Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Blackest Eyes	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 5682 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make any money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Blackest Eyes
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: Thank you for commenting Delia. This is actually an 'after the war' story. Sorry I didn't clarify to begin with and I can understand why it seemed that way. I hope you are not disappointed by this.
*****
Two: Forlorn
Harry rose with a start, overheated and soaked with sweat, having no idea where he was or what had woken him. Fleeting fragments of indistinguishable mayhem lingered on the edge of sleep and sent him bolting upright only to find that he was trapped within a tangle of sheets. Crashing sidelong onto the ground, he jammed his shoulder against smooth, cold stone and the back of his head found the edge of something metal, erupting colorful stars throughout his blurry vision.
Harry stared hard through the darkness at the unrecognizable shapes, trying desperately to control his frantic breathing. His thoughts were a jumble of memories- a useless fracture of random images playing in is mind, confusing him further. But as the moments of tense emptiness ticked away that confusion slowly subsided. He came across thoughts he would rather never have again, and at the realization of his last waking moments, the unfamiliar suddenly felt so much more inviting.
Harry slipped out of the twisted fabric binding his legs and backed himself up against the side of the bed. What time was it? What day? He pulled his knees to his chest and ran twitching fingers carefully through his hair. It felt like he'd been sleeping for an eternity. What had he done? Who else had he hurt?
He could feel the odd stretch of bandages that ran from his forehead to mid-cheek, chin to collarbone, and shoulder to the back of his hand. His fingers ghosted over them, too scared to touch them and confirm their reality. He feared what he might find. He feared the truth in his spotted memories; that the touch of rough hands might have been real. But mostly, he feared the emotion he saw in the blackest of eyes.
Harry shook his head, a single rough jerk, to cut off the thought before it had the chance to fester. The man may have loved his mother, he may have devoted his life to making up for that one mistake, but he'd made so many more along the way. Harry wasn't about to change his own feelings because of some stupid, near death, strangeness his unconscious mind concocted. And that was the end of it.
Sighing, he rested his forehead against his knees. What if he just left? What if he walked right out of the castle? Just...disappeared. He could; he was of age. For a long moment he contemplated what it might be like. It did sound like a good idea. A really good idea.
Standing suddenly, his hands fumbling over the side-table, Harry snatched up his glasses and shoved them on. He tip-toed across the infirmary to the door. But when he cracked it open shadows were bouncing on the opposite wall and two voices argued in hushed tones not to far away. Harry strained his ears to hear them.
The first voice- which took him no time at all to recognize- whispered harshly that he'd had enough. The other- an equally obvious voice- urged the first speaker to be calm.
“Calm. Be Calm?” Snape ranted, half shouting, half trying to keep his voice low. Harry could hear the clicking of his boots as he paced. His dark silhouette shifted along with him, reminding Harry of the shadow puppets he used to make in his cupboard.
“That boy- of all the stupid- idiotic- BANNED! Yes, banned, Minerva, from my classroom.”
The Headmistress, not quite whispering herself, politely told Snape to quiet down. Harry couldn't help but smirk, though it didn't last long.
“You know very well, Severus, that we don't ban students for causing unintentional damage unless a death should occur,” she said.
Snape scoffed. “Unintentional?” Then snorted. “I'm beginning to wander if these 'accidents' of his truly are unintentional. Potter is a danger to others. He-”
“I do sympathize with your situation,” McGongall interjected, her shadow moving beside Snape's. “And I-”
Snape angrily cut right back over her. “He is a danger to himself. You cannot expect me to accept that nothing will come from this. There must be steps taken to protect the other students. How many more 'accidents' are you going to allow that boy to make before it becomes enough? Until he kills someone? Until he kills himself?”
Harry heard Snape's robes shift and watched his shadow cross its arms. The briefest thought of fabric-covered wrists against his palms flashed in the back of his mind. He swallowed thickly, pressing his fingernails deep into the meat of his pajama-clad thigh and went back to listening.
“Or is it his precious title that stills your hand? Because anyone else would have been removed from the course by now. Just ask that fumbling fool, Longbottom.”
McGonagall sighed, she sound tired and wary and...old, Harry thought, like Dumbledore had on too may occasions involving him. Harry's throat grew tight, his chest heavy; as if someone was pressing down on it. He'd never meant to hurt anyone.
“Enough, Severus. I know your hands were badly burnt. I know it will make your job difficult until you heal. But I won't allow you to punish Harry. His future as an Auror depends on your class and you know it. He's going to have a hard enough time as it is...when he finds out... Leave him be.”
Harry heard more rustling fabric and the clicking of boots again. There was a soft sigh and a noncommittal grunt. Then the Headmistress spoke again. “I will not ban him. But I agree that the student's safety is at risk, and so, there is only one solution I can think of.”
“No.” Snape's voice dipping dangerously low. Harry had heard the likes of it only a few times before. “I know what you are thinking and I will not do it.”
Harry cringed unwittingly. He, too, objected to whatever she was planning.
“I'm not giving you a choice Professor,” she said briskly, making it clear in her tone that there was no room for arguments here. “Arrangements have already been made. You will receive the changes to your roster by the week's end.”
There was a long pause and then- “You aim to destroy me, don't you?”
“Don't be so dramatic, I aim for nothing of the sort. Please -” The headmistress stopped short. Harry leaned forward a bit more. He could just barely make out a fast-moving pair of footsteps. Then a shout and soon a third shadow joined the others on the wall.
“Headmistress,” a voice gasped between heavy gulps of air. It was a female student Harry didn't recognize. “I've been looking all over for you. Peeves has broken every toilet in the fifth-year girl's bathroom and flooded our dorm. Water is everywhere!”
McGonagall sighed. “Perfect.” Her shadow shifted. When the young girl did not leave she added, “Well, run along then, I'm on my way.”
“Oh. Yes, Ma'am,” the girl said.
Harry listened to their silence, focusing on her footsteps until they trailed off back the way they came. He watched the shadows closely.
McGonagall spoke to Snape again. “Madam Pomfrey has informed me that Harry should be awake by morning. If it isn't too much trouble, will you sit with him in my place? And, if he should wake before I return, please inform hi-” Harry stopped listening. One of the shadows suddenly turned. A sharp snap of boots came his way, sending a jolt straight to his heart. He moved as quietly and quickly as he could back to his bed, dove under the covers, ripped off his glasses, and did his best to look like he was sleeping.
Harry didn't dare move. He barely breathed despite the hammering of his heart and for a long, nerve-wracking time nothing but silence stretched over the infirmary, seemingly centered around his small part of it. Although he knew Snape was seated somewhere beside him in the chair he had dragged over to his bed, Harry knew better than to look.
Then, when he was lulled into a soft calm, when he was nearing sleep again and the blissful warmth was cradling him off into his dreams, unexpectedly, the bed dipped at his side. A bandaged hand smoothed across his cheek. A calloused thumb caressed the corner of his lips. Harry turned his head into the touch without thinking, a dreadful sense of longing seeping into his wary, unprotected heart.
His eyes flew open.
Morning sun poured in though the open windows. There was no chair next to his bed. He was alone.
*****
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Blackest Eyes