Chapter Text
Seated by his friends,
Is a boy who is scarred,
A quill within his hands
As his musings wander far.
Lost in his mind, he jumps when behind
Him, his owl appears, her wings misaligned.
He jerks up the window, he cradles her near,
What an ominous start for his fifth Hogwarts year.
“Oh no!” he cries in fear,
“Regard her morose eyes
She's wounded, little dear!
Good grief! What if she dies?”
“No, she won't,” says Ron,
“Cause Hagrid will know what's on!”
But Hagrid is gone, his place empty and dark,
and seeming all lifeless – except for Fang’s bark.
“Then who?” cries Harry, unwilling to tarry.
He spins towards the castle, twitchy and wary.
“The matron!” says Hermione. “She’ll know what to do!
“But quick, Harry, quick – it’s almost curfew!”
He carries her gently
Racing through the halls
When right in the middle
His path is blocked by a figure so tall
He smacks into the wall.
“Hey!” cries Harry, “how do you have the gall
To stand there, uncaring, while I give my all?
Get out of the way – Snape, please, let me pass! –”
“Watch how you speak to me,”
Says a voice so greasy,
“My patience is sparse –
You had better get back fast.”
“No, it's my owl,” Harry presents,
“Her eyes are closed, her wings are bent!
How's she going to fly?
Oh, she is going to die!”
“Come,” says Snape, “let her lie.
We’ve ditt’ny and dye to gentle her cries.
But soften your feet –
We have a devil indeed.
In secrecy we'll work with haste
Lest we be delayed.”
Together they walk, man and boy,
Focused on their little ploy,
One calm, one frightened
Thoughts wrought tense in their descent.
Harry watches, worries brew,
As Snape is tending to his bird.
Minutes pass, one, two,
And slowly the third –
“What's happening?” cries Harry
And leans forward, wary,
As Hedwig flutters and flits,
Scared out of her wits.
But her wounds are now closing;
And soon she's peacefully dozing.
“Oh, I've witnessed a miracle,” Harry wonders,
“Could I learn that too?”
“What use is a healing spell, I ponder;
What's in it for you?”
Lies and excuses are conjured,
Back and forth they argue.
“It’s just a precaution! Why are you pressed?
It isn’t Dark Magic that I request!”
“And yet you could use it to similar ends:
Cause harm, heal the scars, and raise no alarm.”
Harry shivers and sweats, he scratches his hand,
And then, with a flash, light catches his brand.
Garish with slime, the wound beats in time
With his stuttering heart – for the scratching decries:
I must not tell lies.
Snape's face darkens, as do his eyes.
“Who dares commit such crimes?
Their life's end slowly chimes.”
“A quill that writes in blood,” Harry explains.
“Never have I seen such crud,” Snape exclaims.
Gentle fingers soothe words inflamed.
“Never did anyone care,” Harry proclaims,
“Except for my fame. Not a one I could name,
So why should you?” “Well, I do.”
With the disappearance of the wounds
Unwilling gratitude intrudes,
And just as concern weighs heavily
So does trust grow gingerly.
“Come,” says Snape, “and behold this place:
Shelter here to escape the chase.
And perhaps some other use will you find;
After all, this year, we are in quite a bind.
“But be quiet, Potter – speak not of the boon.
Keep your heart to yourself, and sway to Umbridge’s tune.
Be careful, Harry, and learn to be wary,
And in time you will find it becomes – customary.”
The halls are dark; silently they walk.
There's no chitter-chatter, no useless talk
Between them, no suspicions arise;
For the moment, there's no tighter alliance.
“Stop here, on the seventh floor.
To your left, there will appear a door.
Pass once, twice, think of your need
By the third, success is guaranteed."
Harry nods, gathers his focus,
and then – hocus-pocus!
In shadow and gloom, the entrance looms,
And off they go to inspect the room.
Hours later, in the moonlight,
Just as the pair is heading to bed,
Harry sighs and looks to his right:
“Why are you helping me?” he says.
“Umbridge is evil; in truth, I would know –
And I doubt you’ll stand idly by.
You objected to me, though I happen to be
Your guardian twice and your champion thrice.
And so I was thinking, today when we met:
Why should I not point you towards the real threat?
“And before you go,
This you should know:
You won't have to suffer that vile being long.
I fight against those who do you wrong,
I will not watch you suffer needlessly
This I promise – eternally."
Addled and rattled, Harry glances aside,
Sure there’s an audience who’ll laugh and deride.
But the hallway is empty – his suspicions denied –
Then Hedwig he recalls, and his hand besides.
Did the teacher not help them both, pet and boy?
Then surely some credence he should employ.
And thus of his suspicions relieved,
Harry so chooses to believe.
“You’re gentle with Hedwig.” He pauses and stalls.
He knows what to say but he hasn’t the gall.
“We thought you the villain and just wouldn't listen,
When all you had done was enable the mission.
You guarded the Stone! You saved me a fall!
I never said thanks; good God, I’m appalled!”
By the end, he's looking down at his trainers,
Too nervous to look Snape in the eyes.
The man, arms folded as if in prayers
Nods to honor the weight of the praise.
“It is quite alright,” is the quiet reply,
“I did not expect you to notice,
Such is the life of a spy.”
“Yet I am to lead. They'll all look to me
And what would they say if they see me just flee?
I made a mistake; I see I was wrong
So this needless feud I would hate to prolong."
“Very well. It is not repayment I ask.
But take this to task:
Whenever you do need someone around
In the dungeons I can be found.”
Snape turns and leaves;
A swish and a click,
Steps and a snick,
Vanishing into the breeze.