Chapter 12

"Fuck you, Sirius."

The words slip from the girl's lips like venom from fangs, piercing their target. Black stands paralyzed at the center of the room, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Albus goes pale as chalk, hanging his head low in shame. Good. He should be ashamed.

They are both getting what they deserve: For Black, a goddaughter that has finally realized what a worthless piece of filth he is. For Albus, a savior that has no interest in saving anyone, not even herself.

Your meddling has gone too far this time, old man.

Severus should be laughing, but he's never found anything less funny. He can't stop thinking about that girl. That poor damn girl. He should've stepped in the second that he heard the manipulative edge creep into Albus's voice, and he should've never let that dog lay a hand on her. How had he allowed this to happen?

Black suddenly finds his footing and makes a mad dash toward the door, but Severus is quicker. His wand is out in an instant, sending Black crumpling to the floor with a silent stunning spell, although his fingers itch to cast something much worse.

Black climbs to his feet, growling with rage. A string of spit dangles from his mouth. He turns toward Severus, his wand out, ready to strike.

"Sirius," Albus warns.

But Black is an untamed dog. A flash of red flies like lightning through the air, striking the shield that Severus conjures and bouncing away. His spell collides with the wall, leaving a deep crack in the stone surface.

"Enough!" Albus roars, and the mutt's wand lands in his open palm.

Severus slides his own wand back into his holster. He doesn't need it. His sheer strength will be sufficient. If Black makes another move toward the girl, he may never move again.

"I need to go find Harry," Black moans to the headmaster, inching toward the door.

"No. You need to leave," Severus snarls.

Black glances furiously at Severus and opens his mouth to argue, but Albus cuts him off with a harsh glare.

"Severus is right, Sirius. I think it's best that Harriet get some space for now, so that she can calm down," Albus explains. He turns toward Severus. "Perhaps you should fetch her."

Severus nods.

"She's my goddaughter!" Black whines. "You stay the hell away from her Snivellous!"

"Please go, Sirius. We'll talk later," Dumbledore replies wearily.

Severus strides toward the door, ignoring the mutt's indignant cries. The girl is the only thing on his mind.

The moment that Potter's eyes had turned to stone, her anguish had been clear to him. She'd reached a point in which tears could not capture her emotion. That deliberate expression of steel was one that he recognized. He'd worn it himself many times.

She can only maintain that level of agony for so long before she crumbles, and someone needs to be there when she does. He needs to be there.

"Point me, Harriet Potter," he says, and his wand tip glows and angles toward the ground. His brow furrows.

She's in the dungeons.

Of all the places, he'd thought she'd go, the dungeons had not been on his list. He had expected her to run, maybe even flee into the forbidden forest. But for her to stay here, to not put up a fight, it seems wrong, unsettling even. His stomach churns with apprehension.

Once he reaches the bottom level of the castle, he casts the point me spell again, only to be alerted that the girl is near his quarters. She'd willingly gone back. Why?

He turns the corner and spots Potter hunched near the hidden doorway. She's curled up on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face resting in her hands. She lifts her head briefly, probably sensing his presence, but quickly drops it again, uninterested.

Severus approaches cautiously, afraid she might dart away at any moment. His worries are unwarranted. Even when the entrance emerges from the stone, Potter keeps her face hidden behind a mass of tangled curls. She's like a statue.

"Potter," he says, surprised by how soft his voice sounds. He clears his throat once and peers down at the girl. She hasn't moved.

Nothing with this child can be easy.

"Potter," he says again, sharper this time. "Get up and come inside."

A pair of emerald eyes appear from beneath the dark hair, blinking slowly. She seems dazed for a moment, as if she's not completely aware of her surroundings. Then she pushes herself up slowly from the ground and drifts through the doorway. Her steps are light and clumsy as if she's not even touching the floor. He follows closely behind her, suspecting that she might suddenly collapse.

She sways right by the table full of untouched food, stumbling lazily toward her bedroom. His gaze lingers on the empty plates.

She'd promised him that she would eat. And she hadn't. Again. She'd refused lunch, and he has a sneaking suspicion that she didn't eat any breakfast either.

"Stop."

She stops.

"Turn around."

She turns. Her expression is utterly blank, her eyes dead.

It's like she's under the Imperious curse.

"Sit down," he instructs, pointing to the table.

Potter glances at the food with disinterest. "Not hungry," she mumbles.

"I don't care. Sit."

She sits and slouches forward.

"You need to eat something," he tells her. "Now."

"I said I wasn't hungry," she says, a tinge of irritation to her voice.

The spark is still there. But it is faint.

He's going to have to push her. He knows that, but it still unsettles him. It will not be pleasant. He grits his teeth. It has to be done. This aloof behavior cannot continue. No more suppressing emotion. She has to release it before it turns inward.

"Now, Potter!"

The girl picks up her fork, stabs a chunk of chicken and then stares at it distastefully. She moves the utensil closer to her mouth, her arm frozen in midair as if she's struggling against an unseen force. Even when she manages to reach her mouth, it doesn't open to accept the food. Instead, she drops the fork with a huff and glares up at him. It clatters loudly against the ceramic plate.

"I can't right now." She rests her elbows on the table, tangles her fingers in her hair, and her breaths come quicker.

She's close to the edge. That is clear.

"I'm so tired," she whispers.

Merlin. If only she would cry… That would probably release some pressure. Besides, she's a girl. Isn't that what girls do?

"Eat. Then you can go to sleep."

One side of her nose raises in a snarl. "You know I can't sleep. Not without the potion."

"If you eat, you may have dreamless sleep," he compromises.

It's a few days too early for another dose, but there shouldn't be many negative consequences as long as it doesn't become a habit. After all, the girl needs sleep. Badly.

"I. Can't."

"You can, and you will."

"I'm not fucking hungry, Snape!"

A little farther.

"Language, Potter," he growls.

"I just need to lie down," she whines, wiping a shaking hand against her forehead.

"You need to eat."

"No," she says forcefully, her lip quivering.

C'mon Potter. Let it go.

"Stop acting like a petulant child!"

It's clear that those words have an effect, but not the one he expects.

The girl instantly straightens like a puppet whose strings have been plucked. Her anger fades along with her sorrow. The whole room seems to grow colder.

"I'd like to go to my room now, sir."

"I'm not giving you that potion unless you eat."

She nods and gets up from the table, flitting into her room like a ghost.

The sound of her door closing echoes in his head long after she's left.

A child. You're a child. You're a bloody petulant child! Weak and stupid and pathetic. Everyone knows it. Dumbledore and Sirius and even Snape. Fucking worthless.

Harry shuts her bedroom door and crumples onto the floor. She places a shaky hand over her chest. Her heart is pounding so quickly. Much too quickly. As if it wants to run, but there is nowhere for it to go. It's trapped. So, it does the only thing it can do. It beats and beats and beats.

Her legs are like limp noodles, too numb to support her. They splay out in front of her, one lying awkwardly and uncomfortably. She stares at it, but it doesn't move.

Harry lies there in a heap on the floor with her back resting against the door and breathes. Just breathes. In and out. Sometimes too much in or too much out, but the breaths keep coming anyway.

She listens closely for footsteps. Footsteps are inevitable. Perhaps stomps are more likely.

Snape will come. She's almost sure of it. How could he not? She'd screamed at him, cursed even. She'd broken his rules and been disrespectful. He would never let that go. He would come and punish her. He'd send her away, probably back to the hospital wing. Maybe Dumbledore would even make her go back to the Dursleys.

It's clear she's not wanted here. Or anywhere really. She's a burden.

"They would be so ashamed if they could see you now."

That phrase hasn't stopped ringing in her head since the moment she heard it. But why in Merlin's name does it hurt so much? She doesn't even know her parents. She can't remember them. Why should she even care what they think about her?

Because they're the only ones who ever loved you.

She'd only seen one picture of their little family of three, but she'd recognized that bright twinkle in their eyes when they'd held her. It was the same twinkle she saw in Aunt Petunia's eyes when she looked at Dudley. They had loved her, really truly loved her.

But if they were here now, if they could meet her, they wouldn't. Her mother would look at her with the same scornful glare she'd received from her Aunt. They would hate her.

And that fucking hurts.

Harry places her palms on the floor and crawls forward. She shuffles toward the end of her bed and throws open the lid of her trunk, digging frantically for the worn photo album. It's near the bottom, tucked safely away. She hoists the leather book out of the box and flops herself down on the rug. Her fingers fumble through pages. There is that one particular picture. She needs to see it.

It's near the end. Her breath hitches when she turns the page and spots it. That look. It's there, irrefutable proof of their love. A beautiful woman with sleek auburn hair stares down at her sleeping baby. She's glowing with happiness. Her smile is blinding. She rocks the baby back and forth, her touch gentle against the messy scruff of black hair on the infant's head. A bespectacled man stands behind her, one arm on her shoulder, and grins down at the both of them. He looks so proud.

Harry gulps. She slips the photograph out of the album and clasps it securely against her chest. Her weary body curls into a ball, but her trembling doesn't stop. She can't make it stop. Even with her eyes shut, all she can see is that look.

And then that look changes.

Behind her eyes, her mother and father's gazes go blank. The baby disappears. Instead, a tattered version of herself appears. The battered, broken girl falls to her knees in front of them, silently pleading for help. Lily and James scowl at her. Then, just as she'd done that night in the dream, her mother begins to spit harsh words.

"You disgust me." her rosy lips curl into a sneer. "You deserve this. You're trash. You're worthless."

Harry winces and opens her eyes, but that doesn't stop the burning pain radiating through her body.

"Stop. Stop," she whispers desperately, dropping the picture, and curling her hands around her head. She writhes on the floor, kicking her feet, trying to make the images stop. But only one thing can ever stop them: Dreamless Sleep. And Snape won't give it to her.

She's so damn tired, but she can't let her eyes close. Not now. Not with those scathing glares ready to assault her.

She needs that bloody potion. She needs it more than anything.

He's in the sitting room, nursing a bottle of fire whiskey when Albus steps through the floo.

"Severus," he says, greeting him with a terse nod, his eyes lingering a moment too long on the half-filled bottle.

He doesn't bother to nod back. Instead, he glares at the older man, the events of the afternoon flooding his mind.

"Why would you do that?" he blurts before the headmaster has even sat down.

Decorum be damned.

Albus stares down at him with regret. "I had no idea Sirius would react that way."

A mirthless laugh escapes him. "I don't believe that. You know Black has always been a loose cannon."

"He expressed genuine care for Harriet. I thought if he knew about the suicide attempt, maybe she could open up to him about the assault," Albus explains. "He was supposed to support her, not ridicule her."

"Black is not stable enough to take care of himself, let alone care for a child. It was a foolish plan," he hisses.

"I'm doing my best, Severus. Harriet cannot continue this way. She's already exhibiting signs of magical instability."

"Of course, she is! She's been traumatized!" He develops a powerful urge to rise to his feet, but his legs are too numb and wobbly to cooperate.

"And without a support system, she's likely to destroy herself," Albus explains condescendingly.

How dare he stand here and talk down to me…

"You can't force support on someone," he growls. "She obviously wasn't ready to talk about what happened. She has to heal at her own pace."

"We don't have time for that, Severus. Voldemort is growing stronger every day. He will come for her again, and in this state, she wouldn't stand a chance against him. In fact, she'd probably be glad to jump in the way of the killing curse."

"And that is partially your fault!"

"I've only been trying to help her, to make her stronger."

Severus scoffs. "Making her feel guilty for being miserable is not helpful." He takes another swig of the whiskey, enjoying the burn. "Perhaps if you had an actual conversation with her, not guided by some agenda, you'd realize what she really wants."

"And what is that, Severus?"

"She wants comfort, but she doesn't think she deserves it," he replies automatically. "She's constantly at war with herself, trying to decide how to manipulate everyone else into believing she's not wounded. Her behavior is positively Slytherin."

The alcohol must have loosened his tongue. He hadn't meant to add that last bit.

"Sirius could have provided her with comfort," Albus argues.

A vision of Potter from the hospital wing flits in front of his eyes. He watches as the girl involuntarily shrinks back from Black's affection yet stares at him with longing when he turns away. The desperation is clear on her little pale face.

"And as I said, she doesn't believe she deserves it. Just the thought of being around Black nearly made her sick. And the way he reacted to her only confirmed what she already believed. She will continue to reject any consoling behavior until she comes to term with her own feelings."

"So, what do you suggest I do?"

Oh, Now, you want my opinion.

"Stop with the manipulation. She is a child. You should've never burdened her with information about the prophecy in the first place. If you protect her properly, she shouldn't need to face the Dark Lord again until she is a well-trained and mentally healthy adult."

"But she has to be ready soon," Albus interjects. "She needs to garner the support of her classmates. She has to be the leader of this war. She has to convince them that Voldemort has returned."

"Do. Not. Push. Her," he warns. "If she doesn't want to tell the story, that is her decision. Eventually, there will be no question of the Dark Lord's return with or without her testimony."

The old man is quiet for several minutes, thinking carefully. "I suppose you're right, Severus." He sighs. "I truly regret how things turned out. I didn't wish to hurt her."

"I know. But your apologies do not condone your actions."

The old man nods contritely. He's quiet for a moment, his eyes fixating again on the bottle beside Severus. "How is she?" He finally asks.

She's a walking bundle of misery. What the hell do you expect?

"Not well. She's been holed up in her room for the last several hours."

"That's good. I think she needs the rest."

Severus scoffs. "Oh, I highly doubt she's sleeping."

The headmaster gives him a puzzled look.

"Apparently, she can't sleep without the aid of a potion. Her nightmares are too overwhelming."

"Ahh…" He says, adjusting his spectacles.

"She can't go on like this for much longer. Those memories are draining the life out of her. Something has to be done."

Maybe I should just obliviate her… She probably wouldn't want to top herself if she couldn't even remember her own name.

No. Not obliviate… But maybe- The gears in his brain spin wildly.

"I think we should take her memories of that night," he interjects, cutting off Albus's reply.

"What?"

"Potter's memories. She can't function properly with them. They're too intense. What if we took them?"

Yes. That could work. The girl would remember the events, but only the events. All the sensations and small details of that night would be muted as if they'd happened in a dream. Maybe she would have a chance of functioning normally again.

"That has never been done."

"We've both removed memories temporarily to study them in the pensieve. You know it helps clear the mind. It could help her!"

"It's an interesting idea, Severus." His tone is off. There is a hesitant quality to it. He's definitely holding something back.

Severus feels his eyes narrow instinctively.

"But you don't want to do it," he states plainly. "Why?"

Albus offers him a sad smile. "I know it's painful for her, but I think Harriet will need those memories. Her desire to get revenge will only strengthen her resolve against Voldemort."

You know I hate that name…

"She can take them back at any time," he says through gritted teeth. "Removing them could help her heal."

The old man stares at his palms for a long while, apparently lost in thought. Eventually, he speaks again. "You may explain the alternative to Ms. Potter. If she agrees, you may take the memory and bring it to me. I will keep it safe until she's ready to take it back."

After a bit more stilted conversation, most of which Severus ignores, the headmaster bids him goodnight, leaving him alone in the dark room. For a long while, Severus stares into the fire, contemplating the night's events. Then he twists a cap back on his bottle and tucks it away, deciding he better get some sleep.

The hallway shifts around him unpleasantly as he walks, but he refuses to grip the wall for support. Severus Snape does not stumble. He is far too composed for such things. He holds his head up, smirking slightly. But then he sees it.

The door to his study is partially open. Only a slim crack is visible between the door and the wall, but it is there, and that tiny fissure of air between the two surfaces tells him all he needs to know. His breath comes out in a hiss. Someone has been in his lab, and they were worried enough about disturbing him that they hadn't allowed the door to latch properly.

Potter!

He suppresses a howl of fury. He specifically told the girl never to enter his study without his permission. She had disobeyed him. And there would be consequences. Yes. That girl better be ready for them.

He flings the door open and stomps inside. One quick scan of the room reveals nothing out of the ordinary. But that is to be expected. Potter isn't stupid enough to leave a trail. He checks his vast supply of potions. That's likely what the girl had been after. The massive quantity of vials makes it nearly impossible to determine whether anything is missing, and his slightly blurred vision doesn't help.

Dreamless Sleep. That is the only potion that she would be desperate enough to take. She must have snuck out of her room, noticed he was preoccupied with the headmaster, and decided she could steal from him. He mumbles something under his breath about idiot Gryffindor brats and pulls the door closed behind him.

That's when the screaming starts.

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