FicWad

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages. No infringement is intended.)
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"Wait," Greg said pausing the instant they had vacated the hospital wing. Greg gestured to his clothes, most of which looked decidedly out of place. "Granted," he continued wryly, "it is the weekend and the dress code here does tend towards eccentricity, but a lab coat is sure to catch someone's notice." Dumbledore held his wand aloft and mumbling indecipherably under his breath, pointed it at Greg's coat. The lab coat in question began to lengthen and loosen, transfiguring into a set of robes; Something the students and staff, should any be encountered, would be less likely to question. "Very nice," pronounced Headmaster Dumbledore, admiring his wand work. Greg looked down at the robes and rolled his eyes, "very funny," he sneered. Dumbledore had transformed the hue of the coat from dark blue to a deep forrest green, complete with gold trim around the edges. Greg shut his eyes to the sight and, summoning a look of fierce concentration to his face, the cloak began to alter once more. The finished product was entirely black, not unlike Professor Snape's school robes; with a deep hood which Greg proceeded to raise, hiding his features completely. Professor Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders as they resumed walking, thinking, 'to each his own.' Despite the fact that the words were unspoken between them, Dumbledore continued aloud, "though I do think the hood is a tad unnecessary." "You'll forgive me if I don't take you at your word," Greg said pointedly.

The unlikely duo continued to navigate the halls of Hogwarts, mysteriously managing to avoid crossing the paths of any of it's other residents. "Your doing, I suppose," Greg accused coldly, referring to the deserted hallways. Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in silent response. "Of course," Greg went on, "what's a little manipulation between a trusted authority figure and his charges." Headmaster Dumbledore sighed, "Gregori ..." he began only to be interrupted by Greg. "Save it," Greg said dismissively. They had reached the staircases. Dumbledore moved forward onto the nearest, as it began to shift slowly he realized Greg had not followed. Professor Dumbledore turned to the cloaked figure in askance. Greg called out quietly, "if we're going to do this, I need to pick up a few things. Snape's not going to have them." Dumbledore called back, worriedly, "are you certain you can find the way? The castle has changed since you were here last," he warned as the stairs transported him further away. Greg scowled as he whispered bitterly in reply, "not enough."

Looking around, Greg sized up the staircase most likely to deposit him at his preferred destination. He walked up the stairs oblivious to their movement, muttering under his breath, "useless bloody wizards," dreading the moments to come. Having ascending the staircase safely, Greg reached for the handle of the door in front of him, and pushed wincing as the door creaked open. Lamplight flared in the darkened hall and stepping through, Greg coughed at the dust disturbed by the closing door. Taking in it's obvious disuse, he sighed, and thought disparagingly, 'nice to see the elves keeping up on their housework.' Looking to the right, he turned left and traveled down the corridor; passing the dusty statues and cobweb filled doorways. Greg halted in front of a particularly dusty painting and pulled back his hood. He raised his arm and used the sleeve of the robe to try and clear it off, filled with trepidation at what he would uncover.

The painting revealed was atypical to those normally found gracing the walls of Hogwarts; it was neither a still life nor a portrait. The background of the artwork was filled with a dark, almost sinister, forrest. Those more versed with the grounds of the school would recognize it as a seldom explored clearing in the Forbidden Forrest. The foreground was occupied by two warriors mid-battle. Bleeding and broken the opponents circled each other in endless conflict.

Under Greg’s horrified gaze the serpent struck out at the lion, viciously sinking his fangs into the flesh and muscle of it’s left shoulder. The lion roared in response, causing Greg to wince slightly in sympathy. "Been at this long?" Greg spat out, voice brimming with sarcasm. The lion twisted it’s back, clawing at the snake with it’s fore right paw in retaliation. The lion embedded a claw deep in the thick skin of the serpent and raked it down causing the snake to release the feline’s shoulder, shrieking with pain. The lion limped off to the side of the clearing and licking his fresh wound, he growled out a response to Greg’s inquiry, "since you’ve returned. This you know." Greg bared his teeth in a similar fashion, "then stop!" he ordered. The combatants ignored him, making ready to attack once more. "Make us," the snake hissed as it coiled itself, preparing to strike. Greg turned away from the display in vehement disgust, "it ends where it began," he whispered in anguish.

The lion and snake froze in mid attack as the door creaked open. Greg stepped quickly across the threshold, brushing the cobwebs away from his face, he shuddered as the door clicked shut and the violence resumed. It slowly faded from his awareness when he realized at last, at long last, he was finally alone and away from prying eyes. Without bothering to check if the wards placed on the room still held, Greg returned to Hogwarts completely and did as he had always done upon entering this room, he broke down. Screaming as though his life was being ripped from him, he fell to the floor, uncaring that he bashed his knees in the process. Greg barely registered it as painful sobs wracked his body; his tears staining the floor. Fully collapsing, Greg curled now, clinging to his body, trapping himself within his mind, reliving the horror of this day and days past. His body flinched with remembered pain as the memories unfolded.

* flashback *

< Crack! > The sound echoed. ‘No!’ shouted Greg’s mind, his body too shaken to even voice the protest. Trapped in the hidden passage he pounded and kicked, lashing out uselessly at the walls around him.

* flash forward *

< Boom! > Greg screamed as the explosion overtook him, fire raged, ravaging his body, propelling him into merciful unconsciousness. He’d been groggy every time he’d woken up. A week had passed since the accident and they were still drugging him. ‘Accidental! Ha!’ An innocuous euphemism if ever he’d heard one, ‘but that’s what they’re calling it know that they know it wasn’t my fault.’ He’d read it in their faces; in the questions they’d asked. They thought it was his fault; that something he’d done had destroyed the lab, and nearly destroyed himself in the process. They’d come right after he’d been treated, Warrick and Catherine, both armed with sympathy faces when all they’d really wanted was to pick his brain. ‘Someone should set them on fire and then pester them with alarmingly stupid questions when they’re trying not to pass out from the pain.’ Greg fumed childishly, now fully awake in his hospital bed.

And then Cath had returned, claiming guilt because she, in fact had been at fault. ‘Oh yes,’ Greg mocked, ‘so sorry for almost killing you, and leaving you permanently disfigured, oh the tragedy…’ After a paltry show of remorse, in Greg’s opinion, Catherine had trundled back to work without a care in the world; leaving him trapped in this bed. Greg made a fist with his left hand and slammed it on the bed in a fit of pique. His entire body screamed in protest against any further movement.

"I’m pleased to see you’ve finally learned to control your temper," a familiar voice said dryly, from the darkness of the room. Greg screwed his eyes shut as the lamp on his bedside table was turned on, keeping the darkness at bay with electric light. "Sod off," Greg mumbled as his eyes adjusted to the new level of illumination. "Careful boy," the accented voice continued in it’s mocking vein, "your roots are showing." Greg’s eyes snapped open when he identified the owner of the voice, and scanned the room. "Snape?" he asked hesitantly, voicing a name he had not spoken, had not thought of for the past eight years, bewildered he continued, "why are you … how did you … what are you wearing?" Snape pursed his lips, "I couldn’t very well be seen in my wizarding robes here," he responded sarcastically.

"No, of course not," said Greg with a hint of a smile, "it’s just a bit disconcerting." "Imaging how I feel," Professor Snape said snidely, gesturing towards Greg in his hospital gown. Greg kept talking as though he hadn’t heard, "that definitely is you colour though," he said as a cheeky grin appeared on his face, "makes you look … less sallow." Snape rolled his eyes, "you’re not exactly in the pink of health yourself, you know. Care to explain that?" Greg sighed and responded petulantly, "the room blew up." "Yes, I had gathered that," Snape’s voice took on a tone normally used to address an imbecile, "why did you explode with it? Hmm? There were any number of things you could have done to prevent yourself from being damaged, besides standing there like an idiot." Snape’s voice rose in volume as it filled with anger, "a flame freezing charm perhaps, which I know full well you learned in third year." Snape arched his eyebrow, looking pointedly at Greg, who glared back mutinously in response. Sneering, Professor Snape continued, "could you have apparated out of the room, away from the explosion, or would that have seemed too much like running away?"

Greg growled out his reply, interrupting Snape’s tirade, "it happened too fast. There was no time to do anything besides," Greg paused then addressed the real cause of Snape’s anger, "how would I have explained my miraculous escape. They wouldn’t understand. They’d start asking questions, they’d have to. They can’t ignore evidence, especially when it’s right in front of them." "It would pique their interest," Snape put forth silkily, "something you can ill afford." Greg glared in response. Snape resumed speaking, undaunted, ina tone that belied the importance of the conversation, "I wonder how wise it is for you to continue this masquerade of yours in this particular muggle enclave, especially since those you most associate with are well versed in documenting and examining the minutia of daily human existence."

Greg didn’t even pause to wonder how Professor Snape had kept such a close watch on him without his awareness, instead he said preemptively, "I’m not going back." "Of course not," Snape frowned, affronted, "who would, when they could eke out a miserable existence pretending to be something they are not, pretending to be less than what they are." Snape finished, smirking quite patronizingly. Greg rolled his eyes at this attempt to sway him, "that’s rich coming from you, or have they finally discerned where your loyalties lie?" Snape ignoring him, spoke again, "still, expanding so much time and energy, and having so little to show for it? I thought I taught you better than that," Greg scowled, knowing that he would never fully convince Snape, he returned to his original argument, "I’m safe here," he claimed emphatically. "Oh, yes," retorted Snape humourlessly, "you are clearly very well protected."

Professor Snape arched his brow and stood up from his chair. He stalked silently around the bed and removed the dressings off Greg’s back. "What are you doing?" Greg screeched as the cold air rushed against his damaged skin. Snape hissed at the sight and gently reapplied the bandages. "Apparently," Snape said through clenched teeth, "muggle medicine is as useless as everyone claims." Greg ground his teeth against the waves of pain, "it’s not that bad." Professor Snape returned to his seat at Greg’s side. "They can cure that, can they? What are they waiting for, an invitation?" replied Snape, brimming with sarcasm, "you know, a trip home would sort it all out, a few days in St. Mungo’s and you’d healed." Greg shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, "No!," Greg snapped, growing irritated now that his meds were wearing off, "time will heal it." Greg reached for the call button and pressed it. "Time!" sputtered Snape, "living with these muggles has addled your wits boy."

‘Hello Mr. Sanders, how are you doing this evening?" an innocuous voice questioned from the doorway, where a woman stood dressed completely in light blue. "Surprisingly, I’m in a great deal of pain. I wonder why?" Greg asked sarcastically. The lady disregarded his tone, owing to years of patience accumulated dealing with fractious patients. She felt compeled to ignore the man occupying the chair next to Mr. Sanders' bed, currently shooting her venomous glares. The nurse walked over to the foot of the bed and read his chart, then checked her watch. "Well, it’s just about time to replenish your morphine drip, that should improve your temperament," she said with a cheerful smile. Professor Snape, and Greg sat in tense silence until the nurse returned with the morphine.

"Madame," Snape inquired fridigly, driping with icicles, when she had finished her task, "I was wondering if I might be able to speak to Mr. … Sanders' doctor, concerning his treatment?" Snape shot Greg a cold look, silencing his objections. Though she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, she acquiesced readily. Professor Snape and the nurse were on their way out, leaving Greg to his medication, when yet another person entered the room, appearing startled to find it so occupied.

"Griss? Er .. Grissom?" Greg questioned, discomfited by the fact that his current employer and former mentor were currently breathing the same air. Simultaneously, the nurse spoke out, "ah, Mr. Grissom, good to see you again. Checking up on our favourite patient?" Gil Grissom ignored her entirely in favour of blinking owlishly at Professor Snape, as though attempting to classify him. For his part, Snape fixed Grissom with a steely gaze combined with a sneer normally reserved for particularly detestable Gryffindors, "Mr. Grissom, I presume." Greg spoke in an attempt to break the contest of wills unfolding before him, "I’m not normally this popular." His voice succeeded in dragging both Grissom and Snape back into the present. "Not a fact I find at all surprising," Snape threw over his shoulder as he and the nurse resumed their search for Greg’s physician.

"Greg, who is … Is that guy a patient here?" Grissom asked, taken aback by Snape's obvious dislike. "Heh, no, that’s … uh … Snape. Grissom, what are you doing here?" Greg asked attempting to draw his attention away from the departing Snape. "I wanted to see how you were doing, I didn’t think you’d be up," having spoken, now Grissom was the one who looked decidedly uncomfortable. Still Greg couldn’t deny feeling a small rush of pleasure derived from the fact that Grissom was worried about him, that he considered him more than a piece of equipment from the lab. ‘Though,’ Greg reasoned, ‘that could just be the morphine.’

"Greg," Grissom’s discomfort at the situation could be heard in his tone, "I want you, we all want you to concentrate on getting well. Everything at work will be taken care of." Greg went straight to the heart of the matter, "You’re replacing me?" he asked dumbfounded. " Gil said cautiously, "you’re not really in a position to …" Greg cut him off, incredulous, "exactly how long do you think I’m going to be in here for?" Grissom sighed, openning his mouth to reassure his lab tech when he was interupted by Professor Snape’s return. "Saying your goodbyes? How touching." Snape mocked, "do hurry it along, the aeroplane is waiting." Snape motioned to the orderlies, waiting by the door, to enter with a gurney, which they proceeded to do.

"Goodbyes… what?" Greg shook his head trying to clear it and focus his thoughts. His eyes widened when he realized what Snape was referring too. "Greg, you’re going somewhere? Have the doctors said you’re fit to travel?" said Grissom, doubting that sincerely. Greg examined his limited options, and realized he could not protest while Grissom was around. Professor Snape, meanwhile, intercepted Grissom before he could interfere with the orderlies as they transferred Greg from one bed to another, unhooking him from the monitors and his i.v. drip in the process.

"Mr. Sanders," Snape informed Grissom coldly, "is being moved to a facility better suited to his recuperation than this one." This was said with a disparaging sneer, while eyeing the room as though it were a rat infested hovel. "Unless," hissed Professor Snape menacingly as he turned to face Greg once more, "there are any objections?" Greg could see Snape’s eyes flashing dangerously as his temper flared. Attempting to diffuse the situation, "No, Grissom, it’s alright," Greg said, feigning acceptance, "he’s, uh, a family doctor, they sent him." Professor Snape quirked his eyebrow at the fabrication, fortunately, the orderlies mistook it as a signal to them, and hustled Greg out of the room before Grissom could comment. Snape followed silently behind them without even a backward glance. "What just happened here?" Grissom asked aloud, interrogating the empty room. Gil sighed as his cell phone rang, and answered bruskly, without even bothering to check the caller id, "Grissom."

Out in the hall, Greg and company were fast approaching an elevator. As they wait for reach their floor, Greg jerked Snape’s arm down and ignoring the spasms of pain, whispered harshly in his ear, "I’m not going anywhere with you!" Professor Snape responded with an inelegant snort as he pulled away, "what are you planning boy, assault armed with bed sheets? I can’t think why you would wish to fight me on this. I overheard what that idiot muggle said … Do you really think that job, those people are going to be waiting for you when you finally get your life, such as it is, back together? This way you can return, if that is your wish, in a week or two perfectly healed. As long as you remember to keep your shirt on, no should be any the wiser."

The doors slid open and the orderlies pushed Greg in. Snape paused at the entrance, holding the doors open, "gentlemen," Snape murmured silkily, edged with steel, catching they eye of first one orderly, then the other, "I think it would be best if we made our own way from here." Wordlessly, both men nodded in unison and moved silently past Snape exiting the elevator. The doors whispered shut, sealing Greg and Professor Snape safely inside. "Now then …," Snape said as he grabbed Greg with one hand and the bed frame with the other, "concentrate." < Crack! > The elevator pinged quietly when it reached it’s destination, and the doors slid open to reveal it’s emptiness.

* flash forward *

The screen fell to the floor, the sound it made muffled, to his ears, by the pounding of his heart. Greg looked anxiously on the scene before him, searching for proof that Snape still lived. He blanched at the sight of the tragedy that had befallen the potions master.

* end flashback *

Tears of emotion and exhaustion were still streaming down his face when Greg felt something pulling roughly at his hair, snapping him out of his fugue state. Greg uncurled slowly and came face to beak with an eastern grass owl. The hissed quietly and held out it’s left leg, drawing Greg’s attention away from it’s brown eyes and down to the small role of parchment secured there. Cautiously, Greg untied the note and pulled away, the bird, full of self-importance, ruffled it’s feathers and flew out a nearby open widow. The familiar green ink revealed when Greg unraveled the note caused his heart to clench and his anger to resurface tenfold: Whenever you are ready…

"Bastard," Greg cursed showering Dumbledore with many other choice expletives as he began tearing through the room. Coughing at the dust he was raising, Greg halted his frenzied actions long enough to shut his eyes and murmur, "scourgify." Opening his eyes he saw that the room had returned to the immaculate state it had held eight years previous. Greg resumed rifling through the slightly moldy collections, gathering anything that might be of use. Arms full of books and supplies, Greg paused only to flick his hood back over his head, shadowing his features once more, before storming out out of the room. Ignoring the jeers of the still warring animals, Greg sped his way down to the dungeons of Hogwarts, where Professor Snape’s private quarters and classrooms were located. He pushed open the door to a unused class room, all the while battling internally. ‘This one last thing, and then, I am done,’ Greg assured himself. He only wished he could bring himself to actually believe it.

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