believe we will be too
long in waiting.
Best regards,
Lord Voldemort
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!