I Don't Want to be a Hero - Ch. 11

"Severus!" greeted the Headmaster as the younger wizard emerged through the Floo. "How is our Harry doing?"

Snape sneered, and took one of the visitors' chairs near the Headmaster's desk. "'Our Harry' is doing his homework in my sitting room, Albus. In clothing I would not let Fang chew apart."

Albus frowned but the twinkle in his eyes did not diminish. "Play clothes, Severus?"

"Hand-me-downs, Albus. From a cousin twice his size. Clothing such as he has only ever worn. He tells me he did not have enough money to purchase anything beyond what was required for school; new clothing was not on the list." Professor Snape spoke tightly yet did his best to keep his anger beneath the surface of his features.

"I released only the amount of galleons Harry would need for his school supplies. I was not aware that more would be needed. Did his aunt and uncle not..."

Snape interrupted the Headmaster sharply, "His relatives give no consideration to the child beyond what they must, Albus. He wears what he had last been... allotted." Snape waved away the protest that lingered on the older man's lips. Albus closed his mouth, and said nothing. “I am concerned that Harry does not have access to the Potters' estate in Gringotts. Unless my memory is mistaken, James Potter came from a very wealthy family."

"Harry, Severus?" asked Albus with interest that had little to do with what Professor Snape was implying.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he eyed his employer. "Albus, I would like to know why the boy does not have access to what is rightfully his."

"But he does, Severus. Harry need only ask for the key to his family vault," Albus shrugged slightly. "He simply has not asked for it."

"I sincerely doubt the boy knows he has a key, nor that he can ask for it, Albus. Harry does not think of his parents and it appears that it has never crossed his mind that they might have left something for him beyond a dubious family in the Muggle world." Snape rose from his chair. "I should like to rectify this matter of the boy's inheritance. Would you give me his key so that I may pass it on to him?"

“I should like to, Severus, but as the legal guardian to Harry in our world I am not allowed to pass the key onto anyone other than its rightful owner.” His eyes twinkled smugly. “You will bring the boy here, so I may visit with him, and I shall bestow upon him the key to his vault.”

Snape's lips thinned as the twinkle in the old man's baby blue eyes increased; even worse was the small, smug smile that followed. As if the Headmaster had won against a Slytherin.

So it seemed, Albus had. "I shall bring Harry forthwith, Headmaster." Professor Snape bowed deferentially but paused as he held the Floo powder in his hand. “Albus, Harry tells me that his school trunk was taken by an elf the second week he was gone. Did you have anything to do with that?”

The Headmaster rose and walked over to Fawkes. He began to stroke the Phoenix’s feathers. Fawkes began to trill a gentle song to ease the tension between the two wizards. “I was rather certain that Harry had returned home and so I had the trunk returned to the Dursleys. As they said nothing to me, I had assumed…”

Snape’s lips thinned. He felt calmer but Fawkes’ song did not eliminate the anger that was growing inside him. “You… assumed. Did you also assume that a child had the ability to cross the wards around the Forbidden Forest and to return himself to a home that is in Little Whinging in England and we are in Scotland? What were you thinking, Albus?”

“That Harry is the son of James and Lily; inarguably two of the most clever and powerful witch and wizard of the…”

Snape interrupted with a snort. “You were the one to perpetuate that legend, Albus. Who would ever argue with the great Albus Dumbledore?”

“You, it appears,” drawled the Headmaster heatedly. Snape fumed silently. “He is a child of great power, Severus. His magic manifested at the age of five according to a report I received from Arabella Figg who watched over him for me. Furthermore, and shown in the medical scan of past history you had Poppy do on the child he healed his own childhood injuries. Proof that he was well beyond either of his parents in the use of his magic.”

“Instinct, Albus!” shouted Snape. “The wielding of instinctual magic is not an indication of control. We teach this to our first year students. Mothers know of this. Instinctual Magic is as unpredictable as Accidental Magic. Even Squibs are recorded as having reserves of magic that work as Accidental Magic does.” He dropped into a nearby chair. He could feel tension mounting in his head, and he knew it would blossom into a first class migraine; very soon.

He then continued softly since the stubborn, older wizard had said nothing to his tirade. “Harry healed broken bones and numerous scrapes, and burns that Poppy said were more than a child ought to accumulate. His magic had become instinctual as a way of keeping himself safe from a family he has said hated him. Albus, has no one, and I include myself, ever asked Harry why he ran away from Hogwarts?”

“There was no need to ask why he ran, Severus,” replied the Headmaster simply. “Harry was found, and you brought him back to us. It was enough that he told us of Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“I told you of Bellatrix Lestrange, Headmaster,” Snape corrected wearily. “I am certain you recall standing next to me in the Infirmary, with Madame Pomfrey as witness, as I Legilimised the unconscious boy in an effort to learn what had caused the trauma to his body.”

To Professor Snape’s surprise and consternation Albus denied the truth. “I distinctly recall that it was Harry himself who told me about Bellatrix Lestrange. If you insist, I shall show you the very memory.”

Snape shook his head. He could not dispute a memory; even one that had been manufactured by false belief. Not to the wizard that believed otherwise.

“Albus, I do think we ought to consider that Harry ran away from Hogwarts...” Professor Snape began to pace. “Yet, he would choose a questionable home-life over that of Hogwarts. Why?”

“Severus, you have taken the word of a child over an adult who has had the responsibility of babysitting him over the course of eleven years,” he insisted solemnly. The Headmaster tapped his finger tips rhythmically together. “Arabella Figg never said anything about abuse of Harry at the hands of his relatives or even primary school bullies.”

Snape stopped pacing as he took a moment to stare at the Headmaster. How many times as a student had another teacher warned Albus that other students were unfairly bullying Severus Snape? Snape knew -- one. His fondness for Minerva McGonagall came when he learned, through Hogwarts written records, that the Head of Hogwarts had spoken to, and complained, of her students, and students in other classes harassing him. An adult had reported incidents of abuse (never mind those that came to him directly such as a certain incident in the Shrieking Shack in his sixth year) and Albus Dumbledore had routinely ignored them.

If this Arabella Figg had ever said anything to Albus Snape deeply doubted he would do anything about it.

“You met with the boy the night of the Welcoming Feast, Albus. Coincidentally the night he ran away,” Professor Snape stood against the edge of the Headmaster’s desk in an effort to be intimidating. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing to make the child run, Severus,” Albus defended himself. “I merely spoke to him of his parents. I doubted Petunia ever did since she was prevented in telling Harry the truth of our world. I only wanted Harry to know that James and Lily were important figures in our world and that he should be proud to uphold the work they had done.”

Snape gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “I doubt what you said was so kind-hearted, Albus. It is always about duty and responsibility with you.” Smugly, yet bitterly he added, “This is why you never would have got on in Slytherin, Albus. You think everyone acts and reacts as you do, as a Gryffindor does. You do not know how to read people beyond the surface they show you.”

“And this is why you often give me a headache, Severus,” the Headmaster pinched the bridge of his nose, and removed his spectacles. “Harry ought to know of, and to be proud of, his parents. He is thought highly of in our world, and he needed to understand that he is taking upon the mantle of greatness in this war.”

He’s a CHILD! Albus! Harry is a child.” Snape was once again becoming frustrated with the Headmaster. He glared at the wizard, scooped up a portion of Floo powder and threw it into the flames that waited. “Harry is a little boy, Albus, and you would do well to think of this when you try to burden him with adult ideals and responsibilities.” With a snap of his robes, he stepped into the green flames as he muttered, “Professor Snape’s quarters.” His face wavered greenly as he looked over his shoulder from within the flames. “Mark my words, Albus, Harry will not be your hero.”

After the Potions Master had left his sitting room Harry had watched the green flames fade from that vibrant colour into the warmth emanating red, orange, and yellow. Crossing his arms over his work he dropped his chin onto his forearms. He stared towards the fire but his mind was staring upon a scene he had told no one about that was etched forever within the walls of his mind; being tortured by a mad woman.

Back to the Day Harry Ran Away

Harry had fairly flown through the black trees that made up the Forbidden Forest. He was a boy who was fleet of foot when he needed to be, and his only thought was to get away from Hogwarts, and the world of magic, as quickly as possible. However, most of the running he ever did was from his cousin Dudley and that used to be among the streets that surrounded Privet Drive. The forest consisted of uneven ground, broken twigs and tree limbs fallen, pebbles and rocks, and there were evil vines everywhere that kept reaching for Harry's ankles in an effort to catch him. He had no idea that the vine was a semi-sentient thing known as Devil's Snare.

Devil's Snare to the knowing was a vine of broad leaves and tiny thorns that generally was benign unless it was stirred up by strong, emotional upset. And, of course, Harry was just that.

When he fell the Devil's Snare had wrapped around one foot, and headed for the second as soon as he thumped hard to the floor of the forest. Tears welled up in his eyes but he kept them from falling.

His goal of Privet Drive still uppermost in his mind Harry tried to kick the vine off but only found it crawling inexorably further up his legs. Just as he wanted to panic a wicked laugh tripped through the forest.

"ickle Harry Potter! Expelliarmus!”

Harry felt his wand in his back pocket leave. Frantic he looked around and realised his glasses had fallen off his face when he had fallen. His hands felt around him in a frenzy until he felt the familiar frames. Wrapping his fingers around them he shoved them onto his face, and hoped to see something but there was nothing. Only that thin high-pitched laughter thrumming around him.

"Is the ickle baby all upset? Does baby hero want his deady-dead mummy?" the cackle came so close to Harry's ear that he cried out with a yelp, and tried to scramble away. “No need for this, Potty!”

Harry saw his wand hovering some distance away from him. It bent, snappe, and then fell as though lifeless to the ground. He sensed that the mad spirit that had him wanted him to be upset over the loss of his wand but he had it for such a short time, and had only created sparkles with it, that he had no real connection to it.

Skeletal fingers grabbed Harry by the hair, and he screamed. He shut his mouth when the hand jerked his head painfully, and pulled him over the stony, mossy ground. Another hand met the first, and before he could fully register it Harry was dragged up onto his feet, and something sharp and painful whipped across his cheek. Fetid breath, and black and grey teeth of a terrible witch screeched in his face.

“Pain, little boy! You will suffer for what you did to my master!” For emphasis she screeched at him.

He felt his stomach twist and turn violently and when the sensation of his navel being yanked through his back ended, he retched violently.

The witch laughed and pushed him so hard he fell back on his tailbone. His glasses were askew but he could still see the witch that crouched in front of him. She was clad in a tattered sheath of black that might have been a dress of some worth once upon a day. Dirt smudged her cheeks, hands, and face and she had that hollow look of someone who was barely surviving. Her eyes of deep sapphire held sickness and madness in them and this was only accentuated by a curly bushiness of black upon her head that was tangled with Devil's Snare that had made her hair its symbiotic home.

With her bent wand pointed at him with all the fury of her madness she slowly circled him. "You killed my master... my sweet master... you vile child." She grinned revealing those horrid black and grey teeth, and laughed. "How fortunate that Fate brought ickle Harry Potter, murderer of Lord Voldemort, to me. CRUCIO!"

Harry screamed and writhed as all his nerve ending burst into flames of pain. Again and again she shouted the strange word at him and whipped her wand at him. Each casting brought further pain that twisted him. His feet beat against the earth, his head and neck met the vicious edges of rocks several times.

Then, as if the spell was not enough she scrabbled to him like a spider might. She grabbed his fingers in one of her skeletal hands and squeezed. Harry did not feel the pain as there was fire all over his body but he could hear the fine bones of his fingers snap.

There was more, so much more. He screamed, and cried, and asked for mercy but there was none. A final flash of garish light sent him flying through the muffled sense of space and he fell with a jarring thump back to the ground.

Harry's breathing was horrible, and his throat gurgled with heated copper. Blessed darkness descended, and Harry, the far away child, the very little boy, knew death. He breathed no more.

Professor Snape was angry and thoughtful. Oh, and he was worried, too. This was the first time he had seen an aged wizard who was not the powerful wizard who had impressed and terrified him when he was young.

However, the second he emerged from his Floo into his sitting room he was met by the terrified, frozen stare of Harry Potter sitting at his little coffee table. For just a moment he, too, was frozen but then he swiftly moved over to the child and knelt by him. After comforting the child that afternoon offering such physical succor was getting easier.

"Harry," his voice was gentle, coaxing. When it appeared his voice would not break through whatever vision the little boy was re-living, Snape re-modulated his voice. It was firmer, more like his teaching voice, but it held within it a tether of safety. "Harry..." Something broke in the child as Snape laid a hand tentatively on the child's shoulder. Harry drew in a shuddering, deep breath... and began to weep terribly.

Once Snape knew the vision was broken he caught the child up into his arms, and began to lightly pat the child's back as he enveloped the boy in warmth and comfort. "...shhhh... Harry.... oh my little one.... shhh shush...."

Harry's sobs seemed to sink deeper into a despair he could not seem to reach. Listening to this angered Snape but it tore at him as well. The child's small hands gripped him in such a way that the older man could tell the boy was terrified of letting go.

And, he was.

Harry had never been held, reassured, nor comforted in his short eleven years. He'd had to cough quietly when the flu hit his starving body, he had to suffer on water and crushed baby aspirin when he had the measles... all those times when he hurt physically or deep in his soul and he wanted to crawl into the arms of a sympathetic parent... he could not. A 'freak' was not allowed such consideration.

Although he had not understood his professor's meanness in class, in public, Harry did understand the kindness that his teacher offered in allowing him a place to do his homework, to sleep under the older wizard's watch, and now the acerbic man held him as he cried. A small part of Harry told him that he was too old for such nonsense but the fact was that scary witch had hurt him! She was in his nightmares, and he could hear her laughing at him! All Harry wanted was the enclosure of his cupboard where he could lock out everything including his terrible relatives.

As he held onto his teacher's strong arms, and wept into his dark frock coat this was the one thing Harry did not want to hide away. He did not want to deny that such compassion... towards him... existed.

How wonderful to be hugged, again! Twice in one day!

"I-I-I'm s-s-s-sorry, sir!" Harry hiccuped between sobs.

"Oh hush, child," Snape spoke softly and Harry felt the man's voice rumbling in his chest. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

Harry pushed slightly away in the embrace but one hand still was wrapped in Snape's frock coat. "I got your coat all... yuck..." Harry sniffled, and then let his head fall back against Snape's chest.

Professor Snape smoothed the boy's choppy hair. "'Yuck' is something we Heads of House must deal with from time to time, Harry. Have no worries for the house elves will clean my coat. Now..." Snape pulled the child away from his chest and cupped his cheek. "Will you tell me what held you in such terrible thrall?"

"Th-th-thrall?" asked Harry worriedly.

"What did you see, child?" asked Snape slowly.

Harry surprised Snape by mimicking what the older man was doing with his cheek; the small boy touched Snape's jaw. "HER." He huffed. "She really wanted to kill me, and for a long while I thought she did. And... and she kept calling me a... mur-murder-er. I didn't, sir. I really didn't kill him!"