Harry Potter and the Long Summer by Mirriam Q Webster
Summary: At the end of Harry's fifth year everything changed. And when Snape answers a call for help during the summer afterward, everything changes again.
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Dumbledore, Remus, Voldemort
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: None
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: Harry Potter and the Long Summer Series
Chapters: 15 Completed: Yes Word count: 50780 Read: 106344 Published: 06 Feb 2005 Updated: 25 Nov 2005
Chapter 9 by Mirriam Q Webster
Author's Notes:

A/N: Revised chapter

Harry was sleeping peacefully when he became dimly aware of his scar burning.

He was standing alone on a slight rise in the open ground. His faithful were coming. Suddenly several tall, dark shapes with cadaverously pale faces popped into existence around him. He greeted them and they bowed before him, professing their fidelity and allegiance.

He had his doubts about them, of course, most of them were Slytherins, after all, but they would stay with him as long as he had power. This time he did not intend to fall. One by one he called on them to make their reports, and they answered him. Most were satisfactory, but some reports were not. “Nott!” he called. A man stepped forward, trembling slightly. “You have failed me, Nott.”

“Yes, Master,” the man choked out.

“You musst be punished, then. Crucio!”

It was an odd sensation indeed, Harry noted, not for the first time, to be both casting and experiencing the Cruciatus. After a few agonizingly long moments it was over and Nott was allowed to crawl back to his place in the circle.

He continued to question his servants until finally he reached, “Sseverusss.”

“Yes, my lord,” Snape stepped forward. In contrast to Nott his knees did not shake and his voice was steady.

“How goesss your training of young Potter, my Sseverusss?”

“We are making progress, my lord, but Potter is still wary.”

“The summer wanesss quickly, and you have failed to make him trusst you,” his voice was light but it had cooled somewhat.

“Forgive me, lord, but we suffered a slight setback.”

“What ssetback isss thisss?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

“We had a visitor, lord.”

“Who?” he asked sharply.

“Lucius Malfoy,” Severus said with a slightly inclined head, as though it pained him to reveal his old acquaintance that way.

“Luciussss!” he barked and another figure stepped out of the ranks before him.

“My lord,” he acknowledged.

“Why did you visit Sseverusss, Luciusss?”

“I wished to inquire about a potion, my lord.”

“I fail to ssee how thisss would negatively impact your work, Sseverusss.”

“He spoke with Potter, lord. The boy felt threatened and withdrew from me when I had to speak with Lucius.”

“If you were so concerned, Severus, perhaps you should not allow the brat free run of your house!” Malfoy spat venomously.

“I do not allow the boy free run, Lucius,” Snape replied with glacial calm, “but neither can I restrict him overly much.” Malfoy’s hand moved toward his wand.

“Enough!” Voldemort bellowed. “I grow weary of your petty dissputesss. Luciusss, sstay away from the boy! Sseverusss, redouble your effortsss! I do not wish to losse everything when he returnsss to Dumbledore’sss ssupervission.”

“Yes, my lord,” both men acquiesced.

“Oh yesss, one more thing, Crucio!” Both men writhed on the ground before him.

Just before he woke up, Harry noticed that Snape somehow writhed with more dignity than Malfoy Senior. Pulling himself out of bed and over to the desk, Harry forced himself to wake up and write a letter to Dumbledore describing what he had seen and heard. He was just finishing up when he heard floorboards creaking in the hall.

Snape must be back, he realized. The footsteps moved rather slowly down the corridor to Snape’s room. Harry waited a few moments, wondering what he should do. He looked down at the letter on his desk. Maybe Snape would know a better way to get the report to the Headmaster than owl post.

Harry picked up the parchment and walked to the door of his room. Cautiously he opened it and stepped out into the hall. Snape’s door was firmly shut. Most likely Harry would get yelled at, but he figured Professor Dumbledore would probably want the letter as quickly as possible. Harry plucked up his courage and walked down the hall. He rapped softly on Snape’s door.

There was no answer. Harry stood there for a moment before trying again. Still, there was no answer. Harry took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

There was no one in the main room, Harry saw, but there was a light under what he guessed was the bathroom door. He heard the sound of retching from the other side of the door. Harry stepped forward, concerned. He dropped the parchment on the bed as he passed it and opened the second door.

Snape knelt in front of the toilet. He appeared to be loosing every meal he ever ate. Harry grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack and dampened it. He handed it to Snape who took it and wiped his mouth then refolded it and pressed it to his forehead without comment.

Harry let the tap run for a moment while the water grew cold, before drawing a glass of water and passing it to the older wizard. Snape took it with closed eyes. He rinsed his mouth and spat but drank the water gratefully. After a bit he rose and moved slightly so that he stood before the sink, forcing Harry to back up until he stood framed by the doorway.

Worry was clearly written across the teen’s face as the dark man turned the hot water tap until it was fully open. He let it run, heating up, before getting some soap and scrubbing his hands.

It was the most vigorous cleansing Harry had ever seen; it rivaled the intensity of Aunt Petunia when she was in all-out spring cleaning mode. Not even Dudley could track dirt in the house when she was in that mood.

Harry’s eyebrows went up a little when he saw the steam rising from the sink. The water temperature must be near boiling.

His eyebrows flew higher when Snape stopped and reached into the cabinet under the sink. The man pulled out what Harry recognized as fairly strong cleansing solutions; the antiseptics, he hazarded, were probably on the same level as what hospitals used for surgery patients and cleaning up biohazardous wastes.

Snape applied the potions to his hands in liberal doses. Harry’s anxiety only grew as he watched his professor continue until the boy thought the flesh would be stripped from the bones. Snape was uncorking yet another flask—the smell alone told Harry it was the most potent yet—when Harry’s hand darted forward and grabbed the man’s wrist. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“Let go, Potter,” Snape growled. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand something of guilt,” Harry said bitterly. “It isn’t your fault. Please stop,” the boy pleaded. His heart despaired when he saw the hardness in the older man’s eyes.

“You know nothing, Potter! Nothing!” Snape hissed, turning on the boy. “What could the golden boy know of pain when there is always someone there, waiting to spare him the burden!”

“Always someone there...! Now who knows nothing? Open your eyes, Professor!”

“Open my eyes? You ungrateful little brat! You’re so spoiled you don’t even know it! You know nothing, Potter!”

“I know more than you give me credit for! But why should I expect anything else from you? You’ve always tried to hold me back!”

“Hold you back? You ridiculous whelp, I’ve saved your life!”

“I’m sure you have, but when was the last time you tried to teach me anything? You just keep trying to make me look ignorant!”

“That’s because you are ignorant, boy!” the professor shouted. A hint of color tinged his cheekbones. “You think you can strut about and not try to learn and somehow you’ll just ‘magically’ beat the Dark Lord! You are weak, Potter, and ignorant, and you revel in it, despite all the things that have happened!”

It was obscenely obvious that Snape was referring to Sirius’s death. Harry looked pained, as though someone had just punched him in the stomach. “No,” he gasped. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Severus asked, sensing the other’s weakness and stepping forward to press his advantage. “Then why is it that you still fail at Occlumency, Potter? Don’t you love your godfather enough to remedy that? Or did you consider him beneath you, expendable, like you consider everyone else?” Snape took another step towards Harry, who retreated before him, pale and trembling.

“No,” he mouthed silently, shaking his head violently. “No!” he yelped before turning and running all the way back up the hall. He slammed the door to his room closed and sank down against it, shaking and sobbing. “Sirius,” he moaned. “Sirius.”

Back in his own room Severus stared after the boy. He had just been unconscionably cruel, he knew. Closing his eyes briefly, he dragged a hand through his hair and felt all the hostility drain out of him. He was always at his worst right after a summons, and the realization that Potter, of all people, had seen this weakness unnerved him and made him inexplicably furious. Severus now felt even worse than before. Potter hadn’t done anything, after all, and had actually been helpful and almost comforting.

After a moment Snape realized with a small trace of guilt that the boy’s intervention in his routine had been a misguided attempt to protect him. Ridiculous hero-complex, Severus snorted.

Then he realized that he had probably just alienated the boy more than Lucius Malfoy. If the Dark Lord found out he would kill him. When Dumbledore found out he would likely kill him. And just when I was getting to know him, too, Severus remarked to himself dryly. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—apologize to the child.

Snape suddenly recalled the boy’s eyes when he had said he understood guilt. There had been something of truth in his look, which made Severus stop short. Potter got to be a bigger mystery all the time.

The next day was Monday, an Occlumency day. Then and there Severus swore to himself that he would solve the riddle of Harry Potter the next day, even if he had to go through every single memory in the boy’s head to do it.

The End.


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