Lily's Charm

November 1, 1996--sometime around 4:00am

He hadn't wanted to listen. He had refused to listen. But they had told him, anyway.

Remus' arms held him tightly, and Harry just stood there, staring at the faded brown of Remus' robes, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He didn't care that he was sixteen and being held like a child. He just really didn't care about anything.

Pomfrey's Life Charm was keeping him alive. But he wasn't really alive at all. It didn't matter that his father's heart was beating, or that his chest was rising and falling in a pale imitation of life. That's all it was. A mirage.

Severus had given up. His father had left him.

--

"No, Albus. I won't believe it," Remus whispered fiercely, glancing quickly down at Harry, whose eyes had glazed over again. "Severus wouldn't just give up like that." Remus glared at the headmaster, who gazed back at him helplessly.

"Severus was dying, Remus," Poppy tried to tell him.

Remus shook his head stubbornly. "I know he would've wanted to stay. For Harry," he emphasized with another look down at the boy standing perfectly still in his arms.

"Remus," Albus breathed sadly, "I'm sure he tried... of course he wouldn't have wanted to leave. You have no idea what Voldemort is capable of, though. It is likely that he was torturing Severus' mind just as soundly as he allowed his Death Eaters to torture his body. I'm certain Voldemort meant to drive his soul away."

Remus stared at him. "His soul?" he echoed.

Albus nodded solemnly, his blue eyes dull. "Did you really doubt that Voldemort, of all wizards, would discount the importance of allowing one's soul to thrive?"

"Dammit, Albus!" Remus erupted, and both Poppy and the headmaster gaped at him. But he didn't care. What did they think they were doing to Harry? "Why didn't you explain it that way before?" he demanded. As understanding dawned, he said furiously, "This is not the time to worry about keeping Harry from discovering one of your blasted secrets!"

Remus glanced quickly once more at Harry, but Harry seemed to have buried himself again. And for now, Remus was content to let him. Poppy was staring at Albus by this point as well. Remus turned his head to her. "What happened when you went inside Severus' head?" he demanded. Poppy narrowed her eyes.

"Just as Albus told you, it's as if his body is just an empty shell, now," she said slowly. She glanced sideways at Albus. "I hadn't realized--"

Remus cut her off impatiently, turning back to the disgruntled headmaster. "What happened to Severus once Voldemort drove him away?" he demanded brusquely.

Albus frowned, his eyes beginning to lighten. "I can only assume he would have moved on."

"You mean beyond the veil?" Remus pressed quickly, and when Albus nodded, Remus set his jaw. "He would have gone to find Lily." The realization filled Remus with grief.

"Are you certain, Albus?" he asked. "That he's..." Remus couldn't help but lower his voice, "...that there's nothing there?" he pressed.

Poppy answered, cutting the headmaster off, "We couldn't detect any presence there."

Remus tightened his hold around his friend. Harry didn't stir. "But have either of you ever been in Severus' head before... the way Harry has?" The mixture of hope and dread exploded in his chest when both of them shook their heads slowly. "Wouldn't Harry be able to tell for certain?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the excitement from his voice.

"Remus," Poppy said soberly, "It would be very disturbing for Harry to look in his father's mind and find it empty."

Remus closed his eyes at the thought. Of course it would, he berated himself. They couldn't put Harry through that.

"I want to try."

Remus' eyes flew open. He looked down at Harry. Harry hadn't moved, but his green eyes were focused, now, burning with a renewed intensity.

--

"Harry, you don't understand," Dumbledore said immediately, but Harry had had enough. And not only of the headmaster's placating. Harry put a little pressure against Remus' arms, and Remus dropped his arms immediately. Harry turned slowly to face Dumbledore.

"I don't need to understand, Professor," he said quietly, carefully keeping his voice low and respectful. He would stay calm. "If there's any chance that my father's there, I'm going to bring him back. I don't care how small the chance is or how terrifying it might be. I'm not just going to let him go." Harry gazed right into the headmaster's blue eyes and dared him to argue.

Dumbledore didn't argue. Pomfrey, on the other hand, seemed to have no reservations about arguing with Harry.

"Mr. Potter," she said in her best professional tones, "the headmaster and I are quite skilled in this area. It is not likely that we missed something."

"I've been in there with him, Madam Pomfrey. I know I'm not skilled at this at all, and I don't even know what I'm doing, but I know what I'm looking for." He saw no need to elaborate. His father's thoughts and, more importantly, his shields were personal. Harry had a pretty good idea of what he would find once he entered his father's mind. He had, after all, been tortured through his own mind many times by Voldemort. He didn't expect it would be easy.

Harry watched as Pomfrey and Dumbledore exchanged glances, and then both of them looked to Remus. Harry didn't turn. He knew they were asking Remus if Harry would be able to handle it. And he knew Remus wouldn't let him down.

"He has a right to try," was Remus' answer.

"We won't be able to do anything unless your father is recovered physically," Pomfrey warned, though she was smiling slightly in concession, and Harry immediately felt like throwing his arms around the mediwitch. "If any part of your father is still in there, you won't be able to bring him back while his body is so damaged."

Harry nodded quickly, unable to quash the hope blooming throughout his chest. "How long will that take?" he asked eagerly. As he moved closer to his father's bed, he faltered, "If he..."

Pomfrey's expression softened. "As I told you, we're doing everything we can, but he needs time to heal." Harry swallowed, and she nodded, her face taking on that stern look again. "He has started responding to the initial treatments," she informed him briskly. Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on his father's face.

"We'll just wait, then," Harry decided, settling into the chair to do just that.

"Mr. Potter, as much as I admire your fortitude, you do need to sleep," Pomfrey informed him, and Harry thought she sounded amused. He sighed, knowing that if he argued, Remus would most likely just jump in to second the suggestion, or worse, Pomfrey would force him to take a Sleeping Draught.

"All right," he agreed, but then looked up quickly, more nervous than he would have liked. He addressed Remus, "I want to stay here, though." It came out as a question, and Remus smiled reassuringly.

"Of course you can stay here, Harry," he told him, and Harry, feeling much relieved, turned back to Pomfrey.

"I'll just talk to him for a bit longer, then?"

Pomfrey nodded and turned back to her table of potions. Albus smiled at him and moved away. Remus squeezed his shoulder before following the headmaster. Harry stood up again, taking his father's hand as he'd done before.

"I don't know if you can hear me," Harry said, his voice much steadier than it had been the first time he'd done this, "but Madam Pomfrey says you have to get better so I can bring you home."

--

When time loses its meaning...

"Sev."

Her voice was a tinkling warmth against his chest.

"Lily," he breathed against her soft hair. He felt her trembling in his arms.

"I missed you," she whispered as he pulled her closer.

"I missed you as well, Lily, but I am here now," he soothed her, enjoying the way she fit next to his body. He brought his hand up to let his fingers trail through her hair, just like he had so many times before.

Lily lifted her face up, and he brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone and down over her lips. "My Lily," he whispered, letting the joy fill him. Tears filled her eyes as the familiar smile touched Severus' lips. "There is no reason to cry," he told her softly.

Lily smiled as well, though it was a smile full of sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Sev," she said as he gazed into her emerald eyes. He shook his head slightly, bringing his thumb to wipe away a stray tear.

"No, Lily. You did what you had to do. I do not blame you... I never blamed you," he assured her gently. Lily smiled again, and it warmed him.

"You've always been too forgiving," she chided, and he raised a disbelieving brow. She laughed, a soft musical sound. "I've missed that," she said quietly, her eyes suddenly full of gentle intensity, a warmth he remembered so well.

He slid his hand to the small of her back; his other wound itself into Lily's fiery hair, and he tugged her to him, tipping her head up. Her lovely green eyes brightened as his lips met hers hungrily; his fifteen lonely years quickly became meaningless. The only thing that mattered now was Lily.

--

November 1, 1996--sometime after breakfast

As it turned out, Harry did have to take Pomfrey's Sleeping Draught; he had been too agitated to sleep on his own. When he woke up, he felt extremely groggy, as if a fog had settled over his mind. Pomfrey had told him last night to expect to feel that way if he didn't sleep a full eight hours. He obviously hadn't.

Harry fumbled for his glasses. As soon as he tucked them around his ears, his stomach jumped. He was pretty sure the entire Weasley family was gathered around the bed; Hermione was there as well, and all of them were staring down at him, their eyes full of concern. With an internal groan, he realized immediately that they all must know about Severus. Harry couldn't remember who had been in the infirmary when he'd charged in last night, but he knew it was likely that at least one of them had been.

Harry struggled to pull himself up, ending up resting slightly on his forearms, propping his top half up on them. "Erm... hi," he greeted. Eight smiles returned his greeting.

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, and then he was pulled into a rather fierce hug, and for a minute, Harry was afraid he might be smothered alive. But he patted Mrs. Weasley's back, anyway, appreciating the sentiment and hoping the little gesture might make her release him sooner. Another long minute later, and Mrs. Weasley was pulling Harry away from her, moving some of the pillows behind his back and sorting him into a sitting position against the iron headboard.

"Now, Harry, dear," she began briskly as she readjusted the pillows, "how are you feeling?"

Harry settled his glasses again on his nose, which had gone rather askew with Mrs. Weasley's hug. He smiled a bit. "I'm all right," he told them. They all looked skeptical, especially Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry..." Mrs. Weasley began tentatively, and Harry tensed, "...I realize, of course, that this is rather an awkward time for such a question, but Mr. Weasley and I are concerned about you. The headmaster told us about Professor Snape and--"

"Mum!" Ron interrupted. "Ginny and I already told you--Harry's fine about Snape."

"Hush, Ron," his mother chided with a wave of her hand, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Harry. But before she could continue with her interrogation, Harry shook his head.

"I'm all right. There's really nothing to worry about," he tried to reassure her. She raised her eyebrows speculatively.

"But Harry, he has always been--"

Harry glanced at Ginny, who gave him a firm nod. "I don't want to be impolite," he said quickly as he turned back to Mrs. Weasley, "but I don't want to talk about this, especially not now. He's my father. I love him, and that's all that matters."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked taken aback by the short speech, while George and Fred were grinning at him, nudging one another for reasons Harry didn't even want to fathom. Bill looked considerably more reserved, and Harry sighed as they continued to study him.

"I need to use the loo," he told them abruptly. He didn't, really, but he wanted to get away from their gawking. George and Fred moved apart, giving him an opening. Harry pushed up off the bed, and instead of heading to the toilet, he stepped around the Weasleys and went to his father's side. As soon as he saw his father's face, he sucked in a breath.

He moved forward, reaching a hand out instinctively, but stopping just shy of actually touching Severus' cheek. Pomfrey, from her spot across from Harry, spoke up, "Your father's Swelling Salve is more effective than most," she said with a small smile. Harry heard a collective gasp from behind him, most likely due to Pomfrey referring to Severus so nonchalantly as Harry's father. Harry ignored them.

"But he looks almost normal again," he breathed. Well, not normal, he corrected silently. His father's face was still mottled with deep indigo bruises. He actually looked quite horrible, but at least, he didn't look like a furless Pigmy Puff any longer.

"How is he?" Harry asked eagerly.

"His bones are mending nicely, and I've stopped the internal bleeding. The majority of his vital organs are still not functioning on their own, including his lungs." Harry bit his lip, wishing she had better news. His father couldn't even breathe on his own, yet.

"Are you using fresh potions?" Hermione queried, coming to stand next to Harry. Pomfrey pursed her lips, but didn't answer as she continued her work. Harry felt a heavy pat on his shoulder. He glanced over as Ron took his place on Harry's other side.

"You all right, mate?" Ron asked quietly. Harry shrugged. Ron nodded in understanding, giving his friend another pat. "Sorry about mum," he offered. Harry shook his head, though.

"I know she's just worried about me. It's all right," he assured his friend lightly. And really, it was. Mrs. Weasley had been almost like a mother to him for the past few years, and he knew very well that she loved him. Harry turned his head slightly; the other Weasleys were huddled around Ginny. She was nodding a lot while they all peppered her with questions. Ginny looked up and rolled her eyes indulgently when she caught Harry's eye. Harry shook his head resignedly and turned back to his father. He looked up in surprise when the door from the corridor slammed open.

Tonks, her hair a deep crimson, came stomping through the door. Harry stared at her, but she was looking straight ahead. Harry whirled around; Remus was following Tonks' movements warily as she stormed over to him. Harry didn't blame him; she looked furious. Harry drew in a breath as she stepped up to him, afraid she was going to slug him.

Tonks, in one smooth motion, threw her arms around Remus and kissed him noisily. Remus, who had stepped back a pace, quickly moved closer to Tonks, and Harry all of a sudden felt like a Hippogriff was sitting on his chest; he quickly turned away from the very public display.

Ginny and Hermione were watching the scene in fascination, while Ron was making a gagging motion toward Harry. Harry didn't respond; he was too busy watching Pomfrey waving her wand, feeling considerably more anxious about attempting to bring his father back than he had a minute before.

What if his father didn't want to come back? What if he'd already found mum? Wouldn't he want to stay there with her?

Harry pursed his lips against the surge of hurt he felt with those thoughts, knowing he shouldn't feel that way.

It was selfish... wasn't it?

After a while, Tonks sauntered over to Harry, with Remus following closely behind her. They stood in silence around Severus' bed. "So," Tonks stated casually, "Professor Snape's your father."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling mildly agitated. This was going to become tiresome. But Harry was surprised when Tonks tapped his hand.

"Congratulations," she told him solemnly. Harry blinked at her. And then she spun around, waving her hands toward Mr. Weasley. "Come on Weasleys," she called cheerfully, motioning to the clan, "the headmaster wants to see you."

Harry, his friends, and Remus watched them go. Harry was the only one not smiling.

"Classes start in less than ten minutes. All of you... out!" Pomfrey directed, and Harry looked up in some confusion. He wondered briefly if she was talking about morning or afternoon classes, but since he wasn't about to leave to find out, he didn't bother asking.

Harry accepted a hug from Hermione, another pat from a Ron, and a kiss from Ginny. Then McGonagall, apparently materializing out of thin air, escorted the trio from the Hospital Wing.

"What was that about... with Tonks, I mean?" Harry asked after they'd left, mostly to distract himself from the depressing turn his thoughts had taken.

Remus smiled. "She was thanking me for trying to keep you and Severus safe."

"By not telling anyone, you mean?" Harry surmised. Remus nodded. "She seemed pretty intense," Harry commented, not really interested in why, but he wanted to keep talking.

"Tonks was with the Malfoys all night," Remus explained. "I got the impression that Lucius was in a rather foul temper."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. "He only did it because of Draco, didn't he?" he asked quietly and then felt a vague swish of uneasiness at Remus' confirmation. He didn't know why it should matter, but somehow, it did.

"Harry." Remus' voice was gently prodding, and Harry glanced up. "What's on your mind?" Remus asked. Harry swallowed, wishing his friend wasn't so perceptive.

Harry's voice was a mere whisper as he asked, "What if he doesn't want to come back?" Harry couldn't voice the reason his father might have for staying away, but Remus patted his hand, and Harry knew he understood, anyway.

"If even a small part of your father is in there, Harry, it's because he doesn't really want to leave," Remus said simply, as if that settled the matter. Harry bit his lip, still feeling entirely uncertain about the whole idea.

--

November 3, 1996--evening

Harry's friends spent most of the weekend in the infirmary with Harry. Remus stayed the entire time, and Tonks apparently alternated her time between Malfoy Manor and Remus' side. Harry was looking forward to the start of the school week again on Monday. He wanted to be alone with his father, but he didn't want to tell his friends to leave, so he simply let the conversations flow around him, while he assisted Pomfrey with her treatments.

She had asked him late Friday night for his help when Harry had been growing more and more agitated with Severus' stagnant condition. Now, he was a constant presence by her side, handing her potions as she asked for them and gently applying salves and creams as she directed. He had to admit, it made the time go by faster, and Harry felt much better, knowing he was helping his father.

Harry was just saying good night to his friends when Pomfrey came out of her office and asked Harry to join her at his father's bedside. Harry hastily left his friends to Tonks, who was escorting them back to the Tower, and hurried with Remus over to Pomfrey.

"What is it?" Harry asked nervously, hoping the mediwitch was going to tell him his father was going to be just fine.

"He's breathing on his own," Pomfrey announced, almost smugly, and Harry's heart leapt.

"What does that mean?" he demanded. Please let it mean that he's going to be okay.

"It means just that, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey told him sternly, and Harry's shoulders drooped. Pomfrey's tone softened a bit as she continued, "But it is a good sign. He's beginning to heal on his own, now..." Harry stepped closer to his father, feeling very nervous at the pronouncement. "...and I think it would be a good idea to allow your father to continue his recovery in his own quarters."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Why?"

Pomfrey smiled a little at him. "Familiar surroundings may be beneficial to a full recovery."

Harry drew in a quick breath, not daring to believe what she was implying. "You mean, you think..."

"I think, in a few more days, yes, your father will be stable enough for you to make your attempt."

Harry stared at her, not ready to comprehend that, yet.

--

November 4, 1996--afternoon

Harry stood outside his father's door, extremely hesitant to enter the bedroom. Pomfrey had already settled Severus into his bed while Harry and Remus waited in the sitting room. And now... well... going in his father's room seemed too personal, somehow. He didn't want to invade his private space. But Harry's rational mind knew there was no help for it, so he gently pushed the door open; he pulled in a startled breath.

It was like he was intruding on his father's innermost feelings. Harry could almost feel his mum in this room. The furniture, just as in the sitting room, had obviously been chosen by Lily. The woods were dark, but pleasantly simple, and the deep blues and reds of the fabrics somehow seemed to radiate warmth.

Harry's throat closed as he stepped over to the night table. There was a picture of his mum; she looked so happy. Harry's heart quickened as he reached out for the other photo... his own green eyes blinked up at him. Harry recognized it instantly as a photo Colin Creevey had taken of him at the end of last term. He was smiling slightly, though even Harry could see how sad he had looked...

How his father had gotten it, Harry had no idea. Smiling slightly, he set the picture back on his father's night table.

Harry turned slowly to face his father. He almost looked like he could be sleeping. Pomfrey had told him this morning that his liver was functioning again, and as soon as she gave him clearance, he could try to enter his father's mind. At the thought, instead of feeling excited, a deep sadness ached through him.

Now that he was finally alone, he knew he needed to have a little chat with his father. Harry bit his lip as he dragged the heavy desk chair over to the bed. He sat down carefully, and resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward.

"Listen, Dad," Harry said with intensity, "I'm not certain what you want me to do." He rushed on, feeling ill at ease, "If Dumbledore is right, and Voldemort... well, if he did force your soul to leave, then you probably didn't want to leave... but now..." Harry swallowed hard. "...if somehow you're with mum now... it's okay."

Harry blinked back the tears as he forced himself to finish, "It's okay if you want to stay with her."

It wasn't the first lie he'd ever told his father, but it certainly was the most painful. Because even as he said it, Harry knew that if his father decided not to come back, he would never forgive him. As Harry gazed down at Severus, an inexplicable anger surged through him... anger at his father for leaving him, and anger at himself for begrudging his father whatever peace he might have found.

--

When and where peace dwells...

He trailed a hand down the delicate skin of Lily's shoulder. She smiled up at him.

"Did you miss this as well?" she teased, her green eyes full of love.

"I did," he answered seriously, and then his lips lifted in a small smirk. "I did not, however, realize how much I missed it."

Lily propped herself up lightly to scowl playfully at him. "I should probably be insulted by that," she said with a little sniff; his chest rumbled with amusement.

"I think, in fact, that you should accept it as the highest compliment," he informed her, as he brushed his thumb down her arm. Lily shivered under the touch.

Her eyes softened, and her features melted into a smile. "Maybe you should reserve judgment..." Lily whispered softly as she leaned into his chest once more.

His heart quickening in anticipation, he accepted her challenge.

--

November 5, 1996--late into the night

Harry was kneeling on the hard stone floor next to his father's head, wondering as he had been for the past two days if he shouldn't just let his father go.

Harry had been absolutely rigid with worry for the past day and a half. He'd sat by his father's side, almost ceaselessly, getting up only to tend to his father. Madam Pomfrey had left Harry with everything he'd need to care for her patient, coming and going throughout the day to check on Severus' progress. Remus had spent most of his time in the sitting room, leaving Harry alone with his father, reassuringly nearby, though, if Harry needed him.

And now, Remus stood next to him, waiting for Harry to give the signal that he was ready. Pomfrey and Dumbledore were standing on the other side of the bed, both of them ready to intervene if necessary, they'd told him. And Harry hoped he wouldn't need their help. If his father was there, he wouldn't...

Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder; he let out a shaky breath. Remus had been right, he knew. If his father wanted to come back, he would find him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Harry lifted his hands to rest them gently on the sides of Severus' face. He needed to see those black orbs that told so much. With a deep breath and a nod to Remus, Harry watched as his friend used his thumbs and forefingers to gently pry open Severus' eyelids. Harry gazed into his father's dark eyes.

Ashes.

Rubble.

The fire had died. There was not even a spark. Voldemort had destroyed everything. It was bleak... dark. Dumbledore had been very wrong; it was powerfully more than merely disturbing. Harry's first instinct was to rip himself backward, out of the yawning pit of despair that Voldemort had left behind.

But Harry forced himself to stay; he was stubborn. He wasn't going to lose his father if his father didn't want to be lost. Harry wasn't going to be driven away by Voldemort.

Not again.

With easy care, Harry brought his storm forward and into his father's mind. The cloud was light, almost white as it probed gently around the rubble. The wispy tendrils moved outward to caress the ashes.

Dad?

The ashes didn't answer.