Author: Diagonalist
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: SS/HP
Warnings: child abuse, depression, suicidal tendancies
Summary: Devoid of the will to live, Harry decides that it is simply time to end it all. Too bad for him that one of his professors had to come and screw it up.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I am simply borrowing them; therefore, do not sue me.
Chapter 13: Light introduced to Darkness
Albus Dumbledore got very little sleep for the remainder of the night, whether this was due to the cheese, his troubling conversation with the sorting hat after Harry left, or anticipation of the morning's events, or all three, was debatable. The delay's caused in attending to the Dursleys had merely added to his rage against them. That they could hurt poor Harry so! And that he himself had been so blind as to let it continue. It had taken a while to organise a fitting punishment, and he had pulled in many favours from the Ministry, but now all was ready.
He took his time dressing and breakfasting, determined not to hurry. Then he made his way to Hogsmeade, where he met three aurors and they apparated to the Dursley's.
Appearing in the middle of the kitchen while the family was having breakfast gave them quite a shock. They all jumped up and, managing to make food fly everywhere in the process, stampeded for the doorway.
Albus smiled. He had wondered how Severus had treated them when he had seen them. Now he knew. They were afraid, and though he would not normally have seen this as a desirable state of affairs, this time it was justified. For they had caused fear and pain in another. Fear and pain in Harry, who did not look like he would be recovering from their 'tender care' anytime soon.
Spells were cast to keep them from fleeing. They were surrounded by the wizards. The man, Harry's Uncle, attempted to bluster his way out, but was silenced. Albus did not wish to here what he had to say. His self restraint would only go so far in this matter.
"You are charged with persistent neglect of the well being of your charge, Harry Potter, as well as his bodily abuse. You will be taken and given Verasitum to verify this, then kept in a prison where you will no longer be able to inflict harm on others."
The man's podgy face showed stark terror, the folds of flesh under his neck wobbling like jelly as he shock. Albus felt nothing but contempt for him. For all of them.
He leaned in close, "But first, I wish to give you a gift of my own, one that you so eminently deserve." He cast a complex spell on the three of them, the aurors standing by passively. They had been specially selected as being loyal to him rather than the Ministry, and they approved his decision.
As the family was transported away, Albus heard the first cries and whimpers of pain cross their lips. Now that was justice. Every time they thought ill of Harry from now on, which they would undoubtedly do since their current situation was due to him, they would feel the hurt that the poor boy had suffered as they beat him. Justice indeed. He apparated away himself, knowing that Severus would enjoy hearing the news.
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Harry had not slept. He had not slept as he feared hearing Sirius' dying screams. He feared feeling his pain again.
He had not slept because he feared how Dumbledore would treat him now, and feared the pressure that might be put upon him to share his private troubles. He felt guilty over the way the Headmaster had instantly and without question accepted his words as the truth about Sirius, even though he had lied to him so recently. Why should he ever trust Harry again? Harry was not worthy of trust.
He had not slept because of what the sorting hat had said. It had said things would have been different. How? If he had been in Slytherin, he would not have stayed with the Dursley's. That probably meant he would have hexed them and been relocated elsewhere by the Headmaster. If he had been in Slytherin, Cedric would not have died. Harry would have understood what the presence of Barty Crouch Junior on the marauder's map meant. And he would not have asked Cedric to share the cup with him. So Cedric wouldn't have died. If he had been in Slytherin, his connection with Voldemort would have been severed. What did the hat mean by that? Was there some way of doing so that had not yet been found?
So Harry sat by the fire for the remainder of the night, watching his egg, and thinking about all of the bad choices he had made in his life, and all of the ones that had been thrust upon him.
****************
With the dawn came a letter. It would have been hard to deliver to the dungeons by owl, so was re-routed through the fireplace. Harry picked it up gingerly, not sure if he wanted to read it. He instinctively knew what it concerned, and who it was from. He sat staring at it for almost ten minutes, then hurriedly opened it before he changed his mind.
Dear Harry,
What I have to say should not be told in a letter, but since I am currently in hiding and have no hope of seeing you in the near future, there is something I have to tell you. You deserve the truth. Sirius was staying with me temporarily while he was wounded from his last encounter with some aurors. Voldemort found us. I don't know how. They knew of his goal of exposing Peter, and thought him too dangerous to live. He's dead Harry, he died bravely, fighting. He told me to tell you that he loved you and that he was very proud of you. I'm sorry I cannot be there, and sorry I could not write more, but the aurors and the death eaters are now searching for me. I'll be fine, and I will come and see you as soon as I possibly can. Be strong Harry, keep going. Sirius is not the only one who is proud of you. I am, and I know that Lily and James would be too.
Remus Lupin
Be strong. Keep going. But those were the things that he couldn't do. He wept as he read that Sirius was proud of him, he shouldn't be, his Godfather would be nothing but ashamed of him if he knew the truth.
It hurt him that Professor Lupin would lie to him, tell him that Sirius died bravely. He knew that his Godfather had not, had died tortured and screaming. He had felt it. Remus said that Harry deserved the truth, but was treating him like a child, trying to give him comforting lies. That didn't work when you were Harry Potter, with the burden of the world on your shoulders. And he didn't deserve comforting lies. After all, it was all his fault that Sirius was dead. All his fault.
He made his way to the bathroom, noting that Snape wasn't up yet. It wasn't surprising since he'd kept his professor up most of the night with his nightmares. He never caused anything but grief for others.
He locked the door behind him. He wasn't even going to try and pretend this time. He went straight to the razor. It didn't even occur to him to wonder why Snape hadn't removed it.
He just wanted to play with it, to feel it in his hands. To try and cool the heat which was taking him over.
He took off his pyjama top, discarding it on the floor, then ran the blade over the flesh of his bare chest, slowly. For a moment it helped, and he traced imaginary designs on his skin with reverence, then the burning sensation came back. He cried in frustration, it had helped more last time. Then he remembered that when his blood had flowed, the heat had left for longer.
The razor moved up his body, to his neck, then his shoulder, then down his left arm. He began to press it in harder so that it left a white mark trailing behind it. Down to his finger tips, then up again. Pause over the vein at the wrist. Forbidden. Moving slightly up to the side. Pressure. Release.
As the blood flowed, he closed his eyes and sighed in relief, feeling none of the usual panic which always ruled him now. There was darkness in doing this, but it seemed comforting rather than hard. He felt less alone.
The feeling began to fade. He cut again. His eyes stayed closed as the euphoric wave washed over him again.
He didn't hear the door open this time either.
Suddenly arms grabbed him from behind. The heat came back. Along with the panic. He struggled against the grip, forgetting where he was, automatically believing that pain and humiliation would follow. Words in a sharp tone were thrust at him, and they did nothing but confirm his fears. He continued to fight the arms, which were now more securely wrapped around his middle. The voice was harsh. The hands were restraining him. Darkness, true darkness, took him over and he could see nothing beyond it. He heard the screams.
"Fool boy." he heard. He screamed himself, with remembered pain and the promise of it to come. He bucked and kicked and heaved but could not get free, from his bindings or the darkness. He had never been able to. He wondered if there was any point in trying. But did anyway.
The arms stayed strong but suddenly the voice softened.
"It's alright Harry, it's alright. Calm down. Calm down. Stop struggling. I need you to be still. I can help you."
The gentle tone confused Harry, Neither Vernon nor Voldemort would speak to him like that. But then who was it? Where was he? Was it a trap? The arms didn't seem to be hurting him, they were just trying to keep him still. And the voice was kinder now. He knew that voice. He stopped his violent motions gradually and stood still. He began to feel light-headed. He thought he might faint. He moaned and swayed, unable to control his body. The arms were still around him though, and supported him. He was ashamed to need the support, but too exhausted to protest. He slumped back against the other's chest trembling as dizziness overtook him. He closed his eyes. Then opened them again to try and escape the darkness which was ever lurking behind his lids.
He almost started thrashing again, but a cool hand laid on his forehead made the tension drain away. The darkness began to seem less black.
He was distantly aware of being picked up and carried, but his mind was drifting again and it was so hard to focus. He was placed on the couch, he could feel the soft leather against his skin. It was more real than anything else in the world at that point, and he dug his fingers into the material, clinging on with all of his might.
Long cold fingers closed over his own, trying to release them from what they were clutching. They grasped his hands and held tight, anchoring him as he fell through his despair and uncertainty. The darkness faded further. He could make out the glow of a fireplace to one side. But the Dursley's don't have a working fireplace he thought confusedly. A last surge of emotional pain flooded though his body and he arched his back, overwhelmed. The hands moved from his, one sliding up to wrap around his body and the other cradling his head as it was thrown back. The hands made it easier to cope. The darkness continued receding. He could make out a shape in front of him, and the panic began to dissipate slowly.
Something was held to his lips and he swallowed reflexively as liquid was poured into his mouth. It was cold too, and soothed him.
The light became brighter, and he closed his eyes, unable to deal with it at that moment. He lay there and concentrated on breathing, as the voice was telling him to do. He relaxed little by little, and clarity of thought returned to him. He opened his eyes again.
Snape was sitting beside him, putting a bandage on his wrist, where it had been cut. Where he had cut it. He watched the scene in a detached way, until Snape looked up. Something glittered in those eyes, and he shrank away, knowing that his professor must be angry.
Immediately Snape's face softened, becoming in Harry's eyes less hostile.
"Harry, I'm not going to hurt you. It's alright Harry."
Snape wouldn't hurt him. Of course Snape wouldn't hurt him. He had saved him. More than once. Harry couldn't think of anything to say. That happened a lot recently. Was it because there was nothing to say or because he was too afraid to say it?
"How did you know?" he whispered. Shame. He felt such shame. Even this he hadn't been able to do right. And Snape had seen his shame. Harry wasn't sure if he wasn't too tired to care anymore.
"I put a charm on the razor blade. You didn't think me so stupid as to leave it there for you otherwise, did you?"
"Wasn't thinking." Harry muttered, admitting the truth. Or maybe he had been thinking too much. But about something else.
A non committal noise then, "Will you tell me?"
Harry stayed silent.
"Harry, you have to tell someone. You can't let this carry on. And I might have to change the colour of my bathroom floor to red just to save the effort of cleaning up."
It wasn't a spectacular attempt at humour, but Harry appreciated it.
"Oh, you don't want to do that," he managed to say, "It would clash horribly with the rest of the decor."
Snape smiled. Harry had never seen him smile before. Had never heard him laugh like he had in the hospital before either. Maybe his professor was different in the holidays. He was certainly a lot nicer to Harry than he had ever been before. Harry didn't think he could have dealt with the full wit of Snape directed against him right now. So he was glad that the man had found a way which involved less personal insults of letting his humour out.
And maybe he was right. Maybe Harry couldn't hold it inside anymore. It didn't seem to be doing any good. And Snape already knew so much.
The hands tying the bandage were gentle. Harry closed his eyes. And began to talk.
"I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to hear Sirius anymore. I didn't want to feel him being tortured. And I was thinking about all the mistakes I've made. Lupin sent me a letter." said quietly and with as little emotion as Harry could manage.
"What did it say?" The voice did not push, it inquired. Harry could deal with that.
"Nothing much. He's on the run. He's proud of me. Sirius is dead." A pause as he worked out how much he wanted to say. "He lied to me."
"Black?" The name was almost growled.
"No, Professor Lupin. He said that Sirius died bravely."
"What made you think that he was lying?"
"Because I felt him die. He did not die fighting. He was..." Harry broke off, and picked up on a different thread. "And I just thought, that it was all my fault that he died, because of what I did. Or didn't do."
"You are not responsible for everything you know. You cannot be. Other people make choices too. They are responsible for themselves." Came the steady reply.
Harry hung his head. It made sense, what Snape said, but it was hard to apply it to himself.
"I don't understand." Harry looked up, "I don't understand most of what you're going through. But let me try and help." Dumbledore would never have said that. He would have said the opposite, and it would have infuriated Harry. But Snape didn't pretend to know all of the answers. It was scary, but at least there was no pressure.
"Is that why you cut yourself then, the guilt."
Harry nodded numbly. "And the darkness. And knowing I could do nothing." He wrestled with himself for a moment. Snape wanted to help. He didn't care why anymore, it didn't matter. "And because I was hot."
This seemed to catch Snape's attention. "Hot?" Harry said nothing.
"What do you mean?" Would Snape understand if he told him this?
"Harry?"
"I..." He had to say this, he felt the darkness threaten. "I was burning inside. And touching the metal made it stop. But then it wasn't enough." Swallow. "So I cut, because it made the fear go away, and I felt stronger, the way I'm supposed to feel."
He didn't dare to look up at Snape. He couldn't. His stomach clenched nervously.
Fingers caught his chin, tilted his head up. Dark eyes looked into his.
"Thank you." said Snape sincerely. Harry was confused, it must have showed on his face. "For trusting me enough to tell me."
Trust? Harry supposed he did trust Snape. He hadn't really thought about it while he was telling him. That showed trust didn't it, that he had not doubted him. Though he had feared his reaction. So much confusion. So tired.
As his eyelids fluttered closed Snape shook him gently. He opened them again and yawned in complaint of the disruption to his rest.
"Harry, you won't try that again will you?"
Eyes so heavy.
"Harry, you must not hurt yourself again, do you hear me. If you feel that bad then tell me and we can try and find another way of making the fear go away."
Harry nodded, then fell asleep in earnest, with Snape still sitting beside him holding his wounded wrist.
***************
He woke again feeling something moving against him. The first thing he saw was the egg resting in his lap. It was rocking. He stared at it, entranced. He was dimly aware that Snape was present, watching him, but it didn't worry him.
The twitching of the egg increased, until finally a small break in the shell appeared, and the egg cracked open. He reached down and pried the pieces away. His breath was stolen from him as he stared down at the small snake curled up on it. Her scales were pure silver and gleamed in the light from the fire. She was beautiful.
She looked up at him. And hissed softly.
"Hello," he welcomed her. "My name is Harry." he reached out a tentative hand and stoked down the length of her slender body. So smooth. She was cool to the touch. Like the razor had been. But less hard.
She stared at him with black eyes. "Greetings." Somehow he had known that she would be able to speak, though just out of the egg. "I am Sylrissin." She slithered slowly and somewhat awkwardly further up his body till she could look him in the eye. "I am glad to meet one such as you."
TBC
