The Struggle: Chapter 8

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"Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say," Harry said with a smirk and squeezed Draco's hand lightly.

Harry and Malfoy kept up friendly small talk on the casual walk home. They carefully avoided the subject of abuse, what had just happened in the gazebo, all the people staring at two teenagers holding hands, and school. Harry tried to teach Malfoy the basic rules of football, but he didn't understand and found it deadly boring.

"All you do is kick a ball around a field? And try to score goals? That's it?" Malfoy asked, swinging his and Harry's hand back and forth lightly as they made their way down a shaded side walk, past a woman who was pursing her lips and pretending not to notice the two teenagers holding hands.

"Well, I suppose that's just the gist of it, yes," replied Harry, flexing his fingers and then lacing them back between Draco's, who didn't seem to notice.

"And the Muggles call that a sport? Just kicking a ball around aimlessly?"

"Er, yes, but there really is more-"

"Please, Potter, I'll just stick to Quidditch."

When the corner of Snape's house was visible, both boys immediately released hands, jerking their arms away and creating a safe distance. Malfoy made quite a spectacle of wiping his hand on his shorts and murmuring something about 'Gryffindor filth'. Harry pretended not to notice.

"Enemies, yes?" confirmed Malfoy as they approached the front lawn. Harry stared at the vast size of the house, swallowing hard. He knew Snape would be waiting just inside the front door, ready to lecture Harry. And Harry also knew that every word that came from Snape's mouth would most likely be harsh, yet true. Although he didn't want to accept it, Snape was now his father and his guardian until the end of the summer. Harry turned his head slightly, looking behind him. It would be easy to run again. Malfoy would have a harder time catching up, he wasn't as fit as Harry. But, at the same time, Harry knew he would have to talk eventually. Suicide and running away were both cowardly, and his Gryffindor pride had already faltered. Harry's mind raced, there were so many options, none of which seemed fitting.

"Potter?" Harry snapped his head around, meeting Malfoy's dead, gray eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Right, yes, enemies. Of course. Enemies."

"Good."

"Fantastic"

"Yeah."

"Uh huh."

"Well then go on," said Malfoy loudly, clearing his throat. He pushed Harry's shoulder and nearly sent the boy tumbling to the ground. He regained his balance and focused his eyes on the front door on the mansion.

"Go!" Malfoy snapped, pushing Harry again. He took several more steps forward before picking up a steady pace, not too rushed or too hesitant, towards the house. Before he could reach the front door, it was pulled open. Snape stood inside, looking quite shaken and startled, white as a sheet, as though he had seen a ghost.

"Malfoy," Snape said quietly to the boy who was now only a couple steps behind Harry, "Potter, come." Harry went to take a step forward, but Snape had already grabbed his collar and was dragging him down the main hall. Harry's feet stumbled along the ground, turning corners and eventually reaching a wooden staircase.

"Up."

"But, Sir, you said I was not-"

"And you've already broken almost every other rule I've said. Up."

Harry obliged and climbed the stairs, two at a time due to the fact that Snape was directly on his heels. Once he reached the top, a cold, rough hand grabbed the back of his neck and directed him to the left.

"Ouch!" whispered Harry as the hand tightened, pushing him forward down a long, winding hall. Every five or six feet there was another doorway, and Harry began to wonder how many rooms a single man living alone really needed.

"Last door at the end of the hall," murmured Snape, giving Harry a final shove down the hall. He released his neck and stood planted, arms crossed. Harry turned to look back at Snape, who rose his eyebrows questionably.

"I said, last door at the end of the hall. Go." Harry slowly turned back around, glancing down the hall. He walked about twelve feet until he was directly in front of the last door. He reached down to grab the doorknob and suddenly stopped. He reached back hesitantly to grab his wand.

"It's not charmed," came a voice from down the hall. Harry nodded and moved his hand back to the doorknob, gripping it firmly and turning it. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room reminded him very much of Snape's room. It was, of course, decorated with different shades of reds and golds. It was comfortably warm and had a deep, yet not overwhelming, scent of flowers. Harry inhaled deeply, letting his body become drunk off of the lovely scent. The layout of the room was similar to Snape's, a perfectly made king sized bed beside a wooden nightstand, several dressers, a window, with the same white, blooming flowers, and a large book shelve.

Harry was unsure what he was supposed to, or not supposed to, find, touch, or see. He carefully closed the door behind him and looked at the wall behind him. From left to right, top to bottom, it was nearly completely covered in picture frames and moving, dancing, muted pictures. All the frames were either a deep, blood red or a sparkling gold of various sizes. Harry began observing them at the far left.

The first one he drew his eyes to was in a small, gold frame. He instantly spotted a young girl, perhaps the age of eleven or twelve, crouched low behind a tree. She had long, frizzy red hair and prominent green eyes. Beside her, unsurprisingly, was a tall, lanky boy, who looked about the same age as her, with pale skin and dirty black hair. Harry did not bother trying to deny in his mind who the children were.

The girl pointed at the camera and whispered something in young Snape's ear. He frowned slightly, but looked at the camera, smiling overly-widely. The boy and girl began laughing, stuffing their hands over each others mouths in attempt to quiet the other, but it didn't seem to do much good. Another young girl, who appeared to be a few years older than either his mother or Snape, came running from the far left of the picture. She was wearing heavy eye makeup and had her long, wavy hair draped over her left shoulder. She stopped beside the tree, pointed at the two children, still laughing and giggling, then pointed at the camera, covered her mouth, and ran the opposite direction.

"Petunia," came a voice from behind Harry, who jumped and turned in surprise. Snape was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, smirking.

"She never understood why Lily and I were friends, and didn't particularly like it. Come." Snape walked to the wall of photographs, about half way down, and ushered Harry towards him. He pointed at a smaller photograph and Harry leaned in, squinting slightly.

He watched a scene where a slightly older Lily and Snape, probably in their mid teens, stood in what appeared to be a ballroom. They were dancing together quite awkwardly, as if neither of them knew exactly what to do, while attempting to smile at the camera.

"Our first Yule Ball as fourth years. We went together, quite a sight, a Gryffindor and Slytherin dancing together. We went as friends, of course, but none the less...," Snape murmured, walking further down the wall of pictures before finding another. He waved his hand at Harry.

The photograph viewing went on for another fifteen minutes. Harry watched scenes of the two at their first date, in which his mother proceeded to spill water down Snape's entire front, prompting a laugh from Harry. Surprisingly, Snape laughed along with him. He watched a photo in which Snape and Lily were standing in front of Hogwarts, holding hands as they carefully boarded small, wooden boats in the boathouse, while smiling and waving slightly at the camera.

"Graduation," clarified Snape.

In another picture, Snape and Lily appeared to still be in their late teens, standing on top of a hill. He watched carefully as Snape lowered himself onto one knee and pulled a small, dark blue box from his dark pocket. Harry averted his eyes awkwardly and didn't watch the rest of the picture, for he knew what happened.

"This will be the last one, I suppose," muttered Snape finally, picking a photo in a red frame on the far right side of the wall. Harry approached it, somewhat relieved. He had already seen at least twenty various photos of Snape and his mother and wasn't quite sure what the point behind it was, except that he now knew Snape kept a room devoted to his mother. Harry wasn't sure is that was supposed to be an effort to be romantic, even if his mother was dead.

"I've actually charmed this photo. It's quite long, at least a minute and a half. I'd like you to watch the entire thing, please," said Snape in a polite tone. Harry approached the photo and watched it carefully.

His mother and Snape stood under a small archway decorated with white flowers, the same as those placed in Snape's room, and the room he was currently in. His mother was wearing a long, full length white dress, strapless, yet still very classy. Her long red hair fell all the way down her back, parted down the center with near perfect curls.

Across from her, holding her hands, was Snape. He was much taller than Lily, and Harry made an effort not to laugh at the awkwardness of the couple. Snape looked very much like he did today, minus several wrinkles and a few pounds. The couple had their eyes locked and were smiling slightly, while a short, pudgy man behind them was reading out of a Bible. Harry quickly recognized it to be a Muggle wedding.

The scene progressed quickly until the man behind them closed the Bible and stepped backwards, motioning his arms out towards the couple. Harry widened his eyes as he saw a small tear progress down his mother's face as she nearly collapsed against Snape. He pulled her close and practically dragged her onto his own feet, so she was nearly level with him. With a little awkward slouching, the couple locked lips and wrapped their arms around each other. Harry tried to avert his eyes, but there was something about the photo that was intriguing.

When his mother and Snape broke the kiss, the continued holding each other for quite a long while, simply staring into each others eyes. Harry watched the photograph avidly. He could sense something...more, to it. Something the couple shared that was powerful, and far over his own head. Harry looked away as the photo faded, snapping his eyes to Snape, who was, once again, on the other side of the room.

"Your mother's idea, of course, to have a Muggle wedding," he said casually, observing his nails. "She thought that Petunia might show. She didn't." Snape sighed and put his hands down against his side.

Snape progressed to the window and picked up one of the white flowers from the vase. He brought it up to his nose, inhaled, and smiled weakly.

"Lilies," murmured Harry, suddenly remembering the type of flower.

"Correct."

"What was the purpose of bringing me in here?" Harry whispered after a long awkward silence. Snape put the flower back and walked towards Harry, who was standing with his back to the excessive wall of photographs.

"Your mother and I used to live together," began Snape, still admiring some of the photographs on the wall. "I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it quicker. Look around. Who do you think did all the decorating?"

Harry blinked several times, quickly understanding the warm Gryffindor or Victorian theme of the house.

"This was our room, of course. After she moved out, and further more, passed on," Snape's voice crackled slightly, "I never re-did the house. Everything you see is exactly how it was when Lily lived here. The walls, the furniture, flooring, everything. Not exactly my taste, but, I manage.

"This room we stand in is the only room I personally altered. I allowed Draco to change his room solely because it was an addition to the house that was undecorated when Lily moved out.

"The reason," said Snape, suddenly clearing his throat, "I brought you in here to see all this, was because I wanted to show you that your mother and I, we were not a summer fling or something petty. We were-"

"Something more," interrupted Harry, nodding his head. Snape nodded along with his, brushing his fingers over a few photographs before turning around. Harry thought he noted a slight wetness to the man's eyes, but the light could easily have been blamed as well.

"I'm sorry 'bout that...earlier," whispered Harry so quietly that Snape barely picked up on it. Harry immediately focused his gaze to his feet and began twiddling with his fingers.

"I do not want to know what happened," Snape said quickly before Harry could continue talking, "I do not care, frankly, as you are safe now. I trust that you will make wiser choices in the future when angry."

"Yeah."

"Excuse me?" Snape said irritably, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I mean, yes, sir."

"Harry, do you now trust that your mother and I were in love?" Harry frowned and continued studying his feet, not daring to look up.

"I—I don't know, sir."

There was a long, lingering pause in which Snape glided across the room to the book shelve and pulled out a thick red binder, similar to the ones Dudley would buy every year for his classes. Suddenly, Harry felt the binder thrust into his arms.

"Sir?" he said in surprise, nearly dropping the binder. It was at least three inches thick and wrapped in extra-large rubber bands so the papers inside would not fall out.

"I believe this may be of some interest to you, Harry. You may take it down to your room and keep it for your stay this summer, but I expect it back, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir, but...what is it?"

"Well, assuming that you have not completely tuned out all lessons at Hogwarts and you have some basic knowledge in your pea-sized brain, you can read, am I correct?" Harry nodded, feeling his cheeks turn red. "Well, then I suggest you use that skill to answer your own question."

Snape turned on his heel and walked towards the door, opening it and slipping out. Harry followed quickly after him and eventually retreated to his room without saying another word. He closed the door behind him and fell onto his bed, the red binder still clutched firmly against his chest. He was still completely confused, bewildered, and lost.

Harry laid the binder down on the bed and carefully undid the rubber bands, which were old and stiff. The binder was covered with a thick layer on dust that took quite a few swipes to get off. Carefully as he could, Harry opened the binder.

A/N: Yes, I know this chapter was painfully boring and short, but please stick with me! More to come soon !