This is the ninth part to my Snape series, and it's kinda confusing, but this is the best way I knew how to do it. I mean, Harry may be famous, the 'Wonderful Harry Potter', but he's gotta have doubts too, right?
"Great. Just great," Harry snarled as he scowled at his wand. I sighed. I'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to teach a very powerful shielding charm to Harry, since Albus had been sent to France on the Minister of Magic's behalf.
"It's okay," I soothed. "Most people don't get it the first time. No big deal."
"But it is a big deal," he said fiercely. "If I can't do this, then how am I ever going to defeat Voldemort?" I did a very slight double-take, staring at him.
"Harry, no one expects you to defeat Voldemort by yourself. We're behind you on this now, and if Voldemort does come here, looking for you, we're not going to leave you to fight him on your own."
"So? That's what everyone else expects," he said sourly. "I'm supposed to be fearless, the wonderful Harry Potter, didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't," I said firmly. "Because it's not true. None of us, and I repeat: none of us, expect that from you. Many adult wizards haven't shown the courage you have, and I don't think there's anyone else in this world who could deal with what you do."
"Well, yeah, there is," he said, turning those strikingly green eyes on me. "You."
"Not really. I'm in absolutely no danger. I explained all that." But I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew he wasn't believing a word I was saying. He knew Voldemort very well, and he understood the danger I was in better than I would've liked. He worried too much, especially these days, with Voldemort on the rise again.
"Who do you think you're fooling?" he asked bluntly. "I know what you're facing, and I know why you're doing it too."
"Enlighten me, please," I said mildly.
"You're doing this because of me, and I don't want you to. You feel responsible for me, and you're not." I started to deny it, then realized it wouldn't do any good. He could read me like a book, and it irritated me to no end.
"So?" I said defiantly.
"So? You can stand there, with that calm expression on your face, and ask me 'so what'? You are an idiot. He'd murder you if he knew. And he'll find out, you know he will!"
"Then I won't let him find out."
"You're not getting it. For all you know, he could have the Imperius Curse on me, and I could be telling him every word you say." I automatically tensed, hating myself for even considering that possiblility, but knowing it could happen. It had before.
"I'm not," he said wearily. "I can't be, unless I want to. Even Voldemort himself couldn't keep me under that curse." He paused, then continued, with a harshness in his voice that I had never heard there before.
"But this is scaring me, to put it mildly. You shouldn't be doing what you're doing. If anyone's going to be putting themselves in danger, it ought to be me."
"What on earth for?" I demanded.
"Because you haven't seen what I can do. I scare myself. I can do this charm when I want to, I've done it before. But I don't want to. You shouldn't even be teaching me all these spells, because I'm not sure I can be trusted."
"Harry, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense here."
"Fine. This is what I mean: I'm exactly like Voldemort. Right down to the wands we use. My wand is the brother to Voldemort's, for heaven's sakes!"
Well. That was certainly surprising. I had never known that, but when I thought about it, it should have been obvious. Why had Harry gotten away that last time? I'd asked myself the question about a million times, and now I knew: Harry and Voldemort's wands shared cores, and they wouldn't work properly against each other.
"Harry," I sputtered, "that doesn't mean you're evil!"
"That's not the only thing. There are strange similarities between us, Voldemort said it himself. Both of us are half-bloods. . . both of us were raised by Muggles. . . both of us are Parselmouths, probably the only two to come to Hogwarts since Slytherin himself. . ."
"That doesn't mean a thing."
"Doesn't it? Then why are you backing up like that?" I winced. I had unconsciously been backing up toward the door the entire time he'd been talking, and it took a surprising amount of effort to resist the urge to turn and run.
"You know it too, don't you?"
"No, Harry, I don't. I haven't got any idea what you mean," I said cautiously.
"I think you do."
"I don't know!" I almost shouted, surprising both of us. He just looked at me, and the triumph in his eyes hurt. Because I was afraid of him, he was right, and there was nothing I could do about it.
"You know I'm not who I used to be. I can't be. There's no way I can ever go back to being who I was."
"Why, Harry?"
"Because of Cedric Diggory," he said coldly, and I flinched.
"Harry, that wasn't your fault, for the ninty-nine millionth time."
"You weren't there. You didn't hear his voice. That cold, cruel, emotionless voice that defied everthing I've ever known, and yet I can't block it out; I can't let go of that image. It'll never go away. I dream about it every night, you know. I personally put a sound-proofing charm around my bed, so when I wake up in the middle of the night I don't disturb anybody else."
I wanted to say something, to tell him that everything would be okay, that Voldemort would never get the chance to hurt him like that again, but I couldn't. It wasn't true; we couldn't truly protect him from Voldemort. And I hated it. I hated it for the same reason I had left Voldemort forever all those years ago: because once you stopped believing that everything could turn out okay, it became so much harder to resist Voldemort. I had almost died because I had let Voldemort's will so totally dominate me; I would not let the same thing happen to Harry.
"Maybe. . . maybe I'll be okay later," Harry whispered. "Just tell me one thing: what makes me different from Voldemort? We have the same powers, the same lives, what makes me good, and what makes him evil?"
"That," I said softly. "The way you care so much about whether you're doing what's best or not. That's what makes you different." He looked at me strangely for a long moment, and then he walked out. But I just stood there for a long moment, wondering whether or not he'd be all right.
I wanted to be able to help him; I didn't want him to have to doubt himself the way I had for so long. But did I have the strength to forgive myself for things that could never be changed?
'The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with great caution.'
How long ago had I heard Albus say that? I hadn't really understood it at the same, but now I understood perfectly. I understood how sometimes it was better not to know the truth. I understood how sometimes the truth was the one thing that separated you from the thing you wanted beyond all else.
I understood the dangers of the truth, but could I deny the truth of a past I didn't want to understand? Could I face the demons of a past I had yet to conquer?
Would I ever know?
"Great. Just great," Harry snarled as he scowled at his wand. I sighed. I'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to teach a very powerful shielding charm to Harry, since Albus had been sent to France on the Minister of Magic's behalf.
"It's okay," I soothed. "Most people don't get it the first time. No big deal."
"But it is a big deal," he said fiercely. "If I can't do this, then how am I ever going to defeat Voldemort?" I did a very slight double-take, staring at him.
"Harry, no one expects you to defeat Voldemort by yourself. We're behind you on this now, and if Voldemort does come here, looking for you, we're not going to leave you to fight him on your own."
"So? That's what everyone else expects," he said sourly. "I'm supposed to be fearless, the wonderful Harry Potter, didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't," I said firmly. "Because it's not true. None of us, and I repeat: none of us, expect that from you. Many adult wizards haven't shown the courage you have, and I don't think there's anyone else in this world who could deal with what you do."
"Well, yeah, there is," he said, turning those strikingly green eyes on me. "You."
"Not really. I'm in absolutely no danger. I explained all that." But I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew he wasn't believing a word I was saying. He knew Voldemort very well, and he understood the danger I was in better than I would've liked. He worried too much, especially these days, with Voldemort on the rise again.
"Who do you think you're fooling?" he asked bluntly. "I know what you're facing, and I know why you're doing it too."
"Enlighten me, please," I said mildly.
"You're doing this because of me, and I don't want you to. You feel responsible for me, and you're not." I started to deny it, then realized it wouldn't do any good. He could read me like a book, and it irritated me to no end.
"So?" I said defiantly.
"So? You can stand there, with that calm expression on your face, and ask me 'so what'? You are an idiot. He'd murder you if he knew. And he'll find out, you know he will!"
"Then I won't let him find out."
"You're not getting it. For all you know, he could have the Imperius Curse on me, and I could be telling him every word you say." I automatically tensed, hating myself for even considering that possiblility, but knowing it could happen. It had before.
"I'm not," he said wearily. "I can't be, unless I want to. Even Voldemort himself couldn't keep me under that curse." He paused, then continued, with a harshness in his voice that I had never heard there before.
"But this is scaring me, to put it mildly. You shouldn't be doing what you're doing. If anyone's going to be putting themselves in danger, it ought to be me."
"What on earth for?" I demanded.
"Because you haven't seen what I can do. I scare myself. I can do this charm when I want to, I've done it before. But I don't want to. You shouldn't even be teaching me all these spells, because I'm not sure I can be trusted."
"Harry, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense here."
"Fine. This is what I mean: I'm exactly like Voldemort. Right down to the wands we use. My wand is the brother to Voldemort's, for heaven's sakes!"
Well. That was certainly surprising. I had never known that, but when I thought about it, it should have been obvious. Why had Harry gotten away that last time? I'd asked myself the question about a million times, and now I knew: Harry and Voldemort's wands shared cores, and they wouldn't work properly against each other.
"Harry," I sputtered, "that doesn't mean you're evil!"
"That's not the only thing. There are strange similarities between us, Voldemort said it himself. Both of us are half-bloods. . . both of us were raised by Muggles. . . both of us are Parselmouths, probably the only two to come to Hogwarts since Slytherin himself. . ."
"That doesn't mean a thing."
"Doesn't it? Then why are you backing up like that?" I winced. I had unconsciously been backing up toward the door the entire time he'd been talking, and it took a surprising amount of effort to resist the urge to turn and run.
"You know it too, don't you?"
"No, Harry, I don't. I haven't got any idea what you mean," I said cautiously.
"I think you do."
"I don't know!" I almost shouted, surprising both of us. He just looked at me, and the triumph in his eyes hurt. Because I was afraid of him, he was right, and there was nothing I could do about it.
"You know I'm not who I used to be. I can't be. There's no way I can ever go back to being who I was."
"Why, Harry?"
"Because of Cedric Diggory," he said coldly, and I flinched.
"Harry, that wasn't your fault, for the ninty-nine millionth time."
"You weren't there. You didn't hear his voice. That cold, cruel, emotionless voice that defied everthing I've ever known, and yet I can't block it out; I can't let go of that image. It'll never go away. I dream about it every night, you know. I personally put a sound-proofing charm around my bed, so when I wake up in the middle of the night I don't disturb anybody else."
I wanted to say something, to tell him that everything would be okay, that Voldemort would never get the chance to hurt him like that again, but I couldn't. It wasn't true; we couldn't truly protect him from Voldemort. And I hated it. I hated it for the same reason I had left Voldemort forever all those years ago: because once you stopped believing that everything could turn out okay, it became so much harder to resist Voldemort. I had almost died because I had let Voldemort's will so totally dominate me; I would not let the same thing happen to Harry.
"Maybe. . . maybe I'll be okay later," Harry whispered. "Just tell me one thing: what makes me different from Voldemort? We have the same powers, the same lives, what makes me good, and what makes him evil?"
"That," I said softly. "The way you care so much about whether you're doing what's best or not. That's what makes you different." He looked at me strangely for a long moment, and then he walked out. But I just stood there for a long moment, wondering whether or not he'd be all right.
I wanted to be able to help him; I didn't want him to have to doubt himself the way I had for so long. But did I have the strength to forgive myself for things that could never be changed?
'The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with great caution.'
How long ago had I heard Albus say that? I hadn't really understood it at the same, but now I understood perfectly. I understood how sometimes it was better not to know the truth. I understood how sometimes the truth was the one thing that separated you from the thing you wanted beyond all else.
I understood the dangers of the truth, but could I deny the truth of a past I didn't want to understand? Could I face the demons of a past I had yet to conquer?
Would I ever know?