Fic: In Memory of Severus Snape (Part 3)
Aug. 8th, 2011 11:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
abstractconcept Title:(On LJ) In Memory of Severus Snape (Part 3 of ???)
Authorthe_con_cept
Pairing: Snarry
Rating: Eventual rating unknown and I don't know whether anything sexual will happen at all. Possibly PG-13
Warnings/Kinks:: (none so far) WIP
Disclaimer: Belongs to J.K. Rowling
Summary: More than twenty years after Voldemort’s death, Snape discovers Harry in long term care at St. Mungo’s with chronic memory problems. Snape doesn’t care that Potter can't remember the war, his family or his schooling, but Severus Snape will be damned if he lets Potter forget him.
Betas Isisanubis and Mexta <3
Dedication: Forswansong33, for helping me with that dreadful citation assignment as well as all those other assignments. You are an amazing friend. &hearts
In Memory of Severus Snape
Part 3
“And the rabbit goes . . .?”
Potter’s eyes shifted from one lace to the other, then back. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “It goes—it goes—down the hole.”
“Which hole?”
Potter brought his hands up, fisting them in his hair. “I don’t know! Whichever hole the carrots are down!” he yelled.
Snape sat back. “Calm yourself,” he instructed curtly. “Think of how you’re appearing to others. Do you want to be seen as a ticking time bomb?”
A muscle worked in Harry’s jaw. “No,” he said.
“What is the last thing you remember?” Snape asked abruptly.
Harry looked up, blinking. “The rabbit goes down the hole?”
“Yesterday,” Snape said impatiently. “What happened yesterday?”
Potter’s forehead wrinkled. “I . . . it was a dark room. And I was angry. I was so angry and—sad.”
“Why?”
“I don’t remember.”
Before Potter could finish, the door slammed open. “What are you doing with your hands on Harry?”
Harry looked up and grinned. “Hey, Ron! This is Severus Snape. Isn’t that an odd name? He’s teaching me to tie my shoes.”
And just like that, Severus saw the fight go out of Weasley. “You remember me today,” he said weakly.
Harry looked puzzled.
“Have a seat, Mr. Weasley,” Snape told him. “And let’s talk about Mr. Potter’s condition.”
Ron slunk in and sort of deflated into a chair. He looked at Harry with a sad smile. “How are you doing, mate?”
Harry sighed. “Not so good. I just can’t figure out these bunnies.”
“At least they’re not dragons. Remember the dragons, mate? Back in fourth year?” Ron asked hopefully.
Harry looked troubled. “I . . . think I remember something about some dragons.”
“We had such a big fight. I thought you were showing off. I didn’t realise what a berk I was being until I saw you and that dragon.”
Harry nodded and smiled. “Right, yeah.” Snape could tell he didn’t have the vaguest idea what Weasley was on about, but didn’t want to upset his friend. “Listen, I need to use the loo, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Ron watched him leave with a funny look on his face. “He’s never going to get better,” he whispered.
“I believe he will, with work,” Snape answered.
Weasley glared at him suspiciously. “The Healers say he won’t.”
“Who are you going to believe? Them? Or me?” Snape snarled, grabbing Ron by the front of his robes and hauling him forward.
“I guess you’re more impressive in certain respects,” Ron said grudgingly. Snape nodded in approval until he added, “You managed to kill Dumbledore, anyway. I suppose it would have taken some real talent in specific areas. I just don’t see how that sort of thing helps Harry,” he added in a cold voice.
Letting go of Ron’s robes, Snape sank back against the pillows. “Albus Dumbledore could not have been killed by the likes of me. He was already dying. He allowed me to put him out of his misery—and it was a terrible misery, I can assure you—and further his cause in the process. If you wish to credit me with something, credit me with keeping you all alive, especially during the times you seemed so intent on being killed in creative and brutal ways.”
“Huh?”
“The forest. When I returned the Elder Wand to Harry. Back in your first year, when I attempted to keep Quirrell from killing Harry via psychotic broomstick. Or your third year, when a man who was—to my knowledge—an escaped convict, murderer and maniac awaited you at the Shrieking Shack—alongside his good chum the werewolf, no less. Who was it who thrust themselves between the three of you idiot Gryffindors and their certain doom? Who took responsibility? Who tried to save you?”
Ron looked up at the ceiling. “Okay, so you saved us. We might not have needed your help, or we might not have known you were saving us, or you might have been saving us for your own selfish reasons, and you were a complete and utter bastard the entire time you were doing it, but you saved us. Or tried to, more or less. Happy?”
“Do you trust me with Potter?” Snape asked quietly.
Ron squirmed, frowning. “Guess so.”
“Do you trust me more than you trust them?” Snape responded, giving a sparse gesture with his hand that nevertheless seemed to encompass the hospital and all occupants in it.
Ron hesitated, then nodded. “They say there isn’t any hope. But if you say there is . . . well. You’re good at potions,” he noted. “Yeah, I think maybe you could do what they couldn’t do.”
“Thank you.”
“Worth a try,” Ron said with a grin.
Harry hurtled back into the room. He was shaking. “I saw a bloke in the bathroom looking at me strangely,” he blurted, his face white.
Ron stood up quickly. “Show me.”
“He wasn’t even there until I came out of the stall,” Harry fretted. “Then suddenly he was. Just right there, looking at me. I just about jumped out of my skin.”
Ron led the way into the bathroom, his wand out. Harry followed a bit more timidly, since he had no wand. Ron took a cursory glance around the room and gave Snape a shrug and bewildered look over Harry’s shoulder.
“He was on the right—as you come in—that’s where he was standing. He—” Harry stopped as he walked into the room and turned, giving a shudder. “There!”
Ron grabbed him. “Harry, that’s you, mate! It’s all right, it’s just a mirror.”
“No—no—I don’t remember a mirror there before!” Harry said desperately—unbalanced and afraid.
Ron tried to comfort him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, holding him steady. “The mirror has only been there a little while. It’s okay if you don’t remember it, Harry. It’s really just a mirror.”
Snape was opening his mouth to tell Ron to put the wand away—there hadn’t been a man about and Harry was growing increasingly upset. “Please put the—” he said, and that was as far as he got, because suddenly Harry twisted free of Ron’s grip and snatched Ron’s wand.
Snape and Ron both went very, very still. In contrast, Harry was trembling.
“I promise you, it’s all right, Harry,” Ron said in the calmest voice he could manage. “You saw yourself in the mirror.”
“I don’t remember the mirror!” Harry bellowed. “And that doesn’t even look like me!”
Ron took two steps back; good thinking, Snape felt. Harry felt pressured. If the tension increased, he could go off. Somehow they had to ease the tension.
“Harry,” Snape murmured, “would you do something for me? Something to help me?”
Shaking and looking wildly from the door to the floor to the window to Snape, Harry managed to grind out, “What do you want?” Severus realized he hardly noticed the wand in his hand. This could be better, or worse. The wand was clearly the last thing on his mind, but that didn’t mean an ill-advised thought couldn’t set the thing off and kill someone, even on accident.
“Would you stand with me? In front of the mirror. And tell me what you see. And just—talk to me,” Snape said.
Edging toward Snape and the mirror, Harry’s face twisted as if to say he’d rather not do as Snape said. Still, he came in front of the mirror. “And say what?” Harry asked. “Talk to you about what?”
“What things do you have on your mind right now?” Snape suggested.
Harry shook his head hard, his shaggy hair dancing angrily.
“Okay, not that. What would you like to talk about?”
Harry looked up. There were tears at the corners of his eyes. “No one believes me. I’m not just crazy. I don’t make things up. I’m not stupid.”
“Indeed you’re not. What do you see in the mirror now?” Snape asked gently.
“Me,” Harry said in a choked voice. “And you.”
“Just us? Are either of us standing where the man stood?”
Harry nodded, his whole posture slumping. “Yes, there. That man,” he pointed to himself without looking. “I didn’t know,” he added, his voice thick with tears. “It barely looks like me. And it’s a new mirror. And . . . I really must be crazy,” he finished, beginning to weep. The wand fell from his hand and Ron dove and caught it.
“I think I’m just going to go . . . put this somewhere safe,” he said in a strangled voice.
Snape put an arm around Harry and steered him out of the loo. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Yeah, right. And anyone could have made it, I’ll bet.”
“Well, no,” Snape conceded. “But in these circumstances, it’s understandable. They redecorated. That’s hard on you. You need routine. Your short term memory is damaged. Certainly you can’t be expected to remember they installed a new mirror. And your long term memory is damaged,” he added rather more gently. “Things come and go, and you’re no longer good with names and faces. What you saw in the mirror likely had no relation to the boy you sometimes still believe yourself to be. Naturally you were frightened.”
“For a moment,” Harry admitted grimly. “But it quickly turned to anger and embarrassment. Everything sets me off. I get confused and feel cornered, I get angry and then someone pats me on the head or shows me what an idiot I am, and I get embarrassed—and depressed.”
Snape squeezed his shoulder. “That’s understandable.” He led Harry back to his room. “It’s an unenviable situation.”
Harry looked up and managed a wan smile after a few moments. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Not talking down too much or tackling me like I’m some sort of mad hazard to society.”
“Tackling is a bit much of a strenuous effort for me these days.”
“Everyone else seems to do it. Hell, maybe I am a danger, I don’t know. It’s not like I can tell the difference a lot of the time, especially when I start to . . . you know, go to a bad place in my head.” Harry sighed, dragging his hands over his tired face. “I just wish things would stop changing,” he whispered. “I just wish things could stay the same. And I really, really wish I had more control over—everything.”
In spite of Harry’s complaints about head pats, Snape found himself eyeing that mussed head, then gave into a sudden impulse to muss it more, finding it softer than expected. Potter did not protest, or perhaps he didn’t really notice. “Well, when you go to a bad place and come out not knowing whether you’re a danger, you can count on me to help you figure it out,” Snape told him.
Harry smiled at this. “Thanks.” He began to shiver a little as the adrenaline subsided, leaving him trembling and pale. “Wow, I’m tired,” he remarked. “Being stupid takes a lot out of you.”
“Never mind,” said Snape. Harry dropped into his bed with a sigh. He seemed to relax, the tension ebbing from his shoulders, as he found himself back among familiar things. Snape kept a close eye. “Take a nap and things will seem better when you wake.” He smoothed the blankets back to let Harry scoot under them, gave the boy a last nod, then met a grim-faced Ron out in the hallway.
“You really think you can fix that?” Ron asked.
Snape’s eyes remained on Harry as the young man’s breathing began to even out, sleep slipping over his features like a veil. He hardly looked a danger right now. Perhaps with the right measures in place, he wouldn’t be.
“I’m not absolutely certain I can fix anything,” Snape admitted. Harry whimpered in his sleep, and Snape’s jaw tightened. “But I intend to try.”
Author
the_con_ceptPairing: Snarry
Rating: Eventual rating unknown and I don't know whether anything sexual will happen at all. Possibly PG-13
Warnings/Kinks:: (none so far) WIP
Disclaimer: Belongs to J.K. Rowling
Summary: More than twenty years after Voldemort’s death, Snape discovers Harry in long term care at St. Mungo’s with chronic memory problems. Snape doesn’t care that Potter can't remember the war, his family or his schooling, but Severus Snape will be damned if he lets Potter forget him.
Betas Isisanubis and Mexta <3
Dedication: For
swansong33, for helping me with that dreadful citation assignment as well as all those other assignments. You are an amazing friend. &hearts“And the rabbit goes . . .?”
Potter’s eyes shifted from one lace to the other, then back. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “It goes—it goes—down the hole.”
“Which hole?”
Potter brought his hands up, fisting them in his hair. “I don’t know! Whichever hole the carrots are down!” he yelled.
Snape sat back. “Calm yourself,” he instructed curtly. “Think of how you’re appearing to others. Do you want to be seen as a ticking time bomb?”
A muscle worked in Harry’s jaw. “No,” he said.
“What is the last thing you remember?” Snape asked abruptly.
Harry looked up, blinking. “The rabbit goes down the hole?”
“Yesterday,” Snape said impatiently. “What happened yesterday?”
Potter’s forehead wrinkled. “I . . . it was a dark room. And I was angry. I was so angry and—sad.”
“Why?”
“I don’t remember.”
Before Potter could finish, the door slammed open. “What are you doing with your hands on Harry?”
Harry looked up and grinned. “Hey, Ron! This is Severus Snape. Isn’t that an odd name? He’s teaching me to tie my shoes.”
And just like that, Severus saw the fight go out of Weasley. “You remember me today,” he said weakly.
Harry looked puzzled.
“Have a seat, Mr. Weasley,” Snape told him. “And let’s talk about Mr. Potter’s condition.”
Ron slunk in and sort of deflated into a chair. He looked at Harry with a sad smile. “How are you doing, mate?”
Harry sighed. “Not so good. I just can’t figure out these bunnies.”
“At least they’re not dragons. Remember the dragons, mate? Back in fourth year?” Ron asked hopefully.
Harry looked troubled. “I . . . think I remember something about some dragons.”
“We had such a big fight. I thought you were showing off. I didn’t realise what a berk I was being until I saw you and that dragon.”
Harry nodded and smiled. “Right, yeah.” Snape could tell he didn’t have the vaguest idea what Weasley was on about, but didn’t want to upset his friend. “Listen, I need to use the loo, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Ron watched him leave with a funny look on his face. “He’s never going to get better,” he whispered.
“I believe he will, with work,” Snape answered.
Weasley glared at him suspiciously. “The Healers say he won’t.”
“Who are you going to believe? Them? Or me?” Snape snarled, grabbing Ron by the front of his robes and hauling him forward.
“I guess you’re more impressive in certain respects,” Ron said grudgingly. Snape nodded in approval until he added, “You managed to kill Dumbledore, anyway. I suppose it would have taken some real talent in specific areas. I just don’t see how that sort of thing helps Harry,” he added in a cold voice.
Letting go of Ron’s robes, Snape sank back against the pillows. “Albus Dumbledore could not have been killed by the likes of me. He was already dying. He allowed me to put him out of his misery—and it was a terrible misery, I can assure you—and further his cause in the process. If you wish to credit me with something, credit me with keeping you all alive, especially during the times you seemed so intent on being killed in creative and brutal ways.”
“Huh?”
“The forest. When I returned the Elder Wand to Harry. Back in your first year, when I attempted to keep Quirrell from killing Harry via psychotic broomstick. Or your third year, when a man who was—to my knowledge—an escaped convict, murderer and maniac awaited you at the Shrieking Shack—alongside his good chum the werewolf, no less. Who was it who thrust themselves between the three of you idiot Gryffindors and their certain doom? Who took responsibility? Who tried to save you?”
Ron looked up at the ceiling. “Okay, so you saved us. We might not have needed your help, or we might not have known you were saving us, or you might have been saving us for your own selfish reasons, and you were a complete and utter bastard the entire time you were doing it, but you saved us. Or tried to, more or less. Happy?”
“Do you trust me with Potter?” Snape asked quietly.
Ron squirmed, frowning. “Guess so.”
“Do you trust me more than you trust them?” Snape responded, giving a sparse gesture with his hand that nevertheless seemed to encompass the hospital and all occupants in it.
Ron hesitated, then nodded. “They say there isn’t any hope. But if you say there is . . . well. You’re good at potions,” he noted. “Yeah, I think maybe you could do what they couldn’t do.”
“Thank you.”
“Worth a try,” Ron said with a grin.
Harry hurtled back into the room. He was shaking. “I saw a bloke in the bathroom looking at me strangely,” he blurted, his face white.
Ron stood up quickly. “Show me.”
“He wasn’t even there until I came out of the stall,” Harry fretted. “Then suddenly he was. Just right there, looking at me. I just about jumped out of my skin.”
Ron led the way into the bathroom, his wand out. Harry followed a bit more timidly, since he had no wand. Ron took a cursory glance around the room and gave Snape a shrug and bewildered look over Harry’s shoulder.
“He was on the right—as you come in—that’s where he was standing. He—” Harry stopped as he walked into the room and turned, giving a shudder. “There!”
Ron grabbed him. “Harry, that’s you, mate! It’s all right, it’s just a mirror.”
“No—no—I don’t remember a mirror there before!” Harry said desperately—unbalanced and afraid.
Ron tried to comfort him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, holding him steady. “The mirror has only been there a little while. It’s okay if you don’t remember it, Harry. It’s really just a mirror.”
Snape was opening his mouth to tell Ron to put the wand away—there hadn’t been a man about and Harry was growing increasingly upset. “Please put the—” he said, and that was as far as he got, because suddenly Harry twisted free of Ron’s grip and snatched Ron’s wand.
Snape and Ron both went very, very still. In contrast, Harry was trembling.
“I promise you, it’s all right, Harry,” Ron said in the calmest voice he could manage. “You saw yourself in the mirror.”
“I don’t remember the mirror!” Harry bellowed. “And that doesn’t even look like me!”
Ron took two steps back; good thinking, Snape felt. Harry felt pressured. If the tension increased, he could go off. Somehow they had to ease the tension.
“Harry,” Snape murmured, “would you do something for me? Something to help me?”
Shaking and looking wildly from the door to the floor to the window to Snape, Harry managed to grind out, “What do you want?” Severus realized he hardly noticed the wand in his hand. This could be better, or worse. The wand was clearly the last thing on his mind, but that didn’t mean an ill-advised thought couldn’t set the thing off and kill someone, even on accident.
“Would you stand with me? In front of the mirror. And tell me what you see. And just—talk to me,” Snape said.
Edging toward Snape and the mirror, Harry’s face twisted as if to say he’d rather not do as Snape said. Still, he came in front of the mirror. “And say what?” Harry asked. “Talk to you about what?”
“What things do you have on your mind right now?” Snape suggested.
Harry shook his head hard, his shaggy hair dancing angrily.
“Okay, not that. What would you like to talk about?”
Harry looked up. There were tears at the corners of his eyes. “No one believes me. I’m not just crazy. I don’t make things up. I’m not stupid.”
“Indeed you’re not. What do you see in the mirror now?” Snape asked gently.
“Me,” Harry said in a choked voice. “And you.”
“Just us? Are either of us standing where the man stood?”
Harry nodded, his whole posture slumping. “Yes, there. That man,” he pointed to himself without looking. “I didn’t know,” he added, his voice thick with tears. “It barely looks like me. And it’s a new mirror. And . . . I really must be crazy,” he finished, beginning to weep. The wand fell from his hand and Ron dove and caught it.
“I think I’m just going to go . . . put this somewhere safe,” he said in a strangled voice.
Snape put an arm around Harry and steered him out of the loo. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Yeah, right. And anyone could have made it, I’ll bet.”
“Well, no,” Snape conceded. “But in these circumstances, it’s understandable. They redecorated. That’s hard on you. You need routine. Your short term memory is damaged. Certainly you can’t be expected to remember they installed a new mirror. And your long term memory is damaged,” he added rather more gently. “Things come and go, and you’re no longer good with names and faces. What you saw in the mirror likely had no relation to the boy you sometimes still believe yourself to be. Naturally you were frightened.”
“For a moment,” Harry admitted grimly. “But it quickly turned to anger and embarrassment. Everything sets me off. I get confused and feel cornered, I get angry and then someone pats me on the head or shows me what an idiot I am, and I get embarrassed—and depressed.”
Snape squeezed his shoulder. “That’s understandable.” He led Harry back to his room. “It’s an unenviable situation.”
Harry looked up and managed a wan smile after a few moments. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Not talking down too much or tackling me like I’m some sort of mad hazard to society.”
“Tackling is a bit much of a strenuous effort for me these days.”
“Everyone else seems to do it. Hell, maybe I am a danger, I don’t know. It’s not like I can tell the difference a lot of the time, especially when I start to . . . you know, go to a bad place in my head.” Harry sighed, dragging his hands over his tired face. “I just wish things would stop changing,” he whispered. “I just wish things could stay the same. And I really, really wish I had more control over—everything.”
In spite of Harry’s complaints about head pats, Snape found himself eyeing that mussed head, then gave into a sudden impulse to muss it more, finding it softer than expected. Potter did not protest, or perhaps he didn’t really notice. “Well, when you go to a bad place and come out not knowing whether you’re a danger, you can count on me to help you figure it out,” Snape told him.
Harry smiled at this. “Thanks.” He began to shiver a little as the adrenaline subsided, leaving him trembling and pale. “Wow, I’m tired,” he remarked. “Being stupid takes a lot out of you.”
“Never mind,” said Snape. Harry dropped into his bed with a sigh. He seemed to relax, the tension ebbing from his shoulders, as he found himself back among familiar things. Snape kept a close eye. “Take a nap and things will seem better when you wake.” He smoothed the blankets back to let Harry scoot under them, gave the boy a last nod, then met a grim-faced Ron out in the hallway.
“You really think you can fix that?” Ron asked.
Snape’s eyes remained on Harry as the young man’s breathing began to even out, sleep slipping over his features like a veil. He hardly looked a danger right now. Perhaps with the right measures in place, he wouldn’t be.
“I’m not absolutely certain I can fix anything,” Snape admitted. Harry whimpered in his sleep, and Snape’s jaw tightened. “But I intend to try.”
