Chapter Four -
Fractured and vacant, I stand before you,
Benighted by fate's callous providence
If Harry could have gone back two minutes into the past, just to rescind his impetuous reply, he would have. The instant those truthful words had fallen from his lips, he knew he'd made a mistake. It was evident from the other boy's sharp intake of breath and the widening of his anxious, ebony eyes, alerting Harry to the seriousness of the situation; Snape had not reacted well to his honest response.
Snape continued to stare at Harry with a stunned expression on his pale features. Undisguised fear and panic emanated from the enigmatic depths of his dark eyes, leaving Harry feeling pained and breathless.
After a tense moment of prolonged stasis, Snape's trembling hand relinquished its tight hold on the feather pendant. Obsidian eyes maintained their unwavering focus into apprehensive grey ones even as their owner took several unsteady steps backwards, withdrawing from Harry. Their intense reciprocal gaze ended only when Snape spun around and raced from the common room.
"Severus! Wait! Please... I... I'm sorry..." Harry cried out, but it was in vain. Snape had already made his precipitous retreat.
"Damn it!" he cursed, furious with himself for his monumental foolishness. He never should have disclosed so much, so soon. Of course Snape would be unnerved by a total stranger telling him that he'd done something he had no recollection of doing.
Harry winced when he remembered the nervous, vulnerable look on Snape's face while he was examining the raven feather. He looked so open… so exposed… and there was such an honest, almost innocent expression in his dark eyes.
One that Harry had destroyed in an instant, leveled to the ground by a few poorly chosen words.
Harry threaded his fingers through his hair, scraping his nails along his scalp in agitation as he considered his next move. He thought of going after Snape. Maybe he could mend the damage caused by his rash confession if he had the opportunity to explain. But explain what, exactly? It had been the truth.
Despite his escalating frustration and his desire to put things right, he resigned himself to wait. Snape would return at some point and, after all, Harry did have time. He would be spending an entire month here.
For now, he secured his backpack over his shoulder and made his way down the narrow stretch of corridor branching out from the main room, in search of the seventh-year boys' dormitory. He found it easily and, once inside, had little trouble locating his assigned four-poster. Out of all five beds in the small space, his was the only one without a garish green and silver bedspread. A simple khaki-colored comforter was set atop his bed, embellished by a few dark green pillows and a beige throw.
An amused simper curved Harry's lips as he reflected on the variance, almost positive it was Dumbledore's contribution. He was certain the man was insightful enough to know a fellow Gryffindor when he saw one. The conspicuous lack of Slytherin flamboyance on the bed was a testament to that.
Harry directed his gaze to the foot of his bed where a brand new school trunk had been placed, the initials of his newly-fabricated name inscribed on the front in gold lettering. He opened the heavy chest and marveled at its teeming contents. Inside was everything he would need for his impromptu stay. The topmost layer consisted of various textbooks, a number of potion-making ingredients, two heavy cauldrons, one pair of dragon-hide gloves, a few quills and several rolls of parchment. Harry dug further and found an extra set of school robes, along with several articles of casual clothing and a small bag filled with personal items.
At the very bottom of the case, a glimmer of silvery material caught his eye. Harry seized the fluid cloth and pulled it out, staring at it in wonder. His other hand reached around to feel the back pocket of his jeans. When he couldn't find it, he remembered that his clothes had been transfigured into school robes earlier. The cloak and the Hawthorn wand must have been left behind in the Headmaster's office.
Frantically, Harry searched the rest of the trunk, rifling through the remaining items until at last, he found the missing wand. Breathing an enormous sigh of relief, he pulled it out. While repacking the trunk, he found an envelope addressed to him that he hadn't noticed earlier.
Inside were two pieces of folded parchment. Harry opened the first one which contained rows of familiar, narrow and loopy handwriting.
Dear Mr. Skye,
I hope you will find the contents of this trunk more than adequate to sustain your sojourn with us. In addition to those items you requested, I took the liberty of returning to you the two objects you left in my office. I caution you to be most careful with one of those items in particular, Mr. Skye, for I believe its significance is paramount.
Enclosed with this letter is your course schedule. Considering your goal while staying here, I took it upon myself to assign you the mirror of Severus' schedule. I daresay it should prove quite a challenge, as young Severus always opts for a rigorous course load.
If you should need anything at all, please do not hesitate to seek my assistance. Severus is an exceptional young man, and his welfare is of the utmost importance to me. I wish you luck as you endeavor to safeguard his future.
Prior to your departure from my office, you had asked me how it would be possible to save Severus if you are unable to reveal details regarding his impending attack. To that I can only offer one piece of advice...
...follow your heart.
The simplicity of this counsel may not alleviate your distress right now, but there may come a time when its meaning will inspire understanding.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion after reading the Headmaster's ambiguous advice... follow your heart. He couldn't imagine how he could find the answer to Severus' survival in those three simple words. He sighed in discontent, placed the letter back into the envelope and unfolded the second piece of parchment containing his course schedule.
Monday, Wednesday and Friday:
8:00-9:50am – Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts
10:00-11:50am – Advanced Ancient Runes
12:30-2:20pm – Advanced Potions
2:30-4:20pm – Advanced Arithmancy
Tuesday and Thursday:
8:00-9:50am – Advanced Charms
10:00-11:50am – Advanced Transfiguration
12:30-2:20pm – Elective Potions - Mastery Prep
2:30-3:20pm – Care of Magical Creatures
3:30-4:20pm – Advanced Herbology
8:30-9:50pm – Advanced Astronomy
"Holy shit, Snape!" he exclaimed, gaping at the near impossible workload. The last time he had seen a schedule this demanding it had been during his third year, and Hermione had only managed it with the aid of a time-turner.
Harry scanned the itinerary again to make certain there were no overlapping classes and was relieved to note that they obeyed the constraints of time. His eyes went back to the second of two Potions classes, Elective Potions - Mastery Prep.
"Oh, bloody hell. How am I supposed to maintain appearances in that class?"
The very idea of taking a Mastery Potions class made him qualmish with dread. The only time he had ever excelled in Potions was when he was in possession of the Half-Blood Prince's textbook. Since the book in question was currently with its rightful owner, and that particular person was not even speaking to him at the moment, he supposed his chances for academic success in that subject were not good.
Harry's stomach twisted even further when his attention was drawn to the two courses he had never even studied before: Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Harry hoped that Snape would warm up to him soon; it was clear he was in way over his head.
Disregarding the daunting schedule for the time being, Harry focused on those basic needs he'd been neglecting all day... or more truthfully... all year. He was in desperate need of food and sleep. Even more pressing than either of those necessities though, was his fervent desire for a hot, thorough shower.
The Headmaster may have been successful in ridding him of the overt layers of blood and grime staining his skin, but he still felt their vile presence. He yearned to expel the vestiges of Snape's struggle with death, even if all that remained of the ordeal was a lingering memory.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
Harry spent more than half an hour shampooing his hair and scrubbing his skin under the scalding spray. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed such a luxury. Walking back to the dorms, he marveled at his perfect eyesight, recalling how annoying it had been to make his way out of the steamy bathroom with fogged up glasses.
The inviting sight of his bed tempted him to give in to his crippling exhaustion and crawl into his four-poster, but Harry resisted, reminding himself that he needed to eat first. He rummaged through his trunk, pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a pale blue t-shirt and got dressed.
Spying a mirror hanging on the inside of the dormitory door, he took a moment to comb his wet hair, a task that had never been easier. The long, wavy brown locks were much more compliant than his unruly, ebony mop had ever been.
Resolving not to lose track of his possessions again, he added the invisibility cloak and the Hawthorn wand to his bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and made his way out of Slytherin territory.
The Great Hall was devoid of its typical commotion. Harry stopped by the Gryffindor table before catching his mistake and redirecting his course. The Slytherin table, like the other three, was also empty so he surmised that the Quidditch match must still be in progress. Still, there was a chance that Snape might turn up.
Luck was not on Harry's side, however. He ate his meal in solitude since Snape never appeared. The only soul in attendance was a bedraggled, mangy cat that looked like it could be a progenitor of Mrs. Norris. The unkempt creature leapt onto the Slytherin table and gave Harry's fish and chips an eager sniff before he shooed it away.
After spending far longer than necessary picking at the cooling remains of his lunch, Harry abandoned his pointless vigil. Once again, he considered giving up his search for Snape altogether in favor of submerging himself in the warmth of his new bed, but decided against it. The match would be ending soon. If he could just locate Snape before the students returned, perhaps he could have some time alone with him to set things right.
Harry left the Great Hall and strolled out into the grounds. His first thought was to check the beech tree near the Black Lake. He recalled from his rash excursion into the pensieve during his final disastrous Occlumency lesson, that Snape was partial to studying near that tree. Perhaps he frequented that section of the grounds. After all, it was a popular place to study. He, Ron and Hermione too had spent many afternoons under the shade of the same beech tree preparing for exams.
There was no one there, so Harry proceeded to scour the entire periphery of the lake, but again was unsuccessful. Snape was nowhere to be found.
His next idea took him to the Owlery. Of course, he had no idea if Snape would have kept his Chatham raven with the school owls, but it was at least worth a try. He was halfway to the Owlery when a distinctive caw, very unlike an owl's tranquil hoot and very like the sound a raven would make, issued from just beyond the Forbidden Forest's edge.
Changing his mind, Harry hastened toward the source of the noise. As he drew closer to the boundary of the forest, he could discern two voices beyond the first fringe of towering trees. After pausing to grab his cloak and throw it over himself, he continued his approach.
Just beyond a thick patch of dense wood, he came upon a clearing where the voices grew louder and more distinguishable, one unique voice resonating farther than the other.
"I'm tellin' yeh, Sev'rus. Yeh should give him a chance. Go back an' talk ter the boy. I reckon yeh could do with a friend. It just ain't right... yeh spendin' all yer time studyin' and lookin' after the thestrals."
"He was being deliberately deceptive, Hagrid... concealing his identity. For all I know he was a Death Eater on orders to recruit me."
"Oh come on, Sev'rus. Yeh know Dumbledore wouldn' let filth like tha' go ter Hogwarts."
"Yes... I suppose."
Harry listened to their conversation and watched the surreal scene with rapt attention. He never would have imagined this... Hagrid and Snape... engaged in friendly conversation. It reminded him of all those times he, Ron and Hermione had spent with the half-giant in his time.
Harry fixed his gaze upon Snape who was seated underneath a lofty tree and leaning back against its trunk. Snape's shoes were off and the cuffs of his trousers rolled up, exposing pale, slender ankles. Harry smiled as he watched Snape dig his toes into the earth, uprooting great clumps of dirt and driving them forward, creating long streaks in the soil.
Again, the caw sounded, reverberating throughout the hollows amid the forest's glade. Harry searched the skies for what sounded like a great bird, but snapped his focus back to Snape when the boy emitted a succinct clicking sound with his tongue.
Soon, a huge raven, its wing span at least three feet in length, emerged from within the thicket beyond and settled onto Snape's outstretched arm.
"An' yeh spend too much time with Solus, if yeh ask me," Hagrid added in a reproving tone. "A boy yer age should be makin' friends instead o' hangin' ou' with his familiar. Don' suppose yeh've spent time with anyone since... well, since Lily."
"Yes, well... perhaps I am better off alone, considering how well that friendship turned out," Snape said, a note of bitterness in his voice.
"Sev'rus, just go back an' talk ter the new boy. Here's yer chance ter make friends with someone who's not linin' up ter join You-Know-Who. And yeh said he seemed interested in meetin' yeh..."
"What I said was that he seemed overly interested in meeting me. I don't know if I can trust him. He... he told me something that... that can't be true..."
"Well, whatever he told yeh couldn' be so bad tha' yeh ignore him and run off like tha'," Hagrid admonished, "Yeh're better than tha'."
Snape seemed affected by the scolding. He lowered his head as if in shame and gave a deep sigh.
Silence ensued as Snape stroked the lustrous black feathers of the raven on his forearm. Hagrid busied himself with pulling out huge chunks of raw meat from an enormous burlap sack and flinging them into the clearing.
"Well, tha' should do it. They'll be comin' fer sure with tha' lot."
Soon, Harry heard rustling sounds amongst the trees on either side of him and after a moment, several scaly, black creatures emerged.
The thestrals were cautious, approaching the offered meat with tentative steps. Once they began consuming the food, Harry saw a smaller head peer out from behind the dense trees. The creature stepped forward, shy and frail-looking, but maintained a cautionary distance from the others.
"There she is, Hagrid," Snape whispered, a smile lighting up his thin face as he gestured toward the horse-like beast.
Hagrid pulled a large glass bottle from a leather satchel around his neck. The container was filled with a dull glaucous-green liquid, thick and glutinous in appearance. He unstoppered the bottle and poured half of the viscid fluid into a pail set beside the burlap sack.
"Yeh give it ter her this time, Sev'rus. I have ter see abou' tha' injured unicorn. Yeh'll be alrigh' by yerself?"
"I always am."
A sorrowful look crossed Hagrid's face at Snape's response, but he said no more. Sighing deeply, he swung his now empty sack over his shoulder and left the clearing, disappearing within a mass of dense trees.
Snape ascended from his semi-reclined position under the tree, clicked his tongue again and launched the raven into the air with a swift upwards swing of his arm. He walked to the pail, picked it up and with slow, careful steps, approached the timid thestral.
Despite his caution, she seemed pleased to see him. Her head lifted as he drew near her and she spread her wings in a show of greeting and trust. As soon as Snape set the pail in front of her, she lowered her head and began to drink the thick concoction.
"There you go, girl. All of it this time, alright?" Snape murmured, his hand stroking her long, squamous neck while she drank, "We have to keep your strength up. It should be be any day now."
Harry watched as Snape's hand travelled down the thestral's back and then lower, touching her round, distended belly. It was only then that he realized the creature was expecting.
Snape continued his attentions. He knelt down beside the thestral and, with gentle hands, applied firm pressure to different parts of her swollen abdomen, as if checking that the unborn foul was positioned correctly. He gave a nod of satisfaction and returned to stand beside her while she finished her meal.
Harry wasn't even aware that he had taken off his cloak or that he had begun to inch closer to them. He was enthralled by the sight... and astonished by what he had just heard and seen. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he had an altogether different expectation of how the teenage Severus Snape would act. He assumed that the boy would be angry, bitter, hostile – much like the adult Snape. He imagined Snape to be immersed in the Dark Arts, eager to take the Dark Mark and join Voldemort.
The past few minutes were enough to convince Harry that he had been wrong. Wrong about everything concerning Snape.
"You're... so good with her." Harry whispered as he drew nearer.
Snape spun around, his eyes widening as he stared at Harry. After a moment, he returned his attention to the thestral. He said nothing as he stroked her back, yet Harry could see the tension constricting his features.
After a long pause, Snape finally spoke.
"You can see them?" he questioned, a tentative edge to his voice.
"Oh... thestrals? Yes," Harry replied, "A friend of mine died... was murdered... right in front of me. That was three years ago. I've been able to see them ever since."
Snape did not meet his gaze. His dark eyes remained fixed on the creature who was now nuzzling her skeletal snout into his chest. He only gave a slight nod in response.
"What about you?" Harry pressed.
The muscles along Snape's jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. Harry could almost feel his hesitation. Snape's inner struggle was evident as his tenebrous eyes drifted downward and the depth of his breathing shallowed. At last, he whispered his reply in a tremulous tone, still staring at the earthen floor.
"My mother. She... had an accident. I was twelve."
He looked up and his eyes, sentient with profound sorrow, locked with Harry's. There was a tenuous yearning for understanding reflected in the dark, cavernous depths.
Harry's heart clenched as he continued to stare into the shadowy orbs. A deep, hollow ache gripped him, and he blurted out the awful question before he could stop himself.
"It... it was your father. Wasn't it?"
Again, Harry knew he had gone too far when Snape's features changed at once, his open, vulnerable expression transforming into fear. He spun away from Harry, grabbed his shoes and ran from the glade without looking back.
Cursing, Harry snatched up his backpack and cloak and sprinted after him, determined not to lose the Slytherin again. He followed Snape through the thick wood and past the forest's fringe, calling out his name.
When he reached the open expanse of the grounds, Harry stopped abruptly and gasped. His eyes widened and his knees felt weak as he stared, open mouthed, at the scene in front of him.
Snape had halted his insistent flight. He stood paralyzed, a venomous leer of loathing etched on his features as he glared at the two boys facing him.
Sirius Black and James Potter had their wands trained on him, the gleaming Quidditch Cup lying forgotten on the grass beside them. Snape's long fingers were curled around his wand which hung loose at his side, his shoes haphazardly discarded alongside his bare feet.
"Well, well, well, look who we have here, James. It's Snivellus," Sirius taunted, a nasty, feverish look in his eyes.
Harry felt sick as Snape's memory from the pensieve came back to him in sharp clarity. The Gryffindors had pursued Snape then, too, taunting him to lessen their boredom. The similarity between this moment and that one was uncanny.
Harry reached into his bag and pulled the Hawthorn wand from its depths while he watched the scene evolve.
"Care to tell us what you were just doing in the Forbidden Forest? That's off limits, Snivelly," James added in a haughty tone. "I'm afraid I'll have to assume you were up to no good. Inventing Dark spells, were you? Or maybe you were just practicing the Unforgivable Curses..."
"He wasn't!" Harry spoke up as he approached the trio and moved to stand next to the Snape. Despite his oppressive anxiety, the Hawthorn wand remained steady in his fingers as he aimed it at the boy who would one day become his father.
"He was with Hagrid. He wasn't doing anything wrong," Harry insisted, his voice stable and calm, contrasting with his escalating emotions.
"Oh look, James! A new snake!" Sirius sneered, "And he's already hanging around with this slime. No doubt he's as Dark is Sinvellus. Let's teach him a lesson, shall we?"
An infinitesimal movement from James caught Harry's eye even though he was staring at Sirius. The incantation to the defensive spell was out of his mouth before the incoming jinx had been articulated to completion.
"Levicorp–"
"Protego!"
Harry's impenetrable barrier encompassed Snape and himself, the curse rendered impotent as it ricocheted from the protective boundary. When his shield dissipated, Harry stared at the Gryffindors. Their expressions were twisted in fury and frustration, and once again, he managed to divine the ensuing curse.
"Furnuncul–"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
James Potter hit the ground with a resounding thud. He lay stiff and paralyzed beside the Quidditch trophy, his eyes wide with shock. Sirius dropped his wand and lunged at Harry with a howl of fury, fists tightly balled and knuckles white with rage.
"Protego!"
It was Snape this time. His face was taut with concentration as he struggled to prolong the spell. Sirius slammed into the protection's periphery and fell in an undignified heap across James' still immobilized form.
When Snape released the protection, Harry approached his father and godfather, feeling a bizarre mixture of sadness and anger. He knelt down and leaned in so that only they could hear him, and issued a cautionary threat they would not soon forget.
"Padfoot and Prongs... I know you. I know the vile bullies that you are now, and I know the men of honor you will one day become. You have goodness in your hearts, yet you waste your energy on taunts and jeers, predatory jinxes and hexes. There is a war going on... every day people are dying... and you occupy your time with trivial grudges. You two're better than this. Grow up... and leave Severus and me alone."
Rising, Harry turned around to look for Snape, but the Slytherin was gone. Harry could just make him out in the distance nearing the front doors of the castle. He sighed in frustration and then returned his attention to the dazed visages of James and Sirius, offering them one last bit of advice.
"Oh, and by the way, you Marauders should really consider tidying up after yourselves following your little monthly adventures. The Shrieking Shack looks like shit."
Harry smirked as their mouths dropped open, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Ignoring their stunned expressions and irate stammering, he picked up his bag, hoisted it over his shoulder and made his way back to the castle.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
When Harry returned to the Slytherin seventh-year dorms, he could not find Snape anywhere. Rather than resuming the arduous task of hunting for him all over Hogwarts, he opted for sleep at last.
Overwhelmed and exhausted, he gave in to slumber's relentless lure, sinking into the warm, inviting bed. His mind, fraught with unremitting agitation and stress, slowly lost its tight hold on reality, as he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o - o -
It was dark when Harry awoke, eyes blinking open and feeling rather disoriented and apprehensive, his fingers groping for his wand. His sleep had been so sound that he wasn't sure where he was at first, his confused bearings flitting between Shell Cottage and the worn tent that he and his friends had called home for so many dreary months.
When the events of the past day came back to him, Harry froze. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself, breathing heavily as a torrent of memories rushed over him, dragging him into a whirlpool of profound relief, heart rending grief, crippling anxiety and provisional hope, until at last, he surfaced with his heart racing and adrenaline flowing through him, while the foremost desperate concern of saving Snape's life took precedence.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Harry opened his eyes, familiar determination stealing through him. He blinked to clear away the vestiges of sleep from his eyes and took belated stock of his surroundings. He didn't know what time it was, but the sounds of light snoring and deep breathing told him that the other beds were occupied and that it had to be late at night – seventh-year students weren't known for getting to bed early, especially with NEWTs just around the corner.
Although the room was tranquil and quiet, Harry felt uncomfortable, sensing a ubiquitous tension in the air. Something was not right.
He sat up, hand going to the nightstand to reach for his glasses in an autonomous motion before remembering that he didn't need them and wouldn't need them for the next month. Dismissing for the moment the vague idea of finding Dumbledore to learn that useful spell, Harry pulled open the silver hangings surrounding his four-poster and peered around the room.
The darkness pressed hard against his searching eyes, causing him frustration. He could only make out indistinct blocky shapes that had to be the other beds in the room. After a while, his eyes adjusted enough to the dim surroundings to discern that three of the beds had their hangings open, allowing Harry to see the vague semblences of their pale, nebulous faces, relaxed in sleep.
It was the bed nearest his that had its inhabitant hidden from view, its hangings fastened.
Harry crept out of his four-poster and approached the other bed. He felt a faint pulse of magic radiating just ahead of him, its fringe at the drapery's edge. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the silken silvery material and slowly pulled it aside. What he saw made him freeze in shock.
Snape was screaming. No sound could be heard, but his mouth was wide open and his entire face was screwed up in terror. Tears were streaming down his pale cheeks, his eyelids clamped shut and his dark orbs unseen.
Harry knew his own nightmares were bad, a part of him even wondering if he had ever looked like Snape appeared now, but Snape's seemed far worse. Harry's heart wept for him... for Severus... for this anguished soul... for this boy who had already suffered so much...
Panicked screams became audible, ringing against Harry's eardrums and almost sending him reeling, as he stepped closer and broke through the magicked boundary. He placed a knee on Severus' bed and leaned in towards him. Raising a hesitant hand, he rested it on a flushed, damp cheek, caressing the skin while soothing susurrations fell from his lips.
"Shhh... It's OK now. You're safe. Shhh..."
Harry's gentle touch and whispered words seemed to lessen Severus' distress. The fearful shrieks ceased, but tears continued to slide from his closed lids, his breathing still shallow and timorous.
Almost in a daze, barely conscious of anything except for the burning need to comfort, Harry ran his fingertips along the furrowed brow, lined with unease and pain, and then lower. His thumb swept across the porcelain skin of one cheekbone, trailing through warm tears, smoothing them, spreading them.
His roving fingers were interrupted when a trembling hand grasped his. Harry gasped, thinking that Severus had woken up and was about to hex him for his demonstrative behavior. He made to pull away, but the hand only gripped tighter, tugging at him.
Gulping, his breath coming out in shallow puffs, Harry allowed the desperate urging, leaning closer to the still sleeping boy. Their fingers laced instinctively, making Harry's breath hitch. He was so close now... so close he could feel Severus' breath, warm and insistent, brush against his lips. Harry stared, mesmerized as the heavy creases in Severus' brow smoothed, all tension melting away. The lips, once taut with strain from screaming, softened.
Staring at those lips made Harry's breath falter again, his pulse speeding up. All at once, Severus' intense memory came back to him. Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he remembered the image of the two boys clinging to one another in desperate longing, lips nearly touching, breathing in tandem, gazing into each other's eyes. He swallowed again and took a deep breath to calm his anxiety as a new and frightening awareness stirred in his mind.
He had known that he was Gray... and he had known that Gray and Severus had been in love... but he had never, not even once, allowed himself to put the two truths together. There were too many other issues that were more pressing at that time, such as wondering how he was going to go back in time, how he was going to function in the past for an entire month and how he was going to save Severus.
Now, however, that inexorable fate was undeniable. He could not contest the obvious any longer.
He and Severus were destined to fall in love.
Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes, permitting the inevitability of this fact to permeate his mind and his heart, his entire being. His chest tightened, erratic breathing becoming even more so as he recognized the startling truth of the matter.
He wanted it to happen.
The realization terrified him. His eyes snapped open and he stared down at Severus in utter shock. What was he thinking? He wasn't gay! This was impossible... ridiculous... absurd!
Harry knew he wasn't attracted to boys. His preference had always been girls. First, there was Cho and then there was Ginny. The deprecating thought that a total of two girls wasn't much of a sample size made him press his lips together and soldier on. Fleur Delacour – she too had roused his interest on a few occasions.
But not once had Harry ever felt longing for someone of his own sex. The truth of it made him nod to himself. So he couldn't be gay!
Could he?
Frowning, Harry considered the possibility that he could be bisexual, but that didn't make sense either. He just couldn't imagine feeling anything other than platonic interest for another male.
Without realizing it, Harry's gaze travelled back to his and Severus' clasped hands, fingers knitted together like those of lovers. He forced himself to take note of the persistent quiver in every breath he took and the erratic, heightened beat of his heart. Then he pondered the nervous excitement pooling in the pit of his stomach at the feel of Severus' hand clutching his.
They all pointed to one conclusion. Somehow... Harry was attracted to Severus. Even more startling, despite the whirl of confusion inside his head, he longed to see this through, wherever it may lead.
He wanted to know this Severus Snape... this gentle, caring boy who didn't hesitate to tend to the needs of a frail creature... who stood in the face of a bully, his wand at his side, only drawing it in defense... who worried about the possibility of Death Eaters trying to recruit him... who cried out in agony, haunted by the ghosts of childhood demons.
Harry knew that it sounded crazy, that he sounded crazy. The sleeping boy clutching his hand now would one day become the dour, bitter, wrathful Potions Master of Hogwarts! He was Harry's professor, for God's sake, and his treatment of Harry for the past seven years had been nothing short of repugnant.
It was unbelievable, even outrageous that Harry could even entertain thoughts of developing any sort of positive feelings for the man, let alone this powerful longing and physical attraction. Despite it all, he couldn't deny his profound connection with Severus. His heart ached for this boy and yearned for his regard... his affection... his touch.
The peaceful sight of the sleeping boy inspired another urge in Harry now, one he was just as powerless to resist. With his heart pounding away, half disbelieving and half fearful of what he was about to do, he brought the slender hand that was still entwined with his closer to him, brushing their interwoven fingers along the hard line of his jaw, relishing the feel of Severus' skin touching his.
Trembling and surprised at his own daring, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head to graze his lips across Severus' knuckles. His breath flitting over the rigid curves, he allowed his lips to part and then close again, leaving behind a gentle kiss on the pale skin.
A soft moan escaped Severus, jolting Harry from his dazed, enraptured state. He lifted his head just as slumbrous eyes blinked open.
Severus jerked upright, leaning back and snatching his hand free of Harry's fingers. The fear and confusion in his widened, red-rimmed eyes was enough to make Harry blush, still shocked and confused by his own actions.
"You! What... what are you doing?"
"You were having a nightmare, Severus. I... I was trying to help you," Harry explained, stumbling a little over his words, "You were... screaming. And I couldn't... I just couldn't let you go through that."
In the brief silence that followed, creaking bedsprings issued from the four-poster closest to Severus' bed as its occupant turned over in his sleep. Harry knew what the sounds meant.
"Your silencing charm has ended. Hold on..." he whispered. With light, deft steps, he hurried back to his own bed, grabbed the Hawthorn wand from under his pillow and returned to Severus who was still staring at him.
Harry hesitated for a moment before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. With his wand raised, he cast the spell to deaden sound and ensure privacy, one that he knew Severus would recognize.
"Muffliato."
Severus' eyes widened and then darted toward the lofty stack of books on his bedside table, where Advanced Potion-Making was the topmost book. When he looked back, Harry did not allow time for questions. He looked straight into the cavernous, dark eyes, so filled with apprehension and unease, and met the impending inquiry head on.
"Severus, please listen to me... Yes. That was your spell, but no. I did not steal your book and look through it. I know this spell... because I know you. I know that you refer to yourself as the Half-Blood Prince. I know that you were once best friends with Lily Evans. I know that your father was horrible to you... is still horrible to you... horrible enough to inspire these debilitating nightmares. And I know that one day... in the future... something bad is going to happen. I'm here to make certain that its imminent consequence is favorable. I know all of this because... I'm from the future."
At Snape's indrawn breath and panicked look, Harry paused, took a deep breath and added, "Look, I understand that it's hard to believe, but it's the truth. There's a lot I can't tell you... but I swear to you, Severus, I swear that you can trust me. Please tell me that you trust me."
The moment he finished his fervid speech, Severus' head lowered, eyes staring vacantly at his bedspread. He took several steadying breaths, ran his trembling fingers through his lank, ebony hair and then looked up, eyes alive with sentience, blazing with an impassioned veracity.
Harry's breath ceased for a moment, enraptured by the ardent emotion found within those shadowy depths. After a fretful silence, Severus' response manifested in a hesitant whisper.
"I... trust you. I don't know why exactly, but... I do."
Harry released a grateful sigh, almost collapsing onto the mattress in sheer relief. He allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips, knowing that his face was still flushed from his earlier thoughts and actions.
"But... why did you defend me?" Severus asked, eyes trained on his bed again.
"What... from Sirius and James? Why do you think I defended you? They were bullying you! You don't deserve that. I couldn't just stand by and let them..."
"Are you and I... close... in the future?" Severus interjected. Dark, avid eyes looked deeply into grey ones, longing for truth.
"No... we weren't. Not at all, but... well, we will be," Harry replied, feeling awkward. His voice quavered at the admission, and his last words were barely audible.
Again, he felt scorching heat rise in his cheeks as the memory of the two boys clutching each other in an impassioned embrace appeared in the forefront of his mind. He dropped his gaze as well, unaccustomed shyness returning in a sudden wave, deepening the color of his face and neck.
The ensuing silence prompted Harry to glance up, just in time to see one corner of Severus' mouth turning up in a slight smile. He blinked at the surprising change.
"You know, Gray, you were wrong about one thing," Severus said, a low chuckle issuing from his smirking lips.
"I most certainly would never refer to myself as... the Half-Blood Prince... or whatever that self-absorbed, idiotic moniker was that you mentioned. For God's sake, Gray, where on earth did you get that inane idea?"
Chapter End - TBC
A/N: Another early chapter! I just love beating my own deadline. :)
ETA for Chapter 5 will be August 12th, but you should know by now that it will probably be posted before that!
Again, special thanks to YenGirl for her incredible literary prowess. I could not have gotten through this chapter without her (specifically the final scene)!
Please Review.