“Tempus,” Severus murmured, groaning as the numbers flashed above him--3:32 am. Immediately, he glanced to the indicator light above Harry. It hadn’t changed. He let out a sigh.
A shuffling of papers had him glancing to the other side of the room. A dim light emanated from said papers, but the light it cast wasn’t enough to identify the person sitting at Harry’s desk. “Who’s there?” he called out.
Immediately the figure pushed back the chair, walking through the darkness toward him.
Severus lit his wand, shielding the brightness of it so as not to blind the person. To his utter surprise, Luna Lovegood appeared at his side.
“Hello, Professor Snape.”
Severus stared at her, dumbfounded. He hadn’t seen her in years, but he’d recognize her anywhere. Her hair was still too long--straw blond and obnoxiously curly. Her pale blue eyes still protruded from her oval face. In the dim light, she looked otherworldly.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Luna smiled. “I’ve taken over the night shifts so that Hannah can get some rest. I’m here in case either of you need me. Harry is resting well right now. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Ignoring the question, Severus said, “You’re a healer now?”
“Not exactly,” she said, summoning an overstuffed chair that she pulled up to the bed beside Snape. “Although I did complete my healer’s training.” She tilted her head sideways. “May I?” she asked, reaching for his hand.
Reluctantly, he allowed her to take it in hers, completely confused as to why she would want to do so. Yet her touch was warm and comforting and asked nothing of him.
She ran her fingers along his hand and wrist, sending tiny sparks of electricity along his skin that felt odd but did not cause discomfort. “Have you heard of Heinrich von Ludwig?” she asked, releasing his hand.
“No,” Severus replied.
“Funny man,” she said, looking off into the distance. “His spectacles were always a bit lopsided and he spoke with an Australian accent even though he was born and raised in Germany.” She returned her protuberant gaze to him. “I apprenticed under him after I completed healer’s training. He was working on some unusual methods for repairing nerve damage in witches and wizards who were paralyzed and hadn’t responded to other treatments.”
Severus’s eyebrows shot up.
“Unfortunately, he caught a rare and incurable strain of dragon pox and died quite suddenly.”
Well, so much for that, Severus thought.
“I do recall the techniques he taught me, though,” Luna said, squeezing his hand lightly before releasing it.
“Am I to be your guinea pig, then?”
Luna smiled indulgently. “Only if you wish it. I am no longer a healer, per se, so I would be helping you as a friend.”
“A friend,” Severus said, his voice deadpan.
“A friend of a friend?” she offered.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. He supposed he should be grateful for the offer, but he wasn’t sure he trusted Miss Lovegood’s healing prowess. The young girl she’d been had been flighty and eccentric at the best of times. “If you are no longer a healer, what is it you do now?”
For the first time, she looked at him with pity in her eyes. He stiffened automatically.
“I ferry souls, Professor.” She spoke the words as if they were a perfectly normal, everyday thing to say.
“You’re a death walker?” Severus asked, but it was more of an accusation than a question. Death walkers were exceedingly rare and considered about as unlucky, and as unwelcome, as thestrals. Before she could respond, realization hit. He glanced between her and Harry, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“No,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, no.”
“Relax, Professor,” Luna said, laying her hand over his once more. “I am not here to help Harry cross.”
“But you’re a death walker,” Severus repeated. As rare as they were, and as much as he didn’t want to believe they even existed, if one did exist, the oddball Luna Lovegood would definitely fit the profile.
“We do more than help souls meet and accept their death. We also help confused and frightened souls return to their bodies if it isn’t their time yet.”
Severus’s mind raced. “I don’t know how your gift works,” he admitted, “but can you see Harry’s soul?”
Luna’s face fell and Severus felt his world fall apart. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Harry is… lost… right now.”
“You can’t find him?” Severus nearly bellowed, as if Harry’s condition was her fault.
“Oh no, Professor. I found him.”
“And?”
“He’s caught in-between. He’s torn between joining his parents and godfather and returning to his friends in the here and now. He is frightened and alone. He feels lost.”
Severus swallowed. “But it isn’t his time. Because if it was, you’d have helped him cross already.”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Luna said, spinning the silver bangles on her wrist. “It might not be his time this second, but it might be his time in the next second.”
“Take me to him,” Severus suddenly demanded.
The pity that was lurking in her eyes shone brighter once again.
“Please, just let me talk to him,” Severus pleaded.
“I’m sorry, Professor. He’s not stable enough right now. I merely checked on him. Even I didn’t dare approach him, not when he hovers so close to death as it is. Any interference at this point could push him over the edge.”
Severus cursed and turned his head away.
“The moment he is stable, I will take you to him,” Luna promised. “Now how about some tea?”
Severus woke the next morning to hushed voices as Luna packed up her things to leave, while Hannah looked freshly showered and ready to start her day. Hermione came in with breakfast, placing a spread of food before Severus. Ron sat beside Harry, talking quietly to the unconscious man.
“How is he?” Severus asked, and the room at large stilled. Luna nodded and said her good-byes, while Hannah came to sit by Severus, all eyes on her.
“He is much the same as yesterday,” she said. “I will be running some more diagnostic spells today to make sure his organs are functioning. If any damage remains, I will do my best to treat it.”
“What is your greatest concern?” Severus asked, slightly afraid to know the answer.
Hannah let out a long breath. “Aside from death? Brain damage.”
Hermione lowered her head into her hands and Ron looked grim.
“As you know,” Hannah continued, “he lost a lot of blood, and rapidly, too. He was in hypovolemic shock when I arrived. It is likely, although not certain, that he may have suffered watershed strokes from the loss of blood pressure, which, incidentally, was responsible for his two cardiac arrests.”
Severus tensed; reeling at the unwelcome news.
“The spells I put on his organs to repair and monitor them and, in the case of his heart, to keep it functioning properly, are all doing their jobs. I have added potions to his circulatory system to aid in the filtration of toxins from his blood, as those are generated at a higher rate during times of trauma to the body.” Hannah shifted, tugging at her healer’s robes. “I am also trying to aid the blood in perfusing any tissues that may have been damaged by lack of oxygen, especially in the brain.”
“Won’t his magic help him heal?” Hermione asked.
“Yes,” Hannah replied, “that is the one thing we have going for us. The potions and spells I used were specifically designed to aid a witch or wizard in critical condition by strengthening their inherent healing magic.”
“In other words,” Severus said, “if he was a Muggle, he’d be dead.”
“That is almost a certainty,” Hannah replied quietly.
Ron groaned. “When will he wake up?”
Hermione came to stand beside her husband, resting one hand on his shoulder and stroking Harry’s hair with her other hand. “Yes, why is he still unconscious? Shouldn’t he have awoken by now?”
“It’s hard to say.” Hannah tugged again at her healer’s robes again. “Likely his body is trying to repair itself and directing all available magical energy toward that task.”
Severus cleared his throat. “Does Miss Lovegood share your opinion?”
At Hannah’s startled look, he knew he was presumption was correct.
Without waiting for Hannah to answer, he said, “Miss Lovegood seems to think that Harry is lost.”
Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth and Ron said, his voice quite agitated, “Lost as in he’s a lost cause?”
“No, no,” Hannah said. “Luna seems to think… well, she fancies herself a…” Hannah trailed off and looked away.
“A what?” Ron demanded.
“A death walker,” Severus said.
Ron looked shocked. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, everyone knows death walkers don’t exist. They’re just a myth.”
“They do too exist,” Ron insisted. “They’re just really rare. Rarer than true seers even.”
“Ron,” Hermione chastised him, but the man in question interrupted.
“We had one in our family, several generations back. I’m named after him. Bilius Weasley. He was a world-renowned death walker. He kept journals. My great aunt Muriel has them.”
Hannah checked the monitoring charms on Harry and then said, “Luna believes that Harry is stuck in the in-between.”
“Well, how do we get him unstuck?” Ron asked.
Severus met Mrs. Granger-Weasley’s gaze and knew she expected his support. Sighing, he said, “I am reluctant to believe in such things myself.” Hermione looked vindicated, but only momentarily. “However, Miss Lovegood did say that if Harry stabilized, and another healer was present to watch over his physical condition,” here he looked toward Hannah, who nodded, “Miss Lovegood would take me to him. To Harry. To try and convince him to reconnect with his body.”
Hermione and Ron gaped at Severus. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. He was not one to give credence to ridiculous legends and silly notions. But with Harry’s life hanging in the balance, he’d do just about anything to help the man, no matter how preposterous or impossible it sounded.
“It’s worth a try,” Ron said.
“We brought Luna in for a reason,” Hannah added. “Aside from the fact that she is trustworthy and she trained as a healer, she’s also been known to do things, unexplainable things, that no one else has been able to do.”
“Such as?” Severus asked.
“She saved a witch down in Devonshire, one that by all rights should have died. And there was that wizard on the Isle of Wight. Now, he was a lost cause. But she saved him, too.”
Ron looked at his friend, who lay pale and lifeless in the midst of them all. “So how do we know when he’s stable enough to try it?”
Severus looked to Hannah. He was wondering that as well.
“His indicator light needs to be at amber before we risk it,” Hannah replied.
“What are the risks?” Hermione asked.
“I’m not really sure,” Hannah admitted, “but Luna said that if he wasn’t stable, walking with him could push him over the edge.”
The hours passed agonizingly slowly that day. They were nearing the 24-hour mark and still Harry remained unconscious, his indicator light red-amber. Harry’s room still smelled of blood, as no one had had the time or energy to clean it. Draco had come by after breakfast, insisting that Snape receive his therapy regardless of Harry’s condition. Severus refused to be moved from Harry’s side, so eventually it was decided to relocate them both--Harry and Severus--to Severus’s rooms.
There was a bit of bustle as they were both moved--Harry by Hannah and Ron, and himself by Draco, but soon they were settled in Severus’s old rooms. It was both strange and calming to be lying in the bed he’d last seen three years ago. His room remained exactly the same as when he’d left it, although he was sure that the clothes in the cupboard would be two sizes too large for him now.
He glanced over at Harry and felt, more than ever, that the younger man didn’t belong here in Severus’s too grey room. Harry’s rooms were bright and mismatched, full of color and life. Severus’s rooms were clinical and cold, practical but nothing more. It saddened him to reduce Harry’s world to this familiar yet unwelcoming space. There was nothing to be done for it at the moment, though.
Draco transfigured Severus’s rooms so that the large bed, where he and Harry now resided, was secluded by means of long velvet curtains. Meanwhile, Draco transfigured a single bed for him off to the side where the therapists could work with him. There was a sense of indignity to it all, but he’d suffer it willingly if it meant that he could be well enough to help Harry when the time came.
By nine that evening, Severus was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He still hadn’t regained sensation or feeling in his legs, no matter what the healers and therapists had tried. And it all seemed rather inconsequential in the face of fighting for Harry’s life. Draco barely kept from admonishing his sharp tongue when the last therapist of the day, a young witch, left in a flood of tears.
“I heard you are going to try and walk with Lovegood.” Draco said.
Severus nodded but remained silent.
“My father says death walkers are a load of rubbish but my mother believes in them. She told me once that one helped her grandmother cross. Said the old witch wouldn’t leave until she got a message to her only daughter that the man that was courting her was a scoundrel.”
“And was he?” Severus asked.
“Definitely,” Draco said. “The man was a gambler with a load of debt and a wife on the side.”
Miss Lovegood herself walked in just then. She conversed briefly with Hannah before sitting beside Harry and taking his hand. Luna’s lids opened and her glassy gaze locked with Severus’s. “It has to be tonight,” she said.
“But he’s not stable,” Hermione protested, gesturing toward the still red-amber indicator beacon above the bed.
“He’s drifting closer to the light of his loved ones. His parents and godfather,” Luna clarified. Then, ominously, she said, “The end is near either way.”
Hermione let out a wail and buried her face against Ron’s chest.
In some distant part of his suddenly numb brain, Severus felt Draco take his hand. Severus closed his eyes and, regardless of everyone in the room to witness it, he wept.