“Potter?”
“Get out!” Harry shouldn’t be talking like this to Snape, it was too dangerous. The third rule he had learned at the Dursleys house is that you should never talk back, not if you wanted to get fed in the morning. Right now, Harry couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. Punish me all you want Snape, you’re nothing but a git, a stupid sadistic git. Harry pressed his face into his pillow, his glasses digging into the bridge of his nose. He was not going to cry. The git was not worth it. He was not going to cry.
How dare that damn bastard talk that way about his father. He was a good man, a brave man who fought for the Order of the Phoenix. Nothing like Snape, the evil death eater. How dare he!
“Ah!” Harry screamed into his pillow, letting out all the anger and frustration he felt. He was not going to cry. A sob welled up inside him but he forced it down.
“Potter, open the door.”
“Why should I? You’re going to come in anyway.” Harry yelled, to his horror he felt his voice cracking. His shoulders were shaking, tears welling up inside his eyes, ready to fall at any moment. He could feel the moisture pooling up at the edges of his eyes. No! No! No! Snape won’t win. He will never see Harry cry. A dry sob shook his body from head to toe. Damn it!
“Alohamora.” Snape’s cold voice whispered. The door swung open slowly, its rusty hinges creaking in protest. He could hear Snape walking into the room, his cloak bellowing after him.
“Potter, there is…” Something inside Harry broke at that moment and, to his horror and shame, he started to cry. Loud angry sobs shook his body and tears gushed out his eyes. Harry yelled and buried himself further into his pillow until he could no longer breathe. Stop! Damn it, stop! He ordered himself but it didn’t stop. He continued to shake and to cry, his voice muffled by the pillow. He could feel Snape’s cold eyes on him, watching. Happy now, you sadistic bastard? Is this what you wanted? To completely humiliate me? Well, you won!
Harry didn’t know for how long he lay there, sobbing like a six year old. He could hear the minutes ticking on the simple clock hanging above his head. Snape didn’t say a single word the entire time. Maybe he had left or maybe he was just standing there, watching his handiwork. Eventually Harry’s sobs died down and all was quiet. The flood of tears lessened until there were only a few droplets still streaming down his cheeks. Harry let out a trembling sigh and sat up on the bed. His entire body was so heavy as if a large weight was sitting on his chest. He wanted to leave, he wanted to go back to Hogwarts which was the only home he will ever know.
“This situation is not working out.” Snape whispered. Harry lifted his head slowly. His vision was blurred by the tears that had fallen on his glasses but he could still make out the figure of his professor sitting on the wooden chair, his back to the window.
“Of c..course it isn’t.” A hiccup interrupted his sentences. “That’s not m…my fault.” Harry glared through his tears, daring Snape to challenge his words, to find yet another fault with his behavior.
“No, it isn’t.” Snape admitted. His voice was so quiet that Harry almost missed his words. Snape’s black eyes were fixed onto the floorboards, his expression thoughtful. Harry wiped his nose with the back of his hand and hugged his pillow tight to his chest. He was so tired, he felt that without his pillow he would break apart completely.
“I t…tried, sir. I tried to be r…respectful. I just…”
“It is hardly your fault, I never gave you a chance.”
“W…why?” Snape sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“As you have no doubt noticed, I am not the best teacher, Potter. I do tend to loose my temper but instead of yelling, I throw insults. I have no patience with children.”
“But, you’re not like this with anyone else. Just me.” Snape opened his mouth but no words came out.
“Why, s…sir?” Tremors still shook his body. Harry dug his fingers into the soft fabric of the pillow, trying to keep himself together. He won’t break down, not again. Once was humiliating enough. “Why do you hate me so much?” A heavy silence descended between them, interrupted only by the steady tick tock of the clock. Snape sat, still as a statue, staring at the ebony floorboards.
Outside the wind howled, swaying the strange flowers that crowded the garden. The sky was turning a mellow shade of orange as the sun slipped behind the line of mountains. Night was already creeping closer but none of them had noticed, too busy with their own internal battles.
“I do not.” Snape said slowly, tasting the words.
“What?” Harry blinked, startled. He had started to believe he would never get an answer.
“I do not hate you.”
“Then why do you insult me every single time we meet?” The tears on his face had dried but his nose continued to run. Harry wiped it again with the back of his hand. Snape stood up suddenly and walked towards the bed. Harry hugged his pillow, his fear of this tall dark man suddenly returning. The anger had driven away the fear but now that his anger had vanished, he remembered where he was once again. At the house of a man known for his love of the dark arts and a convicted ex death eater. Harry watched him through the corner of his eyes as he came steadily closer, his expression concealed by the curtain of hair that hung around his face. Harry fought the sudden urge to run out the door. He had nowhere left to run.
Snape stopped next to him, so close that their hands almost touched. Then, he bent down, opened the top drawer of his bedside table and took out a clean white handkerchief. He held it out in front of him for Harry to take but Harry only blinked, too shocked to move. The dour bat of the dungeons was handing him a tissue? If Harry hadn’t been feeling so bloody miserable, he would have laughed.
“I assure you, I have not soaked it in poison.” Harry still didn’t move, his hands not wanting to let go of his pillow. With a tired sigh, Snape extended one hand and his long pale fingers cupped Harry’s chin. His touch was as cold as ice but that is not why Harry gasped. It was the gentleness of that touch, something he had never felt before, not even at the hands of Mrs. Weasley. Gently, Snape used his other hand to wipe Harry’s cheeks, dabbing at the soft skin. Harry held his breathe. He didn’t want this moment to ever end. The fact that this was Snape, a death eater, didn’t seem to matter any more. Nothing mattered except this little gesture of kindness which was more than he had ever felt. Maybe Dumbledore had been right to put him here. Maybe they could still make it work, the two of them. They could be learn to get along, after all. All they needed was time. Harry’s lips curved into a smile and he looked up, his green eyes searching for Snape’s black ones but something was wrong. Snape was not looking at him. Even as he carefully wiped at the edge of Harry’s right eye, his gaze was elsewhere, fixed at a spot above his shoulder, his expression blank.
“Sir, look at me.” Snape’s thin lips drained of color as he pressed them together but his gaze didn’t shift. Something was definitely wrong. “Please. Look at me.” With another sigh Snape looked down, meeting Harry’s eyes. Harry watched, heartbroken, as Snape’s blank features morphed into a familiar expression of pure anger. He still hates me. Nothing has changed. This time, he didn’t even attempt to stop the flow of tears that dropped onto Snape’s fingers. Snape let go of his chin as if the salt tears had burned his skin. The handkerchief fell, useless, onto the grey bedsheet. Harry had thought that he had gotten used to being hated long ago. After all, he did have lots and lots of practice but as it turns out, it still hurts like hell.
Snape walked backwards until his back hit the wall.
“Oh, Christ!” He whispered massaging his temple as if trying to banish a stubborn headache. Snape was trying to look anywhere but at the small boy sitting on the bed, crying his eyes out. “I cannot do this. I cannot be who you want me to be. Damn Dumbledore, the meddlesome fool!”
“W…why, sir? Why do you h…hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you, child! Its just that you look…” His voice trailed away, the sentence left abandoned. “Oh, Christ, I cannot do this.”
“Tell me! What is it about my face that you hate so much?” Harry yelled, his grip on the pillow so strong that his knuckles were turning white. “Is it my eye color? Does it creep you out? Is it my hair? Is it too messy? Tell me!” Snape was silent, his face buried in his hands.
“I could wear contact lenses. I could gel my hair back and maybe even dye it blond, just like Malfoy. You like Malfoy, don’t you?” Harry threw the pillow at the floor, wishing that it was something more fragile, something that would break apart, just like him. “Tell me what to do!”
“This is not right.” Snape was shaking his head. “You should not have been put in this position. You deserve to have a family, someone who will take good care of you. Like the Weasleys or nearly all the other professors at the school. Even Hagrid would be a better choice than me and the man bakes rock cakes! What was Dumbledore thinking?”
“The Weasleys would have been glad to have me. I would’ve had a mother, a father, a sister and lots of brothers. If only I had been allowed to stay there.”
“You know what, Potter. This ends here. This very moment I’m going to Dumbledore and telling him to take you away from here and give you to the Weasleys like he should have done from the start.” Snape spun around and stomped out the door. “Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll fix this ridiculous mess.” The door slammed shut behind him.
____________
Damn Dumbledore. He is nothing but an old fool and an idiot. Severus had stormed into his office and told him everything that had happened: the disastrous defense lessons, the insults, the yelling and the tears. But nothing had mattered. The man simply refused to remove the boy from his house. In the end, Dumbledore had stated that if Severus didn’t keep the boy, he would be sent back to the Dursleys, the place where he was starved and beaten.
Severus took out a ridiculously elegant crystal glass, a Christmas gift from the Malfoys, and poured himself a generous dose of firewhisky. He tipped his head back and drank the contents in one swallow. The alcohol burned as it made its way down his throat. This drink was extra strong, like all the drinks Snape kept locked up in his house for a particularly stressful day. Lately, h’s had a lot of those, all thanks to Potter. No. That was wrong. It certainly wasn’t the boy’s fault that Severus couldn’t stand the sight of him. It wasn’t his fault that the moment Severus looked at that all too familiar face, the anger inside him rose out of control. If anyone was to blame, it was Albus Dumbledore, the man who had dumped the boy at his doorsteps despite knowing that Severus would hurt him. Merlin, he had made the boy cry! A small vulnerable eleven-year old boy. What the hell had he become?
He remembered the way the boy had lain on the bed, sobbing as if his body would break. He had done that. He had caused that pain. The child had looked so small, clutching his pillow to his chest, dwarfed by the enormous bed. All he wanted was a family, something that Severus could not give him. He had tried to be comforting, he had dried the boy’s face as he remembered his mother doing a long time ago. It had almost worked before he looked at the boy’s face again. Then, all he saw was James Potter. Oh, Christ, what was the matter with him?
The pale orange liquid swished into the glass as he poured himself a second dose of firewhiskey, wanting that sweet moment of oblivion where he wouldn’t have to confront what he had done. It is funny how even now, after he had joined the Order of the Phoenix and done everything in his power to aid the light, he still ended up right here, trying to drown his guilt in alcohol. It almost felt like the old days, again.
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t drink so much, you know. It’s not good for your health.” The glass froze half way to Severus’s lips.
“Professor Sprout?” Severus placed the glass on the nearest table and went to help his professor out of her coat. She always wore such a heavy coat that her arms struck out comically at her sides. She couldn’t stand the cold. “What might you be doing here?”
“Why, Severus, I came to see how you were doing, of course… ah, that’s better.” She was finally out of her coat and she rubbed her hands together, glad to be able to use them again. Specks of dirt that always clung to the herbology professor’s clothes, fluttered to the ground, staining the pitch black carpet. “I heard that Dumbledore has forced you to take care of Harry and, of course, that can’t be easy for either of you.” Severus nodded solemnly. He flicked his wand at the fireplace making bright orange flames spring to life. Suddenly the room was bright. Too bright. Severus fought the urge to retreat into the safety of the shadows.
“Oh, there is no need for a fire, sweetie. I know how much you can’t stand bright light.”
“That’s quite alright, professor.”
“I’ll just the dim the flames anyway.” A flick of her wand and the bright flames shrunk in size, getting lower and lower until there was nothing but glowing coals. “There we go. Now tell me, Severus, how have you been doing.”
“Rather well.”
“Nonsense, my child. It is obvious that something is upsetting you.” Severus felt his lips curling upwards in a small smile.
“You know, Professor, I haven’t been a child in quite some time.”
“But you are still much younger than me, sweetie, and that means to me, at least, you’ll always be a child.” Severus snorted. Hufflepuffs. What can you do?
“And anyway, you are avoiding the subject. What is upsetting you?” Professor Sprout sat down in a large plush armchair in front of the fireplace. It was bright orange and completely hideous, not to mention the fact that it did not suit his dark and dour personality at all. He always meant to throw it away but somehow, the knowledge that it was Professor Sprout’s favorite stopped him.
“It is merely the usual. Dark memories returning. I’m sure that by now you are quite tired of hearing me say this.”
“What nonsense, Severus! You know perfectly well that I’m always here when you want to talk. It’s not healthy to keep everything bottled up inside.” Severus sat down in the chair next to his professor. He would never admit it, not even to himself but sometimes he felt that without Professor Sprout always there for him, he might not have survived all his trials. From the very first Herbology lesson, when she had instantly become his favorite teacher, she had been there to help him. Even when he had allied himself with the Dark Lord, she had come knocking at his door. She had always brought a basket full of freshly baked muffins with her. They had been coated with dark chocolate. His favorite. Severus flicked his wand and a plate of cakes popped up in front of Professor Sprout.
“Oh! Cakes filled with strawberry jam, my favorites!” Severus smiled at the old woman as she clapped her hands together and dug into the plate of cakes without further invitation. “Now, you better hope this isn’t another attempt to change the subject, Severus?”
“I had thought, Professor, that eating a plate full of cakes would be preferable to hearing the mundane events of my everyday life.” Snape smirked mischievously as he leaned back on his chair, getting comfortable.
“Oh, I can perfectly well do both, child.” Professor Sprout took a large bite out of the cake. Severus watched as her small chestnut brown eyes lit up in approval. He did make a fantastic jam cake. Not that he ever said so aloud. He did have a reputation to uphold.
“I would much rather not dwell on what is upsetting me, Professor.” Snape sighed internally, his good humor at seeing his beloved professor vanishing as he remembered what had just taken place. What was the child doing now? Was he still crying or had he finally fallen asleep?
“Severus, what did you do?”
“And why would you assume I did anything, professor?”
“Because usually when you want to avoid something, it means that you’re covering up guilt.” Severus forced himself to maintain a blank expression. It unsettled him, sometimes, how easily Professor Sprout could read him. He was spying on the darkest wizard the world had ever known. He was supposed to be unreadable!
“You should not be surprised, Professor. You more than anyone else should know what I’m capable of.” Oh, yes, she should. He had told her things that would unsettle the strongest man. He had done things that made what had just passed with Potter seem like a trifle. Sometimes, Severus wondered whether he was wrong to tell her all this, burdening her with his sins. But how could he refuse when she offered so sweetly? The temptation to lighten even a small portion of his burden was just too much.
“Come, Severus, it can’t be that bad. Tell me.” For another second, Severus hesitated. Reluctant to show one of the few people he really cared about how dark his heart really was. It shouldn’t matter. She has heard of sins a thousand times worse than this but still, in the last few years, he had been surprisingly normal. His dark side had lain quiet but with Potter’s arrival last year, it has reared its ugly head. Severus took a deep breathe and told her everything, starting with the nightmares that simply would not leave him alone and ending with Potter crying on the bed.
“… and in conclusion, I am a monster. Of course, I had already known that simple fact years ago but it is rather refreshing to have it confirmed every now and again.”
“Oh, Severus, you are most certainly not a monster!” Professor Sprout exclaimed, placing a comforting hand on his knee. Severus huffed.
“Only a Hufflepuff could ever deny what I truly am.”
“Then, I have never been prouder of being a Hufflepuff. You are not a monster, Severus, and I hate that you think of yourself like that. You are a good person.” Severus snorted internally. Merlin preserve me from Hufflepuff logic!
“The very notion is laughable really but assuming that I am indeed a good person, how do you explain the heartbroken orphan boy?”
“This is hard for you, Severus. I realize that and you should too. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently? You have bags under your eyes and you have grown even thinner than usual. Why, you look as if a hearty wind could break you in two? When is the last time you’ve had a good night’s rest?” Severus was grateful beyond words when he felt warm hands enclosing his ice-cold ones in a firm grip. It was true. His mind was groggy with exhaustion but he had never allowed himself to admit it. He hated weakness.
“What do I do, Professor? The poor child needs a father. That is something I cannot be. I cannot even look at him without insulting him. I never mean to! I don’t want to hurt the boy but every time I look at that mess of hair on his head, those abominable round glasses and those maddening features, I just loose all control! What do I do, Professor Sprout?” Severus looked at that face, wearing such a familiar expression of concern and he couldn’t help but believe that she would solve everything. He felt like a small child again, unshaken in his belief that his mother would fix all the hurt in the world.
“Well, Severus. Let me tell you something. I used to be horribly frightened of heights. You couldn’t get me on a broomstick even if my life depended on it.” Severus frowned lightly, wondering were this was going. “My sister, as you know, is an excellent flyer and she wouldn’t stop mocking me about my fear. She used to make chicken sounds whenever I entered the room. It was horrible! One day, I decided that I had enough. I would get over my fear, no matter what. I climbed to the top of the astronomy tower with a broomstick clutched in one hand.”
“Don’t tell me you planned on jumping from the tower when you did not even know how to fly. That would have been an idiotic thing to do.”
“Well, I had thought that if I face my fear head on, I would conquer it, so instead of starting out with something smaller, I thought that jumping out of the tallest tower at Hogwarts was a great idea.” She pointedly ignored Severus’s amused huff. “I mounted my broom and without giving myself time to think, I jumped.”
“Are you quite sure you are not a Gryffindor, professor?”
“Anyway, long story short, if Minerva hadn’t been down there holding her wand, I would have crashed to the ground. You see, I was too frightened to even open my eyes, let alone fly.”
“Let me guess. After this disastrous failure, you never went anywhere near a broomstick again?”
“On the contrary, Severus. I just found a new way to get over my fear of heights. I dealt with my problem gradually. First, learning to look down from the third floor window, then gangling my legs over the ledge of the fifth floor window. I gradually got used to high altitudes and I was able to fly just as high as my annoying sister. Do you understand what I mean, Severus?”
“To be sure, it is a lovely story, Professor, but although I believe that Quidditch is the most useless pastimes invented by man, I have no fear of heights.”
“What I meant, child, is that if you allow yourself to gradually get used to little Harry, you might stop yourself from being completely unsettled by him. you can’t bare to look at him because he awakens dark memories of his father so what if you slowly build new memories centered around Harry, not his father?”
“But I have tried to spend time with him and it did not work. I have found it best to avoid the boy entirely.”
“It didn’t work because you were trying to handle too much. A four hour lesson is not a good idea. It is like jumping from the Astronomy tower.”
“It was Dumbledore’s idea!”
“I know, sweetie, but he was wrong. You need to get used to Harry. A simple breakfast together will be enough for one day. Next day, you might try giving him a brief defense lesson, no more than an hour.”
“But he needs to learn how to defend himself as quickly as possible.” Professor Sprout nodded, giving his long thin fingers a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ll tell you what, Severus. Why don’t I take over the lessons for now? He is still learning the most basic of spells and even I know how to do those. Then, when you and Harry have learned to get along, you’ll take over the lessons again. Meanwhile, get out of the house! Go find your friends. When is the last time you went to visit the Malfoys?”
Severus’s brows knitted as he thought about Professor Sprout’s solution. Gradually getting to know Potter. No, it was Harry. He had to think of him as Harry if he decided to try this out. Would this work or will he just end up hurting the boy again? Can he keep the anger and pain at bay? Severus vowed to himself that he will not make that child cry again. If the dark memories were threatening to return he had to simply get up and leave the room. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, this just might work. What other choice did he have?
A New Plan