Chapter 9: On Colours and Wands
Huge thanks go out to rakina for being a fantastic beta!
~*~*~
The first thing Harry became aware of as he slowly came to was the incredibly bright light which penetrated his eyelids and made him wince in pain. The pain soon receded, however, and his senses were dominated by a strong smell of medicine and cleanliness. He stirred weakly. His right hand came up automatically, making sure all of his hair was tucked safely beneath the collar of his shirt.
As his body began to come alive, Harry realized that he, in fact, was feeling no pain and was quite refreshed. His mind struggled to remember why he was in some sort of hospital. He remembered a dream... pain and screaming...
“Severus!” exclaimed Harry. Memories surged through his mind as his eyes flew open and he sat up, looking around frantically and ignoring the pain induced by the lights.
Seeing a bed surrounded by curtains on his left, he moved to get up, but was stilled by a gentle but firm hand.
“Not so fast, dear,” sounded a woman’s voice. “I have to make sure you’re fine and ready to get up.”
Harry’s head swung around to face the woman, eyes desperate. “Where is Severus?” Panic was evident in his voice. He jerked his thumb at the curtained bed. “Is he in there? Why are the curtains closed? Tell me he’s all right!”
“Shh, it’s okay,” said the woman gently, forcing him to lie down again. “He’s...” she hesitated, “…as fine as he can be right now.”
That did nothing to lessen Harry’s fears. Eluding the woman’s - Madam Pomfrey’s, said the badge on her robe - hands, he flew off his bed and over to the curtained one.
Slowly, he drew the curtains open.
Severus lay, stretched out and completely motionless, on the simple hospital bed. His hands rested limply at his sides; his inky hair was a smudge against the white of the pillow and the paleness of his skin. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was, in fact, alive.
Harry came closer timidly. “Sev?” he called ever-so-softly. The seemingly sleeping figure remained still.
Slowly, Harry approached the bed, touching his newfound master’s hand. “Severus?” he whispered again. There was no response.
Trembling, he turned to the woman. “What...” his voice broke. “What is wrong with him?”
“He’s in a coma,” sounded Dumbledore’s voice. “Much like the one you’ve been in for the past four days.”
~*~*~
“Coma?” whispered Harry, disbelieving. He was back in his bed, forced into it by Madam Pomfrey, with Dumbledore sitting by his side.
“Yes,” nodded the Headmaster. “Lemon drop?” Harry shook his head.
“Well then. You see, in every wizard there is a magical life force. It is our core spirit - a mass of energy on which we draw to sustain ourselves and to do magic. When the spirit’s energy reserves are exhausted, it needs time to replenish them.
“For both you and - much more so - for Severus, the spirits were incredibly exhausted, so for some time your bodies shut down so the spirit could heal itself. You have healed yourself already, and that’s why you woke up. But...” Dumbledore paused and looked over at Severus’ bed.
“But Professor Snape’s spirit may be damaged as well as exhausted,” put in Madam Pomfrey. “It should heal, but no one knows how long it might take.”
“For now,” finished Dumbledore, “all we can do is hope and pray.”
For a moment Harry was silent.
“No,” he said finally. “I won’t hope. I know he’ll wake up soon. I feel it; I know it. It must be true.”
Only the tears crawling slowly down his cheeks showed the uncertainty and the fear he truly felt.
~*~*~
“All right, class, settle down.”
Under Professor McGonagall’s gaze, the first year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Transfiguration class was instantly silent. From his seat in the very back of the room, Harry eyed the students and the Professor with interest. He’d never been to a class on magic before.
After explaining the situation to him, Dumbledore had rushed him out of what Harry now knew was the Hospital Wing and insisted that he attend the last first-year class of the day: Transfiguration. It was time to get the learning going.
Harry was actually fairly glad to have to do this. It took his mind off the body lying limply in a curtained bed of the Hospital Wing.
Shaking his head to will these thoughts away, Harry focused his attention on the Professor.
“Today we will be working on changing the colour of things,” announced McGonagall. “For practice you will each use your own tie. In order to transform the tie to a different colour, you must concentrate on the colour you wish to see and then, with a swish and flick of your wand say, ‘Drego’. First try to make your tie a solid colour. Then, experiment with visualizing different patterns and actualizing them. If you have any questions, please raise your hands. Begin.”
Having been satisfied that her class was under control, the Professor made her way over to Harry. He looked at her awkwardly and then down at his robe. “No tie,” he grinned.
She smiled in return. “I have a tie for you.” She pulled out a simple, plain white tie. “The headmaster feels,” she continued, “that it should not be revealed that you’re in the House of Merlin. Of course...” she looked at the staff Harry was holding, “…that is a little difficult. But nevertheless,” she paused, “he feels that you should choose a house for yourself - one to or from which points will be added or deducted according to your achievements. It was this idea in the first place that caused the headmaster to put you through the Sorting: something which, I suppose, we should be grateful for. In any case, this is as good a place for you to start as any. Enjoy.”
Without another word, Professor McGonagall walked away.
Harry looked around. All around him people were swishing and flicking. He knew what that looked like now. It seemed like he was ready to begin. But...
Harry looked at his staff. “No wand,” he whispered. “What do I do?”
--Oh, pardon me,-- sounded a voice in his head, -- I'm the wand--
Suddenly the Snake slithered off the staff, grew to wand size, straightened herself out carefully, and froze. His wand was ready.
Harry stared.
--Well, pick me up,-- ordered the Snake. --Can't be staring at me all day, can you?--
Snapping out of his stupor, Harry picked up his new wand and swished and flicked experimentally. He grinned. This was way cool.
He turned to his tie. Concentrating, he swished and flicked and said the incantation. No luck. He tried again and frowned when nothing happened.
Calling on his gift, Harry sat before his tie silently, clearing his mind. Uncalled for, a Gryffindor tie appeared in his mind’s eye. Projecting his power and the image, Harry drew his wand slowly over the length of the tie, barely touching it. He gave a soft whoop when the tie became a perfect Gryffindor one.
Soon, knowing he could do it, Harry learned to use the incantation as well. His tie was now proudly sporting a wide range of patterns from polka dots to an incredible combination of swirling and zigzagging colours.
Finally tired of playing with the tie, he raised his hand. Soon Professor McGonagall was standing beside him.
“Why do we need to use an incantation, Professor?” asked Harry.
“Well,” she frowned, “to indicate which spell we are performing.”
“But, well,” Harry shrugged, “isn’t there already an image in our mind, indicating what we want to do?”
“Well, yes,” replied the Professor, “but the incantation also activates the spell. It turns the image into real life.”
“But...” Harry struggled to find the right words, “…can’t we just project the spell with our mind?”
“I am not sure what you are talking about, Mr. Potter.” A hint of irritation was creeping into McGonagall’s voice. “Nonverbal magic is possible, but we must still say the specific incantation within our heads.”
Harry sighed. Wordlessly, he concentrated on an image once more and drew his wand hand over the tie. The tie once again became a perfect Gryffindor one.
Professor McGonagall stared. “Well,” she stated finally, “that’s why you’re the White Mage.”
Harry grinned, putting on the tie.
The stern woman watched his hands for a while. “Does this mean you’re joining Gryffindor?” she asked.
Harry’s grin widened. “Yes,” he said simply. “It does.”
"All right then," McGonagall paused. "Five points to Gryffindor for the beautiful job on the tie."
With a real smile on her face Minerva McGonagall walked away. Only the most observant of students noticed the slight bounce to her step as she walked to the front of the room. Only a few select people saw the proud look in her eyes as she dismissed the class.
~*~*~
In a daze, Harry sat in the middle of a roaring Gryffindor table. Everyone - Ron most of all - was overcome with joy at the news that he’d be joining the House. Amid the joyful crowd, a boy with a camera made his way toward Harry.
“Harry!” he exclaimed. “My name is Colin. Can I take a few pictures?”
Harry stared. “Why?” he asked confusedly.
“Well,” blushed Colin,” because you’re a hero. You defeated Voldemort.”
“No,” shrugged Harry, “I’m really not, and I really didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Everyone around them calmed down and stared at him.
“My mother’s love saved me,” he explained, “not any quality of my own.”
He smiled. “I remember how it happened. She saved me. Vol-H-he even offered to let her live, but she refused. My parents are the real heroes. They’d pose for a few photos, but...” his smile clouded but remained warm, “...they’re too busy watching over me.”
With a last smile at his friends, Harry made his way to the Hospital Wing. He was anxious to tell Severus all about his day.
Because he knew the unconscious man could hear him. He could.
And he’d wake up soon. He would.
Blinking away his tears, Harry walked on.
~*~*~
The first thing Harry became aware of as he slowly came to was the incredibly bright light which penetrated his eyelids and made him wince in pain. The pain soon receded, however, and his senses were dominated by a strong smell of medicine and cleanliness. He stirred weakly. His right hand came up automatically, making sure all of his hair was tucked safely beneath the collar of his shirt.
As his body began to come alive, Harry realized that he, in fact, was feeling no pain and was quite refreshed. His mind struggled to remember why he was in some sort of hospital. He remembered a dream... pain and screaming...
“Severus!” exclaimed Harry. Memories surged through his mind as his eyes flew open and he sat up, looking around frantically and ignoring the pain induced by the lights.
Seeing a bed surrounded by curtains on his left, he moved to get up, but was stilled by a gentle but firm hand.
“Not so fast, dear,” sounded a woman’s voice. “I have to make sure you’re fine and ready to get up.”
Harry’s head swung around to face the woman, eyes desperate. “Where is Severus?” Panic was evident in his voice. He jerked his thumb at the curtained bed. “Is he in there? Why are the curtains closed? Tell me he’s all right!”
“Shh, it’s okay,” said the woman gently, forcing him to lie down again. “He’s...” she hesitated, “…as fine as he can be right now.”
That did nothing to lessen Harry’s fears. Eluding the woman’s - Madam Pomfrey’s, said the badge on her robe - hands, he flew off his bed and over to the curtained one.
Slowly, he drew the curtains open.
Severus lay, stretched out and completely motionless, on the simple hospital bed. His hands rested limply at his sides; his inky hair was a smudge against the white of the pillow and the paleness of his skin. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was, in fact, alive.
Harry came closer timidly. “Sev?” he called ever-so-softly. The seemingly sleeping figure remained still.
Slowly, Harry approached the bed, touching his newfound master’s hand. “Severus?” he whispered again. There was no response.
Trembling, he turned to the woman. “What...” his voice broke. “What is wrong with him?”
“He’s in a coma,” sounded Dumbledore’s voice. “Much like the one you’ve been in for the past four days.”
~*~*~
“Coma?” whispered Harry, disbelieving. He was back in his bed, forced into it by Madam Pomfrey, with Dumbledore sitting by his side.
“Yes,” nodded the Headmaster. “Lemon drop?” Harry shook his head.
“Well then. You see, in every wizard there is a magical life force. It is our core spirit - a mass of energy on which we draw to sustain ourselves and to do magic. When the spirit’s energy reserves are exhausted, it needs time to replenish them.
“For both you and - much more so - for Severus, the spirits were incredibly exhausted, so for some time your bodies shut down so the spirit could heal itself. You have healed yourself already, and that’s why you woke up. But...” Dumbledore paused and looked over at Severus’ bed.
“But Professor Snape’s spirit may be damaged as well as exhausted,” put in Madam Pomfrey. “It should heal, but no one knows how long it might take.”
“For now,” finished Dumbledore, “all we can do is hope and pray.”
For a moment Harry was silent.
“No,” he said finally. “I won’t hope. I know he’ll wake up soon. I feel it; I know it. It must be true.”
Only the tears crawling slowly down his cheeks showed the uncertainty and the fear he truly felt.
~*~*~
“All right, class, settle down.”
Under Professor McGonagall’s gaze, the first year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Transfiguration class was instantly silent. From his seat in the very back of the room, Harry eyed the students and the Professor with interest. He’d never been to a class on magic before.
After explaining the situation to him, Dumbledore had rushed him out of what Harry now knew was the Hospital Wing and insisted that he attend the last first-year class of the day: Transfiguration. It was time to get the learning going.
Harry was actually fairly glad to have to do this. It took his mind off the body lying limply in a curtained bed of the Hospital Wing.
Shaking his head to will these thoughts away, Harry focused his attention on the Professor.
“Today we will be working on changing the colour of things,” announced McGonagall. “For practice you will each use your own tie. In order to transform the tie to a different colour, you must concentrate on the colour you wish to see and then, with a swish and flick of your wand say, ‘Drego’. First try to make your tie a solid colour. Then, experiment with visualizing different patterns and actualizing them. If you have any questions, please raise your hands. Begin.”
Having been satisfied that her class was under control, the Professor made her way over to Harry. He looked at her awkwardly and then down at his robe. “No tie,” he grinned.
She smiled in return. “I have a tie for you.” She pulled out a simple, plain white tie. “The headmaster feels,” she continued, “that it should not be revealed that you’re in the House of Merlin. Of course...” she looked at the staff Harry was holding, “…that is a little difficult. But nevertheless,” she paused, “he feels that you should choose a house for yourself - one to or from which points will be added or deducted according to your achievements. It was this idea in the first place that caused the headmaster to put you through the Sorting: something which, I suppose, we should be grateful for. In any case, this is as good a place for you to start as any. Enjoy.”
Without another word, Professor McGonagall walked away.
Harry looked around. All around him people were swishing and flicking. He knew what that looked like now. It seemed like he was ready to begin. But...
Harry looked at his staff. “No wand,” he whispered. “What do I do?”
--Oh, pardon me,-- sounded a voice in his head, -- I'm the wand--
Suddenly the Snake slithered off the staff, grew to wand size, straightened herself out carefully, and froze. His wand was ready.
Harry stared.
--Well, pick me up,-- ordered the Snake. --Can't be staring at me all day, can you?--
Snapping out of his stupor, Harry picked up his new wand and swished and flicked experimentally. He grinned. This was way cool.
He turned to his tie. Concentrating, he swished and flicked and said the incantation. No luck. He tried again and frowned when nothing happened.
Calling on his gift, Harry sat before his tie silently, clearing his mind. Uncalled for, a Gryffindor tie appeared in his mind’s eye. Projecting his power and the image, Harry drew his wand slowly over the length of the tie, barely touching it. He gave a soft whoop when the tie became a perfect Gryffindor one.
Soon, knowing he could do it, Harry learned to use the incantation as well. His tie was now proudly sporting a wide range of patterns from polka dots to an incredible combination of swirling and zigzagging colours.
Finally tired of playing with the tie, he raised his hand. Soon Professor McGonagall was standing beside him.
“Why do we need to use an incantation, Professor?” asked Harry.
“Well,” she frowned, “to indicate which spell we are performing.”
“But, well,” Harry shrugged, “isn’t there already an image in our mind, indicating what we want to do?”
“Well, yes,” replied the Professor, “but the incantation also activates the spell. It turns the image into real life.”
“But...” Harry struggled to find the right words, “…can’t we just project the spell with our mind?”
“I am not sure what you are talking about, Mr. Potter.” A hint of irritation was creeping into McGonagall’s voice. “Nonverbal magic is possible, but we must still say the specific incantation within our heads.”
Harry sighed. Wordlessly, he concentrated on an image once more and drew his wand hand over the tie. The tie once again became a perfect Gryffindor one.
Professor McGonagall stared. “Well,” she stated finally, “that’s why you’re the White Mage.”
Harry grinned, putting on the tie.
The stern woman watched his hands for a while. “Does this mean you’re joining Gryffindor?” she asked.
Harry’s grin widened. “Yes,” he said simply. “It does.”
"All right then," McGonagall paused. "Five points to Gryffindor for the beautiful job on the tie."
With a real smile on her face Minerva McGonagall walked away. Only the most observant of students noticed the slight bounce to her step as she walked to the front of the room. Only a few select people saw the proud look in her eyes as she dismissed the class.
~*~*~
In a daze, Harry sat in the middle of a roaring Gryffindor table. Everyone - Ron most of all - was overcome with joy at the news that he’d be joining the House. Amid the joyful crowd, a boy with a camera made his way toward Harry.
“Harry!” he exclaimed. “My name is Colin. Can I take a few pictures?”
Harry stared. “Why?” he asked confusedly.
“Well,” blushed Colin,” because you’re a hero. You defeated Voldemort.”
“No,” shrugged Harry, “I’m really not, and I really didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Everyone around them calmed down and stared at him.
“My mother’s love saved me,” he explained, “not any quality of my own.”
He smiled. “I remember how it happened. She saved me. Vol-H-he even offered to let her live, but she refused. My parents are the real heroes. They’d pose for a few photos, but...” his smile clouded but remained warm, “...they’re too busy watching over me.”
With a last smile at his friends, Harry made his way to the Hospital Wing. He was anxious to tell Severus all about his day.
Because he knew the unconscious man could hear him. He could.
And he’d wake up soon. He would.
Blinking away his tears, Harry walked on.