Beyond the 25th by ObsidianEmbrace

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling.

Beta: choosetolive (thank you for all your support in this effort)

Story Notes: This story begins two days after the final chapter of The 25th of December (if you haven't read that one, please do--it's short). This story will contain themes which may make you uncomfortable, including violence, torture, death, recovery, and first and foremost, the definition of love and friendship. If you read it, don't complain about it.

~HPSS~

December 27, 1998

St. Mungo’s psychiatric wing wasn’t a particularly crowded place, for which Severus was grateful as he walked, unmolested, through the long corridor toward Harry’s room. A young orderly picked up his pace as Severus approached. He allowed himself to be amused at that; he imagined he did look rather grim. Especially now, as he was about to commit several crimes—or least acts that would be considered crimes by officious men with seats in the Wizengamot.

But he had been left with precious little choice in the matter. And no matter what anyone else had to say about it, Harry was coming with him. He only hoped the young man wouldn’t put up a fight. Determined not to show his worry about the possibility, Severus pushed open the door marked with Harry’s name.

Harry didn’t even look up as he entered; he was staring listlessly at the ceiling, his eyes as glassy as they had been in the Dark Lord’s prison. Unprepared for the depth of concern he felt for the young man, Severus found himself staring, his eyes tracing over Harry’s sallow complexion…his sunken eyes…the deep hollows of his normally rosy cheeks. He had not thought it possible, but Harry actually looked worse than he had only two days prior, when Poppy and another Mediwitch had pried him away from Severus’ arms—at surprisingly harsh protests from Harry.

All of the persuasions Severus had planned to ply Harry with abruptly left his mind. Whatever the mind healers were doing to treat Harry, it was obviously not working. And Severus decided right then that he would take him away, even if Harry did decide to refuse to come. Setting his features into his severest professorial mask, Severus closed the door with a loud splat, and strode purposely forward.

Harry’s eyes drifted toward him at the unexpected sound. The dull green orbs suddenly widened, and flooded with life. Harry pushed himself up abruptly, slipping a little on obviously weak arms.

“Professor?” he croaked, almost halting Severus in his tracks. He had not expected to hear such relief in Harry’s voice.

“Yes,” Severus answered shortly as he stepped to the bed. Harry’s eyes were searching his face; Severus found it extremely difficult to retain eye contact under the scrutiny.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Harry said quietly; his voice still had a vaguely scratchy quality to it. He gathered the edge of the blanket in his fists as he swallowed. “They wouldn’t tell me anything about where you were.”

“We do not have time for conversation,” Severus said, ignoring the unasked question in Harry’s voice; Harry nodded, the dull glaze clouding his eyes again as he looked away.

“I understand, sir,” he said softly.

“No, you do not,” Severus disagreed. And, disinclined to torment the young man, he said without further ado, “We are leaving.”

Harry’s head snapped up. His impossibly green eyes were brightening once more. “Sir?” His vocal chords were warbling. Both from anticipation and worry, it was clear.

And lest Harry become irascible when the details were discovered, Severus found himself explaining, “You have not been released, and I have not been given permission to remove you.”

He expected Harry to suspect foul play on his part, or at least to hesitate, but Harry simply nodded, as if he had understood all along. But then his eyebrows drew together. “You’ll get into trouble?”

Severus would not lie. “Most likely.”

Harry stared at him, his too-pale lips parting just a bit, as if he was concentrating very hard. His lower lip trembled. “I…can’t stay here,” he whispered. Severus recognized it as the apology that it was.

“I know,” Severus said simply, part of him wishing he could explain just how eager he was to remove both of them from this wretched place, even though he couldn’t even pinpoint where the desire came from. And then since Harry hadn’t actually objected, he asked, “Have you anything you wish to take with you?”

Harry shook his head mutely.

Without another word, Severus slid one arm under Harry’s knees and put the other around his back. He could feel Harry’s limbs relaxing as Severus pulled the slight body against his chest. Harry’s head fell on his shoulder and his arms wound around Severus’ neck without prompting; Severus found his arms tightening their hold. Swallowing back that same rush of emotion he had begun to feel as Harry lay captive to the Dark Lord, Severus turned on the spot and Disapparated.

--

They reappeared with a loud crack, next to the ramshackle building that Severus had the misfortune to call home. Moving out of the inky shadows, Severus walked quickly from the side of the old brick house to the front door.

The door sprang open at his touch.

Severus’ nose wrinkled as he stepped over the threshold; there was more dust coating the furniture than he remembered from earlier this morning. He would need to make a more thorough effort at cleaning—perhaps perfect his self-renewing dusting spells if he and Harry were to stay here-

Severus dismissed that line of thought; it was hardly likely that Harry would reside here for long. He would no doubt return to Grimmauld Place, which he now shared with Weasley, at the earliest possible moment.

Severus shifted Harry’s weight a little as he turned toward the stairs.

“Where are we?”

Severus glanced down at the bleary question; Harry hadn’t even lifted his head, though at least his eyes were scanning the dingy room; it was more interest than Harry had shown in anything since Christmas day, if the reports he had stolen from Healer Serle were accurate.

“My home…in Spinner’s End,” Severus answered as he began ascending the narrow staircase. Harry didn’t react; didn’t even show any surprise at having been brought to Severus’ private residence. Severus veered to the left when he reached the landing, pushing open the propped door with the tips of his fingers.

This room, in contrast to the level below, had been thoroughly scrubbed; it was cleaner than Severus ever remembered it being, in fact. Moving carefully, Severus bent at the waist and gently set his bundle on the turned-down bed. Harry’s arms fell slowly from where they were wrapped so securely around Severus’ neck.

The sudden loss of those arms unsettled Severus, and there were Harry’s eyes again, studying him. Severus busied himself with the covers at the foot of the bed. The feeling of unease intensified as he drew the heavy blanket over Harry’s legs.

“You have not been sleeping,” Severus said, stopping short of tucking the edges of the blanket around Harry’s hips. Harry’s hands fidgeted a little, then settled on either side of his legs.

He wasn’t surprised that Harry didn’t answer the accusation, though Severus was fairly certain he hadn’t meant to make the statement sound like an accusation.

“Why did you not take the Sleeping Potions given to you?” Severus inquired, in a tone which he considered more neutral. Harry’s shoulders fell back a little so that he was resting against the narrow headboard.

“Nightmares,” he said flatly.

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Healer Serle did not give you a potion to inhibit dreams?” he asked sharply. Harry looked away, his gaze falling on the small rectangular window opposite, and the dark, star-specked sky.

“I was supposed to talk to her about my nightmares.”

Therapy, Severus decided with a curled lip. Healer Serle was renowned for her dabbling in the preferred Muggle methods when treating cases like Harry’s. Which were all well and good for Muggles, but Harry was a wizard, and there were better ways to help him accept what had happened to him.

All of which could begin in the morning. Once Severus could convince Poppy to assist him.

Severus pulled a vial from his robes. “This will allow you to sleep without nightmares,” he said. Harry turned his head back toward Severus. His dark brows came together as he slowly reached out for the potion. He gazed at it as he twisted it in his fingers.

When he looked up again, the bleak set of his lips had softened a little. “Thank you.” Severus nodded brusquely, unable to form a proper response.

Harry returned his attention back to the potion, but his fingers fumbled with the seal on the vial’s little stopper. Severus reached for it automatically, his own fingers brushing Harry’s aside. He slid the side of his thumbnail along the edge; the stopper popped out. Severus handed the vial to Harry, who downed it without a word.

Once the vial was back in Severus’ pocket, he withdrew his wand, and immediately Harry shrank back against the headboard, his green eyes wide and alarmed. Severus frowned as he lowered the wand to his side. He could not believe that Harry thought he would be harmed; it must have been an involuntary reaction.

Nevertheless, Severus found himself reassuring the skittish young man, “I would like to perform a medical diagnosis.”

But Harry didn’t look reassured; his eyes were still fixed on the wand in Severus’ hand. He swallowed loudly. “I killed him with that…”

Severus unconsciously lifted the wand at the words. Albus had told him the details, of course—which included Harry keeping him from meeting his death.

“You had no choice but to kill him,” Severus said matter-of-factly. “The act was self-defense.”

But Harry shook his head, the movement stilted. “I didn’t kill him in order to stop him from killing me first.”

Severus’ teeth clicked together at the reminder of how desperate Harry had been to end his own life. “To save your friends, then,” he corrected, managing to pull his teeth apart again.

Though it seemed impossible to lose any more color, Harry’s face suddenly become stark white. “It was revenge,” he said hoarsely.

“For Lupin,” Severus said with a nod. Harry swallowed as he shook his head.

“He killed you.”

Severus’ arm fell slowly to his side again as the anguished words sunk in.

“I did not realize,” Severus said haltingly, unable to think of anything else to say in the wake of such a revelation. He focused on Harry’s unnecessary guilt instead. “You had no choice but to kill him,” he said again. “The Dark Lord would have killed you had you not reacted so…strongly to my death.”

Harry dropped his face into his hands. There were no sounds to indicate that he was crying, and Severus didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried at that. Nor did he understood why either of them should feel so angry at the thought of the other’s death. In the last two weeks, he, himself, had indulged in more than one fantasy involving his hands around the Dark Lord’s neck during the last two weeks.

“Why didn’t you come?” Harry finally breathed through his fingers.

Though the question was disconcerting in the extreme, Severus saw no reason to hide the truth. “Healer Serle indicated that my presence would stunt your recovery,” he explained.

Harry’s head jerked up at that. The confusion was even more pronounced this time. “But I told her you kept me safe.”

Sensing this would be a long discussion, Severus summoned the straight-backed chair from its place by the window and perched himself lightly on its seat; Harry’s eyes were still fixed on him.

“It is my understanding,” Severus said, wishing Harry’s eyes wouldn’t bore into him like that, “that Serle did not believe you would be able to heal properly with your-” Severus struggled to find a suitable replacement for Serle’s description of him—he certainly did not want Harry to think of him as a protector, “-fellow captive nearby to distract you.”

Harry’s gaze became slightly appraising, and Severus wondered if the young man recognized his evasion. But the look was gone before Severus could decide, and then Harry’s eyes closed, his head resting against the headboard. If Severus hadn’t known Harry’s pain quite as intimately as he did, he wouldn’t have known Harry wasn’t completely at peace.

“I hated that place.” And the mirage of tranquility was shattered. But there was no heat in Harry’s words; it was simply a statement of fact.

“A prison would hardly be effective if you enjoyed your surroundings.”

Severus had no idea why, but Harry’s upper lip lifted a little, almost as if he was attempting to smile. But the effort was fleeting, and Harry’s mouth was once more a slack line.

“St. Mungo’s…”

Severus sat up a little in his chair. “Why?” he demanded, and was temporarily dismayed at the note of anxiety in his voice. But Harry didn’t so much as twitch. It took much longer than Severus would have liked until Harry finally opened his eyes.

“I was all alone, most of the time,” he said quietly. “Healer Serle wanted me to see Dumbledore, but…” Harry shook his head, but Severus didn’t need him to complete the sentence. He had spoken with Albus enough in the past few days to know that Harry had refused, point blank, all of Albus’ requests for a visit. “Ron and Hermione came for a little while yesterday.”

Severus studied Harry’s face, trying to understand why he hadn’t asked his friends to come more often; he had said he was lonely, after all. “Why didn’t you ask them to stay longer?” Severus found himself needing to know. “Or to visit again today?”

Harry’s eyes went back to the window. Severus restrained his impatience, and finally Harry said quietly, “It’s not the same…” A heavy sigh escaped before he turned back to meet Severus’ gaze once more. “They weren’t there.”

Severus nodded without meaning to. He’d experienced a similar feeling of reluctance as he’d been pressed by Poppy and Albus to speak of their days in captivity. He hadn’t expected Harry to feel such a strong tolerance for his presence. Severus turned abruptly to the small table near his elbow as he realized Harry’s features had relaxed significantly.

His lips pursed, Severus picked up the heavy ceramic pitcher, and poured a small amount of water into a glass. “You need to remain hydrated,” he said crisply as he handed the glass to Harry. Harry took the glass without protest, and as he sipped it obediently, Severus struggled to find a safe topic.

“Healer Searle implied that you were less than cooperative in your therapy sessions,” he finally said, hoping he had made a smooth transition. Harry didn’t seem to mind; he shrugged, the rim of the water glass pressed against his lips.

“She wanted me to talk about how I felt…while I was Voldemort’s prisoner.”

“And you did not wish to?” Severus squared his shoulders, realizing belatedly that he had leaned forward with interest. Harry took another sip of the cold water.

“Not with her.”

Damn. They had wound their way back to that same, uncomfortable territory of which Severus wanted no part.

“Serle is rather unique in her techniques,” Severus explained, making certain his voice betrayed no discomfort. “Most healers prefer to use wizarding tools to encourage their patients to accept a traumatic event.”

“I’ve accepted it,” Harry said, his voice hollow. “How could I not?” he asked flatly. “I watched Voldemort plunge a knife in Remus’ throat…and all those babies. I know what happened there.”

Interesting, Severus noted as he listened to Harry speak. His eyes had once more strayed to the window. And it didn’t seem as though he did it to avoid Severus’ eye; Harry’s gaze slid back to his almost instantly.

“Yes,” Severus agreed, though his mind was pondering Harry’s fascination with the small window. “You are aware that you were kept as Voldemort’s prisoner for twelve days, and you are aware that you were forced to watch others die. However, that does mean that you have fully processed these events, nor does it mean that you understand how much they have changed you.”

Harry made no outward sign that Severus’ words meant anything at all as he turned his head to the window again. When he turned back, his lips were held tautly. “Did they change you?” he asked, in nearly a whisper.

Though all of his instincts shouted at him not to answer that question—or at least not to answer it honestly—Severus seemed to have lost control of his lips. “Yes,” he said softly.

There was no satisfaction in Harry’s eyes, no condemnation either. He simply nodded once; he sipped at his water. “What tools do healers use?”

“A Pensieve is one example,” Severus answered, switching gears easily. “Viewing some of the memories as a third party will allow you to gain a new perspective,” he went on, reciting what he’d read in the manuals given to him by Poppy. “It may encourage you to see yourself in a new light.”

But Harry didn’t look enthused by the suggestion. “I’m glad she didn’t ask me to do that,” he said, sounding faintly nauseated by the prospect.

“You do not wish to attempt it?” Severus asked, surprised despite himself. He, himself, had been immediately fascinated with the idea, when Poppy had suggested it to him as a means to his own acceptance of the past two weeks’ events.

Harry shook his head, but he didn’t elaborate.

Severus frowned. Perhaps, Harry needed more time. He would have that here, certainly. And though Severus wasn’t usually inclined toward patience, he could perhaps attempt it for awhile. He turned his attention back to the young man in his bed.

“It is very late,” he began, and then adjusted his tone so that he did not sound quite so concerned. “Do you think you will be able to sleep?” That, unfortunately, didn’t come out much better. But Harry’s gaze was fixed on the window once more, as if Severus’ tone hadn’t struck him as at all unusual.

“Without the dreams, I think so,” he answered quietly. The water trembled a little against the glass, clutched now in Harry’s hands. “There wasn’t much to tell the healer about them,” he said in a voice that was marred by too much violence. “It was always dark…and I couldn’t see anything. It was too dark.”

Harry’s voice was rough now, his body tensed as he stared at the window. As if he was afraid that it might disappear if he turned away. And suddenly, Severus understood. There had been no light in Harry’s cell—Harry hadn’t seen anything but the gray stone walls for almost two weeks. He could remember that way Harry’s eyes had searched out the miniscule barred rectangle in the holding cell whenever he could.

That room in St. Mungo’s had been dark and uninviting. Almost as sparse as the Dark Lord’s prison. Its one tiny window had been insufficient as well.

Severus scowled, irritated by the obvious ineptitude of the St. Mungo’s healing staff. Taking his wand out again, Severus directed a complicated Engorgement Charm at the pane of glass. With a groan, the window stretched itself outward until it filled up most of the wall.

Harry made a noise of surprise, and then he turned so swiftly that Severus was afraid his neck might snap in two. He stared at Severus with those wide, impossibly green eyes. Severus slid his wand back in his sleeve, unnerved.

“Sunlight has been proven to assist those recovering from trauma,” he said, and hoped Harry wasn’t astute enough to pick up on the ridiculous cover. But Harry, it seemed, was hardly as stupid as Severus had always assumed. He nodded, and turned back to the new window. The tiny smile softening his lips told Severus that he had understood perfectly.

TBC...