If you should not be here, leave now.
11. Blood Letting
Harry awoke to Gus purring contentedly in his ear. His neck felt hot and slightly itchy where the cat was lying across it. Sitting up slightly to put on his glasses he disturbed Gus enough for him to get up with a feline glare and stalk out of the room. Harry felt oddly bereft as Gus pawed the door closed behind him. Harry turned to look at the clock on his bedside table. He was surprised to find it was after eleven. There was a bowl of soup with a warming charm and he’d obviously been dosed with more painkiller potion, but it was starting to wear off.
As the last vestiges of sleep fell away his memories of the previous night flooded in to fill his mind. The pain and the fear almost overwhelmed him. He had been weak, crying like a baby. He was stupid, a useless waste of space. They should just let him die. Dudley was right; he was just a dirty freak. Dudley. He suddenly remembered the knife. He remembered how he had hated it at first. But when the pain had started to fade he remembered how strange he felt afterwards, like it hadn’t just been blood that had leaked out. How he had felt almost clean.
Suddenly he craved that feeling. Sitting up he looked around for something sharp. His eyes fell on his wand, he vaguely remembered Snape saying he could do magic, so why not? Getting stiffly out of bed he walked over to the desk and picked up his wand and the quill that had been placed on top of his work. The ease at which he transfigured the quill should have rung alarm bells, Harry was no great shakes at Transfiguration, but he wasn’t in any state to notice. Within moments he was holding a small, sharp knife. The smooth handle felt luxurious in his hand.
Sitting back down on the bed and baring his left arm slowly, he held his hand poised over it and watched as the blade cut into his skin. The crimson blood that followed the blade made a beautiful contrast to his pale skin. It felt wonderful, his hand shifted slightly and the blade cut again. Soon a second crimson slash spilled its warmth. As Harry watched he felt the tension flow out with the blood, all the hate and the fear. It felt so right.
~*~*~*~
Severus awoke not long after dawn. His bedroom was one of the few dungeon rooms to have windows. These were half embedded in the ceiling and a summer dawn was the only time the light truly managed to penetrate. Severus noted absently that Harry’s room also had windows but they faced west, and were bigger. You could actually see out of them. They even had glass. And curtains.
Severus groaned and turned over, hiding his head with his pillow. After five minutes he admitted defeat and crawled out of bed and into the shower. Three hours sleep after five days without just wasn’t enough. If it hadn’t been for the spell he had cast over Harry, he could have gone back to sleep. But the quiet pulsing that indicated Harry was still sleeping was enough to drive sleep from his mind. More than three hours, he reminded himself, he’d fallen asleep over his desk. Still it wasn’t anywhere near enough.
The shower woke him up enough to dress and order a strong coffee with his breakfast. Once that was dispensed with he tidied up the mess he’d left on his desk and checked on Harry. He was sleeping peacefully with Gus lying across him like a scarf, as his familiar wasn’t obstructing Harry’s breathing he left them to it. When Poppy came in he only just stopped her going in and interfering. Only after two promises to give Harry the painkiller and soup and a dire warning about his ‘vicious’ cat would she leave.
After Harry’s disturbed night Severus didn’t have the heart to wake him so he put a warming charm on the soup and gently fed him the potion whilst he slept. That done Severus decided that he’d have a break from the translation and work on the potions Poppy had requested for the Hospital wing. Brewing potions was his only real indulgence; some people gardened, others kept cats, but for Severus potions was the only way for him to truly relax.
He unlocked his personal lab and set to work. The first on the list was the nutrient potion Poppy had used on Harry. A very time consuming but satisfying potion to brew as it required exact timing. Severus chopped and mixed and stirred himself into an almost hypnotic state, he was so absorbed in his brewing that he failed to register the change in rhythm of the monitoring spell that should have alerted him to Harry waking up. It should have also told him that Harry was moving around. However when the spell sent a sharp jolt of pain down his spine, indicating that Harry was injured, he dropped everything and sprinted out of his lab and across to Harry’s room, all the way berating himself for missing the warning signs.
When he burst into Harry’s room the boy was sat on the edge of his bed. He seemed surprised to see Severus and made no move to cover his arm, which was covered with blood from the middle of his forearm to his wrist, or the knife in his right hand. Severus quickly stepped up to the bed and took hold of Harry’s wrist in one hand and removed the knife from Harry unresisting grasp. Without a word he put down the knife and closed the wounds. Banishing the blood that had dripped on to the spotless sheets he sat down. He did not need the Antiseptic potion as a freshly transfigured blade would not have introduced infection.
“Harry –“
As soon as Severus spoke Harry pulled his arm from Severus’ grip and tried to bolt out of the room. Before he had got two steps Severus was on his feet and had grabbed hold of the boy’s shoulders. In the same movement he turned Harry around and held him in a tight hug as tears were flooding down his face again.
Severus and Harry stood there for a long moment, Harry’s tears escaping without sound. Severus loosened his grip once he was sure Harry would not make a break for it again. He was surprised that Harry only came halfway up his chest. He was used to being tall, but this was ridiculous, Harry was far too short.
When Severus found himself looking into quizzical wet green eyes he realised that that thought had been vocalised.
“Well it’s true,” he protested at the odd look in Harry’s eyes. “Believe it or not when we left school your father was taller than me. And your mother wasn’t far behind either.”
“So, how come I’m so short then?” Harry asked as he wiped his eyes. He was obviously hoping to distract Severus.
“I think that is another thing we can lay at the door of your relatives. Somehow I doubt that they provided enough in the way of food even when you were a small child.” Severus said and watched as a series of emotions passed across Harry’s face. Some passed quicker than others but in the jumble Severus recognised anger, relief and hope as the main ones but there were others that he could not give name to. Severus could not think what Harry had to be relieved about, but the anger was understandable. That the hope had been crushed by something else (resentment?) put Severus in mind of his own childhood, and that reminded him of something else. If he could put right even the smallest of the wrongs that had been heaped on Harry, he would.
“By a strange coincidence I think I might be able to help you gain your rightful height. That is if you want to.” Severus suggested quasi-casually.
“Coincidence?” Harry questioned. Severus could see that Harry was interested, but it came as no surprise that he did not trust him. Not completely anyway. Severus led Harry into the living room. It was only as he opened his potions cabinet that he remembered Poppy had ordered bed rest, but as Harry did not look like he was in any pain he left it. As Severus rummaged around in the cabinet he explained to Harry what he was looking for. He did not really want to, but Harry deserved a full explanation.
“When I was twelve it became apparent that I had stopped growing. Naturally my parents were alarmed; their son had to be absolutely perfect. I was subjected to many tests and they eventually found that I had stopped producing growth hormones. Because the condition had only ever been found in Muggles there was no treatment for it. You can imagine what my parents had to say about that.” Severus did not have to look around to know that he had Harry’s undivided attention. “The doctors seemed to believe that everything would sort itself out when I hit puberty but my mother would not be satisfied. She set about devising a potion that would allow me to reach my full genetic height irrespective of what would happen normally. Ah here we are,” Severus pulled out a largish bottle half full of a sludgy green substance. He turned around and showed it to Harry. Harry was watching him with a mixture of hope and bemusement.
Taking out the stopper turned out to be a mistake as the potion let off a putrid rotting smell. Obviously it didn’t keep well. The quickly hidden disappointment on Harry’s face was almost crushing, and Severus hurried to reassure him.
“Never mind Harry, I have the recipe and it doesn’t take long to brew. Besides it works best when fresh. It was designed to work independently of the body’s normal growth processes so it should work fine.”
The guarded look Harry gave him reassured Severus that Harry was still interested, but he would have been blind not to pick up that this was not the most important thing on Harry’s mind. Severus did not know how best to approach what he wanted to say regarding Harry’s actions, but he knew it would only make things difficult if he avoided the problem.
Severus put the bottle on his desk for later and motioned for Harry to join him on the sofa. Harry had picked up on the change in tone and sat huddled at one end with Severus seemingly miles away on the other. They sat in awkward silence for up to a minute, it was only broken by Harry’s stomach. Severus retrieved the uneaten soup (and Harry’s dressing gown as he was still wearing Severus’ pyjamas) from Harry’s bedroom and desperately tried to marshal his thoughts as he watched Harry drink it.
“Harry, I’m not going to tell you not to cut yourself like that. But I will ask you to come and talk to me if you ever feel the need to do it again.” Severus was painfully aware that this was what Albus had said to him, practically word for word. But at least Severus knew how Harry was feeling. The only hard part was convincing Harry that he understood. So with that in mind, Severus started rolling up the left sleeve of his robes. It was almost physically painful revealing the Dark Mark that disfigured his arm. In Severus’ mind the only redeeming feature was the multitude of silvery scars that crisscrossed the angry red brand.
Severus tore his eyes away from his tortured flesh and studied Harry’s face. Harry was clutching the empty soup bowl like a shield and his eyes were riveted to the Mark on his arm. It was clear from the mixture of emotions on display that Harry didn’t know what to make of Severus’ revelation.