To Trust by Abie
Past Featured StorySummary: Harry Potter is located in London in the dead of night. How exactly did he end up there, and what has he been doing? Well, any kid with half a brain knows not to talk to strangers.
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Dumbledore
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: None
Takes Place: 1st summer before Hogwarts
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Neglect, Suicide Themes
Challenges: None
Series: To Trust
Chapters: 22 Completed: Yes Word count: 73999 Read: 302975 Published: 03 Apr 2014 Updated: 02 Mar 2015
Storm of Fire by Abie
Author's Notes:
Hey guys! Your reviews last chapter made me so happy :). Thanks for the story suggestions too; I certainly haven't been bored. Warning: this chapter contains vague suicide themes toward the end. I apologize for not having put up a warning before now, but I didn't really know that my story was going in the direction that it did. The authors amongst you will likely understand how your own characters can surprise you.
Thanks a million to Lili for betaing. This chapter would not be what it is without her help.

Harry pushed his food around his plate discreetly. It was funny, really, how quickly the novelty of three meals a day had worn off. Just over a month of regular meals, and food was almost routine. He simply had no appetite. He felt restless, and his mind was racing with thoughts he could have done without. Harry forced himself to eat a bit, anyway, so Snape wouldn’t harp on his eating habits yet again.

Thankfully, it seemed Snape was ignoring him, for once. He seemed rather preoccupied. It appeared that Snape was in the midst of composing a letter, so he too wasn’t eating much.

Hypocrite.

Not that Harry minded. He wanted to be left alone; the thoughts whirling around his head would have undoubtedly made it far too difficult for him to speak.

Snape set down his fork, and Harry mimicked him, relieved.

“Will you be joining me in the laboratory today, Mr. Potter?” asked Snape, scratching out something with his quill.

Harry though for a moment. He would’ve liked to, but the way he was feeling right now, he’d most likely end up exploding something.

I need to get out of here.

“No thank you, sir. I’d prefer not, today.”

“As you wish.” Snape nodded to Harry and strode out of the room, flicking his wand behind him to clear away the dishes.

Harry went outside and starting walking aimlessly, more in attempt to escape than to reach a destination. But from what he was escaping, he wasn’t sure.

Why am I… feeling so much? I never did, before.

It was true. It had been so easy not to care about anything when he’d lived on the streets; he had been more focused on survival. But now, the confusion he felt about Snape’s civil treatments of him, combined with his fury at Dumbledore, was proving to be difficult to process. There was fear there, too, that Snape would start hating him again, or would leave or throw him out. And that led to more fury at Dumbledore, who was the real reason Harry had cause to fear being taken away in the first place. In more ways than one, too.

I hate that man.

It was too much. The anger, the hatred, and the fear that Dumbledore would take Harry away in attempt to set the next scene in Harry’s miserable life. And when he though too hard about the scenes past… all masterfully assembled into a word perfect cabaret, thanks to the tireless efforts of its producer… I give you, Albus Dumbledore! And let’s not forget to mention our star… but wait, he mustn’t be made aware… It is for his own good, after all. For the good of all the wizarding world…  

Harry wanted to scream, but at the same time, he wanted to curl up somewhere and just give up. He’d never escape this anger, this misery…

Harry felt his limbs tremble. Without another pause, he ran as fast as he could around the grounds. He ran, and kept running even when his muscles began to complain bitterly. He continued even when he had no breath left, and he only stopped when his legs gave out entirely.

Harry sat where he’d fallen, surrounded by warm grass and fallen leaves, catching his breath. That had helped a bit. He felt drained, his muscles slack, and the flurry of emotion had diminished.

So, apparently I miscalculated. I thought Dumbledore would take me away when he found that Snape was alright, but he didn’t. So what will be his next move? I can’t really detect a pattern. He left me with the Dursleys, so he must have known about everything that went on there. But if he didn’t want me to have anyone at all so I’d only trust him, why didn’t he prevent me from seeing Jade? Maybe he didn’t know about her? Wait, maybe he caused her to leave… But that doesn’t really fit, considering the circumstances. He can’t be in control of the normal world, too.  It didn’t seem that he knew I lived on the streets, either, from the way he was talking when he found me. So that would imply that he wasn’t keeping such close tabs on me… but that doesn’t fit if he’s trying to control everything. Damn, none of this makes sense.

Harry gave it up as a bad job, then went inside to shower before lunch. 


Later, when Harry sat down to dinner, he filled his plate, finding himself hungry for a change. It seemed that his earlier sprint was just catching up with him now. 

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry tensed, and looked up through his fringe.

Snape had an odd expression on his face. It was almost… discomfited.

“Might I inquire as to which subjects do you anticipate enjoying upon your start at Hogwarts?”

Oh. He’s trying to make conversation? And he’s not too comfortable with that, either. May as well answer.

“I expect I’ll enjoy potions, sir.”

Snape nodded.

“Indeed. It seems you possess a certain aptitude for the subject.” Snape paused for a moment.

He just gave me an outright compliment. Any moment now, a green pig will fly into the room, on golden wings, no doubt. Wait… are there magical flying pigs?   

“Did you perhaps enjoy chemistry in your previous institute of learning, Mr. Potter?” Snape’s voice jerked Harry out of his musings.

Institute of learning? Interesting way to put it. I’d say it was more of a warehouses for idiots, with the occasional individual possessed of a brain allowed admission so the standardized testing average met the government standards…

“I did, sir.”

Snape seemed to be studying him carefully.

Gosh, what did I say now?

“I assume you have procured some level of knowledge as to the aspects of the other classes offered at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a pause.

Oh, he wants me to tell him what other classes I like.

“It’s difficult to say, sir, but I think I might enjoy transfiguration.”

“It is indeed quite a fascination subject, though widely considered one of the more difficult magical disciplines.”

That would make sense, considering that you’re changing an object’s original state.

Snape was watching him carefully again.

What?

“Were you informed of your magical abilities by your previous guardians, or did you simply discover them unaided?”

Of course. I should have realized. He was just trying to find an opening to question me about them. I can’t lie, though, he’ll know. But anyway, what does it matter if I say the truth? Who cares? He won’t use it against me, I don’t think. How could he, anyway?

“They never told me, sir.”

“As I suspected,” Snape murmured.

Why would he suspect that?

“I think they were afraid of it, sir.”

Why did I say that?

Snape was studying him again. “It is a common human tendency to fear that which one does not understand, or cannot control.”

At that, Harry looked up at Snape’s face. There was a strange glimmer in his dark eyes. Of understanding?

He knows. He probably had a non-magical parent or something who hated him for his magic.

Harry did not know how he knew that, but judging by the look in Snape’s eyes, he knew it was true.

Snape was looking at him calculatingly. “You realize, Mr. Potter,” he said slowly, “that the irrational views of others dictate nothing of your intrinsic value.”

It was all Harry could do not to gape at Snape.


Harry was in the library, but he could not have repeated what he’d read; he was too distracted.

The irrational views of others dictate nothing of your intrinsic value…

Was Snape, in his own, subtle way, trying to tell Harry that he was worth something? Did Snape really think that of Harry, or did he want Harry to believe that of himself? Maybe he was just trying to make Harry think it was true, but then later… no. At this point, Harry truly did not believe that Snape was trying to trick him. Snape had no reason to lie about that sort of thing, anyway. Harry may not have known the man for very long, but he knew him well enough to know that Snape was not the sort of person to spout comforting lies, or to offer false compliments or platitudes.

But what does it bloody matter if I have value as a person, or if Snape thinks I do, or wants me to believe I do? What’s it worth, anyway? It doesn’t change anything. How would he even know that I’m worth something? I bet if he knew what really went on, he wouldn’t think so. He doesn’t know… And anyway, considering that I’m the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, and that Dumbledore’s a control freak, I’ll never be left alone. At least on the streets I was in charge. I’m destined for misery. It’s a fact. Self-worth or whatever makes no difference when nothing else is worth it.

Harry slammed his book shut with unwarranted force and headed to his bedroom. He was feeling nearly as tense as he had outside, before he’d gone for that run. In short, angry motions, Harry undressed and went into the shower, turning the tap to the highest temperature. He stood under the flowing water, feeling it scalding his back and scalp. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. It was from an outside source that he could turn off if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. The water felt good, as though its heat was washing away some of his raging emotions, absorbing the heat of his rage into its own.

After a long while, Harry exited the shower and toweled off, the cloth aggravating his reddened, tender skin. He wrapped the towel around his waist, still feeling anxious and on edge, though the fury had left him. He stared into the bathroom mirror, his tired, flushed face staring back at him.

They say externals mirror what’s inside. Is there something wrong with me on the outside that would somehow explain everything that’s gone wrong? Was everyone justified in doing what they did because I deserved it?

Harry examined his face carefully; he’d never really taken the time to look at himself properly before. Thick black hair, messy, but otherwise ordinary. Almond-shaped green eyes, the color unusual, but certainly normal. His nose was an average size, and his lips were pink, if a bit white around the edges. His face appeared drawn and slightly pale, and his eyes were shadowed, but wasn’t that how most people looked when they were tired? His skin wasn’t green, he had ten fingers and toes, and his facial features were all properly positioned.

If how I look doesn’t say anything, it must be something so deep inside me that’s gone bad that my body can’t properly translate it… Snape said that the views of others don’t define my value. But if that’s the case, than why is it that almost everyone sees something wrong with me? The Dursleys, all the neighbors, the kids in school, the people on the streets… It can’t just be my magic, because Dumbledore… and I’m the bloody Boy-Who-Lived… But Jade didn’t think I was bad…

Harry clenched his eyes shut against those thoughts. Jade was gone, so it didn’t matter. That only left Snape. And Snape was a mystery who made no sense at all.

Harry turned away from the mirror, feeling a pit growing in his stomach. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled on his pajamas. He left the bathroom and climbed into bed, shoving his dagger under his pillow as he curled up beneath his blankets. He attempted to calm himself, to think of and care about nothing, the way he used to, but he had poor results. His mind was racing, and he could almost hear the beat of his heart.

Find your safe place…

Harry’s thoughts immediately went to Jade. Memories involving her were the only ones that felt safe…

***

Harry was in the treehouse, waiting for her. He knew she would be there. Sure enough, he heard the rustling of leaves and a faint scraping sound, and Jade soon entered the treehouse. Her eyes were red, and her face was streaked with tears.

What? Jade never cried.

“You’re crying,” Harry said, feeling a bit out of his depth. Jade rolled her eyes, and Harry felt slightly relieved to see that she was still her normal self.

“You have a black eye,” she said in the same flat tone Harry had used. Harry smiled a bit, as if to say, touché.

He looked at Jade expectantly, though he knew better than to ask her straight out what was wrong.

Jade wiped her face with her sleeve. “I hate him,” she said in a low voice. Harry nodded. He could guess the rest.

Jade shrugged of her backpack, which she often carried with her, though Harry noticed that it was heavier than usual.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked. Jade smiled, just a bit. “Stuff.”

Jade first pulled out a water bottle and a brown paper bag and handed it to Harry. Harry nodded his thanks, gulping down some water. For some time now, Jade had taken to bringing Harry food and drinks, as she knew he was never given much of it. At least her bastard of a stepdad didn’t care what she ate.

“So what else is in the bag?” Harry asked, once he finished wolfing down the food she’d brought him. Jade pulled out some pens and a pad of paper from her backpack, ripping off the topmost sheet, and handing it to Harry. She grabbed a pen and leaned over the pad, penning out an image with such force that she nearly poked a hole through the paper.

“Draw whoever you hate,” Jade said, without looking up.

Harry gave her an odd look.

“What am I gonna do with it? Frame it and hang it on my wall?” Harry muttered.

Jade laughed a bit, and pulled a small object from her bag. A lighter.

Harry stared, a slow smile appearing on his face as he realized what she meant for them to do.

“Where did you get that?” Harry breathed, slightly awed.

“Nicked it from Ed’s desk.”

She bent her head back over her paper, shoving a pen toward Harry. He poised it over his paper, thought for a moment, then began to draw.

A short while later, when they were done, Jade grasped the lighter and made as if to set the paper alight.

“Wait!” Harry called out, a bit frantically. “You’ll set the whole treehouse on fire.”

Jade pulled out another water bottle. “We can put it out before it spreads,” she shrugged, a slightly manic look in her eyes.

“Still,” Harry said. “It’s better if we do it outside.”

Jade nodded in agreement, her expression clearing a bit. “I shoulda thought of that. Guess I was a bit too…” she trailed off. 

They climbed down the tree and cleared a small area of the woods from fallen leaves and branches. Carefully, they both set their papers down. Jade pressed her thumb down on the lighter, and a small flame rose out of it. She then held it against the eerily detailed drawing of the face she so hated, watching as the flame slowly began to spread. She handed the lighter to Harry, who’d drawn two faces; one of Uncle Vernon, and the other of that man he despised more than life itself.

They both watched with grim satisfaction as the flames consumed the faces of their tormentors.

***

Harry drifted off into an uneasy sleep. His dreams seemed engulfed in burning reddish flames, images rising in and out of them. Jade. Snape. Dumbledore. That man…


Harry awoke abruptly, a bit after six. His dreams, while unlike his usual nightmares, had unnerved him. The flames had seemed so real that he felt hot thinking about them. Harry then realized he was sweating rather profusely.

Odd. It’s like the fire was real…

Harry took a cold shower, as though in attempt to put out the flames. The irony of his actions wasn’t lost on him. A scalding shower last night to absorb the raging heat he’d felt inside, and now a cold shower to wash away the heat on the outside…

Fire’s an interesting element, Harry mused, his thoughts somewhat fragmented. Destructive. But could the earth manage without it? Probably not. Fire can destroy, but it can purify, too. If it doesn’t first destroy what it means to cleanse. Some things are beyond cleansing, anyhow. Some things are better off destroyed.

Dry and dressed, Harry made his way downstairs. It was too early for breakfast, so he went to the library. He didn’t feel like eating, anyway.

Harry settled in his favorite armchair, not even bothering to open a book. He stared at the wall. He felt a bit… vacant. Exhausted. As though he’d been running miles and miles and just couldn’t go on anymore. There was a faint ache in his chest, and Harry felt hard-pressed to even twitch a finger.

Get a hold of yourself. Pull it together. You have to be prepared, don’t sit here like a useless lump.

But for all his self-admonitions, Harry just couldn’t bring himself to care.

After a while of staring, Harry rose and walked toward the tall windows of the library, almost unaware of what he was doing. He then realized what had drawn him to it.

It’s raining.

It was storming, actually, and Harry could hear occasional rolls of thunder booming in the distance. The sound of raindrops hitting the ground wasn’t masked however, and something about it felt soothing. Almost transfixed, Harry left the library and walked through the front door. He felt large droplets land heavily on his head, his shoulders, his face. He stood in place for a while, his body soon becoming entirely soaked.

The rain is putting out the fire… But is it too late? Has it already been destroyed?

Harry walked toward his tree and sat beneath it, his arms wrapped around his knees. The leaves of the tree somewhat muted the steady assault of water.

Water. It’s the opposite of fire. But the same, in some ways. It can burn, too. And destroy. And purify. But not me…

Harry felt raindrops streaming down his face, almost like tears. But they weren’t tears. Harry couldn’t cry, he hadn’t done so in years, not since the day he’d realized the extent of its futility.

He sat under the tree a while longer, until he heard rustling. He looked up. Snape was walking towards him, his billowing cloak growing steadily damper. Harry tensed.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry relaxed slightly. Snape didn’t sound particularly angry. Concerned, perhaps?

“Come.”

Harry considered it for a moment, then rose. Snape, almost hesitantly, laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder to lead him toward the house. Harry shrunk away from the touch. It wasn’t that he was afraid, exactly; he’d known for some time now that Snape’s touch wasn’t dangerous. If anything, it made Harry feel warm inside, as though he was being ensconced in a thick blanket. But Harry could not accept that sort of comfort. Not now.

When they walked through the front door, Snape waved his wand around himself, drying his robes.

“You as well, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shrugged.

For once, Snape didn’t request a verbal answer. He waved his wand around Harry, whose clothes felt abruptly dry and warm. It made his throat ache. Harry swallowed, trying to rid himself of the sensation. It didn’t help.

“Breakfast, Mr. Potter.” Snape swept toward the kitchen, and Harry followed him. They both sat down to eat, and silence ensued for the next few moments.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said suddenly. “Do you enjoy a thorough soaking while fully clothed?”

Harry stiffened. “I like rain,” he responded defensively.

Snape nodded, his eyes on Harry. “Have you been made aware of the potential hazard of positioning oneself beneath a tree in the midst of a thunderstorm?”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Seriously?

“Statistically, sir, it’s unlikely that that particular tree would be directly hit by lightning.”

And at this point, I wouldn’t care if it was.

“While that may be true, Mr. Potter, the ability to exercise caution is a worthy attribute.”

That depends…

Harry, however, said what he figured Snape wanted to hear.

“I’ll exercise caution during future thunderstorms, sir.”

Snape inclined his head, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Join me in the laboratory after lunch.”


While stirring his potion, a Swelling Solution, this time, Harry stared into the thick, but oddly, almost translucent substance. He could see his reflection staring back at him, looking as blank and tired as he felt.

Stir six time clockwise…

Harry watched his reflection distorting as he stirred. It seemed eerie, now, but he couldn’t tear away his gaze.

Allow potion to simmer on a low flame for four minutes…

While he waited, a realization slowly began to dawn on him, while Dumbledore’s face drifted across his consciousness.

He can’t do anything if I’m no longer around…

Harry, almost reverently, reached a hand into his pocket to finger a small, metal object. He could almost see the glint of his sharp, ever-faithful dagger. A sudden sense of calm washed over him.

Just in case…

The End.
End Notes:
Thoughts?


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