Cantus Dimindium Argenteum by Mogu2mochi

“It’s… Beautiful…”

Severus lifts his hefty arm to touch the warm golden sun rays from the top of the mountain through the window. Having to dwell in the dungeons for most of his life, the only indication of another day’s arrival is his own body clock from years of insomniac tendencies, and the pleasant lighter shade of pine green outside his bedroom window.

A long time ago when he met up with a friend on an early winter morning, they raced to the hilltop, and sat under the withered tree. Actually, she’s the one sitting right now, and insisting that he should lie down, Da had a particularly bad day.

Severus brush his fingers across the grass beneath, it’s silky, and a little damp, maybe someone started watering them again, clean water, not the ones with green bubbles on them.

“Indeed.” Minerva says. Minerva? Did they have too much of a drink? No wonder they can see the Sun, there are in her quarters. The man tries to look around the room, but is entranced by the welcoming light in front of him. Everything is the trees and towers outsides swirl together in a harmony outside the glass pane, cups and bottles flickering around him. He might— he might— he is definitely going to have the headache of the century tomorrow but his head feels lighter than ever, there is no instinctual urge to occlude himself, there is no need to hide anymore.

“Oh Sev, are you—” Lily giggles, oh her voice, they ring like the crystal chimes from the Yule orchestra, clear and enchanting, “are you getting drunk from butterbeer?” She covers her mouth with Mrs. Evans’s hand-knitted mittens, face flushed with laughter.

He wants to answer, and laugh along, but finds himself too tired to lift his head, it’s warm and comfortable, was he cold before?

“Come on!” She gets up from the bench and extends her hand while beckoning the waiter to help clear up the table. “Let’s go!”

“Thank you.” he says, as best as he can, then he holds onto her, not letting go.

The captivating light engulfs his sight…

…

“Rus.”

Severus startles awake by the presence behind.

“Why am ya on the floor.” a layer of mist in the shape of a man appears at the corner of his eye, Severus immediately tries to block his mind off, but his mind stays bare to the impending threat.

“The fan broke.” He finds himself answering, in the voice of a boy, and sounding… very northern. “An’ the floor’s cold.”

The man is now standing next to him, he doesn’t walk, just happens to be there like he apparated, torn worker boots covered by a sheen of tar fitting into the square floor tile next to him, back straight like a soldier, he lies down next to Severus as he attempts to make out the entity’s features. Straw-colored hair in a curtain cut, stained white shirt in worn-off suspender straps, the man’s stubble slightly scratching at his chin, the scent of alcohol and smoke filling the air.

No, it can’t be…

“Da!” He giggles despite being thoroughly sickened by his father’s oily and calloused finger brushing his cheek, “Yaw hands too warm! Ya makin’ me sweaty again!”.

“But I’m cold, Rus. Why y’am I so cold?”

Don’t look. DON’T LOOK DAMN IT! Severus fights against his body, trying to look anywhere into the white space but the man. His strands of unwashed hair briefly obscure his sight as his head involuntarily turns towards him.

“Da?”

His father’s gunmetal irises are half rolled to the back, saliva dripping from the corner of his blue lips, forming a small puddle onto the tile, a potent stench of beer and burnt sulfur coming out of his gaping mouth. A hole at his right temple, thick streaks of red and grey flowing and covering half of his face. A thick noose is tied loosely around the neck, showing a ring of purple skin underneath, its end reaching somewhere far above the unknown space’s ceiling, if there is one.

“Why, John,” the cadaver speaks without moving his mouth, raising his fleshless hand and clamping onto Severus’ chin with such force he can feel the white bones impaling his cheek.

“Why… John…” he repeats, despair evident in those unseeing eyes, “Why can’t ya just be John?”

A Surge of red overwhelms the younger’s senses, as he tries to fight his way out, someone is pulling his arms back while a hand holds his head down into the pool of blood.

“20 more seconds. The power of the Lord shall expel the evil within.” Someone says through the violent waves he is causing as he thrashes. The liquid starts to rush its way into his nose, his ears, his mouth. His stomach warms and fills up repulsively, the taste of copper dominates his rational thought. Severus keeps struggling for air, but he never drowns, nor do the people around him seem to bother with counting.

Mother’s dull eyes peers upon his pathetic form.

“We do not associate with… this.”

“He understands.”

“ I’m sorry, but I really cannot allow that.”

Voices, familiar voices around him, sends him sinking down to the endless bottom of crimson. Someone grips his left arm, holding onto the particularly painful spot.

“Take this thing away!”

“It belongs to the dumps in Azkaban!”

“He understands the price.”

His knees knock onto something as his whole body follows down, lacking the strength to hold himself up.

“Her son is the proof of her treason to the light.”

“If it weren’t for you and that spawn !”

“That man is a danger to society!”

Somewhere at the corner of his eyes, a door opens and a woman tightens his grip around the leather suitcase, and turns around.

Mother’s dull eyes peers upon his pathetic form.

“This… everything… you…” Her usually impassive features now marred by a hate-filled grimace, her voice is hoarse and raspy, the faint handprint at her neck bold under the mocking sunlight beyond that dreaded door, she flinches at each word as it pains her physically even to talk, but she persists.

“It was a mistake.”

Her figure blends into the endless red alongside the door, and there’s only him left.

He screams and screams, but no one can hear him anyway, he curls into himself, as there isn’t a corner to back himself into, pulsing pain coursing from his side to all over his body, twisting and cramping. Accursed veins continue to coil around his body, dragging and slowly breaking it into pieces, like a vulture tearing the flesh of its prey by each fiber.

Severus can feel somewhere in his mind is starting to crumble, now with the absence of his impenetrable walls, the influx of imagery and heartaches starting to eat at his sanity.

[ a4;ρα να ξυπνήσεις, Σεβέρους ]

A voice calls down from the surface of the pool, but it stands out from the persistent gurgling surrounding him. The low voice booms like a war horn under the agonizing desolation, its warning clearing away the stabbing words. A Cascade of pale grey clears through the deep vermillion, like strands of satin, threads of mercury rain down and start to pile on the dim floor around him, slithering atop his shunned form and caressing his invisible wounds.

The silvery gray paints over the discombobulated red, he feels his body slowly freed from the restraints, and a new scenery builds up from the ruins.

His clothes hang onto his tiny from as he sits atop the hill under the withered orchard, the grass replaced with a field of lilies, and the moment he spots her across the white field, he is more shocked than joyful to know that he, of all people, deserves Heaven.

It’s finally over.

As he delicately plucks the lily from the small freckled hands, the young child dashed into his chest and hugs him tightly, the one thing that has kept him going. Beyond the blurry pools of tears, he spots another figure down at the edge of the slope. Another boy with a mop of ruffled dark hair, the torn and baggy t-shirt hanging by the seams, the boy’s face is clouded, but he can tell he’s looking at them with relief. The longer Severus’s gaze lingers on the boy, the more he is able to discern his features — slightly sunken cheeks, hunched narrow shoulders, heavy eyebags under the striking Avada green—

Suddenly, the little girl in his arms pushes him into the grass, but instead of landing on the ashen petals, he falls through floor, into an inverted world, and is pushed back into the abominable pool, albeit a deep forest color, much like the bottom of the black lake. He’s falling, but also reaching the surface

[Aktiraq. Safíneia.]

[Reenervate!]

A terrible throb runs across his body, a violent movement at his chest, air painfully forces its way into his relaxed lungs, his entire body flung out off the water, yet still falling through into the pale gray sky.

No, please, let it end. Remembering the spells he heard across the air, he pleads silently to whatever Merlin forsaken meddlers to stop bringing him back from the reprieve he has so coveted.

He lands harshly on something and wakes with a shout, a horrible bright light blue hue punctures his eyes as his body explodes in a new wave of pain. Severus can’t help but flinch at the birds’ high-pitched taunts.

“...pr’fesser… pr’fesser!”

A giant hand roughly grabs and shakes his right shoulder, making Severus curl up in agitation, his mental shields once again fail to erect at his command, and by now he could feel something all over him, things that are tying him down onto the unknown surface, his lungs continue to constrict achingly while he inhales desperately in an attempt to clear his head, unable to determine whether he is still in enemy territory.

“Madame! The pr’fesser!” The man shouts, which makes the ringing in his head even more thunderous, he pushes the threatening hand away pathetically to no avail, another figure dressed in white and red comes next to his bed and points something at him, “Hagrid hold him down.” the commanding voice of a woman, a lot like the sisters from the Cokeworth Catholic church, made him hold his breath instinctively to brace for another impact.

“Not again… please… I didn’t…” he hears himself begging shakily as he continues to attempt removing himself from the strong grips on his body, a bad move, they will most definitely hold him under it longer upon hearing the weak protests.

“Shhh… you’re safe Severus…. It’s alright.” She soothes, rubbing something along his lower abdomen that has an herbal scent to it, yet his mind is too jumbled to identify anything. The cool tip of metal pricked into his skin with the acute sensation of liquid injected into his veins. Soon enough his eyelids began to droop and his mind is losing the fight against the tempting sleep, his erratic breathing slowly evens out.

“Go to sleep Severus.” she encourages, pulling the warm sheets higher, and gently running a hand through his hair.

The large hand releases its firm grip and pats on his other arm, “Get well soon pr’fesser.”

His eyes fall shut, finding himself back in the fog gray space, in his younger mind and body, yet his heart is at peace, distant tapping noises of rain prove to be companionable as Severus traverses leisurely through the space. He spots a rectangular shadow ahead, curious, he tugs the torn coat tightly around himself, and wills his bare feet to carry him at top speed.

Approaching the spot, he sees a room with its interiors visible, as if the wall where the door is supposed to be simply vanished, leaving a five-faced cube. The room has pale yellow walls, layers of umber bricks lining the lower half, a set of wooden chair and desk with an antique oil lamp next to an opened leather-bound book, and a cupboard in flames standing against what is supposed to be the missing wall, and a petite boy sitting on top of the small metal-framed bed, looking out into the rain beyond a single green framed tall window, though Severus is certain that there is nothing beyond this room except the gray space.

The boy’s dark hair is neatly parted to one side, wearing a slate blue shirt under a dark green jacket, cotton knee-high socks, and polished black shoes hanging off the edge of the bed, almost touching the ground. Despite facing away from Severus, everything about this unknown child stands apart from the rest of the desolate space, perhaps it’s his posture, or the clothing that contrasts what is within the crude walls, his regal presence itself seems to be holding the under-furnitured space like a throne room.

“Ello.” Severus greets, carefully not to trespass the invisible border.

The boy jostles at his voice, snapping his head around at glares at him with his hand raised. Perhaps he was expecting something to take effect, there is a brief flash of confusion across his face.

“Who are you?” he asks, with a hint of hostility.

“John.” he replies, the answer he uses to give better impressions around town.

“Why are you here.” he demands.

John shrugs, his coat falling off his shoulders as he does, “I dunno, but I think I’m dreamin right now. Why ar’ ya in ma dream?”

“I have always been here, you suddenly came in.” he looks at the boy outside his room in with scrutiny, then scoffs “Are you wearing a blouse?”

“Not like I have anythin else to wear.”

The air falls silent as they continue to stare at each other, until the boy in the room growls in annoyance. “Just go away already, John, or I’ll make sure you never walk again.” with a wave of his hand, one of the pebbles sitting on the green windowsill shoots towards Severus, but stopped at the invisible wall, dropping onto the floor and splitting into halves. He looks visibly alarmed at that.

“Ya can do those things too?” Severus, now John asks.

The boy on the other side hesitates, then conceals his shock, “You are a wizard, like that man.” he spews the last word with all the disdain he can muster up.

Despite knowing that, yes, Severus Snape is indeed a wizard and has been for more than three decades, the young presence within himself can’t help but feel a mixture of confusion and understanding.

“Wizard?” he asks.

The boy stands up from the bed and takes a sheet of paper from the open book, holding it in front of “John”, the bold words “HOGWARTS SCHOOL LIST” shoving right at his face, noting that his hands couldn’t reach further than the transparent barrier, he raises an eyebrow and looks warily at the empty space.

John’s mouth forms into an “o” shape, “Why dun ya make’it stop burnin then?” he points at the dancing flames engulfing the cupboard, yet not burning it in the slightest.

“I tried!” the boy in the room yells, his cool facade breaking, “the man set my things on fire! It only stops when other people come in!”

John wrings his hands and shuffles at his feet. “C’n I try?”

“I doubt you can.” The boy settles down back onto the bed and turns his eyes back to the rainy streets.

Feeling challenged, Severus gathers all of his focus onto the bright orange fire, after a few seconds, the flicks of light slowly descend onto the floor, and it dies entirely soon after. The boy’s eyes widen, then turns angrily at “John”.

“How did you do that?”

“Erm, I kinda j’st imagine water pouren’ water on it, very hard.”

The boy stares intensely at the top of the cupboard, similar to “John”, small streams of water start to flow down, giving the wooden surface a reflective sheen, audibly gulps, and a sparkle of joy shines in his maroon eyes. It soon turns into vindictiveness as he turns towards “John”, the water did flow, but it merely spates from the invisible barrier, gushing down onto the tiled floor. They exchange a questioning look, before John takes a step forward and pokes a finger at the spot, water now flowing onto his hands as it went through the wall, he flips his palm up and collects the water, before letting it spill onto the floor.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Oh…”

Seeing the boy reading the book instead of acknowledging his presence, John turns away and sits on the floor outside the room.

“What’s yaw name?”

He snaps his book shut in a rude thud, “Give me something first, then I’ll tell.”

“But the’er is nothin I c’n give ya.”

“Then don’t ask.”

The two boys stay silent after the brief exchange, and Severus finally dozes off to a dreamless slumber within the realm moments later.

Knitting has always been one of the most calming activities for Albus Dumbledore, the rhythmic knick-knacking as the needles collide, the colourful repeats that slowly form with just a few simple twirls and knots, it’s soothing to watch how a single line of yarn slowly intertwine, forming into a beautiful canvas, it anchors him, as he is quite fond of the calmness the mechanical movements provides him, to zone out from his perpetually moving gears.

He wraps the string of yarn over the previous loop in a fluid motion and a swift pierce of the needle, then continues onto the next row.

He briefly looks away from the knitting magazine to the young man on the bed, Severus had always been a good friend, his best confidant, and the most important asset within the order, as well as the only barrier between Slytherins and Voldermort, even if there’s barely any protection the Head of House can provide. Knowing the number of dark supporters within the house, some students would certainly react badly to his treason, especially the ones who are lining up to be Tom’s underlings, yet there are undoubtedly students who stand neutral, would they rebel against the only one who actively supported them? Or will they keep silent?

It is true that he knew Severus was most likely not going to survive in order to rescue Harry, and having to have known the man for years he too would give anything to save the only remnant of the woman he loved so dearly, regardless of his views on the boy as it’s the almost the sole motivation the young man has in his life. Not that Albus didn’t plan something for the man in case he made it, his combative and potion skills will not go to waste, an overseas mission, then, an …accident should guarantee no further information will leak out from the order, and the Malfoys will take up his role, they have no reason to refuse after all.

Yet…

Just when he thought he had solved the puzzle, hidden pieces make their appearance in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Once Slytherin always a Slytherin as Severus likes to say, but Albus would not have thought he had hidden his correspondence with the Princes, the believed extinct line in Britain. Perhaps he is aware of the reason for the family’s exile, hence rather keep it to himself? Why would they have contacted Severus, who despite being the youngest Potions Master ever, had gone into near-complete anonymity after his achievement, and also a convicted Death Eater? And how did they come to his aid knowing when he needed it, able to remove a dark curse without using a wand, but blood arts?

The abilities that came within the House of Prince are something he does not understand, and it is a consensus that what Albus Dumbledore does not understand, is inherently dangerous, much like what pushed them into eradicating every possible member they can reach, and later on the fruitless search for the missing Prince child, which the original Order had carried on doing discreetly during the first war.

Lord Prince, if he is not just some well-trained doppelganger pretending to be immortal, vowed not to seek harm against the ministry, directly assuring Cornelius, but nothing regarding the light or the dark. The “Solution to the problem” he spoke of that may involve Severus’s assistance, is it about the heir?

Could Severus be the missing child? It is true that he is incredibly talented when it comes to mind arts, but Albus can tell from the core’s presence and the magical signature he copied from the spy when he resumed the espionage, that it is nothing like Prince, as the man suggested how heirs will inherit a similar power to their predecessors. Moreover, Albus would have recognized Eileen Prince’s face on Severus, even Decimus Prince, if he is truly the child.

His whirring thoughts are cut short by a weak groan, focusing back on the waking man, he lays his half-finished scarf and magazine on the nightstand.

“Severus, Severus can you hear me?”

The younger man’s eyes open a mere fraction and roll his head over with much effort, “H… m’ster…”

“Glad to have you back with us in the land of the living, my boy.” he chuckles, putting the cup of water near Severus’s chapped lips while gently lifting his head up. Slowly, the man empties the cup, leaving the ice chips at the bottom. He lays the man’s head back onto the pillow and pats the unblemished arm, and subtly cast a silencing charm and disillusionment spell around them.

“How are you feeling?”

Severus drags a shaking palm over his face, “L’ke shit.”

“Rest assured that Poppy is quite determined to keep you within these walls for a week or two this time.” Albus smiles at the professor’s disgruntled growl. He watches as the man notices the thin tube that travels down from a bag hanging on a pole next to him, following the tube, his eyes travel down and eventually reach the end of the plastic within his charcoal-colored arm, Severus’s eyes widen at the sight.

“Wha… happ’n’d…”

“What do you remember?”

The man frowns in concentration, “Is Potter—”

“Yes, thanks to you, Harry is safe and sound, he has recovered completely.” Albus reassures. Good, he is still dedicated to the cause.

“Malfoys?” Severus asks as he tries to sit up, before slumping against the headboard.

Hm. Albus did know that the young man maintained regular contact with Lucius it even after the first war, he knew from young Draco that he was apparently named Godfather of the Malfoy heir. An oversight on his part, as he presumed they were friends for benefits, but seeing how Severus trusts them enough to send them to Hogwarts, plus their reaction towards Severus’s condition, their friendship runs deeper than he thought. And since the Malfoys came out unscathed after the recent meeting, that implies Lucius Malfoy’s position among Tom’s elite stays firm.

The headmaster smiles, this shall benefit the order greatly.

“They are currently taking residence in your quarters. As for your arm, the combination of Voldermort’s wrath and the cursed blade that wounded you caused quite the damage.” He explains, ignoring the man flinching.

“Then how am I… unfortunately alive?” Severus drawls, seemingly more awake now with the return of his sarcasm.

“That is something I would like to inquire you about, Severus.” Albus smoothes the non-existent wrinkles on his robes, “I didn’t know you work with Lord Prince.”

Severus goes still for a moment, then narrows his eyes “What about him?” he said, with a hint of annoyance.

The Headmaster was not expecting that reaction, “We thought you were dead, Severus, just as we were planning what to do with the aftermath, Lord Prince came and healed you from the apparent curse, alongside the woman, Eileen Pr—”

Noting how his tongue seems to be stuck at the roof of his mouth, he looked to Severus, who answers “There is some kind of taboo on her name, as far as I’m told, it was set as a punishment.”

Albus glides his hand across his great beard, “Oh? How odd. Would you care to tell me more about them?”

Severus scoffs, “They offered me a place amongst the other Prince Scholars as they call it, I declined, and then they decided to commission me for monthly supplies of Draughts, as a hiring tactic, I presume.”

“No offense, my friend. But from what Mr. Prince had told us, I thought you two are on great terms.”

“For someone who does not know how to take a hint, of course.” Severus scowls, looks at the white runes on his tainted arm, and lets out a bitter laugh, “ Well, this might as well be another mark of ownership.”

If Severus feels forced by them, he would be compelled to help the search regarding the threat, which should take the burden out of Albus’s already full hands.

“Yet you still accept their commissions.”

“They pay me a good amount, Albus, I will not lie that I didn’t need the money, especially when most of my salary went to replacing my stocks each time anyone decides not to pay attention and ruin half a classroom’s worth of ingredients with a single explosion. In Longbottom’s case, on almost a daily basis. I have been taking commissions since my third year as a professor from the Potions Guild.” Severus rants.

“My boy, you know I have tried helping you in that regard, but with the war, we will have to pioritise the Order.”

The younger man sighs, “Apologies, I am… frustrated.”

Albus pats the man on the arm again, smiling at the scowl, “Even so, you stayed in Hogwarts.”

“It is unlikely that you will let me leave, I intend to keep my promises and vows. But now… I am of no use, a cell is eagerly waiting for me in Azkaban.”

Knowing that Severus still needs his protection, and not risking to move away from it in face of a possibly better offer puts his mind at ease.

“Do not say so, my friend, the order still needs your help.”

At the recovering man’s twitch at the lips, Albus is convinced that Severus will help him.

Till the very end.

Severus suddenly winced, wrapping an arm across his torso.

“Ah, I forgot about Poppy, I let her and the others know that you’ve woken up.”

“Must you announce my predicament to anyone, care to do it with a ‘Sonorus’ ?”

Albus laughs and shakes his head exasperatingly, he picks up the half-knitted vibrant yellow and purple scarf with the magazine and makes his way to the door. “Have some rest, Severus, everything shall be in order.”

Seeing the man lying back down on the bed, he quietly shuts the infirmary door with a click, and begins his journey back to his office.

“Oh dear.”

The purple rhombuses near the knots seem to have gone into disarray, the bright yellow mixing into the orderly shapes, perhaps he missed the thread by a row? Quite amazing, how one wrong step leads to this chaos.

“That will not do.” With a snap of his fingers, the one misplaced thread pulls itself out and reweaves back into its intended place, the extra piece of yarn burning away into ashes. Satisfied with his piece, he continues his walk, humming along the way.

Everything shall be in order.

The moment Albus’s footsteps fade into nothing, Severus lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. He couldn’t believe it, that Lord Prince would actually travel to Britain just to convince him to return to the House, even having the audacity to bring her along.

Would Albus suspect him? Despite not having been asked about the heir, now that he knows the relationship between the Lord of the house and himself, he would be the prime suspect. Would they try to kill him? Or try to buy the Prince’s favor, and convince them into helping the order, just to turn the Wizarding population against them again, followed by a complete eradication.

The more he thinks about it, the more the healed stab wound burns, Severus curls onto his side, and tries to wait the pain out. He glares daggers at the ring of runes, in the slanted form he has read over the letters for years, all lords seem to have a pattern when it comes to getting underdogs, offer protection, pretend to care about them, and seal the deal with a blasted mark, physical or not.

With the pain starting to reach its peak, he wonders why Poppy still hasn’t arrived the moment his vitals starts to change at this rate, it should have alerted the monitoring wards system, turning around without moving his waist, he scans his eyes across the top of the nightstand — Albus didn’t return his wand.

The infirmary door creaks open, and just when Severus is about to sag in relief, he curses inwardly upon seeing that infernal face.

“Professor! You’re awake!”

“Yes, Potter, thank you for the keen observation.” he grinds out, and much to his dismay, he doesn’t leave, instead the boy comes closer.

“I… um… Just wanted–” the brat expression switched to that of… concern? What in the world? “Sir do you need Madame Pomfrey?”

Severus simply raises an eyebrow, and the boy’s posture slumped, with a sigh, he asks, “Why are you here Potter, I have been told you have fully recovered?”

“Oh, Madame Pomfrey is brewing for the infirmary, so I volunteered to pick things up for her… sir.”

The boy flinched under his elongated stare, peculiar, as he would normally just snap back at him, not that he has the energy to snarl at the boy either “Very well, get on with it.”

“Yes Professor.” Potter dashes towards the Matron’s office while leaving Severus in bewilderment at the title that the boy never bothered using.

Another wave of pain washes over, his body is starting to drench in cold sweat, he really should have called Poppy.

“Professor Snape!” Potter yells out from the office, “ Where can I find the… size 2 charmed crystal vials?”

Damn it Potter use your bloody eyes! Just the thought of talking feels painful as the muscles across his left side continue to cramp, he slowly pushes himself up, holding onto the IV pole for support.

“Cupboard at the… furthest left to the table… second row… third… rac—”

It feels like his stomach got carved out and someone poured a whole jar of Bundimun secretions on it, falling back onto the bed, he grips onto the pole like a lifeline as he tries to occlude the pain away.

“Sir, I should really call Madame Pomfrey.” Potter rushes towards him and stopping a few steps away, raising his wand.

“Potter… do not interrupt her… just take your things and leave…”

Not even bothering to let him finish, Potter summons a Patronus, a fully corporeal Patronus in the form of a stag, same as James Potter’s of course. “Go to Madame Pomfrey, lead her here.”

“Bloody Gryffindors.” Severus grunts, tearing his eyes from the glowing apparition, a painful reminder.”

Potter hesitates, and much to the older man’s mortification, he strides stiffly towards him and sits on the previously occupied chair.

“What the– Potter just leave. Or are you so determined to make me feel even more miserable?”

There is a flash of anger in those green eyes, but it died down in an instant.

“Look sir, I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you alone at the moment—”

“You are not a healer Potter.”

“And there’s something I need to say.” once again, those green eyes stare at him with determination, a familiar sight.

A twinge of pain races up from his left side to his chest, “Spit it out.” he groans.

“I’d like to thank you again, professor, for saving me.”

“You already did.”

“I know, but you died, almost died for me, why?”

Severus suppresses another flinch, “Why, Potter, I’d think you would have been happy about it.” He scans across the boy, his expression pinched and haunted, oversized clothes barely hidden by an old jacket, his thin frame… what?

“Don’t say that… I… just don’t want anyone to die because of me.” the boy’s voice reduces into a whisper by the end of the sentence. What in the world gave him that idea?

“Mr. Potter,” Severus says as calmly as possible, “not everything is about you.”

“Yeah?” he abruptly shoots up, the vials caged tightly in his clenched fist, his eyes full of anger, “I killed Quirrel! Ginny almost died in the chamber because of me! Cedric died just because I told him to take the cup! And you hated me! You knew you were to going to die, yet… I just… even my own parents…”

Potter slumps back down onto the chair, breaking down into sobs, burying his face into his hands and babbling apologies. Great Merlin, where is Poppy when you need her?

“Mr. Potter, listen to me very carefully.” Severus uses his teaching voice, the one he uses when he had to explain the simple rules in making a basic healing draught to dunderheads, “Quirrel, from what I understand, died under the extended period of possession of the Dark Lord. Ms. Weasly as I recall is very much alive, Mr. Diggory’s death is a tragedy because we weren’t able to detect a polyjuiced death eater amongst the faculty, who even fooled the headmaster.”

The boy is now sniffling, his eyes tentatively raising to meet the professor’s.

“I took you away from the Dark Lord’s dungeons, that is something anyone would have done, yes, I allowed you to drain my core, because any sane person would be willing to, as much as I detest you, I would never have let you die. And as you can see, unfortunately for everyone including me, I am alive.”

Potter nods, his red-rimmed eyes filled with some kind of… relief?

“Your parents, James Potter, Lily Ev– Potter , they loved you more than anything, she would have done anything to keep you safe, and while there is nothing I can say about bloody James Potter, he most definitely treasured you above all, never forget that. You did not kill them, the Dark Lord did, and I—”

Severus hesitated, should he tell the boy now? Yet for some reason he could not bring himself to do so, the boy hates him anyways.

Later, when things settle down, then I shall.

He sighs, “Just… no, Mr. Potter, you did not murder anybody, not me, not Mr. Diggory, Ms. Weasley, Quirrel whatsoever, and most certainly not your parents. Understood?”

Potter nods again, raking his sleeve across his eyes and exhaled deeply.

“I need a verbal answer.”

“Yes sir.”

Severus deflates, comforting people is exhausting, let alone a Potter, “Rest assured that I will be taking points from you, Potter ”

“You can’t take points during summer, professor. ” he grins.

“Hmph, you will find that I am able to do so, ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr. Potter.” Severus turns his head away, the stabbing sensation is back again.

“Git.” Potter mutters under his breath.

Just then, Poppy walks into the infirmary, and immediately makes his way next to his bed checking on the IV bag and scanning her wand above his curled form in a sweeping motion. “Thank you for notifying me, Mr. Potter, you should head back to the lab. Severus are you still in pain?”

Severus gives her a curt nod, while feeling Potter’s gaze lingering at his back.

“I wasn’t alerted at all, how long has this been going? Mr. Potter, Off you go please.”

The boy must have broken out of his trance, as he hears him rushing to the exit, about to push the door.

“Potter.”

“Yes sir.”

Poppy gives them both a bemused look, Severus ignores it, and rolls his head over to face the boy.

“Regarding… your question a few days …ago… she likes to eat pasta… with a disgusting amount of Parmesan cheese on top.”

Potter looks puzzled for a moment, before breaking into a wide grin “Thanks professor!”, he shouts before running out of the room.

Poppy gives him a questioning look, which he glares back in response, after a moment, she chuckles in realisation, “My, Severus Snape, are you going soft?”

At his horrified face, the Matron laughs even harder as she continues her ministrations.

“You again.” the boy in the room asks, the puddle of water is no longer there, and the cupboard is completely dry, the lamp’s warm light showering onto the open book atop his desk, “Did you bring me anything?”

“Well,” John holds up a pretty hideous-looking piece of scarf “Ya wan’ this?”

“I don’t want that rubbish.” the boy’s nose scrunches up, “what else?”

John scours through the large pockets of his coat, and miraculously finds two large and rather fresh-looking blood-red apples. He sits down just outside the invisible wall, leaving the unfinished scarf next to the half piece of pebble, the boy looks at him suspiciously, before sitting right on the opposite, eyes looking straight at John.

John fishes out the two apples, showing the other boy, “D’ya wan’ an apple?”

The boy stares at him in a long silence, then shows his palm up, “Sure. Where did you get them?”

John puts the apple firmly onto the other boy’s hand noting he can in fact cross the barrier, “Dunno, maybe I stole em.”

The boy’s lips briefly quirk up, before returning to his impassive expression. They continue to eat in silence.

“So… what’s yaw name?"

The boy looks up from his meal, his eyes are red like the glimmering skin of the fruit, and answers.