Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sadness of Eros	By : LoupGarou1750 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 7628 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her business associates own the world of Harry Potter. I make no money from this, nor anything else. The words 'The open palm of desire wants everything' are from the Paul Simon song 'Further to Fly'. He owns those.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
14

Whistling happily, Harry turned the corner and then pulled up short. The front door was open and he could see a dark figure silhouetted by the golden light spilling from the hall. It wasn't Ginny, he could tell that much; the figure was much too tall, for one thing, and Ginny would not yet have returned from Manchester. For one wild, irrational moment, Harry held, then dismissed the thought it might be Snape. Whoever it was, his presence didn't bode well.

Drawing his wand and staying in the shadows along the street, Harry cautiously approached the house, every sense on high alert. The figure shifted, Harry caught a glimpse of red and almost sagged with relief – Ron.

Tucking his wand away, Harry smiled and called out a greeting. Ron hurried down the walk, stumbling in his haste.

"Where the hell have you been? We've been looking for you for hours. You weren't in your office, at Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts, anywhere in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley."

Shrinking back a bit from Ron's looming, angry, red face, Harry asked, "What business is it of yours?" He had been trying for a joking tone, but in his own ears he sounded nothing but guilty.

"For fuck's sake, Harry! Where the fuck have you been?" Ron's face was heavy with suspicion. He grabbed Harry's arm and shook him.

"Walking. Jesus! I was just out walking around. Ginny's in Manchester. I was bored."

"For six hours? You lying bastard! You were with Snape, weren't you? You son of a bitch!" Ron's grip on Harry's arm tightened. "I swear, if I had any proof I'd tell Ginny. You fucking queer! She's my sister!"

"What the hell? That's disgusting, Ron!" Harry jerked his arm away. "He's my friend, OK? Same as you!" He hated himself for lying.

"Don't put me on the same level as that slimy bastard! If he's your friend then I'm not! Got that, Potter?" Ron's voice was tight with hate.

"Fine, Weasley! Then you're not my friend! So get the fuck out of my house!" Harry was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

"Fine. FUCK!" Ron roared and pounded his fist into the wall. "Albus's in hospital."

It took Harry a minute to realise Ron was not speaking about Dumbledore. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say, "He's dead, you idiot," when the penny dropped and he understood it was his son who was injured. He felt the strength go out of his legs and he almost fell, but panic saved him. "What? What the fuck are you saying? Al got hurt and you're just now telling me about it? FUCK YOU! Fuck you, Ron!" Harry jabbed his finger into Ron's chest. "I could fucking kill you! Al's in hospital and you're wasting time screaming at me about Snape? I could fucking kill you!"

Harry cocked his fist; he was a heartbeat away from punching Ron bloody when there was a loud pop and Harry could see Hermione hurrying towards them.

"Oh Harry! Thank goodness we found you. Oh stop it, you two!" she exclaimed, batting Harry's raised fist and whirling on her husband. "This isn't the time for juvenile nonsense."

She put a hand on each of their chests and pushed them apart. With matching sheepish looks, they stepped apart but continued eyeing each other warily.

"Ginny's frantic. Has Ron told you what happened? Did you tell Harry what happened? We should go then. Ginny's frantic."

Harry Disapparated.

The St Mungo's corridor he found himself in was completely unfamiliar. Ron and Hermione did not Apparate beside him. Harry grabbed the arm of an officious looking man as he hurried past. "Al Potter. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?! Albus Potter! My son, damn you!"

The officious man shrugged off Harry's hand and disdainfully dusted off his sleeve. "If it's the children's ward you want, it's that way." He pointed down the hallway.

Harry ran.

He clipped a corner and nearly skidded into Hermione. Over her shoulder he could see a depressed looking group huddled around each other. Red heads predominated but he could see Neville and Luna, and in a corner James and Lily hunched, trying to make themselves as insignificant as possible. Knowing how terrified and lost they must feel, his heart went out to them, but he thought there was nothing he could do for them at the moment.

"Will someone tell me what happened?"

"No one's exactly sure," Hermione began and then was interrupted by Molly Weasley. "Oh, Harry dear. They've found you. We were worried sick. Thought something might have happened to you as well!"

"Hi, Molly." Harry gave her a hug and pulled away quickly. "Hermione, you were saying?"

"He went flying. At night. By himself. At least we think he was by himself; he certainly was when he was found. Oh, Harry! He had an invisibility cloak. It must be yours."

"Hermione," Harry said through clenched teeth, "will you get to the point?"

"He crashed. His broom broke and a piece of it went into his thigh. He landed on his wand and it punctured his side." Hermione's face was pale and she was obviously holding on by a thread.

Harry pushed her gently towards Molly. "Just point me to Al's room." He started off in the direction she pointed and then stopped. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's with the Healer. Go on and see Al. I'm sure she'll be there soon."

They had put Al in a private room; Harry couldn't remember if that was normal. Harry walked up to the high bed and stared down at his son. He stroked the messy black hair back from the white forehead. Al's breathing seemed shallower than it should have done. Harry felt curiously empty. It didn't seem real. This couldn't be Al. It wasn't possible.

Unable to bear looking at his son's small, pale form, Harry let his eyes wander about the room taking in the antiseptic white of the walls and floors. It struck him as an oddly Muggle room. The windows were covered in mundanely-coloured flower-patterned curtains. Next to the bed stood a wobbly table that didn't seem up to supporting the multitude of cards and small gifts that littered its surface. On the wall opposite was a painting in a cheap frame. On it a poorly rendered ship was tossed helplessly on waves so violent their up and down churning made Harry queasy. Apart from the painting, the bare floors and the high bed, the room might have been found in a cheap hotel.

He opened a cupboard door and stared helplessly at Al's school robes hanging all alone from the centre of the rod. Harry stretched out a hand to touch, then snatched it back as if he might get burned.

"I'm sorry, you can't be in here. Immediate family only. There's a waiting room just down the corridor." A nurse bustled into the room and efficiently went to work taking Al's pulse, running her wand from forehead to blanket-covered toes, smoothing his bedclothes and checking the contents of the covered water jar.

Numb, Harry watched her brisk, competent movements. She turned and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm his father."

"Oh dear! I am sorry. What you must think of me, trying to shuttle you out that way. Nobody told me you had returned."

"Returned?" Harry asked blankly. It was as if the nurse was speaking a foreign language; one he hadn't heard for a very long time and which was only marginally understandable.

"Well, you weren't here. I assumed you were away on business. Oh my word! You're Harry Potter. How very silly of me not to recognise you at once." The nurse beamed at him.

"Where's my wife?" Harry asked before she could enthuse any further.

"Harry!" Ginny sobbed and ran towards him. She clung to his chest weeping. Harry simply held her and stroked her hair.

Suddenly, she pulled away from him and punched him in the chest. "You bastard! This is your fault!"

Catching her wrists, Harry pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her to stop her struggling. "How is this my fault?" It was odd. He was genuinely curious. He didn't feel angry or defensive as he usually did when accused of something. Al was hurt. It was his fault. Harry didn't doubt it for a moment, and he truly wanted to know what he'd done.

"That stupid broom and your stupid invisibility cloak! I told you that broom was too much for him. And where did he get your cloak? You fucking idiot! You know how I felt about the kids even knowing about that thing, let alone being allowed to use it!"

Al's not that bad a flyer. A little weak, but it was a beginner's broom. Could I really have made a mistake like that? Misjudged his ability that way? Did I let him use my cloak? Harry didn't know. But he knew he'd been distracted for months and Ginny said it was his fault. It felt like his fault. So it must have been. Harry looked at the floor, a fierce pain burning behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how–"

"Because you're completely uninvolved in your family. Everything is about your damn Snow Vodka! You're either distilling at Snape's, or consulting with him. Or you're completely involved in marketing. Where do we fit in to that? Where does Al fit in?"

Harry was too numb to even feel guilty. It wasn't the Snow Vodka that took him away from his wife and kids; it was Snape. He didn't give a toss about the Snow Vodka. It was Snape.

"We can't do this here," Harry said, looking at Al. "Come on. You can yell at me all you want outside."

She glared at him but didn't resist when he took her arm. Hermione was waiting anxiously outside the room.

"Is there any news? What did the Healer say?" She stopped and gave Ginny a concerned look. "Never mind. You can tell me when we're sitting down. You've been here for hours and you haven't eaten a thing."

"I'm not leaving him."

"Yes you are. Just for a little while," Hermione insisted. "You've got to eat."

"Go on, honey. I'll stay with Al."

Hermione led a protesting Ginny away. Harry turned to go back into Al's room, and smashed his nose against Ron's chest.

"I want to know where you were."

Harry looked up at his friend and sighed. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation, not now, but he hadn't the energy to lie. "I was with Snape."

Ron's fist seemed to come out of nowhere, huge and hard and vicious. Harry staggered back, blood spouting from his nose.

"Feel better?" he asked, tilting his head back and pinching his nostrils closed with a wince. He could taste blood in the back of his throat. It was bitter, like truth.

Ron left without saying another word. Harry tried to staunch the flow from his nose. He looked at his son's colourless face and at the bright red stain on his own shirt and laughed mirthlessly. After washing his face and hands at the basin in the corner, Harry sat on the floor at the side of Al's bed, and slipped his hand up under the coverlet, gripping his son's cold fingers.

He was nearly asleep, his head sinking towards his chest when he heard the door squeak. He jerked and sat upright, tucking Al's hand, which had slipped out and was dangling over the side of the bed, back under the covers. Harry cast a quick Scourgify! on his shirt and scrambled to his feet.

A Healer in lime green robes came in, followed closely by Ginny and Hermione. The same nurse that had been in earlier brought up the rear. She made an attempt at shooing Hermione out, but retreated in the face of an intractable glare.

The Healer extended his hand and Harry shook it. "Mr Potter. May I say I'm delighted to finally have the opportunity to meet you. Honoured. I can't wait to tell my wife."

"Thank you. What about my boy?" Harry asked brusquely.

"I'm afraid we still don't really know. As I'm sure you know, he was stabbed by both his wand and a broken broomstick. We've actually never seen anything like it. The two wounds intersect and it appears the wand and broom splinter connected and created a kind of magical arc. At least that's our best surmise. His injuries are both magical and physical in nature. The bone doesn't seem to want to knit, nor the wounds to close. In spite of that we have managed to stop the blood loss, but right now we just don't know if he'll walk again. I'm very sorry."

"There must be something that can be done. I'm sorry, but another Healer perhaps?" Harry didn't give a toss for the man's feelings. Not when Al's ability to walk was at stake.

"You're free to consult anyone you like." The Healer didn't seem in the least perturbed. "I can give you names, although I assure you that I have as much experience as anyone. But in any case, there's nothing you can do tonight. Mrs Potter, you're exhausted. I suspect you're experiencing shock. You should go home. The boy won't wake up tonight."

"Albus," Harry said. "His name is Albus. Albus Severus Potter." It seemed important somehow.

"I'm not leaving him," Ginny said.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist, Mrs Potter. You're of no use to him in your state. I'm sure Mr Potter will be happy to stay." The Healer gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"Yeah. Of course I'll stay! If he wakes up, I'll let you know immediately, Gin. Go on. He'll be fine. I won't leave him for a second." Hesitantly, Harry took his wife's hands in his. He was appalled by her white face and the dark circles under her dead eyes. "I swear, Ginny. I won't leave him." He shot a pleading look at Hermione.

"Come on, Ginny," Hermione said, wrapping her arm around Ginny's waist. "Let's get you home. I'll draw you a nice warm bath and put you to bed."

"Hermione," Harry whispered low enough to keep Ginny from hearing. "Can you ask Ron to take James and Lily back to school? I'd ask him myself but–"

Hermione gave him a disgusted look. Harry didn't know if it was because of him, Ron, or both of them. He couldn't really be arsed to care.

***

The moon had risen in the window, lingered awhile and was gone again. Harry alternated between staring blankly out into the night, staring blankly at the wall, and pacing back and forth in the small room. He periodically fussed with Al, smoothed his hair or his blankets, stroked his cheek. He couldn't remember a single thing that had crossed his mind in the time he'd stood guard. Every few hours a Healer or a nurse would come in to check on Al. They rarely spoke to Harry beyond hello. He didn't care. He had nothing to say to them.

He was sitting on the floor by Al's bed again, holding his hand, when he realised there was someone standing in the open doorway. Harry stared in incomprehension, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then, with the first spark of animation he'd felt all night, he leapt to his feet.

"Are you mad?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you absolutely fucking insane? What if somebody sees you?"

"They likely won't think much of it unless you continue to act like a raving lunatic. There's nary a Weasley or Longbottom to be seen, and only such staff as are necessary in the middle of the night."

"You've got to leave, Snape!" Harry insisted, his teeth still tightly clenched. "I've got enough to be worrying about."

"How is he?"

"He's...he's not doing well. They don't know if he'll walk again. Snape, please. I'm begging. Just go. I'll get in touch with you later. Just go. Please."

Snape tightened his lips and nodded. "As you like. Take care, Harry. Of both yourself and your son. We'll talk later."

***

Al was in hospital for a fortnight. Harry and Ginny took turns staying with him. For the first week, on the nights that Harry watched, Snape always appeared. He never came into the room, or spoke, but he was there, waiting, pacing the corridors, every night after the others had gone home.

The start of the second week found Harry at home, prowling restlessly around the lounge, idly, unseeingly rearranging things on the shelves and tabletops. He felt cold all the way through and it was more than just the unseasonable snow falling like a shroud over the house. For the first time in his life he understood the expression sick with fear. Under his ribs his stomach was a solid, frozen mass that nonetheless seemed to roll and heave.

How did this happen? Is this what love misplaced did? Terrorise the innocent and guilty alike? Dumbledore had spoken in glowing terms of Harry's great capacity for love. Harry snorted bitterly. Look where his great capacity had got him now: alienated from wife and friends, about to toss away the only thing he had left. If this is what love brought, he wanted none of it.

He sat at his desk, methodically pulling out parchment, quill and ink, arranging them just so on the blotter. He twirled the quill between his fingers, ruffling and smoothing the tiny barbules in turn. He sighed bitterly, dipped his quill and began to write.

          Dear Snape,

He stopped, staring at the two words, completely unable to think of what should come next. "Dear Snape," he said aloud as if speaking them might summon the next word and then the next.

How exactly did one go about severing a limb?

Harry smoothed a hand over the parchment, fingers lingering over the letters. He was surprised to feel something wet against his palm and looked down in confusion. The p in Snape was smeared, blurred by a circle of clear liquid. He tried to wipe it away and only made the smear worse. Another drop splashed down, merging the p and the e into a unified blob. As he stared at the parchment in consternation it never once occurred to him he was crying.

          Dear Snape,

          I love you and that may be the reason my

     son lies in a hospital bed unable to wake up.

          I don't know exactly what I've done, but I

     know I have to get my priorities right. And my

     priorities have to be my children, my wife.

          No one is speaking to me and maybe they

     never will again & maybe they shouldn't.

     Maybe it's no more than I deserve.

          You told me once that I am self-centred &

     that I wanted to have it all ways, no matter what

     it did to to anybody else. I didn't listen to you

     then. I thought you were just jealous, or some-

     thing, and maybe you were, but you were also

     right.

          This is not how I would have chosen to end

     it. Given a choice, I don't think I would. Fuck no. I

     can't let myself think that way. I had a choice &

     I guess I made the wrong one and now Al's in a

     St Mungo's, looking so frail and tiny & we don't

     know if he'll ever walk again & it's my fault

     and I'll never be able to forgive myself.

          It kills me to say it, but I can't see you anymore.

          I'm sorry. I hardly even know what I'm writing

     You're one of the best, most important things

     that ever happened to me, right up there with

     finding out I was a wizard, but my kids are the

     best thing in my life.

          Good-bye.

                    Harry

Harry signed his name and sat staring at the letter. It seemed so false somehow. Every word he had written was true, but somehow putting them down on paper made them inadequate. He owed Snape more than this. Snape deserved more. But there was no way to say these things nicely, kindly. It was an ugly situation, and it was entirely his own fault.

He rolled the parchment and tied it with a bit of string. Walking to the window, he whistled for an owl, and when it came, tied the roll to its leg and shooed it out the window. Returning to his desk, he let his head sink onto his folded hands. For better or worse, it was done.

Oh god. How am I supposed to live without him?

***

"Harry."

It took all his will to not slam the door in Snape's face. Harry ran a hand distractedly through his hair, then mopped his face with both hands. Childishly he hoped that when he uncovered his eyes, Snape would be gone.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I've had ample opportunity to learn your schedule." Snape's tone was distant and formal, his face expressionless.

Harry nodded. Of course Snape knew. Although he'd remained in the background, he'd been keeping vigil just as Harry had. "Why?"

"Because you might have needed me."

Harry sagged against the door jamb. "God, you're a cruel bastard."

A pained look flitted across Snape's face and disappeared. "You might invite me in," he said almost mockingly. "Unless you want your neighbours to learn some of the more intimate details of your life."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Harry said weakly. All he really wanted was to fling himself into Snape's arms and sob like a baby. "Bugger it!" He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Snape to follow him into the kitchen.

"I'd offer you a drink, but you're not staying long," Harry said churlishly, sitting down and not inviting Snape to do likewise.

Snape smiled as he pulled his wand from his pocket. Two glasses and a bottle of Snow Vodka landed gently on the kitchen table. He poured and slid one of the glasses in front of Harry, then picked up his own and downed it in a single swallow.

"Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

"You may be as rude as you like, Harry. I know it doesn't signify anything." Snape sat down across the table. He folded his hands in front of him.

"You got my letter." It wasn't a question.

Snape nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Then why are you here? Wasn't I clear? Didn't I say I couldn't see you again, or did that signify nothing as well?" Harry's voice was rising in anger.

"It signified much, but I thought you owed me the courtesy of saying it to my face." Snape wiped his lips with his fingertips. "No. I didn't come here to fight with you. Nor to ask you to take the words back. It's simply that–" He rubbed his mouth again, looking suddenly uncertain. "I simply had to make sure." Snape pushed his chair back and stood. "It was a mistake to come. My apologies."

An uncertain, apologetic Snape was worse than an angry one. Harry steeled himself and stood up as well. "Wait. You're right. I should have had the guts to do it face to face. All along I've been trying to take the easy way out." He chewed nervously on his lip. "It's as if, if I don't see how much I'm hurting people, I can pretend I'm not hurting them at all. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Not you, not Ginny, not my friends, or my kids, and I've hurt all of you."

Snape started to say something and Harry hurried on, knowing he only had one chance to get it out before he backtracked completely. "I kept telling myself I couldn't help what I wanted, and maybe that's right, I can't help what I want, but I can help what I do. Do you know how Al got hurt?"

"I understood he crashed his broom."

"Yeah. He crashed his broom. A broom I bought for his birthday. A broom I chose in a hurry because I kept forgetting to do it, because I was distracted, because every free moment I had, I wanted to spend with you. And then his birthday was just around the corner, and I told the shopkeeper that I needed a beginner broom for my son. He showed me three, and I bought the one that looked most like mine, because I thought Al would like it, because I thought the other kids at Hogwarts might think he'd got the real deal."

"Harry–"

"No, don't. It was my fault. I know about brooms. I live and breathe them. But I didn't even check it out. Because I had something else I wanted to be doing. My son, my Al, and I know parents aren't supposed to have favourites, but he's mine. He just is. He's sweet and a little goofy and very funny. And I couldn't even be arsed to take the time to thoroughly inspect a broom I was buying for my favourite kid. He got his hands on my invisibility cloak. I don't know how. I don't think I gave it to him, but you know what? I can't remember. So either I gave it to him, or I left it where he could find it. Minerva organised a search party, but they couldn't find him because he was under my cloak. The Healer said–" Harry choked and irritably dashed tears away from his eyes. "The Healer said if he'd been found sooner, they might have been able to stop the damage."

"It wasn't your fault." Snape made a gesture as if he were about to touch Harry.

Harry jerked away and laughed bitterly. "Odd to hear you say something like that. You always used to think everything that happened was my fault."

"You were an arrogant, thoughtless little prat. Things usually were your fault," Snape said acidly, his face suddenly set in the all too familiar sneer. He sat down and poured himself another glass of vodka, schooling his expression back into one of bland indifference. "But you're not that child anymore. You've changed."

"Have I? Have I really?" Harry agitatedly paced the narrow space between the table and cupboards, not quite knowing what to make of Snape's sudden attack and retreat. "If you really think it wasn't my fault, you're the only one. Ginny, Ron, Hermione – everybody thinks I'm responsible. And you know what? I know I am. I have to accept that. I have to live with it. I can't change what happened, but I can keep anything like it from ever happening again. Ginny rightly says that I haven't been involved with my family. That's something I can change. It's something I will change. But I can't do it if my attention is on you, and when you're around I can't think of anything else. I'm so fucking sorry, Snape. You were fucking right when you said I was self-centred. I wanted everything and now I have to pick up what's left from the wreckage."

"Well, having excoriated you so thoroughly, I can hardly be bitter when you heed my words," Snape said bitterly, picking up his glass and draining it. "It's high-time you thought of someone other than yourself." He stood and smoothed his robes unnecessarily. "There's no reason at all for you to believe me," his tone left no doubt that he thought Harry wouldn't and that he didn't care one way or the other, "but I do wish you happiness."

"That's it?" Harry asked, a sudden feeling of panic rising in his chest.

Snape nodded. "You have a lovely wife." He gave Harry the ghost of a smile. "And two lovely children."

"I've got three kids."

"Yes, well, forgive me if I find your eldest son less than charming," Snape said with some heat. "It must have something to do with his name as it certainly couldn't be that he's just inherently evil."

Harry chuckled half-heartedly. "Shut it, you prick."

It seemed for a moment that Snape might laugh, but then his posture stiffened and he seemed to pull into himself. He brusquely held out his hand. "Thank you for seeing me. Good luck."

Harry, bravely fighting down the urge to hug him, shook Snape's hand. "Good-bye, Severus."

Snape looked at him coldly for a long moment before Disapparating.

~*~*~*~*~
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Sadness of Eros