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sua_layAuthor: Rimau Sua Lay
Rating: overall NC-17, Angst, Drama, Action/Adventure, First Time
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Harry/Snape, Ron/Draco, (Sirius/Remus)
Date: December 2002 - ?
Disclaimers: Not mine, borrowed without permission, am not making any money. Please don't sue. Sherbet Lemon?
Summary for Book One: -Harry can not survive his dark thoughts anymore. At least not alone.
Severus Snape was a patient man.
Not by nature, no. It had taken him years to learn patience. Years and years of brewing difficult potions. Concentrating on the volatile ingredients that would kill anyone who was in a hurry.
Being patient with things didn't mean he was patient with people. He didn't suffer idiots who needed things to be explained over and over again. Considering that, it was surprising he had chosen to become a teacher. Children were an annoying lot of brainless fools after all.
He was very good at waiting, though. Could spend countless hours waiting for a potion to simmer, or weeks for that special ingredient to arrive to him by an owl.
Potions weren't the only things that taught him patience. His need to prove himself to Dumbledore. His work for the Order. All these had strengthened the lessons brewing potions had taught. Then, a few years ago, he'd got himself another duty. Protecting Harry Potter. It had been rather ridiculous; he hated the boy's name and his fame. The way people fawned over him disgusted him, and he'd thought Albus was mad when he'd asked him to keep an eye on the boy.
There weren't all that many things Dumbledore asked, so when he did, he obeyed. Without hesitations.
He'd watched Potter patiently, had seen some of the dangers surrounding him. Both the ones coming from his old Master and friends, and those created by the overly eager and grateful inhabitants of the wizarding world. He'd done everything in his power to keep the annoying child alive.
Protecting Potter wasn't as easy as he'd thought. Voldemort had been rather persistent, trying to slay the boy almost every year since he arrived at Hogwarts. It had been a nightmare to try to keep him alive while protecting his cover as a spy who was a spy who was a spy.
Snape had got used to watching over Potter, like he'd got used to all the unpleasant things in his life.
It wasn't as simple now as it had been earlier. This past year, he'd started to notice a change in Potter. A subtle one, but a change nevertheless. Albus had said it was simply a part of growing up. Snape hadn't been so sure about that. He'd seen that look in other people's eyes, and knew Potter was going towards a place no one wanted to see.
The night he'd found the sleeping boy outside his chambers had been full of surprises. Potter had managed to actually impress him. When he'd been in that dark place years ago, he'd tried every possible way to hide and dull the terrible ache. Potter had come looking for help. That said something about his strength. Probably stubbornness, but that was something too. Snape had also been stunned by the way he'd agreed to see Potter if necessary.
Maybe he'd got soft in his old age. Then again, probably not.
Potter needed help now more than ever. He didn't especially want to be the one giving it to him, but if the boy chose him, he couldn't say no. Didn't mean he would join the already enormous choir praising for Potter's skills and intelligence. He'd rather hex himself with an Unforgivable. Probably all of them.
So he'd agreed to be the rock Potter had better not lean on, the shoulder he definitely didn't want anyone to cry on. If Potter wanted him to listen, he would. It wouldn't take long for him to realize he'd chosen badly and run to be coddled by the Headmaster.
When Potter had chickened out, he'd been relieved, wondering what would happen next. It hadn't taken long to figure that out, and then he'd simply settled into waiting again. Earlier today he'd known the waiting was over. Potter's expression as he'd come back from Hogsmeade had told him he was close to the breaking point again.
Instead of going to bed, he'd stayed up late, waiting for a call.
Now he was waiting for the boy himself. He'd called him a few minutes ago. It wasn't all that clear why he wasn't here yet, but Snape wasn't worried. The fool probably didn't know how to floo in from the Gryffindor tower.
All powerful and knowing Harry Potter. The shining beacon in the endless night. Right. A stuttering fool who had come to his class completely unprepared. Even Granger, who was as far from a pureblood as one could get, had known all the answers to his questions that first day.
Up until his fourth year, Potter had survived through every threat on his life by sheer dumb luck. That, and the help from others, him included. After that, he'd been on his own from time to time, showing some promise.
Still, Snape wasn't convinced.
Seeing Harry Potter stumble out of his fireplace a moment later, coughing and spitting soot all over his rug didn't really help. Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
"Sorry about that." Still coughing, Harry looked at the mess he'd made on the floor. He wondered if he should grab his wand and tried to think of a way to clean up both the floor and himself. Nothing came to mind. He could only think that this was one more thing he was failing, and that he really, really hated flooing.
Snape watched the boy stand there looking utterly lost. He waited for a moment, but when it seemed he was just going to continue standing there, he sighed, and then muttered the most rudimentary cleaning charm, making the soot disappear.
Looking relieved, Harry brushed his hand against his now clean shirt. He was glad Snape had taken care of the mess, because quite frankly, he didn't think he could really do anything as complicated as tie his own shoelaces right now, never mind remembering any charms.
It had been difficult enough to get himself floo here. When he'd managed to contact Snape, and the man had actually agreed to see him, everything had gone a bit blurry. Worse than ever, he needed to share things with someone, needed to talk about what was really going on with him.
Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do.
He'd never had an opportunity like this. Talking to any of the Dursleys would have been suicidal. They'd have probably locked him inside the cupboard and left him there. No one in the wizarding world would really want him to talk about his dark feelings. They all needed to see him the way everyone here did; a hero. Not as he really was.
"Sit down, Potter. You still look like a complete idiot standing there." Taking in the rather weird attire Potter was wearing -- his pajama bottoms and a dark burgundy sweater -- Snape gestured at a chair across from the one he was sitting on.
Harry sat down, but even that position didn't really make him feel less of an idiot. He was used to Snape's scathing words, though, and they didn't hurt him. His own thoughts did.
There was a silence. A long, uncomfortable, ugly silence surrounding them both. Snape was familiar with silence. The only sound inside his quarters was usually the rustling of pages being turned or the bubbling of a potion being brewed on the fire. He enjoyed the silence. Revelled in it. It was different with Harry. Silence could be a good thing, but this reminded him of all the things from the past. The place he'd never learned to call home no matter how many years he'd lived there. School, where everyone had known just what price they'd pay for befriending Dudley's cousin.
Fidgeting uncomfortably in the surprisingly comfortable chair, he finally blurted out, "Are you ever scared, sir?"
Snape wondered if Potter really expected him to answer. He was here to listen, not to answer questions. Seeing the way the boy squirmed on the chair, he rolled his eyes. Why on earth couldn't he show some of his Gryffindor courage now without idiotic small talk? He glowered at the boy, but tilted his head ever so slightly. No explanations.
"Then you know." Sounding relieved, Harry stopped the fidgeting. He could do this. "I... I don't want to be, but I am. Of everything."
His chest hurt. After all this time of keeping his mouth shut and hiding all the fear and pain and doubts, he was feeling almost light
headed. "It used to be so damn simple. Winning in Quidditch, winning the House Cup. Defeating Voldemort's latest scheme. I never saw it as it really was; it was just my life. Being a hero. The great Seeker. The great Harry Potter."
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched as if wanting to curl up. He didn't smile, even though hearing the boy say that was definitely hilarious. It had come out with exactly the same tone he always used when saying it; loaded with sarcasm and disgust.
Snape realized the tone was even more familiar than he'd thought as Potter continued listing all the things people usually said about him. He didn't really need to listen to this; it was all nauseatingly familiar to him. He concentrated on Potter's voice. The tired, brutal tone of it.
It reminded him of the time he'd crawled back to Hogwarts, his pride as shredded as his robes. There had been blood on his hands, on his clothes, everywhere. The cries of the dying Muggles had finally broken his resolve to walk his chosen path till the end.
He'd never expected Dumbledore to let him in, but there he'd been, standing in the opulent rooms of the Headmaster, shivering with shame and fear. Dumbledore had offered him food and drink, which he'd refused, and then asked him to tell him what was wrong.
Would have been easier to tell him what wasn't, because everything had been so wrong. Snape had told him that and more, talking until his throat had felt like parchment, with words still bubbling out. He had been rather horrified by the way he couldn't stop saying things he hadn't really even admitted to himself before that.
Now it seemed Harry Potter had reached that state.
Harry finished with his list, the words stumbling out. He sat there, shivering. Remembering how pleased those two witches at the Three Broomsticks had been to be able to buy him drinks. As if he'd ever done anything worthy of such worship.
"I'm not." He looked into Snape's eyes for the first time since he'd sat down, seeing no emotion in the black depths. He was rather surprised there was no glee in there. That was what he'd been expecting. "I'm just... Me. And I'm scared."
"Of failing?" Seeing the lost expression on Potter, Snape couldn't keep that unsaid. He knew what a silence would bring now. Shame and confusion he could deal with. Tears and hysteria were another thing.
Harry nodded, looking unsure of himself. "That too. Of showing them all I'm nothing but a 'child with not enough brain or talent to be deserving of such praise'."
The amusement tried to gain an upper hand over Snape's control again. He could recognize the obvious quote as one of his own.
"But that's not the big issue. I'm not that self centered. If I fail, it means all the people I love die. We'll all die, probably right here, trying to protect Hogwarts. All my friends, my housemates, the teachers." Harry's expression was stony now. "It'll mean that everything will go to hell. Everyone will die. Because of me." Seeing Snape open his mouth, he shook his head. "Don't. That's what it will be, because Voldemort is fixated on me and we both know if he wins, it's because I wasn't strong enough."
Snape didn't really agree with that, but he nodded anyway. Yes, The Dark Lord did have a fixation on the boy, but Harry was wrong about
not being strong enough. Before this night Snape would have agreed without a second thought. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.
Not waiting for any answer, Harry went on, "I've known he'll try to kill me all this time, but... Everyone's talking about this being the big year. My last year here. And everyone thinks he'll attack Hogwarts in a couple of months. But what if he doesn't? What if he waits till I'm not here anymore? If I'm somewhere alone. I've never wanted to become an Auror, but... The ministry is probably the safest place. Can't play professional Quidditch, 'cause that would be like placing myself on a plate. Can't really travel. Can't do anything."
He didn't even know what he wanted to do. Couldn't really stay at Hogwarts for years and years, even if it was probably closest to what he might want to.
It was ridiculous, really. With his name, he could do anything he wanted. All doors would open before him, whether he deserved it or not. If he wanted, he could probably get any position in the ministry, or even become the first ever human member of Gringotts board of directors.
All the others were worried about passing the N.E.W.T.s with good grades. His only reason to study for them was to see the bright look in Sirius' eyes. That was it.
Snape understood the boy well. His was the other side of the coin. Hogwarts was the only place he was accepted. Thinking about the rest of the wizarding world usually brought a cynical chuckle out of him. If he weren't a professor here, he would barely be tolerated. He didn't say it wasn't by his own doing. After all, he'd chosen to follow Voldemort of his own free, however juvenile, will.
With Potter, the scorn and suspicious looks would be worship and praise. He wasn't sure if those were any easier to bear.
"Have you thought of the possibility that you might win against the Dark Lord?" Snape had to ask.
He was answered by a broken laughter. Harry muffled the sound, not wanting to let go of the last thread of control he had over the hysteria. "Yeah. I have. It'll be even worse if I'm the one killing Voldemort. I hope it'll be someone else. Anyone else." He was quiet.
Then the sadness was back. "But I don't think so. Professor Trelawney's always babbling about destinies written in the cards and other crap, but... It's like everything's pointing at me. That killing Voldemort really is my destiny."
Once again, Snape nodded. This time Potter was absolutely correct. Mostly because now that he was old enough, no one else would even think about going against the Dark Lord. Even those fighting for the Order seemed to think of Potter that way.
Fawkes with his golden red feathers was the banner under which they worked and fought. Dumbledore their true leader. But Potter was the symbol, the figurehead. It would have to be him taking the lead when time came. Then the whole wizarding world would follow.
Harry looked at Snape again, his face contorted in disgust. "Can you imagine how it will be then? If I prove everyone's expectations were right? That I'm a perfect person, who triumphs over everything. People will never leave me alone. Will never let me be me."
The pain in his voice surprised even Harry himself. He kept staring at Snape, wondering if he understood any of the things he was saying. Realizing he probably did. "Why is everything so simple for them?"
Shrugging, Snape remained silent.
"They see you, and all they see is the Dark Mark." Ignoring the slight wince ghosting over the other man's features as well as the burning rage in his eyes that followed, Harry went on. He raised his hand on his forehead, fingers brushing against the lightning bolt shaped scar. "And they see this when they look at me. Sometimes... Sometimes I almost wish I hadn't survived at all. Or that when the final fight comes, he'll just kill me."
Snape couldn't keep the shock out of his face. Truth to be told, he didn't even try. He looked at the stunned expression on Potter and realized it was probably the first time the boy had allowed those words out.
It was clear to him now, why he'd never spoken of these things to anyone. Potter had said no one else would understand, but up until now, Snape had rather doubted it. Now he had to agree with him. Even Dumbledore wouldn't. Not really. He would listen, and he would feel awful for the boy. Then he'd try to help somehow.
That was the thing.
No one could help. No one could take the pain or the doubts or the fear away. No coddling or praise or a box full of Sherbet Lemons could make Harry Potter feel any better.
Harry had clamped his mouth shut, holding his hands over it as to make sure no other words escaped. His eyes were dilated, his expression shocked.
Then he convulsed, bending almost in two. A harsh sound left him. Then another. Moving his arms to hug himself, he sat there and laughed. It was a hysterical laughter, one that had been brewing inside of him for a long time. His chest heaved with every sound struggling to get out, eyes tearing. He simply couldn't stop.
Snape watched him laugh. He knew this was just the beginning. At least it had been like that long ago, when he'd finally let go.
There was no real joy in Harry's laughter. He had no idea what was making him laugh. It wasn't Snape. The man hadn't said anything or done anything. Even now, he was sitting there like a statue.
It couldn't be his words either, because they'd been horrible. Like a betrayal of everything; his father, who'd tried to keep his family safe from Voldemort, his mother who had died for him. All the people who just wanted to be happy and alive and kept him in a prison worse than Azkaban with their praise. There was nothing to laugh about in his stupid words.
Because he didn't really want to die. He just wanted all the confusion to end. Wanted not to hurt anymore. And the laughter sounded so strange in his ears, almost like crying.
He didn't even realize he was sobbing now.
It was the moment Snape had been dreading; the complete meltdown. He'd known it would come, but didn't want to be the one dealing with a crying Potter. He didn't want to go there and do anything. Didn't want to hold the boy, didn't know what good that would do. Probably nothing. Potter wouldn't want his consolations even if he knew how to show something like that with a touch.
Snape raised his wand and with a flick of his wrist and a softly spoken word a box of tissues appeared on Potter's lap. That was the best he could think of.
Hot tears were running down Harry's face, and the movement to wipe them off was purely instinctual. Glad for the tissues, he mopped his face dry only to repeat it a moment later, placing his glasses on the near by table. It seemed his insides had turned into liquid, because he just couldn't stop crying.
He didn't know why he was crying. Couldn't find any reason for the overwhelming sadness in him. There were too many reasons, too many memories he could pick, and they were all causing this. Harry didn't even feel the emptiness anymore. All he could feel was weariness.
A yawn broke through the tears. He was so damn tired of everything. If only he could just fall asleep and forget everything for even a short while. He curled on the chair, wondering if he could simply close his eyes and not think of anything.
"Sleep." It was as if Snape could read his mind. "You can stay here for the night."
Harry smiled a little, his lower lip wobbling. Sleeping sounded so good. He wiped his face one more time, not even realizing the tears had finally ended. Snuggling against the armrest, he dropped the box and the used tissues on the floor. He couldn't really care about them now. All he could think of was to sleep. Hopefully there would be no dreams.
A suffering sigh echoed in the room. Snape cleaned up the mess again, and then muttered softly, "Engorgio!" He sneered a little as the simple chair enlarged. It would be extremely annoying if Potter fell from his rather idiotic choice of resting place in the middle of the night and woke him up.
Snape watched Potter curl into a small ball and knew he'd sleep through the night. Probably through the next day as well if he had been suffering from insomnia. He had no idea whether he was still spending his nights walking around the castle; didn't really know about Potter's personal life, and was quite sure he didn't want to.
Unless he caught him breaking the rules again.
Shaking his head a little, he got up. It was time for him to get some sleep as well. Before walking to the door, he stopped by his houseguest and laid a blanket on top of him. No one could say he was a poor host, at least.
"Nox." Extinguishing the lights, he padded to his bedroom, casting a ward on the doorway just in case Potter woke up in the middle of the night and decided to snoop.
He still left the bedroom door slightly ajar.
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