16:28 On a Snowy Evening | |
| Surprisingly, Snape's voice was completely void of its usual venom.Автор: strega verde Название: On a Snowy Evening Жанр: недосеввитус (джен про Гарри и Снейпа))) Предупреждения: ООС, флафф, небеченный английский Disclaimer: Harry Potter books are the property of J.K.Rowling, the poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by R. Frost appears to be public domain. It was early in the afternoon, but the gray-stoned corridor was filled with dusky shadows. Hogwarts after Christmas felt really strange – empty, echoing shell of its usual self. Stone floor was cold, it smelled like old dust – it was drafty and the tapestries moved slightly with every gust. Harry shivered and put the elbows on wide stone window-sill and peered outside. The sky was pearly gray, the deserted school-grounds were covered with white sheet of snow dotted with black trees here and there. Ron had fallen asleep in front of the fire in the common room, and Harry quietly slipped outside – he was in one of those moods when you're not sure whether you want to talk to someone or be left alone. For a while he just stood at the window gazing through window. Couple hours – and it'll be too late too go outside. That thought got him moving, and after a brief trip back to the dormitory to get the winter cloak he headed to the main doors. The bronze handle turned slowly, Harry pushed the door and stepped outside. It wasn't cold at all, the wet breeze mingled a fresh smell of snow and a bitter smell of winter forest. Harry inhaled deeply and smiled. He chose the familiar path – the one which led to Hagrid's hut. There was no one in sight, but it didn't faze him – actually, the deserted landscape made him feel calm and strangely excited at the same time. It's just that New Year is coming, and I am here... Even before Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door, he knew Hagrid wasn't home – Fang didn't bark and the hut was enveloped in a silence, that of an empty house. Oh well. I'll just go for a stroll, to the lake and then back to the castle. The path got a bit steeper behind the hut, and Harry had to watch his step. Suddenly something white landed on his nose – a snowflake. Harry lifted his gaze from the narrowing path and looked around: it wasn't really snowing, just separate big snowflakes drifting down lazily. It was so quiet he imagined he could hear the flakes touching the ground. I'll just look at the lake and turn back. He wasn't sure when lone snowflakes turned into a blizzard – it was like trying to watch the progress of a clock hand, the change being too gradual and deadly fast. He hadn't even reached the lake shore by the moment when everything turned white, with snow falling through graying air with blinding, dizzying speed. Just like with the blizzard, he couldn't tell exactly when he realized he got lost. The path had been quickly filling with freshly fallen snow. One moment he was following the path and one moment later there was no path – just the thickening layer of slow, first ankle-high, then growing higher and higher, making it harder to wade though. Panic, like the snow drifts, was rising but steadily. He kept walking – blindly, having lost all sense of direction, just trudging through the snow, hoping that any minute he will see the low stone wall surrounding Hagrid's hut. But there was nothing to see, the whole world seemed to have turned into a white silent desert. His feet were getting numb, his hands, despite all his efforts to keep them warm, began to ache from the cold, and panic was turning into a real fear. Stupid. How stupid can you get? Stupid Potter, got lost in the blizzard and got himself frozen to death... Malfoy will die from laughing. He hadn't noticed, but he was shaking, snow mingled in his hair, turning it white. It was getting harder and harder to just keep walking, and Harry felt his eyes prickling with hot tears. He kept on walking, stubbornly, desperately. Snow was falling with blinding speed now, and it was getting darker. “Hello! Anybody?” - his voice sounded hollow and desperate. No use yelling for help, there's no one around... Umph! For a while he had been walking with his eyes almost shut against the wind, so no surprise he bumped into... Into someone. Harry was staring at the black cloth right before him. A large hand fell on his shoulder. - Potter? - Harry recognized the voice immediately. Snape. - Yes, professor, - he croaked, squinting up, trying to see Snape's face. - What are you... Never mind. It is obvious, isn't it. - Surprisingly, Snape's voice was completely void of its usual venom. Harry heard a small sigh. It took them less then ten minutes of silent walk to get to Hagrid's hut. - Take off your cloak and boots, put on this blanket and sit, - Snape fired off and pressed a small glass into his hand. - What's that? A potion? - Harry asked, his teeth chattering. - Gin. Drink up before you start sneezing, - Snape answered irritably, stoking the fire in the stove. Harry made a terrible face when what felt like liquid fire tricked down his throat, but he did feel warm immediately. Warm and fuzzy. - Were you looking for me, sir? - Harry asked and cringed awaiting a biting reply. - You probably wouldn't believe it, but no, I wasn't, - Snape answered. - Not this time, - he murmured, and for some reason went on to explain: - I was looking for the Snow Phoenix. Their hatching time is the week after the Winter Solstice. - Winter Solstice? - echoed Harry. Surprisingly, Snape replied. - 21st or 22nd of December, depending on the year. You will undoubtedly learn about it in your Astronomy class, - he added distractedly. All the time Snape was moving around the hut, stoking the fire, hanging a kettle over it, looking for something on the shelves. - Why do you need this Snow Phoenix? - asked Harry, encouraged by the lack of malice. Again, Snape replied, almost peacefully: - There are quite a few potions based on Phoenix tears... Both Fire Phoenix and Snow Phoenix... While Fire Phoenix tears are mostly used for healing the body, Snow Phoenix tears are good for mind healing. Keeping the memories at bay, making them less painful... You probably don't know, Potter, but some memories are rather hard to live with... - I know, - Harry said. - You do, - Snape said, as if taken aback with something and glanced at him minutely before returning to sorting through things on the shelf. Hargid's hut was a bit cluttered and Harry often wondered how Hargid managed to find anything in this chaos. Snape continued, absently: - So yes. Mind healing, not Obliviating the memories, just making them tolerable. Though a larger dose can erase an insignificant event from memory... - What does it look like? The Phoenix? - Harry wasn't going to pester the Potions Master with questions. It's the gin he gave me, – the thought was a bit blurry. Well, he's got himself to blame... Snape, meanwhile, actually answered the question: - It is snow white, obviously. Rather impressive, - he added. - I would say, more so than the other species... Harry couldn't believe this. It was just too weird: Snape answering his rambling questions instead of hissing something sarcastic about idiots and dunderheads he has to put up with... And then it dawned on him: He felt just like I did... Wanted to talk to someone, but didn't know who. And then just went outside, because there was nobody to talk to... Suddenly he felt his throat clenching. So it's the same even if you're grown up. Even if everybody's afraid of you... Though probably the latter doesn't help much... Harry remembered an injured bird, a big black thing, a raven or a crow, he had seen in the park one day: it was wary of people, and when he tried to feed it, it hopped away, dragging one wing. The black beak was sharp and dangerous looking, but still Harry felt pity. He didn't know what happened to the bird: when he got back the following day, it wasn't there and he never saw it again. He hoped that it got better. Somehow, Snape puttering about in Hagrid's hut, trying to keep an eye on Harry all the while, reminded him of that bird. - Here's your tea, Potter, - Snape said gruffly and pushed a mug into his hand. The tea was dark and steaming, smelling with herbs. It was scalding hot, but left a cool aftertaste in his mouth. He must have added some peppermint to it... – Harry thought drowsily. The blanket was warm, and he could hear a cozy noise made by the fire in the stove. - Did you find the Phoenix? - he asked with his eyes closed. - I did, Potter, - did he hear a smile in the answering words? I must be dreaming... - How do you make a Phoenix cry? - You don't. If they encounter someone who is in need, they do it themselves. - Hmmm... - Harry was getting really drowsy now, but he felt there was something about phoenix tears he needed to ask. If only he didn't want to sleep so much! He tried to keep his eyes open. - Tears in a potion? - he asked, blearily, knowing that that wasn't what he actually meant to ask. But Snape didn't notice and answered: - Quite a common ingredient. Phoenix tears, mermaid tears, siren tears... - Siren tears? - Yes, Potter. But I do believe those are for discussion when you get quite a bit older. Again he heard a smile in the measured voice. - Go to sleep, Potter. - 'K, - murmured Harry and closed his eyes, intending to fall asleep for real. Soon he discovered he couldn't. Every time he started drifting, worry gripped him with cold fingers – he forgot where he was and started dreaming or maybe imagining he was still outside, lost and alone. - What's wrong now, Potter? - Snape asked with a sigh. - Nothing, - slurred Harry. - Could you just... Keep talking to me? - About what? - Snape sounded genuinely surprised. - Anything... - Oh. Well, listen then. Hmm... Yes, this one is very appropriate... And Harry listened. The deep voice was calm and quiet. Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year... Winter Solstice... And the lake – it must be the Hogwarts lake, Harry thought before finally falling asleep. He awoke next morning, in his dormitory bed. Strangely, he didn't remember how he had spent last evening. Probably, just went to bed early... It was rather gloomy... A memory of white-gray sky resurfaced, along with lines read be a vaguely familiar voice : The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. | |
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