The World Keeps Its Own Secrets - Chapter 9
Title: The World Keeps Its Own Secrets
Author: neddiheht
Rating: A possibly racey R in places
Pairing: Snarry (Severus Snape/Harry Potter)
Word count: 1551
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape and all other characters, places, etc. from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. No claim of ownership is intended by this piece of fan fiction.
Summary: When Harry is sent back in time to avoid the killing curse, he finds himself in a mask of his own creation, faceless, voiceless, friendless, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for his sole confidante, Albus Dumbledore. But one of the professors is suspicious, and won't let the secrecy of the new Defense professor go.
---
The restricted ward at St. Mungos was not a pleasant place. Partly because the victims of the worst enduring curses that Voldemort's minions could concoct lay here screaming, but mostly, for Harry, it was that the man he loved most in the world, his Severus, lay there in a bed unmoving. A private bed, in a private room, arranged by the Minister of Magic.
It had been a year. A year since he'd fed his love, his bonded, the water of life. An impossible potion, the water of life could repair almost any injury given enough time. But Nagini's venom was formidable. To Harry's horror in researching the venom, he'd discovered that Arthur Weasley hadn't really survived it. The miracle that had him living was a temporary affair... eventually the venom traces in his system would build up and kill him. His treatment had been swift and benefited from the Order's love of the man and his family... he'd still live a long life, but he'd never reach the lengthy span promised most wizards.
Formidable described the venom perfectly, just as impossible described the water of life perfectly. An impossible venom countered by an impossible potion. Harry stroked the long delicate fingers of his beloved. Harry had awoken five years ago from the haze of the potions that had concealed him from the world, that had concealed his identity as he studied pharmacology in the Muggle world, that kept him safe from his master as he learned the subtle art of potions that had eluded him for so long.
Severus had felt him wake from that clouded life. How could he not... they shared a single soul. And that terrible night, unable to do anything to interfere, Harry had felt him die. He'd felt the part of their soul that was Severus return to him. But he'd prepared. So very long he'd prepared. Potions mastery had a dark element to it, deep and forbidding, and a master could not help but know of the mysterious brews that created life and suffocated hope, that nurtured passion and fed love. Just as there was liquid luck and bottled glory, so also could life be brewed and bottled and purified to its rarest essence.
Most considered the brew a myth. Like the Philosopher's Stone, or Horcruxes, it was a fabled rumor among experts and nothing more. But Harry Potter had more than enough experience with impossible things. As Jamie Evans he'd emerged from the shell of existence Severus had created for him and he'd delved deep into the corners of the earth and into the depths of places no human foot had trod in centuries. In the very shadow of Hogwarts he'd waited that night, cradling the miracle brew in its impervious container until the deed was done and his love's body had been abandoned.
A year. Severus still hadn't woken. He still hadn't done much more than breathe. Harry still waited, ignoring the wails of the other patients leaking through the heavy door, watching. Sleepless eyes fixed upon Severus face, he waited. A healer came once a day to check on the fallen wizard, as they had since he arrived. The healer didn't ask questions, just cast a cleansing charm, checked the nutrient potions, and then left as quickly as possible, chased out by the chill of the man's protector in his Dementor's robes.
Once a week Kingsley Shacklebolt would arrive and check on the fallen wizard. He'd talk to Harry, quietly and in hushed tones, using no names, and try to convince him to give it up. Each time Harry would shake his head sadly, look at him with eyes of brilliant green, and whisper "the water of life." Kingsley would sigh, return Harry's look with sad eyes of his own, and then give the new healer instructions about their mystery patient and the shrouded stranger who was spoken of only as Mister Evans.
The charms on the restricted section prevented word from spreading about the patient, and indeed no one who had been inside could even remember the hooded figure that hunched next to the bed, tenderly grasping the unconscious wizard's hand, whispering to him in low sibilant tones. Of course, the Master Healer of the ward could see him. He knew. And he said nothing... his memory of that shroud and those tones were forever embedded in his memories of Hogwarts.
Harry looked adoringly at the face of his beloved. He'd been living on potions. It wasn't healthy, and Severus would kill him when he woke up for abusing his skills so. But he'd been awake and watching his love every moment of every day for a year, saving only the brief visit he'd given Molly to warn her of his impending death. And today he was glad of his vigilance. An eyelid fluttered as he watched and Harry's eyes grew wide. He stroked the man's fingers. The eyelid fluttered again. Harry's heart leapt in his chest as his fingers moved from Severus' hand to his face tracing the lines. Again, this time the eyelids fluttered, opening slowly. Black eyes, dead and soulless stared into the room.
Harry gave out a cry of desperation as he slipped his hands into his robes and began to feed the man potion after potion, carefully measuring amounts and feeding them to him one after another. The healer's rushed in, alerted to their patient's waking by the monitoring spells on the room, trying to get to their patient only to find themselves thrown back with a force most Aurors would be hard pressed to manage. Then the Master Healer was there. The spell to cast him back was easily deflected. That drew Harry's attention, and the barest hint of a smile.
"Professor Evans," said Marcus Billpot softly. "Let me help you."
The empty cowl stared back at him for just a moment and then nodded. "Come then," said Harry quietly, his voice his own, bereft of its usual sibilant echo.
That itself shocked the healer, but he approached all the same. "What are you feeding him," asked Billpot, seeking out empty vials to look for labels but finding none.
"Something that is necessary, Mister Billpot," said Harry rather softly. He glanced up. "It will save his life."
"I don't doubt that, sir. I just don't know how you're going to get around the soulless problem. I mean, Snape was a git," he nodded at the patient, "but no one deserves to live like that -- empty."
Harry heaved a deep breath as he held up the potions and gave the very briefest explanation for each.
"I get that these potions make it possible for the body that has lost its soul to have it bound back into its body, but even if you had a willing sacrifice," said Billpot slowly, "even if you sacrificed yourself, sir, it wouldn't bring him back. You'd need his soul, and he might have been a rather dark wizard, but I doubt he was hiding away his soul."
"He didn't have to," said Harry very softly, "our soul is a shared thing, and it will walk beside me forever."
"Sir?"
Harry clasped Severus' arm and the tattoo of the serpent slid across Harry's skin and onto Severus. Marcus' eyes grew like saucers as Harry shuddered.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving him back his soul," said Harry weakly. "Wake him."
"It's not safe, Professor."
"Now, Mister Billpot."
The Healer pointed his wand at Snape. "Enervate!"
Severus convulsed, his eyes closing momentarily as his body was shocked back into its natural rhythm. His eyes opened to a room full of stunned healers, a rather dull former student from Gryffindor whose robes marked him as a healer, and a shrouded figure in Dementor robes. "Harry..."
Harry choked back a sob as he threw back his hood. "I am here, Sev."
"I am dead then."
Marcus stared at Jamie Evans, who was clearly too old to be Harry Potter, and yet looked rather exactly like him excepting some fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the barest hint of gray at the temple. "Professor Evans?"
Harry ignored him, his attention on Severus.
"I am to be tormented in death by Gryffindors," wailed Severus.
"Melodramatic much," said Harry, leaning down to kiss Severus rather seriously, if briefly on the lips. "I've missed you."
"You promised you would."
"I'm a Gryffindor," said Harry, with a playful eyebrow waggle, "we always keep our promises." He looked up at the stunned healers.
"Professor Evans?" asked Marcus helplessly.
"Yes."
"But you're... you're Harry..."
"Potter, yes."
"But you're dead," said the rather confused healer. "Two weeks ago, at Hogwarts."
"Obviously not all things are as they appear to be," said Harry.
"But two weeks ago... you were..."
"Involved in an incident? For me that incident happened fifteen years ago, Mister Billpot," said Harry slowly. "Rather obviously, it did not involve me dying."
"He's still rather dense," said Severus slowly, pulling himself upright against his pillows. "Perhaps you cursed him too severely in that exercise all those years ago."
"Probably," said Harry, leaning down again to kiss Severus gently on the lips. He shuddered as the sensation filled him. "Oh, Sev. I need you..."
"Yes..." breathed Snape.
Harry grabbed hold of Severus and there was a soft crack.
Prev Chapter Master Post Next Chapter
Author: neddiheht
Rating: A possibly racey R in places
Pairing: Snarry (Severus Snape/Harry Potter)
Word count: 1551
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape and all other characters, places, etc. from the Harry Potter universe are the property of J.K. Rowling. No claim of ownership is intended by this piece of fan fiction.
Summary: When Harry is sent back in time to avoid the killing curse, he finds himself in a mask of his own creation, faceless, voiceless, friendless, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for his sole confidante, Albus Dumbledore. But one of the professors is suspicious, and won't let the secrecy of the new Defense professor go.
---
The restricted ward at St. Mungos was not a pleasant place. Partly because the victims of the worst enduring curses that Voldemort's minions could concoct lay here screaming, but mostly, for Harry, it was that the man he loved most in the world, his Severus, lay there in a bed unmoving. A private bed, in a private room, arranged by the Minister of Magic.
It had been a year. A year since he'd fed his love, his bonded, the water of life. An impossible potion, the water of life could repair almost any injury given enough time. But Nagini's venom was formidable. To Harry's horror in researching the venom, he'd discovered that Arthur Weasley hadn't really survived it. The miracle that had him living was a temporary affair... eventually the venom traces in his system would build up and kill him. His treatment had been swift and benefited from the Order's love of the man and his family... he'd still live a long life, but he'd never reach the lengthy span promised most wizards.
Formidable described the venom perfectly, just as impossible described the water of life perfectly. An impossible venom countered by an impossible potion. Harry stroked the long delicate fingers of his beloved. Harry had awoken five years ago from the haze of the potions that had concealed him from the world, that had concealed his identity as he studied pharmacology in the Muggle world, that kept him safe from his master as he learned the subtle art of potions that had eluded him for so long.
Severus had felt him wake from that clouded life. How could he not... they shared a single soul. And that terrible night, unable to do anything to interfere, Harry had felt him die. He'd felt the part of their soul that was Severus return to him. But he'd prepared. So very long he'd prepared. Potions mastery had a dark element to it, deep and forbidding, and a master could not help but know of the mysterious brews that created life and suffocated hope, that nurtured passion and fed love. Just as there was liquid luck and bottled glory, so also could life be brewed and bottled and purified to its rarest essence.
Most considered the brew a myth. Like the Philosopher's Stone, or Horcruxes, it was a fabled rumor among experts and nothing more. But Harry Potter had more than enough experience with impossible things. As Jamie Evans he'd emerged from the shell of existence Severus had created for him and he'd delved deep into the corners of the earth and into the depths of places no human foot had trod in centuries. In the very shadow of Hogwarts he'd waited that night, cradling the miracle brew in its impervious container until the deed was done and his love's body had been abandoned.
A year. Severus still hadn't woken. He still hadn't done much more than breathe. Harry still waited, ignoring the wails of the other patients leaking through the heavy door, watching. Sleepless eyes fixed upon Severus face, he waited. A healer came once a day to check on the fallen wizard, as they had since he arrived. The healer didn't ask questions, just cast a cleansing charm, checked the nutrient potions, and then left as quickly as possible, chased out by the chill of the man's protector in his Dementor's robes.
Once a week Kingsley Shacklebolt would arrive and check on the fallen wizard. He'd talk to Harry, quietly and in hushed tones, using no names, and try to convince him to give it up. Each time Harry would shake his head sadly, look at him with eyes of brilliant green, and whisper "the water of life." Kingsley would sigh, return Harry's look with sad eyes of his own, and then give the new healer instructions about their mystery patient and the shrouded stranger who was spoken of only as Mister Evans.
The charms on the restricted section prevented word from spreading about the patient, and indeed no one who had been inside could even remember the hooded figure that hunched next to the bed, tenderly grasping the unconscious wizard's hand, whispering to him in low sibilant tones. Of course, the Master Healer of the ward could see him. He knew. And he said nothing... his memory of that shroud and those tones were forever embedded in his memories of Hogwarts.
Harry looked adoringly at the face of his beloved. He'd been living on potions. It wasn't healthy, and Severus would kill him when he woke up for abusing his skills so. But he'd been awake and watching his love every moment of every day for a year, saving only the brief visit he'd given Molly to warn her of his impending death. And today he was glad of his vigilance. An eyelid fluttered as he watched and Harry's eyes grew wide. He stroked the man's fingers. The eyelid fluttered again. Harry's heart leapt in his chest as his fingers moved from Severus' hand to his face tracing the lines. Again, this time the eyelids fluttered, opening slowly. Black eyes, dead and soulless stared into the room.
Harry gave out a cry of desperation as he slipped his hands into his robes and began to feed the man potion after potion, carefully measuring amounts and feeding them to him one after another. The healer's rushed in, alerted to their patient's waking by the monitoring spells on the room, trying to get to their patient only to find themselves thrown back with a force most Aurors would be hard pressed to manage. Then the Master Healer was there. The spell to cast him back was easily deflected. That drew Harry's attention, and the barest hint of a smile.
"Professor Evans," said Marcus Billpot softly. "Let me help you."
The empty cowl stared back at him for just a moment and then nodded. "Come then," said Harry quietly, his voice his own, bereft of its usual sibilant echo.
That itself shocked the healer, but he approached all the same. "What are you feeding him," asked Billpot, seeking out empty vials to look for labels but finding none.
"Something that is necessary, Mister Billpot," said Harry rather softly. He glanced up. "It will save his life."
"I don't doubt that, sir. I just don't know how you're going to get around the soulless problem. I mean, Snape was a git," he nodded at the patient, "but no one deserves to live like that -- empty."
Harry heaved a deep breath as he held up the potions and gave the very briefest explanation for each.
"I get that these potions make it possible for the body that has lost its soul to have it bound back into its body, but even if you had a willing sacrifice," said Billpot slowly, "even if you sacrificed yourself, sir, it wouldn't bring him back. You'd need his soul, and he might have been a rather dark wizard, but I doubt he was hiding away his soul."
"He didn't have to," said Harry very softly, "our soul is a shared thing, and it will walk beside me forever."
"Sir?"
Harry clasped Severus' arm and the tattoo of the serpent slid across Harry's skin and onto Severus. Marcus' eyes grew like saucers as Harry shuddered.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving him back his soul," said Harry weakly. "Wake him."
"It's not safe, Professor."
"Now, Mister Billpot."
The Healer pointed his wand at Snape. "Enervate!"
Severus convulsed, his eyes closing momentarily as his body was shocked back into its natural rhythm. His eyes opened to a room full of stunned healers, a rather dull former student from Gryffindor whose robes marked him as a healer, and a shrouded figure in Dementor robes. "Harry..."
Harry choked back a sob as he threw back his hood. "I am here, Sev."
"I am dead then."
Marcus stared at Jamie Evans, who was clearly too old to be Harry Potter, and yet looked rather exactly like him excepting some fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the barest hint of gray at the temple. "Professor Evans?"
Harry ignored him, his attention on Severus.
"I am to be tormented in death by Gryffindors," wailed Severus.
"Melodramatic much," said Harry, leaning down to kiss Severus rather seriously, if briefly on the lips. "I've missed you."
"You promised you would."
"I'm a Gryffindor," said Harry, with a playful eyebrow waggle, "we always keep our promises." He looked up at the stunned healers.
"Professor Evans?" asked Marcus helplessly.
"Yes."
"But you're... you're Harry..."
"Potter, yes."
"But you're dead," said the rather confused healer. "Two weeks ago, at Hogwarts."
"Obviously not all things are as they appear to be," said Harry.
"But two weeks ago... you were..."
"Involved in an incident? For me that incident happened fifteen years ago, Mister Billpot," said Harry slowly. "Rather obviously, it did not involve me dying."
"He's still rather dense," said Severus slowly, pulling himself upright against his pillows. "Perhaps you cursed him too severely in that exercise all those years ago."
"Probably," said Harry, leaning down again to kiss Severus gently on the lips. He shuddered as the sensation filled him. "Oh, Sev. I need you..."
"Yes..." breathed Snape.
Harry grabbed hold of Severus and there was a soft crack.
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