In the same instant, he heard Ron mumbling what seemed to be some potent profanities. Still struggling to see through the stars, he turned toward the place where Ron had been. The other boy wasn't standing there any longer; he'd been flung to the floor.
Harry couldn't see any more than that; the effort of turning his head had produced a wave of agony that caused his knees to buckle and his stomach to turn. Weakly, Harry felt himself sliding down the side of the wall, some vague part of him aware that his wand was still blazing with power. "Nox," he gasped as he slumped, but the incantation did no good. The lightning blasting from his wand kept blazing, the beam so hot he felt like he could hardly breathe.
Gasping, he reached out his other arm, using it to steady his wand hand so that he could keep it aimed at the middle of the wall across the room. It was either that, or risk catching something on fire.
Suddenly a mussed redhead sat bolt upright. He was rubbing his nose gingerly and still mumbling, but Harry couldn't make out his words past the rushing sound pounding in his ears.
Then another voice was shouting, sounding so far off that he could hardly make it out until a door seemed to slam inside his head and the noise became louder. "Fucking hell, Weasley! What did you say to set him off?"
As Harry's gaze drifted up to see Draco running into the room, he also caught sight of the scarred wall. Only the wall wasn't just scarred now. In the few moments he'd kept the wand steady, a gaping hole with steaming crimson edges had formed. The opening was the size of a school cauldron. He could see right into his father's office, and beyond...
"Finite Incantatum," Draco snapped out, coming as close to Harry as he dared, tentatively reaching out toward the wand, but deterred by the heat and light. "Shite," he swore when nothing happened in response. "You say it, Harry," he urged, glancing back toward the still widening hole in the wall dividing Snape's office from the living room. "Damn it all, say it now!"
Harry swallowed hard and noticed a coppery taste in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue when he hit his head. Maybe that was why he was having such a hard time ending the spell. Panting for breath a bit, he struggled to form the words.
"Finite," he groaned.
"He was trying to do Lumos; have him say Nox!" Ron shouted, apparently unaware that Harry had already tried that.
"Nox!" Harry said again, but the light continued to burn like a laser on a Muggle telly show. It was so bright that a brilliant glow bathed the entire room. Strange he hadn't really noticed that before. Then again, the waves of nausea were coming at faster intervals, and his vision was trying its best to tunnel in, so maybe it was no wonder he wasn't seeing straight.
"Louder, Harry!" Ron prompted.
"Nox!" Harry cried as loudly as he could, increasing the pounding in his head tenfold. All at once he couldn't hold the wand steady, and as the fierce, hot beam shifted angles, scarring wall and furniture in its wake, the sofa caught on fire. Acrid smoke began to fill the room.
Darting closer, Draco snatched the wand from Harry's hand and screamed Nox at it himself, but all he accomplished was to cause more damage to the contents of the room as he changed its angle yet again. He almost blasted Ron, who jumped to one side and yelled, "Watch it, will you?"
The moment after the wand was out of Harry's hand, he began to feel himself weakening. It was as though a crutch had been pulled away from him. He slumped sideways, the floor rushing up to meet him with sickening slowness.
And then it began raining inside Snape's rooms, droplets of water pelting him from head to toe. I really like rain, Harry thought rather irrelevantly as pain seemed to split his head open. As the latest wave of agony receded, his thoughts became a bit more coherent. Severus must have a magical sprinkler system installed, he realized, and suddenly burst out into wild laughter.
Draco ceased in his attempts with the wand just long enough to order, "Weasley, don't just stand there, help Harry!"
The whole world was turning red by then. Harry stopped laughing and closed his eyes, his existence contracting into the simple need to draw air. But his chest was so constricted. Or was that Ron, yanking him up a bit and pulling him close? He felt his consciousness slipping away, but then somebody was shaking him. Ron, must be. Harry's head flopped to and fro, almost making him sick up. He clutched at Ron like a lifeline, trying to stop it, but somehow that just made it worse.
"Quit jolting him, he doesn't like it!" Draco barked.
"I think he's concussed! You want him to faint and never wake up?" Then Ron's voice went lower as he spoke to Harry. "Come on, mate, stay awake. You can do it--"
Ron kept talking, but after that, Harry couldn't hear a thing past the roaring in his ears. He thought he felt a light weight sliding up his leg, the sensation so vague and unfocused that he couldn't be sure. Sals, he tried to murmur. Don't go by the fire, Sals. Bad... But he no longer had the strength to form the words aloud.
Harry's last thought before he lost consciousness was that his father would be proud. He had done a Lumos... even though it had killed him.
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Sixty: What's in a Name?
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 60: What's in a Name?
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=60
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Sixty: What's in a Name?
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Harry woke up to an odd feeling of weight resting on his chest. It wasn't that awful constriction like he couldn't breathe, though; it was simply a presence. Something resting on him.
No, someone, he realized when he cracked his eyes open and recognized his father's long, dark hair. Confused, Harry angled his head slightly and glanced around. He was in his bedroom, lying on his own bed, and there was Draco on his, fully dressed on top of the covers. Ron was slumped in a chair that had been dragged in from the living room. Leaning against the wall, the red-haired boy was snoring as he slept.
And his father was in another chair, one pulled right up to his bedside, but instead of sitting up, he was leaning over to rest his cheek on Harry's chest.
Not too Snapeish of him, Harry had to think, but some deep part of him was touched, nonetheless. He remembered casting a spell that had gone horribly wrong, remembered hitting his head on the wall, remembered the room sort of spinning as Ron held him and told him to stay awake. But he hadn't, had he? All he could suppose was that he'd been injured and Severus had been taking care of him, but that didn't explain why the man had decided to sleep on him.
Knowing that his father wouldn't care to have the other boys see him like this, Harry lightly poked him on the shoulder. "Severus," he whispered. "Hey, Dad. I think you'd better wake up."