Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9	By : lovetoseverus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 25605 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Chapter 21: Draught No. 6

Harry stood at the edge of the path that led out of the forest, the scent of damp foliage filling his nostrils. Around him, the brush and trees were overgrown and neglected, their leaves faded and wilting as though no light had penetrated this deep for some time.

A shiver of unease rippled through his body. He had thought he could do this, thought he was ready to face it all again, but now that he was here, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to change his mind, to run as far and as fast as his legs would carry him. What had he been thinking?

His heart began to beat rapidly against his ribcage and his breathing grew more shallow. It felt like the space around him was narrowing, closing in, trapping him like a feral animal. The constriction in his chest made him clutch at the area over his heart. He knew well the signs of panic, but had never been very good at diverting them.

Just as he was about to turn and bargain for some sort of respite, a warm palm pressed against the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. Like a magnet attracted to its pole, it had the effect of instantly centering and reassuring him, pulling his focus back to the task before him. He knew it was something he had to do, or at least something he should do, but neither reason made it more palatable. Regardless, they were stuck in this situation for an hour, and who was to say this session’s arch inhabitant wouldn’t just come into the forest and seek them out?

Closing his eyes, Harry filled his lungs deeply, willing his heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. He concentrated on the safe, powerful presence of the man behind him; his protector (always his protector, he realized) and felt a surge of determination flare in his chest. Harry marveled at the fact Severus had not yet uttered a single word; instead, everything he meant to convey had been communicated through that simple touch of his hand.

Stretching one leg out in front of him, and then the other, Harry finally set off, trudging down the path until it deposited him into the cold, lonely, desolate landscape of the clearing. It was just before dawn, the scant light a bleak, sickly hue. Utter stillness surrounded them. It was an ominous feeling, something that clung heavy and cold to his skin; that sense of foreboding, just like his first visit. Perhaps more so this time, now that he knew what to expect; knew what, and who, he would encounter.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

“Harry, it is time.”

Harry had just stepped into Severus’ antechamber from the Floo, about to take his usual seat, when he looked up. “Time for what?”

Severus had been patient over the last two months waiting for Harry to broach the subject of his third draught and all that had happened. Perhaps too patient. He might have been willing to continue waiting, too, had it not been for their conversation about the draught with Harry’s parents four days prior. It was clear Harry wasn’t much further along emotionally than when they’d started Evochi at the end of summer; if anything, he seemed only to be adding to his burdens. If he buried himself much deeper, it could set the healing process back by a matter of months, or possibly never complete at all.

At the risk of alienating Harry, or driving him away, Severus decided it was time to intervene. In a few minutes, they were scheduled to conduct another joint session, and Severus felt they ought to return to the original purpose for the potion: healing. Specifically, an attempt to tie up at least one loose end and give Harry the start of some closure.

“It is time to revisit your third draught, and whatever horrors you experienced there.”

As anticipated, Harry’s face fell, the eagerness he had brought with him gone in a flash. Instead, his features pinched inwards, contorting in pain, and he slumped into the chair. “I figured you would bring that up at some point.”

“It has been two months.”

“So? I’ve dealt with things for far longer.”

“Ignored them, you mean.”

Harry looked away, gritting his teeth. He was gripping the arms of the chair so tight his fingertips were turning white.

“Tell me what happened.”

But Harry just sat there, seeming to close in on himself more and more with each passing second. The silence stretched for a long time before Harry finally shook his head.

“I can’t. I can’t go back there.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t!” Harry said a bit louder, a distinct edge to his voice. He pressed his hands against his temples, his eyes unfocused as they stared at the floor.

Severus sighed, mainly to himself. He knew well enough by now that trying to out-maneuver Harry’s stubbornness would get him nowhere; if anything, that approach would only stand to run Harry off. Instead, Severus cast his mind about for other options. He walked to his sideboard and nearly poured the two of them a splash of scotch before remembering they were about to use Evochi. Mixing one mind-altering substance with another would certainly not be a wise idea.

He set the bottle down and turned back to the room. He was about to suggest rescheduling their session when Harry spoke again. His voice was so quiet that Severus had to strain to hear it. He wasn’t even sure Harry meant to say it out loud.

“What good will it do?”

Something thrilled inside Severus. It was an opening, a glimmer, and he was going to take it. He returned to the sofa, seating himself across from where Harry sat hunched over in his chair.

“It is the only way.”

“The only way for what?” If it was possible for Harry to look both wary and defensive, he was accomplishing it.

“To move past this. I fear that unless you continue doing dreamscapes – which ultimately will be no help to you in the long run, shy of offering pleasurable interludes – you will eventually fall back into whatever horrors you experienced in your third draught. Your subconscious has a desire to heal this, and so it will continue showing it to you, one way or another.”

Harry frowned, making what sounded like a frustrated grunt. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I was doing just fine until you had to go and bring this up.”

“‘Fine’ is a rather poor substitute for ‘well,’ Harry.”

“I don’t care!”

The anger was good; it meant Severus was hitting a nerve. He could see it swimming in Harry’s eyes and in the way he clenched his jaw. Perhaps a little more prodding would jostle something beneficial loose…

“Evochi can help, Harry, but you must let it. You must address these traumas, then let go of them.”

“Why should I? What are you hoping to accomplish by forcing this?” Harry had sat forward, thrusting an arm out emphatically.

“Resolution, healing. Am I wrong to think you should want that? That you deserve that?”

Harry looked back at Severus, his expression turbulent. “Yes, you keep saying that! I’ve done what you’ve instructed me to do and it doesn’t seem to be helping, by your own admission!” He was breathing heavily, clearly skittering that edge of hysteria.

“I only wish to help you, Harry. It is what I pledged to do for you four months ago, and I intend to keep that promise.”

For a moment, Severus thought Harry was going to rebuke him, but then he just slumped back into his chair with a sigh. He looked resigned, his anger seeming to deflate along with his posture. “I just can’t go back there,” he said. “Isn’t there another way?”

“None as effective, no.”

“But it’s not helping. Evochi doesn’t seem to be working for me.”

“On the contrary, your third draught seems to indicate it is working quite well. Perhaps too well.” Severus allowed himself the moment of levity to see if it would coax a smile from Harry, but when Harry’s somber expression did not even flicker in recognition, Severus resumed his thread. “To be precise, I believe it is the events of your third draught that are holding you back from experiencing more with Evochi.”

“More what?” Something about the notion of that must have caught Harry’s interest, for he stopped picking at his thumbnail and looked up.

“Freedom,” Severus said simply.

Harry’s gaze floated back down gradually, clearly absorbing the word, mulling the implications of it over in his mind. Eventually he sat forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He remained silent.

“Harry.”

When this earned him a green-eyed glance, Severus continued. “I will be with you this time. You will not be alone.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Harry sighed. After a long pause, he nodded his assent.

“Now, tell me what happened,” Severus instructed, and Harry finally did.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

It was the most natural, unnatural place Harry had ever been. Despite the abundance of nature, there was nothing but emptiness around them. No wildlife, no warmth, no pulse of life. Even the wan light that suffused the clearing was as cold as it had been the first time.

Harry felt more than heard Severus come to a stop next to him, and looked over to take note of his reaction. He was probably taking stock of their surroundings, developing an impromptu strategy, and committing details and escape plans to memory. Severus had been a man of war, a spy, and that had never been more apparent to Harry than in that moment. He was already holding his wand lightly sheathed in his hand – though how much he’d be able to use it here remained to be seen – looking every bit the man poised on the brink of battle, ready to fight.

Harry reached over and gently touched his arm, as if to say he didn’t need to be so readied, when he realized that Severus had survived as long as he had because of his considerable skill and instinct. Who was Harry to question it? Instead, he settled for a smile that was meant to console himself more so than Severus.

That’s when he saw it. Without turning he knew what it was. Knew who it was. Severus had seen them, too, but had not diverted his eyes from Harry’s. His gaze was strong and stable, seeming to imbue Harry with the strength necessary to get through this. Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself before turning to look at Remus and Tonks.

Immediately, he saw that something was wrong. He blinked several times, hoping to clear his vision, but the bodies before him did not change. They looked slightly translucent, as though their image, their color, had drained away. Harry suspected if the progression was allowed to continue (like on a third visit here, Merlin forbid) they would eventually become so insubstantial as to almost cease to exist. It was almost like they were… disappearing. He frowned.

“What is it?” Severus asked.

“Something’s off. The first time they looked normal. Well, dead, but normal. Now they just look… faded.”

Severus looked down at bodies. He considered them carefully, making a quiet humming noise and leaning over to touch one of Tonks’ arms. When he stood up again, his expression was pensive. “It appears you were attempting to erase this from your mind. It is good we are here now, before this construct becomes nonexistent.” Severus glanced up the path behind them. “I assume the forest was not so destitute before, either?”

Harry shook his head. “No. So what would have happened? If I had continued… hiding this?” he asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer. Severus turned to look at him.

“You may never have healed from it. At the very least, it would have taken much more time and effort to access it.”

Harry swallowed, looking down at Remus and Tonks, trying to pretend their almost-touching fingers weren’t breaking his heart all over again. To his right, Fred was lying just as motionless, his face still stuck in the same suspended animation.

Ignoring the way his throat was already tightening, Harry moved out into the clearing, directing Severus to each of their fallen comrades. Dobby was face down in the grass, half inside the hole from which he had climbed out of on Harry’s first visit, dirt caked under his long, pointy fingernails. Mad-Eye Moody was still standing where Harry had last seen him, his face as expressionless as before, his one good eye closed and the other spinning haphazardly in its magical socket. Apparently that would never get any less unsettling.

Then there was Colin, the ashen-faced youth, clutching his camera to his chest. Despite all his harmless pestering, Harry had always considered Colin’s optimism and enthusiasm for life infectious. Even now, in death, he was still a beacon of light in an otherwise grim landscape. Harry felt his expression soften at the thought. It buoyed his spirits slightly, though clearly it was only to be short-lived, for once he turned around, he came face-to-face with a snowy, white bird.

“Hedwig,” Harry whispered sadly. He knelt to gently stroke the downy feathers on the owl’s head. Harry missed his animal companion and friend so much. It seemed strange to think of her that way, but the fact was, she had been a constant and true friend, right until the very end. Somehow she had known that curse was heading for Harry and had intercepted it. She, too, had given her life for him. He frowned, feeling the corners of his eyes prickle.

Severus must have been sensing his train of thought, for it was then he spoke.

“Did you not say Albus and Teddy were participants in your original draught?”

Harry stood up and gave the clearing another cursory glance, his maudlin thoughts subsiding a bit. No doubt Severus’ intent. “Yeah, but they’re not here this time. I don’t know why. Or at least I don’t see them yet.” Somehow he was exceedingly glad for that, too.

Turning, he caught the ghostly shapes of the low, stone benches stationed near the center of the clearing. They approached the closer of the two, and the student who laid beyond it.

Taking in the handsome features there, still frozen in shock, Harry felt the old anger and injustice flow through his veins. Cedric was Hogwarts’ true champion. His face, though now pale and gaunt, bore smears of dirt. His shirt, Hufflepuff’s black and gold Tri-Wizard jersey, had suffered a similar fate. Small pieces of twigs had caught in this clothing and hair from when the maze had tried to immobilize him.

This is where it all started, Harry thought. But as he searched Cedric’s face, something remarkable happened: he found no such truth there.

“This was not the beginning,” Severus said, making Harry wonder if he had actually been privy to the thought or could just sense how Harry was feeling about it. They were both in his mind, after all. “It started long before this young man was ever born.”

And it was true. The first war had really got underway when his parents – and Severus – were barely out of Hogwarts. Long before Harry had been born, too…

A quiet sniffle somewhere to his left made Harry whip around, only to be met with the unexpected visual of a young child, maybe 4 or 5 years old. He was crouched next to the far side of the other stone bench, mostly out of sight.

“Who is the boy?” Harry whispered.

Severus turned towards him, his brow pinched in the center of his forehead. He gaze indicated he was searching the area near where Harry was standing.

“What boy?”

Confused, Harry turned back to where he’d seen the child. He definitely looked real. For a minute, Harry thought it might be Teddy. But as he got closer and a head of disheveled, black hair came into view, he froze, his heart thudding in his chest. Was this his father? Quickly rounding the corner of the bench, Harry stepped in front of the child to get a better view. Verdant eyes, full of pain, gazed up at him.

Not my father, then, he thought, his heart sinking. That looks more like…

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to lean over and extend his hand, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do. He hoped the gesture would encourage the child to take it – and he did, but as soon as that small palm slid into his larger one, something happened to his vision. It was like watching a telly that hadn’t been properly tuned to a channel, the picture cutting back and forth between two programs in flashes of static and imagery.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear the bizarre picture, but the signal just seemed to grow stronger and more intent. He was about to let go of the child’s hand, thinking that was the cause, when he suddenly saw a visual of himself. It was brief, but he recognized the roof of his old schoolhouse. He was probably eight or nine years old, wearing a hideously large shirt, looking down on Dudley’s gang with a triumphant grin. They watched him from the pavement below, their mouths open, fear and confusion mingling in their expressions.

Then, almost as soon as it had materialized, the image disappeared, only to be replaced by an image of a small bedroom, austere in its furnishings, dark paneling covering the two visible walls. A young boy about the same age as Harry was seated at the desk, making a tiny flame jump between his fingers. He looked mesmerized by it, but it was malice there that glittered behind those shrewd, calculating eyes. Harry recognized the boy at once, having seen him several times in Dumbledore’s memories. It was Tom Riddle.

Harry didn’t get much more time to think about it before the picture changed again. The visuals began to pick up speed now, switching back and forth between he and Voldemort in dizzying succession. It showed both their lives as a progression of events and interactions and magic, and the more he watched, the more he felt he understood.

He had seen Voldemort as a child, then just a boy called Tom; he had seen himself as a child, too, but more specifically, he had seen how their fates had been intertwined from the very beginning. They had both been orphaned, both half-bloods, both unsure of their place in the world – but both defiant and determined to make it their own. It was really only their choices that differed.

The child let go of Harry’s hand and it caused Harry to step backwards, stumbling a bit before catching his balance. Severus was there to steady him, asking if he was all right, wondering what had just happened, but all Harry could do was shake his head and try to make sense of everything. He had seen so many faces in that bizarre visual show, a blur of people he had known and who had perished, many of whom were currently lying all around him.

Suddenly, he got the feeling he was missing something. Or someone. Turning in all directions, Harry rapidly searched the clearing, inspecting each of the motionless forms more closely.

“Where’s Sirius?” he asked frantically, though more to himself than anything. His heart began to beat rapidly in his chest, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him.

His gaze snapped to the end of the clearing where the veil had been stationed last time. For a moment he thought it had gone missing. Then, in his horror, he realized it was not missing; rather, it had nearly quadrupled in size and now bookended one entire side of the clearing. The keystone and most of the arch’s sides had been hidden from view in the dim light. It was positively monstrous now – as if it hadn’t been horrifying enough at its normal size!

“Severus…” Harry pointed, his voice cracking as he spoke. He could just barely make out the fabric that hung limply from the top, but it was there, a patchy, ominous fog clinging to its outlines. “The veil…”

As though acknowledgment of the veil had suddenly brought it to life, he heard five words ring out from beyond it. They cut through the stillness, sending a shiver through him; there had always been something about that voice that turned his blood to ice.

“Ah, back again, I see.”

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

“Severus, it wasn’t your potion.”

Severus had just passed a dose of Evochi over to Harry, watching as the proffered vial was collected snugly into his grasp.

“Pardon me?”

“The reason my third session went wrong. Or not wrong, exactly, but just… doing what it did. You’re a brilliant potions master. It wasn’t your potion, it was me.”

Unsure what to say to that (but admittedly a bit flustered by the praise), Severus situated himself on the chaise opposite Harry’s and waited for him to continue.

“That was a tough week for me. I was having mixed feelings about returning to Hogwarts to finish school. It felt like my life was on autopilot again – more so than it usually is, anyway – but like I couldn’t control it even if I wanted to. Everybody around me was moving on and doing things, and there I was, still stuck in the same place as before. It was frustrating. When I got here that day, I had just seen Hermione for the first time since the war, and she was going to be getting married, and...” Harry paused and looked down with a sigh. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about this earlier, I just felt lost and… stupid, I guess. And I didn’t really want to face that, either.”

“I was confident it would come out when it was time.”

“Even if you had to force it?” There was a slight spark of humor in Harry’s eyes.

“Even if I had to force it.”

Harry grinned slightly. “So do you think that’s why it happened? It was only my third draught, and the first two were fine.”

Severus briefly pursed his lips. “It certainly fits. Your mind’s desire to heal this, paired with exacerbating mental circumstances, would be a potent combination indeed. Often, delving into the subconscious means it simply takes over and pursues its own agenda.”

“No shit,” Harry agreed, grin still in place, though a little sadder this time. He began to trace what looked like the remnants of a small, faded scar on the inside of his palm. “What about the thing with my palms?” He looked back up at Severus.

Severus saw the anxiety resurface in Harry’s gaze; it mirrored his own vivid memory of that session. Being on the outside, watching it, he had been powerless to do anything, much less understand what was happening. It had been the most agonizing fifty-three minutes of his life, and he wished never to repeat it.

“You will recall I explained early on the mind interprets whatever is occurring in your session as reality; the body will go through the motions here.”

“Yeah, but how would I have cut them on something? I was sitting on this chaise.”

“The diagnosis from Madam Pomfrey indicated your wounds were caused by your fingernails digging into your palms – a physical manifestation of extreme distress and tension – coupled with a focused burst of magic from your body.”

Harry nodded, his gaze unfocused, seeming lost in a memory.

“I will have you know,” Severus added archly, “I got called to task over that. Despite no longer being a Hogwarts student, Poppy still seems to watch out for you a great deal.”

A small smile twisted the corner of Harry’s mouth for a moment, then faded. “What would have happened to me if I had gone through the veil? Would I have died?”

“That is a bit more perplexing. Most likely not. It is unclear what the veil in your mind actually is, or what functional purpose it serves, but I can only assume it would have put you into some kind of stuck existence within your mind. I do not believe it would have been a permanent state, but that is only a guess. Best not to test that theory, however.”

Harry snorted. “Agreed. But the other thing that was weird was I couldn’t change anything. I couldn’t affect the events that were happening or conjure a wand. And if I killed Voldemort, why was he still alive?”

“From what you tell me, you didn’t actually cast the killing curse; it was his own rebounded spell that killed him.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Then perhaps Voldemort appeared alive to you because you were not the one who killed him.”

Harry seemed to ponder this. “Well, Dumbledore appeared alive, too, and I didn’t—” He stopped suddenly, seeming to swallow whatever he was about to say, though Severus thought it quite obvious. Still, Harry switched tacks, and Severus was grateful for it. “But he wouldn’t do anything. He just stood there and smiled. Why wouldn’t he help me?”

“Difficult to say. It may be that your mind’s perception was that since he did not help you then, during the war, he could not help you now, within your session.”

Harry looked down at the vial in his hand, watching how the light caught the indigo fluid as it undulated back and forth against the glass. Then, quietly, “This is going to haunt me until I face it again, isn’t it?”

Severus said nothing.

“Isn’t it?” Harry repeated after some time.

“I have never had much success with avoidance.”

Harry’s eyes gently closed and he took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the air out audibly. When his eyes reopened, he swallowed. “Okay, let’s do it. But so help me, if you’re wrong about this, I will hex you into next week.”

“You might try,” Severus remarked in a bored tone. The sudden levity made Harry bark out an anxious laugh and he smiled at his former professor.

“We will each take a half dose,” Severus continued, as though he hadn’t just been trying to lighten the mood. “Hold the intention tight in your mind, making sure the entirety of what you experienced last time is at the forefront. However, due to our limited timeframe—”

“Why can’t we do a full dose?”

Severus sighed. “As of this moment, only one joint session of Evochi has ever been documented: ours. We are about to do the second. I don’t yet know what short- or long-term effects a full dose of the potion may have while linked. We are combining not only the magic of two wizards, but also an exceptionally complex substance and an even more delicate spell. This is new territory in every sense of the word, and I will not risk harm to either one of us until I can predict with certainty that it is safe.”

Harry put his hands over his face. “God, I am the worst scientific partner ever.”

“Nonsense. Your line of thinking has proven insightful throughout this process so far, if for no other purpose than it gives me pause to confirm and validate my own reasoning.”

“Now you’re just being nice.”

Severus huffed out a breath, his look clearly stating how much credence he gave Harry’s assessment. “If we may proceed?”

Harry grinned slightly, but gestured for Severus to continue.

“Since our timeframe will be short, we should begin the session at its most critical point. Based on what you have told me, I would put that scene right before your initial confrontation with Voldemort.”

Harry’s expression sobered and he nodded. With a long, last look at Severus, he raised the vial close to his lips. “Just remember,” he said glumly, “you asked.”

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Ah, back again, I see.

The words echoed in Harry’s mind. He turned and watched as Voldemort swept towards them, seeming to float across the grass, his bare feet scarcely touching the ground.

“What did you do with Sirius?”

“My, my, such impertinence,” Voldemort said, an air of disinterest in his voice. He was caressing his fingers lightly along the length of his wand, rotating it in his grasp as if to study and admire its lethal beauty.

“Where. Is. Sirius?” Harry demanded.

“Nowhere he doesn’t belong. Those who dare disgrace the name of pureblood wizards shall be dealt with like the filthy dogs they are.”

Harry felt his anger ratchet up several notches, aware it was probably the exact reaction Voldemort was hoping to get from him. Still, it was Sirius. It wasn’t as though Sirius could really help him here, but Harry didn’t want anything to happen to him, either.

“What did you do to him? Did you take him into the veil?”

“You foolish boy, I live in the veil. And your precious Godfather? He’s there too.” At the look of dawning fury on Harry’s face, Voldemort gave an evil grin. “Oh yes, he’s there. You should hear how he screams when I twist my wand into his—”

Harry lunged, his blood fairly boiling beneath the surface of his skin. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“Potter! Not like this!” Severus caught Harry just in time, wrapping his arms around him from behind, restraining his flailing limbs and halting his momentum.

“Let me go!” Harry growled, scrabbling at Severus’ hold. Voldemort’s laugh was cold and high.

“I see you’ve brought a little friend! Severus, my traitorous snake, how nice of you to join us.”

“Stop fighting me, Harry, he is only trying to provoke you! He knows Sirius is a vulnerable point!”

“Easy for you to say! What do you have to lose, exactly?”

“I should actually be thanking you, Harry,” Voldemort continued casually, as though they were simply taking tea on a Sunday afternoon. “Just look at the size of the veil you have created for me! Soon it will be large enough to encompass all of your mind, and then I will own you. Then you will never be free of me!”

“You,” Severus admitted.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Distracted and horrified by Voldemort’s description of the veil’s purpose, Harry almost missed the significance of Severus’ answer. Until he didn’t. He stopped his struggling and turned to look at Severus over his shoulder, a strange warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Me?” he nearly whispered, appalled at how wobbly his voice sounded.

“How charmingly idealistic you are, Severus, to assume that a simple exchange between you and your young paramour actually informs you of something!” Voldemort sneered derisively before turning his attention on Harry. “And you, Potter. How does it feel having your spiteful, ex-professor embrace you? How nice it must be for you to warm both his bed and his heart.”

The words should have sent Harry’s hackles up, but they didn’t. They just felt off somehow. It was the sort of taunt a childhood bully might attempt, not a Dark Lord. Especially not this Dark Lord. Since when did Voldemort wax poetic about romance? Or call him ‘Potter’? A quick glance over his shoulder told him Severus had noticed it, too.

But if this… thing wasn’t Voldemort, then who was it? What was it? They were inside of an Evochi session. Was it possible an outside entity could penetrate that? He didn’t think so. Severus had indicated as much when he’d told him that not even a whisper from someone in the room where his body was located could affect what happened inside the session. Whatever this was, this Voldemort-like figure, it must have been something that originated inside Harry’s subconscious.

He eased himself out of Severus’ hold and looked closer at the figure before them. There was something both inconsistent and familiar about it – inconsistent with what he knew of Voldemort, and familiar in a way that only Harry could recognize. The figure seemed to ripple under his scrutiny, as though it were just a projection of something.

That’s when he understood. This version of Voldemort – the one who had just claimed to understand that most fragile and powerful of human emotions – was not actually Voldemort, nor a remnant of the Horcrux that had once inhabited Harry’s body. No, this was merely a shade of Harry himself; a dark side to his psyche. A vessel that represented all the turmoil and resentment he’d carried over never getting to know his parents, for being robbed of a normal life, and that the fate of so many others’ lives had been tied to the fate of his own. Who better than Voldemort to represent all his inner demons?

That had been the point of the prophecy, hadn’t it? Neither can live while the other survives. Like a switch finally moving into the on position, Harry understood the completeness of that statement for the first time. He cannot truly live unless he decides to let go – of the pain, of the guilt, of the darkness… of Voldemort.

It wasn’t Voldemort doing these things to me, it was me. It was always… me.

He stood there stock-still, blinking, letting the realization of that settle into his mind. Then, out of nowhere, the young boy appeared at his side. His posture was drawn inward and he was clutching the arm of a shabby, stuffed bear. Harry recognized him instantly this time; it seemed so obvious now. Looking down into those large, forlorn eyes, Harry saw what he had missed before: this was the very hurt, scared, pained version of his own spirit; the little boy inside of him that had been abandoned.

He is me.

He is me. He is me. He is me. Over and over it played, a rhythmic droning that thumped against his ears, growing louder and brighter with each repetition. It continued playing in Harry’s mind like a mantra until he could almost hear Severus’ voice saying it. And then he did hear Severus’ voice, but the word sounded different. It sounded more like his name. And then it was his name.

“HARRY!”

Coming quickly back to himself, Harry refocused on the scene before him, abruptly aware that Severus was now standing in front of Voldemort, his wand drawn.

“You are the master of the Elder Wand, are you not?” There was a sense of urgency to Severus’ voice Harry didn’t understand. What had he missed?

“Yes…”

“Then use it! Summon it, materialize it, and end this once and for all!”

“No, I… I can’t…”

“In Merlin’s name, why not?”

“Because I don’t seek that kind of power, I never have. I don’t want the Elder Wand. I don’t want to hold it, I don’t want to wield it. I wish it never existed!”

“But it alone has the power to destroy him!”

“No it doesn’t!” Harry blurted out, somewhat confused, until he realized it was actually true. This wasn’t about a wand or a spell. There had only ever been one thing that could touch Voldemort; only one thing that could destroy him. And only one thing that could heal Harry’s childhood wounds.

“You are a fool, Harry Potter!” Voldemort spat. “You claim this man as your champion? He murdered people in my name! He murdered your precious Dumbledore!”

“That was an act of mercy, not murder, though I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference.”

“Yet you still trust him!”

“Yes, I trust Severus with my life! And if I had something bigger than my life to give, I’d trust him with that, too!”

Voldemort sneered. “How positively Gryffindor of you. This man was responsible for something bigger than your life – your parents! – and he failed them, too.”

Harry actually snorted. “You would see it that way. At first I did blame him, when I was younger and had no reason to see otherwise. But eventually I learned about the sacrifices he’d made, and that it was actually you he’d duped. He gave you the prophecy because he was good at his job. He didn’t know what you were going to do with it, or even who it was about. You were the one who chose me, and it was your choice that marked my parents for death. And why? Because they tried to protect me! You were so lordly and powerful that you had to rely on surprise to kill them! An unarmed witch and wizard and their one-year-old son. How very brave of you.” It was Harry’s turn to sneer. “Severus was never a coward, Tom. You were.”

“Spare me the bleating for your pathetic little cause. You are an insolent, disrespectful boy who clearly needs to be taught his place in the order of things.”

“My place is right here, where it’s always been. The fact is, you needed me. The Death Eaters doubted your powers after I survived, after you were bested by a one-year-old boy. Imagine, the mighty Dark Lord falling at the hands of a child!” Voldemort bared his teeth in a hiss at Harry’s bitter laugh. “You needed me to gain back your followers. You needed what I could give you because you’re nothing unless you’re riding the coattails of other wizards!”

Harry felt the adrenaline as it surged through his veins, the power of his magic thrumming just under his skin. He wasn’t quite sure what was possessing him to verbally lambaste Voldemort in this way, but it felt good. Really good. Perhaps because it had been a long time coming – seventeen years, to be exact.

“I never needed you, you miserable little brat. You needed me. Without me, you had no purpose, no reason for existing. Even now, as others seek to laud you for your fulfillment of the prophecy, you merely reward them by living a lie. Deny it, Potter. You never killed me. You couldn’t. Your very identify is wrapped up in my name. Without me, you are nothing.”

Harry almost laughed at his ability to resist Voldemort’s insults. Even thirty minutes ago, those words would have viciously ripped him apart, destroying him with their brutal truth. Yet it wasn’t the truth, he knew that now. It was just a lie he’d decided to believe. Now, by acknowledging the source of his torment, its power and its hold over him had dissolved.

“You’re right, Tom, but only about one thing: I haven’t killed you. And I won’t. That’s too simple of a death, anyway, you don’t deserve it.”

Voldemort sniffed at Harry, his snake-like nostrils flaring. Undaunted, Harry approached him, deciding then and there it was going to be the final time.

“But I will defeat you.” Harry stepped closer still, his voice deadly calm. “This will end now.”

Voldemort’s sneer indicated how likely he thought that was, though his eyes continued to map Harry’s face, his wand perched deftly between the long, white fingers of his right hand.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Harry stood his ground, as poised and confident as Severus had ever seen him. He also saw the moment Voldemort’s command of the situation faltered; that flash of doubt that skittered across his red-eyed gaze. Perhaps it was something only a spy could have detected, but it was there, Severus was sure of it. Voldemort recovered quickly, of course, but by then it was too late – something had already shifted. The balance of power was hanging by a thread.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Harry briefly turned his head to look at the boy standing next to him, anticipating he would still see the scared, hurt version of himself. But the eyes that looked back at him were nothing of the sort. They were hopeful and growing more vibrant by the second, large and glassy and brilliantly green. The child seemed to be holding his breath, his small mouth open in anticipation. Surprised, Harry blinked at him for a moment, trying to figure out what had changed.

The child merely stared back, his eyes full of intent, his face gradually softening into a smile. Only it wasn’t a child’s smile. It was far too wise and knowing to hold either innocence or youth, yet it was because of that gaze that Harry knew he had the power to finish this. That in fact the only thing he had ever needed had been within him the entire time.

Bolstered by this newfound resolve, he turned slowly back to face Voldemort. “Goodbye, Tom.”

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Voldemort pulled away as Harry leaned forward, his eyes rapidly trying to catalogue and anticipate Harry’s actions. However, it was clear nothing had prepared him for what Harry was about to do. Looping his arms around Voldemort’s shoulders, Harry closed the gap between them and collected him into an embrace.

The look of horror on Voldemort’s face was almost worth the price of admission, Severus decided, but he himself was so paralyzed with confusion and shock at this turn of events that he couldn’t think what to say or do. And Harry’s face, though outwardly determined and calm, masked a much deeper disgust and uncertainty. It took everything in Severus not to lunge forward and peel Harry off of Voldemort, or yell and curse at whatever brash, idiotic thing Harry was attempting now.

He never got the chance to do either, though, for an anguished, piercing scream forcibly pulled Severus from his thoughts. He looked over to see Harry standing before Voldemort, watching closely as the once-corporeal, snake-like form began pinching in on itself in awkward, obtuse angles, the skin seeming to disintegrate right before his eyes. It flaked and fell away, very much like a snake shedding its skin, except in this case it wasn’t leaving anything behind. Voldemort was deconstructing, losing height and substance and form until there was nothing left but a small pile of ash at their feet.

The air around Harry whirled violently for a moment, nearly lifting him off his feet, rushing an angry wind through his hair and kicking up the hem of his shirt. He moved to protect his face with an arm until suddenly it all dissipated, leaving the entire clearing empty, cloaked in a deafening silence. Even the ashes were gone.

As though dropped from invisible strings, Harry suddenly doubled over and fell to the ground, landing hard on his hands and knees. Clutching handfuls of grass, he succumbed to a fierce bout of dry heaves, coughing and trying to take in large breaths, which only made him cough harder.

Severus instinctively moved towards Harry. Crouching down, he placed a hand on Harry’s back, waiting to feel the taut muscles relax under his touch. Severus stayed like that, his silent show of solidarity – a full circle moment, he observed, ending as they had begun – until Harry’s breathing evened out and the last of the shudders left his body.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

When Harry felt he could speak again, he looked over at Severus, who had since been regarding him with an uncharacteristically open expression: confusion, shock – and more than a little awe, unless Harry’s eyes had deceived him.

“It wasn’t about might against might,” Harry began to explain. “I thought so at first, but then I realized…” He started coughing again and allowed Severus to help him up. As he brushed the grass and earth from his hands, movement from his right caught his eye and he looked over at the bench in the center of the clearing. The sun had now fully risen, and it was bathing the entire clearing in such bright, warm light that Harry hardly recognized the place.

Perched upon one of the benches was the young boy, that spirit of Harry himself, engrossed with a small replica of a Muggle dump truck. He was mimicking its motorized noises with his mouth while steering it around the uneven stone.

“But then…?” Severus urged.

“A hunch,” Harry replied cryptically, not wanting to get into the full details right now. He had already worked out that Severus could not see the child anyway.

As though sensing his audience, the boy stopped playing and looked up at Harry. For a moment, the two just stared at one another.

“It was about love,” Harry said quietly, still feeling Severus’ eyes on him. He took a deep breath and gave the boy a small smile. “It was always about love.”

The boy smiled back, beaming.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Holding the door open, Severus waited for Harry to exit the lab before following. At the front door of the antechamber, Harry stopped and turned.

“I can’t believe it’s done. Is it really done?”

“Only you can know that. Give yourself time.”

Harry hung his head slightly, still deep in thought. “That was… intense.”

“I do recall telling you the mind is powerful.”

“You did.”

“Very powerful.”

Harry nodded, then looked back up at Severus, who he discovered was giving him a strange look. He swallowed, feeling suddenly pinned by that obsidian gaze. “By the way, thank—”

But he never got to finish his sentence.

Severus seemed to close the distance between them within seconds, his eyes mapping Harry’s face even as he reached out his hands. Before Harry knew it, a solid length of body pressed him against the door, warm hands cupping his face, dry lips locking roughly against his own.

Harry grunted in surprise, the sound low in the back of his throat, something which only seemed to spur Severus on further. A heavy current of emotion pulsed between them and Harry gasped, still riding a wave of adrenaline from their session, its intensity, his success, this intimacy.

Severus was the first to pull back, looking somewhat horrified by the whole thing. Harry felt a little dazed as they stared at each other, the air thick and tense as it hung between them.

“I… I apologize,” Severus murmured, seeming only now to be coming back to himself.

Harry just blinked, trying to make sense of what was going on. Mentally, he was elsewhere, still processing his session, and somehow that made Severus kissing him even more surreal, as though his mind was playing tricks on him. Not in any state to decode this – but not wanting to embarrass himself or Severus, either – he reached back and fumbled with the handle of the door until it swung open. “No, it’s… I’m…” He licked his lips. “I mean, I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the wedding. Ron and Hermione. I told you, right? I should… I still have to pack…”

Without waiting for a response – or further tongue-tumbling on his part – Harry offered a quick wave and slipped out the door, letting it close softly behind him.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

The dull thunk of Severus’ forehead making contact with the door echoed around his empty antechamber. He briefly traced his lower lip with a finger, remembering the kiss, one-sided though it was; the warmth of Harry’s body, the taste of his lips.

While he wished the circumstances were different and he could have felt Harry reciprocating (though he refused to consider the reasons why that didn’t happen), he also wished he had not been so weak as to give in to the temptation in the first place. Harry had not asked to be manhandled, after all, least of all by him.

Severus sighed, cursing himself for his foolishness. If once he’d thought his walls had merely been crumbling, he now knew he was standing in the middle of their ruins.
- 20
- 21
- 22
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9