Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

A/N – Hello again, my wonderful readers! Your lovely thoughts have inspired me to post a relatively quick update, and I hope you like it. Like I said at the start of the previous chapter, I've put a lot of thought into this one, especially with regards to tackling Harry's guilt and his feelings about the prophecy (which I felt needed to be done sooner rather than later). I wanted this to be realistic not just for my Harry and Snape, but for JK Rowling's Harry and Snape as well. I really aimed for this to be something that the 'real' Harry might have conceivably said/thought in the books, not just in my story, or in the situations I've put him and Snape in. I'm nervous about this chapter though, so please, now more than ever before, let me know what you think. And, more importantly, enjoy!


~Strength in Weakness~

The Journey


It was early. Really early.

Harry closed his eyes briefly, sighing deeply to himself as he continued to walk along the pavement with as much energy as he could muster, putting one foot slowly in front of the other as he followed behind his equally tired, but much more determined and focused Professor.

The sun had barely risen in the sky, and grey clouds loomed overhead, growing darker by the minute; it was a Sunday, so there was no one on the streets, and there was barely any traffic at all on the roads at this hour. The entire country was asleep.

Apart, Harry groused to himself, from them.

He was exhausted. He felt as if he'd barely gotten ten minutes of rest before Snape had shaken him awake. The Potions Master had looked better in the morning light, but not much better. He'd lost some of the paleness of his skin, but there was a clear, constant grimace on his face, and the dried blood on Snape's robes around his shoulder stood out to Harry as clear as day.

Though, Harry thought to himself as he hugged his uninjured arm to his chest in an effort to stay warm, he probably didn't look much better himself. They'd managed to find a public bathroom fairly quickly after beginning their journey, so they'd both been able to wipe away most of the blood that had been on them, but that was about it.

Thankfully, that made them a little less conspicuous than they'd been before, although Harry still thought that it was a losing battle. They hadn't been able to get a change of clothes, and he knew that both of them looked like they'd been in a battle recently. Snape had even fixed a makeshift sling for Harry as well, using what remained of Snape's outer cloak, so they both definitely looked like the walking-wounded.

In short, they looked a mess, blood or not...

Harry sighed again, but still refrained from saying anything to Snape. He didn't want the man to think he was weak, especially since they were on their own, though he wasn't sure how long he was able to keep going before he needed to ask Snape for a break. At least they were moving now, he reasoned, which gave him a little comfort. Harry supposed that was better than the alternative…

Harry glanced towards Snape as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heartbeat, though the thoughts that plagued his mind were harder to control.

After finally finding out their location - a small town just outside London - their plan had quickly changed. Instead of trying to get all the way to Scotland, which would have been hard enough as it was since Hogwarts was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, they were going to try and make it into London, and more importantly to Grimmauld Place. From there, once safely inside, they'd either contact the Order, or alternatively, they would Floo to Hogwarts directly if possible, though Snape seemed to have some reservations about that for some reason…

"Potter, keep up," Snape snapped, turning round briefly.

Harry fought to keep the blush from his face as he realised how far he'd fallen behind being lost in his thoughts. Harry sped up a bit, trying to keep pace with the Professor's long legs, but it wasn't an easy task and he really wasn't sure how long he would be able to keep this up, especially since his head was pounding, particularly around his scar, and his whole body felt clammy and weak. And his shoulder hurt. A lot.

Snape was clearly anxious about their journey though, even though the streets were currently empty of life at the moment, and his anxiousness was manifesting itself into an almost frenetic pace. Harry, though he shared the anxiousness, did not share Snape's pace, though he knew he didn't have much choice.

He needed to trust Snape.

Already the man had come through for them. Snape's plan of selling his pocket-watch had gone better than Harry couldn't have dreamed. Whether it was the quality of the item itself, or Snape's steely and intimidating glare, Harry didn't know, but it had worked.

Snape, despite the fact that it was the crack of dawn, had managed not only to find someone to buy the watch, but had also managed to sell it at a decent price. They would have enough money to travel to where they needed to be at least.

Speaking of which, Harry thought as they rounded a corner...

Little Chalfont Train Station.

"How did you know this was here?" Harry asked once they'd both stopped, staring up at the sign signalling that they had arrived at their first destination of the day. Snape had made it very clear that they wouldn't be able to use any form of Wizarding transport, but he seemed confident that they would be safe on Muggle transport. Provided of course, that they would be allowed on the train at all in the state they were in at the moment.

Snape simply stared at him. "How did I know there was a train station here? I read the signs, Potter. We passed plenty of them as we were walking."

Harry flushed slightly but squared his shoulders as much as it was possible with one of them dislocated. Snape's annoyance seemed to be transforming into concern, so Harry did his best to push the pain away.

"Well what now?" he asked. It was Sunday, and far too early for the train station to be open.

"We wait," Snape said simply. "The first train to London will not run for another hour at least, but we will need to be on it."

"Right," Harry replied. Glancing around the area, Harry noticed a park bench just to the side of the train station entrance. Eyeing it hopefully, Harry looked back to Snape, who sighed but nodded in silent agreement, and Harry, who was starting to feel a little lightheaded by this point, quickly began to make his way towards it.

When he finally reached it, Harry sat down with another heavy sigh, and tried not to feel too awkward when Snape sat beside him. Snape seemed content to wait in silence, and Harry didn't have a problem with that. The truth be told, he had a lot of thinking still to do.

He'd been obsessing over the prophecy since the moment Snape had told him about it last night. The strange thing was though, it wasn't confusion that had kept him awake last night. It wasn't even surprise. No, the truth was that everything was starting to make a sick sort of sense to him now, and that scared the hell out of him.

He'd always known something was wrong. The fact that Dumbledore had refused to answer that question after he woken up in the hospital wing at the end of his first year should have been a warning. Now he knew why Dumbledore had kept it from him then. He understood completely. Had Dumbledore told him why Voldemort was so obsessed with him, even before his birth, Harry was sure he would have gone mad. Now…well, it was a bit late for that…

"What is it, Potter?"

Harry blinked slowly, and turned to face Snape. "Hmm?"

"You have been sighing to yourself all morning," Snape said, clearly irritated, though Harry, not for the first time, caught some concern there as well. "What's wrong?"

"Apart from the obvious, you mean?" Harry asked incredulously, glancing down at his shoulder.

"Potter," warned Snape.

"Fine," Harry sighed again, staring up at the sky. "I was thinking."

"About?" Snape ground out.

Harry fought the urge to sigh again. "About the Prophecy. About what it means."

"You feel guilty," Snape stated, staring ahead with a straight face, as if his statement was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?"

"Potter, it's obvious," Snape replied. "With your propensity towards guilt, added to your inability to grasp even the simplest of concepts, even Longbottom would be able to predict your reaction to hearing your destiny. You feel scared, of course, but mostly you feel guilty because the Prophecy states that you must be the one to kill the Dark Lord, and so far you have not."

Harry turned to face him, his brow furrowed. "I…what?"

Snape rolled his eyes before continuing. "You are wrong, of course. Just because the Prophecy names you as the "Chosen One" does not mean you hold any responsibility for those that the Dark Lord has killed in either of his reigns of terror. The Dark Lord is an evil man. A murderer. He has killed people, whereas you have not."

"Yes, I have," Harry mumbled quietly, but Snape caught it.

"Explain."

"My first year," Harry replied, his mind automatically going back. "Quirrel. I killed him."

"The Dark Lord killed him," Snape replied, staring at Harry intensely. "He died when the Dark Lord's spirit left him. His body was too weak to survive."

"Can you call him Voldemort?" Harry scowled. "Anyway, I know that. It doesn't matter though. He died because I touched him. Quirrel died because of me."

"You really feel guilt over the death of Quirrel?" Snape asked, clearly surprised by Harry's answer. "I was under the impression that it was a clear case of self-defence."

"I'm not sorry he's dead," Harry clarified, his expression an odd mixture of pain and anger. "He was trying to kill me. It's just…I killed him. I know it's not rational, I know it was self-defence. I know all the arguments against it being my fault. I mean, I didn't mean to do it." Harry took a deep steadying breath. "I don't even feel guilty, not really. It's just...I can't forget the fact that he died because of me."

"Quirrel died as a direct result of your actions," Snape began slowly. "It is reasonable for you to feel guilty to a certain extent. But that does not make you guilty. Do you understand the difference, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, and he was sure he heard Snape growl in response.

"Potter…"

"Do we have to do this now, Snape?" Harry asked wearily.

"Should we do it when we are being chased by Death Eaters instead?" Snape asked rhetorically. "We will do this now, because once again you are working under the wrong assumption. I need to be able to trust you, and that means that you need to be thinking clearly."

"Snape – "

"What else do you feel guilty for?" Snape interrupted. "Or should I say, who do you feel guilty for?"

Harry fought the urge to sigh again, though it was a close run thing.

"Cedric," Harry muttered, sensing a losing battle already.

"Diggory?" Snape asked, again surprised. "Why in Merlin's name - ?"

"He would never have taken the cup if it hadn't been for me," Harry replied, clenching his fist. "I told him to take it with me. It's my – "

"It is not your fault," Snape replied testily, as if he couldn't believe Harry could be so stupid. Harry opened his mouth to retort but Snape quickly raised his good hand to silence him. "Listen to me. From your own account, Pettigrew was the one who raised his wand and uttered that evil curse. Diggory was a victim, yes, but not your victim, Potter."

"It's not just that," Potter replied quietly. "It's…it's hard to explain."

"Try," Snape told him, clearly trying to keep any harshness from his voice. "It would seem that we have some time to kill."

Harry gave him a small, tired smile for the effort alone, though it lacked warmth. "I…It's not just Cedric's death. It's just…sometimes I feel like everyone who comes near me is in danger. It's like I'm cursed or something. It's not just recently either. In my third year, Pettigrew escaped because I stopped Sirius and Remus from killing him. In my second year, Ginny Weasley was only in the Chamber of Secrets as part of Voldemort's plan to get to me. And in my first year…"

"Yes, Potter," he prompted when Harry trailed off.

"Quirrel."

"But, as we have already discussed, you should not blame yourself for that," Snape pointed out.

"Easier said than done," Harry retorted, slightly angry at Snape. The man made it seem so simple, but he hadn't been there. He hadn't felt the burning flesh, hadn't played it over and over in his mind for the whole isolated summer afterwards, trying to see if there was anything that he could have done differently...

Harry shivered though it had nothing to do with the cold.

"And..." prompted Snape.

"And now the Prophecy," Harry continued, his voice dull, though his mind was whirring with untethered emotion. "It's like…well, now I know I am cursed."

"You're not-"

"Yes, I am," Harry snapped. "Because Voldemort has targeted me, and I've only survived so far because of other people's sacrifices. My parents…they died because of me."

"They died protecting you, Potter," Snape said, pain evident in his voice, though Harry didn't understand why. "There is a world of difference. Yes, the Dark Lord targeted you, but you hold no fault for that."

"You don't understand," Harry muttered angrily.

"Of course I don't, Potter," Snape snapped, equally angrily. "But I have never, not once, said I did. But keeping this to yourself is foolish."

"Who could I tell?" Harry replied. "No one would understand…"

"It does not matter," Snape ground out angrily. "I knew telling you would be a mistake. You are not mature enough to under – "

"Of course I understand!" Harry shot back. "'The one with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord'. That means I'm the only one with the means to defeat him. 'Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live whilst the other survives.' That means that it's either him or me. I have to kill him or die trying. And if I die, that's it. It's over for everyone."

"You are not that important, Potter."

"Of course I am."

"You are not the only one fighting," Snape replied testily. "And despite what your own arrogance is telling you, the prophecy does not mean that you have to, or even could, defeat him alone."

"I don't want anyone to help me, Snape," Harry shot back. "I'd be putting them in danger. All this time, I've felt cursed, and it turns out I was right all along."

"Potter…"

"Nobody else is going to die," Harry argued. "Not for me."

"It is not for you, you foolish boy!" Snape argued suddenly. "It is for them! They fight for themselves. For their own lives! You are not the only one who has been ravaged by war, Potter. And despite what the Prophecy might, or might not, mean, you are not the only one who will have to go to battle. You are not the only one who might have to face their death in order to defeat him. So believe what you want, Potter. Believe that no one can possibly understand even a small portion of what you are feeling. Maybe you are right, maybe not. But you are not, nor will you ever be, alone in your fight."

Harry blinked back the tears that had suddenly risen in his eyes, furiously pushing them back so that Snape wouldn't see. His chest felt tight, not in fear or emotion, but with pressure, as if the weight of the world was pressing him into the ground. He couldn't breathe properly, he couldn't stand it…

"How many times have you defied him already, Potter?" Snape continued, his voice much softer now.

"I don't – "

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape snapped, though he quickly took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm. "It's not a difficult question. How many times, since you entered Hogwarts have you survived an encounter with the Dark Lord?"

Harry thought for a long moment before answering. "Five times, I think. If you count a couple of days ago…"

"Which I do," Snape nodded. "So, five times. That, Potter, is two more than your parents managed before they were slain. It is five more than most people could ever manage in their entire lives."

"I was lucky though," Harry choked out. The fight was gone completely now, and all he wanted was for it all to end. He didn't want to be the 'Chosen One', and he definitely didn't want to be the Boy-Who-Lived…

"Of course you were lucky," Snape replied. "But it is more than that, Potter. Your parents, for example. Did they die because they were unlucky?"

"No, but – "

"They died because He was stronger than them," Snape said, ignoring the flinch from Harry. "But you fought him at the end of last year, did you not? And you survived."

"Because of my wand," Harry argued feebly. "The wands are brothers. They can't be used against each other. I got lucky – "

"That is not luck, Potter," Snape retorted. "That is a weapon! It is part of the power that the prophecy talks about. And that's not all, Potter. When it comes down to it, when the final showdown happens, that is not the only weapon you will have. You will have an army of people behind you. An army of people fighting with you. I never understood the loyalty you inspired in people before now, Potter, but I finally see it. It's your stubbornness, your absolute inability to give up, no matter what the odds. That, Potter, is the greatest weapon of all."

Snape took a deep breath as he paused, but Harry had no words.

"You are not alone, Potter," Snape continued quietly. "And no matter how hard you tried to isolate yourself, as I know you are planning to, you will still not be alone. Your friends are behind you, the Order is behind you, Dumbledore is behind you. Potter, even I am behind you."

"I can't do this," Harry replied. "And when I fail, he'll kill everyone I love. I'm not strong enough, and it'll all be my fault..."

"We have been through this before, Potter," Snape ground out quietly, running his free hand through his greasy hair as he glanced around the deserted train station. "You allow yourself far too much blame."

"This is different, okay," Harry muttered shakily, trying to keep his temper in check but not quite managing it. "This isn't like it was when Tonks got poisoned whilst pretending to be me. This is just…it's different."

"How?" Snape challenged.

"They'd be dead because of me," Harry mumbled.

"No, Potter," Snape replied forcefully. "They would be dead because of Voldemort. Never forget that. In order to fight him, you need to recognise that he is the only one at fault. He is the enemy, not yourself."

"So what can I do?" Harry asked, shakily, his mind whirring at a mile a minute. "How am I supposed to defeat him for good?"

"Believe it or not, Potter," Snape said, glancing around at the deserted street. "I do not have all the answers. I suggest that you speak to Dumbledore. Provided we return safely to Hogwarts, of course."

Harry took a deep breath, and oddly felt his chest lighten slightly as Snape's argument began to sink in. Not completely, but enough for him to breathe a little more feeling, to move without feeling as if the weight of the world was bearing down on him. He wasn't alone, even now…

"I think maybe we might," Harry replied, trying to lighten the mood, partly to distract himself, but also partly to distract Snape. "Make it back to Hogwarts, I mean."

"Oh," Snape replied, clearly surprised. "And why is that?"

"I never give up, remember?" Harry replied. "I'm too stubborn."

"Potter," Snape replied. "I do not think I could ever forget it."


A/N – So, how was it? It was a big chapter in terms of character development, and there were quite a few heavy concepts being tackled, so I hope you still enjoyed it. Though I haven't actually written it yet, the next chapter should have quite a bit more action, though, I really hoped you liked this one too. Thanks for reading, and please, take a minute to give me your thoughts!