A/N: Thank you so much for all the love you guys are showing this story! I absolutely love to read your reviews and your thoughts! Here's the chapter most of you have been waiting for. Hope you all like it!


CHAPTER: 17

The next few days went by in a blur, and before Harry knew it, the day of the Quidditch match had arrived. Despite his excitement, a part of him was restless. The joint he'd carefully tucked away in his old box—the one he used back on Privet Drive—was still untouched, calling to him like a whispered temptation. But Harry knew better than to rush it. Smoking wasn't something to do in haste; it required peace, quiet, and time, none of which he'd had lately.

He sighed as he pulled on his Quidditch robes, trying to focus on the game ahead. At least he felt decent today. He hadn't sicked up last night's dinner, though it had been a pitifully small portion. Still, it was progress.

True to their words, Ron and Hermione rarely left Harry alone. They even left dinner early to. go with him only to find him smoking. Hermione lectured him mercilessly but Harry didn't mind. He never smoked more than one cigarette in front of them. If he ever needed more, he always sneaked out at night.

Before pulling on his shirt, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and frowned. The meagre muscles he'd gained over the summer had all but vanished, his ribs now visible beneath his pale skin. The healthy weight he'd worked so hard to put on was slipping away.

You need help,a voice in his head whispered. It irritated him to no end that the voice sounded like Hermione's.

But from whom?

The thought of Snape crept into his mind, unbidden. The man's name came with an odd sense of reassurance—something Harry immediately pushed away. Snape had a daughter to care for. Harry wouldn't add to his burdens.

As for Remus… Harry wasn't sure how much help the man could offer. He was drowning in his own struggles—being a werewolf, grief over Sirius, and the burdens of a war that never seemed to relent.

Ron and Hermione wanted desperately to help him, but he couldn't put them in danger. He couldn't bare his soul to them. They were too pure for his darkness. He appreciated their concern and their efforts, but he couldn't do that to his best friends.

Harry shook his head, as if the motion could dislodge the thoughts. There wasn't time to dwell on this now. Gryffindor needed him on top form.

His chest tightened slightly at the thought of Elle. Snape hadn't borrowed the Invisibility Cloak, which meant she wouldn't be in the stands. Part of Harry had hoped to see her there, waving a tiny Gryffindor banner. But it was safer this way. He understood.

"You ready, mate?"

Ron's voice pulled Harry from his thoughts. His best friend entered the room, already dressed in his Gryffindor robes, proudly showing off a shiny new pair of gloves—courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for making the team.

"Yeah," Harry said, forcing a grin. "Just need to grab my helmet."

The duo left the changing tent, stepping into the cool November air. The roar of the crowd hit them instantly, the sound reverberating in Harry's chest.

As team captain, Harry strode to the front, turning to face his players with a determined grin. "Alright, ladies and gents, we ready to party tonight?"

"YEAH!" the team roared back, raising their broomsticks high in the air.

"Okay then," Harry said, his grin widening. "Let's go crush the Ravenclaws!"

The team erupted into cheers, mounting their brooms for their traditional entrance. Harry brought up the rear, deliberately timing his entry for last.

The moment he soared into the stadium on his Firebolt, the crowd's volume surged.

"Potter! Potter! Potter!"

The chants echoed across the stands, and Harry allowed himself a brief moment to soak it in. He waved at the fans, flashing a confident grin, and even threw a cheeky wink at Hermione. She rolled her eyes at him, but he didn't miss the faint smile tugging at her lips.

Scarlet and blue banners fluttered in the wind, and the air buzzed with excitement as the teams took their positions. Gryffindor was ready to fight, and Harry was ready to lead them to victory.

The whistle echoed across the Quidditch pitch, signalling the start of the match, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Harry kicked off hard from the ground, his Firebolt soaring skyward with a grace that still made his heart race. He quickly gained altitude, scanning the pitch for the Snitch. Below him, the game unfolded in a whirlwind of color and motion, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Chasers locked in a fierce battle over the Quaffle.

Ravenclaw drew first blood. Cho Chang's precise pass to Michael Corner set up a swift goal, the Quaffle soaring cleanly past Ron's outstretched arms. Gryffindor supporters groaned while Ravenclaw fans erupted into cheers, their blue and bronze scarves waving like flags.

Harry felt a flash of irritation on Ron's behalf but quickly refocused. His job wasn't to worry about the score; it was to catch the Snitch. He tightened his grip on his broom and circled higher, his eyes darting across the pitch.

Below, Ginny Weasley snatched the Quaffle mid-air with a daring dive, narrowly avoiding a Bludger. She tore down the pitch, her red hair streaming like a banner. With a perfectly timed feint, she tricked the Ravenclaw Keeper and scored, drawing cheers so loud Harry felt them vibrate in his chest.

The game was brutal, but Gryffindor was in the lead, just as Harry had wanted. All players pushed themselves to the limit. Bludgers whizzed dangerously close to heads, and the Chasers collided mid-air more than once. Harry stayed above it all, a hawk scanning the chaos below for the glittering flash of gold.

But then, disaster struck.

A Bludger, sent rocketing by one of Ravenclaw's Beaters, was hurtling toward Harry. He saw it too late. He swerved sharply, trying to dodge, but the iron ball slammed into his left shoulder with bone-crushing force. The impact knocked him sideways on his broom, and pain exploded through his body.

The crowd gasped as Harry wavered, his grip on the Firebolt slipping. He clenched his teeth, ignoring the agony radiating from his shoulder, and righted himself just in time. He shot upward, trying to put distance between himself and the Ravenclaw Beaters, but every movement sent jolts of pain through his arm.

"Harry!" Ginny's voice cut through the wind as she soared past, worry etched across her face. "Are you alright?"

"Fine!" he shouted back, though his vision blurred for a moment as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford to show weakness—not now, not with the match still on the line.

He rolled his shoulder a couple of times, making sure he had full mobility, He did, and that was enough for him. He signalled Madame Hooch that the game should continue. After almost 20 mins, through the haze of pain, Harry caught sight of it—a glimmer of gold near the Ravenclaw goalposts. His heart leapt, and adrenaline surged through him, dulling the ache in his shoulder.

He leaned forward, urging the Firebolt into a steep dive. Cho Chang spotted the Snitch a split second later and gave chase, her broom a blur as she streaked toward the golden ball.

The wind whipped at Harry's face, the roar of the crowd fading into a distant hum as he focused entirely on the Snitch. It danced erratically, zipping left, then right, then plunging downward. Harry followed its every move, his Firebolt responding like an extension of his own body. Unknown to himself, he had closed his mind off to any other distraction, even the pain in his shoulder.

Cho was close, but Harry was closer. He stretched out his good arm, fingers straining toward the Snitch as it darted just out of reach.

Then, a sudden sharp jolt—another Bludger, this one grazing the back of his broom, sending it into a brief tailspin. Harry clung on desperately, regaining control with sheer willpower.

Cho seized the opportunity, surging ahead. Harry cursed under his breath, ignoring the fire in his shoulder as he pushed the Firebolt to its limit. The Snitch was inches from Cho's outstretched hand when Harry made his move.

With a final burst of speed, he shot past her, his fingers closing around the Snitch just as her fingertips brushed its wings.

The stadium erupted.

"Potter's got the Snitch!" The commentator's voice boomed over the crowd. "Gryffindor wins!"

The cheers were deafening, but Harry barely registered them. His vision swam, and his shoulder throbbed with a ferocity that made his head spin. He descended unsteadily, his feet hitting the ground just as his legs gave out.

Ginny and Ron were at his side instantly, helping him to his feet.

"Blimey, Harry, you're white as a ghost!" Ron said, his face pale with worry.

"I'm fine," Harry lied, though his knees wobbled as he tried to stand.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "You're not fine. We're taking you to Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" Harry said sharply, wincing as the movement sent another jolt of pain through his arm. "I'll… I'll sort it out myself."

Ron and Ginny exchanged skeptical looks but didn't argue. They helped him off the pitch, the jubilant crowd parting to let them through.

As they reached the edge of the stands, Harry caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the shadows. Snape was there, his dark eyes fixed on Harry with an intensity that made Harry's stomach twist.

Snape said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Harry's hunched form and the awkward angle of his shoulder. Harry could almost feel the weight of the man's judgment—or was it concern?

Whatever it was, Harry knew one thing: he'd be seeing Snape before the day was over.

/

The party in Gryffindor Tower was in full swing, the air thick with laughter, music, and the unmistakable tang of FireWhiskey. Someone—probably the Dean and Seamus—had smuggled in several bottles, and the liquid courage had been flowing freely. Harry had already downed a few glasses, feeling the warmth bloom in his chest and spread to his limbs. Oh, how he had missed it.

Earlier, he'd slipped out of the tower for a quick walk around the castle grounds, finally finding the privacy he needed to light his cigarette—and his joint. Now, back in the common room, a haze of calm and satisfaction had settled over him, his usual anxieties dulled by the alcohol and the high.

He was slouched on a sofa tucked into the corner, a lopsided smile playing on his lips. Ginny was beside him, her hand casually draped over his, her touch grounding him in the lively chaos around them. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she followed his gaze to the makeshift dance floor, where Hermione and Ron were attempting to keep up with a lively Irish jig.

Ron, predictably, was terrible. He tripped over his own feet more than once, his attempts at keeping time with the music dissolving into comedic flailing. Hermione tried valiantly to guide him, but even she was doubled over with laughter by the time Ron landed flat on his face for the second time.

"What a prat!" Ginny said, her laughter ringing out over the music.

Harry laughed too, his shoulder pain forgotten in the moment. The dull ache that had plagued him since the match was a distant memory now, replaced by the comforting haze of intoxication and the warmth of Ginny's presence. He hoped they could share a kiss before the night ended.

The warm, carefree haze Harry was basking in was shattered by a small, timid voice cutting through the noise of the party.

"Um… Harry?"

Harry blinked, lifting his head sluggishly to see a nervous-looking first-year standing a few feet away, shifting from foot to foot and clutching a piece of parchment as if it might shield him from the chaos of the common room.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, sitting up straighter, his attempt at composure not fooling anyone.

The boy looked around nervously, clearly uncomfortable in the rowdy atmosphere. "Professor Snape sent me. He says he wants to see you in his office. Right away."

Ginny's grip on his hand tightened as she frowned. "Now? What does he want with you now?"

Harry groaned inwardly. Of course, Snape would choose now of all times. He ran a hand through his already messy hair and forced himself to stand, wobbling slightly. The first-year took a cautious step back, his eyes darting toward Harry's unsteady movements.

"Alright," Harry said, doing his best to sound normal, though his words came out slower than usual. "Thanks for letting me know."

The boy nodded quickly and disappeared into the crowd, eager to escape the intensity of Gryffindor Tower. Ginny rose with him, concern etched across her face.

"Are you sure you're okay to go?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "I've seen you have one too many of those spiked drinks."

"I'll be fine. I have experience." Harry said with a teasing grin, swaying slightly as he adjusted his robes. "He probably just wants to yell at me for something stupid."

Ginny didn't look convinced but let him go. "If you're not back in an hour, I'm sending Ron after you."

Harry gave her a weak grin and headed for the portrait hole, ignoring the glances Hermione and Ron sent his way from the dance floor. The cool air of the corridors hit him as he stepped out, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the common room. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the combined effects of the FireWhiskey and the joint clung stubbornly. He quickly cast a freshening charm on his clothes and face, making sure that no smell of smoke hung onto him.

By the time he reached Snape's office, his stomach was twisting uncomfortably. He knocked hesitantly, the sound echoing in the silent corridor.

Harry pushed the door open, stepping inside the dimly lit room. Snape sat behind his desk, quill in hand, his dark eyes immediately snapping to Harry the moment he entered.

Elle was also there, perched on a chair by the fireplace. Her face lit up with a grin as she saw him.

"Harry, congratulations!" she chirped, swinging her legs. "Dad told me you caught the Snitch! He even said he'd show me the memory of the match tomorrow. Isn't that great? Although I wished he would have let me come to the game instead of sending me off to play with Stacy!"

Harry forced a smile, though he knew it came out more as a grimace. The dim lighting of the room was the only mercy, masking the glassy look in his eyes. "Yeah, um… that-that's great, Elle," he mumbled, trying to sound enthusiastic.

What a delusional thought of clearing his head during the walk. Of course the mix of alcohol and the high wouldn't leave him sober for a couple of hours. Wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible, Harry turned his attention to Snape, who was now scrutinizing him with an unsettling intensity.

"Um, Professor, is there something urgent? I was actually about to head to bed. Kind of a tiring day."

Snape's eyes narrowed as he rose from behind his desk, his movements deliberate and measured. Each step closer felt like a weight pressing down on Harry. Instinctively, Harry backed up until he was pressed against the door, trying to avoid the looming figure of his professor.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Elle asked, her cheerful tone replaced by genuine concern. She tilted her head, watching him closely. "You don't seem… well."

Before Harry could respond, Snape's voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Good party, Potter?"

The words, though quiet, carried an edge that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

"No—uh—no party, sir. Just… a little tired," Harry stammered, his words slurring ever so slightly.

Snape moved closer, his gaze unrelenting. His hand shot out, gripping Harry's chin with surprising force and tilting his face up.

"Eyes on me, Potter," Snape ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Harry's heart pounded as he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Snape's. The man's black eyes blazed with fury, the intensity of it making Harry want to shrink away.

"Elle," Snape said sharply, not breaking eye contact with Harry. "Leave us."

"But Dad—"

"Now, Elara!" Snape's voice cracked like a whip.

Elle froze, her wide eyes darting between her father and Harry before she slid off the chair. She hesitated for a moment, clearly reluctant, but at Snape's fierce glare, she scurried toward the adjoining door.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Snape wasted no time. His hand shot out, gripping Harry by the shoulder—the injured one.

Harry let out a hiss of pain, but Snape didn't let go, dragging him across the room with no regard for his discomfort.

"Sit," Snape commanded, shoving Harry into the hard wooden chair in front of the desk.

Harry winced, gripping the edge of the chair to steady himself as the room swayed slightly.

Snape leaned in, his hands braced on either side of the chair. His face was only inches from Harry's, the sheer fury in his expression making Harry feel like a cornered animal.

"What have you consumed, Potter?" Snape's voice was dangerously low, each word laced with venom.

Harry gulped and shook his head in denial, but the gesture felt feeble even to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, Potter?" Snape's voice dropped even lower, icy and sharp.

Harry shook his head again, his breath hitching.

"I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth," Snape warned, his obsidian eyes narrowing. "What have you consumed?"

Harry licked his dry lips, his voice barely audible. "FireWhiskey, sir."

Snape's expression didn't change. He continued looming over Harry like a storm cloud, his presence suffocating. "Just Firewhiskey?"

Harry hesitated but then nodded quickly.

"LIAR!" Snape bellowed, the sound reverberating around the room. Harry flinched, his instincts kicking in as the chair beneath him nearly toppled backward.

"Your eyes are bloodshot, Potter!" Snape growled, his voice cutting through the thick haze in Harry's head. "Tell me what else you have taken, or I will personally take a urine sample and report you to the Headmaster!"

Tears prickled in Harry's eyes as shame and panic clawed at his chest. He was crumbling under the weight of Snape's words. No, Snape wasn't supposed to find out. His mind scrambled for a way out, but it came up blank.

He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed. The noise in the room seemed deafening, the walls closing in around him. His breathing turned erratic, gasping and shallow.

Strong hands gripped his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, and a potion was forced down his throat. The liquid burned slightly as it went down, but its effects were immediate. His head was pressed between his knees, and his breathing began to steady, though the spinning in his vision persisted.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry managed to look up. Snape was kneeling in front of him, his face a mask of fury. But beneath the anger, Harry thought he saw something softer—concern.

"Can you breathe?" Snape asked curtly.

Harry nodded weakly, unable to form words.

Snape stood abruptly, muttering something under his breath. With a violent motion, he kicked a chair closer to Harry and sat down, their knees touching. A goblet of water appeared beside Harry, and Snape gestured at it.

"Drink," he ordered.

Harry obeyed, the cold water grounding him slightly. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Snape didn't take his eyes off Harry, his penetrating gaze digging deep into him.

Finally, Snape exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as if physically restraining himself. His voice, when it came, was low and furious — trembling not just with anger, but with something sharper: disappointment.

"I cannot do this," he muttered, each word bitten off like a curse. "I cannotfixyou, Potter. I promised Albus I would guide you, help you process your grief, but you've made a complete mockery of that trust tonight."

His eyes burned into Harry, sharp and cold as flint.

"You've crossed every line, every boundary I painstakingly laid down. And you've done it with all the reckless, thoughtless entitlement that I should have known better than to expect anything else from."

Harry flinched, but Snape pressed on, merciless.

"You have confirmed every instinct I ever had about you. Irresponsible. Self-destructive. Selfish beyond belief." His voice rose, trembling with suppressed fury. "You arejust like your father— arrogant, impulsive, convinced the world will pick up the pieces after you shatter them!"

Harry's fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. There was no room between Snape's words for him to speak.

"And now—" Snape sneered, the disgust in his voice like a whip, "—now you're a pathetic addict on top of it all. A sniveling, reckless child so desperate to run from his own mind that he'd burn down everything left of himself."

Harry felt his stomach twist painfully. But Snape wasn't finished.

"You think you are tragic, Potter?" Snape spat. "You are not tragic. You arepredictable. And worse — you areordinary. Just another brat who thought pain made him special."

For a moment, the room crackled with silence, heavy and brutal. Snape straightened, every line of him stiff with fury.

"Do not think, even for a second, that grief excuses this," he said coldly. "You shame everyone who died for you."

Harry stared at him, his stomach twisting painfully.

Snape's words felt like confirmation of something Harry had always feared—that he was the problem. Not the Dursleys, not Voldemort, not even the endless chaos that seemed to follow him. Just him.

Harry sat frozen, the words slicing into him, sharper than any curse could have.

Shame everyone who died for you.

It hit something so deep, so raw inside him that he thought he might actually be sick. He gripped the edge of the the chair tightly, knuckles whitening, trying to steady himself against the rising wave of shame, anger, and heartbreak crashing over him.

He wanted to shout back, to tell Snape he was wrong, that he didn'tchooseto be this way, that he wasn't trying to shame anyone — that he wastryingso bloody hard just to survive every day without crumbling. But his throat closed up. The words wouldn't come.

Because maybe… maybe Snape was right.

Maybe he was selfish.
Maybe he was just like his father — reckless, stupid, unworthy.
Maybe everyone would be better off if he wasn't around to disappoint them.

Harry bowed his head, his glasses sliding low on his nose, and for a long, suspended moment, he just stood there — frozen in place — blinking furiously against the burn in his eyes. He wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of Snape. He had already laid himself bare enough for one night.

Then he saw Snape stand — sharp and purposeful — and stride toward the Floo. Something in his posture had shifted. Cold. Final.

Harry's heart sank like a stone in his chest.

"Don't," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible as his hand shot out, fingers curling around Snape's wrist like it was the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

Snape stopped mid-step. The greenish light of the fire danced along the hard angles of his face as he slowly turned to look at the boy clutching him.

"Don't what, Potter?" His voice was low, but it carried a bite. "Don't tell Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head wordlessly, the grip on Snape's wrist tightening slightly — not with defiance, but desperation.

"Then what?" Snape pressed, frowning. "What do you not want me to do?"

Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, in his temples, in his ribs. "Don't give up on me," he whispered, barely able to force the words out. "Not you too."

Snape's expression shifted — barely perceptible, but there. The furrow of his brow deepened as he turned to face Harry fully, his arms falling to his sides. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone gives up on me," Harry said, the words tumbling out now, choked and raw. "Or they die. My mum. My dad. Sirius. They all left. And now you—Elle—" His voice cracked, trembling under the weight of everything he'd been holding in. "Please… don't."

The tears came faster now, shining in his eyes but refusing to fall. "I'll stop. The smoking. The lying. All of it. I'll tell you everything, I swear. Just… I can't bear to fail you and Elle too."

His chest heaved with the effort of breathing. "It's all my fault," he whispered brokenly.

There was silence.

And then Snape, very slowly, stepped forward and uncoupled Harry's hand from his wrist — not harshly, not dismissively, but deliberately. Holding the boy's hand between his own, his voice came low, rough, and almost too gentle.

"You haven't failed me, Potter."

Harry's breath hitched.

"You haven't failed Elle." Snape's voice hardened, just slightly.

For a moment, Snape looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he let go of Harry's hand and placed it firmly back on the boy's chest.

"We're still here," he said. "Both of us. And we're not going anywhere."

Harry nodded, his eyes closed.

"But I need you to be honest with me from hereon. Are we clear?" Harry nodded again.

Snape stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a weary sigh, he returned to his chair.

"Alright, Potter," he said, his tone measured but firm. "One chance. I will give you one chance to tell me everything—what you've taken, how long this has been going on, every little detail. I will not tolerate a single lie. Do you understand me?"

Harry nodded, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

Pain shot through his shoulder, making him hiss involuntarily.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Your shoulder?"

Harry hesitated but finally nodded again. "A Bludger hit me during the match."

"I saw," Snape said, his tone dripping with disdain. "But instead of seeking help from Madam Pomfrey, you chose to endure it with your Gryffindor bravado. You were too eager to return to the tower and indulge in your vices."

Harry flinched at his words, guilt twisting his stomach as he held his shoulder with his other hand. Now that his high was gone, the pain had returned with a renewed purpose.

"Let me see that shoulder," Snape said and leaned forward but Harry shook his head. He needed this pain. He needed it to go on. "Potter, don't be an idiot. Let me see it."

"Maybe later. I'm currently fine, Professor." Harry said, a little control regaining in his tone.

"Self-harm will take you nowhere, Potter. I've told you before." Snape said but didn't push the boy further. He knew he would take care of the shoulder one way or another and tonight itself.

He waved his wand a sling shot out from it, supporting Harry's hand and shoulder. The pain lessened a few degrees but Snape knew it still must hurt. The boy was an absolute fool to go on like this.

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked, his voice defeated. Maybe someone could see him now. Help him.

"What have you taken tonight?"

Harry took a deep breath before speaking. "FireWhiskey…a few cigarettes…and," He gulped before continuing. "and weed."

"Marijuana?" Snape confirmed. Harry nodded, his head bowed down in shame. "Since when?"

"Since the start of this summer." Harry said. He had no motive to lie now. Everything was out in the open in front of Snape.

"Who introduced you?"

"It was a friend back in Surrey." Harry said. "He…got stuff for me. Alcohol, cigarettes and sometimes weed."

"When you wrote me that letter, were you drunk or high?"

Harry closed his eyes. "High." He whispered.

"Speak clearly, Mr. Potter." Snape snapped.

"High, sir."

"So you lied to the Headmaster, and to me."

"Well, I couldn't tell you the truth." Harry said defensively.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer, his dark eyes narrowing further. "Couldn't, or wouldn't?" he asked sharply, his voice cutting through Harry's feeble defense like a blade.

Harry clenched his fists, struggling to hold onto his courage. "Both," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing as he observed the boy in front of him. "Explain yourself," he demanded coldly.

Harry hesitated, searching for the right words. "I didn't think the Headmaster would understand," he said finally, staring at the floor. "No one ever does. They think I'm ungrateful… that I'm selfish. And you…well, you hated me ever since I stepped into this school. I couldn't possibly just come and lay my heart down in front of you could I? You don't know what it's like—"

"Don't I?" Snape interrupted, his voice a dangerous growl. "You think you're the only one who's suffered, Potter? The only one burdened by grief and guilt?"

Harry snapped his head up, startled by the intensity in Snape's tone.

"You presume to know pain," Snape continued, his voice rising slightly. "But you allow it to consume you, to dictate your every action. You wallow in it like a self-pitying child."

"I'm not a child!" Harry shot back, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

"Then stop acting like one," Snape retorted, his eyes flashing. "Do you think numbing yourself with substances will bring Black back? You parents back? That it will absolve you of your mistakes?"

Harry flinched at Sirius's name, his heart clenching painfully.

Shame everyone who died for you.

"I just… I wanted it to stop," he confessed, his voice breaking. "The nightmares, the guilt, the constant feeling that I'm not good enough… that I'll never be good enough."

Snape's gaze softened ever so slightly, though his expression remained stern. "And yet, instead of seeking help, you chose to poison yourself. To hide behind a cloud of smoke and a bottle of cheap spirit. Tell me, Potter, did it help?"

Harry shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "No," he whispered. "It didn't. It just made everything worse."

Snape sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course it did. Self-destruction rarely provides the answers one seeks."

Harry looked up at him, his green eyes red and swollen. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't know how to make it stop."

Snape leaned forward, his eyes softening. "Potter, I am inclined to yell at you so much, to make you understand the error in your ways that will make sure you never touch a cigarette again in your life."

Harry gulped, his faces inches away from Snape. Would he hit him?

"But?" He asked instead.

Snape sighed. "I won't. You are already broken, child. Me yelling at you will serve no purpose." He said and gazed into the boys eyes. He realised that Hary's shield were now down, it was easy to penetrate and watch all his memories. To seek all answers. Was it just grief that drove the boy to this point? Or was there more? How much suffering did Harry Potter hide behind his green eyes?

Snape's sharp intake of breath was barely audible as Harry's green eyes locked onto his own, their usual defiance replaced by an almost pleading vulnerability. With a slight nod of consent from Harry, Snape raised his wand and murmured,

"Legilimens."

The world around him melted away, replaced by a whirlwind of fragmented memories. Snape braced himself as Harry's thoughts flooded into his consciousness, raw and unfiltered.

The first memory hit like a blow to the chest.

Harry was small—no older than four—cowering in a dark cupboard beneath a staircase. His knees were drawn to his chest and his face was full of bruises as his uncle's voice roared from above. The words were muffled, but the venom in the tone was unmistakable. A loud bang followed, and Harry flinched, biting back tears.

The scene shifted.

Harry was older now, perhaps seven, scrubbing the floor as Aunt Petunia barked orders at him. "You missed a spot! Useless boy!" she snapped, her face twisted in disdain and then Snape watched in horror as the woman took a frying pan and bashed it across the boy's head.. Harry's hands were raw and red, his small frame trembled with exhaustion as he fell down.

The memory faded, replaced by another.

Harry running from something, he looked back and saw a group of boys, led by Dudley who raced towards Harry. They caught him and started beating him.

"Dad would be proud, break his glasses and face, freak doesn't deserve to see." Dudley said and egged his friends on.

Snape felt his chest tighten as the memories continued, one after another. The neglect. The verbal and physical abuse. The isolation. The whirlwind grew darker, sharper.

Sirius falling through the veil. Harry's anguished scream tore through the memory, echoing in Snape's mind. He saw Harry lunge forward, held back by Lupin's desperate grip, his face contorted with grief.

The scene shifted again.

Harry, alone in his room at Privet Drive, clutching a bottle of some alcohol. His hands shook as he took a swig, his eyes red and puffy from crying. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the smoke curling around him like a shroud.

More images flooded in, faster now.

Harry sitting with a boy, older then him on some roof, both of them clutching a joint and smiling as they smoked, about ten to twenty cans of beer around them.

The most terrifying memory which Snape saw net got his blood to run cold.

Harry in a small bathroom, his trembling hand holding a shard of broken glass.

"Sirius Black." Harry called out to it. "SIRIUS BLACK! SIRIUS BLACK! SIRIUS BLACK!"

When nothing happened, the boy gave a frustrated yell.

Severus flinched as the memory played out in excruciating detail.

Harry's breath hitched as he pressed the glass to in his palm, his expression a mixture of pain and relief. The blood trickled down his arm, stark against his pale skin.

Harry staring into the mirror, his reflection a shadow of himself.

His eyes were hollow, his face gaunt. "You're nothing," he whispered to himself. "Just a burden."

Snape pulled out of the memory stream abruptly, his breath ragged. The room came back into focus, but the weight of what he'd seen lingered, heavy and oppressive.

Harry was slumped in the chair, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, his vulnerability laid bare.

Snape swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. For a moment, he couldn't speak. He simply sat there, his hand gripping the hands of his chair for support.

Snape stared at him, his mind racing. The boy before him wasn't just a reckless Gryffindor with a penchant for trouble. He was a child—scarred, broken, and drowning in a sea of pain no one had bothered to notice.

Just a child…

Snape reached out and put a trembling hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry composed himself a little, the heavy hand on his shoulder grounding him. He took a deep breath before looking up.

"Potter, why didn't you tell anyone?" Snape asked him and took his hand back. Harry shivered a little at the sudden cold which engulfed him.

"Whom do I tell?" He asked. "Who would have believed me? I have no one, Professor." He said. "I have a lot of people whom I love, my friends, Remus…I had Sirius." He took a shaky breath. "But I can't possibly tell them. I don't know if you will understand."

Snape nodded. "I understand, Potter. You had no one to call your own." Harry looked up at him, surprised at the words.

"Sirius…he was the only one who suspected. He asked me once, you know, about the Dursleys." Harry said and wiped his face. Snape conjured a cool cloth and handed it to him. "He was going to talk to Dumbledore about me living with him."

Even though Snape hated Sirius Black with his core, he couldn't help but feel grateful that at least he had given the boy a respite.

"But then I went and got him killed," Harry said as more tears fell down his face. Snape didn't say anything on the wording. He knew the boy's guilt will be dealt with over time, and right now was not the place to address it.

"Lupin?" Snape knew for a fact that Lupin loved the boy like his own.

Harry's lips twitched into a faint, sad smile as he wiped his face with the cloth Snape had given him. "Remus wrote to me a few days back. He asked me to stay with him in the holidays, I would have told him, but… I didn't want him to see me like that."

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, his voice low but not unkind. "And why, precisely, did you think you had to shoulder everything alone? Lupin would have helped you."

Harry looked away, staring at the floor. "Maybe he would've tried. But I didn't want to be a project, or worse—a disappointment. He already lost Sirius. I couldn't let him lose me too, in a different way. I didn't want to be… broken in front of him."

Snape clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his emotions in check. The self-loathing Harry carried was palpable, suffocating even.

"Potter," Snape began, his tone measured. "Do you honestly believe your worth is determined by how well you hide your struggles?"

Harry glanced up at him, startled by the question. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "It's just… easier to pretend. Everyone expects me to be strong, to fight, to win. The Boy Who Lived, right? If I can't be that, what's left?"

Snape's face darkened, his black eyes gleaming with intensity. "You are not a title, nor are you a symbol for the wizarding world to parade about. You are a person, Potter. Flawed, yes. Stubborn, undoubtedly. But human."

Harry blinked, his throat tightening as he tried to process Snape's words.

Snape leaned back slightly, his expression hardening again, though his voice remained steady. "And as for Lupin, or anyone else who cares about you, they deserve the opportunity to help. Denying them that is not noble, it is selfish."

The accusation stung, but Harry couldn't argue with it. He nodded slowly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sling. "You're right," he muttered. "I just… I don't know how to ask for help. I've never been good at it."

Snape exhaled sharply. "A failing you share with many Gryffindors," he remarked dryly. Then, softer, "But it is not an insurmountable one."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.

"I'm sorry, Sir." Harry said suddenly as he watched the fire.

Snape frowned at him. "Sorry for what?"

Harry looked at him before speaking. "It shouldn't have come to this. You have Elle to take care of…I shouldn't be a burden to you. It was wrong of Dumbledore to thrust me on you."

Snape's next words were filled with anger. "Potter, why do you keep on saying that you are a burden? Why do you feel the need to protect me? I can make my own decisions!"

Harry didn't seem shocked by his outburst. "You already do so much, sir. How could I put this on you too?"

Somewhere indirectly, Harry was telling Snape that he was the only one he could come to. But he couldn't do that because Snape already has his plate full.

"Potter if you feel the need to come and ask me for help…." Snape said in a slightly uncomfortable tone. The only child he had ever offered comfort to was his daughter, and doing it now to Potter felt natural, but a little unsettling. "I can always make time."

Harry blinked in surprise at Snape's words, his gaze snapping to the man's face. He wasn't sure if he'd heard right. "You mean that?" he asked hesitantly, his voice quiet, almost as if he didn't dare believe it.

Snape sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Potter, I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean," he said sharply, though his tone lacked its usual venom. "If I say I can make time, I mean it. You are not a burden, and you would do well to stop thinking of yourself as one."

Harry's throat tightened, the unfamiliar kindness in Snape's words hitting harder than he expected. He looked away, staring at the fire again. "It's just… hard to believe. I've always been… something people have to deal with, not someone they choose to help."

Snape's jaw tightened, and his black eyes burned with something Harry couldn't quite place—anger, perhaps, but not directed at him. "Then allow me to be unequivocal. Your belief is incorrect. Whatever failings others have had in caring for you, they are not yours to carry."

Harry swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. He didn't know how to respond.

The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't as heavy as before. Snape's presence, while still sharp and commanding, no longer felt suffocating. Instead, it felt steadying, like an anchor in the storm Harry had been caught in for years.

"You mentioned Elle," Snape said after a moment, breaking the quiet. "Do you think I neglect her when I attend to my responsibilities as a professor or as a member of the Order?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No! Of course not. You're a wonderful father to her. I just… I don't want to take you away from her."

Snape leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "And do you believe that she would want me to ignore someone in need, especially when that someone is you, whom she adores beyond comprehension, simply because she exists?"

Harry frowned, unsure how to answer. "I… I guess not."

"You guess correctly," Snape said firmly. "Elle may be young, but she is compassionate, and she knows that helping others does not diminish the love or care I have for her. You would do well to learn the same."

Harry stared at him, the weight of Snape's words sinking in. "I never thought about it like that," he admitted.

Snape leaned back slightly, his expression softening just enough to be noticeable. "It is a lesson many struggle with, Potter. But it is a lesson nonetheless."

Just as he got up and moved towards his potions cabinet, the fire in his office turned green and McGonagall's face appeared.

"Severus! Mr. Potter!" She said in her strict voice. "Do you have a reason to explain why three Gryffindors were knocking incessantly at my office door claiming that you had probably killed Potter?"

Snape snorted from his position and his eyes shifted to Harry who was hiding his face from McGonagall by putting it in his hands.

"As you know, Minerva, Elle and Mr. Potter has formed a sort of a bond between themselves this summer. She simply badgered me into calling him here so she could congratulate him personally."

McGonagall pursed her lips and looked at Harry. "Then why, pray tell, is Potter sitting like this?"

Harry looked up and tried to smile at the woman which came out as a grimace.

"I'm fine, Professor." He said in a strained voice.

Snape by then moved towards the fire, blocking Minerva's view to Harry. "He's alive, as you can see, Minerva. I just found out the boy injured his shoulder during the match, I will simply treat him and send him on the way."

Minerva's expression softened as she looked at Severus. "He looks in pain, Severus." She said and Harry frowned, not really knowing the meaning of those words.

"Would he be required to stay in the infirmary overnight?"

Harry saw Snape's back tense. "He might. You can inform his friends accordingly."

"Good night, Severus, and take care, Mr. Potter."

She disappeared and Harry dropped his head in his hands again. All his alcohol and his high had gone and he could now very clearly feel the pain in his shoulder and his side. He heard Snape puttering around in his cabinet before coming back and taking his seat in front of him. Harry had never had the man sit so close to him, but he somehow felt safe when he did that.

"Off with your shirt, Potter. Let's take a look at that shoulder before you pass out from the pain." Snape said. Harry winced as he took off his outer robes and unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his shoulder. It was an ugly shade of purple and Harry looked the other way.

Snape clucked at his shoulder and handed him a potion. "Pain reliever."

Snape examined Harry's bruised shoulder with practiced precision, his long fingers pressing lightly against the inflamed area. He didn't miss the partly showing old wounds which had scarred on the boys' shoulders and possibly extended over his back. Harry hissed at the touch but stayed still, biting down on the inside of his cheek to avoid crying out.

"Hold still, Potter," Snape muttered, his tone gruff but not unkind. He opened a jar of thick salve began applying it carefully to the discoloured skin.

Harry shivered at the cool sensation of the potion, his shoulder muscles twitching involuntarily. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Stop apologizing," Snape said sharply, though his touch remained gentle. "This is what happens when you insist on playing that barbaric sport without proper care afterward."

Harry huffed, his lips twitching despite himself. "Quidditch isn't barbaric."

"Tell that to your shoulder," Snape retorted, his tone clipped but lacking its usual bite.

Harry leaned back slightly, watching Snape work. "You're pretty good at this. Did you always patch people up?"

Snape didn't look up, his concentration fixed on Harry's shoulder. "It is a necessary skill, especially when one is surrounded by reckless students who lack basic self-preservation instincts." He said absently. "And when you become a father." He added more softly.

"Right," Harry muttered, wincing as Snape pressed a little harder against the bruise.

After a few more minutes of silent treatment, Snape set the jar aside and pulled out his wand again. He murmured a complex incantation under his breath, and Harry felt a soothing warmth spread through his shoulder. The pain dulled significantly, and he let out a soft sigh of relief.

"That should hold for now," Snape said, finally sitting back. He regarded Harry with a scrutinizing gaze, as if trying to decide whether to say something.

Harry shifted under the weight of that look. "Thanks, Professor," he said awkwardly, pulling his shirt back up.

Snape waved off the gratitude. "You'll need to rest that shoulder for at least a week. No strenuous activity, no Quidditch practice, and definitely no fights with your housemates over who has the most absurd haircut."

Harry snorted, the unexpected humour catching him off guard. "I'll do my best."

Snape's expression softened minutely, though his eyes remained sharp. "And Potter—if you experience any lingering pain or discomfort, you are to inform me or Madame Pomfrey immediately. Do not ignore it or attempt to treat it yourself. Understood?"

Harry nodded, the sincerity in Snape's voice surprising him. "Yes, sir."

"Sir?" Harry asked as Snape got up to put his kit away. "Why did Professor McGonagall ask if I was required to stay overnight in the infirmary? Do I really have to do that? I believe I'm fine, I can go back to the tower."

Snape didn't answer as he opened the cabinet. "She knew something was wrong." He said after a few seconds. "And no, you will not stay in the infirmary, you will stay here. It is late and I do not believe you want to encounter your friends after the little episode you have had."

Harry thought over his words before shaking his head. But staying at Snape's? Harry had to be the first student ever in the history of Hogwarts to do that. Twice now.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked shakily.

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't." Snape said. "Additionally, I can't let you out of my sight. You will probably go back to smoking after the emotional turmoil you have had."

Harry flushed at his words. He was itching for a smoke right now. He wondered if Snape would make him surrender his leftover cigarettes to him.

"Yes, I will. However, that can wait until tomorrow." Harry's head snapped up at the man who was staring at him intently. "You are an open book, Potter. Don't be surprised. Come."

Harry followed Snape into his quarters, an awkward silence hanging in the air between them. It felt surreal, stepping into the private chambers of Hogwarts' most feared professor—a space he had never imagined he'd see, let alone stay in, and he had been here for multiple times now.

The room was warm, lit by a modest fire that cast flickering shadows across the walls. Snape closed the door behind them and turned to Harry, his expression unreadable. "Sit," he instructed, gesturing to the sofa.

Harry complied, sinking into his usual comfortable seat. His shoulder still throbbed faintly, but the pain reliever potion had dulled it enough that he could sit without wincing.

Snape disappeared into an adjoining room and returned moments later with a blanket and a spare pillow. He placed them on the armrest with a brisk efficiency.

"As you know, I do not have a guest room, so you'll sleep here," Snape said, gesturing to the sofa. "I trust you'll refrain from setting anything on fire or sneaking out in the middle of the night?"

Harry gave a weak chuckle. "I'll try to curb my urges."

Snape's lips twitched as though suppressing a smirk, but he quickly turned away and began tidying his desk.

Harry watched him for a moment, curiosity gnawing at him. "Sir?"

Snape paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Yes, Potter?"

"Why are you… doing this? Letting me stay here, I mean."

Helping me?

Snape set down the parchment he was holding and turned to face Harry fully. "Contrary to what you might believe, Potter, I do not enjoy watching my students self-destruct. Especially not those who have the potential to be something greater than their circumstances."

Harry blinked, startled by the honesty in Snape's tone. "I—I didn't think you cared."

Snape raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical. "I may despise your reckless behavior, Potter, but I am not so callous as to ignore a child in need. Even you."

"Because I'm Lily's son?" Harry asked and watched as Severus froze in his movements. "I know you were close to her. Elle's middle name is Lily, isn't it? Are you helping me because of her, sir?"

"I do not wish to get into that conversation with you at this stage." Snape said after a minute as he turned around. "But no, I am not helping you because you are her son. Partly, yes, but mostly because you have shown yourself to be a Harry Potter entirely different than what I had imagined for the past years."

Harry swallowed hard, the weight of Snape's words settling in his chest. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he simply nodded.

Snape studied him for a moment longer before turning back to his papers. "Now, get some rest. I have no intention of spending my night monitoring a sulking teenager."

Despite the sharpness of his words, there was a faint undercurrent of concern in Snape's voice. Harry pulled the blanket around himself and leaned back against the sofa, feeling oddly comforted.

As he closed his eyes, he couldn't help but think that, for all his sharp edges, Snape had shown him more understanding tonight than anyone else had in months.

/

An hour later, Snape stepped into Dumbledore's office, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and lingering enchantments. The flickering fire in the hearth gave a warm glow, and Fawkes, perched silently on his stand, watched him with knowing eyes. Dumbledore was seated at his desk, his expression unusually somber as he adjusted his glasses.

"Severus," he greeted, his voice kind yet weary. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Come in, please. What brings you here at this hour?"

Snape didn't immediately sit. Instead, he stood in front of Dumbledore's desk, looking as though he were about to speak but couldn't find the right words. The weight of what he had witnessed was pressing down on him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a tightness in his chest—an emotion he couldn't easily name.

"Harry Potter," he said finally, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Dumbledore's face softened immediately, but his expression was filled with concern. "What about Harry?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes searching Snape's face.

Snape let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his dark hair, his fingers curling into a fist as he forced himself to speak. "He's… he's been hiding so much, Albus. More than you could ever imagine."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Harry has always had a tendency to bottle things up. We know this. But I'm certain there is nothing he can't handle."

"No, Albus," Snape interjected, his voice growing more forceful, tinged with anger now. "He's been neglected—abused by the people you left him with. His so-called family. ThoseMuggles." He spat the word out as if it were poison. "But it doesn't stop there."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and his hand gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles whitening. "I… I had hoped that wasn't the case." His voice trembled, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes.

"I saw things, Albus," Snape continued, his voice lowering, as if the very memory of them pained him. "He's been drinking. Smoking. Not just cigarettes, but Muggle drugs too. He's been hurtinghimself. I don't know how it all started, but the boy is lost. He's falling apart in front of my eyes, and no one can see it. Did no one check up on him after the death of his Godfather?"

Dumbledore's face crumpled, the years of wisdom and weariness etched into his features. He leaned back in his chair, as though the weight of Snape's words had physically drained him. His eyes closed briefly, and for a moment, the room felt too still, too quiet.

"I never meant for him to suffer," Dumbledore whispered, his voice cracking. "I never meant for any of this to happen. But I thought… I thought he would be safe, with the people who were his own blood, his own family. I thought…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the ache in his heart too great to put into words.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You thought wrong. And now the boy is suffering, drowning in a sea of pain that no child should have to endure. You've failed him, Albus. I've failed him. I've failed Lily." His voice softened as he said the last part, the weight of it heavy on his tongue.

Dumbledore's face paled. "I—I failed him," he repeated, his voice hollow. He ran a hand over his face, trying to collect his thoughts, but his gaze never left Snape. "Severus… you must know how much I care for Harry. He's… James and Lily's son. He's our responsibility. How could I not see this? How could I not have seen the signs?"

Snape's expression hardened. "Because you were too busy playing thegreatmanipulator, too caught up in your plans for the greater good. You did see the signs, Albus. You chose to ignore them because it was easier than confronting the truth. It's always been easier to look the other way when it comes to Harry. I was too blinded by hatred and you were too blinded by the image of the Golden Boy."

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped, his head dropping as if the weight of Snape's words were too much to bear. "You're right," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I've made so many mistakes. And now… now I'm running out of time."

Snape flinched at the softness in Dumbledore's voice. He glanced at the headmaster's frail hands resting on the desk, his fingers trembling slightly. He had always known that Dumbledore's time was running short after that curse, but to hear him admit it so plainly…

"I'm not well, Severus," Dumbledore continued, his voice thick with sorrow. "My days are numbered. The work I still need to do—there's so little time left to finish it. But Harry… Harry can't be left to navigate this world on his own. He needs help. He needs someone to guide him, someone who can show him that he is worth saving. And I—I need you to be that person."

Snape's breath hitched. "Why me?" he asked, his voice strained. It was like a cruel joke life played on him. But it could also be seen as a chance at redemption. Severus didn't know which one to choose.

"Because you're the only one who understands him," Dumbledore said, his eyes softening with the gentleness of a father. "Because you are the only one who can see through his bravado, through his anger, and understand the broken child beneath. Because, despite everything, I believe there is a part of you that cares for him. A part of you that still remembers what it means to protect someone, to care for them, as you did for Lily."

Snape's chest tightened at the mention of Lily's name. The memories rushed back in full force—the way she smiled at him, the way shebelievedin him, the love they had shared before it had all fallen apart. And in that moment, Snape felt the weight of her loss like a wound that would never heal. He had never asked for forgiveness for the things he had done, but here he was, being asked to save her son.

"Do it for her," Dumbledore added, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do it for Lily. You owe her that much."

Snape's eyes burned with emotion, but he fought to keep his composure. "I don't know if I can," he said hoarsely. "I don't know if I even know how. And even if I did, think of my position, Albus. How can I help him when I am needed to destroy him in front of the whole world for him to win?"

Dumbledore reached across the desk, his hand trembling slightly, and placed it on Snape's. "I know it's hard, Severus. But I believe in you. And I believe that you can do this. For Lily. You must find a way to help him. We don't have a lot of time, you know what must be done."

Snape stared at Dumbledore for a long moment, his heart aching, a war raging inside of him. And then, with a slow, painful nod, he spoke.

"Not for Lily. I will do it for the boy." He said finally. "He deserves to be seen as someone other than the Boy-Who-Lived, or the son of Lily and James Potter."

Albus gave him a small smile and nodded.

"I knew you were the best person for this, Severus." He said softly.

Severus didn't react but just stared at the old man. They both were thinking the same thing.

No one, especially not a child, will be destroyed because of this war. Not anymore.


A/N: Leave a review if you liked it!