Oh hell, Sev. I've gone and done it this time. Please don't kill me when
I turn up dead.
Funny that that should be the first thought that came to mind after painfully waking up. Dead really hadn't been in his plans at this point. Hm.....200 something bones, in the human body. On the bright side, there's gotta be at least half still intact. And I think the skin behind my left ear isn't even scratched.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was about to finally unearn that name if he wasn't very, very careful. The crowd of death eaters surrounding him was obviously rooting for careless. Harry winced as he mentally tacked on a cheerleader skirt and some pompoms to the more enthusiastic of the bunch. That picture was just wrong.
All levity aside, he was seriously scared. While a student at Hogwarts, there had been the security of knowing that no matter what trouble Voldie and Co. caused, every staff member there unflinchingly stood beside him. Most actively tried to get in front of him. Some had moved faster than others, and paid dearly for their courage. No, he couldn't think about that now. Maybe not ever. You never know when too much will become Too Much.
The teachers were a safety net he'd left behind years ago. Now at almost 30, he'd been on his own since graduation. Not that he'd wanted to be, but the Big V just wouldn't quit coming. Each year had brought stronger and more damaging attacks. When Hermione had been left in a wheelchair their senior year after one such, Harry realized the price his friends would continually and uncomplainingly pay should things remain status quo.
So, as a graduation present to himself, he'd contrived things so that he had the distinction of being the most hated former student that Hogwarts had ever seen. Should have done it before that, stupid git. Would have, too, if I could have figured out how to do it up right. Harry knew that his friends would always be a viable target, so he carefully locked his emotions down, and amputated the friendships. Publicly, loudly, and eternally.
There's no way that Hermione and Ron would have let him simply walk away. Sappy as it was to admit, they'd been each others surrogate family, and although Harry didn't have much experience in that arena, he knew they wouldn't have given up without some pretty extreme provocation.
Harry had provided it, and then some. For good measure, he'd then gone out and provided some more. Afterwards, he'd locked himself in a room, screamed at the walls, pretty much destroyed the furniture, and cried himself to sleep for a few days. What he'd done to the two of them, although necessary, haunted him. The hatred of the rest of the wizarding world for what he'd done wasn't any picnic either. There was no way for the world to know he'd done it to save them, that hurting them had been necessary. But for all Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the school knew, Harry had been simply cruel.
A week prior to graduation, he'd watched Hermione in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey when she was told she wouldn't walk again. Wizard medicine still had limitations, and a severed spinal cord was beyond aid.
Ron and Hermione had just looked at each other, and seeing Ron with tears on his face, Harry had never been more aware that it was his fault. Cedric the fourth year, Sirius the fifth, Professor McGonnagal the sixth , Remus, Colin, Draco, and nearly Hermione the seventh. And that didn't count all the others whose names he didn't know. Harry had been teetering for years on the edge of active trauma due to the constant stress. Although the typical symptoms were suppressed, it certainly gave him a start on the road to his current isolated life.
Leaving Hermione trying to comfort Ron, backwards as that had seemed, he'd left the infirmary and gone straight to the owlery. Hedwig had died the year before, and he hadn't had the heart to replace her. He'd still felt guilty for using the school owls, as if the ghost of Hedwig was going to rise up and bite his finger, but he'd gone ahead and sent two messages that day. One to Arthur Weasley, and one to Alastor Moody.
He'd requested a meeting with Ron's dad and Mad-Eye Moody, in which he outlined his tentative plans and ideas. There was no way he could proceed without some inside contacts, and more training than he currently had. He needed someone in the know to who could keep the Dementors off his back, and there was no way he'd trust that insufferable idiot, Fudge. It also meant that he had to tell Mr. Weasley about what he intended for Ron and Hermione. He felt like seven kinds of slime and a rare fungus when he spelled out how he intended to completely humiliate a very proud boy, and why. Mr. Weasley looked at him, and Harry could see a father's reaction warring with harsh realities. Reality won, but Harry knew Mr. Weasley was going to have a very hard time forgiving him.
He'd known his proposed scheme would sound fantastic and preposterous coming from someone who'd only lately turned seventeen, but he'd had the notoriety of being the boy who had managed to live through several years of attacks, and had come close to killing Voldemort off twice. That was enough for Arthur and Alastor to at least take a chance on him.
From Mad-Eye, he'd requested a complete immersion course in Auror tricks and tactics. An apprenticeship that normally took five years, Harry wanted in one. Moody actually looked excited at the prospect, and Harry found that more frightening than a group of Dementors looking at him and licking their lips.
His really bad feeling was right on target. Spending a year with Moody was the worst experience Harry had ever had, and to borrow a Dumbldorism, between you and I, that's saying something.
The first few months were undoubtedly the worst. Had Harry not determinedly held fast to a goal that he would not, could not, let go of, the nightmares, the constant unfamiliar demands, and the sheer aloneness he felt would have capsized his resolve. He kept looking around for Ron to share the misery with, or for Hermione to suggest a way to make it easier. And then he'd remember what he'd done to them, and stoically endure the endless days and nights alone. He worked very hard at not feeling sorry for himself. He'd put himself in this position, there was no one else to hold responsible. So if he wasn't happy, Suck it up, Potter, he would remind himself.
Christ Jesus, though, to this day he still felt like Typhoid Mary. The pain, sorrow, and guilt hadn't faded one iota. The deaths, the persistent endangerment of the hundreds of students at Hogwarts, the nearly constant fear he'd felt, what he'd done to his friends. All this and more had conspired to leave Harry with a constant 10 foot empty radius around him, even standing on the most crowded of streets.
Moody had insisted that he read the Daily Prophet every morning before taking him out to the woods, and beating the holy hell out of him in the name of training. "You never know what information will be useful until you find it. Constant vigilance, Harry!" To that end, he was constantly hitting Harry with unexpected curses, setting tripwires in unexpected places, and deliberately playing games with his head. How Harry had emerged sane was still a mystery to him. Of course, there were only three people alive who thought he was, so his questionable sanity was definitely a minority opinion.
Courtesy of the Daily Prophet, Harry stayed well aware of the altered feelings in the wizarding world towards one Mr. Harry Potter. Not a month went by over the course of the last 12 years that he hadn't seen an article that kept the memory of his breach of faith alive and well. To be fair, there was a certain small segment of the population that still refused to believe the savior of the wizarding world had gone bad, but Harry figured they were the same ones that collected plugs. No offense to Arthur. Harry deliberately inciting new rumors, though. After all, the show must go on, and you could never be too sure when keeping undercover.
Harry studied his current predicament, wondering where he'd gone wrong. Well, okay so taking on the head bad guy by himself was certainly one large step in the process. Actually, it pretty much explained the whole thing, when looked at from a certain distance.
Harry squinted out of bloodshot and swollen eyes. Seen this way, fuzzy, wavering, and shifting from two to four as his vision blurred, those two death eaters over there on the end looked like they were engaged in a rather obscene physical improbability. If he weren't pretty sure he'd whimper if he tried to talk, he definitely would have commented on it.
His sole source of amusement over the last few years consisted of having absolutely no reason to put a leash on his remarks. These days, anything that popped into his head was in serious danger of coming out of his mouth. It was deliberate at first, one more way to alienate and provoke people, but after a while, it became really funny to watch all the shocked looks and red faces. Not a particularly desirable personality trait, but hey, he'd take his fun where he could find it. He'd made a game of seeing how many times he could cause clenched teeth in one conversation. He was currently up to 17 during a one hour meeting with Arthur. Harry figured the only reason he hadn't gotten a punch in the snoot over his more annoying comments was that the man still felt somewhat sorry for him. Harry sometimes wondered if his need to poke and prod a reaction out of people was a sign of his growing mental instability, but didn't particularly care one way or the other about the answer.
It didn't seem to be an emotion that the badguy bossman shared. Every time they'd met up over the last decade, Harry'd taken a large amount of glee in throwing insults at the most feared individual most wizards knew. Of course, that also might explain why Crucio was the first curse Voldemort flung at him in their little encounters. Most likely, he didn't want to hear another one of his henchmen sniggering. Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't think the guy with the laughter control problem had been seen since.
At the time, he'd spent an anxious couple of weeks hoping it wasn't Professor Snape. If it had been, Harry had speculated that maybe it was the shock of laughing that had killed him. Harry was quite sure Sev didn't have a sense of humor. Harry's admittedly shaky foundation was predicated on certain things he knew to be true. One – Albus Dumbledore was a scary dude, two - he'd miss Ron and Hermione forever, and three - Severus Snape was a mighty big rock in Harry's lonely ocean. Despite his lying, role- playing and isolation, these three anchors were providing just enough stability for him to hang on to. Long enough, he hoped.
For the last decade or so, Arthur had demanded that Harry meet with Sev at least every couple of months to pass information back and forth. He didn't want Harry messing with Snape's plans, and vice versa. Arthur had slowly moved up the ranks in the ministry over the years, and was in a position to be able to coordinate several pieces in the chess game. It had become apparent from whence Ron had gained his affinity for strategy.
The resulting association between Harry and Snape certainly wasn't normal, but to Harry it became precious and priceless. Harry came to know in intimate detail exactly how loyal and purposeful Sev was, while Severus came to know that Harry was the biggest egomaniacal imbecile he'd ever met. Harry still didn't want anyone other than the original two to see behind his façade, no matter what it caused certain individuals to think about him as a person. After so long playing the game, he feared opening up. The things that might tumble out weren't conducive to making someone like him. And too, he knew he wasn't entirely sane anymore. He lied and manipulated with glee, content to sit back and watch the chaos he caused. He supposed he could have confided in Sev; it was just possible he would have understood how the deception had begun, but if he couldn't tell Ron and Hermione, it just didn't seem right. Nevertheless, it caused some extra baggage in his hurt locker. He'd have to see about getting a bigger storage facility, shortly.
Harry had been single-mindedly pursuing his goals for several years, and come to the conclusion that he was still alive for only two reasons, and he couldn't get to the second without achieving the first. He had to make Voldemort pay, permanently. Anything, anything he had to do to reach that goal, he would do. Not one more person would die because Harry failed to act. Not one more person would be allowed to put themselves between himself and Voldemort. He simply could not lose another person he cared for. No matter that they didn't care for him, that was his choice. His anchors held him steady on his course. They didn't know it, and likely never would, but the justice he demanded was for them.
Harry knew he was a damaged individual in a great many ways. He was driven and angry, isolated and unsociable. His seven years at Hogwarts, where he'd found friends and acceptance, didn't make up for the 23 he'd been without them, and his complete aloneness for the last twelve of them had seen him set him in his ways. He figured that when he finally managed to kill the Great Evil Git that he'd hang around just long enough to accomplish his one other goal, and then vanish for good.
After leaving Moody, Harry had tried to plan out what exactly he wanted to do, and how to get from point A to B. That was mostly the easy part. Harry knew he could kill Voldemort, but he wasn't sure he could do it without fatal injury to himself. If he made it through, back then he'd had vague ideas about revealing the charade, and Ron and Hermione tearfully forgiving him, and they'd all live happily ever after.
As he'd worked through the details of his plans keeping his survival in mind, he realized he was looking at a great many years. After that length of time, time that would harden the hottest anger into the cold steel of hatred; even if he revealed all in a dramatic interview with Witch Weekly, Ron and Hermione wouldn't forgive him, and without that, what was the point of the deception? There was an extremely tiny chance that Ron and Hermione might have forgiven him if he'd been lying on graduation day, but he hadn't. He'd stood there speaking the absolute truth, which made it all the more unforgivable.
After that wonderful and illuminating conclusion, he'd realized there would be no more friends. Ever. So, if he did manage to live, what on earth was he going to do with himself? He'd had a taste of what it could be like - the accolades and the praises that would come his way, but what could he do with that kind of notoriety? His deception ensured he'd still be hated while being smiled at, and while he could handle it now, after the game was done, he knew that would change. Now there was a reason for tolerating the dislike he could feel constantly being directed his way. If the reason went away, a large part of his armor went with it.
Harry figured if there was nothing more he could achieve as himself, Harry Potter, he'd find a way to at least do the things he wanted, before finding a nice isolated cave somewhere. The trouble was, he still couldn't think of anything he wanted to do that he thought could actually happen. He wanted to be normal. Never going to happen. He wanted to belong to someone. As the most hated wizard alive (possibly tied with Voldie, but that was a toss-up), that wasn't going to happen either. What did he want that he could have? He couldn't pretend to be someone else forever, and there was no way to hide the scar from someone who spent extended time with him.
Taking the dichotomy to it's conclusion, the solution seemed to be to be someone else, for a short time, and then he could maybe, well, maybe he could find...a hug. That was his second goal. He'd never had one, and he really wanted to know what it would feel like. He'd missed so much, and this was a supremely selfish thing he wanted for himself that just maybe he could have. So, if he lived through the next couple of hours, he'd give goal two a shot.
Harry had been tormenting Voldemort for years, keeping the Great Pest's attention focused on himself, interrupting whatever plans the V-man had going for others, basically urging and shaping a completely unreasoning viciousness for the person of one Mr. Potter. All to get to this point. Oh yeah, the point where you're beat an interesting mix of red and purple, have no wand, and couldn't see to tell the difference between Voldemort and Professor Trelawney. Good plan, Potter.
Well heck, they hadn't started removing body parts yet. Think positive!, he told himself. And it wasn't like he expected to let himself be caught and not get somewhat banged up in the process. He'd spoken to Sev about a month ago, and warned him to stay away from this particular meeting. He knew the magical backwash he was about to create would discharge itself into anyone connected with Voldemort. The physically closer they were, the worse the effects would be.
Five years ago, he'd done something completely stupid during a hurried, back alley meeting with Sev. He'd just come from another raid on Voldemort's campground, and had a pile of magical items to pass on for Sev to study or destroy.
One item had been a medallion with emeralds embedded on one side, tiger's eye on the other. There were no other markings anywhere on it, but Harry had gotten an extremely peculiar feeling handling it, and could tell it was quite powerful in it's way, although he had no clue what it actually did.
He'd handed over the pieces, pulling the medallion out of his pocket last. Sev had taken one look at it, and hissed at him. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"Well, I needed a new piece to go with the earrings I just bought. Where the hell do you think it came from?"
Sev gifted Harry with the level two You are such a git, Potter stare he'd gotten used to. He saved level three for the times a particularly nasty new rumor surfaced in the Daily Prophet about just what that insanely immoral wizard Harry Potter was up to. Harry'd been planting the rumors for years, and lately had taken to upping the sleaze factor for to see just how dangerous that glare could get. Alright, so the story about the twins in the cloak closet of the Leaky Cauldron might have been over the top. Snarky bastard would probably have a coronary due to shock if he knew the freaking boy who lived is still a virgin.
Sev clenched his teeth. That's one, Harry thought. "Mr. Potter, it might interest you to know that the medallion you're bouncing like a Muggle quarter was given to your mother by your father the day they graduated. Should you, however remote the possibility, have any desire to remember them, I suggest you keep it."
At that, Harry had clamped his fist tightly around the medallion, feeling one of the jewels draw blood from his palm. Remember? How could he ever forget? He knew they would be just as ashamed of him as everyone else, if they were still alive. He knew all the stories of his parents, knew how much in love they were, and keeping this medallion would be a constant reminder that he could never share in that. He dreaded the burden of yet more emotional grief. He walked too close to the edge, and could not afford to go over, not yet.
He'd looked at Severus with what he hoped were expressionless eyes. He'd worked hard on a poker face, and his cut off life helped ensure he kept his feelings to himself. "Graduation, you say? A fine time to express all one's innermost thoughts and feelings, wouldn't you agree, Sev?" Harry had certainly taken the opportunity and run with it.
Severus clenched his teeth. That's two "Potter, there has never, in my not inconsiderable experience, been someone I loathe more deeply than you. While James and Lily were the epitome of all I find irritating, they at least had the normal decent sensibilities of most human beings. You on the other hand, have absolutely no redeeming value I can find. Your one small usefullness lies in keeping Voldemort occupied. When the day comes that that usefullness is at an end, I sincerely hope you cross paths with a fast moving basilisk."
Harry had kept his eyes fixed on Severus's through the tirade. He'd deep down believed since his first day of Potions class that Snape didn't really hate him, and that his constant picking on him wasn't personal. The professor didn't even know him, so while he might hate the ideas he had about him, he couldn't hate him. He'd been rude, irritating and intimidating, but truthfully, Harry had found it kind of intriguing. For seven years, he'd watched the professor, slowly learning that it was simply Severus Snape being......Severus. As a way of communicating, it kind of sucked, but it was just his way. Having understood this, Harry started quietly digging into the life of one Professor Severus Snape. The more he absorbed, the more he liked and respected the man. Sev was his first choice when he needed someone to train him, but the admiration he felt stopped him. He realized he wanted to make friends with the snarly and cranky man, and that was enough reason to avoid him completely.
The meetings forced upon him by Arthur served well to deepen his feelings. He couldn't define what he felt in so many words, but he knew Sev was a powerful danger to his voluntary isolation.
All this and more was why simply cocked an eyebrow at the impassioned lecture, then flipped the medallion to his one liability. "Nah, you keep it, Sev. We'll call it payment – for services rendered."
Harry turned, and walked away. Finally understanding that he was seriously, completely, no holds barred in love with the difficult man. And at last understood that when you're on the receiving end, there really was no difference if someone hated their ideas of you, or just hated you. The knowledge went through him like the sharpest of swords. Funny, he hadn't realized that pain could feel so cold. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets as he strolled away to cover their trembling.
He was pretty sure that most people would find it odd, not wrong, but quite certainly odd, that he'd fallen in love with a man he'd never spoken a civil word to. He'd never been in love before, nor had he ever received any that he remembered. He imagined his parents must have loved him, and certainly Ron and Hermione had felt affection for him, but he didn't know love. How Harry was so certain after being so uncertain of what he felt is one of the things he guessed he'd never know. He thought that all the years he'd been watching and trying to understand the man had simply formed the foundation that his respect, admiration, and liking had built on. Mix that with Sev's uncanny ability to find the black and white in a dangerously grey world, dangle it in front of a man who had none of those things, and presto, love is born.
Harry knew it was completely one sided, and that Sev would never return his feelings. In a way, that made it much easier to love him. No explanations required, no justifications. Harry took and hoarded the small crumbs he could from their awkward meetings, simply grateful to be allowed to occasionally see him.
Shortly thereafter, he'd become aware of a low-level hum in the back of his head. After several hours of meditation, he satisfied himself that it wasn't harmful, just a general sense of awareness of someone. His first thought was that it was somehow connected to Voldemort, but it didn't feel evil. In fact, it was somewhat ... nice. Further meditation gave him several more impressions of waves of the softest black he could imagine. The color black always made him think of Sev, so this newfound...thing...must have something to do with him.
Harry didn't know with any conviction how this had happened, but he certainly had a suspicion. It almost assuredly had been the medallion. So he made a point of hunting down the jeweler who'd created it and gotten the background from him at wandpoint.
Minus all the stammering and pleas for mercy, and "Wouldn't you like a nice cup of tea?"'s, the basic story was that James had commissioned the piece as a surprise for Lily, and had several unusual spells built into it. The stones themselves weren't really jewels, but living crystals, that took on the primary colors of the couple. Green for Lily's eyes, and brown for James'. With a drop of blood on each, the medallion became a conduit between the couple. If one were in danger, the other would know. It was an undetectable way of keeping tabs on each other in those dangerous times.
Harry realized when he cut his palm on one of the jewels and then given it to Sev, it had provided a link between them. However, the link only went one way, as Sev hadn't activated his half. Still, it was comforting to realize that he had, however small, a simple connection to the man he loved. And now he could try to protect Sev from the worst of what his spying exposed him to, as he could follow the link to his location.
Bringing himself back to his current predicament, Harry was again indebted to the medallion, as it assured him that Sev was nowhere near.
Harry had been hoping for a complete gathering of the evil gits for years. He really didn't want to have Voldemort dead, and then have all the death eaters competing to fill the void. He wanted a one shot deal to take them all out, without wreckage raining about the countryside. When he'd heard from Sev about this meeting, and the fact that all death eaters were required to be in attendance, he'd told Sev to have Dumbledore knock him out with a brick if he had to, but under no circumstances was he to attend.
He'd finally seen what a level four glare from Sev looked like. "Potter, has it crossed your tiny little mind that I will be completely exposed as a spy should I not be present?"
"Why no, Sev, it hadn't. Gee, maybe you should go then. I'd hate for you to miss the final blowout where all the death eaters learn how to fall down and play dead. Imagine what a learning experience that would be." Harry counted slowly to five. Thirty times. "Regardless of what you choose to think of me, I don't sit around thinking up ways to get you killed. Quite the opposite. Now please, just let me do my one freaking job without you on scene, all right?" The thought of Sev attending this particular gathering had made Harry sweat fear inspired bullets for days, until he'd been assured by Arthur that Sev had agreed to stay away.
After working with the annoying man for the last several years, albeit under duress, Snape's disgust with the infuriating rodent had reached immense proportions. Be that as it may, the brat had never caused him direct harm. In fact, for the last few years, he'd always seemed to turn up just at the moment things could have blown up in his face.
Lately, both Sev and Harry were routinely using concealing charms when meeting in public, so there was no way for Sev to get a read on Potter's face. The boy had gotten remarkably adept at not giving much away, but now and again the shutters over his eyes would briefly open, allowing him a quick glimpse of the single-minded drive that kept young Potter going after Voldemort, despite the addition of several new scars a year.
Just what does make Harry Potter tick?, he wondered, not for the first time. It certainly isn't because he cares – perhaps it is simply the thrill? There was no way to know, and he certainly was not going to ask. Insufferable, and far too full of his own importance in the world. A face like that would do far better to have a more engaging personality behind it, not the poison and selfishness more common to a reptile.
Severus had always been determined to not like the boy. It had taken seven years for the rest of the world to agree that he was a snobbish, arrogant little prig, who'd had the best in life handed to him on a silver platter, and done not one thing to earn it.
Why, just look how he'd repaid his friends for their concern. Actually standing there at graduation, and announcing that he was so proud of the Weasely boy and Granger girl. After all, it's not every day you get a life funded by the Boy Who Lived. He'd gone on to congratulate himself for all the clever ruses he'd employed to ensure they wouldn't know. Honestly, did Ron really think his dad had won that lottery? And just where did Granger's family get the money for all those foreign trips every summer? He'd concluded his nauseating little speech by proclaiming that despite all the opinions that stated it couldn't be done, he'd successfully managed to buy a set of loyal friends. Having done that, he now felt it time to move on and work his wiles on a larger scale. But he thanked Hogwarts for the opportunity it had provided to practice.
Funny that that should be the first thought that came to mind after painfully waking up. Dead really hadn't been in his plans at this point. Hm.....200 something bones, in the human body. On the bright side, there's gotta be at least half still intact. And I think the skin behind my left ear isn't even scratched.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was about to finally unearn that name if he wasn't very, very careful. The crowd of death eaters surrounding him was obviously rooting for careless. Harry winced as he mentally tacked on a cheerleader skirt and some pompoms to the more enthusiastic of the bunch. That picture was just wrong.
All levity aside, he was seriously scared. While a student at Hogwarts, there had been the security of knowing that no matter what trouble Voldie and Co. caused, every staff member there unflinchingly stood beside him. Most actively tried to get in front of him. Some had moved faster than others, and paid dearly for their courage. No, he couldn't think about that now. Maybe not ever. You never know when too much will become Too Much.
The teachers were a safety net he'd left behind years ago. Now at almost 30, he'd been on his own since graduation. Not that he'd wanted to be, but the Big V just wouldn't quit coming. Each year had brought stronger and more damaging attacks. When Hermione had been left in a wheelchair their senior year after one such, Harry realized the price his friends would continually and uncomplainingly pay should things remain status quo.
So, as a graduation present to himself, he'd contrived things so that he had the distinction of being the most hated former student that Hogwarts had ever seen. Should have done it before that, stupid git. Would have, too, if I could have figured out how to do it up right. Harry knew that his friends would always be a viable target, so he carefully locked his emotions down, and amputated the friendships. Publicly, loudly, and eternally.
There's no way that Hermione and Ron would have let him simply walk away. Sappy as it was to admit, they'd been each others surrogate family, and although Harry didn't have much experience in that arena, he knew they wouldn't have given up without some pretty extreme provocation.
Harry had provided it, and then some. For good measure, he'd then gone out and provided some more. Afterwards, he'd locked himself in a room, screamed at the walls, pretty much destroyed the furniture, and cried himself to sleep for a few days. What he'd done to the two of them, although necessary, haunted him. The hatred of the rest of the wizarding world for what he'd done wasn't any picnic either. There was no way for the world to know he'd done it to save them, that hurting them had been necessary. But for all Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the school knew, Harry had been simply cruel.
A week prior to graduation, he'd watched Hermione in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey when she was told she wouldn't walk again. Wizard medicine still had limitations, and a severed spinal cord was beyond aid.
Ron and Hermione had just looked at each other, and seeing Ron with tears on his face, Harry had never been more aware that it was his fault. Cedric the fourth year, Sirius the fifth, Professor McGonnagal the sixth , Remus, Colin, Draco, and nearly Hermione the seventh. And that didn't count all the others whose names he didn't know. Harry had been teetering for years on the edge of active trauma due to the constant stress. Although the typical symptoms were suppressed, it certainly gave him a start on the road to his current isolated life.
Leaving Hermione trying to comfort Ron, backwards as that had seemed, he'd left the infirmary and gone straight to the owlery. Hedwig had died the year before, and he hadn't had the heart to replace her. He'd still felt guilty for using the school owls, as if the ghost of Hedwig was going to rise up and bite his finger, but he'd gone ahead and sent two messages that day. One to Arthur Weasley, and one to Alastor Moody.
He'd requested a meeting with Ron's dad and Mad-Eye Moody, in which he outlined his tentative plans and ideas. There was no way he could proceed without some inside contacts, and more training than he currently had. He needed someone in the know to who could keep the Dementors off his back, and there was no way he'd trust that insufferable idiot, Fudge. It also meant that he had to tell Mr. Weasley about what he intended for Ron and Hermione. He felt like seven kinds of slime and a rare fungus when he spelled out how he intended to completely humiliate a very proud boy, and why. Mr. Weasley looked at him, and Harry could see a father's reaction warring with harsh realities. Reality won, but Harry knew Mr. Weasley was going to have a very hard time forgiving him.
He'd known his proposed scheme would sound fantastic and preposterous coming from someone who'd only lately turned seventeen, but he'd had the notoriety of being the boy who had managed to live through several years of attacks, and had come close to killing Voldemort off twice. That was enough for Arthur and Alastor to at least take a chance on him.
From Mad-Eye, he'd requested a complete immersion course in Auror tricks and tactics. An apprenticeship that normally took five years, Harry wanted in one. Moody actually looked excited at the prospect, and Harry found that more frightening than a group of Dementors looking at him and licking their lips.
His really bad feeling was right on target. Spending a year with Moody was the worst experience Harry had ever had, and to borrow a Dumbldorism, between you and I, that's saying something.
The first few months were undoubtedly the worst. Had Harry not determinedly held fast to a goal that he would not, could not, let go of, the nightmares, the constant unfamiliar demands, and the sheer aloneness he felt would have capsized his resolve. He kept looking around for Ron to share the misery with, or for Hermione to suggest a way to make it easier. And then he'd remember what he'd done to them, and stoically endure the endless days and nights alone. He worked very hard at not feeling sorry for himself. He'd put himself in this position, there was no one else to hold responsible. So if he wasn't happy, Suck it up, Potter, he would remind himself.
Christ Jesus, though, to this day he still felt like Typhoid Mary. The pain, sorrow, and guilt hadn't faded one iota. The deaths, the persistent endangerment of the hundreds of students at Hogwarts, the nearly constant fear he'd felt, what he'd done to his friends. All this and more had conspired to leave Harry with a constant 10 foot empty radius around him, even standing on the most crowded of streets.
Moody had insisted that he read the Daily Prophet every morning before taking him out to the woods, and beating the holy hell out of him in the name of training. "You never know what information will be useful until you find it. Constant vigilance, Harry!" To that end, he was constantly hitting Harry with unexpected curses, setting tripwires in unexpected places, and deliberately playing games with his head. How Harry had emerged sane was still a mystery to him. Of course, there were only three people alive who thought he was, so his questionable sanity was definitely a minority opinion.
Courtesy of the Daily Prophet, Harry stayed well aware of the altered feelings in the wizarding world towards one Mr. Harry Potter. Not a month went by over the course of the last 12 years that he hadn't seen an article that kept the memory of his breach of faith alive and well. To be fair, there was a certain small segment of the population that still refused to believe the savior of the wizarding world had gone bad, but Harry figured they were the same ones that collected plugs. No offense to Arthur. Harry deliberately inciting new rumors, though. After all, the show must go on, and you could never be too sure when keeping undercover.
Harry studied his current predicament, wondering where he'd gone wrong. Well, okay so taking on the head bad guy by himself was certainly one large step in the process. Actually, it pretty much explained the whole thing, when looked at from a certain distance.
Harry squinted out of bloodshot and swollen eyes. Seen this way, fuzzy, wavering, and shifting from two to four as his vision blurred, those two death eaters over there on the end looked like they were engaged in a rather obscene physical improbability. If he weren't pretty sure he'd whimper if he tried to talk, he definitely would have commented on it.
His sole source of amusement over the last few years consisted of having absolutely no reason to put a leash on his remarks. These days, anything that popped into his head was in serious danger of coming out of his mouth. It was deliberate at first, one more way to alienate and provoke people, but after a while, it became really funny to watch all the shocked looks and red faces. Not a particularly desirable personality trait, but hey, he'd take his fun where he could find it. He'd made a game of seeing how many times he could cause clenched teeth in one conversation. He was currently up to 17 during a one hour meeting with Arthur. Harry figured the only reason he hadn't gotten a punch in the snoot over his more annoying comments was that the man still felt somewhat sorry for him. Harry sometimes wondered if his need to poke and prod a reaction out of people was a sign of his growing mental instability, but didn't particularly care one way or the other about the answer.
It didn't seem to be an emotion that the badguy bossman shared. Every time they'd met up over the last decade, Harry'd taken a large amount of glee in throwing insults at the most feared individual most wizards knew. Of course, that also might explain why Crucio was the first curse Voldemort flung at him in their little encounters. Most likely, he didn't want to hear another one of his henchmen sniggering. Harry wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't think the guy with the laughter control problem had been seen since.
At the time, he'd spent an anxious couple of weeks hoping it wasn't Professor Snape. If it had been, Harry had speculated that maybe it was the shock of laughing that had killed him. Harry was quite sure Sev didn't have a sense of humor. Harry's admittedly shaky foundation was predicated on certain things he knew to be true. One – Albus Dumbledore was a scary dude, two - he'd miss Ron and Hermione forever, and three - Severus Snape was a mighty big rock in Harry's lonely ocean. Despite his lying, role- playing and isolation, these three anchors were providing just enough stability for him to hang on to. Long enough, he hoped.
For the last decade or so, Arthur had demanded that Harry meet with Sev at least every couple of months to pass information back and forth. He didn't want Harry messing with Snape's plans, and vice versa. Arthur had slowly moved up the ranks in the ministry over the years, and was in a position to be able to coordinate several pieces in the chess game. It had become apparent from whence Ron had gained his affinity for strategy.
The resulting association between Harry and Snape certainly wasn't normal, but to Harry it became precious and priceless. Harry came to know in intimate detail exactly how loyal and purposeful Sev was, while Severus came to know that Harry was the biggest egomaniacal imbecile he'd ever met. Harry still didn't want anyone other than the original two to see behind his façade, no matter what it caused certain individuals to think about him as a person. After so long playing the game, he feared opening up. The things that might tumble out weren't conducive to making someone like him. And too, he knew he wasn't entirely sane anymore. He lied and manipulated with glee, content to sit back and watch the chaos he caused. He supposed he could have confided in Sev; it was just possible he would have understood how the deception had begun, but if he couldn't tell Ron and Hermione, it just didn't seem right. Nevertheless, it caused some extra baggage in his hurt locker. He'd have to see about getting a bigger storage facility, shortly.
Harry had been single-mindedly pursuing his goals for several years, and come to the conclusion that he was still alive for only two reasons, and he couldn't get to the second without achieving the first. He had to make Voldemort pay, permanently. Anything, anything he had to do to reach that goal, he would do. Not one more person would die because Harry failed to act. Not one more person would be allowed to put themselves between himself and Voldemort. He simply could not lose another person he cared for. No matter that they didn't care for him, that was his choice. His anchors held him steady on his course. They didn't know it, and likely never would, but the justice he demanded was for them.
Harry knew he was a damaged individual in a great many ways. He was driven and angry, isolated and unsociable. His seven years at Hogwarts, where he'd found friends and acceptance, didn't make up for the 23 he'd been without them, and his complete aloneness for the last twelve of them had seen him set him in his ways. He figured that when he finally managed to kill the Great Evil Git that he'd hang around just long enough to accomplish his one other goal, and then vanish for good.
After leaving Moody, Harry had tried to plan out what exactly he wanted to do, and how to get from point A to B. That was mostly the easy part. Harry knew he could kill Voldemort, but he wasn't sure he could do it without fatal injury to himself. If he made it through, back then he'd had vague ideas about revealing the charade, and Ron and Hermione tearfully forgiving him, and they'd all live happily ever after.
As he'd worked through the details of his plans keeping his survival in mind, he realized he was looking at a great many years. After that length of time, time that would harden the hottest anger into the cold steel of hatred; even if he revealed all in a dramatic interview with Witch Weekly, Ron and Hermione wouldn't forgive him, and without that, what was the point of the deception? There was an extremely tiny chance that Ron and Hermione might have forgiven him if he'd been lying on graduation day, but he hadn't. He'd stood there speaking the absolute truth, which made it all the more unforgivable.
After that wonderful and illuminating conclusion, he'd realized there would be no more friends. Ever. So, if he did manage to live, what on earth was he going to do with himself? He'd had a taste of what it could be like - the accolades and the praises that would come his way, but what could he do with that kind of notoriety? His deception ensured he'd still be hated while being smiled at, and while he could handle it now, after the game was done, he knew that would change. Now there was a reason for tolerating the dislike he could feel constantly being directed his way. If the reason went away, a large part of his armor went with it.
Harry figured if there was nothing more he could achieve as himself, Harry Potter, he'd find a way to at least do the things he wanted, before finding a nice isolated cave somewhere. The trouble was, he still couldn't think of anything he wanted to do that he thought could actually happen. He wanted to be normal. Never going to happen. He wanted to belong to someone. As the most hated wizard alive (possibly tied with Voldie, but that was a toss-up), that wasn't going to happen either. What did he want that he could have? He couldn't pretend to be someone else forever, and there was no way to hide the scar from someone who spent extended time with him.
Taking the dichotomy to it's conclusion, the solution seemed to be to be someone else, for a short time, and then he could maybe, well, maybe he could find...a hug. That was his second goal. He'd never had one, and he really wanted to know what it would feel like. He'd missed so much, and this was a supremely selfish thing he wanted for himself that just maybe he could have. So, if he lived through the next couple of hours, he'd give goal two a shot.
Harry had been tormenting Voldemort for years, keeping the Great Pest's attention focused on himself, interrupting whatever plans the V-man had going for others, basically urging and shaping a completely unreasoning viciousness for the person of one Mr. Potter. All to get to this point. Oh yeah, the point where you're beat an interesting mix of red and purple, have no wand, and couldn't see to tell the difference between Voldemort and Professor Trelawney. Good plan, Potter.
Well heck, they hadn't started removing body parts yet. Think positive!, he told himself. And it wasn't like he expected to let himself be caught and not get somewhat banged up in the process. He'd spoken to Sev about a month ago, and warned him to stay away from this particular meeting. He knew the magical backwash he was about to create would discharge itself into anyone connected with Voldemort. The physically closer they were, the worse the effects would be.
Five years ago, he'd done something completely stupid during a hurried, back alley meeting with Sev. He'd just come from another raid on Voldemort's campground, and had a pile of magical items to pass on for Sev to study or destroy.
One item had been a medallion with emeralds embedded on one side, tiger's eye on the other. There were no other markings anywhere on it, but Harry had gotten an extremely peculiar feeling handling it, and could tell it was quite powerful in it's way, although he had no clue what it actually did.
He'd handed over the pieces, pulling the medallion out of his pocket last. Sev had taken one look at it, and hissed at him. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"Well, I needed a new piece to go with the earrings I just bought. Where the hell do you think it came from?"
Sev gifted Harry with the level two You are such a git, Potter stare he'd gotten used to. He saved level three for the times a particularly nasty new rumor surfaced in the Daily Prophet about just what that insanely immoral wizard Harry Potter was up to. Harry'd been planting the rumors for years, and lately had taken to upping the sleaze factor for to see just how dangerous that glare could get. Alright, so the story about the twins in the cloak closet of the Leaky Cauldron might have been over the top. Snarky bastard would probably have a coronary due to shock if he knew the freaking boy who lived is still a virgin.
Sev clenched his teeth. That's one, Harry thought. "Mr. Potter, it might interest you to know that the medallion you're bouncing like a Muggle quarter was given to your mother by your father the day they graduated. Should you, however remote the possibility, have any desire to remember them, I suggest you keep it."
At that, Harry had clamped his fist tightly around the medallion, feeling one of the jewels draw blood from his palm. Remember? How could he ever forget? He knew they would be just as ashamed of him as everyone else, if they were still alive. He knew all the stories of his parents, knew how much in love they were, and keeping this medallion would be a constant reminder that he could never share in that. He dreaded the burden of yet more emotional grief. He walked too close to the edge, and could not afford to go over, not yet.
He'd looked at Severus with what he hoped were expressionless eyes. He'd worked hard on a poker face, and his cut off life helped ensure he kept his feelings to himself. "Graduation, you say? A fine time to express all one's innermost thoughts and feelings, wouldn't you agree, Sev?" Harry had certainly taken the opportunity and run with it.
Severus clenched his teeth. That's two "Potter, there has never, in my not inconsiderable experience, been someone I loathe more deeply than you. While James and Lily were the epitome of all I find irritating, they at least had the normal decent sensibilities of most human beings. You on the other hand, have absolutely no redeeming value I can find. Your one small usefullness lies in keeping Voldemort occupied. When the day comes that that usefullness is at an end, I sincerely hope you cross paths with a fast moving basilisk."
Harry had kept his eyes fixed on Severus's through the tirade. He'd deep down believed since his first day of Potions class that Snape didn't really hate him, and that his constant picking on him wasn't personal. The professor didn't even know him, so while he might hate the ideas he had about him, he couldn't hate him. He'd been rude, irritating and intimidating, but truthfully, Harry had found it kind of intriguing. For seven years, he'd watched the professor, slowly learning that it was simply Severus Snape being......Severus. As a way of communicating, it kind of sucked, but it was just his way. Having understood this, Harry started quietly digging into the life of one Professor Severus Snape. The more he absorbed, the more he liked and respected the man. Sev was his first choice when he needed someone to train him, but the admiration he felt stopped him. He realized he wanted to make friends with the snarly and cranky man, and that was enough reason to avoid him completely.
The meetings forced upon him by Arthur served well to deepen his feelings. He couldn't define what he felt in so many words, but he knew Sev was a powerful danger to his voluntary isolation.
All this and more was why simply cocked an eyebrow at the impassioned lecture, then flipped the medallion to his one liability. "Nah, you keep it, Sev. We'll call it payment – for services rendered."
Harry turned, and walked away. Finally understanding that he was seriously, completely, no holds barred in love with the difficult man. And at last understood that when you're on the receiving end, there really was no difference if someone hated their ideas of you, or just hated you. The knowledge went through him like the sharpest of swords. Funny, he hadn't realized that pain could feel so cold. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets as he strolled away to cover their trembling.
He was pretty sure that most people would find it odd, not wrong, but quite certainly odd, that he'd fallen in love with a man he'd never spoken a civil word to. He'd never been in love before, nor had he ever received any that he remembered. He imagined his parents must have loved him, and certainly Ron and Hermione had felt affection for him, but he didn't know love. How Harry was so certain after being so uncertain of what he felt is one of the things he guessed he'd never know. He thought that all the years he'd been watching and trying to understand the man had simply formed the foundation that his respect, admiration, and liking had built on. Mix that with Sev's uncanny ability to find the black and white in a dangerously grey world, dangle it in front of a man who had none of those things, and presto, love is born.
Harry knew it was completely one sided, and that Sev would never return his feelings. In a way, that made it much easier to love him. No explanations required, no justifications. Harry took and hoarded the small crumbs he could from their awkward meetings, simply grateful to be allowed to occasionally see him.
Shortly thereafter, he'd become aware of a low-level hum in the back of his head. After several hours of meditation, he satisfied himself that it wasn't harmful, just a general sense of awareness of someone. His first thought was that it was somehow connected to Voldemort, but it didn't feel evil. In fact, it was somewhat ... nice. Further meditation gave him several more impressions of waves of the softest black he could imagine. The color black always made him think of Sev, so this newfound...thing...must have something to do with him.
Harry didn't know with any conviction how this had happened, but he certainly had a suspicion. It almost assuredly had been the medallion. So he made a point of hunting down the jeweler who'd created it and gotten the background from him at wandpoint.
Minus all the stammering and pleas for mercy, and "Wouldn't you like a nice cup of tea?"'s, the basic story was that James had commissioned the piece as a surprise for Lily, and had several unusual spells built into it. The stones themselves weren't really jewels, but living crystals, that took on the primary colors of the couple. Green for Lily's eyes, and brown for James'. With a drop of blood on each, the medallion became a conduit between the couple. If one were in danger, the other would know. It was an undetectable way of keeping tabs on each other in those dangerous times.
Harry realized when he cut his palm on one of the jewels and then given it to Sev, it had provided a link between them. However, the link only went one way, as Sev hadn't activated his half. Still, it was comforting to realize that he had, however small, a simple connection to the man he loved. And now he could try to protect Sev from the worst of what his spying exposed him to, as he could follow the link to his location.
Bringing himself back to his current predicament, Harry was again indebted to the medallion, as it assured him that Sev was nowhere near.
Harry had been hoping for a complete gathering of the evil gits for years. He really didn't want to have Voldemort dead, and then have all the death eaters competing to fill the void. He wanted a one shot deal to take them all out, without wreckage raining about the countryside. When he'd heard from Sev about this meeting, and the fact that all death eaters were required to be in attendance, he'd told Sev to have Dumbledore knock him out with a brick if he had to, but under no circumstances was he to attend.
He'd finally seen what a level four glare from Sev looked like. "Potter, has it crossed your tiny little mind that I will be completely exposed as a spy should I not be present?"
"Why no, Sev, it hadn't. Gee, maybe you should go then. I'd hate for you to miss the final blowout where all the death eaters learn how to fall down and play dead. Imagine what a learning experience that would be." Harry counted slowly to five. Thirty times. "Regardless of what you choose to think of me, I don't sit around thinking up ways to get you killed. Quite the opposite. Now please, just let me do my one freaking job without you on scene, all right?" The thought of Sev attending this particular gathering had made Harry sweat fear inspired bullets for days, until he'd been assured by Arthur that Sev had agreed to stay away.
After working with the annoying man for the last several years, albeit under duress, Snape's disgust with the infuriating rodent had reached immense proportions. Be that as it may, the brat had never caused him direct harm. In fact, for the last few years, he'd always seemed to turn up just at the moment things could have blown up in his face.
Lately, both Sev and Harry were routinely using concealing charms when meeting in public, so there was no way for Sev to get a read on Potter's face. The boy had gotten remarkably adept at not giving much away, but now and again the shutters over his eyes would briefly open, allowing him a quick glimpse of the single-minded drive that kept young Potter going after Voldemort, despite the addition of several new scars a year.
Just what does make Harry Potter tick?, he wondered, not for the first time. It certainly isn't because he cares – perhaps it is simply the thrill? There was no way to know, and he certainly was not going to ask. Insufferable, and far too full of his own importance in the world. A face like that would do far better to have a more engaging personality behind it, not the poison and selfishness more common to a reptile.
Severus had always been determined to not like the boy. It had taken seven years for the rest of the world to agree that he was a snobbish, arrogant little prig, who'd had the best in life handed to him on a silver platter, and done not one thing to earn it.
Why, just look how he'd repaid his friends for their concern. Actually standing there at graduation, and announcing that he was so proud of the Weasely boy and Granger girl. After all, it's not every day you get a life funded by the Boy Who Lived. He'd gone on to congratulate himself for all the clever ruses he'd employed to ensure they wouldn't know. Honestly, did Ron really think his dad had won that lottery? And just where did Granger's family get the money for all those foreign trips every summer? He'd concluded his nauseating little speech by proclaiming that despite all the opinions that stated it couldn't be done, he'd successfully managed to buy a set of loyal friends. Having done that, he now felt it time to move on and work his wiles on a larger scale. But he thanked Hogwarts for the opportunity it had provided to practice.