Before the Dawn – Chapter 9

By jharad17

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

Warnings: Language.

Previously on "Before the Dawn":

"You did. Even after casting that spell. And let me tell you, finding out you lied to me and broke your promise about Excito has done nothing to aid your case."

The boy's face screwed up in a fierce rictus, and he screamed, "I hate you!" When Severus, too tired to argue anymore, made no move to contradict him, the boy yelled it again, then fled to his room. The echo of his slamming door rocked the sitting room.

Once more, Severus put his head in his hands, with one thought playing over and over in his mind: Damn.

In his room, Harry fumed, his anger sending sparks up and down his body like a welder's torch. His hands were in tight fists, his teeth gritted; he felt them grind against each other, heard the grating sound. How dare that bastard tell him not to fly! How dare he ground Harry and pretend he was doing it for Harry? For his own good? What kind of shite was that? And how dare he try and feed it to Harry like it was ice cream?

Snarling and grousing, Harry paced and he fumed and he cursed Snape some more, worse than Vernon bloody Dursley had ever cursed his bloody nephew. He made up new curses that Bill Weasley could never ever break, and he yelled long lists of anatomical bits and parts that he would make boils erupt on, or make fall off, for anyone who had ever thwarted him, most especially Snape. Harry was shaking and growling and wishing he was far from here, far from this stupid little cottage in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, with a madman set on denying him the only pleasure he had in his whole miserable life, his whole insane, blasted, fucked up, miserable shite life. If he couldn't fly, he'd go mad . . . or madder, and he'd scream the walls down, and then, maybe then Snape would get a clue and quit acting like a bloody wanker, or like the greasy prat Harry had always known he was.

Before long, he was screaming wordlessly with inchoate rage. Everything in him was swirling and frantic and seething, and all unformed and real, more real, more primal than he had ever felt before. Everything he thought and felt and knew was reduced to want and need. He wanted to fly. He needed to fly. He wanted to scream; he needed to scream, so he screamed, again, and it was loud, the rough, snarling roar of the caged beast, for that was him, now. Caged. He wanted to break everything in this fucking room, break everything breakable everywhere, Snape be damned. Yes! Damn Snape. Damn him forever and ever! He hated that man and his sneers and his poking at things Harry didn't want poked, and his talking and his fucking condescension and nastiness and mocking and . . . and . . . everything he had ever done to make Harry's life miserable.

Harry raised his wand - when had he taken that out? - and found his fingers were numb, he was gripping it so hard, and the amber colored wood had bitten into his fingers. They were pinched white around the wand, and there was a bit of rust red on the wood itself. His blood, he realized, from the accident with the tree. The blood, and the realization that went along with it, gave him a momentary jolt of . . . sanity(?) before anger washed over him again. He raised his wand high above his head, intent on damage, somehow, then slashed it down sideways as he snarled some spell he had seen maybe once. The gesture was so dramatic he was sure it would level this damned room around him, if not the entire house.

Nothing happened.

In the aftermath of Harry's departure to his room and the slamming of his door, Severus had sighed softly, then enacted the cottage's failsafe, which he had hoped to avoid. He walked to the hearth, only a pace away, and placed his left palm on the stone slightly smaller than all the others and centered above the mantelpiece. Wand in his other hand, he closed his eyes and "spoke" to Dormenhause, letting it know of the special circumstances of its guests, particularly the one staying in the nearest bedroom to the sitting room.

Albus and he had gone round and round on this particular issue, but the Headmaster had finally convinced him - with good reason, Severus saw now - that he should learn the proper incantation in case such measures became necessary, and that he should keep an open mind about enacting them if circumstances required. That this kind of safety precaution was even possible here was one of the main reasons Albus had suggested - and Snape had acquiesced - to use Dormenhause in the first place. The cottage was not just an Unplottable safe house, able to put up between one and twenty lodgers at a time, but was also an inherently magical dwelling, as Hogwarts was, capable of adapting its wards, internal and external, to the needs of its occupants.

Though by no means as old as Hogwarts, Dormenhause had been in the Dumbledore family far longer than Albus had been alive, according to the man himself. Severus had no idea how much of the magic that infused the cottage had been added by the Headmaster during his stewardship of the place, or by stewards before Albus, nor how much had been part of its original creation. But one thing was sure: the cottage had magic aplenty in its very stones and beams.

Although as recently as the last war with the Dark Lord, Dormenhause had been used by the Order of the Phoenix as a safe house for the recuperation of those who had been injured or who needed a place of sanctuary and quiet contemplation, it had another function as well. Severus was personally familiar with both of the cottage's main uses. A number of years ago now, Albus had worked with the magic of Dormenhause to return Severus to health from a specific malady, and just as the Headmaster had once done for him, Severus would now do for Harry.

Muggles had numerous methods of mucking up their lives with addictive substances, whether drink or drugs or endorphins from pain. Wizards and witches had those opportunities, of course, but also many, many more. Potion addiction was one of the least dire ways a wizard could magically throw his core into a tailspin, and was thus one of the easiest to overcome. Depending on the kind of spell, or its derivation, becoming addicted to a particular spell, as Harry had done, was more difficult to heal from than potions, but not generally as bad as, say, overcoming the prolonged use of Dark Magic.

If Dormenhause had been able to assist Albus to get Severus to give up his addiction to Dark Magic, Severus was sure the place could aid him with Harry. That is, if Harry didn't manage to "accident" himself to death before they had a chance to work it all out. One of the first things the house would do, however, now that Severus had woken it to this purpose, was put special wards on all the rooms against particular spells - in this case, one specific spell - being cast inside them. The house would also closely monitor any spellwork going on within its walls, especially by Harry, and would actually prevent Harry from casting anything that could be considered harmful, to himself or others.

Of course, when the house had to do something like that, it would also alert Severus to the necessity, like a tiny compulsion charm that made him want to seek out his charge immediately.

Like he wanted to right now.

NOW!

Very well! Severus sighed, not looking forward to another confrontation so soon, but headed over to Harry's bedroom nevertheless, where he knocked at the door. To his surprise, he heard a distinct, "Come in," from within, instead of a snarl for him to go away. Inside, he found an intact Harry, though short-winded and staring at his wand - held in a white-knuckled grip - as if it had betrayed him. Which, in a way, because of the house, it had.

Softly, calmly, so as to avoid any unpleasantness of more spells going awry, Severus said, "What were you trying to cast?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he had been yelling, but Severus hadn't heard anything. Perhaps, as an added bonus, the house could muffle any childish yowling and carrying on, so long as Harry wasn't actively hurting himself. It was obvious the boy had been having some sort of fit: he hadn't been in his room more than twenty minutes, but he was panting as if he had been running for his life, his hair was standing almost on end, and sweat ran down his face almost like tears. "Why won't it work?"

After considering for a moment, Severus settled on telling him the truth, to see what the boy made of it. "Dormenhause is protecting you, from yourself."

Harry turned his green gaze on Severus, and instead of the rage he'd expected after the earlier outburst, Severus saw only exhaustion in the boy's expression and stance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Still trying for gentle, Severus said, "After you used the spell you've become addicted to, I had to wake the house to its other function. You won't be able to cast Excito Sursum anymore, nor any spell that will do damage to yourself, the house, or to me."

"I wouldn't hurt y . . . anything," Harry protested, and Severus wondered briefly which spell the house had thwarted.

"Dormenhause will keep you at your word, for now."

"What's that mean? It's just a house, right?"

"No. It isn't. I told you before how it can expand itself, if necessary, to hold more people. The house can also protect those within as they recuperate from various illnesses."

Though he was practically swaying on his feet, Harry managed a frown that was almost a glare, as if insulted by the idea he was in need of recuperation. "Like me."

"Yes, like you." Severus stepped forward as the boy swayed dangerously. "I think it's time-"

"Will it keep me from having nightmares?" Harry interrupted. "Will it protect me from those? Or will it just keep me from casting spells that help me deal with them?"

"Harry," Severus said, taking another step towards him. "You aren't dealing with the nightmares. With that spell, you were pushing them, and all other dreams, away, which was just making you sicker."

Harry's chin came up. "I'm not sick."

"Well, no, that's not what I meant. You aren't sick, as such, but you aren't healthy either. You're not sleeping, not eating well, getting no exercise . . . We're only staying here to help you get back to healthy."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry sneered. "And the house is protecting me."

"It is."

"You didn't say if it was going to keep the nightmares away."

Severus was right in front of Harry now, but even though he wanted to reach out and clasp the boy's shoulder in comfort, he didn't dare to, not just because of their recent argument, but also because Harry was obviously - with his attitude and his crossed arms - erecting a barrier he wanted no one to cross just now. "I didn't say, because I don't know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Great."

"Even if it could take them away, that wouldn't be you dealing-"

"What is this hang-up you have with 'dealing'? Why should I have to deal with nightmares? Why not banish them? It's not like they're good for me."

"I know," Severus agreed. "They're fairly nasty."

Looking away, Harry hunched up his shoulders. "What do you know?"

Severus sighed. "Only what you've told me. From that, I've inferred a bit more."

"They suck."

"Yes."

"And I can't sleep, and I'm so tired I could die."

"I know."

"And I didn't know what else to do, and that spell seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I imagine so."

"And I hate you for never letting me fly again."

The words hit Severus like a punch to the gut. He knew Harry didn't really hate him, but the boy had said it twice now, and so casually . . . And he'd never said Harry couldn't fly again! Before making a quick excuse, however, since Harry had certainly been left with a different impression from what Severus had intended, he thought over his words, trying to recall what exactly he had said. He realized that, yes, from a certain point of view - such as Harry's - a threat of "no flying, ever" was what his punishment had sounded like. He shook his head slowly, and saw Harry looking at him again, warily, from under his fringe.

"No, Harry. I can see how you thought that, how you might have interpreted my words. But I only meant you were not to go flying again until you are safe doing so. That means fully rested and physically well enough to sit a broom without crashing."

Harry stared at him for a long moment before letting out a long sigh. "Oh."

Oh.

"It's late," Severus said after another minute. "Tonight I'm going to give you a Dreamless Sleep potion, so you can get at least one good night's sleep, all right? We'll worry about trying to undo the damage from that spell tomorrow."

Harry nodded heavily. His arms hung by his sides as if he wasn't sure what to do with them, but then he shrugged with another, smaller nod. "Yeah, okay."

Severus didn't bother to correct his manners, but left to get the potion from his storeroom in the basement. When he returned, Harry had already changed into pajamas and was settled in the comfortable looking bed, battling to keep his eyes open. To his credit, he barely made a face as he swallowed the noisome draught Severus handed him.

"You shouldn't have any dreams tonight," Severus told him, "But in case you do, I promise I'll be here to help you through them. Even if I don't hear you, the house will let me know if you need me."

There was a peculiar look on Harry's face that Severus could not begin to interpret, so he didn't try. He was half way to the door again when he was stopped by Harry's call of, "Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

His words came out slowly, but he rallied against the potion enough to say, "What're those strings you mentioned? You said you'd tell later."

"I did," Severus agreed.

"C'n'ya tell me now?"

"I can," he said with a small twitch of a smile.

That drew a huff of almost-laughter from the boy. "Will you?"

"Certainly. The Headmaster wished for me to make sure you were not . . . lonely during your recuperation. Thus, I was allowed to take time off from work, and take you away from school to help you regain your health, if I agreed to allow your friends to visit occasionally." He paused, considered the Gryffindors in question. "Very occasionally."

Harry's eyes were wide. "Ev'n Ron?"

"As much as it pains me, yes."

An actual smile appeared for a few brief seconds on Harry's face, before it slackened in sleep as the potion won. Quietly, Severus returned to the bed, and tucked the blanket in more securely - something he would never do were the boy conscious - then lay a hand lightly on his forehead. "Sleep well, Harry," he murmured. "Tonight, at least."

TBC….

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A/N: Thanks to all who read and review! Strawberry lemonade and Danish butter cookies all around!