FicWad

Chapter 2 – Explanations

An explanation of cause is not a justification by reason.

He’s just like Lily, Snape thought as he sipped his fire whiskey and stared into the unlit fireplace of his quarters. Just like Potter, too.

Severus Snape wasn’t an idiot. He knew as soon as he’d let slip that disgusting word that day that she would walk into Potter’s arms. He knew they would get married. He knew that Lily would bear the children of his most hated enemy. His chest twisted viciously at the reminder that he’d pushed away the only woman worth loving.

Snape finished the shot of fire whiskey, grimacing bitterly and pouring more. It ached—sweet Merlin, did it ache. Watching as little Harry Potter nervously placed the Sorting Hat upon his head, Snape knew teaching the boy would be his most difficult task to date. It would be harder than spying for Dumbledore, harder than enduring the brutal punishments his ex-Master had been oh-so-willing to dish out, harder than anything.

To most, Harry Potter was a beacon of hope. He was a sign of better tomorrows where good would finally triumph over evil; the Wizarding world’s very own Savior and Golden Boy. To Snape, he was a reminder of everything he should have had and everything he had lost.

Lily Evans—sweet, beautiful Lily—had been his best friend. She’d been his own beacon of hope, and helped curb the loneliness of his childhood. They had done everything together, and he’d ruined everything.

The fire whiskey burned as it went down.

Staring at Harry Potter, the almost carbon copy of his archenemy with his unrequited love’s eyes, hurt. Her death had been hard enough to accept; teaching her son who should have died that fateful night almost hurt more. He was a lot like her, he realized. He hadn’t wanted to see those differences; wished to pretend that the boy miraculously spawned only from James Potter. It made it so much easier to hate him.

The events that occurred over the past two days changed his mind—forever. Hearing Miss Granger’s garbled message and actually seeing the damage Potter had suffered at the hands of the troll had shocked him. Just thinking about all that blood made him feel queasy. It wasn’t the blood he had a problem with; rather, it was seeing Lily’s son lose so much of the precious liquid that truly shook him to the core.

Because Harry Potter wasn’t Potter’s spawn to him anymore. He was Lily’s son, too.

Snape’s black eyes glittered with agony. The boy had looked so much like his mother had that Hallowe’en night ten years ago. He had almost flinched and backed away, but remembered at the last minute that Lily had been buried long ago. After Poppy finished healing the boy, Snape had taken a moment to look at Lily’s son—really look at him for the first time since Harry Potter stepped foot inside the Great Hall. The boy, passed out, didn’t look much like his bitter childhood rival.

The room spun as Snape decided to forgo the glass and drank straight from the bottle. Merlin help me, he thought miserably. His magic hummed furiously under his skin. The life debt he owed James Potter had never been paid in full, especially since his actions had basically sentenced the pitiful excuse of a man to his death. It instead transferred over to his son. Snape knew fulfilling the debt wouldn’t be easy; nearly two months into term and already Potter’s—Lily’s—son nearly got himself killed.

Anger began to consume him. Lily had given her life to protect her son, and he honored that sacrifice by confronting a troll by himself? Subconsciously he knew that it was poor luck that led to Potter’s confrontation, but rational thought wasn’t exactly his forte at the moment. Instead, he allowed the anger to fester into cold fury. He had a feeling the stupid boy would get in more trouble before the year was up; his father, after all, had had a penchant for attracting all sorts of trouble.

His cold fury soon turned to sheer, unadulterated hatred. It was easy enough to accomplish, the twisting emotions having been festering since Lily ran into Potter’s arms. He’d make that arrogant boy pay for besmirching the sacrifice of the woman he loved more than life itself.

Oh, he’d make him regret surviving that night.

While Snape continued to drink himself into oblivion, Albus Dumbledore spent most of his time pacing anxiously in the Hospital Wing. He had been hopeful that perhaps a miracle had occurred and the damage done to Mister Potter’s core was irreversible; that he wouldn’t become like his sweet little sister Ariana.

Though Mister Potter had been fighting for his life whereas Ariana suffered a tragic encounter with those Muggles, the end result would have been the same. According to Madam Pomfrey, the damage done to Mister Potter’s magical core would have left him permanently stunted. He would be unable to perform even the simplest spells, and his magic would eventually turn on him. It would drive him mad, and not even the amazing medical advances in the Wizarding world since the time his sister had been broken in such a brutal manner would prevent his magic from eventually killing him.

Hearing that, for the first time in many years, Albus Dumbledore had collapsed onto the chair in the Hospital Wing next to Mister Potter’s bed, put his face in his hands, and wept. Another child was entrusted to him, and like before he failed in his duty. After his sister, he swore to never again neglect his responsibilities, and while Mister Potter was in his school, he was very much a responsibility of his. It didn’t matter if the troll managing to get through the wards wasn’t a fault of his own; he was the Headmaster. He needed to make the school a safe place for all of his students, his precious charges.

But he’d failed. He allowed a dangerous artifact—a coveted, dangerous artifact—to be safely hidden away at the school. Hogwarts was the next safest place for the Philosopher’s Stone to be kept. Gringotts, though perhaps even more of a fortress and safe than Hogwarts, had only proven that Voldemort was slippery enough to do the unthinkable and slip in and out of the goblin-run bank undetected. The Stone needed to be protected. If it fell into Voldemort’s hands, the war would pick up and rage even fiercer than before. There would only be death, destruction, and chaos.

But was it worth it? In order to save countless others, sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Was keeping the Stone in Hogwarts truly the right course of action? Having it under his careful watch ensured he could protect it, but the cost almost seemed too high. It was a difficult decision to make. To keep the world safe, the Stone needed to be safe.

Keeping the Stone safe however proved a challenge. Albus admitted to himself that perhaps he underestimated Voldemort slightly. Despite the former Dark Lord’s form being that of a wraith, he was obviously capable of getting past the protections Albus had set up. He should have listened to Severus when the dour Potions Master scathingly stated that three first year dunderheads could get past the rudimentary and mediocre protections.

Wiping his face, Albus came to a decision. The Stone needed to be moved—secretly. Voldemort already knew the Stone was at Hogwarts; the wards surrounding the school immediately notified him when the vile wraith had passed through them. However, Voldemort had been smart. Though Albus knew Voldemort was inside the castle, the wards had been manipulated in such a way that he had no idea where Voldemort was.

Voldemort was bound to try to retrieve it again. Moving the Stone would be the best chance of protecting it.

When he had finally managed to pull himself together, he had patted Mister Potter’s hand sadly and retreated into his office. He wrote two letters; one to be sent to parents explaining the troll incident and the new wards he hoped the Ministry would approve of adding (a slightly underhanded, but extremely effective technique he learned quickly while dealing with the government), and the second to be sent to the Ministry itself.

Not even five minutes later, Tippy appeared next to Fawkes’ perch, squabbling about Madam Pomfrey urgently needing him. The house elf barely finished speaking before Albus found himself grabbing Floo powder and easily making his way to the Hospital Wing.

“I tried to stop her, Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey immediately said as he rushed to her side. She cast scan after scan over Miss Granger and Mister Potter’s still forms. The two children were on an enlarged bed, their hands grasped in each other’s.

“What happened?” Albus demanded. His tone easily reminded the kind matron that he wasn’t just an eccentric old man with a sock fetish, but rather the powerful wizard who had defeated Grindelwald.

“Miss Granger had awoken and asked to see Mister Potter. I didn’t see any harm in it, so I let her. I was only gone for a few minutes,” the elder woman explained. “When I came back, I heard her tell Mister Potter that she’d do anything for him to wake up. Combine that with the life debt she owes…”

Albus paled at the implications; such words were not to be used lightly in the Wizarding world. “And then?” he whispered.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him, anxiety written all over her face. “I could feel the magic in the air,” she said softly, her eyes shifting back towards her young patients. “I tried to stop her,” she repeated.

“She touched him.” It wasn’t a question.

“She kissed his hand,” Madam Pomfrey confirmed.

Albus closed his eyes. Magic was simultaneously such a wonderful, glorious blessing, and yet such a dangerous, nasty curse. It was one of the reasons why the Wizarding world was still so archaic; magic did not see reason or circumstances or took into consideration any other factors. It enabled mere words to turn into powerful weapons capable of complete and utter destruction—literally as well as figuratively.

“Are they…?”

“Miss Granger’s magic helped heal Mister Potter’s core,” Madam Pomfrey said. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It canceled out the life debt she owed him, but it bound their magic and, consequently, their lives together. To what extent, I won’t know until they wake up.”

The air rushed out of Albus’ lungs and he sat numbly in the chair by the bed. It was quiet for a few moments before Albus spoke up. “I knew Mister Potter attending Hogwarts would be a challenge, him being who he is and all, but I must admit I did not see this coming.”

Madam Pomfrey conjured a chair and sat beside him. She sighed. “I don’t believe anyone could have seen or have been prepared for such an event. Why, there hasn’t been a bonded pair since the 1800s.”

“With good reason,” Albus murmured quietly. He sat quietly for a few more moments before straightening. He pulled his wand out and firmly stated, “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, do hereby swear a Wizard’s Oath to withhold the knowledge of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger’s bond from everyone except their parents, guardians, and a select few of the staff unless given consent to do so otherwise by the aforementioned pair. So mote it be.”

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes widened. “Headmaster…?”

Albus stared at her with grim determination. “I will not require you to swear a Wizard’s Oath as your own vows as a Healer prevent you from disclosing any information, Poppy. However, let it be known that with the exception of us, there will be very few people who will know of the bond.”

Madam Pomfrey could only nod her head, somewhat stunned at the turn of events and yet not really so surprised. “Of course, Headmaster.”

Albus stood. “I have a few Floo calls to make, as I’m more than sure the Minister will have a few choice words to say about my letter. You’ll inform me when they awaken, yes?”

He didn’t really wait for a reply, but he didn’t really need to.

The next day, Harry awoke with a groan. His head was aching fiercely, and he looked at his surroundings in confusion. What happened? Where was he? Harry tried to sit up, but his body groaned in protest. His hand—why couldn’t he move his hand? Gazing at the trapped appendage, he noted with surprise that it was wrapped in something white—gauze, if he had to guess. Using his other hand, Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table.

He was laying in a room full of beds. Harry noted with surprise that Hermione was laying right next to him, her foot touching his. How did…?

He stiffened as memories of (when was it?) Hallowe’en flooded his mind. His breathing picked up as he remembered the pain and terror the troll had caused him. The too sterile room started to spin and small, strangled noises disturbed the quiet. So caught up in his mind, Harry didn’t realize he had begun to whimper. His eyes teared up and he began to struggle to get out of bed. His foot dislodged from next to Hermione’s and his stomach began cramping something fierce. His body tangled in the sheets, and suddenly he wasn’t in the sterile room anymore. The troll was at his feet, snarling viciously and snapping its teeth at him. He screamed and tried to get away, but something had his feet trapped. Had the troll got to him?

He screamed and screamed and screamed. Warmth gathered around his pelvis and crept down to the tops of his thighs. Harry was vaguely aware that he had wet himself and cried out for someone, anyone, to save him.

He quivered with terror, sobbing bitterly as the pain in his stomach reached its peak. Next to him, Hermione had also began to writhe in pain on the bed, her face scrunching in terror though she was still unconscious. Suddenly, there were hands on him. He fought against them with all of his might, but it was useless. He was no match for…four hands?

“Mister Potter!”

Trolls could speak? Hermione had said they were stupid, so he didn’t think they could sound so normal…or feminine.

Harry hiccupped as the worried face of an elder woman came into view. She wore her graying hair in place with a small nurse’s cap on the top of her head. He glanced around and noticed that the troll was gone. Professor Snape was there as well, glancing down at him with the most peculiar expression on his face as he helped the woman hold Harry down. When Professor Snape caught Harry staring at him with wonder and confusion, he sneered viciously and the familiar hatred and rage entered his eyes again.

Harry absent-mindedly wondered if he’d imagined that alien expression on his sour Potions Professor.

The Potions Master let go and reached onto the bedside table where a few potions sat. He handed one to Harry.

“Drink, Mister Potter,” he commanded silkily. “It’s a Calming Draught,” he added when Harry stared at the potion with open suspicion.

Harry managed to drink it despite his shaking and felt his insides begin to relax. His muscles sagged in relief, and Harry hadn’t even noticed he’d been so tense. The pain he felt earlier vanished as if it never occurred, and he noticed his foot was once again touching Hermione’s. Licking his lips, he slowly found his voice. “W-Where am I?” he whispered, looking around.

“You’re in the Hospital Wing, dear,” the elder woman said soothingly. “I’m Madam Pomfrey. How are you feeling?”

“Odd,” Harry mumbled. “Kind of cold.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled. “That would be because of the Calming Draught. I meant are you experiencing any pain right now? Any soreness or stiffness?”

“My head really hurts, and my arm aches,” Harry confessed.

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head understandingly. “Does anything else hurt?” she asked cautiously. “Anything at all?”

Harry regarded her curiously. “Just that,” he said guardedly, staring at her carefully.

The matron smiled softly at him. “Good. That’s good,” she murmured. She began to run scan after scan, a quill recording notes on a piece of parchment by itself just to her right. Madam Pomfrey ‘hmmm’ed and ‘ahhhh’ed as her eyes took in the results. She turned to Professor Snape, whispered something in his ear, and shooed him out of the Hospital Wing. The dour man did so with a sneer on his face, muttering something about house elf-like treatment.

When the door closed behind him, Madam Pomfrey’s smile dimmed ever-so-slightly. “Mister Potter, when the Headmaster returns, there are some things we need to speak of.”

Harry blinked. “Like what?” he asked. “Am I in trouble? For the,” he swallowed thickly, “the t-troll?”

Madam Pomfrey jerked back slightly in shock. “Of course not, Mister Potter!” she exclaimed. “That would be absolutely absurd. No, the Headmaster will be coming here for a number of reasons. One, a troll somehow managed to get passed Hogwarts’ wards and you were gravely injured in the crossfire. That is not something to take lightly. You will need to receive counseling, and the Headmaster will be speaking with you and your guardians about your safety at Hogwarts.”

Harry paled a bit. “The Dursleys? Does he need to? They’re, uh, not very happy with magic. Muggles and all.”

The matron’s eyebrow arched on its own accord. “Mister Potter, Muggles or not, your guardians need to made aware of the situation.”

Harry nodded his head sadly and tried to hide his disappointment. Knowing the Dursleys, after finding out what happened, they would either be furious that he hadn’t actually managed to die or they would pull him from Hogwarts, knowing how much he wanted to be here. “I understand,” he whispered.

Madam Pomfrey eyed him suspiciously for a moment before her face eased into a soft smile. “I’ll have you know that was a brave thing you did. Recklessly stupid and utterly Gryffindor, but brave none-the-less.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, flushing slightly. “It was too fast,” he said, his eyes becoming somewhat glazed as he remembered that night. “It would have caught both of us, and Hermione was too scared. I-I couldn’t let her face that t-troll.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded her head in understanding. “Trolls aren’t normally so vicious,” she murmured. “They’re big and have enormous strength, but they don’t have the necessary brain power or emotional capacity to go on such a vicious rage like the one that was incapacitated two days ago.”

Harry shivered, remembering the snarling face. “I’ve n-never been so scared before,” he admitted, bowing his head. “But my magic—it did something. The troll was going to hit me and I thought I was going to die, but this shield thingy came up and saved me.” He looked at Madam Pomfrey curiously. “I thought you had to say a spell to do magic.”

“That is normally the case,” Madam Pomfrey said, “but young children perform magic without a wand, right? Your magic reacted to your very strong, very real fear of danger. Accidental magic occurs quite often until around the age of twelve to thirteen when children have a firmer grasp of magic and become more proficient in channeling it into a wand.”

Harry thought that over. “Why does it stop, though?”

Madam Pomfrey smiled at the inquisitive wizard. “Wands help you focus your magic. While accidental magic can sometimes be good at helping you out in a situation, it is out of control. Once magic leaves your body, there is very little you can do with it. It is essentially wild magic, and is very difficult to use.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but was interrupted by Hermione starting to stir awake. She let out a groggy moan before sitting up and rubbing her aching head. She was confused before a few moments before she noticed Harry and Madam Pomfrey.

Her eyes widened before she let out a choked sound and rushed to hug Harry with the force of three trolls, babbling apologies and repeating how happy she was that he was awake. Harry was surprised he understood what she said, given how fast she was talking.

“Miss Granger, please control yourself. Mister Potter has just been healed, and his body is still somewhat tender,” Madam Pomfrey chided sternly.

Hermione blushed at the reprimand. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m just so happy you’re alright, Harry. You saved my life.”

Harry shifted somewhat uncomfortably. “It’s alright,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Madam Pomfrey grimaced slightly. “Mister Potter, I’m afraid it is something to worry about,” she said quietly. “Magic has a mind of its own sometimes, and the consequences of such actions can be a lot.”

Hermione frowned at her somewhat cryptic words. “Is something wrong?” she asked somewhat hesitantly, feeling a little upset that Harry saving her life was worrisome.

The Headmaster chose that exact moment to walk into the Hospital Wing. His blue eyes lit up when he saw Harry and Hermione awake. “I must say, it is my pleasure to see you both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after the terrible ordeal you suffered,” he said kindly, smiling at the first years.

Hermione seemed to be dazed that the Headmaster, a man of supposedly great power and authority, was talking to them before she shook her head. “Thank you,” she said humbly. “Um, what exactly happened? How did a troll get in?”

The twinkle in Professor Dumbledore’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Alas, that is a good question,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “I have a few theories, none of which can be proven. It is my belief, however, that there was a hole in the protective wards that surround the school to keep such creatures away from children. The troll was first discovered by Professor Quirrell. I’m afraid to say that he did not walk away from such an encounter.”

Harry and Hermione’s eyes widened. “You mean…?” Harry asked, horrified.

“He’s…dead?” Hermione whispered. They weren’t exactly fond of Professor Quirrell’s classes, but that certainly didn’t mean they had wanted to see him dead.

Professor Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. There was a moment of silence before the wizened man spoke up. “As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I deeply apologize for your safety having been compromised,” he said softly.

“It wasn’t your fault, sir,” Hermione said, blushing furiously.

“Miss Granger, I am responsible for every single student in this castle for about three-fourths of the year,” Professor Dumbledore said seriously. “Regardless of who’s fault it was, the blame must fall with me as I’m in charge of making sure the school is the safest environment possible.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded her head, feeling very small.

Harry bit his lip. “What’s going to happen now, sir?” he asked quietly.

Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly. “There will be a meeting held with your parents and guardians to inform them of the situation. With such a serious breach of security, actions have been taken to ensure that the problems are thoroughly investigated and appropriately corrected. Aside from that, there are some…” Professor Dumbledore faltered slightly before continuing, “…some unexpected and unorthodox consequences to come to light.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. “What?” they asked in unison.

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat softly, smiling when she captured their attention. “Mister Potter, when your magic acted up and performed that shield, it significantly drained your magical core,” she began to explain. “Because you’re so young, your magical coils have not yet fully developed. Your shield burned such a large amount of magic that your body shut down to repair the damage. This condition is called Extreme Magical Exhaustion, or EME. To use as much as you did to the point of EME, it can seriously damage your magical coils and permanently cripple, or handicap you.”

Harry paled. “I-I’m crippled?” he cried, his eyes widening. He began to pat down his body. “I feel perfectly fine!”

Professor Dumbledore blinked before he began to chuckle. “My boy,” he said warmly, “you are not crippled.”

Harry blushed. “But…”

“You could have been crippled,” Madam Pomfrey stressed. “Mister Potter, magic can at times be very unpredictable. When you saved Miss Granger’s life at the near cost of your own, she owed you a life debt.”

“Life debt?” Hermione murmured, her brows furrowed in concentration. She was hanging onto every word, trying to absorb everything that was being said.

“When a wizard saves another wizard’s life, it creates a connection between them,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “It is old magic at its deepest, and cannot be reversed. To acknowledge such a debt is to swear on your magic that the debtor repays the wizard they owe with something equally or more valuable than their own life.”

Hermione paled significantly, her brain having instantly connected the dots. “What happens if you don’t pay it back?” she cried.

Madam Pomfrey looked uncomfortable for a brief moment. “There are many consequences,” she said softly, “none of which are pretty. You needn’t worry about that, Miss Granger. You repaid Mister Potter’s debt in full.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. “But I haven’t…how have I…?” she stammered.

“The only reason Mister Potter is awake and not crippled is because of you,” Professor Dumbledore said. “To my understanding, you deeply wished for Mister Potter to be well, yes?”

“Of course I did,” Hermione said strongly. “He saved my life!”

“Magic is deeply connected with our emotions, Miss Granger. When you kissed his hand,” Professor Dumbledore continued, ignoring both Harry and Hermione’s now flaming red faces, “your magic reacted strongly to your desire for him to be well again. When that combined with the life debt, magic deemed it a suitable payment and used your magic to help rejuvenate Mister Potter’s core.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Harry interjected, looking wildly between the two adults. He was very confused, feeling a ton of emotions all at once. It was enough to make him dizzy.

“It’s a good thing you’re both alive and well,” Professor Dumbledore assured. “Unfortunately, magic didn’t stop at merely helping Mister Potter recover. It went beyond that, and entwined your magic together.”

Harry frowned slightly as Hermione sucked in air. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means we’re bonded,” Hermione said quietly. “Doesn’t it, Professor?”

“Indeed,” Professor Dumbledore confirmed. “You are now the youngest bonded pair in history.”

From the grim looks on everyone’s faces, Harry didn’t really feel like that was a good thing.