The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 2: Thoughts and Threats

"Oh. I see," Poppy says.

"What on Earth is going on?" Minerva asks.

"Fine! Fine. Whyever not." Severus gets to his feet. "Right. Everybody get out."

"I demand to know—" Septima begins.

"No, you don't. Time is of the essence, woman." He smiles humourlessly. "Albus and Poppy will fill you in, I am sure."

When they are alone, he broadens the bed and kneels on the mattress. He Summons a knife and bandages, and casts a bubble of protective enchantments and locking charms to prevent outside magic from stopping the ritual.

No time is wasted. Potter's blood drips hotly down Severus's wrist, the ice of his fingers a ghastly contradiction. He wraps the bandage as tightly as he can around their wounded left palms and secures a knot with the help of his teeth.

He fights against the creeping chill as he sings the ancient incantation.

Before he succumbs to the cold, his final thought is: this had better work.

****

Severus wakes and immediately meets the gaze of green almond-shaped eyes. They are very compelling.

He jerks back when he realises he is sharing a bed with Potter and—even worse—is holding his hand.

Has his life's purpose been reduced to saving Harry Potter?

"For Merlin's sake. Calm yourself," Severus says, as he fumbles for a moment with their knotted and bloodied bandage, before Summoning his wand. He taps and casts, "Reneo!"

Potter hisses in pain as their palms peel apart and their hands start bleeding anew.

"It shouldn't be too deep. Hold still." Severus sings an enchantment and the skin of the palm knits back together.

Potter simply stares at him in awe.

"There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany we might avoid even that...Accio Essence of Dittany!"

It's not until the greenish smoke rising from the dittany has dissipated that he heals his own hand.

"Speak, Potter. I trust you are well? You are not cold?"

"Yeah." Potter clears his throat. "Fine. A lot better. Er...what's going on?"

Severus stands up and examines the dried blood on his nightshirt. He shrugs his shoulder as though dislodging a fly. "Just a spell. To dissipate some Dark Magic." He sneers. "Nobody else had wielded enough to be able to help you."

He rubs his tingling arm and yawns.

"I...had the weirdest dream..." Severus stops putting on his slippers to look sharply at him. "...it's probably nothing, though. Never mind."

"What dream?" Severus asks.

Potter blushes. "Can't remember. Probably something to do with the, er, blood spell."

"Put it far from your mind." Severus sees the dawn lighting the sky and adds, "You are not excused from class."

The boy looks so depressed he doesn't have the heart to leave. "Buck up. You're not dead yet," Severus adds.

Potter snorts and smooths his fingers over the scarlet-stained sheet. "I keep telling myself it will get better. Will it?"

"You ask the wrong man," Severus says. "I will see you in class. Don't be late."

****

Potter arrives in his classroom after the final period, and studies in silence for an hour. He repeats this every weekday.