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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.

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Chapter 6: Draught No. 1

Harry heard himself say the incantation aloud but was concentrating so hard on the vial in Severus’ outstretched hand that he barely registered the fact it was him speaking. He opened his mouth then, accepting the first drop of Evochi, followed immediately by the rest of it, his tongue becoming laden with the surprisingly heavy, warm, viscous substance. After Severus tipped the empty vial upright again, Harry closed his mouth, his heart thumping nervously in his chest. Trying to follow Severus’ instructions as diligently as he could, he swallowed hard. The thick fluid coated his throat and he caught his first semblance of taste: a tangy licorice flavor laced with a subtle sweetness, reminiscent of blueberries. There was a medicinal and organic aftertaste to it as well but Harry was not familiar enough with potions to isolate any particular ingredient. And even if he had been well versed in this area, there would not have been time enough to think.

The room around him went dark as his eyelids shut wearily. Suddenly, he knew no space or time, had no particular physicality, and was robbed of all his senses save one: his mind. He existed merely as a thought? His memories seemed well enough intact, though, and as he roved through them, a sharp panic snatched his breath away. Had he just died? This sensation was remarkably familiar to his experience at King’s Cross station, with Dumbledore. But he hadn’t been dead there, either. So what was happening?

At that moment, the darkness lifted around him and he found that he was laying on something solid, amidst a bright but innocuous grey fog. It was slowly giving way to his sight… yet there was nothing to see. He blinked as he looked around, seeing no borders or boundaries to this place, and instinctively lifted his hands to his face. He was surprised when he touched his own skin, and felt himself touch his skin. Immediately he patted his hands down the rest of his body, finding it clothed exactly as it had been in Severus’ private lab: his careworn denims, his Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt, his favorite zip-up jumper. More fog cleared around him then and his body came fully into view. But what was he laying on? As he sat up to look, he realized the futility of it: everything around him was nonexistent. Blank.

Then, a word forced its way into the front of his mind: Evochi.

Everything seemed to rush back to him in that moment and suddenly it all made sense. Harry quickly dismissed the notion that he was dead and instead remembered the reality he had wanted to create, his intentions, and allowed it to fill his mind and body completely. He wasn’t sure what else to do, but this place, whatever it was, seemed to be waiting for him.

And that’s when it happened.

As though watching an artist in time lapse, the space around him painted itself true in rapid succession, first with broad strokes and wide swaths of color, then the shapes and outlines of familiar objects, then every detail and nuance, all materializing before him with the speed and accuracy of a seasoned expert. All of his senses returned, the air filling his nostrils and lungs, the sunshine warming the dark hair on his head, the grass dewy beneath his fingertips. He felt his mouth open as he looked wide-eyed at the scene before him: the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts never looked so magnificent. The oval stadium with its towering House-themed bleachers; the goal posts standing sentinel at either end of the field, their flags rippling gently in the summer breeze; and… and the most beautiful racing broom Harry had ever laid eyes on before, hovering a couple feet above the ground in the center of it all. The burnished wood handle of the broom seemed to wink at him as it glinted in the morning light; beckoning him, tempting him.

He got up and walked over to it, hesitating for a moment as though he fully expected it to be a mirage that would disappear as soon as he tried to reach for it. But as his fingers outstretched, he felt them make contact with the smooth handle. Something inside of him soared. This was real! He wasted no time from there and ran his hand along the length of it, feeling the broom twitch eagerly under his touch. From the tip to the tail, it called to him.

Merlin, it was perfect.

Finally, he could resist no more, and with a deep breath, he mounted it.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

Although it seemed such a simple thing, the sensation of flying and riding a broomstick had always been a source of pure, unadulterated joy for Harry. It was something that came naturally to him, effortless, even as an eleven-year-old – then just a bright-eyed child new to the Wizarding world. It was as though he was born to do it – that it was meant for him, and he for it. It had been an easy decision, selecting it as his starting point; his first foray into Evochi.

As he zoomed around the pitch, he closed his eyes and sat back on the broom, feeling the wind on his face refreshing him, lifting him, nourishing his wounded spirit. It had been so long since he had done this – even longer since he had allowed himself to enjoy it for the simple luxury that it was. The past year of his life had been so devoted to a singular cause, and he’d been so focused on succeeding that he’d not had the chance to partake in even the smallest pleasures of life. But here, in the solitude of his own creation, any and every possibility was open to him. Even something basic, like the bleachers surrounding him – empty as they currently were – were not a problem. Harry guessed that if he had wanted or needed a crowd, he merely had to think them into existence. The power of that was electrifying.

As he flew on, he leaned down over the broom, grasping the handle tightly with his hands. He felt his muscles remembering the mounts, the stances, the tension in all the right joints. He swerved, dove, climbed and turned, reacquainting himself with the sport, the mechanics.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw something catch the sunlight; a sharp, glimmering light. Without looking, without thinking, he knew the source immediately. His instincts were as sharp as they ever were and he turned the broom abruptly to the left, in the direction he had seen it, and sped up to chase the Snitch. The tiny, golden ball must not have anticipated Harry would be so quick, for it fluttered its wings indignantly and then streaked off ahead of him.

Harry grinned. He always did like the chase.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

As Harry leveled out his broom, the Snitch now seated firmly in his right hand, a familiar feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction washed over him. He knew he didn’t need Evochi to experience this particular reality, but still found there was a certain freedom and… magic… in being able to create it exactly as he wanted, down to the finest detail. Flying alone, early on a summer morning, no distractions, no responsibilities, no worries. Such an idyllic existence was something nigh unknown to him.

But it was also then that he thought about his time at Hogwarts, and the people there, and being Captain of his Quidditch team, and… and Voldemort. He felt guilty, somehow, indulging in this reality with all that had happened. His stomach clenched ruefully and a familiar impulse stung at the corners of his eyes. He promptly directed his broom to the ground near the edge of the field, and as his feet touched, he pitched himself forward onto his knees and landed softly on the grass. He was unable to stop the loud sob that forced itself from his mouth. He cupped his palms to his face and wept, his shoulders heaving. He cried for the people he’d loved and lost; for the family he never knew; for the friends that stood by him, through everything, no questions asked; for the sacrifices everyone had made in his name.

But mostly he cried for the simple fact that his life was now his, and his alone, now that all was said and done.

He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed like that – in fact, how long had he been here at all? – but finally the tears relented and he breathed deeply, as though it was the first time he had ever filled his lungs with air, hearing his breath hitch as he did so. Exhausted, he rolled onto his back and collapsed, feeling the wet grass dampen his shirt, his arms splaying out to his sides.

A lightness descended upon him then and he lie still for a moment, his cheeks still wet with tears, a salty tang on his lips. An irrepressible smile started to grace his lips. He thought he might start laughing then, but felt oddly embarrassed, as though it would be the most inappropriate and absurd thing to do in that situation. But he couldn’t help himself. The next thing he knew, he was clutching his sides, gripped with a giddiness he couldn’t explain, his peals of laughter echoing around the vast, empty stadium.

That was when Severus’ words whispered in his mind.

“…some might say avoidance, but I rather find it to have a healing effect.”

He stopped laughing then, his smile slowly fading in favor of the comprehension now settling in his mind – in fact, to every cell of his body. He didn’t know where his next realities might take him, but one thing was for certain: this was the most alive he’d felt in months. And if a potion could deliver that… well, then perhaps it was worth exploring more.

Thoughts of Severus began to appear in his mind as he remembered their conversation from earlier. He could even see Severus’ face above him now, and it seemed to be saying something – something that sounded vaguely like his name.

“Harry?” it seemed to whisper. It was Severus’ voice calling to him, but it still seemed so far away.

Harry blinked hard a few times and rubbed his eyes blearily, the stadium around him now rapidly starting to dissolve, replacing itself with the dimly lit bookshelves and potion-making accoutrements of Severus’ private lab. Harry’s eyes tried to focus on Severus’ face as they adjusted to the darkness in the room.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Severus announced, as though that answered something. He sat back in his chair and closed his journal, watching as Harry looked slowly around the room, trying to get his bearings.

“Am I back?”

“Indeed,” answered Severus, looking both pleased and relieved.

Harry groaned while trying to sit up, half-slumped as he was in the chaise. His neck was stiff and the movement sent a jolt of pain down his back. Rubbing at it morosely and grimacing, he felt the skin on his cheeks pull tight. He pressed a few fingers against his face; it was the dried tear tracks. He surreptitiously rubbed the evidence away.

He thought again about sitting up, but found his body still felt abnormally heavy, as though from lack of use – just like in the morning, upon waking. Except, if he had heard Severus right, his altered reality had lasted less than a half hour, whereas it was perhaps seven or more hours that he slept – and he was even more drained now than he ever was after sleeping.

Severus got up and moved his chair to the far side of the room before walking back over to where Harry was lying on the chaise. Leaning down, he braced one arm under Harry’s left elbow and motioned with his other hand for Harry to sit up. Harry did so, with Severus’ assistance, stretching stiffly as he went.

“Come, Potter. It is best we get some food and drink in you.”

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

And with that, Severus guided Harry out of the lab and into the antechamber of his quarters. Before he closed the door behind them, though, he turned back, eyeing the chaise across the room significantly, remembering. He knew if today was any indication, Harry was going to have quite a journey ahead of him.

With that thought now heavy on his mind, he flicked his wand just inside the entrance to the lab, watching it go dark as the door closed with a soft click. He turned back to face Harry, who was staring off to the side, a dazed expression on his face.

Severus sighed.

He hoped he was doing the right thing.
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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9