Silently Harry closed his Transfiguration book, he couldn't stand looking at the words. His mind felt muddled, as if all his thoughts had twisted and turned to liquid, slowly falling out of his ears and onto the faded sheets beneath him.
But that was just an illusion. He straightened himself, pulling on the white wrinkled t-shirt that he had worn the night before, as well as his faded jeans fastening the button.
Harry had arrived at Sirius's home the week before, and was currently residing in his old bedroom. Remus and the last Black had taken the master bedroom the year before, leaving this one, as well as several others unoccupied.
The green-eyed boy shook his head, and stood, walking out of the bedroom and down the darkened hallway. It wasn't as bad as before, now that the Order had spent the past few years clearing out any magical beasts (along with the good cleaning it had received, something that Creature had fought tooth and nail against). But Harry knew that this house had and would, always contain a sort of sin, the kind that formed a pit of consuming vile emotion and would cause someone to loose himself or herself if allowed.
It was ultimately an evil sort of place.
He stood silent for a moment, hand resting against then ancient stained cream wall, closing his eyes so that he could nearly feel the dark magic's pouring in from the area around him.
But then maybe that was just his imagination.
Harry had become more frigid and isolated in the last few months, he realized that, but then it was something he felt he had to maintain. If he were colder to those around him, it would be less likely that his death would wound them to deeply when it came time. He knew he would die.
Voldemort had gained access to several forbidden books that the Ministry had concealed years ago, most likely through contacts with the Malfoy's. Or maybe some sullen inbreed brat, who couldn't resist the call of a bit of shinning silver.
Each of these books contained a key to the ancient power of the hidden Gate's system; something that Harry feared would render Voldemort untraceable.
The young man turned, going down the long ancient stairs and into the kitchen, he smiled at Remus, noticing that he looked a bit better than he had the night before. That fact that lightened Harry's thoughts, and heart, though as he had trained his face, showing no outward change.
"Good morning Harry. I just made a bit of tea, would you like some?" the taller man asked, yellow eyes watching Harry with a brilliant intelligence that he'd always felt was warming.
" Sounds alright, Sirius gone already?" Harry questioned padding his tan bare feet over the chilled tile floor to the worn dark wooden table that rested in the center of the dilapidated kitchen. On it several small dishes sat, a plate of fresh bread, which Harry suspected Remus had cooked earlier that morning, several small jars containing jam: Strawberry and Blueberry, and a ladle of milk. It was all-so very…Remus.
"Oh, yes," Remus spoke softly, turning away to gather the tea, placing a chalice in front of Harry with some cream, holding his own tattered white glass, it was his favorite, or at least it seemed to be. Every time they had tea, which was becoming an often occurrence the elder man would select that particular cup, the one with small light blue flower pressings and a chip on the left side.
Harry said nothing more, he knew better. Remus and Sirius had been lovers for years, but they had agreed to leave matters of the Order secret. Leaving it as such created a mist of the hidden association something that drifted over the air, unidentifiable and peacefully ignored. It bothered Harry, pushing down his throat and slowly was driving into his heart, making him mad.
The colder, more analytical part of Harry's mind suspected the two elder men had done this to prevent the urge to try and save the other if they were endangered. Sirius had admitted that he would betray Dumbledore if it had a chance to save Remus. Remus had made a similar promise; his werewolf nature would not allow his mate to lay in danger when he could prevent it. Harry had always been secretly curious of how that felt, love, but he knew it was only a fleeting whim.
Harry had thought of this, but knew it was not his place to question their actions, both of his adoptive father's had been very kind, and did not warrant such rudeness. Along with the fact that Sirius could be quite…volatile when it came to his actions concerning his lover.
"Ron and Hermione should be coming in today. They both sent their owls, they are quite excited to be seeing you Harry," Remus gave Harry a gentle smile it was optimistic, making his dark golden eyes sparkle with the want to bring some sort of happiness to his younger companion. He bowed his head slightly so that his straight brown-gray hair fell over his ears. The younger man returned the tender grin and gently sipped the honey flavored mix, it was a sweet tingle on the tip of his tongue, and no one could quite make tea like Remus.
Harry did not reply, he didn't know how, he'd missed his two companions. But as of late the three of them…he just didn't fit into their world. A distance had formed between the three friends that no words, or movement could fix or dissipate.
As if a mighty cavern had slowly been carved into the auras of the two people he knew he should trust most. He was truthfully no longer the vision of the young man that they had known.
He was becoming a person that no one else saw, not Sirius, Dumbledore or even Severus, could really comprehend.
Ultimately the trio had grown a part, his heart slowly changing and mutating in away that even he himself did not yet understand.
"Severus should be by as well." Remus spoke watching Harry with a more intense study, the young man carefully keeping his eyes level, so that he did not reveal any sort of change too his elders watchful gaze.
"I think I should go get dressed then." Harry set down his cup carefully, amazed that he hadn't slammed it down with the furious thoughts that were careening out of his mind and down into his heart.
Remus gave no reply though he did nod slightly, as Harry turned away from him. He headed for his room gaining a silent cold air as he moved shutting the door then sat on his bed. The old mattress possessed a small dint in its center from over-use, he allowed himself to fall into that hollow, curling his fists tightly into the tops of his knees, short dirt speckled nails pressing down until he could nearly feel the drawing of blood.
The younger man had not spoken to Severus Snape for three months time, a fact that if he had spoken, he would have given no comment on. Inwardly it utterly infuriated him, he'd attempted to send letters with Hedwig, each disdainfully returned with no reply.
It was rather lucky that Severus had such a soft spot for creatures of burden, or she might have been returned unfed for her work, so much was the apparent hatred that Severus had suddenly developed for Harry's person.
He'd even started to refuse to grade the boy's work, making Remus, or Minerva grade each and every impossible potions paper he would assign through the small Einder Ball that Harry had received to keep up his training during the summer.
After the 'attack' as Harry had dubbed it, the elder man slowly withdrew even more from the young man, as well as the other teachers. And lastly, from Dumbledore himself, he only appeared in the school when specifically required, neither letters, nor any other sort of contact with anyone.
He had made himself a hermit, performing only secluded tasks such as research and testing for the Order, he was not even spying as much on Voldemort. Which no doubt he had a good justification, though Harry found no truth in his chosen reclusive habit, nothing would excuse it.
Severus was becoming a nonentity.
He was becoming a Nothing.
Slowly, Harry took a deep breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs with the familiar push and pull that all humans knew so well. Releasing his hands from his now slightly wounded knees he forced the anger out of his mind, and more importantly out of his heart.
The young man, while not being bright at Hermione, had never been one to ignore the suffering of a friend. Although Sirius, Minerva, even Remus, and most likely Severus himself would deny that fact, Harry knew without any doubt that it was the truth.
He had to stop this from happening, at any cost.
He nodded to himself dark green eyes staring at the white speckled glass that faced the unseeing would outside, he could nearly feel the chill of the autumn winds wrapping around his body. Then stood and pulled on a pair of worn tennis shoes, as well as some ancient striped gray and white socks, the pair he'd found in the back of Dursley's closet.
The lad had quite the time of finding his floo powder, it was a small amount that Mrs.Weasley had given him for her own motherly-precautionary reasons, and he had really never thought it would come in handy. The substance itself was contained in a small red pouch with golden string, tiny outlines of containing runes hand embroidered into the front and back, each resting dead center of the fabric.
Trust a Weasley to give you something you never knew you would need.
Harry pulled his fathers cloak from his trunk, allowing the slick material to run over the edges of his boxy fingertips, it was smooth just as if made of silk, but stronger than any wool.
He pulled it over his body, it did cover him but he had the firm suspicion that his trio's midnight treks into trouble would be limited to single-person adventures from now on.
The young man left his room, closing his door, quickly making his way one of the nearly abandoned rooms in the house. Luckily for Harry neither of his godfathers had any use for this room, and seemed to in fact, despise it.
The area itself was wide, with one thin metal bed tucked against the farthest wall, dark russet paint peeling off at the edges, small faded patches of black visible through the sloppy top coat.
Harry stood before the large, dark red stone fireplace, taking his pouch in hand he removed the required amount and then took a deep breath, throwing it down and stepping inside.
"Forest House in Remington!" he shouted closing his eyes as the push of magic enveloped his body, a cracking noise sweeping over his cloak as he disappeared.
Harry had the distinct feeling that Sirius was going to murder him for this little stunt.
The rush of soot covered his body, as he was pushed out of the houses fireplace. It was warm in the room, worn furniture and books visible, he could nearly guess that the potions room and experiment area were somewhere in one of the other rooms.
Oh yes, he was definitely dead.
Harry took a deep breath, allowing the invisibility cloak to fall over the leather couch after he had removed it, putting away his floo powder into his left jean pocket. The young man made his way into the cottage, it was large, well at least it was for only one person living there, the living room containing a chair, the couch previously mentioned and several large tables with different organized herbs. But this was not the potions room, no Severus always kept the brewing potions in another area so that the ingredients didn't mix in a way that he couldn't control.
Knowing such Harry searched further, coming to another room, this one was dimmer, lit by candles, a tall dark clothed figure standing on the opposite side of the room.
"Potter, I do not appreciate being stared at. Say your piece and leave. I suspect that the two mongrels are currently enraged at your disappearance. " Severus spoke, not even bothering to glance up from his brewing potion, long agile fingers dropping several pinches of Mulberry root into the souring swirling lime green concoction.
The boy suspected he was brewing some Sleeping Draught, or maybe one of its many variants, he couldn't tell by smell, so he knew he would never really know.
Harry repressed the surging amount of irritation that shot through his brain as if a painful arrow. Drawing in a deep scuttling breath.
" Does that really matter at all too you Severus?" he questioned, not bothering for Severus to answer, taking the ancient rickety chair that rested on the opposite side of the table.
Severus kept his face carefully cold, ink colored eyes drawn only to the potion, avoiding Harry's eyes seemingly, at all costs. The boy noticed, carefully watching as his Potions Master drew a long wooden spoon, carefully stirring the oddly strawberry scented potion, three flicks of the wrist to the right, then seven to the left.
" Why are you doing this?" Harry spoke staring at the other man, green eyes seeming to darken slightly as his voice gained a carefully cultivated tone. If Severus had noticed, Harry thought he might nearly be proud, but it's seemed as if a glazed sort of haze was now permanently attached to the elder man's mind.
"Well as you know Potter, I am a Potions Master, it is my love as well as my duty to work with the things for which I have spent most of my life trying to learn everything about." Severus gave a frigid reply, turning away and straightening himself.
"You know damn well I didn't mean that, you haven't been talking to anyone. Not me, not even Dumbledore!" Harry spat fury seeping into his tone, the discontented air lofting up into his speech as he felt his mind attach to the feelings of resentment for the adult man standing a mere foot away from him.
"I am doing what is correct for me to do, though, that is something I doubt you understand." Severus replied, closing his eyes, then turning to face the young man. His taller body was drawn straight, attempting to present the image of a statue; Harry had to repress the urge to laugh. He was no longer afraid of Severus Snape, Harry no longer feared much in the way of men.
"Liar, you're doing this because you're afraid." He spoke allowing the venom of his inner turmoil to seep into his speech, eyes narrowing behind his golden-framed glasses.
Severus opened his eyes and gave a firm glare to the boy. "What did you just accuse me of boy?" he put down the spoon on the side table, which his cauldron was currently boiling upon.
"Your lying, your hiding from something, its wearing you down and driving you bloody mad!" Harry shouted, moving forward to push his point more openly, hair mussed and falling just over the tips of his glasses.
"You foolish little child, you don't have any idea of what you speak." He gave a quite snarling reply, glaring darkly, at the young man that stood before him.
"You do not know what it is like to have everything I am, all the lies, the spite, slowly being stripped away. You foolish moronic minute creature, go back where you belong!" he gave his last snarling words, shivering and turned away.
"This is were I belong Severus, even if you don't want to see it, you and I are much more alike than you'd ever want." Harry gained a sort of corrupted smirk at that last comment, the pit of darkness that was inclined to his own soul twisting in a fit of satisfaction with the older mans despairing glare.
" I don't fit in with the other wizards anymore; they worship me as if I'm some sort of damn god." Harry replied, his voice, cooling for a moment, as if something had just crossed his mind. "I don't belong with them. I haven't done a damn thing for any of them, all I've tried to do is survive."
The younger man moved forward, wrapping his arms around Severus's back pulling him close with the entrapping cage of his arms. Severus became very stiff, nearly straight as a board of wood, trembling as the unseen magic he himself had set in place, swept away his free will.
"Let me go boy." Severus's voice was strained at best, Harry knew this, it was evident in the shivering sort of pained bliss the others body had gained when they touched.
"Please Harry…let me go." Severus, long delicate fingers curled into his palms, Harry was curious if they were cold, or warmed by their constant movement over his potions. It appeared as if they might have been cutting into his palm.
"No. Not anymore Severus. Not anymore." Harry could hear himself speak; it was a monotone that he was not familiar with, some abnormal sorrow etching its way into his manner.
Severus's eyes tilted downwards staring into an unfathomable abyss that Harry could not see, then closed in a snapping motion so quick that the black irises disappeared as if they had never been revealed in the first place.
He turned to stare at the boy, ink colored eyes loosing their glower, claiming dispassion, his hand moving and forming a fist. Severus became ruthless punching Harry in the face, blood spouting from his nose, running downward from the broken slide that was the younger mans nose.
The boy's head snapped backward with the swift vicious motion, his body moving with it, long legs unsteady as he swayed, shock viciously apparent.
Harry reeled back, eyes wide and utterly betrayed as the taller man punched him yet again in the stomach, pain and breath rushing out of his lungs. His smaller body, unused to such abuse, curled into itself slightly in an unconscious movement to protect itself from further damage.
Severus gave no mercy, he as he was never inclined, as he battered the teenager. His fist turning downward to place another well-aimed blow into the boys gut. With that movement, he knocked him into the wall just behind them. The painful scrape of rough dungeon wall scratching through Harry's cloak, no doubt more blood would flow there.
"Get out before I do worse, you piece of mud-blood garbage." Severus's voice snarled out, his hand lowering to his side for a moment, a cool sneer seemingly unable to keep away from his features.
Harry's eyes widened filling with an uncontained rage, fear disappearing in an instant, his own fist forming and slinging into the Potions Masters face. The younger man then spoke with an unrefined spat of indigent ire.
"Fine don't bother speaking to me ever again, Snape." The lad made haste, leaving the dungeons in a swirl of wool fabric and dark brown hair, invisibility cloak left forgotten on the table, which he had deposited it. He speedily moved down the hallway outside of the cottage, blinded by his fleeting rage.
Severus twisted away, not even bothering to tend to the blood that dripped down his broken lip; he'd endured much worse, and no doubt would again. He lowered his head as the magic from the 'cursed spell' swam in his veins, pain of unimaginable strength and variety pulsing throughout. It was as if his very soul was tearing itself a part, it was murder, the desperation in which careened within him blinding his mental shields with pain.
The elder professor escaped into his back quarters, shuttering depositing himself in a slouch of the last bit of his strength, into his chair. It rested before the cottages ancient fireplace, an antique chair that he'd come to appreciate, and a gift from Dumbledore in fact. It was made of old wood, oak most likely though he'd never really attempted to learn for certain, the seat material a dark robust green which seemed calming.
His hands fell loosely to his either side of his chest and hung down. They moved backward as if a mockery of some fallen seraph that was well relined to its own final destruction.
Long yellow stained fingers spread in an uninhibited movement as they find their resting place beside the chairs edge.
Severus did not move, his eyes staring into the flames of fire that rested just before him, the pain of their heat wrenching outward in a consuming spin of power, devouring his very soul. Although no one, knew this but the silent man whom was now, very much alone.
The silence of the room resounding only with the last snapping break of consciousness that was Severus Snape, several unseen, and unnoticed clear salt tears making their slow trek down his noble face.
"Yes Master. "
It is true that broken glass is like a soul, beautiful, yet it is impossible to make it return to its former state, once shattered. Yet with this truth, one can take two pieces of broken glass, two souls and make something even more beautiful with their combined resonating light.
We as individuals can only hope that if our own souls are destroyed, that some other broken person has the will to try assist us, for no one person can see the beauty inside himself or herself.
This is in fact a flawed wish, no man, nor woman may save such a wretch as me. But then, that is my choice, always, my choice. I face the darkness alone.
S.S.