A/N: Another short chapter, lovies. Sorry. But technically speaking we're still in the "setting up" phase of the story—proceeding chapters should be longer and more in depth. Anyway. Lots of dialogue in this chapter; some bickering between Snape and Pomfrey; and a brief interaction between Harry and Draco. Don't forget to review!
Shadows of an Angel—Chapter Two
The skeletons haunting the closet of Severus Snape were such that he would never wish them upon his most loathed of enemies: torture, blood, murder. He had become numb to it all—the pain, the screams, the death. But the mere thought of such heinous mistreatment of a child churned his stomach. A child who was defenseless and helpless against the vile sacrilege imposed upon his body. Sacrilege inflicted by his family, his blood. It was barbaric and horrifying.
So like a dark angel, plagued by the shadows of an unforgivable past, he watched over Harry, who lay pale and fragile, his breath shallow and agonized. How many days had it been? Four? Five? How long since Harry had surrendered to the unrelenting grips of unconsciousness?
Madame Pomfrey worried that perhaps he didn't want to wake, that the comforts of oblivion proved too sweet a promise. After all, his physical wounds had all been healed. There was nothing keeping him in his coma expect his own desire to remain asleep. Not that she blamed him. Why suffer the torments of wakefulness when you can escape into a world where nothing exists at all?
"There must be something you can do," Snape demanded, pacing the floor of Poppy's small office.
"I'm sorry Severus, but there is nothing I can do," she replied softly. "It's in his own hands now. Harry will wake if and when he chooses."
Snape paused, dark eyes falling on Harry's prone form, on his hollow cheeks and the ragged rise and fall of his chest. Six days, he thought. "That's not good enough," he growled
Poppy placed a comforting hand on his arm, her pale-blue eyes brimming with worry and regret. "I know," she murmured. "But I'm afraid it has to be."
"There must be something we can do, Poppy."
"Sit with him," she said. "Talk to him. Let him know that there is someone here who cares."
Snape snorted wryly, arching a dark brow. "I'm hardly a comforting figure to the boy."
Poppy smiled and patted his arm. "Perhaps not," she agreed. "But you can still offer comfort. He needs to feel safe Severus, and for all your faults you have always tried to protect him. He knows that and he may respond to it."
"You know I'm not a man prone to soft emotions."
"I'm not asking you to be," she said. "Just sit with him. That's all."
Snape sighed, an unfamiliar twist of emotion piercing his heart. "Very well."
Uncle Vernon raised a meaty fist, a savage gleam in his dark eyes. Harry flinched away, his small, malnourished body trembling fitfully, too-thin arms wrapped helplessly around his head. Hot tears spilled down his pale cheeks but Harry made no sound, bottom lip caught painfully between his teeth to silence his sobs. Crying was for weaklings and queers, and Uncle Vernon tolerated neither.
"Quit your blubbering, boy, or I'll give you something to cry about."
"S-s-sorry, Uncle Ver-Vernon," he stuttered pitifully, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes. His glasses lay broken and discarded across the room. The cold linoleum floor bruised his poor, bony knees and a leg of the toppled chair behind him pressed sharply against his spine.
Uncle Vernon didn't like that he was a wizard now, a freak. He didn't like that Harry had brought that dangerous nonsense into his house. He thought the best thing to do was to try and beat the magic right out of his worthless whelp of nephew.
Harry cried out as Uncle Vernon struck him hard across the face. He heard the soft sound of breaking cartilage and tasted the warm dribble of blood. His ears rung as his head smacked into the refrigerator door.
"What'd I tell you about that sniveling!" Uncle Vernon roared, slapping Harry across the other cheek. Harry's teeth clacked together with bone jarring force, his tiny form stumbling into the fallen chair; one of the legs dug into his ribcage and snapped with a slow crack
"P-please," Harry gasped, an agonizing twinge shooting through his chest. "I'm, I'm sor-sorry."
"Sorry?" Uncle Vernon mocked viciously, lifting Harry up by the collar. "I'll teach you sorry."
"Hold him down, Severus!" Poppy ordered, struggling to pour the bright yellow potion down Harry's throat as the boy thrashed about wildly on the bed.
Snape lost his grip for a second and received a nasty blow across the cheek. Cursing viciously under his breath, he grabbed Harry's flaying arm and pressed it down hard into the mattress. "Damnit, Poppy! Give him the damn potion!"
"I'm trying!" she snapped, gripping Harry by the chin and prying open his mouth. He coughed and spluttered but managed to swallow most of it. After a few moments his thrashing calmed, his body falling limp as the potion took effect.
"What the hell was that?" Snape growled, touching his bruising cheek with a scowl.
Poppy shrugged, smoothing the hair away from Harry's face. "Nightmare."
"Is he awake, then?"
"Not yet," she said. "But if those dreams are any indication his sleep is no longer the peaceful sanctuary he'd hoped. It could be an hour. It could be three days."
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot sit at the boy's side for three days, Poppy. I have obligations."
Madame Pomfrey gripped his chin and turned his head to the side, ignoring his dark look. "Oh, hold still," she chided, dabbing his cheek with a wet cloth. "I'm afraid I can't either," she sighed. "I'll be inventorying my stores all day. Perhaps Albus could sit with him," she offered, spreading a healing salve over the purpling skin.
"He's meeting with Order members all week."
"That's right, I'd forgotten," she murmured, wiping her hands on a dry towel. "Well there must be someone who can sit with him," she said with slight exasperation. "He shouldn't be alone right now."
"I'm afraid there's no one else."
"I'll sit with him."
They both turned, startled. Draco was leaning against the nearest bed looking uncharacteristically sallow and fragile. His white-blond hair was unwashed and unkempt, his clothing rumpled and entirely unattractive. He had a mild frown on his face, something like hesitant determination and curiosity in his silver-grey eyes.
"Mr. Malfoy," Poppy admonished. "You're not to be up and about. Back to bed this instant."
"I'll sit with him," he said again. "With Potter."
"Nonsense," the matron scoffed. "You'll get back to bed, that's what you'll do."
Draco scowled. "No, I won't. Someone needs to sit with him and I'm more than willing."
Poppy frowned in return. "Yes, well. Willing or no you're still not entirely healed. What you need is bed rest."
"I'll get rest enough sitting here next to Potter," he argued, motioning toward Harry's limp form. "I doubt he'll be much trouble."
"And if he has another nightmare?" Poppy countered stubbornly, hands resting firmly on her hips. "You're still weak, Mr. Malfoy. You could be injured."
"Good thing I'm in the hospital then, isn't it?"
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, eyes narrowed shrewdly.
Snape sighed, stepping forward. "Let the boy stay, Poppy. If Potter wakes you'll be just down the hall."
"Very well," she said in a less-than-encouraging manner. "But I want you to call me if there's the slightest indication he's waking."
"Of course," Draco replied charmingly.
Poppy sniffed, still frowning. "I'll check on you in a few hours."
As she disappeared back into her office, Draco turned to Snape with a roll of his eyes. "That woman is stubborn as a rock," he said.
Snape lifted a wry eyebrow. "And you're so terribly acquiescent."
"Yes, but I'm a Malfoy," he replied, as though that explained everything—and it did.
Snape pushed aside the urge to make a snide remark. Draco was indeed the epitome of Malfoy, as that little display with Poppy had proved. "How are you feeling?" he asked instead.
Draco's face darkened. "Bloody fantastic, thanks," he snarked. "Nothing like being tortured by your father to make you feel like a million galleons."
"You know that if you ever need to talk—"
"No," Draco snapped, flinching away from Snape's touch—and felt immediately guilty. "I'm sorry, Severus," he sighed contritely. "Thank you for the offer but…I'm just not ready to talk about it yet."
"Of course. I understand," Snape replied, masking his emotions. He was hurt by Draco's recession and furious at the thought of what Lucius had done to his own son. It was disgusting. "I'll check on you later this evening."
Draco nodded, lowering himself carefully into the chair at Harry's bedside. "Hey, Potter," he said softly, awkwardly, sweeping his gaze over Harry's battered body. "You look like hell, by the way," he added dryly. "Not that you care, I'm sure. What with you being unconscious and all."
It was strange, but Draco felt suddenly very drawn to Harry, very…kindred. Which really wasn't all that strange at all. For years he'd been just another student blinded by the fame of the Boy Who Lived. Of course Harry Potter was a prince in his own home, worshipped by his muggle relatives and denied nothing. Like everyone else he'd failed to notice that Harry returned each year a little thinner, a little more withdrawn, a little more broken. Seeing him now, beaten and half-starved, struggling to avoid the harsh realities of wakefulness, Draco felt a strong sense of protectiveness. Like a twisted angel sitting watch over one of the fallen.
"I thought my home life was bad," Draco murmured. "But I'd take being degraded and ignored over daily beatings any day. Why didn't you fight back?" he asked. "Why would you let them treat you like this? You're a wizard, aren't you? The sodding Boy Who Lived. Defeater of the Dark Lord. You should have fought back," he said with a sneer. "You should have told someone. Why would you keep this a secret?"
It was utterly contradictory. Here, at Hogwarts, Harry had always been the defender of the innocent and first to point out the slightest of inequities. He threw himself headlong into the fray, heedless of the consequences or the danger, simply because it was the right thing to do. He was never one to sit back and allow the injustices of the world to go unchallenged. And yet he allowed this to happen to him; allowed his family to treat him so horribly for so long. Why? It made no sense at all. Did he fear the repercussions? Fear being stripped of his wand for using magic outside of school? Draco scoffed. The Ministry would have forgiven him once they saw the way their precious Savoir was being treated.
"Pomfrey says you might not wake up. She says your trying to avoid the reality of what happened to you. I can't say I blame you," Draco admitted. "I'd probably want to hide, too, if I'd been…" he trailed off, a nervous twist in his belly. "Is it true?" he asked in a horror-filled whisper. "Were you really…? Was it your family? Merlin, I hope not. But even if it wasn't they still let it happen and that's just…that's just horrible."
Draco couldn't imagine the horrors of being raped; didn't want to imagine them. It was beyond heinous. And if Harry's family had known what was going on and had done nothing than it was beyond forgiveness. Harry was their blood, their responsibility, and to be so blatantly neglectful was reprehensible. For the first time in his life Draco was actually grateful for his parents' treatment of him—he'd been generally ignored and occasionally belittled, but he'd never been beaten (never once been slapped or cuffed or spanked). Not until the day he refused his "legacy."
"Father wasn't pleased with me when I refused the Dark Mark. I suppose mocking him didn't help any," Draco remarked dryly. "You'd probably be shocked to know that I never wanted to be a Death Eater. I didn't. Not after I learned what he was planning. Muggle genocide?" he sneered. "No thank you. Not that I'm pro-mudblood, mind you. I just don't think the senseless murder of tens of thousands is the best way to go about proclaiming wizard supremacy. I mean, we're already superior, aren't we? What's the point in butchering half the world to prove it?"
"You're a pompous ass, Malfoy."
Draco jumped at the sound of that dry, raspy voice, very nearly shrieking like a startled schoolgirl. Wide, silver-grey eyes met green. Harry looked up at him with a placid expression, soft amusement in his eyes. "You…" Draco scowled. "How long have you been awake?"
"Not long," he rasped, coughing fitfully. "How long have you been sitting there?"
Draco shrugged. "A while."
"And why are you sitting there?"
"Pomfrey said you needed someone to sit with you."
Harry just looked at him, a slight frown pinching his brow. "Where…?"
Seeing his confusion, the childlike fear in his eyes, Draco's face softened. "You're at Hogwarts," he said. "In the hospital ward."
"How did…" Harry blinked, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "I don't understand. Wh-what happened?"
"You don't remember? Snape found you. I don't know what happened."
"Mr. Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey stormed into the room with a furious look on her face. "I told you to inform me the moment he woke," she scolded, leaning over Harry with a soft smile. "How are you feeling, dear?"
Harry winced, a painful twinge in his chest. "Not good," he replied.
Poppy nodded, brushing the hair from his eyes. "Where does it hurt?"
A frail, half-hearted smile crossed Harry's face. "Where doesn't it?"
Poppy selected a number of vials from the bedside table and held them out. "Drink these," she instructed. "They'll lessen the pain and help you sleep."
"I don't want to sleep."
"Of course you don't, but you will anyway," Poppy replied matter-of-factly. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. Your body needs to rest."
Harry looked down, picking at his blanket. "Do I have to?" he asked sullenly. "The dreams…"
Poppy's expression softened as she plucked another vial from her tray. "Dreamless Sleep," she said. "Now drink up."
"Medically speaking, he's doing well," Poppy said. "A few more days and he'll be fit to leave. Emotionally, however…" She paused, shaking her head. "I'm worried, Severus. He appears to have repressed much of his memory of these past few weeks. He's emotionally unstable. I'm afraid he may prove a danger to himself."
Snape frowned. "What are you suggesting? That he remain here in the hospital?"
"Don't be silly," Poppy replied. "A hospital ward is not an environment conducive to emotional recovery. I was thinking more along the lines of your quarters," she said. "I thought that with Mr. Malfoy staying with you as well—"
"Poppy, you are aware that Potter detests both myself and Draco, yes?"
"He needs supervision, Severus."
"So have him stay with Albus."
Poppy clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You know as well as I do that Albus pops in and out of here all summer long. Harry needs stability right now."
"I don't think—"
"I've spoken to the Headmaster," she said. "It's already been arranged. His things should be arriving in your quarters shortly."
Snape scowled. It wasn't that he didn't want to help Harry, because he did—it was that he doubted whether living in close quarters with the two people he loathed most could be considered "an environment conducive to emotional recovery." It was unlikely. But Dumbledore had spoken, and once the Headmaster was decided on something it was near impossible to change his mind. What are you scheming, old man?
"He should be fit to move by tomorrow morning," Poppy said.
Snape sighed, resigned. "Very well, Poppy. I'll make the proper arrangements."
TBC
A/N: For those of you who don't know already, I'll be in Denver for the rest of the month and since I don't know what kind of internet access I'll have, updates may not be as frequent. I will certainly try and update as often as possible, but I can't promise anything. Now that that's out of the way, please review and give me your thoughts!