Flames of War
Chapter Two: Breakfast for Two
Only to embrace those we love
And protect those small and precious
Today again someone shouts that met
Sacrificing even their life
To smolder in the midst of time
With that instant's kiss—"Velvet Underworld"
July 11, Tuesday, Afternoon, 2000
Apparently, the effects of their lack of conversation were soporific, as Harry did not decide to arise until the afternoon. It was early July, and now that the War was officially over—meaning that enough of the Wizarding society had been prepared and repaired to continue normal functions—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was to reopen the following year, with the other two European schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.
Severus sent an egrious glare to his bed. Just because he's the bloody Boy Who Lived doesn't mean he can violate my bloody space.
Usually, Potter was gone by the morning. This time, something was obviously wrong.
Severus had made up his mind; everyone had cast in their lot of sacrifices to make The Boy Who Lived happy—Sirius, his freedom for thirteen years, Lupin, being shunned for who he was while teaching at Hogwarts. Ron became a Death Eater; Hermione had to suffer as her friend became someone she hardly knew. Even Draco and several other Slytherins had to reject their families—Lucius, for one, was still alive.
Everyone had sacrificed. Except for him.
Severus had sacrificed nothing, and considering that Harry was becoming somewhat like him, Severus felt he owed the green-eyed used youth something.
And so, Severus decided to give him the one thing he had sought as a youth—understanding. Someone who identified with him.
You know what that means, Severus thought, you'll have to be nice… the voice was not facetious at all, but scalding, like a snake bite.
Taking a deep breath, he gently shook Harry awake.
"Hm. Severus…?"
The Boy is too used to being here, Severus snapped in his thoughts.
"Get up," the words came out more cruel than he wanted.
"What?" apparently, harry was not used to being in the Dungeons during daylight hours. "Oh. Shit. I'm sorry, Severus…" he muttered lazily, and proceeded to hurriedly search for his clothes.
Severus held up a hand, causing Harry to falter in his movements. "Do not rush so. My propriety will not turn to the worst just because you are still here. Take your time."
Harry, used to Severus's frightening imperious attitude, peered at the other man quizzically. "Severus…are you all right?" he asked slowly.
"I am fine. What about you?"
The fact that Severus had designed to ask him that question alone disturbed him, but he stammered a "fine" and continued to search for his clothes. Severus ventured back into the den to give Harry some privacy.
Harry's mind was reeling. What the hell was wrong with Severus!? Why was he being so…pleasant?
He wasn't expecting, niceties when he had gotten involved with Severus. He had expected a man who would make him feel real, and not as though his world was slipping through his fingers. He expected a man who would deliberately not care for him, a man who would not enact 'tender loving care', he expected a man who would leave him behind if Harry did not catch up.
The ordeal with Ron had damaged him, he knew more then he cared t admit, but he liked…predicament with Severus. He knew he was hiding from the world, but…at least he was hiding in a world where he knew what was what. It was plainly black and white, with Severus. There weren't a million shades of grey to sift through. He knew what was and what wasn't. He knew that Severus (as he had come to call the man in time) did not love him, or even like him. He knew that the Slytherin wanted no traces of Harry in his home, and so Harry, without being asked, had obliged by leaving before dawn.
But this, Severus being nice…Harry was slipping once again into that world of grey, where nothing was predictable and somehow, every time, life and fate conspired together to screw you over. He didn't want to go there again.
Life had more or less settled down; he knew who his allies were; the enemies were all in hiding, easily recognizable to any witch or wizard with eyes and common sense.
As Harry stumbled around the room locating his clothes, he whispered a cleaning spell to himself, and then magically changing Severus's bed sheets. Switching the black, velvety spreads for another of identical appearance, Harry felt satisfied, and turned to the task of dressing himself.
Despite Severus's statement, Harry dressed quickly; eager to rid himself of what he knew later would anger Severus.
But, as he approached the den, that was not what he saw. What he saw was Severus waiting patiently, two trays before him—one obviously meant for Harry.
"Severus…" It disgusted Harry how many times he had said the Potions Master's name in the last few hours. He had no right. He shook his head. "Um…I'm not very hungry."
He shied towards the door, opting to leave rather than be around when Severus's polite demeanor collapsed in on itself; it undoubtedly would. "Thank you, though—"
"Harry." The word, loudly spoken, reverberated through Harry's entire being, it seemed. Without a doubt, he knew he wouldn't be able to muster the energy to take a step that wasn't towards the man in front of him. Swallowing hard, Harry sat in the chair nearest to Severus.
"Yes?" he said, his mind reverting back to his time as a student. When things really came down to it, he couldn't oppose Severus's experienced fury.
"Eat," he said to Harry, and began to wield his own fork in the process.
Harry began to eat, as he was instructed, but mechanically, his mind straying, to other thoughts.
What was Severus doing, and what was his purpose for doing it? Harry severely doubted that the Potions Master had noticed that he hadn't been eating for a few days. So what was he getting at, forcing Harry to eat like this?
However, Harry held the question to his tongue, chewing a piece of flapjack instead and peering over his glass of orange juice—which he was now drinking, his mind registered—to look at
Severus, who obviously knew he was being watched. However, the Slytherin said nothing, merely concentrating on his breakfast and ignoring Harry.
Harry felt frustrated. He was missing something here; something that would explain this. What was it?
To answer the question, his memory brought up a picture: a hazy scene from the early morning, Severus sitting in front of the ever burning fireplace, and empty wine glass in his hands.
"What happened last night?" he asked before he could think about doing so.
"Nothing," Severus replied.
"You woke up last night," Harry said, "You usually don't."
The Gryffindor could see the sharp remark on Severus's tongue. But the elder did not voice it. "It was merely thinking." A pause. "Surely you, The Boy Who Lived, have had a few sleepless nights?"
Harry vigorously nodded, before his mind caught up with him. You haven't, said the voice in his subconscious remarked. You haven't had a nightmare for quite some time. Not since—
"I started with Severus…?" Harry muttered to himself.
"Excuse me?" Severus said politely.
Harry looked up into the Potions Master's eyes. "I haven't…had a sleepless night. Not since…"
The Head of Slytherin could obviously finish the statement. Harry, who was sure he would've told off by the elder then, was again surprised by Severus's behavior.
The former Professor let out a relieved sigh, one that finally convinced Harry that the other wizard had gone mad. Stark-raving mad.
Harry pushed his plate aside. "What were you thinking about yesterday?" He asked seriously.
So seriously, in fact, that Severus chuckled. "Nothing of much importance, I assure you."
"Liar!" Harry accused. "You don't drink when you're thinking about nothing. You drink when you think of something you're not comfortable with!"
The green-eyed man could see Severus's left eyebrow twitch.
He's really trying not to snap at me. Harry realized this was a start. Why would Severus do something like that? What reason could Severus have for treating him nicely?
"Severus, I want to know what is wrong with you. Are you really okay?"
"I will not even reward that redundant question with an answer."
Harry stood, and in a deadly serious tone asked, "Why?"
Severus sighed, knowing that it was a painful 'why'. Knowing that it was a 'why' that gave voice to Harry's fear of being truly alone, of being lied to, of being betrayed.
"It was the same kind of 'why' that Harry had asked Ron that fateful day months ago.
With another sigh, Severus answered, "Because…"
He let the sentence hang, like Weasley had, watching the color drain from Harry's face. You're not helping, a voice said from deep inside.
Just when Harry looked as though he would storm out, Snape added, completing his sentence, "You need it."
That answer alone shocked Harry through to the depths of his soul. He felt as though—as Severus's answer revealed—he hadn't fooled anyone. He had been working to get past this, past the War, past the sorrow but apparently he hadn't made any progress. He was still cold, still suspicious—You're becoming like Snape, a venomous voice whispered into his thoughts.
Quite like Severus had addressed his voice the night before, though Harry could not have possibly known, Harry snapped mentally at himself, Shut up!
Taking a frustrated breath, Harry replied. "I don't need anything from anyone but myself. I'm not meant to take things from people's lives; I'm only supposed to give pieces of my own." He covered his mouth directly afterward, because that had been a comment to keep to himself—not to be shared at all, especially not with Severus Snape.
As if the morning wasn't already stranger, the look on Severus's face was stranger still. It was as though his very demeanor faltered, and Harry was given a glimpse of what really went on in the Potions Master's thoughts. The look on his face was a mix of horror, surprise, and sympathy before his cool, icy, nonchalant nature made a reappearance.
"Is that really what you think?" Severus asked calmly.
Yes, was the answer poised on Harry's tongue; but Severus's facial expression, however brief, made The Boy Who Lived want to rethink his answer.
And so, instead of answering the question, he stood. "I think," Harry said, "That I will excuse myself now…"
Severus looked up at him from his seat, not bothering to get up. He watched Harry silently, not saying a word as the boy headed to the door.
Harry inclined his head to the Head of Slytherin before he left. "Thank you for the brunch."
As Harry traveled through the Hall, his own question came to mind. Not simply because of Ron or Severus, but everything: the War, Voldemort, even himself.
It was a question that plagued him since he was a mere child, since he had lived with the Dursleys.
Why?
The World's flowers like a carpet of crimson red
As one scatter and toss through the air
Sorrow and sadness are born there
From the darkness that streams underneath
Ah, are hearts only meant to lie?
Are people just puppets of fate?—"Velvet Underworld"
There is a definite problem with this chapter. The Order of the chapter POVs (Point of Views) are supposed to go: Severus, Harry, Hermione, and then Draco. Yes. I wanted to leave it as a surprise for all of you, but I had to make this clear. I didn't decide on this order of POVs until I finished this chapter, and so Severus's emotions are mixed in with this particular chapter. However, after this chapter you won't have to worry about any shoddy writing. I thought about rewriting it so that it would fit the format, but Severus's emotions towards Harry contributed a lot to the chapter, and I would therefore like to keep it in its originality. Like I said, though, I promise that you won't have to worry about it from this point forward, and I hope that I don't lose any readers for this small technicality. Thank you all for bearing with me.
I also wanted to ask this question of my patron readers; I have had a history of using commas incorrectly—I tend to use them to emphasize pauses in sentences rather than use them properly, the way that they should be used—and I would like my patron readers/grammar Nazis out in the audience to please alert me to whether or not I am improving from chapter to chapter. I would appreciate it very much. Usually, I'm too tired after writing fanfiction—or typing it up—to actually go through it and correct it. However, I am going to change that, because I do care about the quality of my writing.