King of Infinite Space

Chapter 3

King of Infinite Space

Severus felt his throat constrict as he bounded up the stone stairs. He reached a door, and his stomach churned.

Don't open it, said a voice in his head.

"No choice," he groaned.

Numb fingers fumbled with the door's handle. He turned it, trembling as he pushed the heavy, wooden door open. Open air and night skies greeted him.

There is still time. Turn around. Go back.

"I can't..." he pleaded.

Someone whimpered his name. "Severus..."

Grief and horror wound themselves around his chest, threatening to suffocate him. The hour was upon him. He had to act...

"Severus, please!" a weak, old voice implored.

He could not afford to indulge his emotions. The task was extremely important...

A hoarse, disembodied laugh grated in his ears. His father's voice, ragged and whisky-stained, bellowed in the darkness.

"Weakling!" the man cackled, and Severus strained to see him. "I knew you didn't have it in you!"

Severus quaked with terror and fury. He raised his wand. It was required of him...

He pointed his wand, holding it steady, taking aim...

He could not see his target, but it didn't matter.

All of his fear, disgust, and rage seeped out in his voice.

"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted.

He cried out in shock as he fell over the side of the tower.

Severus jerked awake, his father's drunken laughter still echoing distantly in his ears. He was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, and his mouth was filled with a metallic taste.

His head ached terribly. Turning his head slightly to the right, he saw a pitcher of water perched upon a small table.

"Accio water!" he murmured. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. The pitcher did not budge.

"Accio water!" he croaked again. The pitcher remained firmly planted upon the table.

"Accio..." he gasped again and again to no avail. Desperately thirsty, he reached out. His arm flopped uselessly, and he could not control his hand at all. He cursed inwardly.

Try again, he thought. He succeeded in raising his right arm. He swung it clumsily toward the pitcher, which he managed to brush with his fingers before his arm fell to his side again. He panted with exhaustion.

His whole body ached with thirst.

He contemplated his dilemma. Clearly, his voice was not strong enough for the Summoning charm to work, and he was not coordinated enough to reach the pitcher on his own.

Marshalling his resolve, he tried once more to lift his arm. This time, he reached the pitcher and was actually able to touch it. Just as he felt a small thrill of victory, however, his fingers jerked involuntarily. The pitcher was dashed to the floor.

The tinkle of breaking glass was met by a series of small crashing noises to his left. He slowly and painfully turned his head toward the sound. At first, he saw nothing but an empty bed. As he lowered his eyes, though, he saw a girl with wildly disheveled brown hair scrambling to retrieve an array of fallen books, parchments, and quills.

Even with her face obscured by her hair, she reminded him of someone. He wished she would look up. Maybe then he would be able to see her face and connect it with some vital memory. The lack of recall, combined with his limited range of motion, unnerved him dreadfully.

Finally, she lifted her face.

"Professor Snape! You're awake!" She rose hastily and moved to his side. He was gratified to see coffee-colored eyes staring at him with concern. He remembered those eyes. He had nothing to fear.

"Are you OK?" she asked worriedly. "I fell asleep and I heard a crash."

"Thirsty," he croaked. He watched as her eyes left his to survey the fallen pitcher. Her face flushed as she evanesced the water and glass.

"I am so sorry, Professor Snape. Accio glass!" she called, and a tumbler zoomed across the room.

She caught it neatly in one hand. "Aguamenti!" she called.

She filled the glass and pressed it to his lips. "Here you go. Slowly, now," she admonished.

He drained the cup gratefully. She poured another, which he likewise quaffed, and another. Finally sated, he looked into her eyes appreciatively. She smiled.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Can you tell me where?" she pressed.

"Everywhere," he whispered harshly. "Headache."

She nodded understandingly. "The Healers left you a Headache Potion. Just a second..." She trailed off as she reached into a pocket. "Ah! Here we go."

She uncorked a small, brown vial and lifted it to his mouth. Slipping one arm beneath him, she raised his head and poured the potion down his throat.

She smiled apologetically as she lowered him. "I wish I could give you a stronger potion, but this is the only one that's appropriate. It should alleviate some of the pain, though." She watched him expectantly.

The potion had no immediate effect. Severus groaned in frustration and shut his eyes tightly. The headache seemed to get worse, if anything.

Then, slowly, the pain diminished. Without actually ceasing, it lessened in intensity. He opened his eyes and offered his helper a weary half-smile, which, for reasons he could not fathom, she met with a fluttering look of bemusement before smiling in return.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "You must be. The Healers said you could eat once you awoke. Could you try to eat a bit?"

"Yes," he croaked.

She picked up a heavy piece of parchment from the bedside table, squinting as she read. "Roasted chicken," she murmured to herself. "No, I shouldn't think so, not just yet. Too heavy." She twisted her lips as she thought.

"Hmm. Poached fish... better than chicken, I suppose, but no... oh, yes, perfect!"

She looked pleased. "Broth and poached egg, please," she called out, and immediately, a small tureen, a bowl, and a spoon appeared on the table.

"All right, Professor. Let's prop you up so you can eat." She conjured extra pillows and fluffed them before lifting his head and shoulders gingerly.

"Adjust bed, please!" she called. "Raise head!"

The bed immediately complied, and he found himself sitting almost upright. The soreness of his limbs and the headache that still faintly nagged made comfort impossible. Nonetheless, he felt a deep sense of security and reassurance, which he could only attribute to the young woman's presence. He watched contentedly as she opened the tureen and ladled broth into the bowl.

She lifted a spoon to his mouth. "Wait..." he whispered. She paused with the spoon poised in mid-air.

"Am I..." he started weakly. "Am I... dead?"

He was rewarded with one of the girl's wide smiles. "No, Professor. You're not dead. You are in St. Mungo's recovering from a snakebite."

Severus shivered violently. The image...a hideous serpent, twisting in a cage of stars, its venomous fangs poised to strike...sprang unbidden to his mind. For a moment, nothing else existed. He shrank back against the bed.

The young woman pushed the spoon gently against his lips, breaking the memory's spell. He slurped the broth inelegantly, wetting his chin and chest. She dabbed his mouth and his chest with a cloth napkin with a deft economy of motion he admired.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before she smiled wanly. "I'm Hermione Granger, sir."

"Are we... are you..." he floundered.

She blushed slightly. "I was once your student at Hogwarts."

"Why..." he gasped, tired from the effort speech required. "Why... are..."

She interrupted him mercifully. "I'm here because I want you to get better. Consider me a friend."

Friend.

Severus pondered the word, flinching inwardly. It came to him pleasantly, but left him queasy, a sweet beginning with a bitter aftertaste. Friend.

There was so much more he wanted to ask the brown-eyed girl...Hermione Granger...but he was tired. For now, it was enough that she was here. He sat in silence as she fed him, appreciating her nearness and the nourishment of the broth as its warmth spread through his body.

The spoon scraped against the bottom of the tureen as Hermione brought the last bit of soup up for him to sip.

"Do you want more?" she inquired.

"No," he murmured. A comfortable fullness settled in his stomach.

"Are you sore?" she asked. He nodded dumbly, wondering how she knew.

"Of course you are. You haven't moved in a very long time. Here, let's see what we can do for you." He watched her face, spellbound as she placed her hands softly on his temples. She began to describe circles with her fingers as she applied a gentle pressure. The remnants of his headache melted away beneath her hands.

Her hands moved over his scalp in a calming rhythm. He sighed in contentment and sank into his pillows. Had he ever been touched in such a manner? He could not recall, but he doubted it. Her touch was a lullaby, a perfect invocation of everything good on earth and in heaven. He closed his eyes in satisfaction.

Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger... he thought over and over, trying to recall her significance to his life. The compulsion to know, however, faded as her hands smoothed away his tension. Hermione Granger... My friend...

She moved her hands along his neck, easing the tension that knotted the muscles. He opened his eyes as she began kneading his shoulders. He took in her scent...a subtle combination of honey and rose...and traced the curve of her cheek, her chin, and her neck with his eyes. Just before he slipped off to sleep, he wondered what could have made the raised, pink scar that stretched across the pale and delicate skin of her throat.

"You're my best friend, Severus."

Severus felt a surge of joy. He looked around. The sun shone through the leaves, casting an ethereal, green glow over everything he saw. The river babbled happily a few meters away. Today was the best day of his life...

"We'll always be best friends, won't we, Severus?" He felt a small hand in his and wanted to laugh.

Say yes. Say, "I'll love you forever." Say, "I'm happy."

Severus couldn't see his companion, though he felt her hand in his. Her hand. In his. She was holding his hand, and it was the best day of his life.

He grasped the hand. He opened his mouth, opened it to say the words that would allow the enchanted day to last.

His tongue refused to work. His mouth would not open. To his horror, he saw the river swelling, spilling over its banks. Before he could run, it was upon them. He frantically gripped the hand holding his. The river roared.

The churning water swept them away, and his hand slipped. He realized that the frothing rapids were pulling him away from the only person who had ever touched him with tenderness. His friend.

"Severus, please!" she cried out.

He floundered desperately as her voice grew more and more distant. "Severus!"

He could no longer hear her when the water washed over him.

He awoke with a gasp.

"Hello, Mr. Snape. It's so very good to see you awake."

Severus heaved as he tried to shake off the residue of his dream. Green eyes peered into his...kindly eyes, but not the eyes he wanted to see. He glared and glanced around the room.

"Sorry, Mr. Snape, but I sent your Miss Granger off to the tea room," the green-eyed Healer said amusedly. "She needs to get some food in her if she's going sit with you for such long hours." Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at him.

"How long?" Severus asked.

"Let's see," said the old Healer. "You have been in here for about, oh, two and a half months.

"And your Miss Granger has been here every day except for one week at the very beginning. You are very fortunate to have such a friend."

His Miss Granger. Hisfriend. Severus felt odd. He was fairly certain that there had been very few people whom he could classify as his anything...much less his friend. He felt a peculiar turn in his stomach and knew both terror and elation.

The old Healer eyed him appraisingly. "Mr. Snape, let's have a look at you," she said as she waved her wand over him.

She murmured a series of incantations and assessed the shimmer that hovered over his form. "Take my hand, dear," she commanded.

He lifted his arm. Although it felt stronger, he still could not seem to control it properly. His attempt to open his hand was greeted by a creaking pain, and he grimaced sharply.

"Very good, Mr. Snape," the Healer encouraged. "We shouldn't hope for too much right away. You've been asleep for so long."

Dejection settled over him, erasing the elation he had begun to feel. He was at the mercy of others, unable to control his own body. It had lain motionless for so many weeks that it seemed simply incapable of moving. An image of the old, abandoned mills of his youth sprang suddenly to his mind. I've begun to rust in place, he thought bitterly.

"Don't look like that now," the Healer gently chided. "I said we shouldn't hope for too much right away. That doesn't mean we shouldn't hope at all."

She picked up his forearm and massaged it strongly, moving her hands along its length until she reached his hand. She opened each finger individually before pressing her thumb to his palm.

It hurt terribly. He scowled and bit his lip. "I know," the Healer said sympathetically. "It's going to be painful, but this is how we get you moving again."

She stopped manipulating the muscles and tendons in his hand, and he was grateful. "Now, try to make a fist, dear," she ordered.

Severus observed the Healer silently for several instants before he acquiesced. She had an air of authority, which seemed to arise from a natural affinity for her role. He appreciated the way she met his gaze, neither flinching nor posturing. She did not evoke the same state of contentment that he felt with Miss Granger. Nonetheless, he felt secure with her.

The Healer did not seem to mind that he did not obey her order immediately. She continued to study him calmly and steadily. With great effort, he attempted to straighten his fingers. He gasped in pain. His fingers felt as if they were breaking with the movement.

Giving no indication that she had found his reaction unusual, the Healer murmured a spell and waved her wand over his hand. The pain abated. "This will get better," she said reassuringly. "I know some charms that will help the flexibility return to your hands. I see no signs of permanent muscle or nerve damage. They're simply stiff. You will exercise them..."

She broke off to address the glare that Severus was leveling at her. "You will exercise regularly," she continued, "if you want to regain your previous range of motion. You are not a child, Mr. Snape, and I shall not bother to threaten or cajole you. The matter is quite simple. You will either exercise...and regain full use of your hands...or you may choose not to exercise and allow them to atrophy. The choice is yours."

Severus considered her words. The way she looked at him, the way she spoke, reminded him of someone else. There was something achingly familiar about her ability to convey authority without perceivably changing her demeanor or tone. She commanded respect by sheer virtue. A confusing sense of bereavement settled in his stomach, and he began to tremble. He feared that he would sob unabashedly. The grief was a bewildering and chaotic force without a memory to which he could fasten it, and it angered him.

He could tell that the Healer perceived his distress, but thankfully, she neither cloyed nor fussed. She simply continued to look at him kindly as she held his hand. In her eyes, to his amazement, he saw compassion unpolluted by pity. He was grateful for her silent presence as they gazed at each other.

When she finally spoke, he allowed her low and gentle voice to penetrate his mind. "I know you have suffered terribly, Mr. Snape. I'm sure there are many things that don't make sense for you right now."

He broke her gaze, focusing on the patterns of the curtains that surrounded his bed. She continued, "It will take time for everything to fall in place. You will remember what you need to remember, and you will heal what needs healing when the time is right."

She leaned closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "When you are ready, truly ready, your memories and your feelings will come back to you. Bit by bit. They'll come to you when you are strong enough to accept them."

Severus looked at her once more. A weariness seemed to have come over her, and her eyes were misted. Nevertheless, she exuded a conviction that heartened him.

She sat up straight and removed her hand from his shoulder. "Goodness, where are my manners?" she chuckled. "It's unfair that I know your name when you don't know mine. I'm Maire Glamorgan, and I'm a Healer here at St. Mungo's." She shook his hand.

"We've spent quite a bit of time together already, and we shall spend a lot more time together, so call me by my first name. Please. It would be more natural, to my way of thinking,"

Severus found the introduction pleasing. He tried out her name.

"Maire." He smiled to himself, finding relief in addressing someone as an equal.

"That's right. Now, about your hands..." She trailed off and began to mold his hand once more.

With stoic determination, Severus gave himself over to her attention. He submitted to Maire's direction and endured the pain resolutely. The stiffness of his hands diminished significantly, and he could now lightly grasp the small objects Maire conjured. The pain edged away into mere discomfort. Severus yawned.

Maire squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "Well, my boy, you are coming along nicely. I think you've had enough exercise for a bit. You should get some rest now." She stood and winked at him. "Call my name if you need anything."

She turned and walked away. Severus was asleep before she had slipped beyond the curtain.

Severus was running under a star-lit sky. A girl giggled ahead. "Come on, Sev. Hurry up!" she called.

He laughed hoarsely and ran clumsily after her. Finally, she stopped, and Severus caught up to her. They stood a long time, catching their breath and laughing. Severus' heart beat wildly as he gazed at the crescent moon mirrored in the lake. He was conscious of the girl moving closer to him, and he flushed, hoping she could not hear the insistent tattoo of his heart.

A dainty hand grasped his, and he felt that his heart would burst. "Dance with me, Sev," she said, and he almost groaned aloud at the thrill of her nearness. She placed one of his hands on her waist and then put her own hand on his shoulder. She leaned close...so close her hair brushed his cheek...and he inhaled her fragrance. She smelled of flowers and moss. She smelled... green.

Severus gulped as trepidation vied with the want in his heart. "Come on," she giggled. "I didn't break curfew just to see the moon."

His feet felt as if they were made of concrete as he attempted to lead her in a waltz. She laughed and took over, and he conceded happily. He would follow her lead forever because she herself was the path to bliss.

She lifted her face to him, and he stared down into her eyes. Brown eyes. He was dancing with Miss Granger, but she wasn't just Miss Granger...she was someone else, too, someone important. Someone he loved...

She smiled up at him, pure delight shining in her face. He whirled around and around, taking pleasure in following her movements.

Then, something changed.

He didn't know how it happened... Her smile didn't change visibly, but it was no longer a smile of delight. It now seemed threatening, maniacal. Fear started to gnaw at Severus' heart. She continued to lead him, but they were no longer waltzing. She spun him round, faster and faster, until the stars blurred into silvery traces overhead. Severus felt queasy. She laughed, and the sound brought him no joy.

His feet left the ground, and a blinding mist enveloped him. Severus could no longer see her. He wanted to stop, but he knew that if he did he would be propelled into endless space. A roaring sound filled his ears.

"Wake up, lambykins!"

Severus bolted upright. He panted, desperately trying to regain his breath. A short, plump, grey-haired witch simpered at him. "Time to wake up, now!" she wheedled.

Severus glowered as she landed a series of sharp, staccato pats on his forearm. "It's time for your medicine, lambykins," she coaxed. Her voice had a high-pitched, treacle-like quality.

She produced a vial and pressed it to Severus' mouth insistently. He pursed his lips and pulled away, scowling angrily.

Her lips thinned, and her brow furrowed in irritation. Still, though, her voice cajoled childishly. "Oh, don't be naughty, now. Be a good little bloke and open up."

Severus jerked away beyond her reach. "What is it?" he demanded harshly.

She laughed, rather unpleasantly, Severus thought, and wagged her finger at him. "Now, now, I shan't poison you. I'd get fired, you see." She laughed at her own joke as Severus seethed. "Open up for Calliope, love."

"What is it?" Severus demanded again.

The witch narrowed her beady eyes. "It's nothin' that'll hurt you. So open your mouth and drink up." Her voice cracked and lost its syrupy tone.

"Who are you?" Severus insisted angrily.

She drew herself up indignantly. "I'm a Healer. Now, drink." She pushed the vial against his lips forcefully.

Severus raised his right arm and knocked the Healer's arm away, feeling a moment's satisfaction as her features displayed fear. "Tell me what it is," he growled harshly.

The Healer adjusted her face and smiled obsequiously. "Now, lambykins," she urged. "Be a good little lad. Calliope has a nice little Limber-Up Potion for you."

Severus narrowed his eyes and stared belligerently at the Healer as he opened his mouth. He drained the thick, bitter potion. A warm sensation immediately flooded his extremities, and he was pleased to find that he could flex his fingers easily without pain. Nonetheless, he continued to glare at the annoying Healer, who was now grinning triumphantly.

"There, there now, you see? Calliope's not goin' to hurt you, lambykins."

"Do not call me lambykins," Severus snarled fiercely.

Calliope smirked knowingly. "Oh, yes, sir, I'll not call you lambykins again. We can't have your little witch gettin' jealous. I'm sure she's the only one to be callin' you lambykins. Bet she whispers it in your ear, like."

The Healer's oblique mention of Miss Granger fanned Severus' fury. He clinched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. The old witch provoked him further by chuckling and winking, giving every indication that she enjoyed Severus' discomfort.

She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him as she continued. "Oh, come on now, what wizard your age wouldn't want a young witch like that? You should be proud, that's what you should be."

Revulsion washed over him as the scrap of a memory floated through his mind.

"You don't suppose he's gone and Imperiused her? Given her some type of potion, or somethin'? Not much of a looker, that one..."

The witch named Calliope rambled on. "She's right devoted to you, too. It's so romantic, her savin' your life an' all. You'll have such stories to tell the grandkids."

Saved my life?

Severus' eyes widened.

Calliope caught her breath as she took in Severus' expression, and her face registered surprise. "I, ah, thought you knew," she stuttered.

Severus froze in astonishment. How? he wondered. Why?

A thousand questions bubbled up within him: Had she really been his student? How well had he known her? What could possibly motivate her to save his life? The lack of details frustrated him terribly, especially since he had come to depend so much upon Miss Granger.

Calliope stammered and wrung her hands in bemusement. "Well, now, I didn't mean... well, ah, I thought..."

Her voice snapped Severus out of his contemplation. "Get out!" he barked roughly.

Calliope wasted no time disappearing around the curtain. Severus lay back against his pillows, holding his hands to his aching temples. He had a lot to think about, and he did not even know where to start.

Author's Notes

As always, I owe a great deal to Angel Mischa and her extraordinary beta work and encouragement. I also thank those who have reviewed and those who have marked this story as a favorite. You make writing so much more gratifying, and I appreciate your kindness and support.

I keep forgetting to say it, but if anyone was in doubt...

I own none of these characters except for Maire and Calliope, and since they aren't exactly cash-cows, I am making no money from the writing of this story.