WARNING: Harry is not in the best frame of mind. If you are depressed, consider not to read this chapter now, or make sure you have a strategy to rescue yourself afterwards. Even if you're not depressed, beware. This is a very very long chapter (13k, so set aside some time to read it without interruptions), and it's all rather depressing internal struggle (or at least it felt that way writing it).
Chapter 70
No one moved for a long time after Lupin had disappeared from sight. They were all clustered together, and Harry found the proximity of his allies sort of comforting, their restraining hands making him feel anchored despite having lost all sense of internal direction. He couldn't think of them as friends, like Fleur did, because that would make the likely prospect of losing them one way or another too hard to handle, but it was good to have them, and right now he felt more grateful than ever for their support.
It was Fleur, of course, who eventually broke the comforting quietness.
"What did that man say to upset you so, Harry?"
"I don't want to talk about it," he said curtly.
"Did he-?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped, shrugging off all the hands touching him and, suddenly overwhelmed by a need to get away from everything and everyone, stepping away from the cluster.
"Leave it, Fleur," said Krum. "Potter needs to fly now, not talk. Give him back his broom."
Fleur scowled at Krum, but after struggling with her nosiness for a moment she did as he said, and Harry found himself with his Firebolt in his hands. He could feel the need to fly away, to leave everything down on the ground and break free from the hell inside him, but he still didn't move. He couldn't do anything but stare at the broom that had been a gift from Sirius.
Sirius, who had tried to kill Snape and laughed about it. Sirius, who had insisted on accompanying Harry to Potions to further provoke his former victim violating once more his personal space. Sirius, who had told Harry he was his father's son and made it sound as if that were a good thing. Sirius, who...
Who had cared more about killing Pettigrew than about giving Harry a home.
The thought opened a searing wound in his heart that he hadn't realized was there until now, just as he hadn't really understood that Sirius had tried to kill someone as a joke until now. He hadn't wanted to think about it, Harry could admit to himself, because he had wanted so badly to have someone other than the Dursleys to care for him, but the thought had always been lurking at the back of his mind, hurting and bleeding deep down ever since that night in the Shrieking Shack when Sirius had again put revenge first without thinking about Harry.
Swallowing with difficulty, Harry twirled between his fingers the professional broom that Sirius had given him to make up for the thirteen birthdays he had missed.
As if anything could make up for that.
Sirius had left him as a baby to go hunt Pettigrew. Sure, according to Hagrid Sirius had tried to claim Harry, but Hagrid had had instructions from Dumbledore so he had refused to give the baby to anyone. That didn't excuse Sirius, though. If Harry had been his priority, he would have gone with Hagrid to see Dumbledore and explain the whole Secret Keeper thing; instead he had washed his hands off the baby and gone on a murder mission, and then he had laughed while they dragged him to prison instead or trying to argue his innocence. And he hadn't even tried to escape from Azkaban until he had realized Pettigrew was still alive, not caring at all about Harry growing up without neither his parents nor his godfather. When he had finally escaped, he hadn't done so with the intention of clearing his name and claiming custody over Harry, but with the sole purpose of committing the murder for which he had been imprisoned, and he would have done just that if Harry hadn't insisted on sparing Pettigrew's life. Sirius hadn't had any intention of becoming part of Harry's life, in fact just like Lupin he probably would have never made personal contact with him if not because of the random events that had forced all the secrets out in the open that crazy night last June.
Harry had been aware of all those facts last year after the Shrieking Shack, and yet he had been elated at the idea of going to live with the complete stranger that was his godfather. He had been willing to shrug off everything, including the fact that Sirius had tried to kill someone as a joke and was still laughing about it, if it meant he could leave the Dursleys forever.
And then Sirius had become his hostage, even though Harry had only met the man personally once and until the Second Task he had only exchanged with him a Floo call and a few frustrating letters.
He felt so stupid, so weak and laughable. Like the pathetic orphan that he was, he had clung to the first person who had offered him a home, even though the offer had come as an afterthought, a second best idea when the more desirable option of murdering Pettigrew had fallen through. And even though the offer had never materialized and probably never would. He had been so desperate to have someone who cared about him, someone like a father, that he had not waited to find out whether Sirius was a good person before getting attached, and he had been willing to accept an expensive gift as compensation for thirteen years of abandonment.
Harry pushed the Firebolt back into Fleur's hands.
"I can't..." he said in a strangled voice. "I can't use this broom. I just... can't."
Fleur took the broom in confusion and glanced at Krum as if hoping he would know how to handle a mentally unstable person. Harry looked at him too, silently asking him to accept what he had said even if he didn't understand, and to his relief Krum nodded as if he understood that much at least.
"You can use mine," he said simply, offering his own Firebolt to him without pointing out the fact that both brooms were exactly identical.
They weren't, though. Krum's Firebolt felt different in his hands, lighter, less charged with personal meaning, and it had a few Bulgarian words engraved in the handle that would remind Harry of that difference while he was on the air. He could almost hear Ginny threatening to smack him in the head if he turned down the opportunity of flying on a broom that had been used to perform spectacular Quidditch manoeuvres during the World Cup, and he could picture Ron's awed expression and hushed voice when asking if he could have a go on it too...
Harry shook his head and swallowed a knot in his throat. No, Ron would not react like that, not anymore. He would be jealous, and he would accuse Harry of hanging out with famous people because he thought himself too important for ordinary friends or some crap like that. Snape would think pretty much the same, seeing it as confirmation that he was just like his father, a self-important attention-seeker who liked to brag about his brooms, flying talent and famous connections.
No wonder Snape hated him so much. Harry looked exactly like James Potter, flew like him, was in the Gryffindor Quidditch team too, and while he didn't enjoy attention and he didn't think he had ever bragged, or strutted, or intentionally rubbed his wealth or fame in people's faces, he did receive a lot of attention, had an expensive broom and more gold than Snape probably had ever seen, and there were always people asking for his autograph or wanting to shake his hand or take pictures of him. Ron was jealous for a reason, and Harry could understand why the mere sight of him brought out the worse of Snape.
It was unfair, of course, but he could understand. And he realized that he wasn't completely blameless. Harry might not be the arrogant show-off Snape thought he was, but he had always defended his strutting bully of a father, refusing to accept a single stain cast on his character and automatically assuming that Snape must be to blame for whatever might have happened between them at school.
Harry had been proud of being James Potter's son, and he had made no secret that he aspired to be just like him.
When he pushed the Bulgarian Firebolt back into Krum's hands, he felt as if some part of him had died.
"I can't," he rasped, feeling as if he had a hole in his chest. "I... I can't fly."
Krum accepted the broom back without comment, but he regarded Harry with concern and it was obvious that he was trying to figure out what could have happened in the last half hour to screw him up so thoroughly. He probably had already guessed that it had something to do with his father and Snape, but he seemed to understand that Harry didn't want to talk about it now —or ever—because he didn't ask.
Harry turned to Fleur and extended his hand to her, palm up.
"My wand," he said in a rather sepulchral voice.
Fleur hesitated, but at a nod from Krum she returned it to him.
"I'm going to stay out here a bit longer," he told them. "But you should all go to sleep. We can go over the Patronus tomorrow before the drillings."
"We won't leave you alone now," declared Fleur fiercely.
"It's late," said Harry. "And struggling with the Patronus is draining, you need-"
"We aren't going anywhere, Harry," said Cedric shaking his head.
"Snape will give you detention until you graduate if you fall asleep in Potions again, Cedric," he reminded him. "And I want to be alone, anyway. You can take the Cloak to sneak back."
Harry retrieved the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket, but assaulted by a chilling realization instead of handing it out at once he just stood there holding the familiar silky fabric. His father's Cloak had always represented safety for him, a promise of protection, but it must have been the opposite for Snape when he was a student, if his father and Sirius had used it to approach him unseen and strike before he even knew they were close. The Marauder's Map also would have been useful for setting up ambushes, now that he thought about it, since it would have let them know when their target was alone somewhere or when teachers were approaching. Was that why the Marauders had created the map? To stalk and bully people? And the Cloak? Was he holding a tool that had been used to sneak on Snape and attack him or steal his things?
Feeling sick, Harry urged Cedric to take the Cloak from his hands, but his stubborn ally refused to even touch the bloody thing, blabbing about how it belonged to Harry and he would need it to sneak back himself if they weren't going back together.
"Just take it," said Harry brusquely, pushing the silvery stuff against Cedric's chest with a little more force than required. He usually tried to keep his temper in check with the unfalteringly nice Hufflepuff, but his nerves were too frazzle at the moment and he really needed someone to remove the Cloak from his sight before he burned it to ashes. "I know the castle and the patrol routes better than you, so I can move around without the Cloak."
"Peeves..."
"Peeves is more likely to agree to keep quiet for me than for a Prefect. And I already have a detention record so it won't affect me as much as you if someone catches me."
"Still, it's your-"
"Just take the Cloak, Cedric," snapped Harry. "I don't want it. Just take it and go!"
"Do as he says, Diggory," intervened Krum. "You too, Fleur. Leave Potter alone and go."
Whether because Krum had decreed so or because Harry was in a scary mood, Cedric accepted the Cloak without further objections and neither he nor Fleur insisted again on staying. It still took several minutes for them to clear off, however, since they had to sort out the biscuits and the chocolate flasks and Fleur resisted to go without addressing the conspicuous issue of the colour-altered flames. Harry told her that it had been an accident and he had no idea how to replicate it, but that far from discouraging her seemed to seal her resolve to figure out how to modify the spell so they could change the colour on purpose. Harry honestly couldn't give a damn about a stupid charm at the moment, but it was her business if she wanted to waste her private time analyzing the orange flames, so he let her take the fire glass with her and even agreed to infuse a little more of his magic into it to prolong the effects a few more hours. Cedric also seemed interested on figuring out what Harry had done, so much so that he ended up deciding to escort Fleur to the Beauxbatons carriage before going back to the castle so they could discuss magical diagnostic techniques and Charm-crafting theories on the way. It was obvious that they were both still worried about him, but they were making an effort to act naturally and pretend no one in their little group was having a meltdown, and for that Harry was grateful.
If only he could rely on everyone in his life the way he could rely on his allies.
And if only he could still have them when the Goblet of Fire was no longer ruling their lives. But he knew there would be no reason nor occasion for them to continue spending time together once the Triwizard Tournament was over. Assuming they all survived, Fleur and Krum would go back to their respective countries in only a few weeks, and Cedric would go back to his popular Hufflepuff life next year (no doubt all his stupid friends and housemates would accept him back once he stopped hanging out with Harry Potter, especially if he won the Tournament). They would all be out of his life soon, and while Harry would still have Hermione, and Neville, and Ginny... it wasn't the same. He felt understood by his fellow champions in a way that no one outside the competition could understand him, and he trusted them to have his back and stand stubbornly by his side in a way that he couldn't trust even Hermione, who for all he knew might one day get sick of him too and cut ties just like Ron had done.
The alliance was a temporary arrangement, though, he had always known that. They had only come together because no one else could help them, but that would change the moment the Goblet of Fire turned off, and without that unhelpability gluing them together their steadfast coalition would fall apart in no time at all.
Harry watched Fleur and Cedric go —the fire jar floating ahead of them like an overgrown glow-worm— with a mixture of sadness and fear. They all tried to stay optimistic, but they knew that any of them could die during the Third Task no matter how well-prepared they thought they were, and it was unbearable to think that he might not even have the chance to offer backup to his fellow champions before he stumbled over their dead bodies inside the maze. He could never forget that he had almost been too late to save Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, nor that Crouch had been killed right in front of him without Harry being able to do anything, and there was likely going to be a huge dangerous labyrinth separating him from his allies during the task so the chances that he would get there in time to aid them if they were overwhelmed by something were not much better.
He also felt guilty, as he watched Fleur and Cedric go, because he wasn't always so very nice to either of them even though they were both fiercely loyal and supportive. His curtness might be somewhat justified when it came to Fleur, given that she had an annoying personality and it was nerve-wracking to be so close to a quarter Veela all the time, but Harry knew he had no excuse in Cedric's case. It wasn't even about Cho, at this point, he didn't think so, nor about anything the Hufflepuff did or could be blamed for. Cedric was the nicest, most honourable person he had ever met, always polite and considerate and trying to do the right thing, someone anyone would be proud to be able to call a friend and that Harry was fortunate to have as an ally. Definitely not deserving of any ill will whatsoever.
Harry sighed. Maybe the simple truth was that he was envious. He had always envied Ron for having grown up with a loving family in a wizarding home, and he envied anyone who could have a normal life without people idolizing him, hating him or trying to kill him because of a fame he hadn't earned nor asked for. Cedric not only had grown up happily surrounded by magic and had living parents who loved him and were proud of him, he was admired for his own merits, and he was such a hard worker and good person that both the Goblet of Fire and Cho had chosen him. Harry, on his part, was in this stupid contest just because he was Harry Potter, and he was always so angry, irritable and unfriendly that it was a miracle anyone wanted to be around him.
"I don't think you should be alone now, Potter."
Harry turned to look at Krum. Fleur had taken the fire with her, but his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and he was realizing that the night wasn't really as pitch-black as it had seemed without the moon. It was actually his favourite kind of night for flying, especially when the lake was calm and one could see the stars reflected in the water.
He swallowed another lump in his throat.
"I'll be fine," he said hoarsely. "You should go too."
Krum frowned in the starlight.
"I am certain that the Potions Professor would crucio me if something happened to you because I left you alone when you shouldn't be," he said.
"Is that why you stick with me?" asked Harry with a sinking feeling. "Because you're afraid Snape would torture you if you didn't try to keep me alive?"
It shook something deep inside him the idea that someone might get so angry if Harry died as to go around crucioing anyone remotely responsible for his non-survival, but just as Snape's dark protection didn't really have any value if the man didn't really want to do it Harry would rather fend for himself than have Krum covering his back because he felt threatened by Snape.
"That is not why," said the Bulgarian, sounding reassuringly offended and maybe even a little hurt. "But maybe if you know I would be tortured, you will consider not to do anything stupid or suicidal."
That was the sort of comment that would normally make Harry roll his eyes and ignore it, since half the things he did were stupid or suicidal in Krum's opinion, but his ally sounded more serious than usual, and besides Harry couldn't muster enough dry amusement for even an eye-roll at the moment so he took the words seriously instead. He could see that Krum was truly worried that he might do something drastic, and considering that less than an hour ago Harry had been craving to walk into the lake with his Golden Egg and drift away listening to the mermaids perhaps the Bulgarian had reason to be worried. It was perhaps also a good way to dissuade him from any suicidal notions to remind him that there were at least a few people who would be significantly affected if Harry opted for escaping his internal hell in such a cowardly way. Of course Snape would not really care, he might even be relieved that he didn't have to see his arrogant Potter face anymore, but Krum was probably right in that the man would be seriously pissed (if only because he was counting with Harry defeating Voldemort again and sparing him a very painful traitor's death). Krum and his other fellow champions were counting with him too, so at the very least he should hang on until the Tournament was over, by which time killing himself would likely be unnecessary since someone else would probably try to kill him.
"I won't run away nor do anything else suicidal or stupid," he promised. "I just need some time to process... some things. I'll be fine."
Krum regarded him in silence for an endless moment, seeming to weigh the sincerity of his promise and perhaps also the risk of provoking Snape's wrath by respecting Harry's need to be alone, before finally nodding.
"Are you certain you don't wish me to leave a broom?" he asked. "In case you change your mind? You may choose whichever."
Harry glanced at the armful of brooms Krum was keeping propped up against his side. They all looked similar in the darkness, but he knew there was a Comet and a Cleansweep in addition to the two Firebolts, and that Fleur and Cedric would not mind if he borrowed them.
The problem wasn't the broom, though, not really, even though he felt just as repulsed by the idea of using the elite broom Sirius had given him in place of a happy childhood as he felt by the thought of wearing an invisibility cloak his father might have used to bully people.
Krum didn't insist when Harry shook his head, and he didn't say anything else either, although he pierced him with a very severe look before finally hoisting the four broomsticks on his shoulder and slouching away in the direction of the Durmstrang ship.
Harry stayed for a while sitting by the lake, watching the starry sky instead of flying across it. He knew on some level that it was stupid not to fly just because his father had been a jerk, Snape would probably tell him so even as he hated him for flying like his jerk of a father, but he just couldn't...
Ever since that day in first year when McGonagall had told him that his father would have been proud of him for getting into the Quidditch team too, flying had become his greatest connection to his dad, and hearing from Sirius last year that he flew just as well had made him feel even closer. He also felt connected through the Invisibility Cloak, and through his Patronus, but it was sharing James Potter's renown flying talent, even more than their physical resemblance, what made him feel that he truly was his father's flesh and blood. It was proof that he had had a father once, one that had passed on something good to him and that had not been a worthless drunk like Aunt Petunia had always said but a talented wizard he could look up to. That idea had been reinforced when Dumbledore had told him later that his father had saved Snape's life even though they had been enemies like Harry and Malfoy were, and again last year with everything he had learned about the Marauders. Lupin had told him in the Shrieking Shack how James, Sirius and Pettigrew had accepted him despite being a werewolf and even become Animagi to make him company during the full moon, and Sirius had said that Harry was loyal and brave like his father, who also would have done anything for his friends. McGonagall had made his father and Sirius sound like forerunners of the Weasley twins, bright troublemakers that made everyone laugh, and of course Hagrid had said that you couldn't have found nicer people than Lily and James Potter.
His father had sounded like such a great person. Snape was the only one who had ever said something negative about James Potter, and why would have Harry believed him, when the man was clearly biased and had always judged Harry so unfairly? Snape had always said that Harry was just like his father, but he had also always said that Harry was a vainglorious attention-seeker full of himself, so it had seemed reasonable to assume that the git had been just as mistaken about his father as he was about him.
He had never considered that Snape might be wrong about Harry being just like his father instead of about his father being a jerk.
Harry wrapped his arms around his chest. He had cast a full-body warming charm on himself, but he was still shivering, and he feared nothing would ever dispel the chill that had taken hold of his heart.
For nearly four years the thought of his father had been a source of comfort and inspiration for him; he had glowed with pride inside whenever someone other than Snape had told him that he was like James, but now... now he felt cold and miserable at the thought of him. He no longer wanted to share anything with his father, and it made him feel more helpless than the Goblet of Fire ever had to know that he was never going to be able to break the blood connection that made him the son of a bully.
It had been such a relief to learn, on his memorable eleventh birthday, that his dad had not really been a good-for-nothing his mother had ran off with, that he had held on with all his might to the new image of his parents Hagrid and many others had painted for him, never imagining that the truth might be even worse. Now he wished he could still be lamenting his worthless father instead of the swanking arsehole that his real father had apparently been, and he was also beginning to wish his parents had really died in a drunken car crash instead of betrayed and murdered because his father had been an arrogant moron.
Because yes, he realized now that Snape had been right about that too. Harry had already had the facts last year, but he hadn't wanted to consider what the deranged Death Eater had so nastily pointed out in the Shrieking Shack: that his parents had died because his father had been too arrogant to believe he might be mistaken in his friends. Harry was no longer surprized that Sirius and his father had both failed to recognize Wormtail for the scumbag he truly was, since they had been scumbags too, and he could also see now that it had been either complacent or idiotic —or both— to insist on placing their trust in a family friend when Dumbledore himself had offered to be their Secret Keeper. Even if Pettigrew had been completely trustworthy, it would have been much safer to give the secret to the great Albus Dumbledore, who was the one person everyone could always trust to be on the side of good and who could have never been intimidated by Voldemort into revealing any sort of information, but they had chosen a close friend instead even though they had known that there was a traitor amongst them.
Wormtail had betrayed them, and Voldemort had killed them, but it had been James' and Sirius' bad decisions what had really condemned his parents. While if they had done what Snape had suggested, Voldemort would have never been able to find them and Harry wouldn't have grown up with the Dursleys.
No, I would have been raised by a jerk instead, thought Harry in disgust. Receiving birthday presents every year from a godfather who thought it was amusing to lure Slytherins into werewolves' lairs during the full moon. He had always assumed that if Voldemort had never targeted his family his life would have been similar to Ron's, that he would have grown up with siblings and good parents in a house like the Burrow, but now he realized with horror that with someone like James Potter as a father he probably would have been spoiled like Malfoy and grown up to be the vainglorious attention-seeker Snape had always expected him to be.
And what would have happened with Voldemort, then? Lupin said that they had been losing the war, and everyone looked at Harry as if he had saved them from a reign of terror. How many more people would have died if Voldemort had never been miraculously defeated that night in Godric's Hollow? Maybe ending the war, even if only for a while, had been worth the sacrifice of an arrogant bully and his wife. It might even have been worth Harry's awful childhood with the Dursleys, hard as it was to consider it and even more accept it. After all, what was the happiness of one person next to thirteen years of peace for thousands and millions of innocent people?
Feeling heavy with the burden of so many lives, and wishing painfully he could be one of those innocent people instead of Harry bloody Potter, Harry climbed back to his feet and began a harrowed stroll along the lakeshore. He wondered as he walked what would have happened with Snape if Voldemort had never disappeared. How long could he have continued spying? Would his betrayal have been eventually discovered and resulted in his painful death, or would he have changed sides again when it became evident that Voldemort couldn't be stopped? And what about Pettigrew? Would he have betrayed his friends some other way, or would have Snape found out that he was a Death Eater and warned Dumbledore before he could do any more damage?
Harry reached the segment of shore where the spectator stands had been placed during the Second Task and came to a stop roughly in the same spot where he had almost suffocated to death. It wasn't so far away from the place near the edge of the lake where he and Hermione had almost lost their souls trying to protect Sirius from the dementors last year, he realized, remembering with a conflicting mixture of emotions that on that occasion he had tried to cast his Patronus using the happy thought of going to live with his godfather. By rights, the idea of leaving the Dursleys forever should have been strong enough to fuel the brightest and more solid Patronus ever, but it hadn't worked, probably because by that point —only five minutes after Sirius had offered him a home— Harry had already lost hope and the thought had been more bitter than happy.
He raised his eyes to look at the opposite bank of the secluded bay, where his time-turned Self had been standing when he had produced a corporeal Patronus for the first time, not with a happy thought but with the paradoxical understanding that he had already done it in the past-future. Harry would always wonder how that had been possible, but right now he felt more nostalgic than curious as he remembered how strong had been his conviction that night that his dead father had somehow returned from beyond the grave to protect him. He had been so sure that he would see him again, and so disappointed when he had realized later that it had been himself who had saved them all...
Harry pushed away the bitter memory and let his gaze wander away from the conflicting bank, his eyes gravitating by long habit to the approximate spot on the wide surface of the lake where he and Krum had dived in during the Second Task. He remembered the guilt and desperation he had felt as he propelled himself downwards, certain that Hermione was being held by the merpeople and afraid that she would pay for being Harry Potter's friend with her life. And Hermione had been down there, but it had been disconcerting to realize that she wasn't there because of him, and horrifying to realize who his hostage was. Of course Harry had considered the possibility, during the long hours he had spent flying over the lake in the weeks leading to the Second Task, that Sirius might be what he would most sorely miss, but he really had not expected to find him at the bottom of the lake, since he had not been able to imagine how the mermaids would even know about Sirius and even less how they would manage to capture a fugitive that the Ministry had failed to catch in over a year. Besides, Harry had written to Sirius, just in case, warning him to stay away from any sources of water and urging him to put as much distance from Hogwarts as possible, never occurring it to him that it might be the judges rather than the mermaids who would be in charge of procuring the hostages and even less that Sirius would come willingly at Dumbledore's call.
It had been an emotional shock for him to see the huge black dog tied up with the other hostages, and despite his current disappointment Harry could still feel the burning ache in his chest at the idea of losing him, so he supposed it was possible the Goblet would choose the same hostage again if it had to. He suspected he would not be quite so desperate to take him to safety as he had been back then, though, and that if he now had to choose between saving Sirius or any of the other hostages he would save any of the girls instead. Although admittedly that was probably a choice he would have made even before learning that Sirius was a murderous jerk, not because he had cared less about Sirius than about the other hostages but because he had been sure Sirius would have willingly given his life to save an innocent girl. Like Harry would.
He pursed his lips, knowing what Snape would have to say about that. Contrary to what the angry git thought, though, Harry hated to always have to be the one saving people. It was stressful, difficult and often painful, why the hell would he enjoy it? He would very much rather someone else took care of it, but unfortunately sometimes there was no one else, or there wasn't time to call for backup, or teachers couldn't be trusted to help. Harry could understand why his repeated efforts to save Sirius made Snape boil with fury, but he was pretty sure that the man would have also let Hermione, Ginny and little Gabrielle die rather than risk Harry getting 'stupidly' killed by a troll, a basilisk or a bunch of mermaids, and that Slytherin approach wasn't something he could ever get on board of.
It was exhausting, though. He was tired of being always about to die, and he was particularly tired of having to save Sirius over and over again —half the times from Sirius himself. Harry had been constantly stressed out about his godfather from the moment he had met him, and after tonight's revelations and realizations he felt stupid for having worried so much about someone who didn't deserve it. He also felt resentful for having to be the one taking care of his godfather instead of the other way around —not only Harry had saved Sirius' soul or life multiple times, he had made sure he was safe, well-fed and comfortably settled in the sort of home Harry wished someone had offered him, while all Sirius had done for him had been to make Snape hate him even more than before.
Feeling bitter and weary, Harry turned his back on the lake and all the memories associated and began to walk aimlessly through the dark grounds. Maybe Sirius would not be his hostage again after all, since rather than missing him Harry suspected he would be relieved not to have to worry about him anymore. He would always miss the idea of a godfather, but maybe not so much the real idea of Sirius. Although he would miss the safety he had felt having his every step guarded by a menacing Grim, and the soothing whining whenever Sirius woke him up from a nightmare, and the comforting feeling of burying his fingers in the warm fur...
He let out an anguished snort. What did it say about his relationship with his godfather that he knew him —and liked him— better as a dog than as a person? Sirius had been an animal for most of the time they had spent together, and on the few occasions they had met in human shape Harry had felt deeply uncomfortable around the scary-looking stranger. He had tried to overcome that, and for moments he had managed to relax and even feel safe enough as to hug the man, but if he was honest with himself he would have chosen the dog over the person even when he hadn't yet known that Sirius was a bad person. And he wasn't sure he could tolerate even the dog now.
Harry wondered who would be his hostage now, if not Sirius. He didn't have many people in his life, certainly no one else who could qualify as family —whatever Ginny said, he had no claim whatsoever to the Weasleys as a family—, and probably no one who would miss him enough as to go rescuing him from the bottom of a lake if the situation were reversed. He hadn't wanted to think about it, but on some level he hadn't stopped wondering since the Second Task, and it was still a stab in the heart to suspect that Sirius' hostage would not be Harry, but Lupin, just as Lupin's would most likely be Sirius. Hermione's hostage would probably be one of her parents, or maybe Krum, and Ron's would be anyone but Harry. Ginny might like him, but her hostage would no doubt be some member of her family, just as Neville's would probably be his grandmother even if he seemed half-afraid of her.
It was depressing the idea of not being anyone's most important person. To know that the scarce people he cared about had other people they cared about more than they cared about him. That was hardly new to him, of course, it was the story of his life, but it was deeply disheartening that even away from the Dursleys most people hated him and no one would miss him too much if he died.
Harry paused to take a deep, shaky breath, before resuming his melancholic wandering.
He felt pathetic at the idea of having a hostage who wouldn't have him as hostage if the situation were reversed, but there was nothing he could do about it, and he couldn't blame anyone for caring about their families more than about a friend, not when he had cared more about his godfather than about any of his friends. Even now, when he suspected Sirius would not be his hostage again, he wasn't sure Hermione would take his place at the bottom of the lake. Not just because she would be Krum's hostage, but because they had grown somewhat apart this year, what with the unhelpability making difficult to talk freely or study together, and neither wanting to mention Ron because of Krum, and Harry being so busy with his training while she was busy planning her Skeeter vendetta and preparing for exams. Even though they sat together every day in classes and meals, Harry didn't feel so close to her anymore, and whatever recreational time he could allow himself he usually spent it playing chess or exploding snap with Neville or Ginny rather than with her. He felt terribly disloyal and ungrateful to even think so, but he suspected he would miss Neville more than Hermione at this point, probably because Neville had a quiet way of always being there that Harry preferred over Hermione's anxious fussing.
He didn't think Neville would be his hostage, though, and he really hoped he wouldn't since it would be a horrible way to repay the boy for his quiet support to condemn him to almost drown at the bottom of a lake. Neville deserved friends who protected him, not that put him in danger.
He deserves friends who pay more attention to him, thought Harry guiltily. He still couldn't forgive himself for never having spared enough interest for Neville as to wonder why he had been raised by his grandmother. They hadn't been really friends before this year, but that wasn't excuse, especially since Harry hadn't expressed much personal interest on Neville this year either. Just as he had never paid much attention to Ginny. He had reasons for his self-absorption, sure, life-threatening priorities every year to keep him focused on himself and Voldemort, but he still should have tried to pay more attention to more people than just Ron and Hermione. Not that he had ever paid much attention to Ron, of course —if he had, he would have realized before that his best mate secretly hated him—, and if he was honest with himself he had never shown much interest in Hermione's personal problems either, he usually just let her prattle on about everything that worried or incensed her while he nodded and shrugged and hoped she would shut up soon.
No wonder he wasn't important enough to anyone. Harry was a lousy friend to have, and a risky person for people to associate with —being friends or allies with him automatically earned them Snape's personal hate and the enmity of Slytherin and currently also Hufflepuff House, not to mention all the dangers that standing too close to Voldemort's favourite target might imply. Those who were willing to associate with him despite all that had to deal with his bad temper, were overshadowed by his fame or targeted by Rita Skeeter, felt that they had to prioritize his life 'because he was Harry Potter', and risked ending up at the bottom of the lake or harbouring fugitive people or animals without knowing.
Ron had been smart to distance himself from him.
Harry trailed to a stop again, realizing that his feet had taken him to Hagrid's hut without conscious thought on his part. There was a distinct air of abandonment around the place, and as usual when he came this way Harry felt abandoned too. Hagrid had just taken off, without saying goodbye nor explaining anything. He hadn't written all year, and Hedwig had returned with all the letters Harry had tried to send unopened, which according to Hermione meant that the recipient was either dead or had cast some charm to make impossible for owls to find him. Dumbledore had reassured them that Hagrid was all right, but it had been a blow to learn that the former Gamekeeper simply had found another job somewhere else and didn't want to stay in touch with them. It hurt that after everything they had been through together, including all the stressful madness involving Fluffy, Norbert, Aragog and Buckbeak, Hagrid had just gone away without even saying goodbye.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry turned his back on the empty hut and looked around, a deep sense of loss weighing his heart while he absorbed the quiet darkness that surrounded him. It was odd to feel so emotionally vulnerable and so physically safe at the same time, he reflected with self-imposed detachment as his eyes roamed the eerie perimeter of the Forbidden Forest. Snape had gone nuts when he had flown over the forest back in November, but the man had to have known it was stupid to worry about that, since the Goblet would never allow the acromantulas to jump on a champion. Harry could march right now into Aragog's hollowed lair, insult all his blood-thirsty descendants and burn all their spider webs, and he would walk out of it alive without having to cast a single defensive spell. Not even Voldemort could do anything worse than punch him while the Goblet was active.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing himself to enjoy for a few moments that powerful feeling of invulnerability. He hated the Goblet of Fire, but he had never felt so safe as he felt between tasks under its evil protection, and truth be told he would rather stay connected to the damned thing than be free of it, at this point. The tasks were dangerous, yes, but now he felt more prepared to deal with whatever threats and challenges the Goblet might put in his way, and considering what was waiting for him once the Triwizard Tournament was over... Harry didn't want to worry nor distract his fellow champions, so he tried not to let them see it, but the truth was that he was terrified. He knew that there was someone inside Hogwarts working for Voldemort, someone who had managed to get close enough to confund him without anyone noticing, who had murdered Crouch in front of him and made Winky disappear, and he knew that that someone would try to kill him or kidnap him the instant the Goblet of Fire turned off. Dumbledore, Moody and Snape were going to be on the lookout, he knew, but it was plain that none of them had any idea whom to suspect —aside from Karkaroff, who had alibis for everything, and Snape himself, who Harry no longer suspected. The fact that Moody hadn't seen any suspicious names in the Marauder's Map suggested that the person wasn't an outsider, so it could be anyone from a student to a teacher or even a judge, and so far they had been unable to prevent anything that had happened this year so Harry couldn't help feeling rather pessimistic about his chances of survival once he lost the Goblet's protection.
The feeling of invulnerability had been completely replaced by hopelessness and dread by the time Harry reopened his eyes and turned his gaze towards the distant Quidditch pitch, where was growing the maze he might never be able to escape. At least he could count with everything in there being intent on killing him as fast and straightforwardly as possible, while if he was captured by a Death Eater and delivered to Voldemort... Harry wasn't a coward, he didn't think so, but his stomach clenched with terror and he felt an overwhelming urge to run away at the thought of being eaten alive by a massive snake or tortured to insanity like Neville's parents. Of course if he ran away now he would die before he could pass the Hogwarts' gates, but it would be a quick, painless death instead of the slow torture spiked with humiliation he could expect from Voldemort and other nasty people like Lucius Malfoy. Harry didn't want to die, but if there was no hope of survival he would rather drop dead now, when the choice was his to make, than go through all the trouble than surviving the Third Task no doubt would entail just to be killed in a more ghastly way immediately afterwards. He wouldn't even have to risk the Goblet's wrath by running away, not when he could just go for a swim with his Golden Egg and drown without endangering the judges nor bothering anyone.
Anguish and yearning warred inside him while he pictured himself drifting away in such a peaceful way, listening to the most beautiful singing imaginable until the very end of his life. It would be so easy... it wouldn't hurt, he wouldn't even know he was dying, and then it would all be over, all the sorrow and the fear and the despair...
Harry shook his head vehemently to snap himself out of the dangerous trance. He had promised Krum not to do anything stupid nor suicidal. And Snape not only would be furious if he killed himself after all the trouble the man seemed to have gone through trying to keep him alive, no doubt he would see it as proof that Harry was weak and pathetic, probably even assuming that he had done it to draw attention with his tragic death.
Besides, it wasn't as if his situation was completely hopeless. He was a thousand times more prepared to face a maze full of deadly obstacles than he had been to face a dragon six months ago, and it had to make a difference the fact that this time they knew when to expect a threat even if they didn't know from which direction it would come. Surely if he stuck to either Dumbledore, Moody or Snape after the task, like Dumbledore had instructed him to do, he at least would not be alone when someone tried to kill or kidnap him. He still felt it would be better to just let himself be lulled to death by the mermaids and be done with this horrid business that was his life, since he had nothing to look forward to besides summers with the Dursleys, school without his allies by his side and a war he would likely lose, but he knew he couldn't give up. He had to keep going, even if holding on to life because he owed it to the parents that had given their lives for him no longer felt like a good enough reason now that he could no longer respect them.
Feeling drained as if he had just faced an army of dementors, Harry turned to look at the looming castle. He should go back to sleep, he knew, but he didn't completely trust himself near his Golden Egg right now, and the mere thought of sleeping in the same bed that he had shared with Sirius the dog made him want to cry or throw up. He could always try to sleep in the Common Room, like he had done after the Yule Ball, but Harry didn't want to be in Gryffindor tower at all, or anywhere inside the castle for that matter, not while there was a chance he might run into Lupin again. Or into Snape.
A very confusing mixture of emotions swept through him at the thought of coming face to face with Snape after tonight. It had been conflicting enough the last few weeks, ever since he had seen the remorseful Death Eater in the memory of his trial, but now... Part of Harry wanted to confront the man, to confirm his conspiracy theory and ask him how he had managed to cheat without making the Goblet angry, and he also felt he should apologize to Snape for some things, and thank him for others, try to make things right somehow.
But it was obvious that Snape didn't want Harry to know anything private about him.
The man had been very careful all these years to insult everything Potter in ways that didn't betray the fact that he had once been a powerless victim frequently beaten down and humiliated by a bunch of Gryffindors, spitting out his hate and scorn without ever revealing his past weakness. Bringing up the bullying would have been the perfect way to crush Harry's image of his father, but Snape had not wanted to use that card, and Harry could perfectly understand why —he would not want neither Malfoy nor Snape to ever know about Dudley and his gang, knowing what they were likely to do with such embarrassing information. The man had been content with hating James Potter's memory and taking it out on his son without the slightest explanation, in fact Harry probably wouldn't even have ever known that Snape hated him because of his father if Dumbledore had not told him at the end of first year.
So no, Snape would not react well at all if he found out that Harry now knew a lot more private stuff about him, and Harry didn't want to make things worse nor stress out the spy even more when he already seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown so better not to bring it up. Lupin might think a good idea to throw all this shit at someone at the worst possible moment, but Harry would not do that to Snape just to take it off his chest, not when the least he could do for the man was to die without mentioning it.
Admittedly, he also didn't want to expose himself to even more blows, nor to be mocked and verbally eviscerated by Snape when he felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown himself. He might understand things better now, and he would not try to defend his father nor Sirius ever again, but the truth still hurt, and he had no doubt that Snape would bury his own knife in the wound and twist it rather than accept any sort of apology graciously.
Harry gazed up at the sleeping castle again. He knew, he just knew, that if he went inside he was going to run into Snape at the first corner he turned, and without the Invisibility Cloak the prowling bat would not be able to pretend that Harry wasn't there so the encounter would likely result in a confrontation. And Snape could read minds. Harry didn't think the man usually did it, but he certainly was capable of it so it seemed best to avoid him as much as Dumbledore, especially if Harry couldn't trust his face not to betray his inner turmoil. He would have to deal with him in class, but at least in Potions there were other people around to divide Snape's attention and Harry could pretend to be focused on his work.
He glanced back at Hagrid's hut. Maybe he could break in and sleep there tonight? The door probably was not even magically locked, and nobody would bother him there as long as he didn't give himself away turning on any lights or starting a fire. Just the thought of being inside Hagrid's house again made his chest hurt, though, and he didn't think he could handle seeing the place empty and abandoned, without Hagrid nor Fang nor a half-plucked chicken hanging from a hook in some corner.
Harry firmly pushed Hagrid out of his mind and hurried off before he could be undone by some trivial memory, not looking back just in case. He couldn't stop himself from wondering, though, as he walked past the colossal Beauxbatons carriage, whether Hagrid and Madam Maxime would get along if they ever met, and he couldn't help picturing either Hagrid's delighted expression at the prospect of taking care of huge winged horses that only drank single-malt whiskey.
He wondered if Hagrid was happy wherever he was. If he missed Hogwarts. If he would ever come back or at least write.
Harry came to a stop again when he reached a crossroads of sorts and looked desperately around in search of some other shelter. Krum no doubt would have some no-nonsense suggestion to make, he thought regretfully as he turned his eyes in the direction of the Durmstrang ship, already missing the scowling presence by his side. Hmm, maybe Krum would be his hostage now? What would the Goblet do then? It made him uneasy to realize that he might care about his fellow champion more than was prudent. He wasn't really worried about Krum dying —if someone stood a chance of surviving the Triwizard Tournament, it had to be the Bulgarian, Harry would bet on him without a second thought—, but he honestly didn't know how he was going to cope next year without him, if he survived. Harry was going to miss Fleur, even if half the time he craved to kick her out of the alliance, and he was going to miss Cedric and his annoying friendliness too, but it was Krum who kept him grounded, the ally he had come to heavily rely on, the flying companion he would sorely miss even if he never flew again.
Heaving a sigh, he turned his back on the Durmstrang ship too —Krum no doubt would make room for him in his cabin if he asked for a place to sleep, and Karkaroff would not be able to object, but maybe Harry should start heeding Snape's advice about not provoking dangerous Death Eaters that might be planning to kill him— and considered for a moment the Whomping Willow swaying innocently in the moonless night. He supposed the Shrieking Shack, or at least the tunnel that led to it, would be an adequate shelter, but Harry didn't want to go there ever again. As he let his eyes wander again, surveying the familiar landscape around him, he realized that he didn't want to be at Hogwarts at all. He had wanted to run away earlier in the year, to escape the evil designs of the Goblet of Fire, but then he hadn't really wanted to leave the first real home he had known. Now, though... Hogwarts felt too haunted. There were memories everywhere, and even those that he had once cherished felt sad now, because they reminded him of Ron or Hagrid and the way things used to be. Of the way Harry used to be, before this nightmarish year had messed everything up inside him.
He had felt comforted, until tonight, walking the grounds that his father and his friends had roamed during their youthful adventures. Now he felt ashamed and disgusted, understanding at last that they had called themselves marauders for a reason and that their concept of mischief had been anything but harmless.
Hogwarts was ruined for him, and nothing would ever be the same.
A simple Alohomora didn't work, but Fleur had taught him more advanced and complex unlocking charms, so eventually the door gave way for him without Harry having to blast it open —which was good, since amiable as Professor Sprout generally was she could be really scary in her wrath and she would not appreciate a Blasting Curse being used inside the greenhouses. She might turn a blind eye if he found him sleeping under her Shrivelfigs —Sprout seemed to be the only Hufflepuff who supported the alliance and didn't hate Harry Potter for stealing their champion— but she would wait for the Goblet of Fire to turn off to murder him herself if she harmed any of her precious plants.
Harry stepped into the balmy building and lit his wand to take a look at said plants, carefully identifying each specimen to make sure there wasn't anything too dangerous around. When he was satisfied —or at least reasonably confident— that nothing would try to eat him or strangle him if he lowered his guard, he hung his glasses from a vine that wasn't likely to move and, after checking the place for bugs too, finally turned off his wand and lay down to sleep over a pile of munch.
He felt considerably better here. Less exposed to everything. Life didn't seem so completely unmanageable having a refuge, and the smell of plants and fresh earth —that Harry had always associated with freedom, since it meant he was out of his cupboard— was a reminder of simpler times.
It also reminded him inevitably of Neville, and so Harry found himself thinking of him as he breathed in the earthy air. He knew that the boy deserved nothing but his pity, but he couldn't help feeling a little envious too, since at least Neville's parents were alive and he could go see them, while Harry didn't even have graves to visit. Besides, Dumbledore had said that the Longbottoms had been well-loved Aurors, so they must have been good people Neville could be proud of, while if not because James Potter had hated everything Slytherin and married a Muggle-born he sounded like the sort of pureblood prick Voldemort would have welcomed with arms open.
It must be beyond horrible to have crazy parents that couldn't even recognize him, though, and to know how they had ended up like that. At least Harry was pretty sure that Voldemort hadn't tortured his parents before killing them, which was a comfort even as it seemed terribly unfair to all those better people who had died in pain while a bully and his wife had been given quick deaths.
Harry shook his head to himself, horrified to realize that he was wishing more painful deaths to his own parents. To the mother that had refused to stand aside to let Voldemort kill him. The mother whose love was still protecting him to this day.
Maybe his father had deserved a little torture, but surely a woman capable of such love and sacrifice didn't deserve anything bad.
Although Harry was pretty sure that Aunt Petunia would also sacrifice herself for Dudley without a second thought, just as Uncle Vernon probably would die protecting his family from Voldemort.
For long, anguishing moments, Harry floundered in the darkness, drowning under the idea that the same woman who had never spared a shred of compassion for her orphan nephew could love her own child enough to sacrifice herself for him. It brought back the old fear that there might be something wrong with him, something that made him unlovable, even though now he knew that his mother had loved him enough to die for him.
His mother had loved him, yes, but how much was worth the love of a bad person? If the situation had been reversed, if the Dursleys had been attacked by Voldemort instead of the Potters and Dudley had been the one to grow up with an aunt who only had love for her own son, would Harry have wanted that love? Would he have wanted a mother who treated her nephew like that? Harry had always thought he, unlike Dudley, would have presented some objection, but maybe he would have shrugged it off too, just like in his longing to have someone who cared for him he had been willing to shrug off anything about Sirius. It wasn't as if he was such a good person himself, after all. Someone like Cedric would never stand for something like that, but Harry... Harry was weak and selfish. He tried not to be, but he knew he was, deep down. There were a lot of ugly things inside him. Dark feelings and thoughts a good person would not have.
Maybe he deserved what he got, just as his parents probably had deserved what they got or worse.
Maybe he didn't get to have a normal life with decent people to take care of him and friends who didn't abandon him because he didn't deserve such good things.
Maybe the Dursleys had always been right about him.
Harry fought hard against the pressure threatening with crushing his chest. He hadn't cried since he was a little kid who didn't know better, he wasn't going to start again now.
He wiped his face with his sleeve. A few tears weren't crying, just some stupid weakness. Plants weren't going to tell.
Trying to distract himself from his own worthlessness, Harry turned his mind to Snape again. He wondered if the man had hated his mum too. It was hard to believe that the spiteful git he knew could have brought himself to move a finger, let alone risk a painful death, to protect a family entirely composed by people he hated, even if two of those people had been a woman and a baby. Snape didn't seem to have a chivalrous bone in his body, judging by the way he treated girls and female teachers, and Harry could easily picture him regarding the cutest baby with as much distaste as he regarded students in general, so why would he have had more of a problem as a true Death Eater slaughtering women and children than slaughtering anyone else? Why would he have cared to save them? If they had been innocent, maybe, but how innocent could be a woman who had willingly married a bully? And what could the child of a bully grow up to be, if not another bully? That's how Snape thought, plainly, and with examples like the Dursleys and the Malfoys at hand Harry was inclined to agree.
Maybe it hadn't been about protecting Harry's family? Snape could have warned Dumbledore that the Potters were in danger to demonstrate his new allegiance, not because he cared about their survival, offering the information as a sort of admission price to change sides. That would make sense. Snape had almost certainly murdered his muggle father to prove himself to Voldemort, what better way of proving himself to Dumbledore than showing his willingness to protect a Muggle-born and her child?
The fact that Snape had never mentioned Lily Potter in the four years he had spent insulting her son from all possible angles suggested that at the very least the man had not hated her as much as James Potter, though. Perhaps he hadn't personally known her? Harry had the idea that his parents had been at Hogwarts together, though, so Snape must have shared classes with her too, and yet he didn't seem to have anything nasty to say about her. Maybe she hadn't been such a terrible person as her jerk of a husband?
A small tendril of hope hesitantly tried to grow inside him. Maybe his mum had married James Potter without knowing that he was a bully. Maybe people in general had never known how bad his father and Sirius really were. The Marauders had been very secretive at school, after all, sneaking around all the time and doing illegal stuff —like becoming Animagi and roaming the grounds with a werewolf during the full moon— that not even Dumbledore had suspected until last year. No doubt they had done their bullying in secret too, like Dudley had always done at school, and just like Dudley they must have kept a charming facade for the teachers to see the rest of the time. That would explain why people like Hagrid and especially McGonagall, who didn't tolerate any fighting and frowned upon dishonourable behaviours, seemed to have had good opinions of them.
Lupin had spoken of public humiliations, though. The school staff might have never known what the Marauders did to Snape, if they had been careful to bully him out of the teachers' eye and if Snape had never accused them, but the other students must have known. Those who had watched and laughed and cheered, to begin with, plus all the people those witnesses had shared the tale with, and all the friends and classmates of those people, and so on. Nothing that happened in public stayed secret in Hogwarts, at least not on a student-level. Even if by some random miracle Harry's mum had never witnessed nor heard about the bullying, she had to have known what sort of person James Potter was, if they had been housemates and classmates for years. No one could share a room with a prat like Malfoy for more than ten minutes without hearing him mock someone or brag about something, after all, and it sounded like Harry's dad had been much worse so there's no way his mum had not known he was a swaggering jerk.
And she had married him knowing at least that, if not everything. Why? Because of his good looks? Because of his money? Because she had been a nasty enough person herself as to feel at home surrounded by jerks?
Or was there some chance that James Potter had truly 'cooled down with time', like Lupin had said?
That wouldn't mean he had changed, though. Bullies didn't change. People like that didn't think they had to change. And even if they did... that wouldn't erase what they had been before, what they had done. Maybe if they were remorseful and tried to make things right... But Sirius clearly still didn't think he had done anything wrong; if he laughed remembering how he had almost killed Snape he obviously wasn't remorseful about it, and Harry would bet anything that he was still convinced Snape had deserved all the beatings and humiliations, for being a nasty Slytherin interested in the Dark Arts. And if Sirius hadn't changed in two decades, what were the chances that Harry's father had become a better person before his early death? Even if he had, again: that wouldn't erase what he had been before, what he had done. Snape would never forget it, just like Harry would never forget anything the Dursleys had done to him.
Lying on his bed of mulch, Harry stared at the dark roof of the greenhouse while he struggled with conflicting instincts, the part of him that thought some things were unforgivable warring with the part that wanted to believe people could change. He desperately wanted to think that his mother had been a good person, and that his father had changed enough to deserve her, but all the wishful thinking in the world wasn't enough to convince him that an arsehole of the calibre Lupin had described would have ever even tried to change. And he couldn't think well of a woman who would happily marry a jerk that had never stopped being a jerk.
It all seemed to come down to remorse and choices, reflected Harry wearily. Nothing could erase what had happened, but it helped if those who had done wrong felt remorseful and stopped doing wrong, to start with. If they apologized for the harm caused and tried to make amends. If they strived to be better and make things right.
Fleur might be annoying sometimes, but she had apologized fervently when she had joined the alliance, and she was doing her damnedest to make up for her previous behaviour. Harry didn't think Cedric had had anything to apologize for, but the Hufflepuff had apologized too anyway, and he had tried hard to stop caring about winning. And Lupin... it didn't speak well of the werewolf that he had tried to defend a pair of bullies and was currently still friends with one, and the issue with Neville's Snape-Boggart raised some questions, but now that Harry was calmer he could acknowledge that at least the man had seemed remorseful and ashamed, and that he had admitted that Snape had been ill-treated by all of them. Whether Lupin had ever apologized to Snape or not, it was obvious that he was sorry and regretful, and the fact that as a teacher he had been nice to the Slytherins and had actively opposed all forms of bullying suggested that he was trying to be better.
And then there was Snape. Nothing could erase whatever damage the Death Eater had done in his darkest hour, and any surviving victims or otherwise affected people might never be able to forget nor forgive his unverified crimes, but the man had felt remorseful enough not only to turn his back on Voldemort, but to become a spy against him. He had made mistakes, but like Lupin said he seemed to have learned from them and tried to make better decisions. He had made the choice of going to Dumbledore and asking for another chance, and he had risked his life trying to make up for the damage he had caused.
Of course Snape was still an evil bastard, and in all likelihood only part of his nastiness was an act so it didn't seem as if he had made much of an effort improving himself as a person, but now that Harry understood where his vicious hatred for all things Potter and Gryffindor came from he felt inclined to cut the git some slack. Right now he couldn't even feel resentful for all the crap Snape had unfairly projected on him since day one. He just wished he had understood years ago, when understanding would have been helpful, instead of two bloody weeks before his probable death, when it could only distract him from his pointless struggle for survival.
Dread and hopelessness spread inside him again, pervasive and debilitating like an insidious disease of the soul. It felt as if struggling to stay alive was all his life was about. He survived once to survive again, and again, and again, but why bother, if nobody cared and he was going to end up dying anyway one way or another sooner rather than later? Harry had survived by sheer luck so far, after all, and like Snape kept saying his luck was bound to run out eventually. Did he really want to wait and see what happened then, in what gruesome way his purposeless struggle ended if he kept deferring the inevitable? Harry didn't want to die, but he couldn't see himself lasting very long once the Goblet turned off, not now that Voldemort was back, and he knew that if he left it up to Voldemort his death wasn't going to be pretty.
Harry didn't want die, but it wasn't as if his life was much worth living either, and he really didn't want to live with a painful death hanging over his head all the time.
Like Snape.
The sobering thought hit him as sharply as one of Snape's cutting insults.
Dumbledore had said after Crouch's death that Snape might not be able to resume his role as a spy after all, since it was highly likely that Voldemort had interrogated either Crouch or Bertha Jorkins and learned about his past treachery, but he had also stressed how crucial it was to have a spy on the enemy side, if at all possible, which gave Harry the awful feeling that the old wizard intended to send the treacherous Death Eater back to Voldemort anyway.
So while Harry was here drowning in dread and hopelessness —even though he would have a decent fighting chance in the maze and Dumbledore himself would try to protect him from further attempts to kill or kidnap him once the Goblet of Fire turned off—, Snape was most likely getting ready to deliver himself willingly to Voldemort, rehearsing lies and excuses to somehow convince the evil psychopath he had betrayed and called a twisted fucker in his trial that he should trust him instead of killing him slowly.
If someone had reason to run away or kill himself pre-emptively, it was Snape, and yet the man had not done so yet, and Harry knew that he wasn't going to do it —someone who let one of his school bullies chew his arm to save the hated son of his other bully was too committed to his cause to abandon it in some cowardly way. If Dumbledore sent him back to Voldemort, Snape would go even if it went against all his Slytherin instincts of self-preservation. He would risk a very likely and painful death, because no one else stood a chance of deceiving Voldemort, and having a spy on the enemy side would save lives and might be the key to win the war. Because Snape had chosen the light side, despite being so dark that anything light irritated him, and he was still trying to make up for his past mistakes, even though he probably had been pushed to make those mistakes by all the people in the light side who had bullied him, laughed at him or just stood aside and watched while he was humiliated to the point of tears.
It took Harry a very long time to realize that the unfamiliar emotion compressing his chest was respect.
For the first time ever, he felt respect for Severus Snape.
And he felt shamed. Because if a Slytherin like Snape had the guts and determination to go against everything he was and sacrifice everything he had to take down Voldemort, how could Harry even think about giving up? This was about more than just himself. Who cared if he wasn't important enough to anyone at a personal level? Plainly a lot of people, including Snape, thought that he was important at a strategic level; that he was or would someday be powerful enough to defeat Voldemort for good and therefore he must be kept alive long enough for him to do it. And if it existed the possibility that they might be right, that only Harry would stand a chance against that fucker, how could he consider to remove himself from the board voluntarily? How could he not be willing to risk a painful death too, if there was a chance that he might live long enough to make a difference in the war?
Harry had been left adrift without his father as a role model to follow, but as he finally drifted off to sleep on his pile of mulch he realized that he no longer felt completely lost. He had a sense of internal direction again, a purpose, and someone to look up to, unlikely as his new role model might be.