Crucio

"Scurgify."

Harry felt the tingle of the cleansing spell as it drifted over him. He shivered, though he certainly wasn't cold.

"Better?" Sirius asked in muted tones as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry leaned into Sirius' side, blinking muzzily as he realized they were sitting on the floor. A slow thrum of pain pulsed through his scar, but he nodded. At least he didn't think he was going to sick up again. Sirius squeezed his shoulder; the solid warmth felt good. "Does your scar still hurt?" he asked.

Ignoring the question for a moment, Harry glanced upward; Snape was looming over them, his fingers still clamped over his left arm. He was staring at Sirius with shocked eyes. Harry turned back to see if Sirius was pinning Snape with the same bewildered expression. He wasn't disappointed.

"This isn't right," Harry said, his voice weak and throaty; he breathed thickly through his nostrils.

"What the hell is going on?" Sirius demanded, his eyes flicking from Snape back to Harry, absently pressing his knuckles against his godson's pallid cheek. "We thought you died," Sirius informed the man, his own voice unsteady.

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously as his gaze raked over Sirius and Harry. "I've been here with Potter since Dodgy's demise. It is you who appeared out of nowhere, and it is you who should be dead." As Sirius squinted his eyes in further confusion, Snape pointed his wand at him and growled, "Revalo."

Nothing happened.

"I'm not in disguise," Sirius told him, though he didn't sound offended that Snape had suspected as much. "Harry and I came here after Dodgy exploded--together." Snape gave him a challenging look, and so Sirius pulled his grandfather's wand from the waistband of his pajama bottoms and repeated Snape's spell--on Snape this time. Snape continued to stare down at them.

"This is..." Sirius shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. Snape didn't look any less stunned by what he was seeing in front of him.

"You can't both be here," Harry said, almost to himself; he rubbed at his brow line with a tight fist.

"Explain, Potter," Snape ordered from above. Sirius, coming out of his slight daze, gave the other man a warning look, before nodding encouragingly at his godson.

"I don't know if I can," Harry said slowly; his head was still spinning with jumbled images--none of them clear.

"Try," Snape snapped. Sirius' head whipped around; gritting his teeth as he glared at Snape. Even death had not quelled the antagonism between them.

"Don't snap at him--"

"He's the only who can answer," Snape interrupted with a scowl, meeting Sirius' hatred head-on. "If you would cease your coddling, we might actually discover what is going on." He turned abruptly back to Harry. "Who brought you here, Potter?"

"I..." Harry looked between the two men, his voice faltering with uncertainty.

Snape closed his eyes briefly, impatiently. "You were surprised to see Black, but you are not reacting as though you have seen a dead man walking. You should remember, we thought he was dead, Potter. You act as though you've seen him previously. Though it is obvious that Black is rather stunned to see me..."

Harry stared for a second--a bit taken aback by Snape's lengthy speech. "I saw all of you--and me...I could see myself as if I was flying..." he finally faltered; he rubbed at his forehead again.

Sirius' and Snape's eyes connected over Harry's head. Harry shook his head at both of them, feeling ridiculously stupid.

"I'm delusional, just like you said I was," he lamented, his eyes holding Snape's. "Only now I'm dreaming that both of you are alive." He pressed his hand over his eyes now, hoping to force the pain in his scar away.

"You said he was delusional?"

Sirius' irritated voice washed over Harry as he pressed harder against his aching scar. But whatever Snape might have said in response was cut off as Sirius' fingers gently pried Harry's hand away from his eyes, and asked, "Is it worse?"

Harry stared at Sirius' concerned face. He shook his head, deciding the little lie was better than worrying his godfather. "It's not too bad."

"Take this," Snape's voice growled from above them. Both Sirius and Harry looked up. "We have more important matters to discuss than Potter's discomfort," he snapped as he slapped a small vial of blue liquid into Sirius' palm.

Sirius eyed the vial suspiciously.

"I have no plans to poison him," Snape said in his most scathing voice. Sirius studied Snape for a second longer, obviously still unsure of the man's existence, before he popped the seal on the vial and handed it over to Harry. Sirius watched as Harry drank it without hesitation. The pain in his scar began to recede immediately. Snape wasted no time in banishing the empty vial and pinning Harry with a very intense glare.

"What did you mean, we cannot both be here?"

Harry wiped the back of his hand over his lips. "Things are fuzzy," he tried to explain. "Like I've been dreaming for the last few days...of everything that's happened, but I can't remember either of you being together in the same room since Dodgy..."

"What do you remember?" Sirius' question, in sharp contrast to Snape's, was infinitely milder--and filled with concern.

Harry shook his head, futilely trying to clear the jumbled pictures he couldn't sort through. "You died, Sirius," he said in equal parts confusion and grief. It had felt so real. "I was so angry--and Snape promised to help me avenge you-"

"But I've been here with you...we came here together, remember? After we couldn't find Snape..." Sirius said, his worry deepening his voice. "We thought he was dead."

"I know," Harry said without thinking about it. He paused in surprise, and looked up at Snape once more. "You died. But you were training me--you told me about the prophecy..."

"No, Dumbledore's letter told you about the prophecy," Sirius interrupted.

"What letter?" Snape demanded.

"Fawkes brought it when Dumbledore died. Do you remember that?" Sirius asked Harry gently.

Snape stared at Sirius. "Where is it?" he asked, his voice strained almost beyond recognition. Sirius gestured toward the stairs.

"Harry put it in his room--he's been staying in Regulus' room."

"Regulus' room." Snape's voice sounded strangled. Sirius nodded.

"Accio Harry's letter from Dumbledore," he commanded, pointing his wand toward the stairs. Within seconds, a tightly rolled scroll flew down the stairs and into Sirius' hand. He handed it over to Snape, who was looking rather white around the mouth.

Snape unrolled it slowly. "...to be delivered to you upon my death," he read, his voice hollow. His fingers suddenly released their hold on the parchment; the scroll snapped itself back into a tight roll. "Impossible," he said, fury echoing in the word. And on cue, startling all three men, a streak of smoky silver flew into the room--a Patronus in the form of a lynx.

It opened its mouth and said, in Shacklebolt's deep, sorrow-filled voice, "Albus' body reappeared in the Hogwarts' infirmary a few moments ago--he is dead."

"Reappeared?" Sirius questioned as Snape's pale fingers crushed the scroll.

Harry's brow puckered as snatches of an argument floated through his brain.

"Dumbledore and some others disappeared without a trace," he murmured. "But he'd already died..." He turned abruptly toward Snape, more confused than ever. "You put my wand in Regulus' room...but you said you don't know where it is."

Sirius looked between them.

"No, Harry. You forgot your wand when you came into my room a few hours ago." He gestured toward Harry's cheek. "You tripped and said you hurt your cheek...I couldn't understand though how-"

Harry's hand flew to his cheek, and he immediately started in surprise as his fingers grazed the tender skin. His eyes connected with Snape's, almost without thought. Harry remembered now.

Snape's jaw visibly clenched. The hand that had struck Harry twitched.

"You tried to give me Bruise Salve after..."

Snape's eyes flashed.

Sirius looked between them, his eyes narrowing as he echoed in a tight voice, "Bruise Salve?" When Harry didn't make any sort of motion in response, he frowned. "Harry, you said you'd dreamed of Snape, just before you woke up..." Sirius' glare settled on Snape. Snape tried to make his face blank, but even Harry could tell he was uncomfortable under Sirius' gaze.

"It wasn't a dream." The memories sharpened as Harry slowly pulled his hand away from the still-sensitive skin. "I can't explain what I mean," he said to the far wall, "but now I remember both of you dying. And I remember being here with both of you too. Dreaming of one when I was with the other. But the dreams were too real..."

He looked around again then--at Sirius. Harry' throat was so dry, he almost couldn't speak. He forced himself to. "Like there were two of me."

"Foul, filthy blood traitors..."

Harry's head turned sharply toward the muttered words. Kreacher was ambling past the parlor door, his little face twisted in disgust. Kreacher, who had been nowhere to be found when he and Snape came here.

Harry looked over at Snape; his black eyes were wide with surprise. Kreacher gazed at them with bleary loathing. But in the next instant, with a familiar roll of disorientation, the room seemed to spin again, and Kreacher was no longer standing in the doorway.

"Harry..."

Harry swiveled toward Sirius, the motion so slow, Harry felt like he'd been trapped in a vat of Sticky Sap. Sirius was grimacing oddly, as though he was in pain.

And then as surely as he had been kneeling right in front of him, Sirius was gone.

Harry lunged.

"No!" he shouted, his arms outstretched, as though he expected to be able to yank Sirius from the blank space in front of him. His hands sliced through the empty air. Finding no purchase, he tumbled forward.

He lay against the worn carpet, his body taut against the floor, his head lifted up. He stared at the empty air.

Ice seeped through his fingertips as they pressed into the floor. His limbs were so heavy and numb he couldn't move them. So he simply sat there and stared. At nothing.

It was impossible. Sirius couldn't have been here.

It was a dream.

He couldn't hear anything but his own ragged breaths; his heartbeat was thick and losing vigor. His eyes were wide as he peered about for any sign that Sirius had really been there.

Sirius was gone.

Again.

His hand pressed over his scar--there was no pain. The heel of Harry's hand rubbed vigorously over the place that had only pretended to throb only moments ago.

He was delusional. Hysterical even.

No longer possessing the strength to keep his neck stretched outward, Harry's head finally drooped toward the carpet.

Harry wanted to laugh, but his throat was too dry.

He let his mind float instead, until the rug in front of his eyes lost its pattern.

Strong fingers curled around Harry's bicep. Lost in a haze, Harry allowed the grip and the firm tug to pull him back onto his knees.

Harry looked up; the face in front of him was blurry.

"Pull yourself together," an impatient voice instructed; the voice sounded muffled in Harry's clogged ears. But once again, Harry obeyed. He clutched the black-clad sleeve in front of his face with both hands, and was half-pulled until he was standing.

Feeling cold all over, Harry wound his fingers into the thin material at his fingertips as his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. Harry, once again, felt pressure on his bicep, until it was almost painful, but no attempt was made to detangle Harry's fingers from the sleeve.

A moment later the hand moved to his shoulder and he was being pushed downward. Harry sank down onto the lumpy sofa, unsure of how he'd made it there. He heard mumbled words, which he couldn't quite focus on...all he could see was Sirius' face.

He tried to focus on it as something warm was pressed into his hand.

"Drink it."

Arms still unbearably heavy, Harry lifted his warmth-filled fist to his lips. Tea...pungent and hot.

It sloshed over the rim of the teacup.

--

Snape frowned as Potter's hands trembled, making the tea slop over the sides of the teacup. He made an attempt to sip at it but most of the dark liquid dribbled down his chin; almost none of it made it into Potter's mouth. Snape plucked the cup impatiently from Potter's fingers. Potter's hands went slack, and flopped back into his lap.

Potter's green eyes were glazed and unseeing.

A quick diagnostic confirmed the sharp drop in Potter's temperature.

Shock.

If he hadn't had so many years of practice at controlling his own responses, Severus might have succumbed to the pull of shock as well. After all, Black and Kreacher both had disappeared with no warning. As had the scroll that announced Albus' sudden death--right from Severus' fingers.

Severus shoved all thoughts of the old man away.

Since slapping the mute boy--again--was clearly out of the question, Severus peeled the moldy blanket from the back of the settee. After applying a quick Cleaning Charm, he let it drop from his fingers; it only partially covered the shivering Potter. Hissing in irritation, Severus took hold of Potter's shoulders and twisted his body so that he could make the boy lie down.

Potter made no protest as he was pushed down. Not paying much attention to the movements, Severus snatched the blanket away and directed a Warming Charm over the boy instead. Grimly satisfied, Severus pointed his wand toward the kitchen and called for a Sleeping Potion. If Black was indeed in some other plane, surely he could snap the impossible boy out of his stupor. Severus broke the seal with his thumbnail.

Shaking Potter's shoulder, in an attempt to get his attention, he ordered, "Drink this, Potter."

Potter stared up at him blankly.

Severus grabbed his shoulder, forcing Potter to sit up a little. "You need to sleep. Drink it."

Potter's green eyes flickered. "No!"

Severus reared back a little as Potter's hands batted the vial away. The fog cleared rapidly from Potter's eyes as he struggled to pull himself upright again; Snape offered no assistance. "I can't," Potter said hoarsely, clamping his hands over his face. "I can't go to sleep. I don't want to dream of him anymore. He's dead but I won't stop seeing him..."

Severus lowered the vial. "You haven't been dreaming of Black," Severus told him in a thin voice, hating the way those eyes held his. The green eyes flashed in momentary anger.

"I have! I tried to tell you-"

"Black was here," Severus interrupted sharply, wanting to stem the customary tirade. "He isn't dead." No matter that Severus could hardly believe it himself.

Potter's mouth snapped shut.

"He was really...but it can't be..." Potter shook his head like a dog shaking the last water droplets from his ears.

"Something has happened to change the natural flow of time and space. And somehow, you've been moving between two different timelines," Severus explained, unsurprised that Potter had not gleaned as much from their brief minutes with Black. With a disdainful wave of his wand, Severus added, "It does not matter that you cannot grasp the concept, Potter. The facts remain as they are. You have spent time with both of us in the past days, when such a thing should not have been possible."

Potter sat up straight, his eyes suddenly filled with fear. "What if it's no longer possible?"

Snape scowled in annoyance. "Precisely why I am attempting to make you sleep. To find out," he stressed when Potter looked confused. "It seems you only see Black when you sleep, and presumably you have "dreamt" of me when you went to sleep in his timeline. You need to go to sleep again."

Snape waved the vial impatiently in front of Potter's nose, when Potter didn't move, "I would have thought you'd be disgustingly excited at the prospect of seeing your godfather."

He watched as the boy closed his eyes; his knuckles were white as he gripped the vial.

"Where is your Gryffindor courage now?"

Potter's eyes popped open at the jeer. The anger returned to his eyes. Without a word, he quaffed the potion. Not even pausing to hand over the empty vial, Potter carelessly stretched out on the settee, lying on his side. He glared at Severus with defiant eyes until his eyelids began to droop, and his gaze slowly lost its heated focus.

Potter's fingers slackened. The vial slipped from his hand and landed with a soft thud against the carpet.

And then the boy disappeared.