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Trapped by Persephone Lupin [Reviews - 8]

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Chapter 14: Horror and Hope


"Albus, you cannot delay the decision any longer. Severus’s condition hasn’t improved at all since Healer Hippocampus was here, and it’s been more than two weeks now," Madam Pomfrey urged once again, and this time she wouldn’t give in.

"I know, Poppy. I just can’t ..."

"There’s no alternative, Albus. Look at yourself. You are almost as pale as the poor boy from all those nights spent at his bedside. We cannot have you fall ill, too. And, as much as I hate to say it, you should look out for a new Potions master. The students were pretty much ahead of the official syllabus, thanks to Severus’s strict and demanding teaching style, but if lessons aren’t resumed soon, how are the children supposed to pass their OWLs and NEWTs this summer?"

Albus was relieved of an immediate answer by a soft knock on the mediwitch’s office door. "Yes, please?" The door opened and in peered the blond head of Draco Malfoy.

"Madam Pomfrey, I think, Hermione and I have found something that might help Professor Snape ..."

"Really? Why don’t you and Miss Granger come in, then, so we can discuss your findings with the headmaster?" the mediwitch said in a tired voice. What could the children possibly have found out? There was no cure for Cruciatus induced insanity. The St. Mungo’s team had thoroughly researched the field and experimented with countless new therapys, but to no avail. However, it was uplifting to see two young people spending so many hours in the library to help their professor. She smiled weakly at the students, who had come up to her desk, a journal and a couple of parchments with notes in their hands. "Let’s see what you have there, children."

"It couldn’t hurt to try, could it?" Hermione asked after they had explained everything to an eagerly listening Dumbledore and the mediwitch, who was frowning heavily with scepticism. "I mean, he couldn’t possibly become any worse than he is already?" When both Pomfrey and the headmaster nodded thoughtfully, she continued, "We’d only have to find something Professor Snape is genuinely afraid of ..." Neither Draco nor she had come up with any reasonable idea yet. Snape just wasn’t the person to be afraid of anything at all.

"Werewolves," the headmaster said quietly, "he’s afraid of werewolves."


**************************************************************

Shortly thereafter, Albus Dubledore’s head appeared in the fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"You cannot be serious, I mean ... Albus, I strongly doubt that this is a good idea,” Remus said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that I’m not ready to help Severus; I truly wish I could, but I have never heard of anything like this. To shock somebody out of his coma? This sounds more than dubious, if you ask me."

"I agree, Remus. It does sound dubious, if not outright ridiculous,” the old headmaster admitted. “However, it’s the only hope we have,” he continued. “The next full moon is in a week, and although the Wolfsbane from St. Mungo’s is not as effective as the one Severus used to brew, there won’t be any real danger involved. We have to at least try. We do owe him that much."

"And what if he dies of the shock?"

"Then we’ll let him go in peace ..."


***********************************************


Crouching. . . I am crouching. . . I am always crouching. . . there will never be a time when I am not crouching. . . in pain and in fear. . . the crouching is now and the pain the fear. . . it is always now. . . all of it is now. . . daylight comes through the cracks in the wall. . . the rat does not wait for me to sleep. . . the taste of death is on my face. . . I want to thrash but there is no room to do it in. . . crouching always crouching. . . if I had more to drink I could make tears. . . I will not drink the dead taste. . . the men with the masks wield sticks of pain. . . I am trying to leave my body behind. . . it is hard to make yourself die forever. . . you sleep short and then return. . . sticks of pain. . . someone is trembling. . . I can feel it here. . . he is fighting hard to leave his body which is a small bird trembling. . . is it me? . . . there is no room to tremble so I am not able to die. . . it is the crouching that is now. . . always now. . . and the pain. . . the fear. . . I can hear a voice. . . His voice. . . but the noisy clouds are in the way. . . I am not big. . . he cannot hear me. . . I am falling like the rain is. . . I am crouching to keep from falling with the rain. . . I am going to be in pieces. . . they took my face away. . . the men with the masks took it away. . . there is no one to say me my name. . . I wait. . . I wait for His voice. . . there is night and there is day. . . again. . . again. . . night. . . day. . . night. . . day. . . daylight comes through the cracks. . . I am waiting. . . the air is heavy. . . I am not dead. . . it presses me down. . . it is difficult to breathe in the narrow space. . . the pain is with me. . . always with me. . . I am a small bird trembling with fear. . . they took my name away. . . the men with the masks took it away. . . the voice knows my name but the clouds are in the way. . . always and always in the way. . .

A howl. . . a horrible howl. . . it tears through the clouds. . . I am trembling. . . the howl reminds me there was a time before the crouching. . . before the clouds came in the way. . . a huge tree in the moonlight. . . a tunnel reeking of death. . . the howl pierces the clouds. . . I am trembling. . . trembling with fear. . . it pierces my ears. . . a small bird trembling. . . it pierces my brain. . . the howl comes closer. . . always closer. . . I must fly. . . I am not big. . . I can fly through the cracks where the sunlight comes in. . . the howl devours the sunlight. . . I must fly. . . it comes through the cracks. . . trembling with fear. . . trembling always trembling. . . a small bird. . . I must fly. . . I am not dead. . . the howl chills me. . . kills me. . . the clouds are bursting. . . howling. . . I am going to be in pieces. . . where is the voice? . . . the howl tears me apart. . . I am in pieces. . . I have to fly. . . fly where the voice is. . . the voice with my name. . . what is the name of the voice? . . . my skull is bursting. . . I burst through the clouds. . . trembling. . . always trembling. . . away from the howl. . . Albus. . . Albus is the name of the voice. . . must fly away. . . away. . . the howl. . . howl. . . must fly . . .



His eyes shot open in absolute horror.

With all his might, he struggled to get away from the huge gray beast that was looming over him in the semi-dark room. A beast with bared fangs and deathly claws. A beast out of the worst of his childhood nightmares. The beast of the Shrieking Shack. Panting heavily, but unable to fill his constricted lungs with the dearly needed air, his heart beating frantically, he pressed his trembling body against one of the upper bedposts, as far away from the monster as possible, being too shocked to utter a sound.

Suddenly, the beast was gone. He blinked. Where the gigantic wolf had hovered just seconds before, there now stood an old man with long white hair and a beard, his friendly blue eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles. The man was speaking to him. He knew the voice. His voice.

"A-Albus?"

It was barely more than a shaky whisper, but it made the old wizard’s heart skip a beat out of joy. It had worked. The shock therapy had worked.

"Albus, that’s right. My name is Albus, my child," Dumbledore said reassuringly and took the panic-stricken man’s hand into his own. When Severus began to frantically search the room, eyes still wide with terror, he gently cradled him to his chest, stroking his back soothingly.

"The wolf is gone, Severus, you don’t need to be afraid. He’s gone. Nobody will hurt you. It was Remus, only Remus. Do you remember Remus? He took his Wolfsbane. He wouldn’t have hurt you. You are safe here. You don’t need to be afraid ..."

Slowly, the tension and the trembling subsided and the dark-haired wizard leaned into the headmaster’s embrace, thoroughly exhausted from his ordeal. His eyes closed wearily as one last shudder ran through his body.

After a while, Madam Pomfrey came up to the bed. She had been standing close by all the time to intervene if necessary.

"Albus, I would like to examine Severus now, and then he should sleep. He must be drained," she said softly. Dumbledore nodded and gently let the sick wizard glide back onto the mattress without letting go of his hand.

"Severus, do you remember Poppy? Poppy Pomfrey, our mediwitch?" The young man blinked several times, struggling to keep his eyes open and focused, and then he nodded weakly. When the mediwitch took out her wand, he winced and started to tremble again, but after some more soothing words from the headmaster, he calmed down and let Pomfrey run her wand slowly over his forehead. Now and then, the mediwitch nodded but didn’t comment.

"Do you hurt anywhere, Severus?" she finally asked after having finished her readings.

"My head," he answered hoarsely. Pomfrey nodded again, then reached for a small vial in her apron. She counted five drops of the honey-colored liquid into the glass of water that was waiting on the nightstand and brought it to her patient’s lips.

"Here, my dear, drink this. It will help with the pain and make you sleep. We will watch over you."

Before Severus had finished the last drop, he was already asleep.


***************************************


"Poppy, what did you find?" Dumbledore asked anxiously when he, Madam Pomfrey, and Minerva McGonagall, who had returned to the hospital wing after having taken the docile werewolf back to his temporary quarters, were sitting in the mediwitch’s office having a late-night tea and sandwiches together.

Severus had recognized him, even remembered his name. Albus. This was a remarkable improvement, wasn’t it? Dumbledore knew it didn’t necessarily mean that his young friend was miraculously healed yet. Most probably, he still had a long way to go on the path of recovery. However, it was a beginning; and he wouldn’t have to go alone. There was hope now ...

Pomfrey smiled. "Healer Hippocampus will have difficulty believing this when I send him my report of tonight’s events. I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. As far as I can tell, Severus’s brain functions, in general, are quite normal again, although he must be extremely confused and he has a terrible headache. The same symptoms as after a severe concussion. Most likely, there will be extensive memory gaps, too, and he will have difficulty concentrating for a while. However, I am fairly sure that, given enough time and quiet plus plenty of sleep, he will make a full recovery. Of course, there is still the trauma of his imprisonment and the loss of his arm to cope with. It won’t be easy, but Severus is just too stubborn to give himself over to depression as long as he feels that he is still needed."

"I will make sure he knows how much we need him, even if his spying days are over for good,” the headmaster said with a sigh of relief. “And we will think of a way for him to continue teaching and brewing in spite of his handicap. Maybe we could –“

"Albus! Of course we will think of a way, but not tonight," interrupted McGonagall, giving the headmaster one of her strict but concerned glances that did not allow for any objections. "You definitely look dead on your feet; and I feel wrung out myself. Time to retire. Poppy will surely notify us as soon as Severus awakes."

Resolutely, the stern Transfigurations teacher stood, took the headmaster by his arm, and marched him out of the hospital wing.


TBC

(Just the epilogue left now ...)


Trapped by Persephone Lupin [Reviews - 8]

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