Heart of the Guardian

11. The Room of Requirement

Despite moving around his room silently, he turned to find the boy watching him.

"About time you woke up," he said mildly, taking in the boy's improved color.

"Where am I?"

"You're in my bed, Potter. And I assure you, the crick in my neck does not thank you for that," he said, without heat, without even his habitual drawl.

"Sorry, Pro-..." the boy began, struggling out from under the blankets.

"Stay, Potter. I do not wish to have to pick you up off the floor again."

"Pick me... wh... what?" He sank back.

"Here, drink this." Snape handed the boy a glass. "Take it, Potter," he said impatiently when the boy looked suspiciously at the glass then warily up at him. Snape sighed. "It's pumpkin juice, Potter. And a mild restorative," he acknowledged. "I assure you, had I intended to poison you, I would have done so in your sleep."

Amusement and uncertainty fought each other on the boy's face. Amusement won. He took the glass and sipped, watching Snape over the rim. After he drained it, he put the glass back into Snape's outstretched hand. He looked down then, and realized he was not in his clothes but in the black pajamas Snape had worn in the infirmary. Snape snorted silently at the boy's alarm, and the flush that reddened his neck and ears. He turned away to hide his amusement, placing the glass on a tray on the bedside table.

"How did I get here?"

Snape turned back. "You don't remember?"

The boy leaned back against the pillows, frowning. "I was visiting Fred and Lupin and Tonks," he said, "and I kept wondering about... and then I thought it might be there... in the shack... so I went to look and... I just didn't expect... I mean, I forgot... I just didn't think... you..." He looked up at Snape, his eyes wide, his breathing quick and shallow, his face paling against the pillow.

Snape moved swiftly to his side and sat on the bed, grasping the boy's thin shoulders.

"Potter – whatever you saw can't hurt you, do you hear me?" He shook the boy lightly. He was not going to go through this again! "You're here. You're safe. Everything is all right."

"It's just... I didn't know." Potter swallowed. "I mean, I saw them bring you back... you... you looked like you were... dead." The boy shuddered and his eyes threatened to turn blank.

"Stop this! Stop it, Potter. It's over. I'm not dead – I'm right here," he said firmly. The boy reached his hands up to Snape's arms, and then leaned forward until his forehead rested on Snape's chest, sagging into him for support.

Snape held his breath and sat stock still. Breathe. He's just a boy. He put one hand on the back of the boy's head, exhaled and shook his head. Then he drew back, held the boy away from him, and looked him steadily in the eyes, struck again by how like Lily's eyes they were, under James' untidy fringe. "You're all right, Potter," he said emphatically, "... and so am I. Now – eat your porridge," he ordered, gesturing with his chin toward the tray on the bedside table. "And – I will be wanting my pajamas back."

A half hour or so later, having assured himself that the boy was steady on his feet, he sent Potter up to his dorm to change, with orders to head immediately back down to the entrance hall. He wanted to get to the bottom of this, whatever the boy thought he was doing, heading to the Shack – what the "it" was the boy had gone to find. But he wanted Potter coherent, in control of himself. If he had questioned the boy in his quarters, in a strange bed, in strange pajamas, the boy's disorientation would have continued. He had to snap the boy back to normal, and then hope he would talk.