Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lost Phoenix	By : sshp4ever Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21769 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its Characters. I make no money (unfortunately) from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Animals
- 2-Waiting
- 3-Dirty
- 4-Alone
- 5-Umbrellas
- 6-Dreaming
- 7-Retribution
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Six: Dreaming

            He didn’t think he’d ever felt such extraordinary pain in his life, but he couldn’t be sure because he couldn’t remember anything other than waking up a few minutes ago. At first he’d just laid there, staring up at a wide expanse of grey. No thoughts crossed his mind because, after all, what could someone without any memories think about?

Eventually he realised that the desolate plane above him was raining. It wasn’t long after this realisation that he remembered that this was called a sky, and that the gloom meant that there were heavy gray clouds. It took very little time to discover that he disliked the sensation of water hitting his face. That was when he’d tried to move for the first time. And how he regretted it!

            His skin seemed to be stuck to the surface he was laying on, which he discovered to be completely solid when the back of his head smacked it with a resounding CRACK. This only led to more agony, so he remained still for a while longer.

            After some time had passed—there was no way to know exactly how much—he slowly turned his head and was met with the sight of a brick wall. Turning gradually to look in the opposite direction, he found an identical structure looming over him.

            Deliberately this time, he lifted his head off the ground and his bare shoulders and torso followed. Every inch he rose sent another twinge of discomfort zinging across his back, and once he was completely upright, an impossible throbbing enveloped his posterior.

            But now he could at least see his surroundings. There was rubbish everywhere, unsurprising since the skips were overflowing with it. Perpendicular to the first two walls he noticed a there was a third that was identical to the others. Opposite the dead end, however, was an overwhelming sight. There seemed to be a world outside this little alley.

            Every few seconds someone would walk quickly by. Not once did anyone ever glance into the alleyway. But what was most concerning to him were the comfy looking jumpers and trousers they all seemed to be sporting. It was this that alerted him to his nakedness, and, subsequently, the intense chill in the air evoking almost unperceivable shivers.

Glancing down at his exposed body, he noticed dark purple marks littering his pale skin and goose pimples layered on top of the bruises. However, what stood out to him most was the concave stomach and sharp protruding ribs.

            Soon the intense shivers became too much. He had to get out of this alley, but before he could do that he needed clothes. Nudity, he decided, equaled vulnerability.

            He shifted his weight, ignoring the soreness in his arse, and leaned against one of the towering brick walls. Using it as a crutch, he was able to heft himself into a crouch with his left shoulder braced against the rough surface. At first his legs shook with disuse and he was forced to pause and wait for them to adjust to his meager weight. After gaining confidence that his shaky limbs could support him, he hauled his body upright and propped himself up against the damp wall. Once vertical, he sighed in relief. Unfortunately, this only resulted in a brutal coughing fit that left his esophagus so sore, it felt as though it was bleeding.

            Rubbing his abused throat, he pushed off the wall in an attempt to walk, but only managed to stumble a few dizzying feet before falling heavily against one of the several dingy yellow skips that dotted the alley. Holding tightly to the lip of the bin, he rested his head against the sticky surface, indifferent to the grime.

As he rested, he peered into the container. Maybe he could scavenge some clothes or at least a blanket. Once his vision cleared, he began rooting through the garbage, hoping to find something dry to cover himself with. After digging through the top layers of soggy debris, he found a mostly dry pillow sham and matching sheets. Both were heavily stained and he tried hard not to think about what could have caused the stark discolourations, but since they had been kept hidden from the drizzle, he decided to keep them. A soiled blanket was better than no blanket.

            Moving as quickly as he dared so as to keep his spoils protected from the downpour, he maneuvered his way under the extruding rim of his skip. It was the only section of pavement in the alley not affected by the rain. Throwing down the sham in a sad imitation of a mattress, he arranged himself comfortably—as was possible in his situation—into a ball, almost completely covered by his blessed layers of blankets.

            Despite only recently waking, he quickly fell into a light sleep.

He dreamed of a castle with moving stairs and hidden rooms. He saw a bushy chestnut haired girl and a tall freckled boy with ginger hair. A family with warm hugs and friendly smiles passed behind his eyes and he couldn’t help but think that they would have loved him. But then the lovely dream turned into a nightmare and he was suddenly surrounded flashes of green light and horrible screams. There was red hair in a pool of blood, a boy slumping lifelessly to the ground of a grave yard, and a dulled eyed man falling through a veil. Most disturbing of all was, the small teen that stood by and watched it all happen. He had shaggy black hair while cheap wire rimmed glasses covered his bright green eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. The mysterious boy was made to witness the horrors of death and suffering.

            Then his dream changed one last time. The same strange boy who had so stubbornly refused to cry, was in a small bedroom. He was lying on a bed, just as naked as the dreamer, but this boy had blood dripping down his thighs and sniffles could be heard from where his face was pressed into the sullied pillow. Only something truly wicked could have caused such an obstinate youth to weep so fervently. And when a knock came at the door, the crying boy flipped over. The last thing he noticed before he woke up was a vivid lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy’s forehead.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

            “Severus, my dear boy, I’m so glad you could come and visit me on such short notice,” Dumbledore said, practically bouncing in his chair. “Please, please, do sit down! Lemon Drop?”

            Rolling his eyes, the Potions Master simply shook his head, lank hair barely swishing over his shoulder, and stiffly seated himself in the most uncomfortable of the Headmaster’s extravagant armchairs.

“I wasn’t aware that this ‘meeting’ was meant to be a social gathering,” He nodded accusingly at the other occupants of the room: Minerva McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Molly and Arthur Weasley.

            “Oh, yes, yes! We were all just confirming our plans for the battle tomorrow. We are done now though,” the old man replied, whilst ushering the small group out of his office. None of the five order member greeted Severus; Shacklebolt even had the audacity to sneer at him. Apparently his loyalties were being questioned again.

            “Albus, you shouldn’t have to keep reassuring them, what does it matter what they think of me? You are the only one bothered by their shenanigans and you should be more focused on protecting the castle, not chastising Order members,” the younger wizard sneered. But after a moment of the loony old Headmaster simply staring at him with his twinkling blue eyes, Severus had had enough, and snapped, “What did you call me here for? You must realise that I have a Dark Lord watching my every move. If you really think I can continuously keep making excuses for the hours that I just disappear to come visit you, than you are very sadly mistaken!” By this time the angry spy had risen from his seat and stalked irately to the door.

            “Severus, sit down. I did have a purpose for calling you here,” said a suddenly very tired looking Albus Dumbledore. After Severus had grudgingly reseated himself, the man began again. “You see, I suspect that I shall not survive this upcoming confrontation.” Here the old man paused again, as if he expected Severus to begin sobbing in anguish for this terrible loss. But upon sensing no sympathy from the Head of Slytherin House, continued. “Consequently, I have been entrusting some of my most important secrets to a very select few. The information I have for you is vital to our cause, but you must make sure no one learns of it, especially Harry!”

            For a moment Severus was too shocked to speak. Albus never gave him important information. Never. Not that he was bitter about it; he knew that it would be terribly foolish to give your secrets to the servant of your enemy, spy or not. These must be desperate times, indeed, if Dumbledore saw fit to tell him anything crucial.

            “Why must Potter be kept in the dark? It seems to me, if in fact the boy is the key to winning the war, that he should be, at the very least, as well informed as I am.”

            “But, you see, this piece of information is about Harry, and I don’t think it would be encouraging to him before he completes his task.” Here the ancient Headmaster paused, and seemed to be gathering the courage to continue. “You must not think less of me, Severus; I did it for his own good, for all of our sakes, really. Do you remember the prophecy you overheard seventeen years ago?” And after receiving an affirmative nod, “Well you see, my dear boy, it was all a ploy, a distraction really, of my creation. The side of the light was losing and we needed a savior. So I hired Sybill to have a “vision” of said deliverer. I had expected the Dark Lord to become discouraged. At the time it was widely believed that it was impossible to escape one’s fate, and since you only informed him of the first half of the grizzly thing, I saw no possible flaws to my plan.” The Headmaster paused again, and it was several long minutes before he continued. “Voldemort, however, has never been one to care about expectations.” Another weighted silence ensued, in which Severus refused to speak or break eye contact with the guilty man across from him.

            “And then Lily and James became pregnant with Harry… and I knew that Voldemort would feel more threatened by the Potter’s son than the Longbottom’s. You know, he saw himself in Harry, what with his parentage? Anyway, I tried… I really did try to save them, to protect them. But they put their trust in the wrong person. What could I have done?” At this Dumbledore glanced back up at him pleadingly, as if Severus alone could relieve him of the years of staggering guilt. But receiving none, plodded on. “So, my dear boy, you must understand why I have to entrust this to you. After the war is over, once Harry has fulfilled his destiny, someone must be here to tell him the truth. You must do it Severus; you will be the one to tell him—”

            Finally losing his patience, Severus shouted, “How can you expect me to do that? If I even manage to survive, which we both know is unlikely at best, Potter will never listen to me. He despises me, and I him!” Taking a gasping a breath, he continued his tirade. “And furthermore, how dare you? HOW DARE YOU? Lily Evens was my best friend, and now you’re telling me you are solely accountable for the circumstances responsible for her murder. And to think I resented her son. I believed he was the reason for her death… But it was you all along!”

            Rising to his feet, Severus began to furiously pace the large office, cloak billowing ominously. Suddenly he halted, and abruptly whirled to face the cowering fool, Albus Dumbledore. “That boy trusts you… his parents trusted you—I trusted you. You despicable coward… I’ll tell Harry, but I’m telling him now! And don’t bother trying to stop me. I am no longer in your allegiance. You’ll need to find a new potions professor; consider this my resignation.” Finally lost for words, the former Hogwarts professor stalked to the door, throwing it brutally open in his haste to leave the spineless whelps’ presence. But he paused in the doorway, only turning sideways so that he could only see his former mentor out of the corner of his eye. “If the boy wishes to seek vengeance on you, I want you to know I will participate in your downfall.” And with that Severus slammed Dumbledore’s door for the last time, jogging out of the castle in his haste to get away from the horrifying things he had learned.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

            He was having such a pleasant dream, more images of magical castles and friendly loving faces swam behind his eyes. After he had awoken from the first nightmare, he’d easily fallen back to sleep once his erratic breathing had evened and he’d readjusted his blanket. But now he was being roughly dragged out of unconsciousness. There was a strong hand clasping his bare shoulder, and, as he opened his eyes, he could dimly see the vague outline of a large man standing over him. While he had slept, twilight had come and gone, and the sky was a now a solid black cloud; there wasn’t a star in sight. So he had to squint hard as he tried to identify the unwelcome intruder.

            But before he could wipe the grime from his eyes, the mystery man began to speak. “Hey, hey, are you all right there?” came the earnest inquiry. His vision finally clearing, he was able to take in the darkened surroundings. He was still in his alley under his makeshift shelter, but there was an addition: this large bloke, who continued to ask questions in quick succession. “Son, what’s your name? Are you alright, there’s blood on that blanket? Where are your parents, can I call them for you?”

            It was too much for him to take in and all he could do was stare up at the man, who he could see as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, was quite old. His hair seemed to glow bright silver, with a few dark patches where there must be either coffee coloured or black hair. Even in the darkness, the stranger’s eyes gleamed, not with malevolence, but good cheer and he could see a wide friendly smile stretching across the open face. There were wrinkles everywhere, which made him suspect that this person must be at least seventy years old. And for some unexplainable reason, a small voice kept whispering muggle at the back of his mind.

            “Sorry, lad, sometimes I get a bit carried away. What’s your name?” the muggle repeated slowly. But he didn’t know his name, so he just continued to stare. “It’s all right, you can tell me. Here I’ll tell you my name. It’s Frank.” Here the talkative man paused, expecting an answer.

            Unfortunately, he still had no idea what his name was, so he just shook his head. But when the man looked confused, he tried to clear his throat. After a few hacking coughs, during which the stranger patted him on the back, he was able to croak out a few words. “I d-don’t remember.” It was the best that he could do by way of communication; he desperately needed water.

            “What do you say you come with me, you look like you need some help? I live right around the corner and I can give you some tea, while we figure out what to do with you. Do you need some help getting up?” asked Frank, the muggle, his mind kept supplying. This time he was able to understand the man’s hurried speech and while he didn’t trust the man, he knew he was in no position to turn down assistance.

            Offering up a hand in silent plea for support, he was carefully pulled to his feet, his skinny legs wobbling unsurely with his sudden weight. Regrettably, the sheet he had been using didn’t follow him up; a gasp from Frank alerted him. “What happened to you? Who did this! Never mind, never mind. I’m getting you back to my apartment and we’re going to get all of this sorted?” With that the older man, scooped up the boy’s old sheet, and, wrapping it around him, began hurriedly pulling him to the opening of the alleyway.

            His unsteady legs tripping over each other as he hurried to keep up with the hastening man, his eyes widened as he was pulled from the safety and familiarity of his safe haven. There were no other people around, but an endless stretch of buildings adorned with bright flashing lights were enough to overwhelm him. But this was all a blur as he was hastily tugged down the sidewalk. He didn’t try to resist. What was the point? Besides this man, Frank, seemed to be… concerned about him. It reminded him of the freckled family he’d seen in his dreams.

            After no time at all, Frank was pulling him up a short flight of stairs and stopping to unlock the door once they’d reached the landing. While he waited for the man to finish fumbling with his keys, he leaned against the wall beside the door, trying, and failing to catch his breath. Each gulp of air seemed to rattle his lungs and burned his throat. Finally his new friend had managed to open the door and was ushering him in with all sorts of welcoming mumbles and hurried apologies for the mess. Everything Frank did seemed to be rushed.

            Before he could blink, he was being pushed into a stiff chair and handed a little blue pill and large glass of water, accompanied by a quick explanation of it being medicine—whatever that was—for his cough. After swallowing the tablet and gulping down the entire glass, he began to take in what was happening to around him.

            Frank was a flurry of limbs, as he rushed around the tiny kitchen. Everything was grungy and there were dirty dishes piled everywhere, but he didn’t care. At the moment he couldn’t take his eyes off the food his savior was preparing. There was already a large bowl of what he thought must be tomato soup, and Frank was in the process of cutting a large hunk of bread for him. As he finished, the tea kettle on the stovetop began to whistle and the elderly man sped over to silence it.

            Suddenly, the table at which he sat was overflowing with the food that Frank had prepared. And after quickly encouraging him to tuck in, the energetic man sped from the room. He only paused a moment to wonder where the man was off to before he couldn’t control the gnawing hunger any longer.

            He started with the bread since both the soup and tea were scalding. It was delicious and fresh, and after taking his first bite he could not help himself from greedily stuffing the rest into his mouth. Once he’d gulped down this first delicacy, he was forced to take a sip of the tea to sooth his sore throat.

            Then he moved onto the creamy tomato soup. Taking a deep breath through his nose, the aroma caused his mouth to flood with saliva while the steam cleared his head. Picking up large soup spoon Frank had thoughtfully provided for him, he scooped up a scalding dollop of tomato. He was eager to taste it, but wasn’t keen on burning the roof of his mouth, so he blew on it hurriedly before dumping the spoonful into his waiting mouth.

            Bliss, complete and utter bliss… he decided, as he began to shovel more and more of the divine substance into his mouth. Not only was it the most heavenly thing he’d ever tasted (at least he thought it was…) but he hadn’t been aware of exactly how cold he was until now. Moaning happily to himself, he felt the hot liquid trickle down his esophagus and pool in his stomach. Heat radiated from his torso and spread slowly out towards the tips of his fingers and toes.

            But before too long the bowl was empty and his previously aching stomach was bloated with tomato soup and fresh bread. Now all that was left was the tea, which was now a more reasonable temperature, not that he thought he’d be able to drink it. He was that stuffed. As he began to sip at the pleasant beverage, Frank came tearing back into the room.

            “Oh good, you’ve almost finished! I’ve just started running you a bath, there are towels above the sink and I managed to find some clothes that won’t swallow you whole. They’re on the counter. Feel free to use my soap, I can tell it’s been a while since you’ve had a real bath,” the kindly old man began to ramble.

He supposed that it must have been a while since he last bathed, seeing as rain didn’t count. Quickly gulping down the remaining tea, he rose and followed his host obediently down a dimly lit corridor, coming to a stop once they reached a small loo at the end of the hall.

            “I know it’s not much but it’ll have to do. Oh, and when you’re done just leave that old sheet on the floor. I’ll have to burn it later,” Frank said jovially, ushering his guest in and politely closing the door behind him.

            Once he was alone, all he could focus on was the steaming tub. Apparently everything Frank did was fast and wonderfully warm. As swiftly as he could, he shrugged out of his old blanket before folding it neatly and laying it in the corner. Then, almost reverently, he approached the nearly filled tub. Cutting off the water, all he could do was stare for a moment; he wondered what it would feel like to be that warm.

            Hesitantly, he dipped a hand into clear sweltering paradise. Jerking his hand out, he nearly tumbled to the floor in his attempt to scramble into the bathtub; he’d leave being speedy to Frank. The water was so hot that even as he was situating himself, his pale skin was beginning to glow with a pale pink blush. Leaning contentedly back to rest his head against the wall, he sunk down until only his eyes remained above the water. The heat he’d received from the soup was nothing compared to this. Coming back up for air, his muscles unwound slowly and he relaxed back down into the water, this time with his nose and mouth above the water too.

            It only took a few more minutes for exhaustion to catch up with him. A belly full of brilliant food, warmth beyond what his practically newborn mind could comprehend, and security that he hadn’t realised he’d lacked, caused his eyes to droop. And eventually he couldn’t resist, drifting easily into blissful sleep.



-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

            Knock, knock...

            Startling awake and sloshing water over the sides of the bath, his bleary eyed gaze snapped in the direction of the door where he was sure he’d heard knocking.

            “—ey? Are you all right in there?” came Frank’s concerned voice. “You haven’t fallen asleep have you? It’s been thirty minutes; the water must be cold by now—”

            But before Frank went off into one of is longwinded rambles, or, god forbid, came in to check up on him, he hoarsely called out his reassurances until Frank was sufficiently convinced of his well-being. “Alright, well when you’re finished I’ve got the spare bedroom all fixed up for you!”

            He waited for Frank’s footsteps to fade down the hallway, before he grabbed the washcloth that had been so graciously left for him. While the water wasn’t tepid yet, it retained only a fraction of the temperature it had begun with, so he planned to bathe quickly. Grabbing the soap, he began lathering up the cloth. Once a good froth of suds had appeared, he began attacking his body, rubbing with such vigor that his skin turned a hearty scarlet.

            Starting with his head, he worked his way down to his toes, careful not to miss a single patch of skin. However this became more challenging when he went to scrub his back and bum. It wasn’t just because of the awkward angle either, every time he began to even brush the surface of his backside the rough material seemed to burn and sting him; he suspected his buttocks were covered in bruises and scratches. But stubbornness overtook him; he scrubbed through the unpleasant scalding sensation, biting his lip whenever the pain became too much. There was even a bit of blood after he’d washed his arse.

            After he’d finished his body, he lathered up his hair, wincing whenever his fingers caught a snag as he massaged the soap into his tangled mop. But he quickly rinsed out the bubbles when the water reached the dreaded lukewarm temperature.

            Clambering out of the tub, he grabbed hastily for one of the obnoxiously fluffy khaki towels resting on the rack above the sink. Huddling into it to stave off the cool air of the bathroom, he began to pat himself dry, being especially cautious as he dabbed at his sensitive bum.

            After thoroughly drying himself, he plucked up a pair of boxers from the pile of clothes Frank had left him. They were at least three sizes too big, but if he folded down the waist band they would at least stay up on his hips. In addition to the boxers, he’d been provided with a pair of tan corduroy trousers, a black cotton jumper, and a thick pair of white socks. Everything except the top was too large on him, but he couldn’t complain. He was simply delighted that he had his own fresh clean clothes to wear, even if they were on loan.

            Straightening his newly acquired outfit, he turned to exit the cramped little room, but was momentarily distracted by a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning quickly in anticipation for a threat of mysterious origins, all he was faced with was a mirror. The flash of movement he’d witnessed must have been his reflection following him speedily towards the door.

            Peering curiously at himself for the first time, he stared, shocked at what he saw. A familiar stock of messy black hair framed his face, just long enough to tickle the ridge of his ear. Bright green eyes stared back at him brightly, with an expression of intense confusion clearly written in them. His reflection had fair skin, and his cheeks were still stained the color of cherries from the overzealous scouring from earlier. He had a slight frame with narrow shoulders, lean muscles, and stood a little under five and a half feet.

            But perhaps most surprising of all, was the striking lightning bolt scar on his forehead, peeking out from behind his fringe. He was the boy from his dreams! But the boy from his subconscious had loved ones who cared for him; that boy lived in a magnificent magical castle. If they were, indeed, same person then where was this caring freckled-family. Where were his friends?
- 5
- 6
- 7
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

Lost Phoenix