In the Midst of the Night

In the Midst of the Night

Chapter 4 - Home Within the Folds of a Cloak

Run.

That was all he knew - he had to run, and run hard. Through the flashes of blinding white light that seemed to shine from the heavens, Harry could barely make out the street on which he race across. He had been trying to escape for so long that, now, he didn't know quite what he was trying to flee from.

Could it have been Mr. McKinnon? Had he done something wrong again? He thought absently at the cause of the panic welled within his chest, but dared not drift from his coarse of escape. There had been so many mistakes that Harry had made that he pushed the thought of Mr. McKinnon and St. Mary's orphanage away. No, that wasn't it - he was suddenly certain. A woman...no, she wasn't a woman...she was a monster. Am I running from a monster? He shook his head in frustration. Why can't I remember? Why can't I think? He pushed those thoughts away. It didn't matter anymore - it only mattered that he was getting away.

Tendrils of crimson death seeped into his vision and Harry stumbled. What was that? The flashes of light came less frequently, but the child was left half blinded by their brilliance. A melodious, tinkling laugh echoed in his mind and he wasn't sure whether it was only in his imagination.

"You needn't be frightened," murmured a voice near his ear with a gentle lilting tone.

He remembered that, once - in what seemed like years ago - a woman had spoken to him like that - with love. She had smiled, she had sung to him, she cared and loved him. Now, the same loving voice was whispering in his ear, and he was heartened.

The scary woman - no, Specter - was nearer now. He could just feel it. Harry tried to run faster, he heard the loving words echo in his mind again and rushed on. I must get away!

His mind swirled with the effort to see past the white dots that danced in his vision and the struggle of trying to stay on the path. It was getting harder to breath - he was fighting to push away the haze of darkness creeping at the edges of his vision, but it was proving fruitless.

Harry stumbled again, and fell...but he didn't cease falling when the ground came up to meet him - no. He fell and fell and continued to fall past the bloody pavement! He cried out but no sound escaped his lips, only crimson death - glowing and flickering like a lone candle in a colossal room without windows.

His emerald eyes widened and soon, he found that he had stopped. He was staring at himself in a puddle. It was raining now...why was it raining? With a feeling of sudden thirst, he titled his head back, closed his eyes gently, and opened his mouth, letting the drops fall upon his awaiting tongue. Raindrops, however, were not what he tasted. He tasted...what was that? - they were tears.

Tears were falling from the skies. He saw one flash of the white light before he found himself gazing into the puddle again. His eyes - so emerald green - swirled and widened. It was then that he noticed they weren't his eyes he was peering into.

"You needn't be afraid," said the voice again, and Harry was strangely calmed. He sighed and the woman that he saw in the puddle smiled.

The world seemed to spin until he was looking up into the puddle. Harry found then, that it wasn't a puddle he was looking into any longer either - he blinked. The heavens...?

The rain fell harder, but he didn't need to turn his eyes away from above. His glasses repelled the water and for a reason he couldn't understand, he was dry and the rain was sloshing everywhere except in a protective sphere that he was encased in. He looked up again and saw that the woman still smiled gently upon him. Her eyes were much like his - emerald, bright...but hers were happy and only held traces of sadness rather than full shadows of them like the ones so black within Harry's. Tendrils of crimson wrapped around her and he become aware of the fact that her hair was near the same color - only with more gold and orange and yellow. He found himself smiling at her and she reached a hand down to him.

Her hand grasped his shoulder tightly with a force that snapped him from his trance. Before the scary streets and blood red brick walls enclosed around him once more, he thought he saw traces of tears upon her face.

Tears in heaven...

The rain pelted the ground harder as he fell upon the streets.

"Potter, move!" Harry heard a familiar voice yell urgently. No need, had had already fallen by himself.

He tried to get back up again after seeing a crimson flash of light zip over his head, but found that his body wouldn't cooperate. His mind swirled and a black haze seemed to spread throughout his vision. Before it enveloped him, he thought he saw the smiling face of the woman with his eyes in the puddle under him.

"You needn't be frightened," she whispered with a loving smile and he felt waves of warmth wash over him. He returned the smile before collapsing into a peaceful darkness...

~*~

Severus plopped upon his old and comfortable armchair with a heavy sigh. He leaned his head against the fluffy backside of the emerald green chair. Exhausted though he was, his body seemed to rebel against sleep.

With a dark scowl, he slowly stood and stretched his aching muscles. "Blasted potion," he muttered. Now that he thought about it, the Exponera Conicio potion could have waited. It would take hours to brew and he was tired - but his will always won in the end. He looked at the stack of books and pieces of parchment before him. They covered the surface of his desk - just the way he liked it. He knew where everything was when everyone else saw only a mess. A small grin lit his face, small and awkward with disuse. A sigh escaped his lips and he pulled a volume from a stack, ignoring the small crash of the books he had pulled it from.

Flipping to the marked page, he walked with it to his private lab where a cauldron and several strange ingredients waited idly on the nearby counter. A package lay wrapped at the windowsill and he opened it with a sense of excitement building in his chest. Inside, a transparent sphere lay cushioned in the finest silks of the East. A smile reserved only for when he was truly happy with a potion appeared upon his face. It was rarely seen outside this room, but this expression wasn't a stranger to Severus. He was a master at potions and seldom failed to produce a concoction he wished to create. His smirks, scowls, and all around ill-tempered self were reserved for everyone else - for reality. It was that which he hated with a passion.

Currently, his project was the Exponera Conicio potion - an ancient blend that, if brewed correctly and with the right disposition, would make the drinker recall his dreams. The brief synopsis on the page didn't specify what dreams, the kind or when the dream had been had, but Severus was an expert at changing recipes to fit what he wanted the potion to do.

He pulled the transparent ball from its lush lavender cushions of silk and surveyed it for blemishes. Inside swirled a mass of sea green and dandelion yellow. They looked as if separated into particles, like they had once been solid but crushed into a find dust. He shook it gently and felt the swirls pulse with life and hisses of protest resound from it. A tingle of objection ate at his fingers and he placed the sphere back within its container. He examined his fingers and saw that they had turned mildly red as if they had been burnt and a green, much like his armchair's color, residue was sticky on his hands. With another smile, he noted that the Core of Essence was perfect.

He searched in the cupboards under the counter for a salve for the minor burns and after they were treated and cleansed, rubbed his hands together - anticipating the potion that had yet to be made.

~*~

When Harry awoke, he revealed his emerald green eyes to the world only a second before shutting them tightly again. It was morning, he noted, stating the obvious. Through his lids, an orange glow was all he saw and any pains he had felt the day before were gone. Slowly this time, he blinked his eyes open and was confronted with the oldest man he had ever seen in his life.

Twinkling sapphire blue eyes regarded his intently for a moment and Harry weakly shifted, not meeting the elder man's gaze. He immediately stopped when he felt his ribs protesting against any and all movements.

"Madam Pomfrey has me on strict orders, Mr. Potter," said the frightening old man. The child swallowed painfully and held tightly onto the edge of the sheets, his knuckles turning white with the force. "You aren't to exert yourself - you've had a rough couple of days, haven't you?" he wondered with a small smile. Harry strained to keep his gaze locked on the amazingly white bed cover and Albus noticed that the boy's shoulders tensed. Disguising a frown with another brighter smile, he pulled out his wand and made the bed bend so that the boy was in a sitting position. The emerald eyed child glanced at him briefly with a startled look at the man's wand before averting his gaze once more.

Just then, the office door swung open and a stout little woman strolled out, her face brightening into a relieved and pleased smile. "Awake now, are we?" She chuckled and unlocked a cupboard bringing out a vile. Diluting it with a cup of water, she mixed the concoction together. "I must remember to ask Professor Snape to make me some more Pepper-Up potions," she muttered to herself. Harry's ears perked up at the sound of the familiar man's name. She sat down on the other side of Harry's bed and the poor boy felt as if he were being surrounded. "You've been comatose for three days, dear," Poppy told him with a small reassuring smile, "but we've got you almost completely healed now. Drink this down and plug your nose - it'll taste a bit off."

Harry stared at the cup that smoked as if scorching with heat. Albus smiled his best encouraging smile. "No need to worry, Mr. Potter, Poppy is one of the best healers in the community," said the man. His voice held reassuring undertones that helped to drive away some of the disconcerted child's fears.

With a hesitant tremble in his hand, Harry slowly accepted the cup, looking at Madam Pomfrey with wide eyes. He sniffed it and his youthful face contorted with disgust. As he stared down at the vile looking potion, he whispered, "I - I'm not supposed to talk to - to strangers," his voice straining with effort and wavering with the uncertainty of his company.

They didn't seem all that harmful, if he thought about it hard enough, but then again, he had met many possible parents that seemed that way as well. Such assumptions never did worthless little boys like Harry any good. Later he would find that his supposition was dreadfully incorrect. He gulped when the silence stretched on and tried sniffing at the cup. It smelled like pepper and he turned his head away in a gigantic fit of sneezes. Pepper wasn't Harry's friend.

When he chanced another cautious look at the very old man and the stout lady, he saw that they were looking at him oddly. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything, thought the boy solemnly.

"That is a very good sentiment, Mr. Potter," said Professor Dumbledore after a moment. "Therefore, I shall introduce myself. My name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School of -," but in his excitement, Harry cut him off with wide green eyes.

"Hoggerts School of Crafts and Wizardry!" he exclaimed, his youthful mind slipping unsteadily over the difficult words as he struggled to sit up straighter. His ribs cried out with pain and he bit his bottom lip, lowering himself to lean against the upraised bed once more.

Albus smiled. "Indeed, my boy! I see that Severus has told you about the school then?" Harry blushed and studied the white sheets again. "Wonderful - and this lovely woman on your other side is Madam Poppy Pomfrey. She's the school's nurse."

Poppy nodded. "Yes, so please drink your Pepper-Up Potion. It will help you with your contusions," she told him, an underlying tone of firmness creeping into her voice. Harry, not wishing to cross the strangers, quickly drank the contents of the cup within a few large gulps and wondered how he would remember such long names of these new people. She whisked the emptied goblet away and before reentering her office, said, "Headmaster, I trust you will let the poor dear rest soon?"

The elder man nodded with an amiable smile. "Of course," he replied. When he turned back to Harry, the boy was further comforted by the warm expression the headmaster wore. "I see you are familiar with Hogwarts - I trust Severus explained a bit to you?" Silence was his response so he went on, not seeming to notice Harry's unease. "Almost a decade ago, Mr. Potter, your parents listed you as a future student here. Would you like that?"

At the mention of his parents, Harry looked up - straight into the very old man's startling blue eyes. He looked down at his hands and shrugged almost helplessly. 'I don't know', his gesture seemed to say. A chuckle was his reward and the cloud of nerves that had hovered over the child seemed to be blown away. Felling emboldened, he wondered, "Will - will I learned crafts and wizardry too?"

At this, Professor Dumbledore's eyes glimmered brightly with amusement. "That you will, my boy," he replied with a cheerful grin.

Harry felt his cheeks heat up and he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "I made a snowman with cotton once," he told the very old man. What was his name again? He thought hard for a minute before he remembered the name, Albus Double Door, headmaster of Hoggerts School of Crafts and Wizardry. Yes, that was it.

Albus chuckled and waved his wand, creating an illusion of a real snowman that did tricks. Before the image began making a snow cone with the powdery white flakes from his middle, it wavered, and the wizard glanced at the small child who stared at the apparition with wonder and amazement. When the snowman disappeared after giving the snow cone to Harry, Professor Dumbledore said in a gentle tone, "You will be able to create more than just cotton snowmen once you learn more about magic."

The boy looked at him for a moment, then at his snow cone, before his face brightened, albeit a tad awkwardly, with the first smile he had had in weeks.

~*~

It was the beginning of summer and, as much as Severus hated the weather (the heat did not help him in his thick billowing black robes), he had to admit being partial to staying at Snape Manor. Though comforting as his dungeons were, his home was a whole different setting than that of the school - a different manner of scenery. After being hassled by students for nine months, it did his persona good being away from the educational environment. He sighed and set a few more of his books in boxes.

Rescuing - if I can call it that, thought the man - Potter had not been his only delay in leaving Hogwarts for summer hols. Dumbledore had specially requested that the Exponera Conicio potion be made before he left, if it pleased Severus. Grumbled and growled though he did, the potions master was not one to refuse the great wizard - especially after all that the man had done for him.

With the potion bubbling on the burner in his lab, Severus could take his time packing his things for the holiday. It wouldn't be long until it was ready and he already tasted his success. After perhaps three more hours of boiling, the concoction would be ready and Severus could take flight from the school. It had taken six hours to modify the formula for the potion and two days of careful observation and study to make sure it would end up right. Now, all he had to do was wait. In the mean time, he would get ready for his departure.

It ended up being four hours until the potion was finished. He poured the marble-like swirl of black and white liquid into a number of vials before corking them. That done, he felt a wave of triumph and relief wash over him.

Now he could go home.

~*~

With his trunk following close behind, Severus walked briskly down the hallways. Through the arched windows of the hallway, he could tell by the dark exterior that it was nighttime. Fiery torches lit the dim passage and cast dancing shadows upon the walls.

He turned the corner and suddenly became aware of a quiet sobbing nearby. With a frown, he tried to follow the sound. Heart wrenching blubbers of a child became louder the further he walked down the corridor and a scowl appeared upon his face. After turning another corner, he was faced with a young Harry Potter. The boy's knees were pulled up tight to his chest upon which his head lay while his hands pulled despairingly on the messy tendrils of raven black hair. Sobs racked his tiny body and he gasped lung-fulls of air at a time with the effort of trying to contain such strong emotions.

Severus' eyes widened, not only at the sight of the boy crying so forlornly, but at the minimal emerald glow radiating around him. He stepped closer but the child seemed to take no heed to his presence.

When, suddenly, a hand reached down upon his shoulder, Harry gasped and jumped up and in his haste he stumbled backwards onto the floor once more. His eyes met those of the potion professor's shadow filled black eyes. Scorching trails of tears burned down the boy's eyes and he sniffled as he swiped a sleeve across his eyes. The hospital gown was too big on the little creature and he looked positively dwarfed within it. All it did was prove how skinny Harry was and show the purple and black marks across his bared collar and neck. At the age of seven, he looked to be the size of a four or five year old. Even then he tried to shrink within himself under the professor's intent gaze.

The elder man stepped forward cautiously and, with the same languorous swiftness, Harry took a wary step backwards. With an overly patient tone, Severus said, "What are you doing out here at this hour, Potter?"

Harry winced and wiped yet more tears away with an audible sniff. It seemed as if he was trying to force words from himself. "I - I had a - a dream," he whispered in a wavering voice. He was positioned beneath one of the torches and the faint light washed softly over his childish features while the other half of his face was masked by shadows. By now, the eerie emerald glow that had encompassed the boy had died down to a barely visible aura of verdant green.

Severus frowned. "Why aren't you in the hospital wing? Couldn't you have told Pomfrey?" he wondered, as he subtly inched forward.

At this, Harry studied the floor as he scuffed a bare foot across the cold stone under him. Professor Snape just knew that had the lighting been better, a red flush would be evident upon the child's cheeks. The boy's lower lip trembled as he tried to contain yet more sobs and he bit down upon it forcefully. "It was - was dark." He glanced up at the man and took a few more steps backwards. "I'm afraid of the dark," he murmured, trembling at the mere memory of the horrible visions that danced behind his lids in the night. Dreams - no, nightmares - always haunted Harry and it was for that reason that he could never sleep well. The images of the terrifying green light and the horrifying man with the bad wooden stick continuously played at night and wouldn't cease haunting the boy.

Severus stared intently at the boy and saw the bright tears well up within those unforgettable emerald green eyes. His mind drifted back to when they were at Diagon Alley. "I always see the green light, and I hear the scary screams," the boy had admitted. "The scary man hurts those people with his wooden stick. It hurts my head and -," and what, however, Harry had never said.

As he looked down at the vulnerable and innocent - no, perhaps not very innocent - child, a wisp of compassion welled within his chest. He pushed that thought away - no, thought he, Severus Snape never feels such weak emotions. But just thinking that thought sent a surge of amusement rippling through him at the absurdity of the admission. Of course I feel compassion - it is just never towards a Potter.

Despite these thoughts, though, he found himself placing a consoling hand upon the youth's shoulder and the words, "You needn't be frightened," slipping past his lips. At this, Harry's head shot up and he looked at the potions professor with such a heartbreaking expression upon his youthful face that Severus felt that infuriating fiber of empathy jerk something within him. The tears that had welled so fully in the emerald eyes of the boy broke past their dam and rushed down his cheeks and down the tip of his nose. His face contorted pitifully and sobs racked harshly through the child's body.

Such simple words seemed to trigger something in the boy. The long awaited gesture of comfort that Harry had needed so desperately had finally come and he rushed to envelop himself within the warm confines of his salvation. He forced himself forward and buried his face deeply into the soft and gentle fabric of Professor Severus Snape's billowing black robes, clutching the material as if it were a lifeline - which, in a way, it was. He let go the rush of all his pain, desperation, and loneliness, with giant sobs, letting the river run its course and depart from the tiny body of the desolate boy named Harry Potter.

So surprised was Severus that all he could do was look down upon the child that barely reached his waist with an unguarded expression of shock. When at long last the tragic sobs faded down to hiccups and faint sniffles, he knelt down to look at the boy with an odd expression. Harry hiccupped loudly and looked up from the ground at the only man he was familiar with in this strange place called Hoggerts. His lids felt unusually heavy and he tried suppressing a huge yawn with his hand. When strangely gentle arms wrapped around him, he let himself be held and buried his head within the crook of the Severus' neck.

Before the man stood up once again, Harry was fast asleep, tenderly held within the safe confines of Severus Snape's arms.