HP: Monochrome

"Come in, Severus."

Albus Dumbledore sat comfortably on his chair, watching from behind his desk as Severus Snape stumbled through the oaky door. His Potions Master's ashen face was lined with worry, looking rather browbeaten as he sagged down into his seat. He offered his companion a sympathetic nod.

"Rough day, I presume?"

Severus visibly exhaled, but said nothing.

Albus watched him with interest. Ever since the night of the Third Task, things had been rather difficult for the Potions instructor. The problem had started when, in a moment of haste, he brandished his own Dark Mark in front of Cornelius in a misguided attempt to prove the Dark Lord was back. The Minister, as expected, had not realized the significance of the deed and instead complained to Lucius about Death Eaters being hired at Hogwarts.

To say that Lucius Malfoy had reacted badly was an understatement.

"Tom—"

Severus hissed furiously at the mention of the name, tightly clenching his eyes shut. His entire body convulsed for a while, before he just… sat. Still as stone.

"…I'm sorry?" Albus offered.

Severus opened his eyes and began to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. He tried again.

Nothing happened.

Finally, he let out a bitter sigh.

"You cannot speak of it," Albus mused. "The name incites a reaction in you. Through your mark, I presume."

Severus nodded.

Curious. Albus could feel no changes on the wards. No proximity alerts, no detection spells going off, no brute force entries. Nothing at all. Then again, Tom knew that he knew about his origins. If the name was put under a Taboo again, the Dark Mark would act as a receptor and relay information to Tom himself.

Even so…

Severus didn't meet his gaze, choosing instead to focus on his nose. "It is a sad thing the Prince family threw my mother out. They'd missed out on quite the trait."

"That they did," Albus agreed. In all his time as an educator, he had taught an immense number of students, many with their own magical affinities. Some had elemental proclivities while others took to runecraft like fish to water. But perhaps one in every hundred students ended up possessing a magical trait.

And Natural Occlumency… That was among the rarest of them all, so much so that he'd only ever seen two students in his entire lifetime who had possessed it. Tom Marvolo Riddle and Severus Tobias Snape.

People often wondered why he had Severus of all people spy on the Dark Lord. Despite the man's caustic demeanor and the demons in his closet, he nevertheless trusted him completely. That was without question. But perhaps more importantly, Severus was the only one for the job, able to stand there, look the Dark Lord in the eye, and still maintain his cover.

"The Taboo is active again," Severus spoke up. "And there are easier ways to eavesdrop for information than smashing through the wards of Hogwarts."

Albus nodded. He knew what an agony it would have been to fight the Dark Lord's legilimency probe. One of the abilities of the Dark Mark was acting as a backdoor to the mind of the bearer. There would be— could be —no secrets hidden from the Dark Lord once he branded them as part of his Inner Circle.

Loyalty was no pledge. It was a condition enforced by magic rather than the purity of faith.

And yet, Severus Snape was alive. That was all that needed to be said about it.

"Severus," Albus asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles, "is there anything you wish to tell me?"

The Potions Master's bloodshot eyes were indicative of severe trauma. He hadn't the faintest what the man had been through, but for a man as normally withdrawn and impassive as Severus Snape to break down like this, it must have been something overwhelming.

"Conjure me a vial."

With a simple flick of his wand, Albus did as asked. Severus lifted his own wand to his temples, drawing out a thick, silvery strand and placing it into the crystal vial. Stoppering it, Albus put it into one of the vial stands on the table.

"He sent Boruslav Avery to get me," Severus finally croaked, as if it hurt to speak. "I don't know where it is, or how it looks, or how to get there."

"A fidelius?" Albus probed.

Severus closed his eyes. "I… cannot say. The— he is different. He feels different, like he is somehow… more. He told me he had offered Potter immunity thrice, yet the boy rejected it to his face."

Albus nodded. Harry had shared as much during his questioning with Amelia Bones.

"But despite that, he is still willing to forgive the indiscretion should Potter join his side. He is also willing to see his friends safe and unharmed in return for Potter's complete allegiance."

The old headmaster felt his heart hammering in his chest. What Severus was telling him was… surreal. For a man as shackled by his own ego as Tom? No, it had to be a hoax. A plant, a mental game that Tom was trying to play with him. And yet—

Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, gulped. Such a hoax, despite its nature, could prove to be deadlier than a killing curse. He knew for a fact that Harry's insular upbringing and his experiences thereafter were far from stellar. Given the finicky nature of the Wizarding World— its bigotry, and the way the press and Ministry were tearing him apart —there was nothing tying Harry to Wizarding Britain, save for his friends and godfather.

But if Voldemort himself assured him of their safety, and kept his word, it was a moot point.

"The Dark Lord," Severus continued, "he— he offered me a memory. Of that night. And then he told me to—" his face tensed, "to show it to you?"

"To me?" Albus sharply breathed.

"You'll understand," Severus hissed, turning his gaze towards the Sorting Hat. "When you… See."

Albus blinked.

"See?"

Severus nodded. "See."

"Ah."

He was talking about the Sight. It was an ability to perceive the world around them in a vastly broadened spectrum of interacting forces. A dangerous gift, often likened to a curse, it allowed one to perceive things they would otherwise never be able to interact with. Matter, energy, magic… it showed the world as it was— beauty enough to make one weep, terrors that could forever take away sound sleep.

Whatever one saw— the good, the bad, the insanity-inducing —it stuck with them forever. It would never be forgotten, nor could time blur the memories. It was forever theirs.

Permanently.

"Severus, did you…"

"I don't have the Sight, Headmaster." His face looked like it had bit into a lemon. "But the— he made me see his memory. Through his senses."

"I… see. I will check it out." Albus paused, before continuing. "Why do you think he wanted me to See it?"

Severus laughed a cold, mirthless laughter. "Not all battles are won by bloodshed, Headmaster. Some wars are fought in the mind, in the heart. You cannot fight if you don't have a cause, can you?"

Albus frowned. "I am afraid I don't understand."

The Potions Master kicked his chair back and stood up, bitterly laughing all the while. "If you have any need for me, Headmaster, I will be in my quarters. I refuse to see it a second time."

And with that, he turned around and quickly trudged down the stairs, leaving a pensive old man staring at the memory-filled vial with shock and a little bit of trepidation.

"Sirius Black," said Andromeda Tonks. "What an entirely unwelcome surprise."

"And what an entirely unsurprising welcome, Andromeda," Sirius shot back, standing by the door. It had been the better part of two decades since he'd laid eyes on his estranged cousin. In fact, this was their first encounter after her sudden and hasty decision to run away from home and get married.

"That would be Madam Tonks to you," the older woman replied tartly. "Aunt Walburga would have a conniption if she heard you engaging with a blood traitor on a first-name basis."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. It was no secret that Andromeda resented Sirius for his lack of support back when she had eloped with muggleborn Ted Tonks. Not that he had any problems with that — anything to piss off the Black family was a plus in his book — but he'd always thought of the former Hufflepuff to be a little too spineless for his tastes.

"Still angry about the old days?"

"You mean those days when I was fighting the infamous Black family all on my own, while my favorite cousin was off gallivanting with his friends?"

He winced. Yup. Definitely still angry.

It had been two days since he'd admitted Harry to St. Mungo's. Two days of watching over him, waiting for him to wake up from the induced healing coma when they detoxed his blood from the doxy venom. But when he showed no signs of waking up, the medics had shifted him to the 'Dangerous Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites' for further treatment. Sirius had requested to take Harry home for private treatment, which was when the Healer-In-Charge had pointed him to the Department for Bites and Poisons.

It had been a complete surprise to find Andromeda Tonks née Black as the Department Head.

"You are," Andromeda continued, falling back into her professional demeanor as she looked down at her notes, "requesting to take Harry Potter for private treatment at your personal residence?" She paused, looking up at him questioningly. "I didn't know Harry Potter was staying with you."

"Of course he's staying with me. I'm his godfather."

"A godfather who's been in Azkaban for the past twelve years."

"For a crime I didn't commit," Sirius retorted. Frankly, this whole parent thing was still new to him. Back when James had offered him the position of godfather, Sirius had likened it to being a fun uncle— someone who'd be like a best friend to the little guy, teaching him all the ways to get into trouble and drive his parents insane. Then when he went to Hogwarts, he'd have taught the tyke all the awesome ways to break rules and prank people and impress girls.

But finding himself in the role of an actual parent was… odd. And having people question him every step of the way wasn't helping. At all.

Andromeda raised her hands in surrender. "Far be it for me to challenge your authority over your godson." Picking up a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, she took a long whiff as she flipped through the document laid out in front of her. "Harry James Potter. According to his report, he has a broken arm, shattered femur, multiple lacerations, contusions on the back and arms, and severe doxy poisoning. Among a litany of other minor scrapes and bruises." She looked back up at Sirius incredulously. "What was it? A final aptitude test for Hit-Wizard candidacy?"

Sirius paled from the descriptions. "He— he got attacked by a swarm of doxies."

Andromeda just stared at him. "And wherefrom, may I ask, did this doxy infestation come from?"

"Our— my ancestral home."

She dropped her cigarette in shock. "Doxies? In Grimmauld Place? Did Kreacher finally die?"

Sirius sighed. With everything that had happened, he'd spent the last two days sitting and sleeping on the couches of the hospital as he waited for his godson to wake up. He still hadn't found the time to look for the ruddy elf.

"It's a long story."

"Must have been," she murmured, looking over the report once more. "This also states a severe case of magical exhaustion, albeit… momentarily. Are you sure your godson hasn't been mucking around in the Black library? There are some nasty tomes in there."

"He hasn't even been there for an entire day," Sirius weakly argued. "I just left him for a few hours to finish up an errand. And when I came back, I found him like that, next to a floor full of dead doxies."

"And now you want to take him back to the same place."

Sirius opened his mouth, but no response came to mind.

Andromeda shook her head. "Anything else?"

He considered the question. "Well, when I arrived, the wards were completely drained of their power. The house was practically falling apart."

"I see." She took another long whiff from her cigarette, before exhaling a plume of smoke. "The scans show repeated magical influx and exhaustion. I cannot say who or what caused this, but it was not from the doxy poison."

She gave him a penetrating stare. "You take the wounds he has suffered and put them on another wizard, and he'd be crippled for life. Magically, if not physically. Maybe you'd get him back to his feet, but even that would take weeks. But him?" she shivered, "Harry Potter should be able to get back to normalcy by tomorrow."

"But that's—"

"Impossible?" Andromeda whispered, "I know. I've been in this profession for close to two decades now, and I've never even remotely seen anything like this. I know some witches and wizards heal faster than others, but this is just… batshit crazy."

"Will it affect his magic?" Sirius asked, alarmed.

"It's too early to say," Andromeda admitted. "As it is, his body is still trying to adjust to what happened, so we put him in a healing coma. I have asked the healers to keep a constant check on his vitals and magic. Naturally, I hope you aren't surprised when I tell you your application to take your godson home is rejected."

"But—"

"But I'm used to aristocrats claiming to know better than healers in circumstances like this," she scoffed. "So if you're willing to file for a discharge against medical advice, I can direct you to the—"

"Andromeda," Sirius begged, his body beginning to tremble in fear. "Harry— he's gonna be alright, isn't he?"

The woman steadily glared at him for a moment, before sighing. "Honestly, I have no idea. At this point, the wounds are healing and the poison has somehow receded on its own. All we can do is sit and wait for him to wake up." She stood up from the chair. "We did try to augment the healing, but his body keeps rejecting any and all foreign magic. This is an unprecedented case, Sirius, but we're doing everything we can."

For the first time since the conversation began, Sirius noticed the state of his cousin. Stains of what he assumed were a multitude of fluids coated the front of her white healer robes— with a start, he realized the majority of those stains were a deep crimson, blood. Her normally pristine black hair was tied into a frazzled bun, as if she'd been repeatedly and nervously tugging at loose strands. The bags under her eyes were prominent, indicating a lack of sleep combined with long hours of work and stress. Overall, her entire posture radiated an aura of someone who wished for nothing more than the warmth of their bed.

"Andi." His cousin shot him a curious look at the use of her nickname. "When was the last time you got any rest?"

"Thirty-six hours ago," she admitted. "There's just too much work to be done. And this is Harry Potter we're talking about. Regardless of the current Ministry stance, I owe him. Everyone does. If not for what happened at Godric's Hollow…"

She trailed off.

Andromeda shot him an emotion-filled glance, and Sirius understood. It was during moments like these that the full truth of the Boy-Who-Lived hit him. Not because Harry was his godson. Not because James and Lily Potter died to save their child. Instead, it was the subtle reminder of what could have happened to their society had the Dark Lord not been vanquished that night.

"Have you thought of what to say to the press?"

Right. The press. Truth be told, he'd all but forgotten about it. But this was the Boy-Who-Lived who was admitted to St. Mungo's. Sooner or later, someone would gossip about it, healer-patient confidentiality be damned.

Sirius shook his head.

"Judging by his vitals," Andromeda said, "he should be conscious by tomorrow at the earliest. If he wishes it to be so, I have no issues with you taking him home."

"Thanks Andi," he replied gratefully. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I'll—"

"That is, on the condition that you bring him in for check-ups every week for the next two months. I want assurances that there isn't any lasting damage to him."

Sirius vehemently nodded. "I promise."

"If that is all then—"

Sirius stood silent for a while, feeling his cousin's eyes on him. "Yes, there is something else."

"Well then go on," she replied flippantly, "I have other patients to consider."

He exhaled. "Andi… what would it take to convince you to return to the House of Black?"