Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter Remus Lupin Severus Snape
Genres:
Drama Angst
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 09/13/2003
Updated: 09/20/2004
Words: 335,561
Chapters: 81
Hits: 1,465,159

Blood Magic

GatewayGirl

Story Summary:
Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry safe, but his relatives are expendable. Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry looking like his adoptive father, but it's wearing off. Blood is a bond, but so is the memory of hate -- or love.
Read Story On:

Chapter 15

Chapter Summary:
Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry safe, but his relatives are expendable. Blood magic was supposed to keep Harry looking like his adoptive father, but it's wearing off. Blood is a bond, but so is the memory of hate -- or love.
Posted:
10/11/2003
Hits:
15,493



Occupational Hazards


Not Bad Enough

had four sections -- an overview of the history of legal classifications of curses, and a section each on pain curses, command curses, and death curses. There were apparently many of the former two, but very few of the latter, with the Killing Curse being the only unblockable and instantaneous one. Harry enjoyed the overview chapters, but found the details on early pain curses disturbing. He skipped ahead to the command curses that preceded the Imperius Curse. Harry had always thought that all command curses were legally classified as Dark Arts, but the book outlined two that remained in restricted public use: the Binding Oath, itself a descendent of the Fealty Spell; and the Testimony Spell. One legally distinguishing aspect to both these spells (never, Harry noted, classified as either curses or charms) was that both left the subject aware of the effect.

When the book got to casting specifics for the Fealty Spell (as compared to casting specifics for the Binding Oath), Harry found himself listening anxiously for Snape's return. He wasn't sure he was supposed to be reading books with details on Dark Arts, however engaging and historically informative. Guiltily, he took the book and moved into his bedroom, where he would have plenty of warning if Snape returned.


The enchanted window was displaying a red and purple sunset when Harry heard the outer door open and close. Harry tucked the book behind the cushions of his window seat, and rubbed at his eyes. His room had grown dark since he started reading. After a minute of trying unsuccessfully to make the room come into focus, Harry remembered he had taken off his glasses to read. His headache was gone. Reluctantly, Harry put the glasses on again, and the room became somewhat less blurry.

Harry poked his head into the kitchen just in time to see Snape scanning the room from the parlor door.

"I'm here," Harry volunteered.

"Good. Have you had dinner?"

"Not yet."

"We were supposed to eat with the others, you know." Snape smirked. "Good to know I wasn't the only one who missed it. I'll call the kitchens."


Then talked over dinner, but of simple things: Snape told Harry that he had adequate stores of Camilla's Bruise Salve and the Ignatios Pain Killing Potion and was hoping to make some progress on Calming Draughts, which were fairly quick, that evening, so he could work on Dreamless Sleep, which was quite complicated, the next day. He did not mention what he had said to Harry while they were outside. Harry told Severus that if he removed his glasses for reading, his headache went away. He did not mention that he had been reading one of Snape's books. At several points during the dinner, when Harry was lifting his fork or his glass, he saw Snape's eyes dart to the flash of torchlight caught by a pentagon-cut emerald, but neither of them ever mentioned the ring.

After dinner, Snape stood up and stretched. It was an unguarded motion, perhaps the first, Harry reflected, that he had ever seen from the Potions master. He felt oddly honored. Perhaps I am just ignored. Perhaps he is just treating me as if I am not here.

"Would you be interested in helping again?" Snape asked, disinterestedly. "For the benefit of that mangy wolf, perhaps? I need to finish these in time to do the Wolfsbane Potion."

"I wouldn't mind helping again," Harry answered, ignoring the cut at Remus. He stood also, and followed Snape to the door. "I like having something to do."

"Really? I never would have guessed, from the state of your homework."

"Ah, but during the school year, there's so much to do. I can rather pick and choose, can't I?"

"You're lucky I let you into Potions this year, Potter. Your O.W.L.s were borderline."

"But you needed someone to insult. I understand."

When Snape whirled on him, Harry grinned disarmingly, and Snape, with a satisfied smirk, turned away and lengthened his stride.

And for the first time,

Harry thought, we did that without malice.

So it was that Harry was in Snape's lab tending one potion competently, and watching Snape tend two, when the summons came. Snape twitched and hitched out a breath. His right hand went halfway to the opposite arm, then stopped, fingers clenched into a fist. It occurred to Harry that they had never talked about this. Snape had hinted, and Harry had hinted that he knew, and of course, it had been in James's letter that Severus had been a Death Eater, and had been a spy. Harry noticed suddenly that Snape was eyeing him with trepidation.

"Need to run?" Harry asked casually. "Go on, then. I'll salvage what I can, here."

Snape nodded curtly, and strode quickly from the room, his hand now firmly clasped to his left forearm. Harry didn't have any time to appreciate the moment of trust. He had three cauldrons to tend.


At the end of the evening, Harry was pretty sure that two of the potions were fine, though he planned to have Snape test them, to be safe. The third was an obvious loss. He dumped it and cleaned all the equipment before heading to bed. He was woken by Dumbledore, calling from his fireplace. The sky outside the window was slightly more blue than black.

"Harry?"

"Here." Harry sat up in bed. If I'm ever ... doing something I wouldn't want to be seen at, I draw the curtains, he told himself emphatically.

"Severus returned, then collapsed. He is in the hospital wing. I thought you might like to know."

Harry was already scrambling out of the bed and pulling his green robe on over his pajamas.

"Is it bad?"

"I've seen him in worse condition," Dumbledore began. He stopped. "Yes. He will recover, but ... it is bad."


By the time Harry got to the Hospital wing, the eastern horizon was pale. He found Snape at the back of the main room, near Madam Pomfrey's office. Harry moved as quietly as possible to the chair by the bed.

Snape showed signs of a beating, and his right arm had been immobilized all the way from his shoulder to the fingertips. His breath rasped. On one of his cheeks was a distinctly hand-shaped darkening bruise, which Harry found distantly amusing, despite his sympathy. It was odd to think that some Death Eater had slapped Snape like an offended lady might. On the other side of his face was a long knife cut. Smaller cuts and bruises were scattered about.

Snape's hair had fallen across one side of his face. Harry reached over and pushed it aside, then grimaced at the feel of it.

"How do you stand being so dirty?" he whispered. "Doesn't that itch?"

Snape twitched, then shifted. His left arm came up by his pillow. Harry had a sudden urge to push Snape's sleeve down so he could see the Mark. He shuddered, and kept his hands in his lap. I don't know why I want to see it. I know it's there, and looking at it would only hurt.

Harry was tired, but Snape's rasping breath kept him too fretfully aware of the man's condition to sleep. He found himself wishing he had brought his book, then suddenly imagined trying to explain it to Dumbledore. Perhaps he should select one of the more neutral Potions texts if he wanted public reading material. He wondered how Snape would react. After all, he had clearly thought enough of the book to buy it. Did that mean he wouldn't mind Harry reading it? Harry decided he would let Snape see him with the book, but not until he had finished reading the parts that interested him.

Harry dozed off. A twitch from Snape brought him wide awake. From the look of the sky, he could not have slept more than a few minutes. Harry peered through his glasses at the blurry sky. He could just see a few grey clouds at the horizon. Aeromancy! No point, really. I know what my future will be like. There'll be lots of screaming, and people will die.

For the first time, he found himself wondering about Aunt Petunia's and Dudley's deaths. They had died in an automobile accident, he knew. Had it been fast? Had they been in pain? Did they know they had been murdered just to clear a path to him? In the dim light of dawn, exhausted and alone, it was all too easy for his brain to seize on the thought, and picture his aunt and cousin mangled and bloody, picture them screaming, picture him dead first, and her crying as she died.

Harry forced his attention to the sky outside the eastern windows. A band of white. Orange tints above the hidden sun. The sky above the darkest of blues. He stood up and walked to window.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry whirled. Madam Pomfrey was standing in the door to her office, robes open over a loose nightgown.

"I came to see Professor Snape," Harry explained.

"I'm afraid he won't be conscious for a few hours, yet. I cast a sleeping charm on him, so he wouldn't disturb that hand while the bones mend." Pomfrey shook her head. "He needs the use of that hand, but that won't make him treat it properly while it's healing." She looked questioningly at Harry. "You should be in bed yourself, young man."

Harry could see her wondering why he was bothering to visit Snape, who was not only a staff member, but one with whom Harry was on famously bad terms.

"I finished up some of his potions after he was called," Harry offered. It didn't really make any sense, as a statement, but Harry suspected that Pomfrey was accustomed to irrelevant babbling from visitors, for she only nodded.

"Come back after breakfast," Pomfrey said gently. "You can tell him about it then. He's not in any danger, and he needs to sleep."

Harry saw the sense in this, and the lighter it got outside, the easier it was to be logical about it. He went back to his room, and fell quickly to sleep.


When Harry returned the next morning, Madam Pomfrey was awake and bustling about the room. Her mediwitch robes whispered against the beds as she crossed the room to greet Harry.

"He should be awake any time, now," she told him. "He is recovering nicely."

"Good," Harry said. He rubbed at his forehead.

"And how are you?" Madam Pomfrey asked sharply. "Perhaps we should follow up on your progress while we are waiting." She pointed to a nearby bed. "Sit."

Madam Pomfrey was pleased with Harry's general condition, although she expressed surprise that he remained as thin. She made Harry describe his last six meals to her, and seemed reassured. She frowned as she moved her wand over him.

"You still have that strain at the joints."

Harry shrugged. Now that he knew what was causing that, he was less bothered by it. Pain was just pain. It was unexplained pain which worried him.

"Actually, that's not bothering me much. But my head...."

As he had hoped, that distracted her from her contemplation of his left elbow.

"Your head, dear?"

"It hurts constantly. Well, except when I read. I broke my glasses my first day back and fixed them, and I think I did it wrong. Everything is blurry."

Pomfrey immediately pointed her wand at Harry's left eye. She frowned. "The curvature is a bit strong, I believe." She shifted to one side, then the other. "And it is uneven, as if to correct an astigmatism, but none is present." She looked evaluatingly at Harry. "Are you good at transfiguration?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry answered. "Why?"

"It takes a good deal of specialized training to adjust someone else's lenses correctly," Pomfrey explained. "However, many witches and wizards find it easy enough to do for themselves. Focus on something across the room and slowly alter the curve of the glass while looking for the right point, as if you were adjusting the focus on omnioculars."

"Slowly alter..."

"I'll get you something to practice on, first. You don't want the lenses shattering in your eyes."


Good advice,

Harry thought, as his third practice lens merely cracked, rather than crumbling into shards, as the first had done, or turning into a flat sheet, as the second one had.

"Harry?" a dry voice rasped. Snape coughed.

Harry bounced. He caught himself before exclaiming "Severus!" and realized he no longer knew what to call the man. In public, he realized belated, the question was not open.

"Welcome back, Professor Snape," he said formally. He looked mischievously at Snape's confused stare. "Your companions gave you a rough time of it, I gather?"

"Urg." Snape lay back and tossed his free arm across his eyes. The hospital robes were shorter and looser than the man's usual garb. Harry could see the bottom of the Dark Mark -- just a curve of the snake -- below the edge of the sleeve. "Is anyone here but Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head.

"I've been here for hours. It's just the three of us. Professor Dumbledore has been in and out, a few times."

"Very well." Snape's voice dropped so it would not carry so far as the door. There might be more than one reason, Harry realized, why Pomfrey put this patient at the very back of the room. "I failed to turn you in, I delayed telling him you were here. That was unintentional -- I had meant to inform Avery the first night, but lost my temper too thoroughly. After he had finished with me, he let Avery hurt me in more primitive ways, as an additional punishment. For my pride." Snape grimaced. "Damn, that hurts."

He shifted to a sitting position, wincing with every movement, but waving Harry away when he tried to help.

"During the school year..."

"What?"

"You will not risk sitting with me, like this."

Harry sighed. "Agreed," he said reluctantly. He sat in the chair and frowned thoughtfully at Snape. Snape looked away.

"I ... I lost one of the potions."

"Only one?"

"I think so. I mean, you should probably test them, but the other two looked fine."

Snape appraised him slowly, as if judging the truth of his words. Harry wondered if the man were subtly pushing into his mind. He concentrated on picturing the two good cauldrons of the Calming Draught, focusing on their color and consistency.

"Good job," Snape said coolly.

Harry glowed.

That was all they said on the matter. Madam Pomfrey noticed that Snape was awake and came over to administer him potions, one of which he refused to take, and to check his arm and hand. Harry pushed his chair back a couple of feet and resumed work on the lenses. When Pomfrey left, Snape fell back to sleep.





Chapter 16: A look at what's bugging Remus