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: 302977 Published: 03 Apr 2014 Updated: 02 Mar 2015
How to Save a Life by Abie
Author's Notes:
So... how many of you went into withdrawal when the site was down? I know I did. I would have updated earlier, but, in case you didn't know, submissions were blocked until today. So now you can finally get off that evil cliff hanger.
Enjoy the chapter! Fyi, I borrowed the title from The Fray (the same way I borrowed everything else from J.K.) The chapter is shorter than usual, but I think its intensity makes up for the length.

Severus awoke quite suddenly, feeling a vague sense of foreboding. Long-trained reflexes had him immediately out of bed, wand in hand. It was then when he noticed a faint, but increasing tightening of the band around his ankle. The charm, concerning the boy. 

But it was acting oddly. It certainly would not have woken him; he doubted he would have woken at all if not for the distinct sense of unease he was experiencing.

Severus did not pause to contemplate the matter. He swept rapidly towards the boy’s bedroom, prepared for the worst.

The boy was not in his bed. His gaze traveled rapidly across the room, and he notice a thin line of light protruding from the narrow gap between the floor and the closed bathroom door.

What…

He didn’t bother to knock; he twisted the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and swung open the door.

Oddly, the first thing he noticed was the bare bathroom floor tiles, spotted with droplets of a dark, wet substance. The rug had been hung, ever so carefully, over the towel rack. At the same time, a faint scent, only made obvious to him due to his spying experience, engulfed his senses.

It was then, within a second of his entrance into the room, that he took in the entire scene.

The boy was seated on the closed toilet lid, his head tilted slightly, eyes gazing unseeingly, face deathly pale. A small blade hung limply from the boy’s right fist, and his left hand, palm face-up, was resting on his thigh. And there was blood.

With a jolt of horror, Severus understood what had happened.

Do not make any sudden movements.

“Mr. Potter, drop the dagger,” he said, keeping his voice low and smooth.

The boy did not look up, but he let it fall to the floor with a faint clatter.

“Thank you. Stretch out your arm.”

The child looked up then, his gaze no longer blank. He looked tortured, now, his eyes awash with a greater agony than Severus had though possible for a child as young as he.

“Can’t you leave me here?” the boy asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Dear Merlin. Put the right words in my mouth.

“No. You can stretch out your arm for me willingly, or I will do it for you.”

Severus paused, and stood carefully still as the boy slowly stretched out his left arm, displaying the deep, bleeding gash across his wrist.

Without wasting a moment, Severus waved his wand in several intricate motions, cleaning the wound and knitting it carefully, while surreptitiously performing a quick scan to detect any other injuries.

Once confident that wound was properly healed, and that the child was free of further injury, Severus looked carefully at the child’s face. His blank mask was back in place, and his normally vibrant, intelligent green eyes seemed dulled and vacant. He appeared even smaller than usual, as though the life force that had held him upright had abandoned him. Or perhaps, the child had abandoned it.

It does not appear that he has lost a great amount of blood, but for a small child…

Severus shifted his grip from the boy’s wrist to his upper arm in preparation to lead him out of the room.

 “You require several potions. Come”

Without pausing for a response, Severus gently tugged on the child’s arm, pulling him to stand. But when the child rose, however, his knees buckled, and his eyes rolled backwards into a faint.

Severus cursed, scooping the child, the small, intelligent, hurt child, into his arms.

He walked down two flights of stairs to his laboratory, refusing to allow himself to think too hard. He could worry later. He could admonish himself for his neglect of the boy’s needs later. Right now, he needed to focus his undivided attention on an ill, injured child.

Cradling the boy carefully, Snape wandlessly conjured a cot, which appeared a little way before him, in the side room. He laid the child gently upon it. After determining that the boy’s vital signs were stable, Severus took several deep breaths.

Blood replenisher, iron supplement draught, nerve regenerator, perhaps.

Within moments, Severus was by the child’s side, potions in hand. He then loosened the unconscious child’s jaws, pouring potions into his open mouth, and stroking the throat to prompt the child’s swallow reflex.

He must awaken naturally, I would think.

Severus leaned against the wall outside the small room, refusing to allow himself to sit. How could he have missed this? How had he failed to realize just how hurt this child was?

And I didn’t think to look through his belongings. I didn’t know he had any belongings of his own. But that is no excuse; a child under my care was in possession of such a lethal object, and I overlooked it entirely. And why did the monitoring spells fail to work efficiently…? Of course, because they were not meant to detect harm the boy inflicted upon himself. It failed to occur to me to keep that in mind when I set the monitors. The sole reason I felt anything at all was because the child would have died had I waited too long. I have utterly failed him.

Severus had come to appreciate the boy’s qualities, and enjoy his company as well, but he’d never realized just how much he’d come to care for the child. The sheer horror he’d experienced when he’d realized what the child had felt compelled to do…

The child is hurting deeply. I cannot tiptoe around the issue any longer. I will encourage him to confide in me, and I will insist that he, at the very least, attempt to open up.

Harry was no longer just a boy Severus had grudgingly taken in. He was his responsibility, his ward, and he would not shirk his duties. He cared too much, now, and there was no going back. Nor did he want to.


Harry opened his eyes, then clenched them tightly shut.. 

Ouch, the lights… where am I? 

Recent events made their way steadily back to his awareness. He opened his eyes again, slowly, this time, and found that he was lying on a cot in the side room of Snape’s potions lab. Harry bit back a snort. To an onlooker, it would no doubt have seemed that Snape was preparing to chop him up for potions ingredients.

But no. Snape had found him, and healed him. And wouldn’t let him effing die.

I couldn’t even get this right. Brilliant.

“Ah, you are awake.”

Harry started. Snape had just entered the room, several bottles in hand. He walked over to where Harry lay, tracking his movements warily. Harry attempted to rise, but Snape put a hand on his chest, pushing him gently backwards.

“Do not sit up, I will raise the back of the cot.”

Snape flicked his wand, and Harry felt the upper half of his cot push upward so he was propped up into a half-lying, half-sitting position. Snape handed him a clear glass bottle filled with a watery, dark brown substance.

“Blood replenisher. I had given some to you earlier, but you require a second dose.”

Harry obediently swallowed the potion, grimacing slightly at its somewhat metallic taste.

Makes sense, it’s like I’m swallowing blood. I guess the potion is made to adjust itself to my blood type. This is way better than finding a donor. Do wizards have ingestible replacement kidneys? Do wizards even need that? And what about heart transplants…

Once Harry had drained the bottle, Snape handed him a glass of water, which Harry gulped down gratefully. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he’d been.

Snape handed him another potion, pale yellow, this time.

“For weakness and vertigo.”

Harry swallowed the slightly slimy, but thankfully tasteless brew. A dizziness and weakness he hadn’t even noticed he was experiencing left him, leaving him feeling clear-headed and energized.

No, I don’t want to feel like this. I was almost there. And then he had to show up.

But did he really not want it? Something about Snape’s ministrations made Harry feel something different. Something comforting. A sense of safety.

He must really not want me to die. Get a grip, if you died on his hands, he’d be in trouble. That’s why he’s doing this.

That idea made Harry feel calmer, somehow. The lack of conflict was easier to cope with. Snape wordlessly handed him another glass of water, watching as Harry drained it slowly.

After a few moments of silence, Snape cleared his throat.

“I trust you are now feeling well enough to walk, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded, his eyes on his fingernails, as he rose carefully out of the cot into a standing position. He did feel okay, physically, at least.

I don’t want to feel okay. I don’t want to feel anything.

“You will join me in the sitting room, and we will discuss this, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, his tone stern.

Is he angry? Of course he is, you nearly died on his watch.

Harry allowed Snape to lead him out of the lab and up the stairs. Harry sat on the couch, and Snape, instead of sitting across from him, sat down directly beside him. Harry hunched his shoulders, but that did not prevent Snape from gripping them firmly, turning Harry to face him.

“Look at me.”

Harry looked up into Snape’s eyes.

“Can you explain, Mr. Potter?” The tone was firm and inquiring, bordering on stern, but neither cutting nor caustic.

Harry opened his mouth, than closed it again. He couldn’t speak. He was, just as the first time he’d met the man, trapped in Snape’s dark, magnetic gaze, but it was different this time. There was anger there, surely, but there was also concern. Warmth. Caring. And… something else.

No adult had ever looked at him that way. Ever. He’d only ever seen scorn, fury, hatred, and disgust in the eyes of all those who’d been meant to care for him. Snape’s gaze was new, singular. And Harry couldn’t bear it.

He felt a pressure behind his eyes, and a stinging in their corners.

No. no crying-

But Harry couldn’t stop it. Years of pent up pain, fear, and anguish burst forth from him in a torrent of tears.

Harry pulled himself out of Snape’s grip, hiding his face in his hands, elbows pressing into his thighs. His entire body shook with the force of his deep, silent sobs.

After a moment, Harry felt something. An arm was reaching carefully across his shoulder blades, coming to rest on the outside of his upper arm, pulling him close. Harry fought it for a moment, but then gave in, collapsing against Snape’s side.

They both remained in that position for an undetermined length of time, Snape’s long arm holding Harry firmly against his side, while Harry sobbed silently, face still hidden in his tear-soaked hands.

Snape did not speak, for which Harry was grateful. He did not tell Harry to stop crying. He didn’t scorn him for it, nor did he attempt to end the tears by means of comforting words. He just sat with Harry, holding him, allowing him to let out his tears.

Eventually, Harry’s tears ebbed, and he pulled against Snape’s grip. Snape released him, giving Harry a few moments to collect himself. Harry wiped his face with his sleeve, too spent to feel embarrassed, as much as he knew he should. Though exhausted, Harry felt as though he’d been relieved of a weight he’d been carrying for years. Had it been the tears, or the subsequent comfort that had relieved him of it? Perhaps both.

Harry looked up when he felt hands on his shoulders. He looked up at Snape, again, unflinchingly.

“Why, Harry?” Snape voice was low, almost a whisper, and his expression intense, as though the answer to his question was all that mattered.

 I have to answer, I owe him that much. 

Harry thought. Why had he done it, and what had driven him to do it now, while his life had been better these past few weeks than it had ever been before?

The answer came to him.

“I was trying-” Harry’s voice emerged as a rasp. He cleared his throat, which felt as though it was coated in sawdust.

“I was trying too hard to s-survive to realize that I didn’t want to.”

Harry bit his lip and tried to look away, but Snape grasped his chin, holding his head in place.

“Until now.”

‘Cause I had time to think, and to see how screwed up everything really was.

Harry looked carefully at Snape; he’d never seen the man express so much emotion. The man’s face was lined with tension, but his eyes seemed shadowed, with sadness, and understanding.

“I know, Harry,” Snape said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I know that the pain can become so great that you cease to feel anything at all. It chokes you, it binds you, until you lose yourself entirely to its clutches. Until the pain is all you know, and you cannot separate yourself from it, no matter how valiant your struggle.”

Harry inhaled sharply at those words. He stared at Snape, and that was when he knew. Snape did know. Snape understood what he’d felt, and what had driven him to such desperate actions. Snape wasn’t angry, he understood. Because he’d been there, too.

“You- you do know,” Harry whispered.

Snape nodded once, slowly, reaching out a hand slowly to grasp Harry’s.

“As much as it feels as though you are, you are not alone,” said Snape, his eyes deep with intensity, his voice projecting utter conviction.

I should be. I don’t need anyone. I can’t depend on anyone. I should be able to be alone.

Snape seemed to know where Harry’s thoughts were going.

“You cannot be strong all the time, Harry. Nor should you have to be. You can let others in. Allow them to hold you up when you can do so no longer.”

Can I? Is that really true? Maybe… maybe I can… be helped.

No.

But it feels good.

No! It’ll only hurt you in the end. But…

“Harry.”

Harry looked up at Snape’s voice, straight into his eyes. Snape hands were on his shoulders again, warm and strong and protective.

“Will you let me, Harry? Will you let me be that person?”

Harry gaze into the swirling obsidian of Snape’s irises. Those were deep eyes. Eyes that could hold secrets, carry burdens that no one else could. Those eyes held knowledge, understanding, and strength. They were eyes that would not fail him.

Slowly, the emerald of Harry’s gaze never leaving Snape’s, Harry nodded.

The End.
End Notes:
Writing this chapter was a pretty intense experience. What did you think?


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