Go With the Tide

Chapter 3 *hits play*

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Snape did not visit the infirmary again during the time Harry remained asleep. He felt restless, irritable beyond measure and could not stay in one place. He roamed the castle endlessly, looking at it here and there as if measuring it up, then muttering under his breath in a voice that implied unflattering ruminations.

But most of his time, he spent in the quidditch pitch. He walked in it, sat in the pews, then went down and walked in it again, and occasionally, he would ride a broom and make a few rounds.

Everything in Severus Snape's movements showed apprehension, preoccupation and extreme planning. That is, if anyone bothered to look further than the obvious dissatisfaction and enormous aggression that graced his person whenever anyone was unlucky enough to be nearby.

Time after time had Snape tried to convince Dumbledore that perhaps the boy would be more receptive with someone else-- McGonagall, or Flitwick or even that werewolf Lupin -- than himself.

"Let them get the boy used to the new state of affairs, and then I shall teach him, Albus," he would always say, and Dumbledore would always shake his head.

"I do not trust them with Harry as I do with you, Severus."

That statement had surprised the Potions Master so much that he had stopped dead on his tracks and looked at the headmaster as if he had grown two heads.

"Come again, Albus? Of course you trust them, they virtually worship the boy."

"Which is exactly why they are unfit at the moment for what young Harry will need. If he is coddled too much, he will be allowed to withdraw into himself, become weaker instead of stronger. He will be, in so many words, spoiled when he least needs it."

Snape snorted, but the image of the boy in the cupboard made him bite down on his acidic comment. Instead he asked in a lazy voice:

"And what makes you trust me that I will not harass him beyond breaking point?"

Dumbledore's eyes had twinkled more then, and he clapped Snape on the shoulder once before continuing their walk.

"The fact, my boy, that you just asked me that."

Snape frowned, unsure if he was irked or relieved.

It was seven whole days before Snape set foot in the infirmary again, seven whole days of meticulous preparation and planning and steeling of nerves. Snape had no misconceptions of what he was about to undertake, and how ugly it could become. But he was determined. He had given yet another promise. And Snape always kept each and every one of them.

Harry had woken up the previous noon. He had heard the wails as he walked past the infirmary doors. They were in anger, in despair, and self-pity. It was the self-pity that angered the Potions Master, and the despair that made him quicken his pace.

He entered the room. The window was open, letting the sun stream in and warm the beds, the birds could be heard chirping happily. It was far too cheerful for Snape's tastes. He made every effort to be silent as he approached the only bed that was occupied. It appeared that the boy was still sleeping.

He gazed over Harry. His face had a few scrapes and scratches, but that would mend very soon. The bandage around his eyes was gone. He was very thin, the skin tightening over his cheekbones and stretching over the bit of collarbone that the open dressing gown allowed him to see. The right hand clutching the coverlet was still bandaged, and Snape figured it would remain so for quite some time-- and if the scarring there was too much, perhaps forever.

Snape sat down in the chair and clicked his tongue irritably.

"I know you are awake Potter. Might as well drop the act now," he said indifferently.

The hand clutching the coverlet relaxed, but the boy did not move. Snape went on.

"Did you hear me approach?"

No answer. Snape's brow furrowed.

"Are you deaf in addition to blind?" he snapped.

The boy's breathing became heavier, but still Harry did not answer. Snape felt the urge to growl, but held it back.

"Very well," he said with his most indifferent voice, "you have given up. I knew that the Golden Boy was merely a gilded mirage. You are not worth my time." He spat the last sentence and got up to leave, but with no real hurry.

He had almost reached the exit before Harry's voice was heard.

"What the hell is your problem?"

Snape shut his eyes and allowed a faint smile of triumph before he returned to the boy's bedside. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as he thought if Potter was so easily taunted to react.

"You are my problem, Potter, as always. I thought even with your intellectual level, you would have drawn that conclusion by now," he said as he resumed his seat by the chair. He scrutinized the boy as he spoke. He was staring up at the ceiling, his green eyes still bright yet unmoving, dead. Snape had a nasty image of those dead unmoving eyes staring up at him accusingly in a battlefield. He shook the image away. The boy was alive, his eyes, although unmoving, were bright with life. They were not glassy, nothing was yet lost.

"You are staring at me, aren't you?" Harry asked in a low voice Snape knew was dangerous. Before the Potions Master had a chance to answer, the boy continued, in his voice creeping anger that gradually became stronger and stronger.

"Are you finally satisfied? Are you happy to see me like this? No more roaming in invisibility cloaks, no more glaring at you, no more plotting and adventures! You can finally sleep soundly -Professor- Snape, free of worries that I will ever be in your way because I am a cripple that won't be able to even finish school this way!"

Harry was yelling by the end of his tirade. Snape caught himself smiling again faintly. He liked the anger he saw, even if it was directed at him. Anger implied the energy needed to fuel it, the rebellion of the spirit that would be vital if Harry was to rise above this. The situation was becoming better and better. And given the fact that Snape couldn't care less if the boy liked him or not, his enormous anger did little to affect the tall, dark man.

"Indeed I am enormously grateful to providence that you will be far more manageable like this. But I am not satisfied."

Harry sneered in a way that Snape did not expect.

"Why not? There will be far more chances to earn your Order of Merlin now, won't there?"

Finally, indignation and anger welled up in the Potions Master to match Harry's. He leaned in, inches away from the boy's profile.

"I will never probably get the full story on how you did it, Potter-- but what goes around comes around."

Harry sneered again and turned his face away from the heated breath he felt brushing against his cheek.

Remembering Black, his lost distinction, the undeniable glee he had seen in Harry's eyes at the time, and his helplessness to react, to do anything about it angered Snape. But indeed, the tables were turned. Now it was Potter who was helpless, it was Potter that would have no choice-- and in much more cruel a way than the Potions Master could ever have wished for.

"Fun as the chit chat is, Potter, I did not come here to waste me time by your incessant prattle," he started with a malicious, dangerous tint in his voice that was obviously getting to Harry, even though the boy was not moving, "I am here to make an announcement to you. By tomorrow, Pomfrey informs me you will be fit to be discharged. Tomorrow starts our crash course to blindness. I will expect you out in the Quidditch pitch. Nine in the morning, sharp, or I will come and get you. The more you resist, the harder it will be on you. I beg you to resist as much as possible." A little warm puff of breath underlined the last word.

With that, Snape sailed out of the infirmary like a harpy that had just looked in the mirror.

Next day, when by 9:15 Harry had not showed up, Snape careened into the infirmary again. Poppy got in his way.

"Severus, have a little heart. The boy is still under shock," the nurse murmured to him. He sneered and pushed her to the side, not too roughly, but decidedly.

"You know I have no heart, Poppy. And he has a task to do," he snorted and marched to the bed, grabbed the sulking Harry from both his shoulders and set him on his feet. Harry shrieked in anger.

"You have no right to do this to me! Get your hands off me!"

Snape sneered.

"You gave me the right, Potter. If you had been on time instead of using your impediment to slack, I wouldn't even consider touching you in any way. Now get dressed. You've got two minutes, or I will get you out there just as you are, in the hospital gown and barefooted," he said in the same matter-of-fact, relentless way he used in his potions class.

Harry shook his shoulders free and sat on the bed, stubbornly doing nothing. Snape did not seem fazed. If anything, he looked eager, begging for Harry not to get dressed, as he had instructed. When Poppy approached to help the boy, Snape shook his head.

"He can do it on his own when he's done being prissy," he said nonchalantly. Harry growled.

"You can't make me do anything! Where is the Headmaster? He'll show you!"

Snape laughed. A cold, mirthless laughter.

"You think that if the Headmaster hadn't assigned you to me, I would even be bothering to waste my precious student-free vacations with the likes of you, Potter?"

Harry paled.

"D- Dumbledore assigned you to me?"

"That is correct, Potter. Remarkable sense of hearing." Snape sneered, enjoying his new way of harassing Harry Potter without the cupboard image hindering him in the least. He looked at the clock. "You have one minute left before you parade your behind in the whole castle.," he said in amusement and anticipation he did not try to hide.

Harry bristled, again taking Snape's dare. He fingered around for his clothes and scowled.

"I don't even know where my clothes are."

"Then use your head to retrieve them, Potter. It is time you started to use that contraption on your shoulders." Snape drawled.

Harry's cheeks flushed in anger, which contrasted with his pale, sickly skin. He looked like a sick angry kitten. Snape didn't know whether he should laugh or look away. The boy's eyes were unfocused and off target, but they still managed to burn daggers into the Potions Master. Snape smirked, not without satisfaction that he would have this chance to humiliate the boy and chalk it up to 'special handling'. Harry's cold voice made him pay attention again.

"Accio pants. Accio robe."

Despite the disappointment, Snape was satisfied that the wheels could still turn in the Gryffindor's head. He snorted to show his indignation and thus reward the boy for his efforts.

"Forty seconds left, Potter. I'll come and get you," he said as distastefully as he could manage.

Forty seconds later, he returned to find Harry dressed, head slightly bend in brooding, his hand on the bed's rail, staring at some middle distance. Poppy was glaring murder at the Potions Master, and he had no doubts that the medi-witch had helped the boy get dressed despite his order not to. That had been the reason he had walked out in the first place.

He hrumphed to get the boy's attention.

"Right, Potter. I am glad you managed the three-year-old developmental milestone. Follow me. It's time we started," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice and about turned to leave.

It had begun.