Harry closed his eyes against the soft morning sun as the fresh rays came teeming over the horizon splashing the dull stones of the manor’s exterior with shades of maize and saffron, the dark corners dappled with shadow and light, like old gold.
He took in a deep breath, able almost to taste the freshness of the morning. The crisp, gentle breeze raked through his hair, the rebellious strands still damp from his attempt at taming it with a wet comb, to no avail of course. The morning was still, serene, the gaily warbling birds only just now waking, their bright, button eyes blinking at the first plumes of sun as their downy chests heaved into song.
He’d risen early, even before the Professor. His eyes had fluttered open naturally, limbs rested, mind clear and calm. It was almost as if the Professor had slipped him some Dreamless Sleep. He’d owed this blissful waking to the Professor, definitely. His silent strength, comforting even amidst Harry’s fears, had lifted a weight from him, and Harry wondered how it was that Snape knew so much about him, about everything. He’d cajoled him into sharing some of his secrets, a few of the withheld memories of his days with Craig, and afterward Harry had felt a little better, just as Snape said. The process had hurt though, each word a knife on his tongue, his skin felt as if it were crawling from his flesh as he fought to speak of the choking, the nightmare of being attacked, beaten, chased. The reward had been worth it though, the soothing attention from the Professor reminded him how good it felt to be cared for, and the spark within him burst into flame, luminous and flickering, but fragile.
He’d slipped from the room undetected and made his way downstairs, expecting to find Della working herself into a frenzy in the kitchen, but finding only empty silence. He helped himself to an apple, the flesh sweet on his tongue as he bit through the coral red skin on his way out the front door. He’d walked out into the meadow to watch the sunrise, and that was how Della found him a few minutes later as she emerged from behind the manor, a worn leather case in her arms. She stopped suddenly, head cocked to one side as she registered the figure in the distance, a smile spreading across her weathered face as she tramped towards the boy, bare feet kicking up dew as she went.
“Little Master!” She exclaimed, ears drifting buoyantly in the morning breeze. Harry spun around, his own face lighting up with a cheerful grin at seeing the beloved house elf.
“Little Master is being up with the crows!” she exclaimed, righting the case in her arms as it threatened to topple to one side.
“Yeah,” Harry replied, eyeing the bag that was being jostled in Della’s slender arms. “Do you need help with that?” He offered. Della’s grin faded into a slightly horrified expression.
“No, no, Little Master!” she cried, shaking her head so hard her ears slapped gently around her head. “I am being here for special reasons, very special indeed. Little Master cannot help, but…” she cocked her head and gave a thoughtful look for a moment before emitting an elated squeak. “Little Master can be watching if he likes!”
Harry couldn’t help but smile and the impassioned little beast before him. Nodding at her offer, he followed Della across the front of the manor, towards a collection of small trees. As they neared, Harry recognition set in, and his stomach felt suddenly very hollow indeed. Several shattered tree limbs lay amongst the tall grass, the fragments of wood scattered like snow around the base. A few feet away lay two larger branches, and Harry’s stomach rolled as he realized he was standing in the exact place where he had attacked the Professor in a state of frenzied panic only days before.
“What are we doing here?” He asked tentatively, unconsciously twisting the hem of his shirt in his fingers. Della carefully placed the bag on the ground and peered up at him.
“The tree is being needing to be treated,” she said, returning to the haggard little case and twisting the pitted, silver latch. “All trees here are being very special. I am being taking care of every twig of them.”
She carefully removed a large beaker from the bag, the fragile glass protected by a swatch of leather wound tightly around its base and stem. Harry regarded the tree he had assaulted. Many of the slender branches had been ripped away, leaving splintered and jagged boughs barely hanging from the trunk. The remaining limbs were already brittle with death, its bark grey and fallow, leaves devoid of their previous spring bud green, now parched and streaked with ragged slashes of dark bistre. Harry swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sinking slowly to his knees, the damp seeping though his jeans as he stared woefully at a surprised Della. “I’m sorry I killed your tree.” Della froze, one hand still buried in the leather case, the other steadying the beaker she had set at her feet. Her russet brow furrowed for a moment before shaking her head gently.
“Little Master is not being killing the tree,” she replied, her voice taking on a tone of surprise. Her tiny hand steadied the beaker and gently came to rest on Harry’s knee. “I am being making everything alright, hmm?” She said reassuringly, returning to dig in the case for another beaker, which she set with its twin in the wet grass. She closed the bag and carefully uncorked both of the glass containers.
“Tree is only being in darkness,” she explained as she poured a thick, viridian coloured salve into her palm. Quickly, she smeared the substance into the exposed parts of the tree, coating each damaged area thoroughly before re-corking the beaker. She picked up the other and crouched down at the base of the tree. “When tree is hurt, it is being in darkness. All tree needs is healing, is light.” She poured a thin, amethyst liquid into the soil and returned both vessels to the case.
“So, I didn’t kill it?” Harry asked.
“No, Little Master!” Della exclaimed, smiling broadly. “Tree is only in darkness. Tree cannot grow in darkness. Tree only is being dying if it cannot find light. You watch, you see, all tree needs is light!”
Della’s hands settled gently on each side of the tree trunk. She closed her eyes, and after a few moments, a beautiful white light began to flow from her hands, slowly creeping up the length of the tree and out onto each branch until the entire tree was glowing with a luminous butter yellow light, thick and billowing and beautiful.
“When you is being filled with darkness,” Della continued, eyes still closed in concentration, “you can be feeling dead, be looking dead. You needs to be filled back up with light.”
Slowly the light faded and Della’s eyes fluttered open. She turned to Harry and beamed.
“I am knowing how to heal the trees,” she said, tilting her head to one side. “Trees trust Della to heal them, see?”
Della pointed to one of the tree's trembling leaves, which only moments before was parched and dull. There at the tip, slowly ebbing its way around the edges was a fresh, lively green. Harry looked in amazement as patches of bark sloughed off to reveal healthy new bark growing beneath.
“If trees trust, they can heal,” Della said, for the first time her voice sounding almost serious. She reached out and patted Harry’s cheek. “Trees trust Della. If Little Master is trusting Master Snape, Little Master’s darkness will fade, too. There is still light being inside of you, I am seeing it! Master can help find it. Master Snape knows much about darkness as well as light.”
Harry stared back at the little elf. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her face solemn for only a brief second more before bursting into a smile. She returned the beakers to her carry case and hoisted it into her arms with a squeak of exertion.
“Come, Little Master,” she chirped happily. “I am being making you some breakfast! Toast, and many fruits, and handsome eggs, and juices and…”
Harry couldn’t help but grin as he watched Della parade across the lawn head high, jovial voice ringing out in the morning air as she recited the menu she had planned. He didn’t quite know which was more amusing, the fact that she was so excited to make breakfast for him, or that she honestly thought such an abundance of food was suitable for a single meal.
He reached out and grazed his fingers along one of the tree’s broken branches, the willowy limb coming to life under his hand, quivering and crackling as a stubby bud emerged from a potion slathered knot. Quickly Harry withdrew his hand and watched as life sprang forth from the sapling, it’s bark sloughing away completely from the soft, deer brown bark that lay beneath. Though the air was quite still now, the little tree swayed gently in a joyful, animated dance, its branches seemingly reaching for the open sky as more and more buds appeared, its leaves flickering as if to show off their new lush, green hue. It took almost a minute for the transformation, and slowly the tree settled, as perfect and as whole as the rest of the grove as it stood proudly in the thicket.
Harry was in awe. Never before had he seen witnessed such an amazing event, the beauty of it, the quiet joy of a being renewed, whole and flawless, and right before his eyes. He felt reverent, honoured. He leaned forward, his face within inches of the little tree.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, breathlessly quiet in the stillness.
Suddenly, a gust of wind surged from within the gathering of trees, scattered leaves twisting into the air, dancing upon the current as they swirled about the boy, and Harry felt one of the tree’s slender branches brush against his cheek. As quickly as it came, the zephyr skipped out across the meadow, the leaves erupting into a burst of greenery as the brisk wind tossed them into the air, then faded.
Harry clambered to his feet and dusted off his damp, dirt stained knees before turning back towards the manor. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he recalled Della’s words, the sincerity in her voice as he spoke of the darkness, about trusting the Professor, and the light she knew was inside him. How Harry wished he could find the light Della spoke of, the joy that must be there, buried, hidden, forgotten. Could the Professor really help him find it like she said? He had felt better last night, and Snape had been …well he’d just been there and Harry had felt so….so…damn, what was the word? Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. It had hurt to tell at first, but afterwards, when Snape was holding him, it felt like a little of the pain had washed out of him with the tears. The sound of the front door opening cut short his muse, and his eyes fell on the black clad form of Professor Snape. The man hesitated a moment, eyes scanning the meadow before landing on his target, and he started down the stairs towards Harry.
“I was not expecting you up so early,” he said as he approached, a tinge of worry on his words. “How did you sleep?”
“Oh, fine, Sir,” Harry replied. “I didn’t wake up until this morning.”
“I’m very pleased to hear that. I trust that you have not eaten?”
Harry shook his head.
“Not yet, Sir.”
“Della is starting preparation on a three course meal in the kitchen. Won’t you join me for a ridiculously excessive breakfast?” Snape asked, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He offered his hand to the boy, and Harry walked to his side, allowing the hand to fall lightly on his shoulder.
“What were you doing out here?” Snape asked as they made their way up the stone steps.
“Oh, nothing,” Harry replied, a smile spreading across his face. He paused and looked up at the Professor, who returned Harry’s happy expression with a gentle smile of his own. “I was just watching the trees.”
Snape pulled open the door and Harry felt the strong, warm hand squeeze his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen, and deep inside, the barely there flame flickered again, the hope rekindled, bursting with renewal like the little dancing tree. Harry’s hand unconsciously drifted to his chest, as the pleasant feeling grew ever so slightly. It was still fleeting, still an evanescent emotion, but this time it was different, more powerful than before, and as Harry watched the Professor roll his eyes at Della in mock annoyance of the extravagant breakfast, he felt the comfort of knowing for the first time ever, that the feeling would be back.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Harry settled into his chair, a gentle sense of contentment within him. A large platter swooped slowly down from the kitchen counter laden with fresh, warm waffles, pancakes, and sliced fruits, some so exotic Harry had know idea of their names.
“Merlin,” Snape muttered as yet another plate landed with a clink on the table, this one sporting almost a dozen tiny ramekins each filled to near overflowing with various syrups and spreads, and another, this one the largest of the three, piled with neatly stacked sausages, slices of crisp bacon, and golden brown russet potatoes perfectly cubed.
“Enough!” Severus snapped angrily, lancing a threatening glare at Della, who was sending yet another plate of food towards the already crowded tabletop. The clanging of a dropped fork rang out in the silence that followed, and Severus’ head shifted to look across the table. He watched as, without looking up, Harry’s hand slowly dipped and picked up his dropped fork, tongue sweeping nervously across his lips as his cheeks swarmed with embarrassed crimson.
“Della,” Severus said carefully, forcing his voice to soften as his eyes clung to child opposite him. “Whilst we are grateful for such a thorough breakfast, it seems in your zeal, you have slightly overestimated our hunger.”
Della, who had frozen in fright at her master’s sharp word, nodded quickly, eyes wide and unblinking. The large serving platter, which was still hovering silently in the middle of the room, slowly retreated towards the little creature, and with a barely heard snap of her fingers it faded nothingness as it came to rest on the counter.
“However,” Severus continued in a louder voice, drawing his gaze to the kitchen door. “I do appreciate your willingness to make sure our guest is well fed.”
For the first time since Snape’s outburst, Harry looked up, fork still clutched tightly in his hand. The Professor cleared his throat, and moments later a disheveled crop of white hair came into view, and the rest of Ernie’s tiny frame emerged.
“How nice of you to announce your arrival,” Snape drawled, giving Della, who still hadn’t moved a muscle, an exasperated look. Relaxing, Della offered him a tentative smile before returning to her activities.
“I have the good sense to make myself scarce when one of your moods hits, Severus.”
Ernie tittered as he entered the kitchen and pulled himself up into an empty chair. He looked over at Harry and smiled broadly. Leaning closer to the boy, he waited until Harry did the same, then spoke in a low tone.
“You may not be aware,” he said, his voice hushed, but more than loud enough for Snape to hear, “but the Professor can be quite a pill.”
Harry snorted uncontrollably and quickly pulled his hand to his mouth to curtain his amusement. Forcing his face into impassiveness, he glanced quickly at Snape to gauge his reaction. The Professor wore his customary deadpan expression as he stared back, silently willing the boy to take part in the joke, to allow himself to relax fully and enjoy the moment, and he barely controlled the urge to smile when Harry, with a serious façade of his own raised his eyebrows at Ernie.
“You’re kidding.”
Ernie broke into peals of laughter, his entire body shaking from the fit of giggles. Severus snorted indignantly as stone faced as ever at the sarcasm.
“Harry.”
Harry paused before locking eyes with his Professor, and Snape took in the boy’s face. His eyes gleamed with a hint of worry, but his face was relaxed, bright, a shade of the beaten child he had been when he arrived at the manor, and a surge of emotion swept through him. It was incredible how much the boy meant to him now. How impossible the feeling of love would have seemed weeks ago, but how natural, how treasured it was now.
“Eat your breakfast,” he said quietly, his lips twitching into a barely there smile.
Harry looked back at his Professor, the anxiety coiled in his chest abating as the man’s face softened. He returned the smile, reveling in the kindness of it, the genuine compassion in those dark eyes. He sat quietly as the Professor and Ernie chatted back and forth. Careful to avoid notice, he stole frequent glances at Snape, watching the man’s face as he fell into deep conversation. It was so strange how he felt about the Professor now. It seemed like a lifetime ago, he had been sitting at King’s Cross comparing the man to a soul-sucking dementor, but then he’d….yes, he’d cared about Snape, liked him, needed him. Harry’s eyes narrowed in thought as his fingered the intricate design on his fork’s handle. Those first few days at the manor had been so fearful, so painful. He’d felt ripped to pieces, and there’d been something in him, a desperation, the frantic need to have someone care about him, protect him, and Snape had done just that. Snape had lured the trust out of him, pulled the emotions from him like hauling a kite down from a windy sky. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to trust, to let someone care about him, and the relief had been overwhelming.
It had been awful the way he had been so scared of the Professor after his rescue. The confusion of caring about the man but at the same time being so deathly afraid of him had almost torn him apart. He let out a heavy breath and stabbed at a half eaten sausage, suddenly feeling a lot less hungry. He wanted to trust Snape like that again, he honestly did, but it was so hard. There was no way he could stand to be hurt again, to be abandoned. He knew how things would turn out. Eventually the Dursley’s would return from their vacation, and Harry would have to return to the horror hidden on Privet Drive. Sure, Snape had said he wouldn’t have to go back, but Snape didn’t have any claim to him, not legally. They were just words, and words didn’t change the fact that the Dursley’s would demand him back and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Summer wouldn’t last forever.
Sharp, frantic worry sliced through him at the thought of returning to those monsters. He suddenly felt sick. He stood slowly, as quietly as possible to avoid questions from Snape, but the Professor was still engrossed in conversation. As casually as he could, he skirted the kitchen table, even managing a smile at Della as he passed before finding himself in the foyer. Swallowing the sickening taste of bile and worry, Harry pulled open the heavy door and made his way outside, breathing deeply as the gentle morning wind lapped at his face. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t Snape have just been the nasty bastard Harry had always thought he was? At least that would have been easier to deal with, especially after what Craig had done to him. If he’d never cared about Snape in the first place, he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to trust him, and it wouldn’t matter if Snape cared about him or not. What was that phrase Hermione had read him? The one from the book of poetry her parent’s had given her for her birthday. She’d practically memorized every single line in the whole book and quoted it for months afterwards. Something about….I hold it true….something something….when I…I…I sorrow most….better to have loved and lost….than…than never to have loved at all.
“Bull,” Harry whispered against the cooling breeze. It wasn’t better to love and then lose it. It was better never to have felt it in the first place. What kind of idiot would want to go through the pain of losing someone who had loved you? “Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, my ass,” Harry said fiercely. “What utter crap.”
“I highly doubt Tennyson would appreciate such an assessment.”
Harry gasped, almost losing his footing he spun around so fast. Professor Snape stood at the bottom stair, eyeing Harry curiously.
“You left without saying anything,” Snape continued, noticing how pale and drawn the boy’s face had become. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“I’m fine,” Harry replied, falling back on the easy retort. “I just came out to…to-”
“Quote eighteenth century poetry,” Snape interjected, deciding to spare Harry from the requirement of fabricating an answer. “There are potions that require my attention down in the laboratory,” he continued, extending his hand towards the boy as he had done when he found him outside earlier. “Would you care to assist me?”
He watched Harry’s reaction carefully. A change had come over the child during breakfast. He’d caught the many glances in his direction, the fumbling of tableware, and the eventual hasty exit, and though it was obvious Harry had tried to downplay whatever was going on, Severus had felt the anxiety radiating from the silent boy, and he’d excused himself to Ernie as soon as possible after Harry’s departure.
Harry glanced at the Professor’s outstretched hand. How easy it would be to step forward and allow the hand to fall gently to his shoulder, how easy it would be to revel in the comfort the man was offering. Forcing back the emotions, Harry remained where he was. It would just be harder in the end if he let himself care about Snape again. It would be so difficult to walk away at summer’s end, going back to people who hated him. He couldn’t let himself get close to the Professor, not again. He watched with hidden sadness as Snape’s hand slowly drifted back to his side.
“Perhaps later,” Severus said quietly.
Harry watched as Snape walked slowly back inside the manor. As the door closed with a gentle thud, Harry’s eyes welled with tears. Breathing heavily, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, wiping away the traces of moisture.
“What am I doing?” He whispered, turning and slamming his hands down on the stone railing. “What am I doing?”
Forcing back the tears, he stared out across the meadow, breathing deeply, his chest tight, throat stinging, the stone cold under his palms. A gentle wind ran its haphazard fingers through his hair. Why couldn’t this just be easy? Why did he have to be so confused about everything? Why did his mind constantly waver back and forth? Trust Snape, don’t trust Snape. Tell Snape everything or keep all the things Craig did to himself. Let go or hold it in. Trust or distrust. Stay or run. Lies or truth. Hide or reveal. Harry tightened his grip on the rugged stone, his mind racing.
He was going to have to make a decision soon, he knew that.
He just didn’t know what that decision would be.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The day drifted into afternoon. Harry spent the hours walking around the island with a herbology book took from Snape’s library. He’d managed to find quite a large number of the herbs mentioned in the first chapter, and it took his mind off things. Sort of.
He had stumbled across a rather large Dionaea muscipula and was watching intently as a small spider made its way up the stem and across the red lobe. It was fascinating to witness, though he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as the lobes snapped shut, encasing the spider to be digested at the plant’s leisure. Realizing his own desire to eat, he made his way back to the manor and headed into the kitchen, pausing outside in the foyer first, listening at the door in case Snape was already inside. Hearing nothing, he carefully peered into the kitchen and found it empty. Helping himself to an apple, he headed into the living room and settled onto the couch.
“Little Master!” Della exclaimed, her eyes alight with happiness as she caught sight of the boy. “Della is being busy helping Master Snape. Can Della make you lunch?” She asked, noticing the apple. Harry clambered to his feet.
“Oh, well, only if it’s not too much trouble,” he said quickly. “I mean, if you’re busy with the Professor, its ok.”
“Never, never!” Della replied, ushering Harry into the kitchen. “Never too busy for making little master lunch.”
Harry smiled as Della motioned towards the kitchen table. He seated himself and watched as the frantic little elf clasped her hands and beamed at him.
“What is little master wanting?” She asked, cocking her head to one side. “I can be making crown of lambs or devilled chicken or peppered gammon or beef pie or –”
“How about...” Harry cut in, smiling at Della as she ceased her list of dishes. “How about just a sandwich?”
“Oh yes!” Della exclaimed excitedly. “Della is making scrumptious sandwich! Della could make eggs salad or chicken or lovely fruity jams or cheeses with lettuce or ham or –”
“Peanut butter?” Harry said loudly over Della’s loud rambling of sandwich fillings. There wasn’t much she could do with peanut butter. Crunchy or smooth, that was it, and to Harry’s relief Della turned towards the counter and busied herself preparing the meal.
“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully as Della handed him his plate.
“Della is being here in the kitchen for all the afternoon if you are being needing me,” she replied. “I am being making special dinner for tonight.”
“What’s special about tonight?” Harry asked.
“Mister Russer is being returning,” Della explained, summoning a large bowl from a high cupboard.
“Oh,” Harry replied. “Yeah, he didn’t really stay long this morning.”
“Mister Russer is being bringing your wand this morning,” Della said brightly. “Only being a small visit.” Harry stopped mid bite and stared up at Della.
“My wand?” He asked slowly. He hadn’t really thought much about where it had ended up, and after all that had gone on, his wands whereabouts had been the last thing on his mind. He suddenly felt a little guilty. A wizard’s wand was almost like an extra appendage, the first comrade in times of need, and he’d simply forgotten about his.
“Della?” he asked, abandoning his lunch and walking over to where the elf was standing staring at him happily, her ears fluttering buoyantly just above her head.. “Do you know if Professor Snape has my wand?”
“Of course! Master is putting it in his quarters.”
Suddenly Della’s ears fell against her head as a look of worry came over her weathered face. “Oh, but little master must be asking Master Snape first, yes?”
Harry paused. He hated to lie to Della again, but if it was his wand in Snape’s room, the man sure hadn’t offered to tell him about it.
“Don’t worry, Della,” Harry said, smiling as brightly as he could. “I’ll go right now. He’s still down in the lab, right?”
Della nodded and beamed at him as Harry quickly went back into the living room. He hadn’t technically lied to the sweet little creature, not really. Sure, he’d let her think he was going right now to ask Snape, but that wasn’t the same as lying. Not really.
Harry headed out into the foyer and quietly made his way up the stairs and into Snape’s room, carefully listening for any signs the Professor was near. There, on the bedside table, was a long, thin package, wrapped in parchment and tied with a thick, yellow thread. His heart beating like a jackhammer in his chest, Harry pulled the loosely tied knot apart and folded away the wrapping. There, lying against the parchment, was a blackened and disfigured wand. Gently, Harry picked it up, his fingers curling delicately around the charred wood, the once smooth and supple holly now rough and gnarled against his skin. His ran his index finger down the remaining phoenix feather core, the burnt plume thick and calloused as it jutted at an awkward angle out of the heavily scared holly. Harry’s heart clenched painfully. It was his. His first wand, the one Hagrid had taken him to buy, and everything had been so exciting and wonderful, the day he found out he was a wizard, the day he found out he was special. The wand became even more distorted as tears welled in his eyes. The wand had felt like a friend, one that had stayed by his side always. It was a friend that helped him when he needed it, except outside of Hogwarts of course. He had felt so special the day he’d picked it out, so important, so significant, all the things the Dursley’s said he wasn’t, said he’d never be, and at night, after the beatings, with the pain like fire on his skin, he would think of that day and how amazing he felt, how happy, and dream of the day he would feel that happy again.
He suddenly felt a flash of irritation. Why would Snape not tell him about his wand? Why would he hide it up here and not say a word about it? He had the chance earlier and said nothing. He slid the pad of his thumb down the length of the twisted rod, eyes narrowed as he recalled the chase through the trees, like something out of a horror movie with the heavy rain veiling his pursuer as Harry had stumbled terrified through the mire. A sharp edge snagged his flesh and the anger stirred again as he slammed his palms down on Snape’s bedside table, the wand resounding with a loud clack.
Suddenly Harry froze, breath hitched in his rapidly constricting throat as he heard the swish of robes behind him. Instinctively his fingers curled around his wand as he turned to meet dark, angry eyes.