Before the Dawn – Chapter 14

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Who me? Nah, I'm not responsible for these characters. Only for the mean things I do to them.

Warning: Language more suited to a truck stop

-HPSSHPSSHPSS-

Previously on "Before the Dawn":

"You and I," said Severus, giving Harry a dark look, "have many things to discuss."

Shit, thought Harry. I'm in for it now.

-HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS-

"Why did you say that?" was the first question Snape asked, mere seconds after he had marched the two of them to the kitchen and gotten breakfast - corn flakes and milk, plus toast and juice - on the table. He also set a pot of water on the hob for tea. Damn, Harry thought. It was going to be one of those kind of talks. Maybe, though, if they finished up before the tea was ready . . .

"Why did I say what?" Harry asked, puzzled. Why wasn't he being told off for eavesdropping?

"You said, 'Of course,' when the Headmaster asked if we'd offer Draco hearth space. Mister Malfoy can take care of himself."

Harry bristled. "And I can't?"

Snape's frown softened. A bit. "Right now? No. You need help getting over your addiction to that spell, getting over your nightmares, and getting your life back on track. I am here to help you. Not young Mister Malfoy."

"Well, you could still help me if he was here . . ." Harry took in Snape's almost amused look. "Couldn't you?"

"It's not that . . ." Snape sighed, sounding kind of frustrated actually. "I would not usually say such a thing, but you know some of this already: Draco is a vain, selfish child. If here, he would make sure he was the focus of anything going on. No matter what else was needed."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, to change the subject. He didn't like thinking he was the focus of anything.

"For what?"

"For eavesdropping."

Snape's dark eyes bored into him, and Harry squirmed on his seat. "Ah. I thought it might be for putting others before your own well-being, again."

"No . . . I wouldn't be sorry for that." It was his Saving People thing, he guessed, like Hermione had said before they had gone to the Department of Mysteries to "save" Sirius. He couldn't be sorry for wanting to keep others from being killed. He could only be sorry when he failed.

After a moment, Snape said, "This is about your 'saving people thing', isn't it?"

Harry scowled. "Don't Legitimize . . . I mean Legilimize me without my permission."

A corner of Snape's mouth curled up at Harry's gaffe. "I did not use Legilimency on you, Harry. I simply knew what you were thinking. Miss Granger mentioned this predilection of yours to me recently, and your current thoughts were plastered on your face for anyone to read."

"I hate when I do that."

"I know."

"Can you help me not do it?"

Snape shook his head. "It is not a skill I want you to learn. Presenting no emotions for others to read, hiding your true feelings . . . that would not be a good use of your time here."

The water was boiling. Harry took the pot off the hob and poured the water into the teapot on the table, then put the lid on to let the tea leaves steep. When he turned back to Snape, he said, "What would be, then?"

Snape opened his mouth to list the - probably countless - reasons they were in Dormenhause, but Harry cut him off. "I mean, wouldn't helping Draco to not kill the Headmaster be a good use of time? I mean, he's your godson and all."

"As you gleaned from my conversation with Professor Dumbledore."

Harry felt his face heat, even though he tried not to show his embarrassment. Snape was right - he'd never be able to control his emotions if he couldn't even control his blushes! "Yes, sir. I said I was sorry."

"I know you did, three times now. You are forgiven." Snape sighed. "Besides, both the Headmaster and I were aware of your presence."

They were? "You were?"

"Naturally. Both of us are well trained in the arts of covertcy, and you are not. We both said what we did with you in mind."

Harry's thoughts whirled, racing through what he had heard, but with this new perspective. If what Snape said was true, then everything Dumbledore said was what he wanted Harry to hear. He had wanted Harry to feel bad for Draco. As he knew Harry would. He'd practically shoved Draco at them, knowing Harry would reach out to catch him.

"That manipulative old-"

"Yes," Snape interjected before Harry could finish. "Exactly."

"Doesn't he want me to get better?"

A spark of something lit Snape's eyes, and for a moment, Harry got the distinct impression that he'd said something to make Snape proud of him. "At this juncture, I am not sure what the Old Meddler wants."

"Old Meddler, huh?"

"Indeed. And if you ever tell our esteemed Headmaster about my pet nickname, I'll have your guts for garters."

It was an old saying, one Uncle Vernon had used on him a time or three, but the completely deadpan delivery from the professor, coupled with the unwanted visualization - helped along, unfortunately, by the memory of Neville Longbottom's turn against the Boggart in Third Year, when Snape had ended up in Nev's Gran's dress and feathered hat - had Harry laughing helplessly until tears ran down his face. Every time he thought he had control back, he'd glance at Snape, who would merely quirk one black eyebrow upwards, setting him off again.

He laughed until his belly ached.

Finally, he wound down enough to say, "Sorry, sir, that was . . . er, I mean-"

"Don't apologize," Snape said in an unexpectedly low voice. "I admit, it was good seeing you laugh."

Harry looked away, not sure how to take that.

Snape lifted the teapot and poured each of them a cup. Even as Harry reached for the sugar bowl, the man said, "Where do you think your 'saving people' predilection comes from?"

Sobering immediately, Harry was in mid-shrug before he could stop himself. He knew, really, it wasn't fair to Snape to waste his time like that, but shrugging was a habit he had from many years at the Dursleys. They preferred to believe he didn't exist, and didn't like it when he spoke, so shrugging was just fine for a "low born creature" like himself to use for answers to their questions. Most of the stuff they asked, they didn't expect - or want - any real answers from him anyway. But Snape wasn't like that. He wanted Harry to not only answer his questions, but mean what he said. And he listened to Harry, too.

This time, Snape wanted to know about the "saving people" thing, not why he shrugged all the time. "I don't know. Because of my parents, I guess."

"Explain."

Harry swallowed hard, staring into his tea. "If I hadn't been born, they'd both still be alive."

Snape leaned forward, his hard expression drawing Harry's gaze up to meet his. "You cannot possibly know that."

Harry scoffed. "Uh, what about the Prophecy. Remember that? The one you overheard? Voldie tried to kill me because of that, and my parents got killed instead. Remember?"

Fire flickered in Snape's dark eyes, and his words were clipped, but more brittle than cold. "Of course. But your parents were involved in the fight against the Dark Lord for years. They were in the Order. They could very well have died at any time, just like anyone else in the war. Many people did. If they hadn't died that night, your parents could have been killed days or weeks later. Your birth and that blasted prophecy have nothing to do with it."

That almost made sense, but Harry's insides were tight and his face was hot again. Not with embarrassment, but the subject was . . . hard.

"I will say it again," Snape said. He reached as if he would grab Harry's hands, but Harry yanked them away. "You. Are. NOT responsible for your parents deaths. No matter how much you blame yourself."

"I know. Um, I mean, yeah. Okay."

Snape shook his head. "I realize it's not as easy as all that. It's something you will need to convince yourself of, over time. I can not force you to believe it. But part of the prophecy did mention that your parents had thrice defied the Dark Lord, yes? They were already in his sights."

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "All right, I get it. They were dead meat no matter what."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Okay, whateh-"

"Don't finish that word."

Harry huffed out a breath. "Give me a break, Professor. What am I supposed to say?"

"How about you tell me more about your desire to save people at your own peril."

Hands back on the table, wrapped around his cuppa, Harry stared at them instead of scowling at Snape. "It's what got Sirius killed."

Snape pursed his lips. "And saved Ginevra Weasley, I imagine."

"I suppose. If you're gonna keep score . . ."

"I am not." The professor drew a deep breath. "I am not so much interested in whom you have saved, or whom you have not, but why you feel you have to."

"Well, like I said before, because of my parents."

Snape's eyes widened. "Because you feel responsible for their deaths, you feel you must save anyone else who is in danger, despite the risk to yourself? As if it will restore a karmic balance or some such?"

Harry merely nodded and looked away. "I mean, I should have died that night, as a baby. The only reason I didn't is because of some stupid prophecy, so I figure I'm on . . . on borrowed time or something like that. I know I have a job to do, and I'll do it, but I don't expect to liv-"

Severus actually stood up and cut a hand through the air sharply. "Stop, Harry. Stop right there. I know we talked about this before. It is not your job to deal with the Dark Lord, no matter what the prophecy says. And even if it were, it is not your sole reason for being alive at this time. You will cease thinking it is so. I mean it, Harry. You mustn't believe that."

"But what way am I supposed to believe?" Harry countered. "Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor Dumbledore wants me to save people, like Draco or Ginny or the wizarding world and everybody in it, and he gives me carte blanche to do anything I need to win. But he didn't care about me or my happiness or well being when I was a kid, and he even said it was too bad that he started to care so much about me once I got to Hogwarts, and that's why he didn't make me into his personal little weapon sooner."

Snape growled, "I do not give a fried fig what Professor Dumbledore wants from you. I don't care what your friends want, or Professor McGonagall, Minister Fudge or Doctor Who, for that matter. What I care about is, what do you want for your life? Do you want to just be the weapon used to destroy the Dark Lord, or do you want something more? Something else? Something you like doing and can feel good about every day. Something that will carry you through the rest of your life."

"I don't know!" Harry cried. His fists were clenched so hard they hurt. "I've never been anything before."

"I beg to differ."

"What? When? What have I been, besides a pain in the arse and in the way?"

Snape flashed a sudden, fox like smile. "You would ask me the hard questions, wouldn't you."

That forced a laugh from Harry despite himself. "I'm serious. What can I be? What have I been?"

Snape shook his head, allowing his hair to cover much of his face. He pushed it back with an irritated sigh. "I know the Dursleys put a wrench in your development, Harry. I know they ruined whatever sense of self you might have enjoyed as a child and adolescent, but surely you must have some ideas? You do well in Quidditch, much to my House's dismay."

"Great, yeah, I can play Quidditch. Big deal."

With another sigh, Snape slapped a hand on the table. "Now you're just feeling sorry for yourself. I refuse to engage in yanking you out of a pity party. Think, Harry. What else have you done?"

"Well, I did kill a basilisk."

"You did, indeed. What else?"

"I learned how to cast a corporeal Patronus in Third Year. And I won the Tri-" He cut himself off. Even thinking about what happened at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament made his head hurt. Cedric Diggory had had so much potential, and was cut down because he was in the wrong place. Because he was with Harry.

"Yes. You won the Tri-Wizard Cup," Snape finished quietly, sitting back down. "Where Cedric Diggory was killed."

"You read my face again," Harry said, only a little bit accusing.

"I could hardly help it." The professor paused, then, "Tell me about what happened."

"What, at the graveyard?" He had gone over it with Dumbledore and Sirius, and then later, with his friends. But very few others knew exactly what occurred there, and he didn't feel like retelling it now.

"No, Harry. I don't need to know that. I meant, afterward. After we secured Bartemius Crouch, Jr. Besides what you were able say before Crouch took you back to his office, did you have a chance to talk to anyone about what occurred? I know the Headmaster asked everyone the next morning not to question you about it."

Harry nodded. "I didn't want to, but Professor Dumbledore insisted I tell him and Sirius, before he took me to the Infirmary that night. It was better that way, I think, drawing out the horror of what happened right away, the Headmaster said, rather than letting it all fester. Like you have me do with nightmares, you know?" He picked at his thumbnail and refused to look Snape in the eyes. Sometimes, for some things, he just couldn't. "I remember everybody arguing in the Infirmary, after I woke up the first time. Fudge had just let Crouch get eaten by the Dementor, and he and Professor Dumbledore were going at it about Him being back, and you even showed Fudge your Dark Mark and he still wouldn't believe."

Snape was quiet for a long moment, nodding silently. "I remember that meeting."

"Meeting?"

"Staging ground, then," Snape admitted, his voice lacking any of its usual sarcastic bent. His eyes glittered strangely. "Before that, though, you were in Crouch's office when we were questioning him under Veritaserum. It must have been very hard for you to listen to his sordid tale, but you were so quiet."

Harry gave a half-hearted shrug. "I was kind of out of it, actually. My leg hurt, from where a giant spider had attacked me in the maze, and my arm . . . from where Peter cut me for Voldie's ritual. I think I was kinda dazed, still."

Snape turned his tea cup around in his hands very casually, but his gaze stayed on Harry. "Yes. You did look a bit worse for wear. Stunned, I remember thinking, and all alone while we were all talking around you."

Well, he had been, mostly, except in Dumbledore's office, when Fawkes had sat on his knee and given him the strength to tell the Headmaster and Sirius what happened in the graveyard. And then later . . . "In the Infirmary, though, after Fudge left, the Headmaster sent you and Sirius away before he went to talk to the Diggorys. When most everyone was gone, I started thinking about it all again, about Cedric and the Priori Incantatem, when my parents and Bertha Jorkins and Cedric all came out of His wand, and it was all too much, I thought I was going crazy from it. And then, then . . . Mrs. Weasley saw I was upset and she held me. I almost broke down for good. I mean, she hugged me, and it . . . it was the first time anyone hugged me that I could remember." He smiled bitterly. "I mean, my Mum must've held me, right? They must've hugged me when I was a baby, but I can't remember them. I've only seen them in pictures, my parents, and only heard them that one time, when they told me how to get away from the graveyard . . . well, except when the Dementors come near me. I hear Mum screaming then."

Snape held his gaze, and his dark eyes were sad. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

"No. I didn't. I could have, though. Years ago."

Harry shook his head. "Forget it. It's not your fault the Dursleys are such wankers that they never treated me one of their own."

"Well, no," Snape said with a small smile. "But I can be sorry you had to deal with them, all the same."

"I guess." Harry rubbed his forehead with his fingers so he wouldn't clench his fists again. "I just wish I hadn't convinced Cedric to take the Cup with me, you know? I thought it would be better if we could both win, since we both saw the Cup at the same time, but I happened to get to it first. He wanted me to take it alone, but I insisted."

Remembering that night, and Peter's casual Avada Kedavra and then the ritual and later, Cedric coming out of the wand and begging Harry to bring his body back to his parents . . . it was too much. Harry's nose felt like he had to sneeze, and his eyes stung. "Cedric was . . . he was really nice to me, when everyone - even Ron - was sure I had cheated somehow and got my name in because I wanted the bloody fame, he said he believed me that I hadn't done anything. He helped me with the second task, after I told him about the dragons in the first one. And he was just . . . I mean, everyone looked up to him. He was good at Quidditch and he was funny and smart and he could have done anything! He shouldn't have died there in that graveyard. Not because of me. Not because I told him to take the stupid, bloody Cup with me because I wanted to share and make people see I could be as bloody noble as a bloody Hufflepuff, when I couldn't ever be. It was so stupid!"

Harry didn't realize, until his glasses were lifted off his face, that he couldn't see anymore for the tears swimming in his eyes. Snape handed him a handkerchief, and he mopped his face a few times until the tears started slowing. He'd cried just yesterday for pity's sake. And now again? God, he thought, I'm such a pansy.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with a good cry over a horrible, senseless death," Snape said from very close by. He was sitting very close beside Harry and offering another handkerchief, which Harry gratefully accepted. The first one was soaked. When Harry looked up, Snape added, "Or any other number of things. I could see your self-recriminations starting already."

Harry wiped furiously at his eyes. "Yeah, well, boys aren't supposed to cry."

"And yet many men do," Snape said. "It's a biological phenomenon, and no less true for all that. I have seen plenty of men, far older and, in many ways, wiser than you, who have cried at funerals or because they were hurt, or because someone or something they cared about was taken from them or destroyed. There is no shame in expressing true feeling, Harry. No shame in it at all."

"Hmph."

"That's your Uncle talking."

"How'd you know he was so articulate?"

Snape cracked a smile. Then he tapped his temple with his index finger. "I worked it out."

While Harry folded and refolded the second hanky, Snape cleared the breakfast dishes away, as well as the tea cups and pot. Harry gestured at the table. "Does this mean we're done talking?"

"For now." Snape pointed at the basement door. "We need to finish up the potion so it will be ready to try out this afternoon."

Oh, yeah. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten about the other bit of fun planned for today. Great.

"Get cleaned up and dressed, and I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, without sighing, but wishing he could just go back to bed. It had been a long day already.

TBC….

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A/N: Cheers to all who read and/or review!