Title: L' Estate di Suicidio
Author: Clynn
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I'm not making any money off of them.
Author's Notes: Sorry this is late... I have a cousin coming to stay with me for a week, so I had to clean, and then I had a horrible time trying to write this chapter even when I did have the time to. Harry's birthday isn't even over yet... Gah! Thank you all for your reviews, I hope you like this chapter. I'll do my best to get the next one out soon!
Chapter 15
Snape enters my room quietly, but I still hear the creak of the door as he pulls it open. Without knocking. I don't bother turning around. Snape, it seems, doesn't mind being ignored, and obviously doesn't care that I want to be left alone. I hear Snape approaching my bed, the swish of his robes the only sound in the room. A warm hand lands on my back and begins to rub gently. I tense for a moment, and then relax as Snape continues his calming motions. Still, I can't stop crying, and I refuse to look up. In a way, Snape is only making it all worse, making me think for the millionth time about everything he has sacrificed for me. It seems like no one can get close to me without giving something up, and in the end, I'm not worth the sacrifice.
"Harry... Harry, come on, at least look at me." Snape, it seems, has run out of patience. I bury my head further into the pillow and refuse to look up. "Does it have something to do with Black? What did he say to you, Harry?" Snape's voice has gained a hard edge, and I'm suddenly forced to remember just how much bitterness the man is capable of putting into his voice.
"Read it." I manage to choke out. Snape's hand leaves my back, and I can hear him settling back into the chair at my bedside.
"Are you sure?" I just hand him the scrap of parchment, a bit torn from being clenched so tightly in my hand. There is silence for a few minutes while he reads, and the kind words echo in my head. I turn onto my side, staring at the wall, my back to Snape. Its always to same, Quirrel, Wormtail, Cedric, all of them evidence to what my good intentions do. If I hadn't been so damn convinced that it was my job to save the world and protect the sorcerer's stone, I wouldn't have had to deal with Quirrel at all. And regardless of Quirrel's sins, I killed him. Perhaps it wasn't my intention, but I knew that my touch was causing him pain. And when Dumbledore came into the hospital wing and told me that Voldemort had left Quirrel to die... It didn't even hit me, then, that it was my fault. I killed Professor Quirrel, in some half-assed attempt to prove my own worth. And I was applauded for it. That disgusts me, almost as much as the act itself. I've so blinded the people around me that they are convinced that I am justified in murder. And then, in my third year, I proved that while I may be capable of killing, I am incapable of killing when it could save an innocent life. I let Wormtail go. I let him escape, and now Sirius is on the run, unable to stay in any one place for too long, unable to lead the kind of normal life I so desperately want. And I took that from him. I took from him the one thing I want most in the world. What right did I have to do that? What right did I have to intervene? And then, as if I hadn't done enough, I had to go and tell Cedric to take the fucking cup with me. I should have just taken it. Should have let Cedric be the selfless, kind-hearted Hufflepuff everyone thought he was, and taken the cup myself. Instead, I had to let my fucking good intentions run away with me again. Had to insist on sharing the glory. What glory? What the hell does the Triwizard Tournament matter now? It doesn't mean shit to the Diggorys. And all it means to me is that I'm responsible for another death and for the rising of a man who will cause many, many more. I can feel my tears falling harder and faster now, and I can't hold back a small sob. I feel myself being turned over, see Snape's concerned face staring down at me, and I struggle to get away from him.
"Harry... Harry, calm down, take a breath. You've got to relax, your going to choke yourself, come on..." With Snape's encouragement, I manage to take a few deep breaths and regain a bit of control. I stop struggling against him, and he loosens his grip on my shoulders. Immediately, I turn back over and face the wall again. This time, Snape doesn't try to make me face him. Instead, he moves back and returns to his chair, waiting for me to speak. And, of course, I do.
"Did you read it?" I demand.
"Yes... Harry, as much as it pains me to admit it, Black was trying to be a nice guy. I mean, unless there is something more to the story that I'm missing?" I shake my head a bit. No, nothing more. He was being nice. Too nice. " Why did it upset you? Explain it to me."
I groan and punch my pillow in frustration. More talking. Damn it! It occurs to me that I could have avoided this entire discussion if I'd just retained control over my emotions.
"He was trying to be a nice guy." I mutter. I risk a glance over at Snape, and realize that he is going to need some clarification. "I don't deserve it."
"And why do you think you don't deserve some kindness when you are obviously having a lot of problems right now? Would you deny another child a loving godfather if they were feeling the kind of pain you are feeling right now?" This time I give Snape a full-on stare.
"I'm not another child. I'm me. I don't know what other people deserve, I don't know what they want. I know what I've done, I know who I am, and I don't deserve Sirius." Carefully avoiding the why. He should know why. I think we've had this conversation before.
"Why, Harry?" Voice deceptively gentle. Making me say it out loud again, confirm it, make it real. Nothing spins speculation into truth faster than sharing it with another person. And no matter how strongly I feel about my own guilt, the last thing I want is confirmation.
"You know why," I answer tiredly. "I always fuck it up. Every chance I get, every time someone puts trust in me or helps me or cares about me, I fuck it up."
"You haven't fucked anything up with me." Snape's tongue trips over the vulgar word. I imagine he thinks such language to be beneath him. Maybe it really is. It seems appropriate in regards to me, though.
"A confession that you care, Professor? You really must be slipping. I'm almost convinced that you're human! Has it occurred to you that I haven't had the opportunity to fuck it up for you yet? Give me time, Snape." Seems I've learned at least one thing during potions over the years. I sound almost exactly like Snape when Neville's melted a cauldron.
"HARRY! That is enough! Don't think I don't know what you are doing. I've told you this before, I know I have. You can be as horrible to me as you want, it isn't going to change anything. I'm not going to leave, I'm not going to stop trying to help you, and I'm not going to believe a word you say! I don't know why you think you are unworthy of your godfather's love, but I know he isn't going to be scared off by a few angry words any more than I am. Obviously, he doesn't blame you for whatever it is you think you've done to him. Why do you blame yourself?" Snape has again turned me over to look at him. I hate him for it. Its so much easier to dismiss the things he says as lies when I'm not staring into his face, so full of sincerity.
"Because I was the one responsible. Sirius and Remus said so. They said it was up to me if that slimy little bastard lived, and I said he should. I gave Wormtail all the time he needed to get away. And then he went and found Voldemort, and its my fault!"
"Harry, as much as I know you don't want to hear this, what happened that night wasn't your fault. Perhaps if you'd sat down and plotted it out, and decided that you would free Pettigrew specifically so that he could go back to Voldemort, I would believe that it was your fault. But your intentions were good. I know that probably means very little to you right now, but in the long run, it means everything. Your intent reflects who you are far more than the outcome of your actions. You wanted to save a life. That is an admirable thing. Just because your act had unexpected results does not mean that your decision to save Pettigrew is any less noble. Events that are beyond your control do not reflect on your character. You seem to have this idea that the whole world rests on your shoulders, but it doesn't. It doesn't matter what you've heard or read or been told about what is expected of you. Its rubbish. All you have to do right now is try and get good grades and fly, if that is what you want to do, and try and have a little fun. Let the rest of the world take care of itself. You are only responsible for you, and I'm more than willing to share that responsibility, if you are willing to let me. You are a child, Harry, and I know that teenagers don't enjoy hearing it but it is true. You are not an adult and you do not have to pretend that you are. You have a few years left to be taken care of and not have to worry too much about the consequences of your actions. Maybe you've had to be a little more mature than the rest of your classmates, but to throw away the rest of your childhood in an attempt to save the world would be misguided, to say the very least. You won't be able to take an active role in fighting this war until you've learned a great deal more than you know now. Everyone understands that but you. You have to relax, let someone else take control for awhile, and stop thinking that the world is your responsibility. Voldemort may be out to get you, but he also has a lot of older, better prepared enemies who will do their best to make sure he doesn't come near you again. We are trying to protect you, Harry. All you have to do is let us."
I sit back against the pillows and attempt to give an adequate response. After a few minutes, it seems apparent to both Snape and I that I am unable to do so.
"Come on, Harry. What do you say we give this birthday thing another shot?"
