agneskamilla (agneskamilla) wrote in adventdrabbles, @ 2014-12-26 13:14:00 |
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The atmosphere between Harry and Master Snape has been awkward since their ill-fated Defensive Magic lesson. Harry has tried his best not to aggravate the man; he even conspired with Dobby to make the man’s favourite dishes and he sliced as many disgusting ingredients as he was able to. He has also tried his best to excel in his studies. He has doubled his efforts to sort out the spell he botched up, the one which is supposed to animate objects made of organic material.
Currently Harry is at the laboratory and trying out incantation after incantation to no avail, while Snape is engaged in one of his own projects in the far corner of the room. At least Malfoy is not present, he is probably reading in the library or has his beauty sleep. It’s getting late in the afternoon by now, although it’s hard to judge what time it is; one day before the Winter Solstice the outside world becomes dark early in the day.
Harry has been absorbed in the Latin dictionary for two days, trying to come up with the right combination of words, but the incantation has remained as elusive as it was two days ago.
“Emancipare animalis!” he cants frustrated probably the hundredth version, his wand turned at a mole-skin bag.
Instead of the pouch coming to life, there is a backlash of light from his wand, and a peculiar feeling on his scalp.
Harry lifts his hand to check if he still has hair, but Snape, who is stalking towards him, stops him. “Don’t touch them!” he yells at Harry who immediately pulls his hand back.
“Them?” he asks tentatively.
Snape ignores him while studying Harry’s… well, hopefully his hair.
Harry’s scalp feels like it has become alive and Harry thinks he can hear… hissing from there.
“Interesting,” Snape says contemplatively. ”Most likely the result of combining the imperativus passivi form of the verb with the plural accusativus…”
Harry doesn’t have a clue what Snape is talking about; Latin grammar is absolutely undecipherable for him.
One of the hissing snakes on Harry’s head chooses that perfect moment to lean ahead, right into Harry’s face who jumps back with a very unmanly shriek.
Snape simply bursts out laughing.
“What the hell! Remove them! Remove them now!” Harry panics and fumbles with his wand, trying to aim it at his head.
Snape has mercy on him and gets rid of the snakes with a non-verbal Finite Incantatem; he isn’t able to verbalize the spell while laughing as hard as he does.
Harry tries to scowl at him, but fails. A laughing Snape is too magnificent a sight to remain angry in his proximity. A smile blossoms on Harry’s face to match Snape’s laughter.
Suddenly the Floo comes alive with green flames and a familiar head appears in the hearth; the head of Albus Dumbledore.
Snape immediately hides his merriment away as he turns towards the fireplace.
“Albus, what do you… ” Snape begins with a frown on his face but trails of as soon as he sees the man. “For Merlin’s sake, what happened?” he asks concerned and hurries towards the old man.
Dumbledore looks awful; he is very pale, nearly translucent, his face is sweaty and he wears a grimace of pain.
Harry follows Snape to the hearth.
“What happened?” Snape demands once again.
“A tiny… complication,” Dumbledore answers; he tries to sound nonchalant but his weak voice betrays him. “I seem to need your assistance, Severus. May I come through?” he asks.
Snape’s lips narrow into a slim line. “Of course, come immediately,” he says sternly and steps back, letting the old man come through.
With a whirl of bright purple robes Dumbledore arrives and right away stumbles out of the hearth, collapsing into Snape’s arms.
Harry steps next to them to support them and together with Snape they bring Dumbledore to the nearby armchair and sit him down.
Harry is positively alarmed by now; something definitely is not right here.
Snape’s loud gasp only worsens his foreboding. Harry follows Snape’s gaze and sees Dumbledore’s hand: its blackened and withered, looks dead.
Snape kneels down in front of the man, pushing Harry out of his way, and starts chanting. Harry doesn’t know what he murmurs and doesn’t even dare to move in fear of disturbing the man. The three of them stay in that position for a long time; the lines of pain are slowly easing on Dumbledore’s face while Snape’s face gets more and more stone-like.
After some time that feels like hours for Harry, Snape sits back on his heels and Dumbledore slumps into his chair.
Harry doesn’t know what to do.
“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore utters faintly.
“You shouldn’t thank me! I didn’t heal it, just contained it for a while, as you quite well know it!” Snape snaps.
He is furious but Harry sees something more in the barely perceptible trembling of his upper lip, the agitated look in his eyes, the stiffness of his neck: Snape is hurt, hurt by his inability to heal his old friend.
Harry’s heart aches along with Snape.
“Don’t despair, my friend,” Dumbledore says softly. “You did all that you could and I am grateful beyond words. Believe me, the result of my actions was well worth the collateral damage,” he adds with a smile, his eyes twinkling once again.
“Worth it!?” Snape yells and he rises to his feet to tower over the old man. “Are you insane, Albus? This is a dark curse, it won’t just stay put! I contained it but it will kill you sooner or later,” Snape’s voice trails off. “You doesn’t have more than a…” He gulps. “A year, in the best case.”
“Then I will have a year which I can spend in peace and contentment, without worrying over Dark Lords or our impending doom; that’s definitely an improvement. I couldn’t wish for a better Christmas present,” Dumbledore concludes cheerfully.
Snape’s fury flares once again. “How can you see this as an improvement?! You will die, Albus, what you wouldn’t have to if you listened to my warning!”
“There is no more chance for Tom to come back. I hoped it would be a good enough consolation prize for letting an old friend go on to his next great adventure,” Dumbledore says softly, lovingly.
“It seems it isn’t,” Snape growls. ”I bring you a salve from my room, stay seated!” he says angrily and storms out of the laboratory.
Snape’s despair clenches Harry’s heart too. Harry knows by now that Snape doesn’t have many friends and he obviously cares deeply for Albus. His heartache must be devastating, more so in the face of his own failure in curing the old man.
Harry squeezes his lips together and comes to a decision. He steps in front of the old man and grabs his withered hand.
“I… I would like to try something, sir, if you let me,” Harry says shyly.
Dumbledore looks at him curiously but nods in agreement.
Harry focuses his magic on the injured hand held between his own palms. The tell-tale tendrils of luminescent light form once again on his skin.
“Oh,” Dumbledore breaths softly. “I see.”
Harry keeps on concentrating, but when the threads of his magic reach the other’s hand, they recoil from it; as if they were unwilling to touch it. Harry lets out a frustrated breath and tries again. Nothing happens.
He is ready to try for the third time when Dumbledore gently pulls his hand away.
“You can’t, my child,” he says. “It’s too dark.”
“No, I should…” Harry wants to convince him desperately.
“No,” Dumbledore says firmly, but with his uninjured hand he squeezes Harry’s. “You are a creature of light and life, you cannot cure this,” he utters softly.
Harry’s head snaps up at his words.
“Don’t worry!” Dumbledore hurries to reassure him. “Your secret is safe with me. I greatly appreciate your effort to heal me; even more so because I know the risk you took for me. Thank you, my boy,” the old man says sincerely.
Harry bows his head dejectedly.
They are silent for a few minutes. Snape hasn’t returned yet; Harry assumes he needs time to collect himself after learning that his friend is dying.
“Was it really worth it, sir?” Harry asks curiously, once more lifting his head to look at the old man.
“Definitely,” Dumbledore smiles at him brightly. “I believe you heard about the Dark Lord Voldemort from your mother,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” Harry answers hesitantly. ”He killed my dad and godfather.”
Dumbledore’s smile fades. “That he did. Their murder wasn’t his only abominable act.”
Harry nods; he heard the stories of The Dark Lord Voldemort’s reign of terror.
“Before he killed James and Sirius and he himself fell by their wands, he had sought ways to become immortal. He created objects to contain parts of his soul, thus binding him to the mortal plain. I managed to eliminate the last of those objects. He has no means to come back, ever again,” Dumbledore finishes his explanation contentedly.
Harry is dumbfounded by what he heard, but he doesn’t have time to react, because Master Snape is back with the aforementioned salve.
Harry backs away from Dumbledore’s chair in order to let Master Snape apply the ointment on the blackened appendage.
Snape treats the hand with the utmost care, but without a single word. A scowl is attached to his face as firmly as a smile is attached to Dumbledore’s. They are an odd pair, Harry reflects.
After Dumbledore’s hand has been taken care of the old man looks much better. His hand is in the same condition, but he isn’t seem to be in pain anymore.
Snape nods stiffly to the both of them, murmurs “You know where the Floo is,” and he is off with a swirl of his robes.
Harry aches to be able to comfort him, to be able to take away his pain, his guilt. He turns towards Dumbledore with sorrowful eyes and helps the man out of the chair and towards the Floo.
After bidding their goodbyes and Harry helping the old man into the green flames, Dumbledore turns once more to Harry.
“Thank you for caring for him, my child,” he says before twirling away.