MINDSCAPE - The Healing Journey by chrmisha
Summary: When an Occlumency lesson goes wrong, Snape learns more about Harry’s past than he ever wanted to—and it changes everything. But change doesn’t come easily, especially for two who have spent five years loathing each other’s very existence. Can Snape and Harry come to a mutual understanding of sorts to defeat their greatest enemy—themselves? Spring of 5th year, A/U. Completely written and posted in chapter installments.
Categories: Healer Snape, Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Hermione, Original Character
Snape Flavour: Snape is Angry, Canon Snape, Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Stern
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Injured!Harry, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 5th Year
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Physical Punishment Spanking, Neglect, Rape, Romance/Het, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 40 Completed: Yes Word count: 98424 Read: 234353 Published: 26 May 2017 Updated: 31 Oct 2017
Chapter 4 by chrmisha

“Potter.”

A deep baritone voice roused him from sleep. The lights in the hospital wing were dim, but it was enough to see by. Forcing his eyes open, Harry saw three blurry figures standing over his bed. He scrambled to sit up.

“Relax, my boy,” Dumbledore’s rich voice encouraged as he laid a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder and guided him back to the mattress. “There is no need for you to get up.”

As Harry’s fingers scrabbled on the night table in search of his glasses, they were placed in his hand. “There you are,” the headmaster said.

The reason Harry was in the infirmary came rocketing back to him. He cringed inwardly, embarrassed and a bit ashamed. The headmaster looked sadder than he’d ever seen him; Madam Pomfrey was fussing about, straightening his bed clothes; and Snape, Snape looked inscrutable. He was studying Harry, but Harry couldn’t make out what he might be thinking.

“Harry,” Professor Dumbledore began, “I am very sorry to have awoken you, but we wanted to heal your wrist and hand before the pain potion wore off. Then, we will let you get some sleep. Tomorrow, we shall discuss the rest of what you so bravely shared with Professor Snape this evening.”

Brave? Harry hadn’t done it to be brave. He’d done it out of anger and frustration.

“Now, let Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape do their work, and I will see you in the morning.”

“Professor,” Harry called out.

“Yes?”

“Will I have to go back to the Dursleys anymore?”

Harry watched with a feeling of dread and betrayal as Dumbledore’s face fell.

“Tomorrow, my dear boy. We will discuss everything tomorrow. Do try and get some rest this evening. And Harry?”

“Yes?”

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, the gesture making him seem even older than his 100-plus years. “I am so very, very sorry for all you have endured. I fear that I bear responsibility for much of it. Please be assured that I will do everything in my power to make up for the damage I have caused and the mistakes I have made.” With those words, a very humbled and teary-eyed headmaster strode from the infirmary, the door swishing shut behind him.

Wasting no time, Madam Pomfrey spoke up. “Harry, dear, your wrist is fractured and you have a couple of broken bones in your hand as well. I can fix those right up for you. It won’t hurt a bit. Just lay back and relax for me, won’t you, dear?”

Harry grimaced. Madam Pomfrey was being much more conciliatory than her usual stern, no-nonsense self. Harry thought he knew why and turned away from the pity in her voice. His eyes met Snape’s, and resentment seared through Harry. Silently, he dared Snape to say something nasty about Harry needing to be treated like a baby, but Snape remained still and watchful.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt a warm, tingling sensation encompass his wrist and hand. It kept getting warmer, though not uncomfortably so, while Madam Pomfrey murmured a few potent spells. He thought he could feel the bones knitting themselves back together, but as she had promised, there was no pain. When she lifted her wand, he sighed in relief.

“That’s done, then,” she said, fluffing his pillow unnecessarily. “Professor Snape will see to that abomination on your hand now,” Madam Pomfrey said, her tone suddenly one of disgust as she studied the writing on the back of Harry’s hand.

“Why Snape?” Harry interjected. “Why not you?”

“Because I,” drawled Snape, “am more versed in Dark Magic than Madam Pomfrey. And that’s Professor Snape to you. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Harry gritted his teeth and turned away. He was sure that anything Snape did to him was going to hurt, even if it could have been done in a less painful way. His stress level jumped even higher when he heard Madam Pomfrey retire to her office, leaving him completely alone with the vindictive Potions Master.

The silence stretched between them as Harry refused to meet Snape’s gaze. Finally, Snape’s voice filled the emptiness. “Why those words, Potter?  What did you lie about?”

Harry scoffed. “This time?” Harry asked. “Or all the other detentions I’ve had with her?”

“There’s been more than one?” Snape asked, and the aghast sound of Snape’s voice had Harry breaking his promise to himself not to give Snape the satisfaction of matching his gaze.

“Yes,” Harry spat out. “The first month’s detentions were because I refused to follow the ministry line and pretend that Voldemort had not returned.”

Snape’s eyebrows shot up. “You told her that the Dark Lord had returned?”

“Repeatedly,” Harry replied.

“In private?” Snape inquired.

“Nope,” Harry said. “In front of the whole class.”

“Potter,” Snape breathed out in exasperation. “There’s Gryffindor bravery, and then there’s flat out stupidity.”

“I know, McGonagall said the same thing.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Snape corrected.

Harry heard Snape take a deep breath. “I regret to inform you that this will not be pleasant.”

“Of course it won’t be,” Harry retorted. Things could never be easy for him.

Snape looked at him oddly before continuing. “Blood Quills are illegal for a reason. They not only carve into your skin using your own blood, they also leave traces of Dark Magic behind that are not easily removed.”

Harry turned his head away. Great, just what I need, to be infected with Dark Magic, Harry thought bitterly.

“I will siphon out as much of the Dark Magic as I can. This process will likely need to be repeated over the coming days. You will also need to take potions to stabilize the area and allow the damaged tissue to release the curse. With time and luck, we may be able to minimize the scaring, but I cannot guarantee it.”

Harry looked down at the red and inflamed message on the back of his hand—I must not tell lies—and sighed.

“Are you ready, Potter?”

“Does it matter?” Harry muttered.

“If you need more time…”

“No, it’s fine. Just do it,” Harry said, and then added, “Professor.”

Snape scrutinized Harry and, seemingly satisfied, nodded.

Harry let his eyelids fall shut, waiting for the pain to come. Instead, he jumped when he felt his hand encased in a larger, warmer one. His gaze snapped to Snape, but the wizard wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he had Harry’s hand gently cradled in his own while he studied it.

Harry tensed, not sure what to expect. He listened as Snape held his wand over the wound and chanted a few words in another language; Latin, Harry thought. Then he watched in awe as the words on the back of his hand glowed amber and strands of the same color spread out from the wound, coursing down two of his fingers in the one direction, and up his arm in the other direction, all the way to the middle of his upper arm.

“You are lucky, Potter,” Snape said. “It seems that your innate magic has limited the curse to just your arm. Had it gone farther, to your shoulder, for example, it could have reached your heart and been circulated throughout your entire body.”

That didn’t sound good, Harry reflected. “Can you fix it?”

“Eventually,” Snape replied. “It won’t be pleasant though.”

“So you said,” Harry responded dully.

“Brace yourself.”

Harry tensed instantly. Those words reminded him of Legilimency lessons all over again. But unlike when his mind was broken into, this was the pain of 1000 daggers being stabbed simultaneously into his hand, his fingers, his arm. He cried out, twisting away from Snape and trying desperately to pull his hand free.

“Be still,” Snape hissed.

Harry bit his lip to keep his screams at bay, but it was no use. He tasted blood as a high pitched keening escaped his throat. Moisture wet his lashes as sweat gathered between his shoulder blades and ran in rivulets down his back.

How? How could he be still? How could he endure? This was like the Cruciatus curse. Every nerve was on fire, every inch of his flesh rebelled. Every instinct in him fought to pull away, to escape, to flee. Eyes squinted in sheer agony, Harry opened his mouth to tell the professor just where he could go when he saw something that stunned him momentarily into silence.

Snape was siphoning off the amber essence of the Dark Curse, pulling it from Harry’s very tissues, and absorbing it into… himself.

“Professor!” Harry gasped.

Snape’s face was a study in concentration and pain. The man’s breathing was ragged and it seemed to be taking all of Snape’s attention to fight the excruciating torment and continue.

“Quiet,” Snape rasped, his features contorted, sweat beading his brow.

Finally, with an expletive, Snape dropped Harry’s hand and collapsed back in his chair.

For Harry, the pain had stopped the moment Snape had released him. But Snape had hunched forward, his chest heaving. The man seemed to curl in on himself, his arms wrapping around his middle, struggling to breathe.

Harry scooted forward, not even realizing that his bum was no longer stuck to the bed. “Professor… do you…  I mean… are you okay?”

Snape swayed on his chair, his eyes scrunched shut, his jaw clenched.

Harry glanced toward Madam Pomfrey’s office. Snape looked terrible. Should he go for help?

“Potter,” Snape gasped. “Potion… right pocket… give it... to me.”

Harry leapt from the bed. He hesitated, not wanting to touch the man, and definitely not wanting to go through the man’s pockets. But Snape had started to make the same keening sound of pain that had come from Harry, and Harry couldn’t bear it.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said as he pushed Snape’s arms away and reached inside the man’s robes. It was awkward and unnerving and no easy task with the Potions Master hunched over himself in distress.

Harry searched desperately for the right pocket, trying to ignore the haunting gasps and the man’s constant trembling. Finally, he felt a cool cylindrical shape, and he dove inside, his fingers encircling a glass vial and yanking it out. He held it up for Snape’s examination, hoping it was the correct potion.

“Uncork it.”

Harry popped the cork. “Here, Professor,” Harry said, raising the elixir to the potion master’s lips.

Snape grunted and batted Harry’s hand away. With a tremulous grasp, Snape took the vial from him. He downed it in one long gulp and let the small glass bottle fall to the floor, where it shattered upon the flagstones. Then, Snape slumped in the chair and his breathing evened out, his twitching limbs finally starting to calm and uncoil.

Harry leaned back against his bed, dumbfounded. “Why?” was all he could say. Why would Snape do something that clearly caused him so much pain? And why would he do it for Harry Potter of all people? It made no sense. The pause was so long, Harry didn’t think Snape would answer.

“Because… it needed… to be done,” Snape finally got out.

“But… you… I… why? Why would you do that for me?”

Snape opened one eye, and Harry could see the irony in the man’s expression. “I am already marked with Dark Magic,” Snape said, then paused to take a breath. “My body can... handle it… in a manner of speaking.” Snape sighed, dragging a hand across his face. “You are not to be tainted with it.”

Harry’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, and then closed. It was as if Snape was saying he deserved the darkness and the pain, that somehow he’d earned it. Thinking back to how Snape had treated Harry all those years at Hogwarts, Harry could almost believe it.

But, not quite.

The pain was like the Cruciatus curse for Harry when it was being removed; he couldn’t imagine how much worse it was for the person taking the Dark Magic into their body anew. The thought horrified him.

Snape struggled to his feet, swaying ominously. Harry jumped up to help him, but Snape waved him away. Harry couldn’t see how the wizard was going to make it to the dungeons in the condition he was in.

Instead, Snape staggered a few steps, then half-fell, half-launched himself at the hospital bed next to Harry’s. Harry watched in wonder as the potions master curled into the fetal position on the mattress, shuddered once, and then laid still.

“Potter,” the man croaked.

Harry rushed to his side.

Snape reached into an outer pocket and pulled out a small object. “Take this. Use it.”

Harry took the tub of ointment from Snape’s unsteady hand. “Should I get Madam Pomf…”

“NO. Go to bed.”

Harry hesitated. It was all so surreal. Snape, huddled in the bed next to his. Snape, draining the poison from Harry’s body and taking it into his own. Harry shook his head in denial. It didn’t make any sense.

“NOW.”

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape’s command. Quickly, he hurried back to his bed, pulling the covers up over himself. He unscrewed the cap and rubbed the cool ointment on his hand where the scar stood out angrily. Then he lay back, hoping that Ron and Hermione wouldn’t worry about him.

With the taciturn wizard lying scrunched up in the bed next to his, and the many thoughts tumbling through his head, Harry was sure he’d never be able to fall asleep; he couldn’t stop thinking about what Snape had done.

The next thing he knew, he was being blinded by the sunlight streaming in through the infirmary windows. The bed next to him was empty.

 

The End.


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