Before the Dawn -- Chapter 15

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Who me? Nah, I'm not responsible for these characters. Only for the mean things I do to them.

Warnings: Er . . . some profanity?

-HPSSHPSSHPSS-

Previously on "Before the Dawn":

"Get cleaned up and dressed, and I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, without sighing, but wishing he could just go back to bed. It had been a long day already.

-HPSSHPSSHPSS-

From the Journal of Harry James Potter

Sept. 19th 4:35pm

I don't like being played, like the Headmaster has been doing with me lately. It makes me wonder if there's still some part of Voldemort in there, possessing him. Thing is, if I start thinking that way, I won't be able to trust him at all. The only person I do trust completely - and isn't this a doozy? - is Snape. He's so much different now than he was before last summer. It's like he's done a 180 from the sneering sadist he used to be - and hey, if you're reading this, Snape, I mean that you're not that way anymore, so that's good, right?

But when it comes to using me as a guinea pig for potions, like the one we're working on to make me dream right again . . . let's just say I don't wanna be the pig anymore.

Flashback

Harry watched as Snape stirred the last three figure eights in the cauldron, then removed the stirrer before it could drip any potion back into the pot. Snape said such droplets could ruin a delicate potion like this one. Once he set the stirrer down, he glanced over to meet Harry's gaze.

Harry swallowed hard. He was going to have to drink that . . . ooze. The concoction was blue and very smooth, with no lumps, which was nice, but it was opaque, which it had not been yesterday. As a rule, Harry preferred potions he could see through to ones he could not.

"Let's go upstairs where you'll be more comfortable before trying this out," said Snape.

"Do you want me to go to bed or . . .?"

"If you feel you'd be most comfortable there, yes." Snape's gaze had not left Harry's, and Harry felt like he could not look away. "It's likely to be a . . . difficult experience if the potion works properly."

Harry did not like the sound of that. "And if it doesn't?"

"Then it will be difficult in a different way."

"Great."

"If you would rather wait a day or-"

"No. No, it's okay. I just . . . I'm a bit nervous is all."

"You have every right to be. You will be the first person to ever try this potion. I have several others on hand that will counteract the worst elements of this one, if it goes wrong, but it's not going to be easy on you. For that I apologize."

"Yeah, well, I got myself into this mess."

"Indeed." Finally, Snape looked away, but he snapped back to meet Harry's gaze when Harry said, "Could I die?"

"No. Absolutely not. The worst that could happen is seizures not unlike the muscle tremors you are already experiencing, except more pronounced. And waking nightmares."

Harry's mouth went dry. Despite that, he said, "That doesn't sound too bad."

Snape gave him an understanding look. Snape. Understanding. "It's all right to be nervous," he said again.

"Let's just go upstairs. I think I'd rather be in my room."

Snape came into the room a few minutes after Harry had settled on his bed. The professor had several vials in his hands, at least one of which contained the oozing blue potion they'd just finished. He placed the bottles on the desk near the bed.

"What're those?" Harry asked as he leaned back against the pillows.

"A muscle relaxant, a Nubbilor's No-Doze, and a simple paralytic," he said, pointing to each in turn. "Just in case."

In case Harry had really bad seizures or could not be woken from his nightmares. Great.

"I'll be right here, no matter what happens," Snape said, and that, more than anything, made Harry feel better. Snape handed him a small vial of the Waking Dream potion. It looked so . . . harmless.

Harry looked over at Snape, who had drawn the desk chair up next to the bed so he could sit nearby. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet-"

"No, I don't mean for the potion," Harry said, and before Snape could do anything more than open his mouth in a surprised looking O, Harry tipped back the vial and swallowed every drop. Surprisingly, it had no taste at all.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then Harry realized he couldn't blink. When he tried to tell Snape that, he realized he couldn't move his mouth either. His teeth were clenched, grinding together. His hands suddenly formed fists and then every muscle in his body spasmed at once. Clench. Release. Clench. Release. Faster and faster until he was flailing arms and legs and biting his tongue and then Snape was there with the antidote, pouring it over his gums, and he collapsed on the bed, sweating and bleeding and heaving dryly. Closing his eyes was like a miracle. Snape put a cool, dry hand on his forehead, and it felt wonderful in contrast to his cramped, twisted muscles and blaring headache.

He never wanted to take a potion again.

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Even as he timed Harry's pulse, Severus cursed silently. This first trial had been markedly unsuccessful. He would be lucky if he could get Harry to take another experiment potion this month, never mind this week. Damn it all to hell. Where had he gone wrong? He knew it wasn't the materials, he always got the freshest available. Nor was it the method, necessarily. Even when Harry had been the one stirring, Severus had watched keenly, and there hadn't been any errors. No, it was the two combined. He would have to try a different mixture next time. But if he ever wanted a potion that caused immediate, prolonged seizing, he had the recipe now.

As he lifted his hand from Harry's forehead - the other had been at the boy's wrist, feeling his pulse - he could say, from the looks of things, they wouldn't get any more work done today on potions. Harry was pale and still shaking from the experience this one had dealt him. Finally, Severus waved a wand over the boy and studied the results of the basic diagnostic for a minute before nodding curtly.

"Let me get you some tea," Severus suggested, rising from the chair beside the boy's bed.

"No," Harry gasped, and then sucked in another breath. He looked almost panicked. "No tea."

"I promise we're not to have a tea talk," Severus reassured him. "It's just to relax you. Peppermint perhaps?"

Harry nodded wearily. "All right. Thanks."

Severus prepared the tray and returned to the bedroom a few minutes later with the tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. He knew the boy liked them, and it was his way of offering an apology. Harry nibbled on one and gave him the shy, "Thanks," Severus had known he would.

"I have a few ideas about the next version of the potion," Severus began, and was not unexpectedly cut off by Harry's obvious wince.

"Already? Can I change my clothes first?"

Severus almost smiled. "It will be at least a day and a half before we can test another potion; this last one took as long to prepare. But I think we should get started on the next one quickly. No sense in not getting right back on the broom."

Harry smirked. "I've never been scared of falling off my broom."

"Not even when the Dementors caused you to fall in your third year?"

"No. I didn't know I was falling. All I could hear was my Mum's screams as she told Him to leave, and when he killed her. I had no idea you and the Headmaster had to save me until Hermione told me later."

Severus pursed his lips. He was sure his own part in the rescue had not been told by Miss Granger or any other student, and wondered how Harry knew. But that was neither here nor there. "What about the other day?"

"Don't remember that one, either. I was kind of sleeping at the time, see?" Harry gave a wry smile. "Maybe that's the ticket for this potion. Needs to be combined with flying."

"I rather think not. You are grounded, recall."

"I remember," Harry said, coming over all sullen.

"None of that," Severus chastised. "Your punishment was fairly earned."

"I know. But I don't have to like it."

"Just be certain you know it."

"I'm not bloody stupid, you know!" The boy's face reddened immediately, and he apologized quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to shout."

"Nor to use that vulgarity either, I assume."

"Yeah, er, yes, sir. Nor that either."

"Very well." Severus put his own empty tea cup on the tray and rose again. "Would you like to have a lie down after your tea, or would you rather have a bit of sparring?"

"Sparring, please."

"I thought as much. Get cleaned up a bit and meet me in the mat room." Perhaps a bit of letting loose with spells would cheer the boy enough to consider working on the next potion. If not, there was always tomorrow, and Severus knew enough about this boy - and this process - to know neither could be rushed. Unless he wanted shabby results, which, when speaking of Harry Potter's health and future, was not something to dally with, everything had to come on its own time.

End Flashback

Harry's Journal, continued:

So we sparred for like an hour and my muscles - which were tight as piano wire after the seizure - are all loose and watery now. Perfect for delicate potion work, right?

Harry closed his journal and rejoined Severus in the basement to start working on the next wondrous potion.

-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-

Two days later, the second potion was ready. This one merely made the boy sneeze uncontrollably for half an hour before Severus could get the correct antidote applied. The next potion turned Harry's skin and hair blue. Two more were, respectively, a soporific and a stimulant, each with its own hazards. After Harry took the potion which put him immediately to sleep, for instance, it took Severus the better part of four hours to wake him without using magic, for magic in combination with that particular potion's ingredients could have irreparably damaged his heart. The stimulant, on the other hand, made the boy so restless Severus had to spar with him immediately. For two hours. Both of them earned sore muscles with that potion, but Harry, for one, seemed to enjoy the pay off.

In addition to trying a new potion almost every other day, Severus implemented the regimen of exercises he had wanted to start on their first day, workouts that were proven (among Muggles) to heal overworked and overwrought muscles, such as Harry had in his legs and arms especially. Predictably, Harry had balked at both the mat work and the close contact in required. He had given in to Severus after being reminded that although this was only one of the tactics they were using to help him heal, it was likely the best one to reduce his tremors, which he found both embarrassing and annoying.

In and amongst muscle training exercises and the potion making and testing, Severus and Harry talked. Rarely did Severus need to break out the whole tea set, but when he did, it was to help tackle the most difficult of issues, usually to do with the Dursleys or the horrific summer they had both recently experienced at the Dark Lord's hands.

They also sparred each day, but that had its own troubles.

The main reason for those troubles was that, after two weeks, Harry's nightmares had abated, but he was still not falling into REM sleep, nor dreaming regularly. This was worrisome. As both he and Pomfrey had told the boy, he had to dream in order to replenish his magical core. Without this regeneration, he would slowly lose his ability to use magic. Severus could see how much had drained from Harry already, during their sparring.

Harry seemed to do well enough in hand-to-hand combat, which Severus told him would also assist in muscle training, but when magic was brought into play . . . he was losing both power and control. When frustrated like that, things just got worse and worse until Harry inevitably exploded. He had already thrown several fits worthy of an angry dragon, and on one occasion, had nearly snapped his own wand in pieces. Severus managed to convince Harry it was a bad idea before the boy went through with it, but it was clear he was losing patience.

They needed to make a Dream Restorative potion that worked, and they hadn't much time to do so before Harry's magic core sputtered and went out for good.

-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-

Slumped on the sofa in front of the fire, Harry glared at the fireplace. The fire ignored him, fireplace bricks too. He felt so tired he thought he could curl up and sleep, right here. Right now, although it was early afternoon. But Snape wouldn't let him sleep during the day, not even after they tested another of those vile concoctions on him, as they did every other day, it seemed. "Sleeping during the day is a long step along the road to depression," Snape had told him.

Harry wanted to jam something in Snape's mouth so he couldn't talk anymore. Something about the size of a piano. Snape didn't understand. Harry was just so tired of being tired. Every night, he lay awake long hours before succumbing to sleep. Then dawn came too quickly, with Snape rousing him from sleep, first with a drawled out call of his name, and if he didn't appear quick enough, a dousing with magical freezing water - it felt like a bucket of water being dumped over his head, but left no wetness behind. Harry would have been impressed by the ingenuity of the spell if he didn't really, really hate being woken like that.

Afterwards, he would stumble out of bed half awake and stumble into the shower - the first of several throughout the day - before falling into a chair at the kitchen table for breakfast. Snape prepared breakfast each day and Harry made lunch, while they both worked on dinner and shared the clean-up after each meal.

It wasn't till mid-morning, after working on potions or some sparring, that Harry was really awake. But then, after lunch, all he wanted was a nap. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Thus, in front of the warm, toasty fire as he was now, it was so easy to let his eyes slide closed, so easy to let the warmth and lethargy take him away. No one need know, he thought, forgetting the House possessed some manner of sentience.

"Wake up, Harry!" Snape growled. "It's barely half-two."

"M'tired," Harry complained without opening his eyes. As if that would work.

"I know. But sleeping during the day will not aid you in sleeping at night. Get up, now. Let's go outside."

His interest piqued somewhat, Harry struggled up from the sofa and rubbed at his eyes. They had not been outside in days, as it had been raining fairly steadily this autumn. Harry followed Snape silently to the cloakroom, where he sat on the bench to put on his trainers as well as his Gryffindor scarf before donning his warmest coat.

"Can we go flying?"

"Not until you have demonstrated better visual acuity and the ability to stay awake on your broom."

Harry sighed. He was never going to fly again.

"Stop that now," Snape said sharply. "I know what you're thinking, and it's simply not true. You will fly again, but you need to work for it. Think of it as a goal for the near future-"

"Near future?"

"Or far, if you would rather, if you think it will take a long time to get your mind and body back into proper shape. I believe, however, it will be sooner than you think."

Whatever. Harry only thought the word, since saying it was forbidden. Words like "kinda" and "sorta" were, too. Snape seemed to have no problem with "I don't know," though he growled at "dunno." It was the laziness of speech that offended him, the professor said, not that Harry might admit ignorance about something.

As they opened the front door, a blast of cold, damp air smacked Harry in the face, stinging his cheeks. Snape put a hand on his shoulder and steered him outside, down the short steps to the ground, and Harry didn't twist away from him or even jump. He was getting better, he supposed.

Outside, Harry turned to Snape. "Did you just want to take a stroll? Or are we going to spar?"

Snape's expression did not change, his mouth stayed a thin, straight line, but Harry knew nevertheless that the man was amused by the "stroll" remark. He didn't know how he knew. Perhaps it was something in Snape's eyes, or in the set of his shoulders? Maybe just too much time in his company?

"I should think a hearty stroll would do us both good." With a gesture and a flick of his wrist, Snape's wand became a walking stick, not terribly unlike Lucius Malfoy's.

"Nice one," Harry drawled.

"Thank you," Snape replied in the same tone.

"Can you teach me that?" Harry had asked the same question dozens of times over the last couple weeks, wanting to learn as much as possible, even if his magic was a bit wonky just now. Mostly, he asked about spells Snape used in sparring. Someday - probably sooner than he'd like - he was going to have to face Voldemort again, and he needed more in his arsenal than Expelliarmus and Expecto Patronum.

"I can . . ." Snape said, trailing off in such a manner that Harry realized he had asked incorrectly or ungrammatically or something dumb like that.

"Will you teach me, please?" Harry asked, throwing in the "please" in addition to the change of verb.

Snape did his not-smile smile again. "Yes, of course." He proceeded to show Harry the motion necessary and told him the incantation, which Snape himself had incanted silently in his mind. Wordless magic was intriguing to Harry, and he hoped he could learn that, too. Snape had said before than it was part of the 6th year Defense curriculum, which Harry was missing by being here. But Snape promised he would catch Harry up before they went back to school. That is, once Harry got his magic back.

Of course, first he had to dream.

After Snape transformed Harry's wand into a cane, too, the two of them walked the perimeter of the estate, staying just inside the wards by staying just inside the low stone wall that ringed the property. After all the recent rain, the sky was still overcast, and fog rose from the ground in patches all around them. The smell of sheep dung and wet wool from the surrounding farms permeated the air. The terrain was studded with both rocks and rabbit holes, making the "stroll" more like a cross-country hike. Too, the yard was not flat, but had small hillocks that you couldn't see until walking up and down them. Harry's muscles bunched and stretched and burned from the unaccustomed exercise as they made not one circuit, but two around the property.

By the time they reached the cottage again, Harry was winded and sweating profusely under his coat. Snape, on the other hand, looked just as spry as when they started. Harry hated feeling weak and exhausted, especially in comparison to an adult. He wanted to be strong, be fierce. Be capable.

Snape turned their walking sticks back into wands and they went inside.

"I'm for the showers," Harry said, trying to keep from noticeably panting.

"I'll start on supper." Snape hung up his cloak, but rather than go straight into the kitchen, he just stood there, staring at Harry.

From his seat on the bench, where he was peeling off his sweaty socks one by one, Harry glanced up, ready to throw some snarky question at the professor like, "See anything you like?"

Before he could - and for the best, of course - Snape folded his arms across the chest and said, "You did well today."

Harry wanted to say, "Bite me," but indeed said, "Right."

"You're still recovering from the spell work used against you last summer and what you used on yourself. You're not going to get better in a day."

When Harry opened his mouth to retort, Snape continued, "Or in a week or even two weeks. This is going to take time, You have to be patient, but keep working towards your goal."

Harry hung his head and pressed his fingers to his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Right," he said again, though he knew he didn't sound particularly agreeable.

Snape shook his head slightly, which Harry could see as he peeked through his fringe, then went into the cottage, presumably to start supper. Harry leaned back against the wall and stayed where he was a while longer, waiting till his headache faded a bit before heading for the washroom and a shower. He was tired of Snape acting like it was completely normal for him to have virtually no control over his magic, and for what was left of it to be pitifully weak. He was tired of Snape's positive everything's-going-to-be-fine tripe and his thinking it would make Harry all better because everything wasn't fine and it wasn't going to be fine and he was so tired of all this shit that he just wanted to lie down and fall asleep and never wake up again.

You know, once he finished in the shower.

TBC….

-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-

A/N: Cheers to all who read and/or review!