.:Many thanks to Nilboriel, who's review actually gave me the idea for what
exactly I'm going to do with this story. Don't ask me how it inspired me,
but it did, so I'm not complaining. Now, on with the show!:.
With Harry safe behind the closed door, Severus Snape allowed his ever- present mask to slip partially, a slightly worried look on his face. The encounter hadn't gone as expected. The general way of things was that Snape would insult Harry or his family, and Harry would glare angrily and defiantly at him, but not say anything. The utterly depressed and somewhat guilty look the boy had given him.
As much as Snape had despised James Potter and the fact that the man practically had the code for defeating Voldemort in his bloodstream, he couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of guilt at knowing he had the power to intimidate the boy like that. In class he'd always shown a bold side of himself that was so utterly. Gryffindor it was disgusting. But the boy sitting in that window.
Mentally slapping himself, Snape forced his feet to move down the hallway. Draco was watching something on the odd box in the living room, so he decided to go upstairs into his "room." The boy could deal with his own problems, and heaven knew that Snape had enough to feel guilty for already.
The dismal hole that he was to live in for the next two months was nothing in comparison to his glorious dungeons at Hogwarts. He'd always appreciated the cold comfort they provided after a night spent groveling before the most wretched creature to ever walk the face of the earth, and seeing the open windows and bright colors contained in this room made his head hurt.
With a mental sigh, he collapsed onto the bed, glancing at the book in his hand. Deciding not to start on it, he dropped it carelessly onto the table next to him and glared at the offending mirror that stood before him.
He looked tired. And worse, old. Years of playing the double agent were taking their toll on him, and he knew it. He was far more irritable than he'd ever been in school, and the times he spent living on nothing but potions for the sake of his health had made him malnourished and sick looking. But the effects of the many curses thrown his way on a day-to-day basis could only be treated in certain ways.
Refusing to let his mind wonder in that direction, he irritably grabbed the book again. He was trapped in a house with two adolescent boys, and the last thing he needed was a guilt trip.
§§§§§§
Draco Malfoy stared unseeingly at the moving pictures before him. Not that the "movie," as Harry had called it, was uninteresting, but he couldn't seem to get his mind to focus. It kept wandering back to that night. Part of him wished he had just stayed upstairs like he was supposed to, but if he had, Professor Snape would be dead.
Contrary to the somewhat popular belief, he didn't rely on his father for everything. He made relatively good grades in school on his own, and he had a natural talent for potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts that was similar to Snape's. For that reason, he'd found himself oddly connected to his Head of House, and when he'd heard them torturing him from his place crouched at the top of the stairs. How could he not do anything?
Violently shaking his head, he tried to force his thoughts away from that night. "What's done is done," he mumbled firmly to himself, once more turning his attention to the box in front of him.
§§§§§§
Harry Potter closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall behind him, fighting off the memories. The graveyard, Cedric, the knife piercing his skin, that hideous pile of rags wrapped around that wretched body, the cauldron.
"Stupid," he told himself for the umpteenth time. "I knew there was a reason someone put my name in the Goblet, but no, stupid Harry Potter had to go thinking he's invincible, that whoever it was had been thwarted. And that foolish belief was what got Cedric killed.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, now he had the potential deaths of every Muggle and good wizard in the world hanging over his head. If he hadn't let Wormtail cut him, Voldemort wouldn't have been brought back and the world would still be safe. But now everything Harry had worked so hard to become a part of for the past four years was in danger, and it was all his fault.
He'd thought about ending it all. It would've been easy. Aunt Petunia had bottles of sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet to fight her recurring insomnia. It wouldn't even have hurt. Just grab a handful, swallow, fall asleep and never wake up again. It's not like the Dursleys would have missed him. They probably wouldn't even have done anything if they'd found him on the bathroom floor, bleeding at the wrists. No, that wasn't true. They would've yelled at him for getting blood all over the floor.
Yanking himself out of his depressing thoughts, Harry returned his attention to the book. No use thinking about that now. Even if he wanted to, it was too late. Snape and Malfoy might hate him, but Dumbledore would be furious if he found out they'd let him die. So he'd just have to deal. For now.
.:So, whatcha think? This is the beginnings of my brilliant plan. a bit depressing, I'll admit, with not much character interaction, but I'm pretty pleased with it. We'll get them together next chapter. Or try to anyway. This was kinda updated fast, but I figured I'd post it anyway. Might make me get more reviews that will inspire my writing. Nilboriel, I hope this explains what I meant about it being his fault.:.
With Harry safe behind the closed door, Severus Snape allowed his ever- present mask to slip partially, a slightly worried look on his face. The encounter hadn't gone as expected. The general way of things was that Snape would insult Harry or his family, and Harry would glare angrily and defiantly at him, but not say anything. The utterly depressed and somewhat guilty look the boy had given him.
As much as Snape had despised James Potter and the fact that the man practically had the code for defeating Voldemort in his bloodstream, he couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of guilt at knowing he had the power to intimidate the boy like that. In class he'd always shown a bold side of himself that was so utterly. Gryffindor it was disgusting. But the boy sitting in that window.
Mentally slapping himself, Snape forced his feet to move down the hallway. Draco was watching something on the odd box in the living room, so he decided to go upstairs into his "room." The boy could deal with his own problems, and heaven knew that Snape had enough to feel guilty for already.
The dismal hole that he was to live in for the next two months was nothing in comparison to his glorious dungeons at Hogwarts. He'd always appreciated the cold comfort they provided after a night spent groveling before the most wretched creature to ever walk the face of the earth, and seeing the open windows and bright colors contained in this room made his head hurt.
With a mental sigh, he collapsed onto the bed, glancing at the book in his hand. Deciding not to start on it, he dropped it carelessly onto the table next to him and glared at the offending mirror that stood before him.
He looked tired. And worse, old. Years of playing the double agent were taking their toll on him, and he knew it. He was far more irritable than he'd ever been in school, and the times he spent living on nothing but potions for the sake of his health had made him malnourished and sick looking. But the effects of the many curses thrown his way on a day-to-day basis could only be treated in certain ways.
Refusing to let his mind wonder in that direction, he irritably grabbed the book again. He was trapped in a house with two adolescent boys, and the last thing he needed was a guilt trip.
§§§§§§
Draco Malfoy stared unseeingly at the moving pictures before him. Not that the "movie," as Harry had called it, was uninteresting, but he couldn't seem to get his mind to focus. It kept wandering back to that night. Part of him wished he had just stayed upstairs like he was supposed to, but if he had, Professor Snape would be dead.
Contrary to the somewhat popular belief, he didn't rely on his father for everything. He made relatively good grades in school on his own, and he had a natural talent for potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts that was similar to Snape's. For that reason, he'd found himself oddly connected to his Head of House, and when he'd heard them torturing him from his place crouched at the top of the stairs. How could he not do anything?
Violently shaking his head, he tried to force his thoughts away from that night. "What's done is done," he mumbled firmly to himself, once more turning his attention to the box in front of him.
§§§§§§
Harry Potter closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall behind him, fighting off the memories. The graveyard, Cedric, the knife piercing his skin, that hideous pile of rags wrapped around that wretched body, the cauldron.
"Stupid," he told himself for the umpteenth time. "I knew there was a reason someone put my name in the Goblet, but no, stupid Harry Potter had to go thinking he's invincible, that whoever it was had been thwarted. And that foolish belief was what got Cedric killed.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, now he had the potential deaths of every Muggle and good wizard in the world hanging over his head. If he hadn't let Wormtail cut him, Voldemort wouldn't have been brought back and the world would still be safe. But now everything Harry had worked so hard to become a part of for the past four years was in danger, and it was all his fault.
He'd thought about ending it all. It would've been easy. Aunt Petunia had bottles of sleeping pills in the bathroom cabinet to fight her recurring insomnia. It wouldn't even have hurt. Just grab a handful, swallow, fall asleep and never wake up again. It's not like the Dursleys would have missed him. They probably wouldn't even have done anything if they'd found him on the bathroom floor, bleeding at the wrists. No, that wasn't true. They would've yelled at him for getting blood all over the floor.
Yanking himself out of his depressing thoughts, Harry returned his attention to the book. No use thinking about that now. Even if he wanted to, it was too late. Snape and Malfoy might hate him, but Dumbledore would be furious if he found out they'd let him die. So he'd just have to deal. For now.
.:So, whatcha think? This is the beginnings of my brilliant plan. a bit depressing, I'll admit, with not much character interaction, but I'm pretty pleased with it. We'll get them together next chapter. Or try to anyway. This was kinda updated fast, but I figured I'd post it anyway. Might make me get more reviews that will inspire my writing. Nilboriel, I hope this explains what I meant about it being his fault.:.