The scream sounded strangely convoluted to his sleep soaked brain. He'd been dreaming something hot and heavy and mischievous, and though a scream fit in with the general context, it rang a bit too vivid to be a mental creation.
Harry groggily sat up, instinctively reaching out for the glasses laying atop his nightstand. As the second scream punctuated the quiet still of the house, he nearly crushed the fragile things, his heart jolting in his chest. Adrenalin tingled through his abdomen, spreading outwards and upwards. God, please say this isn't happening now.
His aunts terrified yell of his uncles name, did nothing to reassure him. Tense and fear-filled he climbed out of bed, numb from the waist down. He forced himself toward the door, willing his mind to remain calm. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The calms never last forever, and Voldemort surely wasn't going to just retire from war-mongering without a descent pension. As his fingers closed around the knob, a frantic rustling ensued in the hallway, and gunshots rang out, more shouting. He ducked to one knee, tears stung his eyes. Be brave Harry, be a Gryffindor.
He cracked the door, peering out and down the hall toward the bathroom. He could barely see in the insufficient light of darkness. Something large and hairy blocked out most of the scene. It moved. Harry's eyes focused, it was his uncle Vernon, clad in boxer shorts and staring through the sight on his double-barrelled shotgun.
"You, come right out of there now, Scum!" he bellowed. "Come out, and maybe I won't shoot you too!" Too?
Harry pulled the door open further so the end of the hall came in view. Light angled out from the bathroom with abstract geometry and fell across a body lying on the floor. The wall was spattered with blood, a pool of it was soaking into the carpet. He needed his wand. Needed to slip out behind the unfolding nightmare to the cupboard under the stairs where all his magical stuff was kept locked away from use for the summer. On the count of three. One. Slide the door open a bit more. Two. Brace yourself. Thr-
"Petunia!"
Fuck! Harry jumped back. He took a shaky breath, sweat beading on his brow, and peeked out again. A figure, no, two, stood outside the bathroom door. A wizard cloaked in robes of deep red, face shrouded in a fine mesh material of the same color, tight enough to see the barest hint of features, but that was it. A Death Eater. Whomever it was held his aunt with an arm around her neck, she was trembling and tear streaked, blood leaked from a gash on her forehead.
"Let her go!" Harry could hear the tremors in his uncle's voice. "Let her go, and I'll let you go."
The Death Eater didn't reply, instead lifted his wand and placed the tip to his hostages temple.
The voice when it spoke was masculine with the barest hint of an accent. "Give me the boy or I'll kill her and all of you. I make the deals here."
His uncle's eyes flitted to his doorway and spotted him watching from the shadows. "What boy?" Vernon questioned, taking a step back.
There was an audible growl, his aunt whimpered. "Vernon...," she pleaded as she was forced forward a step, still in the masked mans clutches.
"You know what boy, filthy Muggle! Hand him over or she dies." He pressed the wand harder into her temple in emphasis.
As his Uncle Vernon took another step back, aligning himself with his bedroom, Harry stared blankly into space. His thoughts were turning self-destructive as he contemplated giving himself up. Why should these people die for him? They hated him. No, he would go out with dignity. He'd free them from their duties once and for all.
No sooner had the thought been conjured, than a large arm snatched purposefully into his bedroom. Harry found himself yanked by the shirt collar into the hall and slammed ungracefully against the wall. The muzzle of the shotgun was pressed hard into his chest before his shout of surprise and protest could be properly executed; causing it to come out rough and garbled instead.
"You let her go!" Harry watched his Uncle's pale face flash red. "Let her go or I'll blow him clean through this wall!" He spit with the words, his eyes wide with a crazed intensity, and Harry had no doubt he would follow through with the threat. His expression was ugly, in the deepest, darkest sense of the word. It was animalistic and raw with fear and hate.
When he thought back upon the incident, Harry realized that, at that moment he lost the very last of his faith in humanity. And he wanted to be sick, he wanted to cry. He wanted Vernon to do it. For the past six years he'd knowingly lived the life of a target, been exposed to a level of fame he did not want or deserve, and whenever things had seemed like they were getting better, they only got worse.
At the start of fifth year Dumbledore he'd been summoned by Dumbledore, it was time for him to make a choice. He could either continue on as he was and when the war began go into hiding, or play an active role in it and begin learning how to fight and to better protect himself. The choice for Harry had been an obvious one. He'd fight. Dumbledore had seemed pleased with his decision and not in the least surprised. They'd discussed what he'd be learning and all was well, that is until he was informed of whom his trainer would be, none other than Severus Snape. That's when he'd begun pleadiing with the Headmaster to choose someone else, preferably someone who didn't have a deeply ingrained hatred for him. That day he'd miserably trudged through his classes convinced some higher power was out to get him. But yet again, not everything had been as bad as it seemed, and three months into his training he could finally admit he was actually enjoying it. Though that particular lesson had left much to be desired.
He'd hit the floor for the fifth time, and it had hurt like a bitch. Professor Snape stood over him hands on his hips.
"What the hell are you doing, Potter?"
"Getting my ass kicked, sir."
"I can see that. And what do you think would be done with you had this been a real encounter?"
"I'd probably be seconds away from being 'drawn and quartered'." He'd muttered, standing and brushing himself off.
"Worse, I'd venture," Snape had answered gravely. "Your not concentrating, and if you don't start concentrating I'm going to suggest to Madame Pomfrey that she graft your wand to your hand, because God forbid should you ever loose it in an emergency."
"They'd only cut my hand off in that case." He'd stated, getting back into his fighting stance.
Snape had snorted, resuming his. "Yes, they would."
Once more Snape started towards him, he'd blocked a series of punches, swung a few of his own which were blocked in return and fell into a pattern. Broken once again when Snape had attempted to kick his feet out from under him, but that time he'd jumped and landed safely. Snape had come at him faster, and he'd met the pace. The man was a surprisingly good fighter, quick and precise, seeming to know what Harry was going to do before he knew himself. Snape had swung at his head, he'd ducked, swung once again toward his right side, he'd jumped left, a lunge forward accompanied by another attempt at his head, blocked, a knee to the gut, and he'd doubled over in pain.
"Oh, for Christs sake," Snape had growled, flinging his hands up in frustration. "At this rate I'll have killed you before Voldemort ever gets the chance."
He'd straightened up still holding his stomach. "I'm sorry, sir. I just...I can't do this today. Something happened last night that's really bothering me, I can't think straight." At Snapes raised eyebrow, he'd added, "Nothing bad, really, just...I don't know. Nevermind."
"Very well. Your dismissed, Potter. It's not as if we're getting any where to begin with." Snape had grumbled moving to sit at his desk and shuffling through some papers that need grading.
"I didn't say I wanted to leave," He'd blurted, annoyed.
Snape glared at him, "Well, what do you want to do? Just stand there staring like an idiot, because I don't think you need much practice at that, you're quite good at it already. Though perhaps adding a bit of drool, would further enhance the dim-wittedness of the atmosphere you seem to naturally project."
He'd had to refrain from laughing at that, since he'd stopped taking most of the harsh things Severus said so personally, the man become that much more humorous. Hopefully, someday when they were closer he could feel free to reply to those comments with ones of his own without fearing a horrible death as the consequence.
After standing in silent contemplation he'd decided to tell Snape what was on his mind and see what would come of it. His need to express his dilemma had apparently won out over his sensibility--Snape would argue, what sensibility.
"Ginny Weasley tried to kiss me last night." He'd waited for the onslaught of negativity when Severus gazed up at him suddenly. When none was forthcoming he'd continued. "It's not that I don't think she's pretty or nice, I just couldn't let her. I can't let her."
"Why not?"
Most definitely not what he'd thought Snape would say. Rather, he'd assumed he'd be berated for dwelling on trivialities when important time was at stake, time that was slowly dwindling. None of them knew when Voldemort would strike next, he'd been in a state of suspended animation for the summer and all of fifth year up to that point and the lack of any significant attempts at anything had the whole wizarding world on edge. So, Snape had wanted to know why he hadn't kissed Ginny. He'd laughed momentarily, as the whole affair suddenly struck him as being quite funny. Not a good idea as it turned out.
"I fail to see the humor in my question, Potter. So if you'd kindly get on with answering it or not, I may be able to salvage some of this wasted time," Severus had declared harshly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm sorry," Harry sobered up. "I hadn't expected you to care, that's all."
"As it happens, I don't care. But if relieving yourself of this thing that is bothering you will enable you to concentrate, so be it," he'd paused, thinking. "And if you don't feel comfortable speaking with me then perhaps you should consult your own Head of House, or schedule an appointment with Dumbledore."
He'd been unable to stifle another chuckle at the thought of 'consulting' Professor McGonagall with his particular predicament. "Heh, sorry. It's just...I don't think Professor McGonagall will be much help with this sort problem." He'd shrugged. "No, you'll have to do."
Severus'd snorted. "So glad to have been given your stamp of approval."
Ignoring that bit of sarcasm he'd plunged into his story, explaining the occurrences of the night before. How he'd gone straight back to the Gryffindor common room after their late-running lesson and Ginny had been the only one still up. They'd talked some and he'd asked if she was okay and why she was still up. She'd stated that she'd been waiting for him, and when he'd asked why her response had been because she had something to tell him. That's when she'd gotten real close, so close he could feel her breath on his lips, clearly about to kiss him, but he'd pulled away, shocked. And before he could say a word she'd run up to bed crying.
"The problem is I know she's really upset, she wouldn't so much as look at me all day. And I don't know how to tell her that it wasn't her personally; to tell her the real reason I couldn't kiss her." He'd fiddled nervously, clutching at his robes.
"Which is?"
He'd come to the hardest part, with no idea what Snape would think of him afterwards. He'd gone for it, of course, his reaction would be a good gauge for the inevitable future confessions he'd have to make to many people regarding the same subject, if Snape could handle it anyone could.
"Professor, sir, I don't fancy girls."
He'd seen the surprise in Severus' expression and in the way he'd sat forward suddenly. His heart, which had already been beating double time, made the leap to triple time as Severus left him in silent suspense for far to long.
"Umm, sir. You don't have a problem with that do you?"
"Hmm...no. To be perfectly frank, so do I. I'm merely contembuzz...buzz wahh buzzuz buzz buzwahzuz....."
He had no idea what Snape had said after the first sentence, and it didn't matter. His nonchalant confession had blown Harry's mind. And had inadvertantly set emotions in motion that had previously only existed as the tiniest of sparks, he'd done more than fan the fire, he'd poured rocket fuel on it.
A high pitched cackle broke the serenity of memory. The Death Eater laughed at his Uncle's foolish stubborness. Muggles, so ridiculous in their stupidity.
"Go ahead. Kill him," he taunted.
The muzzle was digging into his chest, but it no longer hurt. Nothing hurt, not even the constant pain he felt in his heart, and when he was dead nothing would ever hurt again. He closed his eyes and waited.
"Potter, will you at the very least attempt to look like your paying attention? Christ! That's the third time you've zoned out in the last half-hour. Presumably five minutes per lapse, which totals fifteen minutes, which means that exactly half the time you've spent here has been a complete waste of both our times!" Severus had all but growled the last three words.
He'd jumped, wincing slightly at the sharp words of his Professor, and blushing in embarrassment as if his illicit thoughts were written plainly in the air for all to see. It'd been a while since Severus--he'd taken the liberty of using Snapes first name, if in thought only--had gotten like that with him, at least in private. If anything it was a testament to his growing malaise. It was getting so hard to keep it hidden.
"I'm sorry, Professor." He truly was.
"And that's the third doleful apology you've given me."
Severus had leaned up against his desk and gazed at him curiously with one eyebrow cocked, trying to see through his defenses. He'd stared back as long as he possibly could, and then reluctantly looked away with a sigh. He'd lost this one.
"So out with it."
"I don't want this." Not exactly what he'd been thinking about.
He'd said it because he'd known Severus would only get exasperated at the simple, yet aboundingly complex statement. They'd already been through it twice since sixth year began. But still, he'd felt the need to say it, even though it was pointless and he was stuck with the cards fate had drawn for him. The same line of thinking had driven him to anger once again, as it always had, so he'd continued before Severus could voice a reply.
"I don't want to be here. I don't want to learn how to cast the Unforgivables. Or learn hand to hand combat. I don't want to be conditioned to endure Cruciatus or fight off Imperius. Or be told who to trust and who not to. And I don't want to have to save the world!"
Professor Snape had remained silent during his brief but intense tirade, and when he'd finally spoken he'd managed to surprise Harry yet again.
"What do you want?"
A home. My parents. Somebody to love me," He'd paused to repress a swelling wave of sadness. The same one he'd fought to repress every day since the excitment and unfamiliarity of being a wizard wore away exposing the harsh reality of his situation. "God, Severus, I want to live and breathe. I want to be part of the human race. I feel as if I'm always on the outside looking in."
"It can be peaceful on the outside." Severus had murmured, staring through rather than at him.
"But lonely, Professor. So fucking lonely."
He'd feared a tongue lashing for his language, and for presuming to call Snape by his given name. None had been forthcoming however, in fact, Severus appeared not to have noticed at all. A moment passed before he'd focused on Harry and when he did he'd approached the desk without a word and kneeled down to eye level. Harry merely waited quietly.
Severus had looked into his eyes thoughtfully. "You've already saved the world once Harry, I believe it's statistically impossible for you to do it again."
He'd listened to the words, processed them, and then cracked up. It had been an insane thing to do, but the statement had struck him as the most hilarious and terrible piece of advice he'd ever been given.
"If that...hah...if that was meant to be reassurance," he broke into a fit of giggling before resuming. "Then, let me tell you, it failed miserably."
Severus had looked insulted as he stood up. "Piss off, Potter."
Though beneath the ever present sarcasm, Harry had detected a hint of amusement, beneath the sneer the faint outline of a smile. He'd noted the time and rose to leave, wishing him a goodnight as he opened the door.
"Goodnight, Potter." Severus had muttered before adding, "And five points from Gryffindor for the use of vulgarity in the presence of a teacher." Then with a swish of his robes he'd entered his office and shut the door.
That night was the first night a loss of points hadn't bothered him. There were, he'd come to realize, more important things to worry about.
Somewhere in a patch of secluded woodland in Ireland a battle raged, and people lay dying.
It had been a day he'd never forget, and a day he'd forever regret. He'd acted on impulse--Severus would argue when didn't he--though the urge had been there and growing inside of him for weeks. First in stomach, a warm tingling, a rush of heat, and a fuzziness in his head that he'd ignored or attributed to excitment at a general closeness to another human being, one that seemingly understood him better than he understood himself at times. It had stopped mattering some time ago that that person was Severus Snape. When his brain--an organ well suited to picking out patterns--finally noticed that said feelings seemed to occur with a growing frequency in the presence of and whenever its thoughts turned to the aforementioned potions master, something clicked. He had a crush and he didn't need to figure out on who. It was a disconcerting epiphany to say the least, according to his mind; which was, with every extracurricular training session slowly being swayed into a unanimous state of desire with the rest of him.
He'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor of the potions classroom meditating and practicing energy manipulation. Severus had been standing over a cauldron of something or other, every once in a while shooting a spell at him which he would harmlessly deflect. They had both been silent for most of the hour he'd been there when he'd started to feel restless, so he'd given up on meditating and laid back with his hands under his head. He'd watched Snape stirring behind him, upside down from his point of view, until a question surfaced, one he'd wanted an answer to for quite some time.
"How come you became a Death Eater?"
Snape had glanced at him, emotion flashing in his eyes for only an instant, before his attention returned to the potion. FIve minutes slipped by, but he'd known if he was patient he'd get an answer, and he did.
"I was young and foolish and had absolutely no perspective," Severus stated with disgust, walking over and leaning against his desk in his customary fashion. He'd sat up and faced his Professor, waiting for him to continue. "In truth, Harry, I ask myself that very same question every day, and have yet to come up with a sufficient answer to it."
He'd decided to leave it at that, it had been more than he'd expected anyway, and the casual use of his first name by Severus made him happy. It had been occuring more and more lately as they grew increasingly relaxed in each others company, in private at least. Snape was still an utter git to him in class, but it had ceased to bother him, it didn't matter as long as he had these moments. He'd watched Severus during that latest bout of silence, noticing how he seemed to sink into himself as he relived some distant fragment of his sordid past, until another question bubbled to the surface.
"Have you ever been in love?"
A much riskier question to be sure, but oh, how he wanted to know.
Another flash as dark absymal pupils darted up and out of reverie boring a hole in him, heated emotion gone as quickly as it was realized. He'd watched as the walls fell back into place.
"Love is suicide." Severus had stated bitterly, stalking over to check the cauldron he'd left simmering.
Harry had smiled. "That doesn't answer my question."
That had earned him the patented glare of doom. "Since when am I obligated to answer to you!" He'd spat angrily.
"Since never, I suppose," Harry'd murmured simply with a shrug, letting it go.
Silence descended once again and Harry would have been lying if he said he hadn't been disappointed. Though he hadn't truly anticipated an answer. Bored, he'd moved to get up and go see what Severus was concocting when a single word startled him into stillness.
"Once."
Once was enough, Harry had thought, to prove he's an absolute human.
"Ron thinks he's in love with Hermione." He'd admitted while they were on the subject of love. Rising to stand he'd continued. "They've been dating since yhe beginning of this school year. It seems to me all they're ever doing is fighting or snogging, or a combination of both." He'd arrived to stand next to Severus, watching as he stirred methodically.
"And I care to know this why?"
"I never told them," he'd paused. "You know, that I prefer boys." He glanced up at Severus. "Did you find it hard to tell your friends?"
"I had no friends, Potter. You should know that, should have heard all about it from that unbearable Godfather of yours."
He'd felt slightly bad for bringing it up because he did know a bit in fact and from that exact source. "You must have had one?"
"Yes, one." His melancholic Professor mumbled in apparant acknowledgement as he drifted into memory again. Only a brief happening this time, and when he'd refocused he'd noted the time. "Dismissed, Potter."
Harry had nodded and retrieved his things, knowing Severus would be behind him following to remove the wards he'd placed on the door. It wouldn't do to have someone barging in and getting blasted by an errant spell during their training sessions. Not that many had the nerve to barge into any room occupied by Snape. He'd waited while Severus whispered the removal spells, watching as he concentrated, watching his lips as they'd moved to mold the correct words. And that's when he saw it, read it in the lines on the older mans face, and in the half-lidded depths of his eyes. A tiredness, expanding and absolute. One that begged to be given leave of the whole charade and allowed some time to sleep, to heal, to simply be. The very same tiredness Harry himself felt with each passing day, a feeling that threatened to slowly comsume him.
"Severus....,"
His lips had whispered the name before he'd had the chance to stop them, and with a passion he'd not known they could evoke into a single word. Snape had looked at him, obviously confused by the utterance. He'd ventured on, that familiar warmth spreading through his insides.
"You're tired...you.."
Once more whispered as he'd let his bag slip to the floor and taken a step forward, sufficient enough to invade the heated space surrounding Severus. He'd reached up and pushed some unruly strands of hair from out of Severus' face, not removing his hand, instead letting it softly caress its way down his neck to the collar of his robes. There it gripped lightly and he'd only to stretch up onto his toes to be at eye level.
"You need...," he'd breathed, at first brushing his lips against Severus' in a chaste kiss. "Somebody."
He'd pressed their lips together again, harder, and placed his other hand on Severus' cheek, his thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth. He'd moved his lips, wishing for the man to respond, and added his tongue to the melee. At that Severus' mouth had opened, mostly out of shock he now realized, but at the time he'd only taken it as opportunity, shoving his tongue into the wet warmth and reveling in it. God, it had been so hot.
Severus had responded after that, had allowed himself to slip and taste the forbidden, however brief it had been. Too brief according to Harry. He had kissed back, hesitantly at first, then letting his hand fall from the doorknob, he'd grasped Harry's hair pulling it and him back some allowing them to stand comfortably while Severus leaned forward slightly, taking control. Such beautiful control. His tongue had driven Harry to a state of delirium. He'd moaned into Snape's mouth and it only seemed to incite the fervour, until. And, of course, there had to be an until, a but, an except stuck smack dab in the center of his happiness. To make matters all the more annoying this 'until' had been entirely his doing. As their lips had parted for a moment, allowing each much needed oxygen, he'd moaned again. Adding to it a word, the word that had been the unraveler of his heart, the destroyer of his hope, the stupidest thing he'd ever Goddamn said.
"Mnmm.....Professor..."
Way to bring one to their senses. He'd been shoved so hard he'd stumbled back, stepped on his bag and fallen into a heap on the floor. The horror on Snapes face shutting off his anger in a veritable instant.
"Severus." He'd begun to plead. "I...pl-"
"Get out," The quiet malice dripped from Snape's lips like poison.
He'd struggled to his feet, reaching for Snape. "But...wait, Severus I-"
Snape had backed away, yanking open the door at the same time, he'd pointed. "Get. Out. Now!"
That time Harry didn't fight it, he'd merely snatched his bag from the floor, straightened his robes and stepped through the door. He'd glanced back at Snape, his expression wounded and longing, his eyes glittering with a sheen of unshed tears. Behind him the door was slammed with such force that sprinklings of dust and mortar fell from aound its frame onto him. And he'd cried, standing rejected outside the potions classroom. He'd have thought that he'd be used to it by now, he'd been rejected his whole fucking life it seemed.
After that he'd only tried once to speak with Severus about it, and he'd recieved a look that had shriveled his soul. 'A mistake,' Snape had bitten out, 'that shall never be repeated.' From then on their sessions were strictly business, no pleasantries in the least, no hellos, or goodbyes. He'd just walk in, learn what Snape taught him and leave. A pattern repeated for the last three months of his sixth year, and as he focused it only got it easier to hide his feelings, a good thing because they'd never went away.
Harry opened his eyes when his uncle's hand grabbed him by the throat. He met his guardians eye and had to look away, his eyes were black and desperate, he was pasty white and sweating. He seemed possessed with a horror beyond anything Voldemort could ever attain. He was scared, so very scared. He wanted someone, anyone. Most of all he wanted Severus.
Vernon threw him roughly by the throat into the space between two evils. He stumbled and fell to his knees.
"There, take him. Just give me my wife," Vernon half-growled, half-shouted.
"Very well."
Harry raised his head and watched the Death Eater relenquish his hold on his Aunt. He pushed her forward, then spoke. "Come here, boy."
As his Aunt stepped closer Harry stood, he moved toward the Death Eater, obeying his command. He only wanted this to be over.
Petunia was within arms reach of Vernon when all hell broke loose. And only Harry knew the meaning of the words that were spoken.
"Avada Kedavra."
The most unforgivable of all the unforgivables, hissed with hatred from a featureless mouth. The spiraling greenish light shot from the Death Eaters outstretched wand, it whipped past his head, singeing the tips of his hair and the side of his face. He turned as it passed and watched as it engulfed his Aunt Petunia. Her scream was inhuman, it distorted as her lungs and throat were burned away, literally vaporized. Her extremities collapsing in on themselves as her middle crumbled to the floor only ashes. And in the span of three seconds all that remained was a dark burn on the carpet, a pile of ashes and her legs. Harry felt the bile rise up his throat. Her legs, one from the knee down and the other about half of that, lay perfect and untouched on the pile, house slippers still snug and warm on her feet. He threw up. Wishing he'd closed his eyes because now he knew in vivid detail what had happened to his parents the night they sacrificed themselves for him. They'd been reduced by that blasphemous fire to nothing but a pile of ashes and legs. He threw up again, spilling a days worth of meals onto the carpet with all the rest of the disgust.
Vernons howl echoed through his skull, and shook his soul. Harry saw him aim his shotgun and he'd no other option but to drop to the floor, sprawling in his own vomit. A single shot ripped through his ears, he felt drops of blood spatter him. To afraid to move he waited to hear the Death Eater in front of him drop, but it never happened, instead something heavy fell and landed half on him. Turning to the side, his eyes met Vernons, they were glazed over and wide with shock. Blood streamed from a mouth that gaped and gasped reflexively for air. Harry screamed drowning out the Death Eaters laughter, shoving his Uncle's dying body off of him. His only surviving family was dead. He was alone, alone with this cackling madman.
Apologies for this being a few days late. I had really wanted to catch up with where the last left off in one chapter, but alas, it could not be. As usual, some type of response would be excellent and very appreciated so I know if this is progressing satisfactorily or not. And Thanks to everyone who's already reviewed, you guys rock.
Also, there are some lyrics and such in here but do to this crappy text program I only have the room left for this sentence. Will acknowledge them in a review.