Disclaimer: J.K.R. owns Harry Potter and co., not me (I wouldn't mind owning Sev though).  This story is slightly (basically bits of the plot ideas; just technical stuff) inspired by Minnionette's A Gutter Rat's Tale and Dauphin's Let History Repeat Itself.  Niamh O'Feir, Jardin, Mika Davids, Darcorn's, and anything you don't recognize belong to me.

Not Myself by Saerry Snape

Chapter 137 – Spats of Anger and Madness

"Eep!" yelped a third year Hufflepuff as Harry stalked down the corridor, robes billowing behind him in a manner not unlike his father's.  The third year shrank against the wall until he was past.

When he was gone, she let out a sigh of relief and muttered, "Ooo, he looks angry."

And, indeed, he was.  Harry was about the angriest that he had ever been in his life.  Alright, perhaps second angriest.  The angriest was when he had confronted Argil.

That thought brought a rush of shame raging through the sixteen-year-old and it began battle with his rage.  Rage won out and he was suddenly at the top of the West Tower.

A strong wind whipped past the tower, causing Harry's hair to flop into his eyes.  He sank down against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his arms atop them.  With a heavy sigh, he laid his head down on his forearm.

First Dumbledore had told his father about Argil, then he'd had to tell him the entire story.  Then Niamh had been attacked by that damned Gauntlet.  And now his father told him that he was some Elven warrior.

In Harry's honest opinion, the entire world was against him.  Including Heaven and Hell and every alternate plane of existence that…well, existed.

It wasn't as though he hadn't already had enough piled on his plate.  Being Voldemort's arch-nemesis was sort of an all-the-time job.  Plus there was Hogwarts, his friends, his father…

"O' shite," hissed Harry, lifting his head so fast that he knocked it against the stone wall.

Rubbing the back of his head, he went back over the conversation he'd had with his father.

He'd shouted at him.  Raged at him.  Hell, he'd said he damned the man!  The man who'd watched him from the moment he entered Hogwarts.  The man who'd taken him into his life when he didn't have to.  The man who loved him.

"Bloody 'ell," muttered Harry, closing his eyes.  "Whot 'ave Ah done?"

He slowly began to beat his head on the wall behind him, ignoring the dull throbbing of his skull.

All of the rage was gone now.  Every ounce of it had filtered away with the realization that he had yelled at the only parent he had and the only one he ever would have.  His little segment of time with his mother didn't count as anything.  She would never be around in the real world.

He might never even see her when he died.

The thought of that, of never seeing his mother again, caused a tear to trickle out of the corner of Harry's eye.  It was a tear for his father as well because neither of them would ever see her again.

She was out of their reach, trapped forever in limbo.

It felt God-awful.

Harry frowned and opened his eyes, nearly going cross-eyed at the pounding in his skull.  He gently touched the back of his head and muttered the healing charm that Niamh had figured out two years before.  It simply needed you to visualize what you wanted as you said the incantation and it handled the rest.  What he didn't notice as he said the charm was that his wand was still in its holster.

"Medicor."

The ache in the back of his head lessened and he sighed.  Tilting his head back, he looked up at the now darkened sky.  The moon was out but only a fraction of herself, a tiny sliver in the night.  She cast no light down on the Hogwarts grounds to see by…but Harry was long used to seeing in the dark.

Slowly, the teenager rose to his feet and brushed off his robes before heading towards the door.  He descended the stair slowly, thinking over what he could say to his father in apology.

But in thinking of his father, he remembered Niamh.  Niamh who was lying in the hospital wing slowly having the life drawn from her by the Gauntlet of Aerilsed.

It made him sick to think that the Elves had ever created such a thing.  How could they have created something that needed life to continue its own existence?

How could they have created something that had attached itself to his best friend, to the girl he loved?

Harry closed his eyes again as that realization shook him to the core.  He loved Niamh.  And if she died, he'd never make it to her funeral as he had in the vision she'd shown him.

He'd kill himself before he saw her buried in the ground.

Shaking that dark thought away, he got to his feet and headed for the door that would allow him to descend from the tower.  He needed to apologize to his father but not yet…he wasn't ready for that.

Not yet.

* * * *

"Is O'Feir ever going to show up for class?" asked Draco to Harry as they came out of Potions.  Harry turned his head slowly towards him and glared coldly.

Draco took a step back and held up his hands.

"I'm just curious.  It's been two weeks almost."

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He then looked at the blonde and said, "She's dyin', Malfoy.  She's dyin' and Ah can'na do a damned t'ing about i'."

Draco stopped in the middle of the corridor and grabbed Harry's sleeve as the dark-haired boy continued to walk off.  The taller teen whirled around and slammed the blonde into the wall.

"Hey," croaked Draco as Harry's hand descended on his throat, "I was just wondering how."

"Tha' Gaun'let," snarled Harry.  "Ye goh anymore questions?"

"No."

"Goo'."

Harry gave Draco a shove back into the wall and started to stalk off when Snape's voice came from the door to the Potions classroom.

"Mister Potter…step inside."

It wasn't a question.  Harry turned sharply and marched inside, shoving his father aside to get through the door.  Severus looked after him before he went over to Draco, who was slumped against the wall.

"Mister Malfoy?"

"I'm alright, professor," mumbled Draco.  "Just a little bruised."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey just in case," said Severus.  "He threw you against the wall rather hard."

As he turned to head back into the classroom, Draco took a step forward.

"Sir…is O'Feir really dying?"

Severus turned slowly and looked at the sixteen-year-old before he nodded and said, "Yes, Draco.  She is."

With that he turned and vanished into the classroom.  Seeing that Harry wasn't in there, he went to check in his office.  Harry stood in the center of it, his bag on the floor beside him.  As Severus entered, the dark head turned and green eyes met black.

Severus caught the pain in those eyes before a mask slid over them.  His heart ached to know that Harry felt he had to hide his feeling from him.

"Harry," he began but was cut off.

"Ah'm sorry Ah yelled a' ye.  Ah was wron'."

"No, Harry," said Severus.  "You were right.  I shouldn't have said half the things I did.  But your anger at me is nothing to take out on Draco."

Harry looked away and mumbled, "Tha' was'n my anger a' ye.  Tha' was my anger a' this situation."

"I see."

"No!  Ye doan see!"

Harry turned wide eyes on his father and he let the mask drop.  Pain, fear, and confusion rose to the forefront in those emerald eyes and Severus nearly gasped aloud at the intensity of them.

"Ah love 'er," hissed Harry breathlessly.  "Ah love 'er an' she's dyin'.  An' Ah can'na do a t'ing about i'."

It didn't take much to figure out that Harry was talking about Niamh.

"Harry, we can save her."

"Ah tha risk o' her life!" bellowed Harry.  "Ah can'na even hug 'er.  I' hurts.  I' hurts so much…"

"I know," whispered Severus.  "My heart aches every time I think of your mother, knowing that I will never touch her again.  I know all too well how you feel, Harry."

"Ah know," mumbled Harry, all anger gone.  He looked hopelessly as his father and whispered, "Ah'm so scared, Da."

Severus looked at his son for a moment before he crossed the small space between them and pulled the tall teen into a warm hug.  Harry leaned gratefully into it, clenching his fists in the man's robes.

"She'll make it," hissed Severus fiercely.  "I swear to you on my life, Harry, that I will see Niamh alive and well."

Harry's tongue stuck to the top of his mouth as those words were spoken and he just hugged his father even more tightly.  The image of Niamh's grave flashed before his eyes and he hurriedly closed them, banishing it to the back of his mind.

He had to believe that she wouldn't end up there.  He had to.

Or else he'd go mad.