Harry stood in the corridor, wishing he could disappear forever… but he couldn't… And right then, even though Harry wanted to go to his room and cry, he wiped away his tears and headed to his lesson with Snape. His swollen eyes arrived at Severus' door and he knocked politely.
"Come in, Potter," intoned the potions master from inside, "I don't see why you continue to bother banging on my door when I've told you twenty times already to just come in." Harry entered as Severus spoke, remembering to close the door behind him.
"Sorry, professor." Truth was that Harry was a creature of habit and no matter how comfortable Snape may have become with his presence…Harry would always knock—just in case.
"Relax, let's not make it a situation." Severus ladled some of what he was brewing into a tea cup and excused himself, "I'll be just a moment," he said without even looking at Harry. He moved with one goal in mind, taking the tea cup urgently to the bedroom. Harry could hear soft voices and he thought of the low, sweet way that Lucius spoke to him.
The sound of the bedroom door closing snapped Harry out of his trance. "You're late, you know?" Severus mused lightly. "What kept you?"
"I was…" Harry hesitated, "I was being scolded by professor Flitwick after Charms. I came as soon as I could." Harry was lying—rather well by his standards. He had paused at the beginning—a sure sign of nervousness, but it was easily explained by his reluctance to tell the truth about being in trouble.
"For what was he scolding you?" Severus wondered, arching an inquisitive eyebrow.
"I wasn't paying attention; I was doing some History of Magic homework in class." Harry was proud of how well he was lying—he'd never been good at it, but Snape seemed to be believing him.
"You were ten minutes late… Flitwick scolded you for that long?" Severus' brow furrowed. A terrible smirk hid threateningly in the corner of his mouth.
Harry froze. "He had a lot to say."
"Did he?" Severus stared into Harry's eyes and the Gryffindor knew he was caught. "Why don't you tell me what really happened."
Harry examined his shoes. "I'd rather not, sir."
"Why not?" Severus asked calmly.
"I just…can't tell you." Harry said uncomfortably, but Severus did not take it well.
"Why the hell not? What exactly were you doing? Did you have another vision? Are you in danger? You aren't doing anything dangerous, are you? Damn it, Potter! What were you doing?" Severus exclaimed.
"Nothing!" Harry cried, shaking his head and trying to blink away the tears glazing his eyes. "I'm not doing anything bad!"
Severus drew himself to his full height, standing only a couple inches taller than his student. "Do not make me look for myself!" He snarled. "Tell me, now!"
"No! Please!" Harry begged. "Don't! I just… it's personal, professor." Harry was doing a terrible job of holding back his tears.
"If you are putting yourself in harm's way, I need to know! It is my responsibility to keep you safe!" Severus argued.
"Why does everyone say that? I have to face Voldemort in the end, will I be safe then too? Am I ever really safe?" Harry threaded his fingers through his hair. "I feel like a ticking bomb that everyone's trying to keep from exploding before its time." He began to pace.
"You all put me up on this pedestal, acting like you care, but all it does it make me feel like a weapon! But I'm not a weapon—I'm a human fucking being and I have feelings! And even though I can't understand them, I have them!" Harry fell to his knees, disparaged. "Am I mad? Are all my feelings just by-products of everyone else's? Am I really just a weapon?" Harry buried his face in his knees and cried. He cried from frustration that he couldn't lie better, he cried from the embarrassment of letting Snape see him like this, he cried from anger that he couldn't understand himself and he cried from the fear that he truly was all alone.
"Potter—Harry—erm—I—ummm," Severus had no idea how to handle this. He had seen Harry angry and happy and bored and frustrated and tired and afraid… but he had never seen Harry broken. "Harry please stop crying," he said at last.
"I can't!" Harry sobbed.
"Harry… please get up…" Severus searched for something to say, but found nothing. "Let's just forget this and start our lesson," Snape tried.
Harry turned his chin up and Severus regretted what he'd said, but he couldn't take it back. Severus was frozen under Harry's flooded gaze. He should have tried to comfort him, but Severus wasn't sure how.
They stared at each other, frozen, both waiting for the other to move. At last Harry realized Severus was not going to say anything further and that he had just broken down in front of the one person he never wanted to see it. Flooded with embarrassment, Harry moved faster than ever, gathering himself up and sprinting from the room.
Severus stared at the spot where Harry had been. He had been protecting that boy for so long; training him and guiding him. Though he had never said anything, and often acted to the contrary, Severus had grown to care about the boy the same way that Dumbledore cared about him. What kind of person was he to look at a boy and care about him… but not comfort him? Was there no paternal sense in him at all? Severus went back to his room and sat on the edge of the bed next to Remus, staring uncertainly at his fireplace.
Harry couldn't breathe anymore, his nose was too clogged from crying. He didn't want to stop in the middle of the corridor and risk someone passing him, but he was starting to hyperventilate. He needed to stop. He spotted a classroom and sprinted towards it. It was dark inside and Harry took it as a sign that there was no one inside. Harry barged in and tripped over a desk. His hip hit the stone floor painfully and pain radiated up his forearm from the impact on his elbow. Harry curled in on himself, a heap of broken spirit on the floor. He sobbed into his robes, trying to muffle the sound and wondered if he would ever feel whole.
"Harry?" The Gryffindor froze at the voice. "Don't be afraid, my boy," he said, "It's okay to cry." The headmaster cast a lighting charm and knelt next to his student. "What's wrong?"
"How did you know I was here?" Harry asked.
"Severus fire called me and… well, a headmaster has his ways of navigating his castle." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled lightly. "Why are you crying, Harry?"
Harry didn't answer at first, wiping his face on his sleeve. "I just feel so… confused," Harry said at last.
"About your feelings?" Dumbledore asked, though it wasn't really a question.
Harry nodded his head miserably. "How do I tell what I'm feeling from what someone else is feeling around me? It's bad enough just being close to people, but it's worse if I touch them. I can't even hug someone."
"How was your try at Occlumency?" Dumbledore's voice was calm and quiet and it helped Harry.
"You know I'm awful at it. I want so badly to be good at it." Harry grimaced. "What's wrong with me that I can perform spells without my wand, but I can't shield my thoughts and emotions?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, nothing is wrong with you. You're honest; you can't lie."
"So?"
"So you lack the ability to shield your thoughts because you lack the ability to lie. For you, omitting truth is lying. You are honest and that leaves you open. That's why being an Empath is so difficult." Harry was confused by the admiration in Dumbledore's tone.
"What can I do?"
"Harry, you are special. You don't process emotion the same way that others do. You need to shield yourself differently than everyone else."
"How!" Harry exclaimed.
"Come here, my boy." Dumbledore opened his arms. Harry crawled over; a small child going to his grandfather's lap for solace. "It's simpler than you think," Dumbledore gave him a comforting smile. "All you need to do is center yourself. How can you tell one string from another when they're woven into a tapestry? When you center yourself, imagine your emotions as one long multicoloured string. You need to collect it all and make it organized so that you can see each color individually." Dumbledore paused for a moment, giving a handkerchief to his boy. "Some say it works well if you weave it around a series of pegs, others that you should wind it into one big ball. Why don't you try?"
Harry sat up straight and, though nervous about making a fool of himself, closed his eyes in concentration. "Imagine your emotions, Harry. Picture your aura in your mind's eye." Dumbledore advised. Harry tried to clear his mind and concentrated on the feelings running through his body. He could see a knot of multicoloured string stemming from a bright light. "How do I unknot it?" Harry sounded hopeless.
"Pick a colour to start with," Dumbledore said. "Just pick a color and pull the string."
Harry sighed and tried to figure out which colour he should start with. Sorrow, he decided, and a black string was pulled out of the mess. Harry was surprised and the string almost went back, but he caught it just in time. He wasn't sure what he was doing, or how all of this imagining would translate into reality, but he could see the black string leaving the pile and floating up somewhere. It got closer and closer to the light until he saw a row of pegs. He wove the black around the first peg. After awhile, the black turned to violet and Harry could feel love and lust as he wove it around the next peg. Then came indigo and Harry felt cold with fear, then calming blue and jealous green. He went back to the first peg, winging contented yellow around it, then frustrated orange and an angry red. He wove them away neatly so that he could see all the colors individually. "I did it," Harry said, clearly surprised. "I don't understand how, but I did it…"
"It's not supposed to make sense," Dumbledore said wisely. "If feelings were something that we could translate to reason, we'd call them logics." The headmaster smiled proudly. "You're a powerful wizard, Harry, and a powerful empathy. Now I'm going to try something and don't worry if it feels strange; just tell me how it feels." Dumbledore pulled back his sleeves and placed his palm over the back of Harry's hand.
Harry felt pride, a rush of appreciation for someone. He imagined, if he ever had one, this was how he would feel towards his son…but he didn't have a son; and this feeling wasn't his. Harry could tell; it wasn't part of the string of his emotions. He closed his eyes. This was something new. It emanated from a new light source and flowed into him—not from him. "You're proud of me," Harry marveled and then, he felt it.
The light inside of him flared as Harry felt happy—not Dumbledore's happy or a crowd's happy, but his own! "Professor!" He exclaimed. "I'm—I'm happy! I can feel it! I'm happy!"
"Good, Harry. Good." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I've got to be going now. If you ever need, don't be afraid to stop by."
Harry was reminded of all the visits from Dumbledore he'd gotten in the hospital and all the private lessons he'd had over the years he'd spent at Hogwarts. He thought of all the talks, all the advice… "Thank you, professor," he said, though he felt like it wasn't enough.
"You're welcome, Harry," Dumbledore responded.
The headmaster had never had a son, and Harry had never had a father… but as Dumbledore left, neither of them had ever felt more like part of a family.