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Love is Cold	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two

Several weeks after his last trip to the hospital Harry found himself sitting at his old table in the great hall, surrounded by his old friends, awaiting the official start of his final year at Hogwarts to begin.

No one was surprised to hear that Snape turned down the position for headmaster. They all figured he was in too bad a shape for such a large responsibility. However, Harry fully expected to see him accept Defense or his old Potions’ job, but with the welcoming announcement came the introduction of the teachers and not one of them had been Professor Severus Snape.

Harry felt so foolish for hoping that he would come back.

Frowning, Harry pushed the food around with his fork and wondered if he would make it though the year. So many things in his life had changed. Nothing was how he wanted it to be and he didn’t know where he wanted to end up. That he even returned for the final year was credited to Hermione and her constant pressuring. At that very moment she was discussing their future jobs- apparently he and Ron were going to be Aurors and she was going to be a teacher.

Harry didn’t want to be an Auror anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted to be. He just felt so lost. And the though of being surrounded by happy couples and friendly chattering, the thought of being glared at by Genny, or congratulated by random strangers all year long- it was enough to make his head throb.

His friends barely noticed his discomfort, and if they did, they offered no relief. Everything was fine now. Harry was supposed to be happy. That’s what they all believed.

Ron nudged him with his elbow, giving him a smile full of blueberry cobbler.

Harry offered his friend a weak laugh and a pat on the back before leaving for bed. He wasn’t in the mood to eat and Genny’s eyes were starting to bore holes. He just couldn’t take it any longer. He promised himself he would try to be happy later, but right now he needed a nap.

The trudge up to the tower was a slow one.

                                                                      *****

Their new professor was a short man, muggle born from the country and ignorant to the fame of some of his students. He had a cheery disposition and a grating voice.

Harry thought he was nothing like Snape. But on the plus side, he was doing much better with his grades. Potions had become something of an interest and he didn’t know if it was a genuine newfound enjoyment in it or if it was because he sorely missed his old professor.

By October he’d made his first O and the fall break was merely days away.

Harry wanted to show it to Snape, to somehow make him proud, to somehow make up for all the other bad grades he had gotten in the man’s class and show him that he could be more like his mother if that was what he wanted.

The following morning Headmistress McGonagall announced that a checkpoint had been set up for the seventh year students who could apparate properly. Anyone wishing to go home for the 4-day break was allowed to check in at the three broomsticks before they left and again when they returned.

Harry shrunk his things and packed them. He went home to number 12 Grimmuald Place without a second thought.

At night he dreamt of thin black hair haloed in blood and dust. His fingers smeared red onto porcelain skin grayed with the loss of its life force. Deep black eyes lost their shine, his reflection no longer crisp within them.

In the late night hours when the sky was its darkest, Harry would wake. With damp cheeks and a cold wet pillow, he plucked off the tear-sized flecks of ice.

He could hide from the rest of the world. He could pretend that he was fine, but Harry’s magic could tell no lies.

                                                                        *****

During the day Harry sat at his bedroom window watching the world moving outside. The smiling faces of those he knew and loved, but had failed and lost, tormented his heavy heart. He didn’t bother to eat. He conjured up hot tea, drowning it in milk until there was barely any other flavor, sipping here and there but mostly held the mug for the warmth he hardly recognized.

He thought and wondered and hoped and wished. In the end he had nothing to show for it.

How had the others moved on and forgotten the things that were eating him alive? He could only shove them away for so long, could only find some happiness for so long.

Perhaps… if he could save that one life, maybe he would be forgiven then and living wouldn’t hurt so much. Perhaps if he could have some semblance of the old normalcy, he might find peace. If Snape would come back, Harry was sure he could do that- could have that.

A gust of wind rattled the window in its frame. Harry watched the gray clouds gather and took another sip of the milk-tea. He wanted to see Snape so badly, even the weather showed his pain.

Another gust of wind came and this time branches of a nearby tree scraped across the partially opened glass. Snape’s robes slipped from the hanger they had been carefully place on. A folded, partial O -marked in red ink on his paper- poked out from one of the inner pockets.

Harry stared at the pile on the floor. He mindlessly tucked the sheet back inside and folded the clothes, shrinking and tucking them into his pocket.

Before he knew what he had done, Harry was staring down the identical bricks of Spinner’s End. He could smell the dirty river’s aroma blown his way by the stirring winds of a growing storm. His feet carried him to Snape’s door, ignoring his mind’s half-formed protests. His fingers caressed the brass knocker and when the man answered it he could do little more than soak in the sight of him. Again he found himself without the words he’d practiced a million times before.

Snape’s lips cracked in that familiar sneer. Harry’s breath got stuck in his chest.

“Still as articulate as ever, I see. Do come in Potter, it is not wise to linger near places of the in-between.” Snape’s voice was a harsh rasp, a fragment of its former tone. It was rough and dry with a brittle hint of a long period of disuse. And yet, it still held some form of that old melodic ease.

It caught Harry completely off guard. Of course his voice would be damaged, his neck was still bleeding after all. Harry could see a mix of fresh and dried crimson where it had bled through the bandages and into his collar. Snape was still hurt.

Of course he was. How could Harry have become so mindless?

Harry followed as Snape led him to the sitting room. The fire roared to life, emitting waves of pure heat that he could be grateful for. The cold had seeped into his bones long ago.

Snape turned to him and waited and Harry just stood there stupidly. Finally he snapped. “Please,” he motioned to a chair, “do take a seat and get on with it, Mr. Potter.”

Snape’s eyes raked carefully over him, his face revealing no insight into his thoughts. He was as impassive as always and Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets, whishing he knew the right things to say to make Snape forgive him. His fingers slipped over the fabric of the shrunken robes as he perched on the edge of a threadbare chair. Nerves had started to get the better of him. Since when had he become so cowardly?

Harry opened his mouth to blurt out his thoughts, but the look on Snape’s face froze them in his throat.

Snape’s gaze turned hateful. His lip curled up in that old sneer. “I’m sure it’s difficult for you to stand such low quality accommodations, but do try not to be rude Potter. Had I known such a celebrity would grace me with his presence I’d have pushed up their replacement date from the end of the month just for you.” Snape swept his hand out. “You did notice how little I cared for this place when you viewed my memories, did you not? Do forgive my insolence. I never had a need to replace them until now. I’d not expected to live thought the war, you see.”

Harry hung his head. Snape hated him so much, still, that he would always misunderstand him. He should have assumed as much and made himself clear from the beginning. Why he hoped for something more he couldn’t say. Hope had never gotten him a damn thing.

And isn’t that what he wanted anyway- that old normalcy?

Harry opened his mouth. “Why?” was all he could choke out before his voice cracked and he had to work his tongue around in his mouth to ease the dryness. He wanted to ask ‘Why do you hate me? Can’t you please forgive me?’ but the words just wouldn’t form.

And Snape, not being privy to his thoughts, mistook the question. He whipped around the back of his chair, putting even more icy distance between them. Harry noticed how much less of an intimidating flair his robes seemed to have now.

“Why,” repeated Snape, his voice empty, and he turned around to watch the lightning exploding on the horizon. “Will you leave if I tell you?”

Harry nodded without looking up. He hadn’t meant to ask Snape why he didn’t expect to live through the war, but that’s what Snape thought, and for Snape, he would listen. “If that is what you want, ” he whispered.

Snape sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. There was silence between them save for the cracking of the fire until at last Snape spoke. “Very well then. Listen to me closely Potter, because I’ll never say these words to you again.” He turned to Harry, black eyes fixing on him a painful stare and he held his arms rigidly at his sides as if he were trying not to lash out.

“Death was my salvation, my reprieve, my freedom, and the only thing that would truly pay for my transgressions. Surely you can understand a concept so simple, can’t you?” he hissed.

“I wanted to die. I asked for it -begged for it, needed it. And you took that away from me. You. You, Harry.” Snape flung his arm aside, turning his back again and Harry imagined it was because he couldn’t stand to look at him.

Snape continued, quieter, nearly a whisper, “I will not stand here and thank you for taking it from me, and I will not pretend that I am grateful to be alive. Make no mistake, Potter, we will part on good standing, for I do not wish to drag this out any farther. But this will be the last time that we meet, so help me.

I cannot bare your face, your mother’s face, haunting me any longer.

Please, just go. And if you have any bit of sympathy in your heart for me…do not ever come back.”

Harry’s heart cracked. A liquid cold pooled around it from his magic and he brought a hand up to clutch his chest. He didn’t need to ask what he’d come there to ask. The answer had clearly been given.

Snape didn’t return to Hogwarts because he didn’t want to see Harry.

“Surely you can find your way out,” Snape rasped.

Harry stood up. He nodded an unseen goodbye and looked back over his shoulder just before he left, glancing at the back of Snape one last time.

“I am…glad to see you alive, Sir.”
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Love is Cold