"I trust Hermione," Harry insisted. "And Ron."
"The Dark Lord trusts me." The warning chilled the air where they stood.
"Yeah, but you're a Slytherin," Harry protested, shivering. "You know how to play both ends against the middle. Hermione's a . . ." He didn't want to say Gryffindor and get insulted. "She's a friend," he concluded.
"She does care for you," Snape commented, sounding a trifle puzzled. "Deeply."
"You think it's strange that someone might care for me?" Harry bit out.
"I did not say that."
"Then why'd you sound so mystified?" Harry retorted, wondering if this whole conversation wasn't just one more exercise in Slytherin cunning.
"Because a person's loyalty is most often only to himself."
"You need to get out of the dungeons more," Harry told him. "Can I go? It's almost curfew and I still have to make it to the kitchens before I go up to the Tower."
"The 22nd," Snape reminded him. "Early. Bring your books again. You may need something to read as you . . . recover."
Recover. Harry didn't like the sound of that. He was used to an overnight stay in the hospital wing fixing just about anything. While he was still thinking about that, Snape recited something soft and Latin, then opened the door.
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Twelve: Heart to Heart
~
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 12: Heart to Heart
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=12
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Twelve: Heart to Heart
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Snape hidden inside Remus' form was strange enough, Harry thought, but to see that form dressed in surgical scrubs? Too bizarre for words. Still, at least the sight helped distract him from the panic looming ever larger in his mind.
And no wonder, for Snape's bare forearms were on display. Or Remus', that was; if Harry thought about it for too long, he tended to confuse himself. He'd been curious about the Polyjuice Potion, though. It had given Snape Remus' outward form, but was it strong enough to obliterate the Dark Mark?
Apparently, it was. Harry was pretty impressed; he'd figured that the ugly snake-and-skull symbol would persist. Of course, Polyjuice had gotten rid of his own curse scar, temporarily, so maybe he shouldn't be so surprised.
Once he'd reasoned that out, he didn't have much else to think about except the obvious. Panic began flooding his airway until he had to pant to breathe. He wanted more than anything to hug something to him. A pillow, maybe. Or a teddy bear. He'd never had a teddy bear, and he'd used to really, really want one. Harry clenched his eyes to stem what felt like tears, and told himself to stop being such a stupid crybaby.
Right. Time to grow up, act his age. He was sixteen, for pity's sake. Uh-oh, he's staring at me, Harry realised. Well, if Harry was sure of anything, it was that he wasn't going to let one of his professors see him cry. Except Remus, he added, a thought which was unbelievably unhelpful.
"So you convinced them to let you stay, eh?" Harry tried to joke. It was either that, or lose it completely, but he recalled at once that Snape was hardly likely to laugh, not when he'd been taciturn and downright nasty-tempered the whole morning. No doubt the Potions Master was still miffed about events in the Room of Requirement. Harry wished he would just get over it. He had, and he'd had a lot more to forgive than Snape did.
"I think you know how I convinced them," Snape obscurely replied. "And why."
Yeah, Harry knew why; it had been discussed at length with Dumbledore that morning, no doubt for Harry's benefit, the whole conversation staged. There were still shadows circling Privet Drive from time to time. Voldemort knew something was up, he just hadn't figured out what. And if that wasn't enough to keep Harry within arm's reach of Snape, there was the whole issue of the medical procedure itself. No telling how Harry's body might react. The plan was for Snape to rush him to St. Mungo's the instant it appeared that anything serious was going wrong, though of course they all hoped nothing like that would happen . . .
Blah, blah, blah. Harry almost stopped listening after a while, it was so nauseating to be discussed like this, the two of them talking over his head as though they didn't realise Harry was sitting right there!
Snape had seemed disinclined to look at Harry since the other evening --maybe that was why he'd insisted on talking in a perfectly black room-- but now, he finally settled his gaze on the boy laying nervously on the operating table.
Remus' brown eyes warmed, just slightly, though with Snape behind them it was actually hard to tell. "Do not be apprehensive."
Well, that was just a bucketload of comfort before he went under the knife, wasn't it? Not that Harry needed coddling. He'd never been, and he never expected to be, and he couldn't imagine Snape offering consolation, in any case. "You stink at this," Harry suddenly exclaimed, fed up. "You're supposed to--"
Snape stepped closer. "Yes?"
Hold my hand, tell me it'll be all right . . . "Never mind," Harry muttered. He wasn't asking for things he wouldn't get.
Some part of his need must have communicated itself without words, though Harry was sure he hadn't been Legilimized. But still, in the next moment Snape was stepping closer yet again, just alongside him, and murmuring, "I truly do not think you need to worry, Harry--"
"Yeah, sure. You were the one who said this would kill me."
"But you said it would not," Snape pointed out. "And your instincts are often quite good. So what has you holding yourself so taut?" Harry didn't say, so Snape pressed on. "Is it the needle?"
"Great, remind me, rub it in," Harry moaned. "You totally stink at this."
He wished the real Remus could be there to stand by him as the operation progressed. Remus would know what to do. He'd lay a hand on Harry's brow, and talk about how proud his parents would be of him, he'd say that it would all be over soon . . .
Harry had to give the man credit, though; Snape did try. "You did well with that," he assured the boy, gesturing toward the intravenous tube the nurses had inserted in Harry's arm to provide hydration.
"Yeah, well that was plastic," Harry stressed. "Or rubber or something, I don't know, I was trying not to see! It hurt, but it wasn't gigantic, and it wasn't going to go straight through me like the--" he gulped.
"You won't even see the . . . it," Snape pointed out, sounding as though he were keeping his voice calm with great effort, and only for Harry's sake. "Don't you recall? They're going to administer . . . some sort of vaporous Potion, I believe it is, and also feed a medicine through that tube so that you will go to sleep."
"That just makes it all the more horrible," Harry opened up enough to say. "It's the helplessness that's the worst thing. To have to just lay here and take that needle, to be unconscious so that I can't fight back even if I need to . . ."
He knew he wasn't making any sense. After all, he'd chosen the general anesthetic, as the Muggle doctors called it. He'd been offered an injection in his groin instead, but Harry knew better than to stay awake for the procedure. His terror would overcome him, he just knew it. Reflexes would kick in. Accidental magic would spill out of that deep place in his soul to vanish the extraction needle clean away.