Anachronism (2/16)
8:17 PM
Other than the Healers who brought him potions and food and nagged him until he chased them away, Severus had no other visitors for the rest of the day. He was quite pleased with that. Though he was never one to be idle, traveling to the bathroom or the chairs scattered beside the windows exhausted him. Even if he’d had the strength to leave, he didn't know where he would go. He had been all too happy to leave Spinner's End and never wanted to return there again, not even to collect his favourite books. Someone had given him a copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse, probably after finding it in Spinner's End, and he spent hours reading when he wasn't napping to regain his strength.
Peace, of course, could never last and after sunset, Potter returned. Severus had expected he would. Gryffindors often felt compelled to show off their bravery as if it were a trait of which one should be proud. A single spate of harsh words would not be enough to deter Potter. Severus would have to hammer his dislike into the brat's thick skull so that even he had no illusions about the nature of their relationship.
Potter stood in the doorway, clutching a rectangular object to his chest. He smiled as if he had forgiven Severus for the words from earlier. Severus hoped he'd not.
"Get out," he snarled.
The smile faltered, but then widened even further. "The Healers told me that the medication sometimes makes you say and do things you don't really mean."
"I meant every word. I'm not taking their medication." In truth, he wasn't. He would palm it to encourage them and make them leave, but he only drank a few vials from the collection Poppy had given him. He knew he no longer needed to protect his mind as he had before, but there were certain habits he could not shake and doubted he ever would. His dislike of drugs that altered mental perceptions beyond his control bothered him too much for him to imbibe any more of them than he already had.
"I brought you something," said Potter. He walked over to the bed and held the object out towards Severus. It was a large, heavy book, wrapped in a thick black cloth. "It was leaking," he said. "It's not my fault!" he added when Severus glared at him. "It was leaking when I picked it up!"
Severus stared at the book. The smell of seawater wafted from the tome and he had a very good idea which book rested beneath the cloth; it was one he had desired for some time. But no, he would not be bought. Not by Potter. He had his pride and there were certain things he would not do-not even for the book of his dreams. He crossed his arms. "Potter," he began in a deep, displeased tone.
Potter dropped the book on the bed and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I get it. You want to be left alone. I'm leaving." He turned and headed towards the door. There he paused, his hand on the handle, his vivid eyes bright and said, "Even if your feelings have changed, mine haven't."
Severus growled and sent a hex flying after Potter, but it hit the doorframe instead of Potter's back. The illness had slowed his reflexes.
He had expected Potter to be unreasonably sentimental, but this was intolerable. He had worked so hard to cultivate years of hatred from the boy, only to have his efforts completely destroyed in one morning. Now they apparently regarded him as some sort of hero, a family member even. It was intolerable!
Forget his abhorrence of the over-use of painkillers, he would down as many as necessary to heal as quickly as possible so that he could escape and fade away into obscurity in some remote corner of the world.
Thursday, 13 May, 8:03 AM
The analgesics only made him sleepy, and he woke to bright sunlight and Potter sleeping half on the bed, half in a chair, his head and shoulders draped across the blankets, his fingers laced through Severus's. Too shocked and startled to do anything but stare, Severus blinked several times then shut his eyes, wondering when he would wake from this nightmare.
A squeeze of fingers and Potter's slipped away. Severus opened his eyes to see Potter stretch and yawn like a cat, his mouth opening obscenely wide. His hair stuck out from his head as if he had been struck with a wayward electrical spell, and red marks dotted his face where the metal from his glasses had pressed against his skin. Potter noticed his audience and smiled.
"Feeling better?" Potter asked.
"What do you want from me?"
Potter swallowed and the corners of his mouth melted. "I want things to go back to the way they used to be. You know?"
"As do I."
Eyes fixed on the duvet, Potter's fingers slid up to comb through his hair, making the unkempt mop even more unruly. "I mean, I don't expect sex or anything-"
"What?!"
Potter's eyes darted frantically towards Severus's. "Not until you're better, of course. Unless you want to."
"Did the Dark Lord's curse addle your few remaining brain cells?" snarled Severus.
Potter had the temerity to look affronted. "What's wrong with wanting a bit of sex?"
"I DID NOT SAVE YOUR LIFE SO THAT YOU COULD BECOME A BLOODY POOF!"
His eyes irate, Potter jumped to his feet. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Finally, a reaction Severus could appreciate. Severus raised his wand, pointing it at Potter's face. "Get out of here before I curse you, you nancy boy."
Potter's lips thinned in his white face, his nostrils flaring. In a low, deep voice he said, "How could you? After everything- everything I've done for you. After all-"
Ah, here it was. He was expected to be grateful because Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, had saved his life. He was supposed to bend on one knee and worship The Chosen One. He would not, could not become one of Potter's fawning little acolytes. Dredging up the most vulgar, offensive terms of which he could think, he said, "I wanted to die, you stupid cunt." Potter's eyes widened and Severus ploughed on. "There are few things I can stand less than faggots." A quick visit to Dumbledore's portrait would reveal his dishonesty, but hopefully Severus would be free of this place before the brat thought to question that lie. "And even if my preferences did lie along those disgusting lines-I've seen you in the nude, Potter, and you have absolutely nothing I could ever desire." Not technically in the nude, Potter had only stripped to his y-fronts before the plunge into the icy lake, but close enough.
Potter's glassy eyes stared at Severus as if he couldn't figure out whether he wanted to cry or kill him. His mouth tightened and he raised his wand.
A killing curse would've been most welcome, but Potter only shot a Stinging Hex before he fled the room.
Severus leant back against the pillows, ignoring the pain in his wrist. Hopefully, he would never see the brat again.
12:34 PM
When Poppy arrived with lunch and a fresh supply of potions, she looked like she would burst from self-importance. As she bustled about, she said, "Harry is very upset, Severus."
The hero boy was whinging after having a few harsh words tossed his way. How pathetic. Severus smirked and let out a snort. The knowledge that he was able to upset the brat pleased him, almost enough to make up for the annoyance of Poppy's meddling. "Let him be."
Poppy stuck her hands on her hips and frowned down at him, now in full-blown mothering mode. Severus had learnt it was best not to argue with her when she became like this. He sipped his tea and waited for the lecture. The quicker he heard it, the quicker he could ignore it.
Using the same voice with which she lectured first-years, Poppy said, "This has been very hard on him. I know you are in tremendous pain, but it wouldn't hurt you to put aside your ills for a moment and focus on his."
He might as well cut to the chase and end this. "The boy wanted to have intercourse with me."
Poppy made a noise of disapproval deep in her throat but then said, "You should've. At least then you might be easier to deal with."
Severus nearly spit out his tea. In what sort of alternate universe had he woken, where Potter wanted to have sex with him and Poppy did not mind? When he had finished swallowing, he said, "You know I would never touch a child young enough to be my student!"
Poppy turned away from the sheets she had been fluffing to frown at Severus. "Harry's not been your student for a while and that's not stopped you before."
"A year is not 'awhile' and I've never touched a student." He glared at her, aghast that she could even suggest such a reprehensible thing. What was wrong with these people? Was he the only sane person left?
"Oh my," said Poppy, her eyes wide, her hand drifting to her mouth. "Harry left Hogwarts seven years ago. You don't remember?"
Observations began to link together. The Weasley children, Harry's wide jaw, the easy forgiveness of his past atrocities, the well-healed scars from Nagini’s fangs-scars that he had believed he had received only a few weeks before-the slight differences to his clothing and other personal items.
His mind spinning, Severus swallowed. Hard. "It's not 1998, is it?"
Poppy shook her head slowly, staring at Severus as if seeing him for the first time. "It's 2004."
3:40 PM
Several Healers were called, but no one could find any trace of Severus's lost memories. According to Poppy, it was as if they'd never existed. Of course, they wanted to do further tests and prod and view places in his mind that he refused to relinquish. The young Healer in charge had tried to force the issue, but Poppy was not a woman easily cowed. After a short battle of words, Poppy cleared Severus's room of the intruders.
Poppy tsked as she replenished Severus's potions. "Some of those children think that a few classes can replace years of experience. I know Harry means well, but he needs to learn price does not always equal quality."
"This is his estate?"
"Yes, he had it built for you after you became ill."
How could years of memories vanish into thin air? Obliviation usually left traces, magical signatures that could be read. Besides, he'd learnt to defend himself against memory modification spells years ago. The Dark Lord had insisted that all those in his closest circle learn every intricacy of memory spells in order to defend against them and use them on victims. Only an extremely powerful and clever wizard could have purposefully removed the memories, one who would've had to catch Severus with lowered defences.
As soon as he finished taking the latest round of potions, he asked, "What was the nature of my illness?"
"Oh dear," she said as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her pink cheeks and dropped down into a chair. "I've been healing for over fifty years and I've never seen anything like this." After she had composed herself and taken a deep breath, she explained. "After Voldemort's defeat, you and Harry worked together to restore order. You maintained your position at Hogwarts until you resigned in order to focus on your hobby-the development of new spells and potions. When you left Hogwarts, you moved here." She waved her hand absently to indicate the building. "You’ll have to ask Harry for the details of your relationship, but you two have been romantically involved for some time."
Severus could not help the snort that escaped his lips. How could he have a relationship with Potter? He could not stand the brat.
"We were all very surprised at the development as well." She opened her mouth to continue and then shut it. After a pause, she began to speak again in a more subdued tone. "You've never been the most forthcoming individual and I don’t know the exact cause of your malady, but I do know it resulted from a spell that backfired during an experiment. Your magic turned against you. You and Harry searched the world for a cure, but you couldn’t find one and, in the end, you were forced to refrain from using it."
A shiver flowed through Severus. There could be no greater punishment than to be alive and without magic. It would be like living with a constant shortness of breath, forever drowning. He could survive and function well enough, he had been raised by a Muggle father, but he knew how Muggles lived. Like Lucifer cast from heaven, the separation from his magic would be hell enough.
Poppy grimaced in sympathy. "Unfortunately," she continued, "that only delayed the onset of the symptoms. You've been bedridden since December." No wonder his muscles felt tired and worn out. "Three weeks ago, you slipped into unconsciousness and stopped responding. We believed you to be dying." She brought her hand up to her mouth and blinked rapidly as if holding back an outburst of emotion, but then her hand slid up to adjust her hat. "Then, a few days ago, just as mysteriously as the illness had progressed, it appeared to abruptly end."
"You do not know if my illness has left me?"
She shook her head. "No. For the last two months, we haven’t detected any magic emanating from you, as if you had become a Squib. Now, your magic has returned and you appear to suffer no ill-effects from casting."
More out of reassurance than necessity, Severus lifted his wand and Summoned a potion. He thumbed off the cork and swallowed the cold, thick analgesic. He had never heard of a wizard slowly dying from magical poisoning. Normally, if a spell or potion creation went drastically wrong, death was instantaneous or occurred shortly thereafter. What had he done to cause such a dramatic effect? His precision and care ensured he never made mistakes. Had someone sabotaged his work? Cursed him? He had been experimenting all his life.
Drawing himself back to the conversation, Severus asked, "What specific potions and instructions did I give for treatment?"
Poppy retrieved a thin slip of parchment from her robes and handed it to Severus.
He glanced down the list written in his own familiar scrawl. In addition to the standard collection of potions given to a dying, bedridden patient, there were five at the bottom labeled T. Potion with a number after each one. Instructions only resided with the last one, aptly titled 'T. Potion 5'. Upon wakening, take a cupful a day until the bottle is empty.
The only person Severus trusted was himself, but Poppy was on that short list of those he mistrusted the least. Besides, why would he care if it were poison? "Where is this T. Potion 5?"
"Oh, that's right, you wouldn't have known to take it." She glanced towards the empty wall on the other side of the bed that held the table laden with potions. "You'll have to Reveal the table."
Severus waved his wand at the seemingly empty patch of floor. "Revelo." Another table appeared, covered in books with a small dark blue bottle near the edge against the bed. Severus moved before Poppy could fetch it for him. It was one of the typical bottles he used for potions, although with the oversized lid, it reminded him of the cough medicine bottle his father used. Unscrewing the lid, he placed the bottle beneath his nose and took a whiff. Unidentified herbs, a flowering plant perhaps, mixed with a metallic, bloody tang. Pouring out the dark red potion into the lid, he tipped it into his mouth and let it roll around on his tongue. Yes, definitely blood, maybe human. The bitterness of the plant overrode any other tastes and he followed the potion down with a creamy and sweet muscle-builder.
Poppy stood and brushed out her skirts. "Your owl is named Strix. She'll come to you if you open a window and call her. I’ll send Harry to you once he returns from work." She then turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
While losing his memories disturbed him, the prospect of being romantically involved with Harry Potter horrified him. If he hadn’t known Poppy for such a long time, he would’ve thought she was playing a trick on him. While he wasn't averse to the idea of being sexual with a man, it had never appealed to him either. Dumbledore had been open about his preferences in private and often said the mind mattered more than the body, but Severus found no attraction in either aspect of Potter.
Potter was short, hairy, and had the grace of a stampeding clutch of dragons. He had Lily’s beautiful eyes, but James’s ridiculous hair and oversized hands. While his face was symmetrical and his skin blemish-free, he’d never be elegant like Lucius or handsome like Kingsley. Without Lily’s eyes, he’d be mediocre at best.
Of course, Severus despised those who picked romantic partners solely based upon looks. He knew he had nothing to offer in that department himself-even less than Potter. His attraction to Lily had been physical, but he'd loved her for more than her brilliant eyes or soft hair. He'd loved her quick wit, her cheerful nature, and her inquisitive mind.
Potter…. What could Potter possibly offer? A pitiful student, he had never shown any of Lily’s intelligence and creativity. Indeed, most of the time, the boy seemed destined to destroy himself based on his rash and reckless need to try to fix every problem and save the entire world. Severus had no use for martyrs; he despised them. Potter personified all the traits he hated most in Gryffindors. A kind smile, loyalty and devotion could not make up for all the stupidity in the world.
Most distressingly, Potter was Lily’s son! If he really did have a relationship with the brat, what had he been thinking? It was sick to love the child of a previous love. He wanted Lily; he did not want to become romantically, sexually involved with her child. Potter was young enough to be his son! He hated children.
The only possible explanation he could think of was that he had involved himself with Potter in order to have access to the brat’s apparently vast amount of wealth. Before his attempt at death, he had left all of his possessions and accounts to Hogwarts, not that he had much money anyway. However, he doubted that he'd ever marry for money; to accept money meant allowing oneself to be pitied. Even when he'd been forced to use his mother's school books and mended robes because his father had spent all her money, he had refused to acknowledge his poverty, much less accept aid for it.
The only comfort he had was the knowledge that he had designed the room. The table couldn’t be the only thing he had hidden under the Reveal spell preventing anyone but himself from accessing his furniture. He propped himself up on his pillows and cast around the room, aiming every foot or so in order to avoid missing any items. Potter might know where each hidden object lay, but perhaps not. After all, if he had died, the furniture still would’ve remained hidden.
The room had appeared to be sparsely decorated before-chairs spaced around the edges and the wardrobe. As he cast, a tall bookcase shimmered into appearance along one wall-the shelves crammed full of a hotchpotch of books. A desk, similar in style to the one in his office, pressed up against another wall, the surface covered in parchments, papers, and a scattering of books. A table just large enough to hold a wizard chess set appeared between two chairs. It looked as though someone had been in the midst of a game before the fixture disappeared.
About an arm’s length beyond the foot of the bed rested an object Severus could not identify. Curious, he left his bed to investigate. He walked around all sides, examining it carefully and trying to decipher its purpose. It reminded him of a headless Thestral; standing parallel to the bed on four thin stocks, its body was padded and soft with a raised end. Nearly half the width of the bed, it stood off the ground at waist level. Severus’s first suspicion was that the object had been transfigured into the odd shape, but a quick exploration revealed that this was its natural form.
Unable to puzzle out its purpose, Severus recast the spells of concealment on every item except for his desk. Settling himself in the chair, he picked up a few of the notes he had written and read through them. An odd feeling that was half déjà vu and half espionage stole over him. It was as if he were intruding in on the life of another person. He recognised the handwriting as his own, and there were many familiarities about the desk, but he'd apparently changed a fair amount in six years.
Severus ran his hand slowly over the polished surface of the desk. The last time he'd seen his desk, it had been very neatly organised with only a few scrolls and books placed upon the surface. His ink blotter, always at the opposite end from where he wrote, now rested to his right. The quills were no longer sorted by thickness but by style, which was very disconcerting since he always believed it to be a very inefficient way to organise quills. Severus scowled; perhaps Potter had rearranged them.
He searched the desk for proof or disproof of his relationship with Potter; he still refused to accept it as fact. In the top drawer he found a couple of examples of their correspondence with each other, most on frivolous matters such as the upkeep of the house and the business. There were no love notes or open flirting, but occasionally the letters were written back and forth on the same piece of parchment in shorthand just as he had done with Lily.
He was still at his desk, reading through everything when he heard Potter return from work. Potter wore his Auror uniform, and even with wide shoulders and the dark shadow on his jaw, the boy still looked disconcertingly young.
"Madam Pomfrey told me about your memory loss," said Potter as he hovered in the doorway, his fingers clenching and unclenching the vial and book he held in his hands. "I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed something was wrong when you woke up and called me Potter. You’re normally a pain in the arse when sick, but not that much of one."
Why did Gryffindors have to apologise so damned much? Severus leant back in his chair and met the brat's eyes with ice in his own.
"Potter-"
"I know," interrupted Potter, as if afraid of the rest of the words. "You don’t remember." He waved a hand between them. "Just… let’s be friends for now, okay?"
He could have never loved this inarticulate idiot. Being in a room with him for longer than five minutes without wanting to cast curses at him was quite difficult. Severus laced his fingers together, preparing himself for the whinging that would surely follow what he was about to say.
"The reason I engaged in a relationship with you was so that I could obtain access to your funds in order to support my treatments. Now that I am cured, I have no need for your money and therefore, no need for you. As soon-"
Potter strode into the room and dropped down into the chair across from the desk. "If you had your memories, you would remember that you make more money than me. We built this," he waved his hand at the walls, "from your funds. You designed the garden, everything. I wanted you to stay in the house." Potter’s lips drifted upward in a smile. "But you don’t often listen, do you?"
What an impudent little brat. "Why would I ever listen to a stupid child?"
Potter took a deep breath. "Right. You hate me now. I get it. Can we move beyond that?" He set the vial and book on the side of the desk. "I’ve brought memories and photos of us for you to look at. I wasn’t prepared for this because memory loss wasn’t in the list of side effects for the antidote. You could still be sick."
"Of course I’m sick," spat Severus. "Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t?"
Potter jumped to his feet and slammed his hands down on Severus’s desk. "I’m trying to help you!"
"I neither want nor need your help."
"WHO DO YOU THINK BREWS YOUR POTIONS, YOU SENILE GIT?"
"If I had known you brewed them, I’d never have taken any. It’s amazing I’m still alive."
"Yes, it is," said Potter, his anger draining from him like an untied balloon. "It doesn't make sense. Look, we’re partners."
"I know that-"
"Business partners. In addition to-" He scratched the back of his head. "That."
Severus rolled his eyes. "You are so erudite Potter. How could I have forgot our relationship?"
"Anyway," said Potter, showing more teeth than necessary. "We develop potions, spells, antidotes, all sorts of things. The Ministry recently subcontracted us for some help with finding, fighting, and preventing dark wizards and their followers from harming people. I think-" Severus opened his mouth, but Potter spoke faster, as if he knew what Severus was planning to say. "I think that this wasn’t an accident. I think someone poisoned you."
The last person he expected to share that suspicion with him was Potter. Maybe the child wasn’t a total idiot after all. More importantly, external confirmation that someone may have intended to kill him dampened his suicidal impulses and piqued his curiosity. He’d become a spy as penance, but danger had proved to be quite addictive. There was a thrill in knowing someone wanted him dead, even more so in that he had no idea who. Internally, he smiled; externally, he looked unimpressed.
"What basis do you have for this inane notion?"
Potter dropped back down into the chair. He leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I’m not sure that you were poisoned, it may have been a spell or something. I don’t know. I mean, it’s weird, isn’t it? About your memories?"
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Be useful and explain from the beginning. Be succinct and use complete sentences."
Potter nodded, took another deep breath, and began to explain.
1:13 AM
It took well into the night for Severus to pry a decent amount of information out of Potter. Several rows broke the recounting and eventually Potter stormed out without finishing his story. Severus, whose body ached from sitting up for such a long period of time and casting curses at Potter’s back, retired to his bed.
As Potter had explained it (and Severus only trusted his account to be true up to a point), they were investigating a dark wizard who enjoyed spreading potions that functioned in a similar manner to viruses. The wizard would visit a hospital and spread the potion around amongst the populace. Since only hospitals were targeted and the potion cleverly disguised, it had taken some time for the plot to be discovered. The hospital only uncovered the truth when a healthy witch visiting her Squib cousin became ill and died within three days.
While Potter and his colleagues had used traditional methods to track down the wizard, Severus had analysed the potions. After having discovered that the potions involved specific unusual elements, they had been able to run to earth a wizard who fitted the profile they'd created. They cornered the suspect and a wand fight broke out, leading to the death of the suspect and two Aurors. Four months later, Severus became deathly ill.
"I don't know for sure if the incidents are connected," Potter said, his brow furrowing as if thinking hurt his head. "But he made poisons that you said you would've thought were impossible if you'd not seen them for yourself. You also stole a lot of things from his lab and garden. You weren't supposed to, but you always do that when you get access to the crime scene early enough." Potter's eyes narrowed, the disdain for Severus's thievery as clear as if he had expressed his displeasure verbally.
Dealing with Potter was a chore in itself, but the awkwardness between them left Severus wanting a stiff drink. He poured himself a glass of his favourite liquor and settled back on the bed. On top of the difficulty of wrapping his head around the idea of a romantic relationship with Potter, it disquieted him to have to be told about himself.
Even if he had suspected that he would steal from crime scenes, he could not go to the laboratory, even if he knew where it was, and pick out the pilfered items. He needed those missing memories; he had to know who'd done this to him. Potter could be mind-bogglingly stupid, but he did have good instincts on occasion. Severus had experimented with spells and potions ever since Lily had introduced him to the art long ago. He had always been exceedingly careful and there was no way an experiment of his could go so horribly wrong.
But had the attack been thwarted or covered-up? Were his missing memories the important factor on which he should focus, or the illness itself? Had the memory loss been a side effect of his attempts to restore his magic? Severus picked up the list of potions used for his treatment. What did these T's mean? Treatment? No, too obvious. It was probably the name of a spell.
Thoughts and questions clouded Severus's head, so by the time his weariness overtook him, he had a slew of questions and not a single answer.
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