Disowned Chapter 2
I've decided to go ahead and post half of the second chapter. The rest of it is mostly written, but needs some editing. I was going to include this in the previous posting of this story, but it turns out the post would be too long (lj's decision, not mine). I'm unsure if this will extend into a third chapter.
As for my medical knowledge...I've made it up with some assistance from google.
Chapter 1: Cleared
Title: Disowned
Chapter: Consequences (Chapter 2)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and more.
Summary: Sirius Black makes a hot-tempered decision that has a devastating effect on Harry in more ways than Harry could've ever imagined. Severus Snape ends up making a snap decision that he may or may not regret. Harry has to come to terms with rejection. This is written in response to the Disowned challenge on P&S.
Rating: PG (some language, but not much)
Words: 3,270
Severus stepped out of the fireplace and into the spacious living room that was furnished in a rather dated victorian style though, knowing Albus Dumbledore the way he did, Snape wasn’t in the least bit surprised that the fabric over the settee and armchairs was a deep blue-violet with starburst embroidered in gold thread. The whole room was probably taken out of the imagination of a muggle child. And Dumbledore himself sometimes took it to the extreme to image himself after a cartoon wizard.
Potter stumbled over the hearth and only Severus’ quick reflexes kept the boy from face-planting into Dumbledore’s rug. The boy looked a sickly shade of grey-green and Severus immediately conjured a bucket. Not a moment too soon, either. The bucket was barely in front of the boy before he was violently ill. Potter collapsed to his knees, gripping the sides of the bucket like a lifeline and retching into it.
“What,” Albus began, rising to his feet in alarm, before changing his words, “whatever is the matter with Mr. Potter, Severus?”
The Potions Master sneered, turning away from the trembling boy to meet the Headmaster’s blue eyes. “Potter is dead.”
The older wizard looked both confused and disconcerted. “Explain.”
The retching slowed to exhausted coughs and occasional gags and Severus glanced down, vanishing the contents of the bucket. “It appears that that imbecile Black has disowned the boy.”
It was strange, and a little unnerving, to see the normally well-informed man looking so surprised. “Disowned?”
Severus nodded sharply. “Completely and irrevocably.”
Albus swept past the younger man, quickly kneeling next to the boy. He smoothed a hand over the heaving back and it was then that Severus noticed the overly large, worn shirt and frayed jeans. He’d never seen he boy out of his school robes, which were always new and clean. They’d screamed the Potter wealth and had served to ignite his bitter anger many times. Now they sparked an unsettling suspicion.
He was pulled from his thoughts when Albus drew his wand and flicked it toward the door. A silvery patronus materialized and vanished through the wall. Albus stowed his wand again, focusing intently on the boy. “This event just happened?”
“Yes,” Severus said, shifting guiltily. “Approximately five or ten minutes ago. I’ve attempted to slow the damage.”
Blue eyes sparked knowingly up at him. “I’m not blaming you, my boy. I’ve called for Poppy,” he explained, running a hand over the boy’s back when the teen started retching again.
They didn’t have to wait too many minutes more before the front door opened and brisk steps were heard on the worn floorboards and Poppy called out, “Albus?”
“In the living room, Poppy,” Albus called back. “I’m afraid the former Mr. Potter is your patient tonight.”
“Former?” Poppy gasped, entering the living room with her wand already in hand.
“I fear it’s a bit of a story, but that can wait,” the Headmaster told her.
She hardly paid Severus any mind and the potions master stepped out of her way as she rapidly moved to the Headmaster’s side, muttering furiously under her breath as she waved her wand in complicated patterns. Whatever the spells were telling her made her features darken and her eyes snapped fire when she finally lowered her wand and turned to Albus, demanding, “What happened to the child? He was perfectly healthy not three hours ago.”
Albus looked old and weary and Severus offered a hand to help him stand. The boy was resting his forehead against the lip of the bucket, no longer throwing up but shivers wracked his body and sweat beaded along his hairline. The Headmaster lowered himself heavily into the settee nearby. “What is the diagnosis, my dear?”
The matron’s lips pursed in displeasure. “His magical core is crumbling and his body is rejecting him; if we don’t stop it soon, he will not survive. Nothing in this school should’ve had such a devastating effect on a person.”
Albus sighed, running a hand down his beard. “It’s as I feared, then. It appears Harry has been disowned and ejected from the Potter line.”
Poppy gasped, her hand flying to her chest and clutching at her heart. “Completely…? But I thought only the head of the family could do such a thing.”
Even Severus, though he’d assumed such was the case, was taken aback by the news. Complete disownment almost never happened in a family nowadays and he’d never heard of such results. Albus tapped the arm of his chair, a sign of great disturbance of mind. “It is normally only able to be done by the head of the family, but since Harry is - was the last of the Potter line and he is underage, the head of the family reverts to the closest living male relative on his father’s side.”
“Black?” Severus asked, already knowing the answer.
Poppy looked at him in surprise. “Sirius Black?”
“The very same,” Albus said when Severus merely sneered. “Not much happens for an adult witch or wizard since their magic has stabilized and completely become their own. Minors still rely heavily on the family magic to keep them balanced. Usually there is a delay before the disowning side effects occur. That they’re happening so swiftly is curious. What happened?”
The last question was directed toward Severus, but they were surprised when Potter spoke up, his voice muffled since he didn’t lift his head from the bucket, “I’m not Potter enough. Mum didn’t want - didn’t want to marry Dad.” A sob interrupted the explanation. “He was a bully and - and he took advantage of Mum. D-dad didn’t - didn’t want me. Sirius said it’s m-my fault he died. Mine and mum’s. He said I’m no longer a Potter.”
Severus felt his heart seize and he staggered, grateful for the armchair that appeared behind him. He sank into it, covering his face with his hands. Sixteen years of regrets and pain rushed through him and suddenly he understood her last words to him. The words she’d shouted at him through a locked door just before he saw the wedding announcement in the papers. Words that had crushed him at the time, but now took on a whole new meaning.
“It’s too late, Sev!”
“Am I going to die?”
Neither Poppy or Albus answered immediately and Severus grit his teeth. He’d failed Lily twice already. He’d run when she rejected him. He’d been a coward, just as his father always said. Then he failed to save her when it counted. He swore he’d protect the boy. He vowed the boy would live even if it took his dying breath to make it so. His fists clenched. He rose to his feet, eyes narrowed on the boy. “No.”
Harry shook his head. “I feel it,” he whispered. “It’s getting hard to see, hard to hear, hard to breathe… Everything hurts.”
“What needs to be done?” he demanded of Albus.
The elderly wizard looked surprised. “Are you sure, Severus? It would be extremely difficult to hide this from Voldemort.”
Severus suppressed the cold shiver of terror that clawed down his spine, burying it deep below his occlumency shields. “But not impossible.”
Albus steepled his hands, looking at the younger man over the tips of his fingers. “Perhaps you should take a day or so to think it over-”
“He doesn’t have a day or two, Albus,” Poppy suddenly exclaimed, hovering over Harry. Harry was retching again, but this time it was blood. The fluid leaked from the boy’s nose and eyes and stained his mouth. “The decision has to be made now.”
Albus looked flustered, but Severus was already moving to Harry, kneeling next to the boy and supporting him as he heaved. “What needs to be done? This is magic I don’t know, Albus. Tell me quickly!”
“Severus, the plans in motion,” Albus started weakly, but Poppy was having none of it.
“Oh, sod your bloody plans, Albus! There is no time,” she snapped at the Headmaster, her knuckles were white around her wand. She moved around to help support Harry. “You need to be Harry’s father, Severus. The Ancient Rites.”
The potions master nodded. Old Magic. Blood Magic. It was considered dark by Ministry standards, but without it the boy would die. James Potter’s DNA was being forcibly ripped from Harry’s body and the magic he’d received from the Potter side was already withdrawing. Harry couldn’t survive with the DNA from only one parent…and the violent loss of magic would kill him if he did manage to survive the impossible.
It was fortunate that Blood Magic was simple. Well, simple in an obscure sense of the word. At least this particular ritual didn’t require the conscious consent of the other. Harry was convulsing, his eyes rolled back in his head and blood seeping from his mouth. Blood soaked the ratty clothes the boy wore and stained Severus’ hands.
Using his wand, Severus cut a deep slash across his left palm, reaching for Harry’s and doing the same. He laced their fingers, bleeding wounds pressed tightly together. Drawing Harry to his chest, he wrapped his arms around the boy, and muttered a long string of guttural Gaelic. He could feel the pull of magic from deep within him moving up from his core and down his arm and into the boy. Harry’s convulsions slowed and finally stopped when Severus fell silent.
Severus let his head drop to the top of Harry’s head, feeling drained. Druidic spells were coarser than the latin ones that most of Europe adopted after the advance of the Roman Empire and therefore more draining since few modern wizards were as connected to nature as they once were. Though Severus was more of the opinion that much of the magic the Ministry labeled dark, was done so because of ethnic cleansing and in an effort to “civilize” the magical population.
Harry lay still in his arms, the only sign that he still lived was the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. Poppy moved forward, her wand at ready in case either Severus or Harry needed stabilizing spells. Albus remained silent. She checked them both and sighed quietly, sinking to the floor next to them.
“It worked,” she told Severus, relief shining brightly in her eyes. “It’ll take a few days for his core to stabilize and rebuild after the trauma of - well, the least said about that, the better. You’ll need to rest as well, Severus. You expended a lot of magic. No magical travel for a day or so. I don’t think either of you would survive it just now. Albus?”
The Headmaster blinked, tearing his eyes from Severus to meet Poppy’s questioning look. He startled. “Oh, yes. Cocoa!”
A house-elf popped up at the end of the settee, bulging blue eyes widening even further in surprise at the number of people in the living room and what, by all appearances, looked like a murder scene. With a squeak, the little elf bowed. “What can Cocoa do for yous, Master Headmaster, sir?”
“Have two rooms prepared for Severus and Harry, Cocoa,” Albus said.
“Right away, sir!” Cocoa squeaked, hesitating before she popped away and glancing anxiously at Severus as she pulled on her ears. “Would Master Potions Master and Master Potions Master’s son like a tray, sirs?”
Albus lifted an eyebrow, turning to look inquiringly at his younger colleague. Severus stared at the expectant house-elf until Poppy lightly touched his shoulder. With a sharp nod, Severus managed to form a coherent sentence. “Yes. Just tea… Harry will need something to eat when he wakes.”
“Soup would be best,” Poppy suddenly spoke up. “Keep it light, please.”
“Yes, sirs, Mistress Matron, ma’am!” Cocoa trilled and then left with a crack!
Albus finally stood, shaking out his robes and crossing the worn rug. “Well, let’s get you two into your beds. I’m sure Cocoa will have the rest of the elves fussing over you shortly. Can you walk, my boy?”
Severus released Harry into Poppy’s care, brow furrowing as he took an internal assessment of his body. It grated to have to admit it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to rise on his own, let alone climb the steep stairs to the bedrooms on the upper level without landing on his face in a dead faint. “I…may need assistance.”
Poppy chuckled quietly, blissfully ignoring Severus’ furious glare. With a flick of her wand, she levitated Harry out of the living room and they could hear her creaking up the old staircase down the hall. Albus’ eyes sparked with amusement when Severus turned his glower on him. The Headmaster smiled easily, giving way with a genial, “Of course. It would be my pleasure to help you to your bed.”
“Don’t levitate me,” Severus said fiercely.
The Headmaster laughed, hooking surprisingly strong hands under Severus’ arms and helping him to his feet. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He swayed when he finally gained his footing, grateful that Albus merely held his elbow and said nothing. The trek across the living room, down the hall to the stairs, and finally to the upstairs bedroom felt like he’d walked the length of England and Scotland and been subjected to the Cruciatus no fewer than a dozen times by an infuriated megalomaniac dark lord. It was a testament to how he was feeling, that he allowed Albus to clean the blood from his teaching robes before transfiguring them into colorful pajamas and tucking him into the equally colorful bed in a sickeningly cheerful guest room.
Albus fussed with the coverlet and then summoned a comfortable armchair from the corner of the room, placing it next to the bed and took a seat, making himself comfortable and completely ignoring Severus’ withering glare. A tea tray popped up on the bedside table a moment later and Albus prepared a cup, placing it within easy reach of Severus and then made his own, saying, “We must decide what you’re going to tell Voldemort.”
Severus let his head fall back against the headboard, releasing a slow breath of air. It was the closest he’d allow himself to actually groaning. “Must we talk about this now, Albus?”
“No time like the present,” the old man chirped pleasantly. “If not now, when? He’s likely to call you any moment since he’s only getting more and more frustrated that the prophecy is out of his reach.”
Severus draped an arm over his eyes. A headache was forming and he knew any pain relievers would be absolutely useless. The only cure for magical exhaustion was time…and sleep. “He is unlikely to summon me until he has a better understanding of his enemies. Namely you and - and Harry. This conversation can wait until my head no longer feels like a thousand goblins are mining inside my skull.”
“Very well.” Albus sounded disappointed. “You’d best drink your tea and eat some of this toast before you sleep. I really do wish you’d allowed us more time to find a solution.”
The Headmaster almost sounded petulant. Severus pushed himself up a little more against the headboard and reached for the teacup, lifting it to his lips and spearing his employer with glittering black eyes. “The boy was dying, Albus. You know my vow.”
The Headmaster tapped his fingers restlessly against his teacup. “I did not believe your vow extended to this sort of situation.”
Severus lifted an eyebrow and set the drained teacup back on the tray with a muffled chink. “As it’s my vow, it is up to me to interpret the limitations and requirements.”
“But the detriments! If news got out-”
“It’s done, Albus,” the potions master interrupted, his admittedly short temper fraying. “There is no use debating hypothetical what-ifs and should-haves.”
Poppy bustled in, a tray laden with potion bottles floating behind her, and smiled brightly at Severus. “Harry is as healthy as he can be after such an ordeal,” she told him. “He’s already showing remarkable improvement and, with rest and proper nutrition and potions, he should be able to return to Hogwarts with almost no noticeable change.”
Albus rose from his chair, moving to allow Poppy to stand unhindered at the side of the bed. “That’s excellent news; is it not, Severus?”
Severus’ eyes were already closing as he fought the losing battle with sleep. Poppy helped him lie flat, swishing her wand to bring the bedclothes up snuggly around him, and checking that there were no surprises from the ritual. “It’s the most satisfying end of this sort of thing,” she murmured, mindful of her patient.
Albus chuckled quietly, commenting, “Congratulations, my boy; you’re now the proud father of a healthy boy.”
The panic didn’t even have enough time to rise before exhaustion pulled him under.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
The smell of bacon and coffee roused him the next morning, though it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and was greeted by the riot of color in the bed curtains that he remembered what happened. With a groan, Severus rolled onto his back and shoved stringy black hair out of his eyes. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? He tried to grasp the thoughts he’d had the night before, but they eluded him. Lifting his left hand, he gazed mutely at the pale pink scar that bisected his palm.
He was a father.
The idea was laughable. Who was he to be a father to anyone? He could hardly stand himself, what human would wish to be in such close relation to him? He let his hand fall back to his chest, conscious of the steady thump of his heart. He focused on the beat for several minutes before allowing his thoughts to drift. His own father had certainly wanted nothing to do with him apart from another thing to kick. This was everything horrible. His last spontaneous, reckless decision chained him to a half-mad dark lord and made him lose his best friend and the only woman he’d ever loved. Surely he should’ve learned something after nearly sixteen years.
He hardly heard the pop of a house-elf’s arrival, but he definitely heard the creature announce, “Breakfast is ready, Master Potions Master, if you wants it.”
“What I want,” Severus grumbled, “is to be guillotined.”
The little creature blinked bulbous eyes. “Sir?”
Severus waved a hand dismissively. “Coffee. That’s all.”
The house-elf popped away and he climbed out of bed, reaching for the dressing gown that was draped across the armchair. The thought of joining a cheerful Albus Dumbledore presiding over his own breakfast table was repulsive. Delaying the inevitable sounded like a reasonable course of action to Severus. It would give him enough time to iron out his arguments and perhaps even convince himself he hadn’t lost his mind and signed his own death warrant. The Dark Lord was sure to learn the sudden change of parentage soon. Especially since the idiot boy completely failed to even learn the rudiments of occlumency. Yes. Death was on his doorstep now.
Severus prepared his coffee from the tray that appeared on the bedside table, then took the mug and went to see if he could find the boy’s room. Poppy said the boy was fine and on the mend, but Severus needed to be sure of it himself. It would also give him the chance to see if any remarkable changes had occurred as a result of the ritual. Maybe he could then clear his thoughts and form some kind of survival plan.
To Be Continued...
As for my medical knowledge...I've made it up with some assistance from google.
Chapter 1: Cleared
Title: Disowned
Chapter: Consequences (Chapter 2)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and more.
Summary: Sirius Black makes a hot-tempered decision that has a devastating effect on Harry in more ways than Harry could've ever imagined. Severus Snape ends up making a snap decision that he may or may not regret. Harry has to come to terms with rejection. This is written in response to the Disowned challenge on P&S.
Rating: PG (some language, but not much)
Words: 3,270
Severus stepped out of the fireplace and into the spacious living room that was furnished in a rather dated victorian style though, knowing Albus Dumbledore the way he did, Snape wasn’t in the least bit surprised that the fabric over the settee and armchairs was a deep blue-violet with starburst embroidered in gold thread. The whole room was probably taken out of the imagination of a muggle child. And Dumbledore himself sometimes took it to the extreme to image himself after a cartoon wizard.
Potter stumbled over the hearth and only Severus’ quick reflexes kept the boy from face-planting into Dumbledore’s rug. The boy looked a sickly shade of grey-green and Severus immediately conjured a bucket. Not a moment too soon, either. The bucket was barely in front of the boy before he was violently ill. Potter collapsed to his knees, gripping the sides of the bucket like a lifeline and retching into it.
“What,” Albus began, rising to his feet in alarm, before changing his words, “whatever is the matter with Mr. Potter, Severus?”
The Potions Master sneered, turning away from the trembling boy to meet the Headmaster’s blue eyes. “Potter is dead.”
The older wizard looked both confused and disconcerted. “Explain.”
The retching slowed to exhausted coughs and occasional gags and Severus glanced down, vanishing the contents of the bucket. “It appears that that imbecile Black has disowned the boy.”
It was strange, and a little unnerving, to see the normally well-informed man looking so surprised. “Disowned?”
Severus nodded sharply. “Completely and irrevocably.”
Albus swept past the younger man, quickly kneeling next to the boy. He smoothed a hand over the heaving back and it was then that Severus noticed the overly large, worn shirt and frayed jeans. He’d never seen he boy out of his school robes, which were always new and clean. They’d screamed the Potter wealth and had served to ignite his bitter anger many times. Now they sparked an unsettling suspicion.
He was pulled from his thoughts when Albus drew his wand and flicked it toward the door. A silvery patronus materialized and vanished through the wall. Albus stowed his wand again, focusing intently on the boy. “This event just happened?”
“Yes,” Severus said, shifting guiltily. “Approximately five or ten minutes ago. I’ve attempted to slow the damage.”
Blue eyes sparked knowingly up at him. “I’m not blaming you, my boy. I’ve called for Poppy,” he explained, running a hand over the boy’s back when the teen started retching again.
They didn’t have to wait too many minutes more before the front door opened and brisk steps were heard on the worn floorboards and Poppy called out, “Albus?”
“In the living room, Poppy,” Albus called back. “I’m afraid the former Mr. Potter is your patient tonight.”
“Former?” Poppy gasped, entering the living room with her wand already in hand.
“I fear it’s a bit of a story, but that can wait,” the Headmaster told her.
She hardly paid Severus any mind and the potions master stepped out of her way as she rapidly moved to the Headmaster’s side, muttering furiously under her breath as she waved her wand in complicated patterns. Whatever the spells were telling her made her features darken and her eyes snapped fire when she finally lowered her wand and turned to Albus, demanding, “What happened to the child? He was perfectly healthy not three hours ago.”
Albus looked old and weary and Severus offered a hand to help him stand. The boy was resting his forehead against the lip of the bucket, no longer throwing up but shivers wracked his body and sweat beaded along his hairline. The Headmaster lowered himself heavily into the settee nearby. “What is the diagnosis, my dear?”
The matron’s lips pursed in displeasure. “His magical core is crumbling and his body is rejecting him; if we don’t stop it soon, he will not survive. Nothing in this school should’ve had such a devastating effect on a person.”
Albus sighed, running a hand down his beard. “It’s as I feared, then. It appears Harry has been disowned and ejected from the Potter line.”
Poppy gasped, her hand flying to her chest and clutching at her heart. “Completely…? But I thought only the head of the family could do such a thing.”
Even Severus, though he’d assumed such was the case, was taken aback by the news. Complete disownment almost never happened in a family nowadays and he’d never heard of such results. Albus tapped the arm of his chair, a sign of great disturbance of mind. “It is normally only able to be done by the head of the family, but since Harry is - was the last of the Potter line and he is underage, the head of the family reverts to the closest living male relative on his father’s side.”
“Black?” Severus asked, already knowing the answer.
Poppy looked at him in surprise. “Sirius Black?”
“The very same,” Albus said when Severus merely sneered. “Not much happens for an adult witch or wizard since their magic has stabilized and completely become their own. Minors still rely heavily on the family magic to keep them balanced. Usually there is a delay before the disowning side effects occur. That they’re happening so swiftly is curious. What happened?”
The last question was directed toward Severus, but they were surprised when Potter spoke up, his voice muffled since he didn’t lift his head from the bucket, “I’m not Potter enough. Mum didn’t want - didn’t want to marry Dad.” A sob interrupted the explanation. “He was a bully and - and he took advantage of Mum. D-dad didn’t - didn’t want me. Sirius said it’s m-my fault he died. Mine and mum’s. He said I’m no longer a Potter.”
Severus felt his heart seize and he staggered, grateful for the armchair that appeared behind him. He sank into it, covering his face with his hands. Sixteen years of regrets and pain rushed through him and suddenly he understood her last words to him. The words she’d shouted at him through a locked door just before he saw the wedding announcement in the papers. Words that had crushed him at the time, but now took on a whole new meaning.
“It’s too late, Sev!”
“Am I going to die?”
Neither Poppy or Albus answered immediately and Severus grit his teeth. He’d failed Lily twice already. He’d run when she rejected him. He’d been a coward, just as his father always said. Then he failed to save her when it counted. He swore he’d protect the boy. He vowed the boy would live even if it took his dying breath to make it so. His fists clenched. He rose to his feet, eyes narrowed on the boy. “No.”
Harry shook his head. “I feel it,” he whispered. “It’s getting hard to see, hard to hear, hard to breathe… Everything hurts.”
“What needs to be done?” he demanded of Albus.
The elderly wizard looked surprised. “Are you sure, Severus? It would be extremely difficult to hide this from Voldemort.”
Severus suppressed the cold shiver of terror that clawed down his spine, burying it deep below his occlumency shields. “But not impossible.”
Albus steepled his hands, looking at the younger man over the tips of his fingers. “Perhaps you should take a day or so to think it over-”
“He doesn’t have a day or two, Albus,” Poppy suddenly exclaimed, hovering over Harry. Harry was retching again, but this time it was blood. The fluid leaked from the boy’s nose and eyes and stained his mouth. “The decision has to be made now.”
Albus looked flustered, but Severus was already moving to Harry, kneeling next to the boy and supporting him as he heaved. “What needs to be done? This is magic I don’t know, Albus. Tell me quickly!”
“Severus, the plans in motion,” Albus started weakly, but Poppy was having none of it.
“Oh, sod your bloody plans, Albus! There is no time,” she snapped at the Headmaster, her knuckles were white around her wand. She moved around to help support Harry. “You need to be Harry’s father, Severus. The Ancient Rites.”
The potions master nodded. Old Magic. Blood Magic. It was considered dark by Ministry standards, but without it the boy would die. James Potter’s DNA was being forcibly ripped from Harry’s body and the magic he’d received from the Potter side was already withdrawing. Harry couldn’t survive with the DNA from only one parent…and the violent loss of magic would kill him if he did manage to survive the impossible.
It was fortunate that Blood Magic was simple. Well, simple in an obscure sense of the word. At least this particular ritual didn’t require the conscious consent of the other. Harry was convulsing, his eyes rolled back in his head and blood seeping from his mouth. Blood soaked the ratty clothes the boy wore and stained Severus’ hands.
Using his wand, Severus cut a deep slash across his left palm, reaching for Harry’s and doing the same. He laced their fingers, bleeding wounds pressed tightly together. Drawing Harry to his chest, he wrapped his arms around the boy, and muttered a long string of guttural Gaelic. He could feel the pull of magic from deep within him moving up from his core and down his arm and into the boy. Harry’s convulsions slowed and finally stopped when Severus fell silent.
Severus let his head drop to the top of Harry’s head, feeling drained. Druidic spells were coarser than the latin ones that most of Europe adopted after the advance of the Roman Empire and therefore more draining since few modern wizards were as connected to nature as they once were. Though Severus was more of the opinion that much of the magic the Ministry labeled dark, was done so because of ethnic cleansing and in an effort to “civilize” the magical population.
Harry lay still in his arms, the only sign that he still lived was the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. Poppy moved forward, her wand at ready in case either Severus or Harry needed stabilizing spells. Albus remained silent. She checked them both and sighed quietly, sinking to the floor next to them.
“It worked,” she told Severus, relief shining brightly in her eyes. “It’ll take a few days for his core to stabilize and rebuild after the trauma of - well, the least said about that, the better. You’ll need to rest as well, Severus. You expended a lot of magic. No magical travel for a day or so. I don’t think either of you would survive it just now. Albus?”
The Headmaster blinked, tearing his eyes from Severus to meet Poppy’s questioning look. He startled. “Oh, yes. Cocoa!”
A house-elf popped up at the end of the settee, bulging blue eyes widening even further in surprise at the number of people in the living room and what, by all appearances, looked like a murder scene. With a squeak, the little elf bowed. “What can Cocoa do for yous, Master Headmaster, sir?”
“Have two rooms prepared for Severus and Harry, Cocoa,” Albus said.
“Right away, sir!” Cocoa squeaked, hesitating before she popped away and glancing anxiously at Severus as she pulled on her ears. “Would Master Potions Master and Master Potions Master’s son like a tray, sirs?”
Albus lifted an eyebrow, turning to look inquiringly at his younger colleague. Severus stared at the expectant house-elf until Poppy lightly touched his shoulder. With a sharp nod, Severus managed to form a coherent sentence. “Yes. Just tea… Harry will need something to eat when he wakes.”
“Soup would be best,” Poppy suddenly spoke up. “Keep it light, please.”
“Yes, sirs, Mistress Matron, ma’am!” Cocoa trilled and then left with a crack!
Albus finally stood, shaking out his robes and crossing the worn rug. “Well, let’s get you two into your beds. I’m sure Cocoa will have the rest of the elves fussing over you shortly. Can you walk, my boy?”
Severus released Harry into Poppy’s care, brow furrowing as he took an internal assessment of his body. It grated to have to admit it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to rise on his own, let alone climb the steep stairs to the bedrooms on the upper level without landing on his face in a dead faint. “I…may need assistance.”
Poppy chuckled quietly, blissfully ignoring Severus’ furious glare. With a flick of her wand, she levitated Harry out of the living room and they could hear her creaking up the old staircase down the hall. Albus’ eyes sparked with amusement when Severus turned his glower on him. The Headmaster smiled easily, giving way with a genial, “Of course. It would be my pleasure to help you to your bed.”
“Don’t levitate me,” Severus said fiercely.
The Headmaster laughed, hooking surprisingly strong hands under Severus’ arms and helping him to his feet. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He swayed when he finally gained his footing, grateful that Albus merely held his elbow and said nothing. The trek across the living room, down the hall to the stairs, and finally to the upstairs bedroom felt like he’d walked the length of England and Scotland and been subjected to the Cruciatus no fewer than a dozen times by an infuriated megalomaniac dark lord. It was a testament to how he was feeling, that he allowed Albus to clean the blood from his teaching robes before transfiguring them into colorful pajamas and tucking him into the equally colorful bed in a sickeningly cheerful guest room.
Albus fussed with the coverlet and then summoned a comfortable armchair from the corner of the room, placing it next to the bed and took a seat, making himself comfortable and completely ignoring Severus’ withering glare. A tea tray popped up on the bedside table a moment later and Albus prepared a cup, placing it within easy reach of Severus and then made his own, saying, “We must decide what you’re going to tell Voldemort.”
Severus let his head fall back against the headboard, releasing a slow breath of air. It was the closest he’d allow himself to actually groaning. “Must we talk about this now, Albus?”
“No time like the present,” the old man chirped pleasantly. “If not now, when? He’s likely to call you any moment since he’s only getting more and more frustrated that the prophecy is out of his reach.”
Severus draped an arm over his eyes. A headache was forming and he knew any pain relievers would be absolutely useless. The only cure for magical exhaustion was time…and sleep. “He is unlikely to summon me until he has a better understanding of his enemies. Namely you and - and Harry. This conversation can wait until my head no longer feels like a thousand goblins are mining inside my skull.”
“Very well.” Albus sounded disappointed. “You’d best drink your tea and eat some of this toast before you sleep. I really do wish you’d allowed us more time to find a solution.”
The Headmaster almost sounded petulant. Severus pushed himself up a little more against the headboard and reached for the teacup, lifting it to his lips and spearing his employer with glittering black eyes. “The boy was dying, Albus. You know my vow.”
The Headmaster tapped his fingers restlessly against his teacup. “I did not believe your vow extended to this sort of situation.”
Severus lifted an eyebrow and set the drained teacup back on the tray with a muffled chink. “As it’s my vow, it is up to me to interpret the limitations and requirements.”
“But the detriments! If news got out-”
“It’s done, Albus,” the potions master interrupted, his admittedly short temper fraying. “There is no use debating hypothetical what-ifs and should-haves.”
Poppy bustled in, a tray laden with potion bottles floating behind her, and smiled brightly at Severus. “Harry is as healthy as he can be after such an ordeal,” she told him. “He’s already showing remarkable improvement and, with rest and proper nutrition and potions, he should be able to return to Hogwarts with almost no noticeable change.”
Albus rose from his chair, moving to allow Poppy to stand unhindered at the side of the bed. “That’s excellent news; is it not, Severus?”
Severus’ eyes were already closing as he fought the losing battle with sleep. Poppy helped him lie flat, swishing her wand to bring the bedclothes up snuggly around him, and checking that there were no surprises from the ritual. “It’s the most satisfying end of this sort of thing,” she murmured, mindful of her patient.
Albus chuckled quietly, commenting, “Congratulations, my boy; you’re now the proud father of a healthy boy.”
The panic didn’t even have enough time to rise before exhaustion pulled him under.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
The smell of bacon and coffee roused him the next morning, though it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and was greeted by the riot of color in the bed curtains that he remembered what happened. With a groan, Severus rolled onto his back and shoved stringy black hair out of his eyes. What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? He tried to grasp the thoughts he’d had the night before, but they eluded him. Lifting his left hand, he gazed mutely at the pale pink scar that bisected his palm.
He was a father.
The idea was laughable. Who was he to be a father to anyone? He could hardly stand himself, what human would wish to be in such close relation to him? He let his hand fall back to his chest, conscious of the steady thump of his heart. He focused on the beat for several minutes before allowing his thoughts to drift. His own father had certainly wanted nothing to do with him apart from another thing to kick. This was everything horrible. His last spontaneous, reckless decision chained him to a half-mad dark lord and made him lose his best friend and the only woman he’d ever loved. Surely he should’ve learned something after nearly sixteen years.
He hardly heard the pop of a house-elf’s arrival, but he definitely heard the creature announce, “Breakfast is ready, Master Potions Master, if you wants it.”
“What I want,” Severus grumbled, “is to be guillotined.”
The little creature blinked bulbous eyes. “Sir?”
Severus waved a hand dismissively. “Coffee. That’s all.”
The house-elf popped away and he climbed out of bed, reaching for the dressing gown that was draped across the armchair. The thought of joining a cheerful Albus Dumbledore presiding over his own breakfast table was repulsive. Delaying the inevitable sounded like a reasonable course of action to Severus. It would give him enough time to iron out his arguments and perhaps even convince himself he hadn’t lost his mind and signed his own death warrant. The Dark Lord was sure to learn the sudden change of parentage soon. Especially since the idiot boy completely failed to even learn the rudiments of occlumency. Yes. Death was on his doorstep now.
Severus prepared his coffee from the tray that appeared on the bedside table, then took the mug and went to see if he could find the boy’s room. Poppy said the boy was fine and on the mend, but Severus needed to be sure of it himself. It would also give him the chance to see if any remarkable changes had occurred as a result of the ritual. Maybe he could then clear his thoughts and form some kind of survival plan.
To Be Continued...