A/N: Well, I'm still alive, sort of, and I've finally managed to translate the next chapter - by myself. I wished I could be more proud of it, but... hm, this reminds me of my little problem: I am in desperate need of a beta - grammar, not grammEr proof, native speaker, good brit pick ;)

As you maybe know, English is not my first language (actually, German isn't, either, but I'm perfectly used to it g). I tend to "Germanise" the sentence structure. You see, in German there are longer, more complicated sentences, and words consisting of two-three words linked together... and stuff / I'm fully aware that my translation is... well, it actually tells what I had in mind, but it does not sound... lively enough for me. Someone help me please?

Onto a more joyful topic, yay! I want to thank all those who reviewed, and all those who added this story to their favourites! I feel so honoured! (Still, my reviewers even more - insert big plushy heart here).

So, thank you, halo-N-horns, ObsidianEmbers, Pandora Melete, Microfatcat, blue the vampire's beloved, firsttimewriter, Kedrah, Athena Keating-Thomas, Chibi Carru, seaslugofdoom, Hide TheDecay, Sydx, The Unbreakable Snape Fan, , Werewolf of Fire, Vandetta, ReynaMariposa, Red Kitsune Flames, ArabellaKye, MySite, shiroyuki004, Sins of the Soul, SilvaGirl, DragonG, Cindy, otis-girl (OMG you're incredible... :hearts:), lethalsphinx00 (wow, for every chapter... thank you so much :tear:) AND Loonymoon (read her story "The Warehouse", it is absolutely beautiful and special... please update it? ;))

I hope you enjoy this chapter! (Part two is already written and half translated, by the way :))

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Severus Snape, favourite enemy

Chapter 31: Bandhana (part one)

“You?“

Madam Pomfrey seemed determined to conform to the casual phrase describing utter perplexity: her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Apparently, she had not anticipated James Potter’s illustrious presence.

“Morgana’s moustache! What are you doing here?” asked the Mediwitch confusely. She was looking to and fro the two boys hectically. It seemed as if she could not entirely comprehend the sight of one Severus Snape, being peacefully attended by his long-time enemy, James Potter.

James, on the other side, comprehended Poppy’s perspicacity rather well. Hm, how could she have known that Severus had not come to St. Mungo’s by himself, regarding the well-known fact of him being a loner?

Said loner crouched on the bed, well and truly the familiar picture of misery. Severus looked anxiously up to him. The Gryffindor allowed, once again, to be downright absorbed by these black depths before noticing the other boy’s open shirt. What did Severus report and learn about their misterious disease?

In order to not raise any more missunderstandings about their relationship, James sat down beside Severus and made a point by putting his arm around the slim shoulders.

“Yeah… we were bored and just decided to drop by…” replied James, sounding much more placid than he felt…

… and unbuttoned his shirt as well.

If it weren’t for the much too serious situation – serious, even for an optimist like himself – James would probably have had a giggle about the woman’s befuddled facial expression. However, said expression dissappeared stupendously fast.

The Gryffindor braced himself for cold eyes and disapprovingly thinned lips, in the face of such a display of affection; between two persons of the same sex, yet in return as different as they can be – Gryffindor and Slytherin, the former popular attention seeker, the latter taunted pariah. So James felt utterly disarmed, when faced with such a broad, open smile. It seemed there was no need for the emotional armour James had tried to create around himself.

„So it’s the two of you, hmm?“ the blonde woman asked soflty. “Somewhat surprising, indeed, though… nice. That’s the way it is, Bandhana occurs extremely seldom, yet if it’s the case, it concerns people one would never have expected to…”

James and Severus stared at each other, then at Madam Pomfrey. Severus’ puzzled expression probably mirrored the one James was sporting. She might as well have spoken Severus’ precious Sanskrit, as far as James was concerned – wasn’t dead languages a futile hobby of his?

“Pardon… what?” the Gryffindor pressed.

“You mean, in the sense of Daampatya?”, Severus wanted to know, leaning forward. “Or rather the common denotation?”

Pomfrey blinked.

„My knowledge on this subject does not suffice for me to be able to tell the difference, Mr. Snape.”

Apparently, Madam Pomfrey had spoken Sanskrit. And now Severus too. No wonder James had no idea at all what they were talking about. Severus, on the other side, seemed to literally tremble with hadly restrained excitement.

“Both of them mean something like a connection,” he explained instead of the Mediwitch, although his voice was missing the teacherly undertone James had very often poked fun at. “Still, the latter is only used to describe a connection of the sort which can only exist between two human beings. That’s right, isn’t it?” The Slytherin shot Pomfrey an unsure glance. “There is no direct translation, I guess…”

„Exactly, Mr. Snape!” praised Madam Pomfrey, obviously very pleased to discuss the matter with someone up to her high standards. “Then I think you understood what it’s all about?”

“Not exactly, I may understand the term, yet not what it stands for in our case…”

As far as James was concerned, he was not keen to listen to an expert discussion anymore.

“What kind of disease do we suffer from?” he got straight to the point.

“Oh, right… your so-called disease…” the Mediwitch mumbled; her voice could be placed somewhere between pitiying and amused. “That’s what you came her for in the first place, isn’t it?” Once again she smiled indulgently; in contrast to her usual sternness an odd sight. “Very well then. Come along, gentlemen. Fancy some hot chocolate?”

The Gryffindor was glad about leaving the dull hospital room. Severus surely felt similarly. James returned his shy side-glances with a not at all shy, but very Potter-ish grin, his arm still possessively flung around the smaller boy’s shoulders. Severus appeared to need this assuring physical contact, for he nestled up against James, who tried to dissemble his inner agitation.

Unfortunately, it was no joyful agitation; Madam Pomfrey probably intended to let them in on the bad news in a cosier atmosphere. Did she have to tell them that they had covered such a long distance, only to be locked up in St. Mungo’s – maybe forever – in the section for incurable, contagious magic diseases? Would they be able to stay together at least, or would the healers agree to Severus’ apprehension about them not being good for each other? That apprehension James choosed to ignore?

James’ intuition, on the other hand, told him undeviatingly how Severus was the best thing that ever happened to him. And James’ heart commanded him with every pulse beat to fight for keeping hold of his beloved – be it with words or wand. Optionally with his fists, should he not be left another choice then acting mugglish against male nurses with the figures of walking wardrobes. James Potter refused to accept being disspossesed of his only true love.

However, a big cup of invigorating hot chocolate between his sweaty palms made James’ world appear less gloomy. The beverage turned out somewhat viscous and bittersweet. So exactly up Severus’ alley, James assumed, leering at the contentedly slurping chocolate worshipper next to him.

“I suppose you are familiar with ‘Hogwarts: A History’?” was Pomfrey’s unexpected question.

The Slytherin nodded eagerly (but of course… the Gryffindor thought), whereas James mumbled sheepishly something about “skimmed through it…” (which earned him a shirty look from a certain little swot).

“It’s allright, Mr. Potter,” said Pomfrey quizically. “My explanations are related to it only in an indirect way; in this special case, old chronicles come into play, of the sort which you come to read only in the Forbidden Section – if you know exactly what you are searching for… respectively, if they have not already been removed. Unfortunately, none of this is certified, but they are interesting nevertheless.”

“What is it? What is it?” Severus pressed. His usually calm voice nearly escalated and James suspected it wouldn’t take much for the Slytherin to forget about his dignity and start bouncing up and down on his chair. “Whose chronicles are they? Have they been translated into English? Do they concern our disease? Has someone ever been affected?”

“Sharp-sighted, like always, Mr. Snape. Just take it easy, will you? Yes, someone has been affected, indeed. Still – the most beautiful gift ever given to lovers shouldn’t be reffered to as ‘disease’. Both of you are fit as a fiddle, gentlemen.”

James usually didn’t have troubles accepting something new – but now, he was close to losing his head. He should have been glad, even euphoric – they did not have to run away anymore, they were not going to die. Yet the Gryffindor only managed to slump down in face of these news; lethargic, entirely knackered. It was overkill, even for the one and only James Potter.

“… and what befell you certainly explains some aspects which I first misunderstood…” Madam Pomfrey mumbled, pensively. “Particularly last night’s, erm, events, when I, uhm, seem to have interrupted something.”

James pressumed that his suntan had disappeared. His hands entangled painfully with Severus’ thin fingers. If only she knew… if only she knew how damn right her assumptions had been – last night he had slapped Severus. He had hurt him – again. And afterwards, Severus had still wanted to make love to him… the guilt threatened to overwhelm James and he tried hard to find the right words to put it straight…

“You are very scared, aren’t you?” the Mediwitch interrupted James’ dark thoughts and the moment was lost.

“Is it that easy to notice?” Severus retorted sourly.

“Oh, yes. But you don’t have to. Something wonderful happened to you – if you learn how to handle it,“ Pomfrey appeased him.

“Wow are we supposed to handle something we cannot comprehend at all?”, the Slytherin demanded, clinging to James arm.

“Well, gentlemen… then open up your pretty little ears,” instructed Pomfrey kindly.

He was a happy little boy.

Agreed, he was not exactly well-liked by the other children. They made fun of him, and of his appearance, which they probably would have compared to a monkey’s. Given they would have known about monkeys at all. But little did they know about the world, as they hardly could look beyond their own backyard. One could only find monkeys in the warm, colourful country his father came from – only a beautiful, exotic tale to him. Not here, in this cold and rainy place.

So ‘rat’ had to do as an insult. No wonder, given his scrunched up face and scrawny body.

“Hm, I already feel sorry for him.”

“I hope you’re not forthright identifying with that person, Sev?”

“Well, to be honest… ah, never mind.”

But then... HE was here. Tall, even if of the same age like himself, and always sporting the most beautiful, disarming smile one could imagine. He, who always defended him, who constantly chased away all those off who dared bothering him. He, who always stood by him. A true friend, who did not care about his looks or his closeness…

“SAAAAL!”

... and even less about his parents’ self-imposed closeness…

“May Sal come out to play?”

“Actually, he has to help out in the house… come back later?”

… as he simply overcame it with dint of his incredible charm. Therewith he was blessed abundantly – even more accentuated by a pretty, freckled face, framed by ginger locks. Big, sky-blue eyes looked up to the window.

“Pleaaaaaase?”

An acquiescent, yet quizzical sigh could be heard from the kitchen; so his mother had been wound around the other boy’s little finger once more.

“Oh, well then. Sal! Your friend is wait-“

The chubby woman never got the opportunity to finish her sentence, though.

“Yipiee!”

With this by his standards unusually enthusiastic squeal, he was already dashing out of the house, nearly knocking over the grain bucket. Sorting out bad grains was such a boring task, even if he was allowed to use his mother’s wand... Even more boring than the lessons with his father, which would follow inevitably, as soon as he came home.

He adored his parents, yet the prospect of spending an unrestricted afternoon with his best (more precisely, only) friend was far more tempting for a little, seven years old, really happy boy. Not quite correct – it was brilliant!

And it got even better; not one of the children dared to call ‘rat’ after him, like some months before, when his family had moved to Golden Hollow. Blue eyes glaring warningly (and not so innocent anymore) sufficed. They apparently remembered only too well one good trounching or another. Without his protector, he would have been lost.

“Hm… tell me why this combination has a familiar ring?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Snape?”

“Erm, nothing, please do continue.”

Deeper and deeper they went into the dark woods. But of course he was not afraid, not with HIM holding his hand firmly.

“Haha, tell me why this has such a familiar ring?”.

“I have absolutely no idea, James.”

“So tell me already, what is it you wanted to show me?”

He was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. His friend threw quick glances around to make sure no one was watching – before reaching under his robes and fetching a longish piece of cherrywood from his belt.

“Is that all?”

“Of course not. But you must promise me to never tell anyone!”

He shrugged and nodded then, and the ginger haired boy made pretty, colourful sparks rain onto them.

“Nice,” he said, uninpressed, while pulling out his own – respectively his mother’s – ebony wand. She never let him go anywhere without it. He did not have his own, as his family lacked money badly. No wonder, given their living as travelling wizards.

The other child’s eyes went huge, when he also executed the same simple spell, used at weddings.

“You can do it, too? Why did you never tell me?”

“My parents forbade it – and yours too, I daresay.”

“You actually listen to your parents?”

“More often than not…”

“How booooring!”

“Parents do not forbid things without a reason, don’t you think so? There may be no law against casting spells in public, but still, it’s dangerous doing so.“

“Great. If we did listen to them, we never would have learnt about us both being wizards! Our parents live in fear of the villagers! What could they possibly do to us, they have no magic whatsoever!”

The dark-haired boy let himself be convinced only to willingly. Like always. But it was true; they were wizards, hence able to bring themselves to safety. Like Wendelin the Weird, who had been “burnt” at the stake, just for the fun of it – only to apear out of thin air in another village and drive other people up the pole.

That witch was legend. Unfortunately, many unmagical women did not get of that lightly, if inculpated wrongly. “Guilty” of possessing abilities one possessed from birth – or not. In these times, getting rid of a hated or envied woman wasn’t particularly difficult: simply denunciate her as witch being in league with the devil. He had often heard from such cases, which were the main reason why they relocated, similarly often.

However, this topic was not the matter at the present time for the little boy, who spent a long afternoon playing airily.

His instinct was whispering first... then it hurled, shouted warnings at him, while he sneaked home, passing unusually deserted lanes. He ans his friend had parted ways in front of the gateway. The blowup he had been worrying about at that time now seemed secondary, though.

For he sensed, that he would not be a happy little boy anymore.

For he sensed the acrid smoke.

He saw the marketplace, illuminated only by tall flames.

The many faces.

Some appalled, some gleeful.

Their whispering…

“She of all people! The wife of a virtuous, hard-working man!”

“That serves her right!”

“What’s going to happen to their poor child?”

“Certainly a spawn of devil, just like herself!”

“Yes, impure, that she’s been… such impure work… you only have to imagine these… these feculent juices she has touched on her own accord!”

“So you call giving birth impure? This woman helped me bear my child, even though the Doctor dashed our hopes!”

“Keep quiet! Do you really want this happening to you, too? God should have taken you and your child, if that’s His wish!”

… and his father’s whispering, who had appeared behind him like a dark shadow, close to his ear…

“Watch and learn…”

Black eyes, clouded and lost, bore into his. His father’s big hand grabbed his shoulder painfully. Once an erudite’s soft hand, now calloused by hard, manual labour at the cornfields.

“Never forget what those blind to magic are capable of doing…”

His small, seven-years-old intellect could not entirely comprehend that this ablaze figure on the stake had been his mother once. He was standing there rooted to the spot, in the tremulous shadows of the pub, and his knees were banging against each other involuntary. When his father’s hand went away, he slumped down like a rag doll.

The crowd parted, when the tall man with the outlandish appearance (which had always caused gossip) made his way forwards.

“Where is the doctor” he demanded monotonously.

An obscure aura seemed to form around him, and an icy wind made the fire rage even more. Apart from its howling and crackling, tangible silence had settled upon the marketplace. Nobody dared to answer.

Then he catched sight of the person sought.

The smug expression on the doctor’s adipose face changed into one of increasing fear, when the dark-skinned man stopped in front of him. And this change seemed to suffice to tell the truth.

It happened much too fast for him…

“PraaNadaNda!“

… the ominous green light, coming from the same wand his father had only used to make life spread out onto the large cornfields, to dispose deathly ergot…

… the sickening, dull sound of a body hitting the loamy ground, hardened by many feet…

… the crowd’s panic screams, as it rushed in all directions like scared animals…..

“Vidahati!“

… his father’s booming voice, evoking the ancient magic of his home country upon the town…

… fire, nothing but fire around him, when his mother’s burning grave expanded abruptly, eating away at houses, at fleeing people…

… destroying everything aside from HIM.

The small, unlike his own, still whole family was holding onto each other desperately, clutching their little son, sheltered from the fire by a freezing charm, and shaking like leaves. He noticed the soil on their clothes. Probably they just had come home from their hard work.

Home... only to come upon death and ruin.

Red fire reflected in blue eyes, his friend streched his arms out for him, weeping in anguish.

But then, there was his father’s comforting arms around him…

… and this specific, unpleasant pull inside his stomach…

“No! NO! Father! Don’t take me away from here, please father!“

“Never forget, Salazar Slytherin!”

“No! GODRIC! NO!“

... as they left their home – now a place of destruction and horror – without leaving any trace.